“No wreckage is weird, but not uncommon. Through the years, we’ve lost plenty of airframes and pilots. Amelia Earhart. Bermuda Triangle. Right?” Mark said to the team.
“Yes, understand, Mark, but in this day and age, to have nothing sent up the chain is pretty odd,” Robert replied.
“Yep. But the seas are huge, so are the oceans, and so are the mountains and deserts. It could take years to locate wreckage,” said Mark.
“Who said anything about wreckage?” Emily sternly commented.
“I’m sorry, Emily. Aircraft,” Mark replied, realizing his comment.
“No. I’m sorry for snapping at you. This loss is tremendous. To be involved professionally and personally is very tough. My parents are coming in tonight from Heathrow to be with me. That will help.”
Jeanie scanned the data and passed on that nothing was seen from any of their sources. Robert looked at his computer while talking on the phone to EUCOM Operations, and he, too, had nothing.
“Where are they?” Mark quietly said to himself, standing with his arms folded, looking at a wall map of the earth.
Nearly a month had gone by now, and Ford had managed to make his limited food supply last until now. Still tucked away in the mountains, with a face full of facial hair, he struggled to make his movements count in the steep terrain.
Nearly eighteen pounds lighter due to the high-altitude calorie burn and lack of food, his energy level was at an all-time low. Sunburned from the snow glare, lips severely chapped and fully cracked from being forced to suck on snow and ice for water, he was suffering intensely.
His mind was also clogged with thinking of a variety of items from his entire life. One moment he was thinking of when he used to play with Thomas the Train, naming all his friends like Percy, Sir Topham Hatt, and Gordon the Big Engine, all on the island of Sodor. Minutes later, he was back on the football team at Notre Dame, humming the Fighting Irish fight song. At other times, he was thinking of the Skull Creek Boathouse on Hilton Head, then his fond memories of there would fade away. Most of the time, his thoughts turned to Emily and their future together. The isolation played tricks on his mind, but he continued to stay as strong as he could.
Ford’s long uncut fingernails were now caked with grime and dirt, as was his soiled clothing. His trench-foot toes, frostbitten and constantly wet, were on the verge of being lost. His head and ears were protected from the elements, but his much-longer-than-usual hair was knotted, dirty, and oily. Ford’s crotch was chaffed and painful and felt like his skin was rotting. His anus was on fire, and he sure missed the comfort of a toilet seat and paper.
Because of the prolonged exposure to the cold, and that his feet stayed wet in dirty socks and boots, the frostbite was most likely permanent. He checked his feet often because he could not feel his toes. Early on, his toes were red, then turned waxy white, and now had blisters. Because of the condition of his feet, he was clumsy in his walking.
Pinky’s backpack was empty of food, too, but he still used it to carry her cold-weather jacket, which he laid down every night for a ground cover. Ford learned swiftly that after sundown, the mountain was a nightmare weather wise. Each night, he hunkered down in a spot close to large rocks that would block the wind a bit. He would use Pinky’s jacket as something to sleep on top of.
One desolate snow-covered mountain looked the same as the other, and he kept following an invisible path to the west, descending in altitude slowly as he went down in what he saw as valleys. There was still no sight of the terrain leveling off, or where the snowline would turn to exposed brown dirt, green plants, and wildlife.
Lying up against a granite rock, looking out to the horizon, he loved and hated his scenery at the same time. While it was breathtaking to view during the day and at night, he’d had enough. His breaking point was near, and the pain and loneliness were overwhelming.
“God! Help me!” Ford yelled out into the lonely night sky. “Help me get out of this mess! I’m sorry for everything I did. I’ll never drink again,” he said out loud. He broke down and cried.
The wind continued to blow, making it noisy, the whooshing sound still being heard though his helmet. Ford had never felt such intense cold in his life. Although he did not have a thermometer, he knew the temperature couldn’t have been over zero degrees. The snow started to pick up again, rapidly changing from a clear sky to gray. The sudden pickup of wind, as well as its turn of direction, told Ford another storm was coming.
Ford’s time in the mountains was taking a toll on him physically, but he vowed to never, ever, give up while he had the chance. He would do everything he could to survive. “You can’t beat me, mountain! You can’t do it! I will win!” he yelled so loud he became hoarse.
Sporting a thousand-yard stare, the once dynamic Ford Stevens sang out loud the lyrics to the Notre Dame fight song to keep himself occupied. “Rally, sons of Notre Dame… her glory and sound her fame…” How I respond to this will either kill me or save me, Ford thought silently as he closed his eyes.
“For the record, Mr. Burns, thank you,” Senator Juan replied, as the room erupted in phony laughs.
Cal Burns sat at the confirmation hearing table, along with some other nominees, microphones on, ready for the political theater he had seen so many times.
Behind him were a variety of uniformed air force officers, from colonel to major general, sitting up proudly at their inbound undersecretary of the air force.
“Thank you again, Senator Juan, for the opportunity today. As I said in my earlier opening statement, and in my written testimony, the following subjects are for your review: Reshaping the air force, single-service-member military family readiness programs, the situation in Afghanistan, future air force budgets, and current readiness of the air force,” said Cal.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Burns. And for the record again, you will come back for closed hearings on…” said Senator Juan, motioning his staff for the list with his hand. “For closed sessions on antiaccess area denial challenges in Europe, long-term defense strategies, and cyber threats. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. At your invitation.”
“Final thoughts on the South China Sea before we depart today, Mr. Burns?”
“I do have a few brief statements, Senator. I think we will continue to have overflights and ship operations in and near the disputed waters of the South China Sea. International airspace for the aircraft and ships as part of maritime routine operations,” Cal answered, staying pretty neutral in his answer. “The Chinese enjoy trade with the world, including the United States. They will not jeopardize their economic position.”
Michelle Boyd, sitting directly behind Cal, knew this was the final bout of questions, based upon the script previously decided on. She closed her notebook, as she had done countless times before, proud of her witness. Michelle took pride in grooming Cal Burns for this position, and if she played her cards right, would continue to stay on his staff in the E Ring.
“Thank you for your time today, Mr. Burns. The committee appreciates your time. This committee is adjourned.”
Cal shut off his microphone, closed his black binder, and smiled. Thank God no China stealth questions.
Mark stood with his arms folded, looking at a wall full of printouts, magazine articles, newspapers and maps. The world map they had up had all sorts of push pins in it, from India, across Europe, across the North Atlantic, down northern Canada, and into the northeastern United States.