Major Haines selected her landing area and started a descent for a relatively flat piece of terrain near the stream. The aircraft bucked and moved through the disturbed airflow on the way down, looking to the locals like something from another planet. The kids in the village kept pointing while their parents held them from running.
The aircraft landed safely, and Lance Monterey got out with two Marines dressed in camouflage, as well as two corpsmen who were experts in medical care. The live feed was being transmitted to the Pentagon off the Marines’ battlefield operations kit.
The kit consisted of a small tactical computer, a helmet-mounted camera, a mini weather sensor, a wearable antenna with secure GPS, a pocket range finder, satellite communications, a PRC-152A radio, tactical ROVER-e and tactical ROVER-p, and a digital close-air support system.
“Namaste. Welcome to Chal village. Please. Come. You come and eat chaat with us. I will show you your American, too,” Vivaan told them. Chaat were hot, sour, and spicy snacks known in Northern India, and Vivaan had more than twenty-five different seasonings available for them.
Lance was surprised he spoke English, as he was expecting perhaps Hindustani, which was a combo of Hindi and Urdu. When spoken together, they have some scripts the same, but different words that mean different things. Muslims are associated with Urdu, while Hindus are associated with Hindi. There are fifteen main languages in India, and half of India’s 1.32 billion people understand both of these languages.
“Namaste. Sir, that is very kind of you. My name is Lance Monterey, and I am a foreign service officer with the US Department of State, from the US embassy in New Delhi. Please know we are grateful for your gracious hospitality with our American citizen Ford Stevens. On behalf of our deputy chief of mission, Daniel Lewis, we have some gifts for your village as a show of our appreciation. May we see him?” Lance explained.
“Yes, yes, come, this way. My wife and daughters have been caring for him. He has been asleep since arriving. Aayush had found him just past where you just were. Back there toward the creek. Here. Sir. Please, have something to eat and drink.”
When foods were concerned, each state in India was proud of their specific specialty. Some of the best good in India was not found in restaurants of a large city, but in villages full of talented cooks, serving everything from dried turnip rings with sun-dried tomatoes to tasty rice cakes.
“Understand, sir. Thank you.” Lance replied, as they entered into his home to see Ford. “Thank you so much for your generous hospitality, Vivaan. But I think we should attend to your guest first, if that is OK.”
Lance and the two navy corpsmen took a look at Ford while the two Marines watched on. One corpsman had his eyebrows raised and slipped his hands into medical gloves with a snap. “Awful. Just an awful, nasty smell. He’s filthy.” One corpsman opened each eye and shone a pen light in it. “Let’s get an IV in him. Nasty. This critter is beat down hard.”
One corpsman cut open Ford’s sleeves on his thick flight suit with scissors and saw that his body was riddled with sores and red rashes. He was able to wipe his arm clean with an alcohol swab and find his vein nearly immediately. Ford received a saline solution of sodium and chlorine to begin replacing lost fluids, attempting to correct his electrolyte imbalances.
The other corpsman started cutting off his side of the flight suit, and the smell was overwhelming. Ford had defecated in his rotted boxer shorts and flight suit and was lying in his own filth. He was covered in urine and feces and infested with gruesome maggots.
“Temp is 105.7,” he said as he raised his eyebrows. “He’s got a severe infection here. That’s, like, danger fever. Chief, throw in some levofloxacin in his IV for me. This cat is burning up,” he said, placing his stethoscope on his chest. “Lungs sound like total crap. Wheezing… wind tunnel… full of fluid. Bet he has pneumonia, too.”
A medical professional can hear wheezing in a patient’s lungs, which usually means spasm and inflammation are present in the bronchial tubes.
The Pentagon group watched in horror as the corpsmen feverishly moved around him.
“I’m going to get his blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and pulse readings,” the second corpsman said, and in what seemed like seconds, he didn’t like what he saw. “Mr. Monterey, we have to move him stat,” he said to Lance. “Your guy ain’t gonna make it if he stays any longer. Grizzly Adams here is going to die, like real soon, if we don’t fly his ass out.”
The secretary of defense, along with Undersecretary Cal Burns, were in the room, as well as the entire team of Mark, Emily, Robert, Michelle, and Jeanie.
“Hold up, Mr. Monterey. Lance. Hold up. Can you hear me from the Pentagon?”
Lance turned to the Marines holding the comm gear. He could hear him over the clear satellite feed, but not see him.
“Yes, Mark, loud and clear. I can’t see you, but I can hear you.”
“OK, we can see you and the team there in India. We’ve been watching on a live feed and didn’t want to interrupt. Hey, have the Marine with the camera go over to Ford closer. The one with the camera. That doesn’t look like him to me. Are you sure that is Captain Ford Stevens?”
The Marine went over to Ford as instructed.
“No way that’s him,” Robert said. “Nowhere close.”
“You think?” Mark asked. “Hey, Marine. The flight suit on the ground. Pick it up and put it on camera. Read his cloth name tag.” He put it on camera.
“Yup, that’s his name tag,” Robert said, master of the obvious, reading Ford Stevens out loud to the team standing there.
“We can read,” Mark snapped humorously at Robert.
Emily sat silently, taking it all in. She didn’t know what to think.
Mark wanted the camera much closer on his face. “Lance, go much closer with that camera. Hey, Marine, I want to see his face. Closer.”
The Marine with the helmet camera and Lance walked around from the pile of Ford’s gear and jacket to the other side of the makeshift rope bed. They got the camera right on Ford’s face for the room to see.
“Fuck. That’s Ford?” Mark said out loud. “No way that’s him. This wiry guy is a disheveled mess. That looks nothing like him. Are you sure? If it is, he looks hideous.”
Robert was now curious. “Lance, any identifiable birthmarks on this guy? We can check his medical records, but do you see anything, like a scar? Last time we saw him he was about 190 pounds, maybe 200. No facial hair, a former Division I football player.”
The navy corpsman were laughing out loud. “Well, this guy is no husky grizzly bear. Looks like a little Division III gymnast, not a football player.”
Lance wasn’t sure now himself. “Huh. Let me check,” as he searched. “Nothing I can see on his arms.” The Marine helped him look at his neck and chest. “Nothing. No scars or tattoos that I can see. Beard is pretty grown in and scraggly.”
Emily shook her head with a blissful aura on her face. “Hey. Hey, Lance Monterey.”
“Yeah?”
“Check his arse.”
“Check his what? I’m not checking his ass,” Lance replied. “I don’t even have gloves on.”
“Listen to me. Listen to me closely. Check his arse. Pull his trousers down and roll him. Does he have a tattoo of a leprechaun on his arse cheek? The Fighting Irish logo from Notre Dame?”
The secretary chuckled and let out a smirk, then glanced at Cal. Cal shrugged his shoulders. Everyone in the room shot glances at each other.
The corpsmen both heard the request and took their latex-gloved hands to roll him over to check. Their eyes rolled back at the smell and sight.