The V in survival was value living, which was Ford’s will to survive in extreme conditions. That shouldn’t be an issue, but I sure as heck miss her. Why did I not propose earlier? He would have to limit his self-talk on Emily but use her as the motivation to get out of this mess. OK, mitigate all the risks in order to survive.
The A in survival was act like the natives. For the mountain people of India, anything could happen. Perhaps that is the only way I can get out of here. Ford had no clue as to who lived in this region, other than watching the History Channel on cable.
Finally, the L in survival meant to learn basic skills. Got the basics, need the advanced here, Ford said to himself, putting on his two backpacks and preparing to exit the cockpit.
Grabbing Pinky’s jacket in a delicate manner off her body, he tied it to his waist, placed her gloves in his pockets, and crawled out.
“Team, a few days have gone by, and I understand nothing has turned up still. I am hesitant to say this, but I need you guys to stay on top of this. Get on it. Tier-one forces, all assets available. You know I can’t be on this 100 percent because the Hill will want to know what the hell I’m up to. So, I’m going to have to progress with my nomination and hearing. Again, I want you guys to press on with your search. Just let me know what you need, OK?” Cal told them.
Sitting at the long wooden table in the undersecretary’s conference room at the Pentagon were Emily, Robert, Jeanie, and Mark, all suffering from the loss of the two pilots, as well as the aircraft. Michelle Boyd, now Cal’s assistant, was in the room and off to the side.
Emily was suffering the most, and rightfully so. She was feeling a variety of emotions, and while physically present, was not present emotionally. Emily was still in shock and sad and was numb to the business side of this recovery.
“Emily, how are you doing?” asked Cal.
Staring down at the floor, Emily didn’t hear Cal.
“Emily?” he asked again, quietly.
Startled, she looked up. “What? I’m sorry. Were you talking to me?”
“Yes, Emily, how are you doing? I know this must be tough on you. What can I do to help?” Cal asked.
Cal was a wonderful leader, and in a time like this, he connected with people of all ranks and titles and demonstrated his high emotional intelligence. He walked over to her and grabbed her hand. She stood, and they hugged while she cried uncontrollably in his arms. It was very nonbusiness like and demonstrated the closeness of a solid team who loved each other.
They sat, and the room remained quiet for a brief moment. Mark stood up and grabbed the white binder by the doorway table.
“Sir, this is where we are. We have all the satellites scanning the route of flight, as we know it from the verbal plan discussed back in Bangalore. Robert has arranged for RPV’s from PACOM and EUCOM to fly the route, and that is already underway as of 2200 Zulu,” Mark shared.
Robert turned the page in his binder. “I’ve got us office space in the basement for an Ops Center, with enough phones and computers to rival Best Buy. Keeps us out of the rest of the intel community. Your phone calls to the combatant commanders have already helped, sir, because I’ve taken plenty of flak from guys asking what we are doing. Kind of tough to tell the guys monitoring the feeds what to look for.”
“Let me know if you run into trouble. I’ll call Admiral McDevitt at Indo-Pacific Command again if I need to,” Cal replied. “Thank you.”
“Mr. Burns, I have also refragged four C-130s to fly the entire route again. Air Force Reserve tasked Niagara’s 914th Air Wing as their last mission before converting to KC-135 tankers and are already in Bangalore as of yesterday.”
“Last mission? Another political decision for western New York?”
“Guess so. They take off our tonight, their tomorrow morning — ten and a half hours ahead of us on the time zone,” Mark shared.
Emily turned her page. “I’m sorry, sir. Thank you for your support. I’m going to use my connections from MI6 at home to see if anything is turning up. Chatter. We have found it difficult, as you can imagine, to talk openly about this. Trying to find a secret aircraft that doesn’t exist, and still not tell anyone what we are looking for this week is just bloody tough.”
“Understand, Emily. You’re very welcome. Please tell Sir John Young at MI6 I said hello, and pass on my thanks for his assistance. He will understand if you tell him it is country-sensitive and specific to me.”
Emily swallowed. “Thank you, sir.”
“Anything else?” asked Cal.
Jeanie smiled. “Yes, there is. The Chinese had their funeral for Lieutenant General He Chen yesterday.”
Robert, puzzled, looked at Jeanie. “Why are you smiling?”
“Chatter from the texts. Seems hardly anyone attended.”
Weeks passed, and the snow was knee deep. Each step required Ford to lift his legs up much higher than normal. His lungs were burning from the lack of oxygen, and he felt tired, thirsty, and hungry after only hiking a short amount of time.
On the horizon, the blowing snow blended in with the ground and mountains, and it was nearly impossible to see anything. From up above, he could see the peaks of mountains, moving clouds, and a strong sun. This place is just so desolate. The other item that Ford was attempting to ignore was the forceful wind-chill temperature. The combined cold air and wind on his body was intense and accelerated the loss of his body heat. I am so freaking cold.
Looking up through the tinted visor on his helmet and into the blowing snow, he finally spotted something ahead of him. He noticed it was a different color black from the granite he was used to seeing. Ford made that his next checkpoint, walking slowly.
Ford wasn’t sure if the high altitude was playing games with him or not, but all he could think about through his headache was the loss of his best friend, Wu Lee. Ford took a rest due to his severe shortness of breath, taking the opportunity to laugh at himself. For some reason he felt like Wu was with him. Wu wasn’t talking to him, but Ford sure felt he was hiking just in front of him. Ford’s dry, irritating cough was now producing a pink and frothy sputum, another sure sign of high-altitude sickness. As he started to throw up, Ford knew he’d have to get lower in altitude.
Arriving an hour later, Ford got to the object he had seen earlier. Sticking up out of feet of snow was the Black Scorpion vertical stabilizer, the tail, lying on its side. Connected to it and severely damaged, was a portion of the fuselage and right wing. He walked around it slowly, falling multiple times, inspecting the area where the terrain had ripped the aircraft structure with violence. Well, China doesn’t have their aircraft anymore. Neither do we.
It was completely covered in snow now, camouflaged to any overhead aircraft or satellites. Ford took a breather and looked at his watch. Nearly nine hours had gone by just to get to this point, and Ford was already tired, windburned, and severely dehydrated. He made his way completely around the aircraft structure finally and saw that the right wing he’d just inspected would make a good makeshift shelter for the night. Seeing a small space that would easily fit him and protect him from the elements, he made his decision. Exhausted and breathing heavily, he crawled under the wing to stay for the night. Crap. I feel like I’m hungover. What I’d do for a warm bed.