Chapter 9 - The Man Beneath the ParachuteThe first report came from the Gold Wash sheriff's office.
A rancher north of town had seen a bright object descend behind a distant ridge.
A few seconds later, he'd heard an explosion.
He believed an aircraft had crashed somewhere beyond the northern dry wash.
But he hadn't seen a parachute.
The information reached Falcon Ridge seventeen minutes after Vega's last transmission.
I stood beside the operations desk, staring at the map.
The crash location appeared consistent with the uninhabited area we'd identified.
The town itself was safe.
But that didn't tell us whether Vega had survived.
Colonel Benson was coordinating with emergency personnel.
Calloway stood nearby, his face pale.
For the first time since I'd met him, he looked genuinely frightened.
Not angry.
Not offended.
Frightened.
“Any beacon?” he asked.
“Nothing confirmed,” the rescue coordinator replied.
Calloway looked toward the map.
“Drew's a good pilot.”
Nobody answered.
He repeated himself, quieter this time.
“He's a good pilot.”
I understood what he was trying to say.
Good pilots weren't supposed to disappear.
Good pilots weren't supposed to lose aircraft.
Good pilots weren't supposed to become missing-person reports.
But airplanes didn't care how talented the person flying them was.
The desert didn't care about graduation rankings.
And the mountains didn't make exceptions for confidence.
I watched the rescue coordinator update the search area.
“What about his emergency locator?” I asked.
“We're monitoring. No reliable position yet.”
“Could the canyon be obstructing the signal?”
“Possible. It could also be damaged or not transmitting.”
I looked toward the weather monitor.
The strongest part of the storm was beginning to move east.
An opening was developing over the northern basin.
Not a perfect opening.
But potentially enough for a properly planned aerial search.
“Colonel,” I said, “the weather's clearing northwest of Gold Wash.”
Benson glanced at the display.
“I'm aware.”
“An aircraft with suitable sensors might help locate him before a helicopter enters the more restrictive terrain.”
He studied me.
“You're volunteering.”
“Yes, sir.”
Calloway turned sharply.
“Absolutely not.”
I faced him.
“Major, I'm qualified in the F-16.”
“You've flown one brief verification sortie here.”
“Under an approved flight lead.”
“And returned early.”
“Because the airplane had a documented discrepancy.”
His expression hardened.
“This isn't the time for your personal campaign.”
My voice remained controlled.
“Sir, Captain Vega is missing. That's the only campaign I'm interested in.”
Benson raised a hand.
“Enough.”
Both of us fell silent.
He looked toward the rescue coordinator.
“Determine whether an aircraft-based search is operationally appropriate. Coordinate with the weather office and the rescue helicopter commander.”
Then he turned toward me.
“Captain Hollis, you're not launching because you want to prove something.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you fly, it will be because the plan is sound, the aircraft is ready, and you're the appropriate pilot.”
“Understood.”
He looked toward Reyes.
“Captain, assess whether Hollis can support this mission within her qualifications.”
Reyes nodded.
“I'll review her records and the available aircraft.”
Benson continued.
“Any previous discretionary scheduling restriction does not substitute for a current qualification assessment. We'll make the decision based on actual readiness and the mission requirements.”
Calloway looked furious.
But Benson wasn't interested in his opinion.
Not anymore.
Two hours passed.
Lieutenant Mercer landed safely at an alternate airfield and was transported back to Falcon Ridge.
When she entered the operations room, her face was white.
She came directly toward me.
“Captain, did they find him?”
“Not yet.”
She looked as though I'd struck her.
I guided her toward a chair.
“Sit down, Finch.”
She shook her head.
“I should've stayed with him.”
“No.”
“I could've followed him.”
“And then we might have been searching for two pilots.”
Her eyes filled.
“He was my flight lead.”
“And you followed the safe recovery instructions.”
“But I left him.”
I crouched in front of her.
“Leah, listen carefully. You gave him weather warnings. You communicated the hazards. And when you lost visual contact, you didn't sacrifice your own aircraft trying to fix something you couldn't control.”
She stared at me.
“That's not abandoning someone.”
I rested a hand on her shoulder.
“That's being a professional.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
She wiped it away angrily.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate not knowing.”
I nodded.
“So do I.”
For several minutes, we sat together without speaking.
Then my phone vibrated.
McCann.
Need you at the hangar.
I stood.
“Finch, stay here with the operations team. I'll be back.”
She nodded.
At the hangar, McCann was standing beside Tail Zero-Seven.
The aircraft had completed its maintenance inspections and operational checks.
Its gray fuselage reflected the afternoon sunlight.
He handed me a clipboard.
“Seven's serviceable. Everything's documented.”
I looked at him.
“Chief—”
“Colonel Benson asked me to prepare an aircraft package in case the search plan gets approved.”
I stared at the jet.
The same aircraft Calloway had told me I was too frightened to fly.
The same aircraft I'd brought back after detecting a problem.
The same aircraft that now might help find a missing pilot.
McCann studied my face.
“What's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He shook his head.
“Don't lie to an old crew chief.”
I exhaled.
“I'm thinking about Dad.”
McCann looked toward the desert.
“Me too.”
We stood quietly.
Then he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out a small metal aircraft key tag.
It was old and scratched, with a faded number engraved into the surface.
“Ray gave me this after the engine failure,” he said.
I took it carefully.
“Why?”
“He said I needed something to remember that a good maintenance crew can save as many lives as a good pilot.”
I turned the tag over.
On the back, someone had scratched three words.
Bring her home.
My throat tightened.
“I didn't know he gave you that.”
McCann smiled faintly.
“Your father gave away most of the credit for everything he ever did.”
He closed my fingers around the tag.
“Keep it until the mission's over.”
I stared at him.
“Chief, I can't promise we'll find Vega.”
“I know.”
“I can't promise I won't make mistakes.”
“Nobody can.”
He looked directly into my eyes.
“But I know you'll listen when the airplane tells you something.”
I almost smiled.
“That again?”
“Your father was a repetitive man.”
We both laughed softly.
Then McCann's expression grew serious.
“Captain, if the conditions aren't right, don't go.”
“I won't.”
“Even if somebody calls you a coward?”
I met his gaze.
“Especially then.”
His eyes glistened.
“Good.”
When I returned to operations, the rescue coordinator was studying a new set of coordinates.
A weak emergency beacon had been detected.
The signal was intermittent.
But it appeared to be coming from an area northwest of the crash site.
Reyes stood beside the map.
“We might have him.”
My heart jumped.
“Alive?”
“We don't know.”
The rescue coordinator pointed toward the location.
“Possible survival equipment beacon. The signal's been picked up twice.”
I studied the terrain.
The coordinates placed it inside a narrow canyon approximately twelve miles from the aircraft impact point.
High rock walls surrounded the area.
The ground team couldn't reach it quickly.
And the rescue helicopter was still waiting for a safe approach corridor.
Benson entered the room.
“Status?”
The coordinator explained.
Then he turned toward me.
“Hollis, Reyes—your search package has been reviewed. If the next weather update confirms the corridor, you're authorized to launch.”
My pulse accelerated.
For the first time since arriving at Falcon Ridge, I wasn't being considered for a mission because of my name.
I was being considered because my qualifications could make a difference.
But before I could respond, a second message arrived from the sheriff's office.
A wildfire had started near the wreckage.
Dry vegetation was burning.
And shifting winds were pushing the smoke toward the canyon where Vega's beacon had been detected.
The rescue coordinator looked at the screen.
May you like
Then he spoke the words none of us wanted to hear.
“If Captain Vega's alive down there, we've just lost a lot of time.”
Related Stories
