- Recovery

Gary pulled up to the volunteer fire building in Hebron.  Dick was already there and had the truck running and the heater warmed up.  Gary flipped the collar of his heavy and warm turn-out jacket up to circle around his neck and rubbed his gloved hands together.  It was cold, and early.  Too early for this, but these things were never convenient.

His job as a volunteer fire fighter kept life interesting, at least - a diversion from his regular job as a mail carrier in Hebron and nearby Belvedere, as well as the surrounding rural areas.  Being a volunteer fireman broke up the monotony on occasion, even if the job was sometimes sad or tragic.  Of course he didn’t create the tragedy; he just helped clean it up.  Someone had to.

The call about the plane crash had come in from the Sheriff about a half hour ago.  He didn’t know much; just that a family had gone down and there was some hub-bub at the hospital with the survivors.  He had never heard of a crash around here with survivors.  But like with most of them there was death, too.  His orders were to retrieve the body of a woman still out there in the field where the wreck happened.

He greeted Dick, and then slid in the passenger side of the big truck.  They backed out of the driveway and headed out towards the old pond where they had reported the wreckage to be.  He knew right where it was, and had been out that way many times over the years.  They turned north on highway 81, past Monument road, then turned left onto a dirt road that intersected the highway.  He had no way of knowing that it was the same road dad had lurched down a couple of hours prior. 

Slowly they drove over the rough surface, occasionally slowing to shine their powerful spotlight over the darkened ground adjacent to the road.  When they reached the pond, the moved slowly off the road, and across the dike that extended onto the field.  Their headlights picked up the wreckage almost immediately.

“Jesus Christ!” Dick muttered.  He stopped the truck and they stared at the wreckage for a few moments, taking in the utter devastation that lay before them.  Slowly, they got out of the truck, and armed with high power hand lights, walked across the field towards the corpse of the plane.  Gary looked it over for a few minutes, and then turned to his right to move along the tree line, shining his light through the branches.  Eventually he came to the spot where the plane had gone through the trees.  There was a wide gap that the plane had carved it as it slammed through.  Trees lay broken and laid over and brush was strewn all around, mingling with scraps of metal and debris. 

To the right he spotted what appeared to be the left wing of the plane, lying tangled in the thick brush in a crumpled heap.  He shined is light up 20 feet into a large tree nearby and saw where the wing had impacted it, ripping the top 10 or so feet off and flinging it several yards away.  The tree was about 5 inches thick, and the force that sheared it off had to be incredible.

He turned and observed the rest of the newly established clearing.  The other wing lay in a pile of brush and branches on the ground, mangled.  All manner of other debris was strewn around the trees and had been carried out onto the field by the forward momentum of the impact.  He considered the plumb thicket that surrounded the thin forest.  A section of it along the obvious path we had followed was smashed down.  Apparently, we had slammed into the trees, and as the plane spun to the left, it’s inertia was taken and it dropped onto the bushy and thick plumb trees.  They must have acted like a cushion as the plane smashed through them, he thought.  That’s why, incredibly, the plane wasn’t ripped apart when it hit the hard packed ground of the field.

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself.  “If you were going to crash a plane, that’s the way to do it.”

His thoughts were cut short by Dick’s shout over by the main hulk of the wreckage.

“Gary!” he called out.  “I found her!”

Gary made his way toward the bright spot of Dick’s light, where he stood over a white bulge on the ground.  Both of them had seen their share of bodies before, but it was always a bit of a shock to see the seemingly infinite forms that death can leave a person in.  This would be no different.  They weren’t machines in this job.  They were painfully cognizant of the fact that those whom they recovered were once living breathing entities, usually only a short time prior. 

Now they stood over the body of my mom, and had their own thoughts about her…someone’s wife, someone’s daughter, someone’s mother.  No doubt she never would have foreseen that her life would end here, literally frozen to the ground - dead in this field.  Who could imagine that?

Dick stooped down and lifted the small blanket that covered her and tossed it aside, exposing the horror of her death to the glare of the bright lights that they carried.  There was little doubt in either of their minds that she had died quickly.  She probably died in the plane, before she was ejected, or maybe in the process of being ejected. 

Either way, judging by the speed of impact indicated by the path of destruction Gary had seen, she never even knew what hit her.  At least there was some comfort in that.  Neither of them cared much for the idea of suffering, after all.

She certainly did not suffer.

Dick left Gary with her, and went back to the truck, starting it up and bringing it over near where she lay.  He extracted from the back a modified stretcher, known as a scoop.  It was a typical basket-like stretcher, but was split down the middle and could be separated into two sections.  One could separate the sections of the scoop and place it on either side of the victim, then work it closed under them. 

He separated the sections and placed them on both sides of mom.  Then, gently lifting and sliding the sides inward and carefully breaking the icy bonds that held her fast to the frozen earth of the field, they worked the scoop closed.  Gary gingerly shifted her stiff body as necessary to aid Dick, who then put the safety pins in place securing the scoop closed. 

Finally, she could be taken from that place. 

They covered her remains with a heavy wool blanket, which they gently tucked around and under her.  Then they stooped and lifted the stretcher and carefully carried it to the back of the truck, sliding it into the interior and latching it down. 

They drove in relative silence to the hospital, speaking only to express the disbelief at what they had seen in the field.  It was hard to believe anyone had survived that.  They had seen no shortage of gruesome and nasty accidents in the farms, fields, train tracks, and roads around here, but that scene was truly amazing to both of them.  Every one in that plane should have been killed.  Life is funny that way, they both thought. 

Eventually, they pulled up to the emergency entrance of the hospital without fanfare and quietly carried the basket containing mom into the emergency area.  The staff stood around, some of whom were preparing the little kids to be moved.  Gary overheard they would be flown by helicopter to Lincoln. 

Most of the staff just watched.  A broken and bloody form of a man stood over one of the children watching intently as the staff stood by.  It wasn’t at all what Gary would have pictured this type of accident to be like.

A young sheriff stood by watching as well, standing near the man, talking gently to him.  Marilyn saw them come in and moved over to Gary.

“Just put her there,” she said, pointing to an out of the way spot near the admission desk.  “We’ll take care of her from here.”

Gary and Dick obliged, gently placing the basket on the floor.  Gary considered it for a moment.  The form under the heavy blanket suddenly looked so small.  He looked around at the man and the little kids, all of whom had been dragged through the worst that night, from what he’d seen at the crash site. 

He suddenly he felt sad for them.  He had brought a family back together again for the last time, but he wished it could have been different.  You just never get used to this.

Dick patted his shoulder as he passed. 

“Let’s go,” he said.  Gary followed him out of the hospital into the cold night.  He took a deep breath of the cold, sharp air.  They had done their job.  Now they could go home.

He paused to look through the blood smeared glass of the entrance doors to the emergency room at the family beyond once more.  His heart went out to them, and he hoped those kids would be alright.  Then he turned and walked away, not looking back.

-Telephones

Back in Hebron, Larry came back into the Emergency Room.  Nothing had changed.  He walked over to dad standing protectively over us, addressing him as he approached.

“Doc, I made a call to the Lincoln Air National Guard,” he said.  “They are aware of the situation and are making arrangements to get you to Lincoln.”  For the first time, Larry saw a hopeful look from dad.

“It might be awhile, but they are on the way,” Larry continued.  “They’re sending a big helicopter.  Is there anyone you need to call?”

Dad nodded and Larry asked one of the hospital orderlies to take him to a telephone.  Larry told Dr. Bunting and Dr. Pembry of the arrangement, and he began to make preparations for the transport.  He ordered people to move their cars so they could land the helicopter in the parking lot of the hospital.  We would leave from there.

The telephone rang shrilly from somewhere.  Bruce Miller groggily opened his eyes to the darkness of the room.  Diane slept peacefully next to him.  The phone harshly jangled out from beside him again.  He shook the cobwebs out of his head and reached out into the darkness to feel for it, then brought the receiver to his head.

“Hello?” he mumbled tiredly.  There was a moment of silence.  “Hello??” he said again.

“Bruce?” the creaking and broken voice said.  It was Jim, Bruce immediately recognized, but he sounded much different. 

The bad feeling Bruce had been carrying all night had receded like the tide as he drifted to sleep, but like the tide, suddenly came rushing back at the sound of dad’s voice. 

“Jim?” he said.

“Bruce?” dad said again.  “There-there’s been an accident…the plane…”  Tension wound down Bruce’s spine. 

Oh my god, he thought and his heart began to pound.

“The plane crashed…” dad said, his voice quivering.  “Char is dead, Bruce.  I saw her.  She’s dead.”

Oh no, no, no!  Bruce pleaded silently in his head to no one.  He reached over to touch Diane.  She felt the tension in his touch and woke immediately to sit up beside him.  A million thoughts swirled in his head.

“Wh-where are you?” he managed.

“We’re at Hebron hospital right now, but were coming there,” dad said.  “They’re flying us there…”

Flying them? Bruce thought.  He was horribly confused, but shook it off.

“Are you okay, Jim?  The kids?” Bruce said.

“Char is dead.”  Dad replied, his voice on the verge of breaking.  “I’m pretty bad, too.  The kids…we’re all bad…all bad…” 

Bruce knew he had things to do now.  His heart pounded in his chest.

“Okay, you just get up here, and I’ll make sure things are ready,” Bruce said.  “Just get up here.”

“Can you call Clarke?  Have him meet us at the airport?”  Dad said.  “The National Guard…they’re sending helicopters…I need him.”

“Of course,” Bruce replied.  “I’ll take care of it.”

Dad grunted a response and the line went dead.  Bruce ears rang. 

Jesus Christ.

Diane gripped his hand.  Char and her were best friends.  He hung up the phone then quickly dialed another number.

“Lincoln General Emergency…” came the voice of one of the nurses.  Bruce knew her, but couldn’t remember her name just then.  He asked for Ron and waited a few moments.

“This is Dr. Craig,” Ron’s pleasant voice came over the line.

“Ron its Bruce Miller,” he said.  “Listen, we need to get the ER ready.  Jim Styner has been in a plane crash in Hebron.  He and his kid’s are badly injured…his wife…” he trailed off.

Beside him, Diane tightly gripped his hand and her body began to hitch with sobs.

            From the warmth of his sleep, Clarke Mundhenke was now drawn to the ringing of his telephone next to his bed.  He did not know what time it was but it was early.  He felt Sharon stir beside him and without opening his eyes reached over and after a bit of fumbling picked it up.  His job as a chaplain kept him up sometimes, but as a man of God he was obligated to respond.  He was aware of the sleepy hoarseness of his voice as he spoke.

            “Hello..?”

            “Clarke..?  Bruce Miller.”  The voice said.  Clarke opened his eyes.  Bruce?  Why was he calling?  His attention was all of a sudden rapt.

            “Bruce?”  Clarke greeted him.  “How are you?  Is every thing alright?”

         “Clarke, Jim Styner crashed coming home,” Bruce said.  Immediately Clarke thought of an auto crash.  The thought of the plane didn’t hit him immediately.

            “Crashed?” Clark stammered, surprised.  He would have to prepare to comfort his family…then he remembered that he thought we were on vacation…that we had flown to California in the airplane.

            “Oh, my god…” he almost whispered. “The plane?”

            “Yeah, he went down in Hebron.”  Bruce said.

Clarke refrained from babbling the myriad of questions that immediately flooded his mind.  Jim’s family was on that plane.  It would be a big funeral, was his first thought.  Then Bruce floored him again.

            “He’s alive.  His kids survived too, but they’re all in bad shape.”  Clarke could not believe his ears.  They survived a plane crash?  Then it occurred to him that Bruce hadn’t mentioned the wife.

            “Charlene?” he asked.  The pause that followed was all he needed to hear.  He imagined Bruce shaking his head.

            “No.” was all he heard. 

The gravity of the news swirled into Clarke.  Sharon had sat up next to him hearing Charlene’s name.  They were all friends.  Charlene was a strong member of their church.  They had all just been skiing together in Colorado just a couple of weeks ago, where dad had hurt his arm in a nasty fall. 

He was momentarily overcome, and then his thoughts went to Bruce.  Jim was his partner.  He knew they were great friends.  Dianne Miller and Char were very close, like sisters Clark had always thought.

            “Bruce, my god!  What can I do to help?” he asked.  “Are they at the hospital?”

            “No, they are going to be moved from Hebron in helicopters.” Bruce replied.  “The Air National Guard is going to get them and bring them here.  I have to go to the hospital and get things ready there.”

            “Okay,” Clarke responded making mental notes.

            “Jim asked for you, Clarke.”  Bruce said, which took Clarke slightly aback.  Bruce continued. “He wants you to meet him at the airport when they get here.”

Clarke immediately understood.  He was their pastor, and they were coming out of hell.  He needed to be there to comfort them and let them know they weren’t alone.  The souls of those kids might be in the balance.  Suddenly, he realized how important his mission had become.  He was compelled to offer Bruce his counsel, but realized Bruce’s night had just begun.  He had to get ready to save those kid’s lives.

“Should I call anyone?” Clarke asked.  Bruce said he was already taking care of it.  He had been through a lot tonight, and Clarke really wanted to take a moment to make sure he was alright, but they both needed to get going.

“Thank you for calling, Bruce.  I will head out there right now,” he said, then added:  “God bless you.”

The line was silent for a moment.

“Thanks,” Bruce said and the line clicked and went dead.  Clarke tuned to look at Sharon, who stared back, wide-eyed.

- Mission Accomplished

Jim spoke into his radio as his truck negotiated a quickly executed sharp right turn onto another dirt road a few miles northeast of Hebron and parallel to Highway 81.

“Where are you?” He said.  The tin can tone of Jon’s voice replied:

“I’m with the trooper.  Were on some farm road in the vicinity of the main dirt road intersection,” Jon said, referring to another intersection crossing the road he had just turned into.  “I just ran into a dead end.  I’ll have to find my way around to get back to you, over.”

“Roger,” Jim replied. He glanced over at Don who was listening intensely to the DF headset.  Without looking up, he pointed down the road, motioning Jim to keep going.  They were close. 

Behind them, the other CAP truck followed closely, obscured in the cloud of dust Jim’s truck kicked up, tinted red by the tail lights as they barreled along the road.  Jon and the trooper were behind them somewhere, and coming up fast, but Jim couldn’t see them yet.

“Let me know when you’re back at the intersection,” Jim said into the mic.  “The DF is almost pegged out.  We’re definitely in the right place, over.”

“Roger.  Out.” came the reply from Jon. 

Jim set the mic down and stared into the blackness all around them, the brown earth of the dirt road zooming under them, each bit reflected for a moment in the bright yellow headlights.  He tried to scan the area ahead, trying to pick up some sign of the plane.  He was no longer looking for burn evidence, or a large debris field, just a wreck.  If that plane had burned, there would be no one going to no hospital, that was for sure - unless it was for the morgue. 

That was good, but it made the search difficult to do in the dark, but that’s why they started putting ELTs in planes in the first place. 

To his left he could make out a stand of trees some distance off, silhouetted against the black backdrop.  Another small road appeared on the left ahead.  He began to slow as he approached it.  Just then Don shouted:

“Whoa! Stop here!” 

Jim hit the brakes and brought the truck to a skidding halt across the rough surface of the road.  He grabbed the radio microphone.

“This is CAP-1!  CAP 2, hold your position!” he barked into it. 

Don jumped out of the truck as soon as it stopped, and stood in the middle of the intersection.  He held the DE in front of him, swinging it slowly back and forth and listening to the intensity of the tone waver in his headset.  He stared straight ahead, into the blackness beyond the roads, washed by the headlight of the other truck which was rolling up in a cloud of dust to stop on the side of the road behind Jim.

Jim threw the truck in park and jumped out.  This road had to be the one Larry had identified, he thought.  Don turned to face roughly southwest and stopped, standing perfectly still for a few moments.  Then he lifted his finger and pointed to an unseen spot somewhere in the distance directly ahead.

“There it is,” he said.  Jim stared at the spot shrouded in darkness for a second, momentarily relieved. 

They found it. 

He turned to address the team members that were dismounting the two vehicles.

“Alright Team, let’s form a line south from this intersection! 25 foot interval!” he shouted.  “Keep up good verbal communications!  Report anything you see immediately!  Stay on line and keep good visual contact with your right and your left! Understand?!”

A chorus of ‘Yes Sir!’ was shouted from the team. 

They quickly finished their equipment checks and the beams of several high power flashlights popped on, one by one, piecing through the dust that was held suspended in the frozen air around them.  They began to work their way down the road to their relative positions roughly 25 feet apart until they each stood in place facing silently into the darkness in front of them, waving their lights from side to side, each one in their own secret way hoping they would be the one to find it. 

Jim hurried back to the cab of his truck and called Jon on the radio.

“We’ve got the signal strong on the DL, and are organizing the ground sweep right now,” he said.  “What’s your twenty?”

“I’m still working my way to you about 2 miles south,” Jon replied.  “I’ll see you there.”   

“Roger that.  I am starting the sweep.”  Jim replied.  “Out.”

He made his way down the line to where Don stood facing into the dark. 

“Move out!”  Jim hollered.  He watched as the team carefully made their way into the shallow ditch beside the road.  Voices began to call out through the dark, warning others about the barbed wire fence bordering the field on the other side of the ditch and other hazard as they moved onto the plowed field. 

They moved slowly, but with purpose.  Everyone was trained here.  They all knew what to do.  After several minutes there came a startled cry from one of the cadets just off to Jim’s left.

“Plane!” the voice shouted excitedly.  “We have the plane!  We have the plane!!” 

Other voices called out excitedly in acknowledgement, and the rest of the team began to converge on the source of the call.  Jim stood and called out:

“Everyone!  Assemble on the plane!” he called out towards the team.  “Watch for debris and be careful!”

 “I’ve got something here..!”  Another young voice yelled out.  “Jesus! I think I found someone!”

Jim jumped over the fence and quickly made his way over to the young man, standing still and staring at the dirty and bloody blanket spread across the top half and head of the woman, lying frozen to the ground.  He picked his way over the debris that scattered around the area until he got to him.  When he saw the body, he bent down and touched her hand.  It was ice.

There was nothing they could do for her. 

Jim turned to go toward the plane, but as he did he noticed the cadet who discovered the body was still staring at her, as if in a trance.  Unfortunately he had seen that before.  The horror of death when a young cadet sees it for the first time can freeze you up.  It just sucks you in like a vortex and won’t let you go.  Jim patted him on the shoulder.  It was a hard part of the job, but an unfortunately necessary part, nonetheless.

“There’s nothing we can do for her,” he said gently.  The cadet glanced at him nervously and swallowed hard. 

“You did your part for her, okay?” he said.  “You found her, and that’s your job.  That’s what we do.”

 The young man nodded, the horrified look still embedded on his face like a mask.

“Let’s assemble the team.” Jim said, and took the cadet by the shoulder, guiding him away from the poor woman.

The young man nodded, his eyes still fixed on mom for some time as they both walked over toward where the rest of the team had assembled near the motionless corpse of our shattered airplane.  Their lights washed over the wreckage, illuminating it fully.  Down the road, Jim could see Jon’s truck and the blue and red lights of the State Trooper flashing through the fog of dust suspended on the road, coming toward them.  They pulled in near the other vehicles and dismounted, making their way towards where the rest of the team stood

Jim was awestruck.  The area around the crash was littered with clothing, as if it had exploded from the plane on impact.  The plane itself sat dug into the ground, and was entirely twisted and ravaged.  The entire empennage was buckled and bent down from the fuselage at a weird angle.  Various chunks of assorted debris littered the path it had traveled.

The right side of the nose and the copilot compartment were peeled open exposing the gaping wound that mom had been flung through.  The left side was crumpled and shoved inward.  Both wings were gone just past the engines.  The propellers were still somehow connected to the engines but were bent into spirals from whipping into the ground as they impacted.  The right windshield was shattered out, and the remaining plexiglass fragments hung jaggedly inside the frame.

The entire plane was wrapped in barbed wire.  Near the rear, the small cargo door was open and bent forward.  The plane was a mess, but somehow had stayed together and didn’t burn up.  How that happened was anybody’s guess, Jim thought.

Don made his way toward the hole in front of the right wing and gingerly worked his way into the wreckage, sliding into the pilot seat. He shined his light around the interior of the cockpit pausing at the smears of blood and dirt that commingled all around him.  Then he reached down to the left of the pilot seat on the bulkhead, to where the ELT silently pulsed its signal into the air.  He felt underneath it for the override switch, found it, and toggled it to the opposite position. 

The signal went dead. 

Thousands of feet above them, Looking Glass heard the signal cease and knew the CAP had gotten them.  Their task complete, they disengaged, turned toward Washington D.C., and headed home.

Jim looked at the team moving slowly around the area searching for anyone else.  Voices called out to each other as they systematically searched.  They all knew what to do.  They had done one hell of a job tonight that was for sure.  He was very, very proud of them all.

Mission accomplished.

Jim continued to take in the scene as Jon made his way to him.  They both stared in silence as the cadets continued to search around the plane for other victims.

“People survived this?”  Jon wondered aloud.  Jim nodded encompassed in his own disbelief of the fact.

“So far,” he said.

Jon shined his light on the plane slowly looking over the paint and markings.  He carefully walked around it, and then returned to where Jim stood.

“I know this plane!” he said, realizing that he recognized it from the Lincoln airport.  He had seen it there often, and had talked to dad on several occasions about it.  It was a nice plane. 

He shook his head.  “I think it belongs to a guy named Styner…”

-"Please, just get us to Lincoln.."

Larry spotted an older lady who appeared to be hospital staff standing near another dirty and bloody young boy that he hadn’t notice before.  He was sitting off to her side, and she stroked his hair gently as she stared transfixed by the spectacle along with everyone else. 

Another victim by the looks of him. 

He had a blood stained bandage on his hand and his arm was held in a cloth sling.  He stared in stunned silence at the man as he worked around the other children.  To his other side, two older men in long white coats were staring toward the man and quietly speaking.  They appeared to be doctors. 

Larry made his way to them and introduced himself.  He was a little angry by all of this.

“I just found their wreckage,” he said.  “Can someone tell me why no one is helping that man?”

One of the doctors huffed a snorted and sarcastic murmur and turned, walking away from them down the hall.  The other lifted his hands in an exasperated gesture.

“He won’t allow us to treat them!” Dr Bunting said loudly, in an exasperated and amazed voice.  He was clearly incredibly frustrated. 

“He exploded on my staff, and now he won’t let us treat them!”  He waved his hand around the room.  “Any of them!  He is extremely agitated, and frankly I am afraid for my staff’s safety!” 

Larry couldn’t believe it.  Why would he deny his kids care from these people?  What the hell was going on?

“Does anyone know his name?” Larry asked.  The nurse by the boy spoke up from beside him.

“It’s Doctor Styner,” Marilyn said.  “He’s a doctor from Lincoln.”

But Larry already knew where he was from, and the name struck him into silence.  He had in fact known dad for many years, having seen him and spoken often with him at Lincoln General Hospital, where Larry was a frequent fixture in the course of his job.  The realization of the discovery hung confusingly in the air as he watched this wretched figure before him feverishly working on his kids as the hospital staff looked on, unable to aid in any way.  Right here, like this, Larry did not even remotely recognize this man.

Another pretty young nurse quietly sidled up to one of the little boys and began to fasten a blood pressure cuff around his bicep.  The man shot a look around at her that made her freeze, but then he turned his attention back to the other boy and let her continue without a word.  

Helen softly but quickly smoothed the blood pressure cuff over Rick’s arm.  He wasn’t in good shape, she knew.  Dr. Bunting had already seen he had a bad head injury, but Dr. Styner had shut them down early on, and no further diagnosis had been made or any more X-rays taken.  She felt compelled to at least try to help these poor kids, though.  She refused to just watch them die doing nothing.  So far, dad had not made any steps to stop her from checking vitals.  So she did what she could.  It was all she could do.

She caught the eye of the young policeman that had just walked in.  He looked anxious, too.  She was sure this had to look crazy to him.  He nodded to her and she smiled nervously, and then shifted her attention back to the little boy before her.  She felt helpless, like she was walking on eggs.

Larry slowly walked toward dad, who defensively looked up as he approached.

“Dr. Styner?” he said softly.  Even through the swollen face, Larry could detect the hostility in dad’s eyes.  When dad recognized him as a cop, his demeanor softened a little.  He sheepishly looked back at the young boy on the table, and brushed his hair back from the bloody wound on his head.  Dad didn’t seem to recognize Larry as someone he knew, and if he did, it didn’t show.

“Dr. Styner,” Larry said again.  “Do you know who I am?”  Dad looked at him again.  He was obviously in shock.  He appeared to be operating on nothing but adrenaline.  He didn’t respond.

“What happened?”  Larry asked.  It was a silly question, but he had to say something.

“We…crashed,” dad croaked.  “Out in the field…” 

He looked down and stared at the boy for a few seconds.  Up close, dad looked even worse.  His lips were swollen and cracked, slurring his speech slightly.  Up close it was easy to see that his right eye was swollen completely closed and dried blood filled in every inflamed groove around it, sealing the eyelid shut with a clotted and scabbing mortar of blood. 

A small flap of skin on the right side of his head had been peeled back, and was now stuck roughly back in place, held there only by the coagulated blood that still oozed down his forehead and over his cheek.  Another deep wound was obvious on the same cheek, but wasn’t bleeding so bad anymore, although the stains on dad’s clothes seemed to indicate that it was a great deal as some point.  Larry could make out dark circular bruises on dads face and head, which he recognized had been made by the casings of the instruments when dad’s face was pummeled into them on impact.

His left shoulder was obviously immobile, and the way he walked, Larry could tell he had suffered at least some level of internal injuries.  In short, dad was a real mess.  Larry could scarcely believe he could even be on his feet at all in his condition, yet alone why someone here hadn’t just taken control of this situation, forced him to lie down, and sedated him.  It just wasn’t the way things were done down here, he guessed.

Helen moved up quietly beside dad.  Larry could see she wanted to take the young boys vitals.  When dad became aware of her, he quickly shifted himself in front of her to head her off, defiantly glaring at her.  Larry could see her fear, even if it was only for a moment.  He was still a cop, and wasn’t about to let the situation spin any further out of control especially into violence.  He stepped between them, facing dad.

“Look, doc, she just wants to take his vitals,” Larry said.

“They don’t know what they’re doing!” dad snapped, glaring at her over Larry’s shoulder.  Larry tried to calm him.

“It’s just vitals, doc,” he said.  “Let’s just let her do that.” 

He gently touched dads arm, not sure what he would do if dad got pissed and decided he wanted to fight.  Larry would have really hated to force him down and put him in handcuffs.  The act of forcing him to the ground alone might just kill him in his state. 

However, Larry was surprised and gratified that dad moved with him as he led him a short way from the table.  Helen began to fasten the cuff around my arm.  The other staff didn’t move.

Dad stared at the floor and began to tell Larry what he thought had happened.  Dad told him a staggering story of the field and his search for the highway and the men who picked him up.  Dad looked around for them for a moment, but didn’t see them.  Ricky and David had already left, not knowing what else to do.  Dad never got to thank them. 

He went on to tell Larry about the locked door and that he didn’t think the staff at the hospital was able to provide us the care we desperately needed.  He went on about Rick’s neck, and things that they didn’t do that they should have.  Then suddenly he looked straight at Larry with desperation and grabbed his sleeve.

“Please,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Please, just get us to Lincoln.”

 Larry realized in that moment that if any of these kids was going to get help tonight, it would be up to him. 

It had nothing to do with the competency of the staff here he knew; it had to do with getting them somewhere where the doc would let them be treated.  He pressed his lips together considering his options and gently patted dad on the shoulder.  Dad turned and moved back to the table where I lay.  He didn’t yell at the nurse this time, but just let her do her thing.  He was resolved, for the moment.

But Larry had a few tricks he could try and asked one of the staff if he could use a telephone, then followed him out of the room to an empty office just up the hall.  Helen glanced up to see him go.  She felt better when he was there.  She tried to ignore the man glaring at her as she tried to work, but it didn’t help much.

Chapter 9

Larry eased up on the collective of the helicopter, slowing it as he passed over a small road and then over the northeast corner of a huge field.  The whoop-whoop of the beacon was now screaming in his headset, so much so that he had to turn the volume down.  He pulled to a hover and concentrated on a place encompassed by the darkness below them.  He was close, he knew.  He adjusted the helicopters big searchlight and flipped it on, and was immediately stunned.  The wreckage of a small airplane appeared lit up exactly in the middle of the beam.  He didn’t even have to adjust it.  He had hit the crash perfectly.

            Then the realization of what lay before him settled on him.  It was a terrible crash.  He swung the light around and stopped as the beam washed over a covered figure several feet from the plane.  He made out the arm and legs of the body lying there.  He paused to point it out to Bruce, and then slowly set the chopper down.

            When the skids hit, Bruce jumped out of the helicopter, gripping a hand spot light as he went and switched it on.  Its beam pierced the hazy air and dust kicked up by the rotors as he swung it around, focusing from one thing to another. 

Larry keyed the radio.

“CAP-1, Sheriff-1,” he said somberly.  “Looks like we got ‘em.”

“Roger that, Sheriff-1.” Jim said.  “Give us a location.  We are almost there.”

“Approximately three quarter mile east of Highway 81, maybe three miles northeast of Hebron, just southwest of the intersection of two dirt roads.” He said.  “Approach on the dirt road to the east and parallel to the Highway and head north.  You’ll find it.”

“Roger that,” Jim said.

He could almost feel them screaming down the road toward him.  At least this part of the mission was over.

Bruce first went to the body and lifted the blanket.  Bruce shook his head and Larry could tell by his expression that whoever it was, they were dead.  Bruce then moved to the wreckage and probed the interior with his light.  After a few moments later he emerged and began to look around the outside of the wreckage.

“CAP-1, Sheriff-1,” Larry said.  “We’ve got at least one dead here.  We are searching for the others.”

            Larry switched to the common frequency to call the local Sheriff and report the crash, but was cut short.  Excited chatter filled the frequency and told of a carload of badly injured people that had just gotten to the hospital in Hebron.  Larry knew it was them.

            How the hell was that possible?

            But the conversation conveyed words like plane crash and he was sure, then they said things like ‘all alive’ and he was further shocked.  He knew it was time to go there.  He flipped the switch to activate the outside loudspeaker.

            “Come back,” he said.  “They are in Hebron.  Let’s go there.”

The light Bruce carried bobbed as he made his way back to the chopper in a quick jog.  He appeared at the door and climbed in, pulling on the headset and clicking the seatbelt around him.

            “There’s one dead down there,” he said breathlessly as they lifted off.  “I couldn’t find any more.”

            “There are five people that just showed up at Hebron,” Larry told him to Bruce’s amazement.  “I guess we’ll know soon.  CAP is on the way and will do a thorough search of the crash site.”

            “Roger that,” Bruce said.  Larry pointed toward Hebron and flew toward the green and white airport beacon there as it rose into sight beyond the horizon.  He cut into the radio chatter and told the deputies who he was and requested a ride to the hospital.  He wanted to get a look at them for himself.

A few minutes later, Larry set the skids of the helicopter down on the tarmac of the Hebron Airport, and shut the craft down.  The fuel gauge read that that they were almost empty.  Larry thought there was something to be said for timing. 

A local sheriff car was waiting for them as they wound down the chopper and exited into the cold night.  They quickly run-walked to the car and Larry got in, sliding beside the young deputy driving and introducing himself, while Bruce offered to stay with the chopper and get her fueled up. 

The image of the crash was still burned in Larry’s mind, and he could only imagine what these people, this family, had endured to make it this far.  Anything he could do to help them now, he would.

A few minutes later, they pulled into the emergency room driveway and Larry hopped out of the patrol car, expressing quick thanks to the young deputy.  He briskly walked through the cold to the same doors dad had found locked only a little while later.  He noticed it was smeared with dad’s bloody handprints. 

He fully expected that the scene would be chaos, and doubted this hospital saw much action like this very often.  He pictured a flurry of activity as doctors and nurses rushed about trying to save the victims that had somehow been pulled from that airplane. 

Instead, as he walked into the Emergency Room, he was struck dumbfounded, utterly baffled by what he saw.

Around the room stood several hospital staff, either in small groups or alone, some with arms crossed and frustrated looks on their faces, some nervously sipping coffee.  A few caught his eye with restless glances as he entered, but no one said a word. 

The room was practically silent.  He looked past the fidgety staff towards the motionless forms of the patients lying on stretchers beyond them.  Three small children were laid on their backs, each with a blood stained gauze bandages wrapped around their head.  One had a bandage loosely wrapped around his leg, which was currently propped to the side.  Over the boy stood a filthy man, bending down and appearing to inspect the wound under the bandage.  He was the only visible person providing any kind of care to any of the victims.

It felt like something out of the Twilight Zone.   Larry had been a cop for a long time, but had never seen anything even remotely resembling the scene that was laid out before him right then.  He glanced around at the staff again.  They muttered hushed but sharp tones at each other.  Many slowly shook their heads side to side.  None made any attempt to help.

A surreal feeling crept over Larry.  The man was dirty and bloody from head to foot.  His clothes were mud caked and tattered.  His head was bent forward, but Larry could clearly make out the open gash that extended from his forehead into his hair.  He could see that his face was disfigured with swelling and other trauma. 

Just then, the man glanced in his direction briefly giving Larry a good look at him.  His face looked like a prize fighter after a very bad several rounds.  It was grotesquely swollen and his eyes were mere slits recessed into red, bloody, swollen flesh.  Larry was amazed he could see at all.  He didn’t move around the children so much as he lurched.  Larry could not believe his eyes.  Was this the pilot?  From the looks of him it was amazing that he was even standing, yet alone providing care! 

Why was no one doing anything to help him, Larry wondered intently?

-A Hard Night

Dr Bunting pulled up to the hospital just as Helen Boman arrived.  They greeted and walked into the hospital together, right into the middle of dad’s tirade.  The entire ER was in chaos.

“Oh my lord!” Helen murmured under her breath.  Dr Bunting, shocked and taken completely off guard by all he saw, slowly approached dad speaking as calmly as he could.  Marilyn, the hospital Administrator had since shown up as well.

Dr. Bunting and dad talked briefly.  Dr. Bunting knew dad, too.  At that moment, dad didn’t seem to recognize the place or any of his staff.  Instead, he kept shouting and carrying on about nobody knowing what to do, and that they needed to just leave us alone.  Dr. Bunting relented but tried to shift the focus.  He needed to divert dad and hopefully restore some sense.  Dr Bunting was a pilot as well, and knew there were procedural things dad needed to do.

“You have to call and cancel your flight plan, Dr Styner.”  He said.  “They need to know where you are.”

Dad calmed down for a second when he knew Dr. Bunting was right and agreed to go to a phone in an office.  He gave one more shout for nobody to touch us and left the ER.  Dr Bunting followed dad, but paused at Helen and Marilyn.

“Keep up on vitals, and let me know if anyone starts to slip,” he said.  “Nothing else, understand?”

Helen and Marilyn nodded and Dr. Bunting hurried to catch up with dad.  Helen went over to me, laying there next to Kim.  She took our vitals and looked us over.  She had been a nurse here for several years now, and knew all of us were in trouble.  She touched my skin.  It was still all wet and ice cold. 

He heart went out to us, and seeing us there so helpless she felt it start to break.  She was very frustrated she could not be allowed to do more.  She knew she could help us, if she was allowed.

Meanwhile, Chris was sitting near a small table in the corner of the room.  He was quiet, and just sat watching the whole scene.  Marilyn saw him and went over to him.

“How are you feeling?” she said.  Chris looked at her and shook his head.

“I don’t know what dad’s going to do,” Chris said to her.  “Mom pays all of the bills.” 

Marilyn was taken aback.  In her frustration with dad and his rant, she had forgotten in that moment about the tragedy of the whole thing.  This boy’s mom was still out there, dead.  She sighed deeply and patted the little boy’s head.  It was a very hard night.

-The ER

The ringing of the telephone late at night was not a strange sound to Louis Bunting.  He had been doing this work for a long time, and this seemed to be a common time for people to get into trouble.  He'd seen a share of trouble during his time here as a doctor in Hebron, which was all of his life, save for his childhood.  He grew up in Belvedere, a few miles up the road, and had gotten his MD from the University of Nebraska.  Then he settled back down here where he could work at the little hospital in Hebron and enjoy the life of the country physician.  He was a pilot, so he got to fly around and had seen the world, but the road had always led right back here - and probably always would. 

He had seen highway 81 go from a dirt road to a two lane highway, and had watched many a family farmer come and go as life whisked them into and out of the life of this town.  Times around him had changed, but he was always here.

            He reached into the darkness to pick up the phone.  He could hear Evelyn’s excited voice chatter in the headset as he lifted it to his ear.

            "Dr Bunting, Dr. Bunting!"  She shrieked.

            "Slow down, Evelyn," he said calmly into the mouthpiece.  "What's going on?"

           "Oh God, Dr Bunting," she gasped.  "A man just brought his family in here!  Said they were in a plane crash and forced his way in.  Now he's going crazy and has taken the ER over!"

            Dr. Bunting took a moment to process the information, then sat up with a start, grabbed his glasses, and switched on the lamp on the table beside him. 

A plane crash?? What the hell was going on?

            "Where is he now, Evelyn?" he asked.  "Is he injured?"

            "He’s in the hallway with his kids!  They are all injured!" she cried.  "There is blood everywhere and he won’t let us do anything! What do we do??"

            Oh my god, he though, this wasn't a joke.  There were wounded people there, and by the sounds of it, it had caught Blanche and Evelyn completely off guard.  How was that possible? 

No time to worry about that now.

            "Okay, Evelyn, okay, calm down" he tried to reassure her.  "If they are all breathing, make sure their airways are kept clear and control the bleeding as best you can.  I am on my way.  Call he Sheriff, and everyone one else on call.  Better call Pembry, too."

            "Yes, Dr. Bunting," Evelyn whimpered.  "Please hurry!"

            "I'll be right there." He said and hung up the phone.  He hurriedly shook of the remnants of sleep and quickly got dressed.  He said a quick goodbye to his sleeping wife with a quick kiss to her cheek and left the house, emerging onto his big front porch.  He trotted down the stairs and into his car, backed out of the driveway and gunned the engine, aiming the car toward the hospital a half mile up the road.

            Evelyn spoke in hushed tones to Blanche behind dad.  She had just got off the phone with Dr. Pembry and he was on his way too.  Rick was beginning to thrash about and was getting very agitated.  Blanch tried to calm him.       

            "I'll do this, you go call Marilyn and Helen," Blanche said to Evelyn, trying to regain control of the situation.  “And call the Sheriff and tell them what we have.”

            Evelyn hurried off and passed Dr. Pembry coming into the ER.  He walked up to dad and touched him, speaking gently.  Dad wheeled to glare at him, but calmed down once he became aware that he was a fellow doctor.  Dr. Pembry spoke to him about what happened for a moment.  Dad wasn’t very happy.  They argued about what was to be done. 

Dr. Pembry wanted to stabilize us and admit us to the hospital, but dad was still shaken by not being let in right away.  Dr. Pembry knew dad, although in his state it took awhile to recognize him.  In fact, dad had been in that very hospital many times.  He had flown down to the Hebron airport in the same Baron that now lay crushed in the field on several occasions to consult on surgery cases.  If he knew where he was now, and who it was he was talking to, he sure didn’t show it.

He was adamant to working towards getting us to Lincoln, where he would be comfortable with our care.  Dr. Pembry chose not to argue the virtues of the various facilities and told dad that for the time they should at least get x-rays of our injuries.  Dad relented and Dr. Pembry called to an orderly to warm up the X-ray, which was in a little room next to the ER, and walked away. 

He ordered Blanch to put an IV in Rick, whom he was most concerned about due to the closed injury he had suffered to his head.  He gave Rick valium to cam him down.  Seeing that someone was now actually in charge, dad calmed down a little, but was still very on edge.

            Dad turned to look at a nearby mirror.  It was the first time he had gotten a look at his face.  It was dirty, and bloody and disfigured by swelling.  He could still only see somewhat out of his left side.  His right eye was still swollen and caked shut with dried blood.  In the mirror, all he could see was a blurry smear where his face should have been. 

Still, he could see enough.  The hole in his cheek wasn’t bleeding any more, but the side of his face was black with a massive bruise.  His forehead was covered in dried blood from the gash he had suffered.  He lifted his shirt and took a look at his injured side.  A dark purple bruise spread across it, up to his armpit and disappearing into the top of his jeans.  He gently lowered his shirt and turned his attention back to his face.

He gingerly picked bits of dried blood and bits of debris from the wounds, carefully probing tender spots and cuts to try and determine how thrashed he was.  Then he noticed Dr. Pembry approach Rick.

Dr. Pembry lifted him off of the gurney, cradling him by his shoulders and knees.  Rick’s head lolled back and wobbled side to side.  Dad had never seen that kind of lifting done to a patient with a head injury.  Rick’s neck was completely unsupported.  Dad quickly became quite upset by that.

“Doctor, you need to support his neck!” Dad shouted.  Dr Pembry ignored the outburst and carried Rick into the X-Ray.  Dad shook his head.  He was starting to get very agitated again.  Dr. Pembry returned a short time later and laid Rick back down.  He produced an X-Ray and held it up to the light.  He and dad studied it for a moment.

“Well there’s no skull fracture,” Dr. Pembry said.  “We can clean him up.”

“What about the cervical spine?” dad said.  He knew the cervical spine should always be considered when head wounds were involved.  The kid could have a broken neck for Christ sake!

But Dr. Pembry just stared at him. “I don’t see any reason to do a cervical spine.  He hurt his head, not his neck.” He said.

“You should always…” dad began.  He cut himself off when he saw Blanche approach me, laying on my gurney.  She held a suture kit.  Dad turned his attention to her.

“What do you think you’re doing?”  He snapped.  Blanch shrank back.  “I was going to close his leg wound and head,” She said.

“What?  Why??!” dad shouted.  “He’s not bleeding anymore!  The bleeding stopped out there!”  He thrust his finger toward the door.

“He has to have these wounds irrigated!” dad yelled and moved toward us.  “He’ll need surgery to close that, not a goddamn suture!”  He swiped his arm and knocked the suture kit to the floor. 

“Get away!” he yelled.  Blanch burst into tears again and ran out of the ER.  Dad was now really mad. The mental and physical exhaustion now overwhelmed his entire being.  The annoyances of the emergency room now mixed with it and the reaction caused him to boil over.  Plane crashes and dead wives, no rescue and speeding trucks...all of it on his shoulders.  It was all too much.  He had had enough.

He announced angrily to the stunned faced in the ER:

"Listen to me!!  I am a physician, and I am taking over the care of my family!!"  He hollered hoarsely.  "We don't want your help and we don't need your help!  You all just leave us alone!"

Dr. Pembry approached, trying to calm him down.  "Now Doctor, hold on.  These people are just trying..."

"NO!!!" Dad screamed.  "I kept these kids alive and stable for hours in that goddamn field and I am not going to lose one now in a goddamn Emergency Room!!”