“Get on it.” Calvin then turned to Mark. “Mark, I’ll need talking points right away. I’m going to have to recommend to the SecDef that he brief the president.”
Mark nodded his head yes and immediately looked at Emily. He didn’t say anything. They both knew what the end result could be for an overdue aircraft, especially one that wasn’t being tracked on radar or a flight plan. Words didn’t need to be said for the pending disastrous outcome. She stared back at him, and tears welled up in her eyes. She closed them slowly, tilting her head down to the floor a bit, as two tears streamed down both cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Emily. We’ll find them,” Mark told her, giving her a hug.
“Yes, Mr. Secretary, that is correct. Missing. Both the jet and her pilots,” Calvin told the secretary.
“I see. How the hell did that happen? What the hell?” Secretary Price replied. No reply from Calvin yet. “OK, what are you doing about it? Pilots OK?” asked the SecDef, not fully comprehending the details.
“Unknown reason for their delay, sir, and again, unknown status of pilots. My guys are quietly calling every base along the route of flight and inquiring if they landed. You may recall that the jet is undetectable on radar. We also flew this without a flight plan and without diplomatic clearances. I hate to say this, but they could be anywhere.”
“Wonderful. Well, this is real fine situation you got us in here, Cal. POTUS will love this one,” the SecDef said, taking off his cheater reading glasses and tossing them on his desk. “Why don’t we have search parties out? Use the full gamut of our assets?”
“Sir, I don’t recommend we do that. Remember, we stole this jet. No one knows except a small circle of people. We launch search parties all over the earth, the Combatant Commands, and we tip our hands. Despite the origin of the stealth plans coming from the US, we can’t exactly broadcast what we did,” Calvin explained.
The secretary waived over his military assistant, Rear Admiral Rocko Cooper, and pointed at the other extension in the office. Rocko picked up the extension phone and listened.
“Cal, I have Rocko on the line now. I want you two to discuss options. I want options, OK? Briefing POTUS, calling prime ministers, Hill scenario, whatever. This will screw the pooch on the cybersecurity bill if this gets out. Or worse for any number of items for the president… new health care bill, immigration, budgets, elections. Hell. List goes on. Got it?”
Both men agreed and said they would have a plan in two hours. They both silently didn’t like that potential legislation and politics were somehow more of a concern than the lives of the pilots.
Ford opened his eyes, still leaning forward in his seat, and was colder than he’d ever felt before in his life. He swallowed, but barely any saliva came into his dry mouth. Nausea, confusion, and dizziness were in full swing as he closed his eyes again. Ford raised his arms out, and they immediately bumped up against something in the dark.
“Pinky? You there?” he asked. “Hell of a touchdown, huh? Man, I feel awful. Tired.”
Ford took off his gloves and slowly reached up to the flashlight on his helmet, hand shivering, and turned it on. The damaged cockpit was in utter shambles, resembling something that would be found at an impound yard. The dashboard was not more than a foot in front of him, along with plenty of snow.
“How are you doing over there?” He turned his head to shine the light on his copilot. He squinted a moment to focus.
There was no response.
“Pinky? Hey, Pinky. Pinky!” Ford was yelling now, seeing her hanging in her seat harness, body stiff, frozen blood on her face, with her eyes open and her skin pale. Ford knew immediately what happened.
“Aw, come on. No, no, Pinky. Pinky… no! Oh, come on. God.” Ford closed his eyes. “Pinky. I’m so sorry.”
Ford closed his eyes and couldn’t believe he’d lost her. Fuck, he said to himself, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
He looked around the crumpled cockpit as best he could and was surrounded by damaged components and snow. Ford looked down at his legs and saw they were jammed from the knee below, but not seriously injured. Hanging still in his harness, he knew he would fall out and into the dashboard, so he released it with one hand and held up his body weight with the other.
CLLLISP was heard as he rotated the circular seat harness to release himself. THUMP.
Ford was out of his seat now, tugging and lifting up on both his legs, pulling to break free of the small space that held his legs and boots between the seat and front dashboard. After about a minute of pulling and pushing up and down on each leg, he broke free.
He immediately crawled over the snow to Pinky to verify what he thought, confirming that she was dead. Ford touched her cold body on the neck, could not verify a pulse, and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Pinky. God bless.”
Ford let out a sigh and took a long breath. He only moved around a few feet in the cockpit, but right away he could tell from his breathing that he must be pretty high up in altitude. He looked at his digital watch, and that glance told him two important things.
One, that he’d lain unconscious for about ten hours, telling him his head injury was serious. There was no way to verify this, but he knew the unprotected part of his forehead below his helmet had taken a heavy hit. The blunt-force trauma knocked him out, and Ford knew he was recovering from something, most likely a contrecoup head injury. His nausea, headache, and dizziness also clued him in.
Second, the altitude he was currently at was 13,320 feet above sea level, according to the altimeter part of his watch. Altitudes of zero (at sea level) to 10,000 feet were about the range in which a person could really think clearly and function successfully with normal oxygen. Above 10,000 feet, the human body acted differently. High altitude or acute mountain sickness included headache, dry cough, weakness, nausea, loss of appetite, and disturbed sleep.
The altitudes for mountain climbers were usually divided up into the following scale: 8,000–12,000 feet was High, 12,000–18,000 feet was Very High, and above 18,000 feet was Extremely High. The percentage of oxygen at sea level was about 21 percent. As altitude increased, the percentage was equal, but the number of oxygen molecules per breath was reduced. At Ford’s altitude of just over 12,000 feet, there were about 40 percent fewer oxygen molecules for every breath. This explained why Ford felt the way he did.
Ford’s body was undergoing changes that would take time. He was already feeling the depth of his breathing increasing. The pressure in his heart’s arteries was increased, which forced his blood into sections of his lungs which were not normally used at lower altitudes. His body was also producing more red blood cells to carry oxygen.
OK. I’m high in the Himalayas without a phone or flight plan, off radar, with limited food. I have ice, but that won’t work long term for water. Need to start assessing my situation here. Starts with food in my backpack under all this snow. And Pinky’s backpack…
“And so, sir, our recommendation is to move this Operations Center back home to DC. We feel that they are not coming here, and waiting twenty-four hours was a stretch, but worth it,” Mark told Calvin.
Calvin rubbed his facial growth with his right hand, drinking a cup of Battle Grounds Coffee from nearby Haverhill that the base ops guys brought him.
Robert was sitting on some news that would be difficult for Emily to hear, but it had to come out now.