Wildside

  My hands itched to be on the controls, to be doing something.

  “We’re jumping,” I shouted at Marie, trying to be heard through her headset.

  Joey turned wide, frightened eyes on me. “What? You coward!”

  I shook my head. “The less weight in the plane the better. We’re deadweight, right now. They’ll have a longer glide, better landing, if we get out.” I moved back to shout in his ear alone. “And we’ll be able to render aid if they crash.”

  Marie looked over her shoulder. “He’s right, Joey!”

  “You take my chute,” Joey said, reaching for the connector.

  “There’s no time, goddammit! Go!” She turned back to the controls.

  Clara was still repeating our location and situation over the radio. We might be too low for Rick to hear us.

  I flipped off my seat belt and released Joey’s too. He looked down, surprised, and started to fumble for his static line. “No time,” I said, then grabbed his harness and threw myself sideways, off the seat and out the door. Joey dragged across the doorway, but I didn’t let go.

  The ground seemed frighteningly close, but hard to see because we didn’t have our goggles on. I saw Joey reach for his D ring and miss. I grabbed it and yanked—his chute deployed and he jerked up, and away, pulling out of my grasp. I found my D ring and pulled. The wind and noise went away and I was floating, drifting on the wind, about fifteen hundred feet above the ground.

  I spilled air to the right, twisting so my back was to the wind and I was facing the valley. The Maule was gliding down, steep, to keep airspeed. Marie didn’t have the altitude to turn into the wind on landing so she was going to have to do a downwind landing. I hoped the landing gear would take the extra speed. I hoped there weren’t hidden ditches and rocks.

  I saw the flaps deploy and then she was pulling up, just clearing the trees, then flaring out and floating above the ground. There was lots of meadow left when she touched down and I saw the wings wag as one of the forward landing gear bounced into and out of some depression, then through some bushes, then the plane slowed and she was braking to a halt, unhurt, undamaged.

  Above me I heard Joey half yell, half sob inarticulate relief, and I nodded agreement.

  I turned the chute slightly. Joey was well above me, I found, once the canopy didn’t block my view, and it looked like he was steering just right, spilling as little air as possible to stretch his glide out. I concentrated on doing the same thing, hoping to make the meadow.

  Didn’t.

  I crashed into the trees on the wrong side of the stream, plunging down between, through, and off of branches. I ended up fifteen feet off the ground, bruised and scratched, but otherwise unhurt. The last thing I’d seen before entering the trees was Joey drifting overhead, well clear, and heading for the meadow.

  For a moment I just hung there, completely limp, swinging slightly. Songbirds, perhaps stilled by the noise of my passage through the tree, started up again, bright fragments of music against a verdant green backdrop.

  Then I heard a rustling in the underbrush and turned my head.

  There was this bear.

  It came out of the underbrush from behind me, curious, I think, about all the commotion. I heard it grunting softly to itself as it padded along on all fours. I twisted in the harness to see.

  Well, at least I wasn’t on the ground with it, I thought, but safely above it. I reached for the air horn and, without pulling it out of the harness, pushed the plunger.

  A noise like ten thousand balloons being rubbed blared out and the bear dropped back on its haunches, surprised. I tried it again, wincing at the noise. The bear turned its head and looked at me, then came forward again.

  Stupid horn.

  When the bear was directly beneath me, I found myself surprised at how close it was. I hadn’t realized how big the thing was.

  And then it stood on its hind legs and reached up and its claws brushed the soles of my boots.

  I curled, drawing my feet up and hauled myself even higher on the shrouds. The shotgun strapped to my side poked me in the ribs. I considered using it. Instead, I reached for the pepper Mace, flipped up the safety shield, and pointed it at the bear’s face. It reached up again, coming higher this time, and I sprayed right into its eyes and snout.

  It fell over backward rubbing at its snout and roaring, then, shaking its head, it ran into the brush, slammed into a tree, bounced off, and continued into the brush, its roars accompanying the sound of breaking branches and rustling leaves.

  I was glad it ran away from the meadow.

  There was the obnoxious noise of an air horn from the direction of the stream. I tapped mine in answer. Then hung on to the shrouds with my right hand and released the harness with my left. The disconnected straps hung down and I hand-over-handed down them until my feet dangled less than six feet from the ground, then I dropped and rolled.

  I was brushing myself off when I heard movement in the underbrush. I pulled the shotgun free and jacked a round into chamber, but kept it pointed in the air.

  Clara and Joey came through the underbrush together, shotguns held high, like mine.

  “Hi.”

  “You okay?” asked Clara.

  “Sure. How’s Marie? How’s the plane?”

  “They’re fine—well, except for the propeller, I guess. Where’s your chute?”

  I pointed up.

  “Ah,” said Joey. “That was a good idea, honking to let us know where you were, but why didn’t you use your radio?”

  “Uh, I didn’t think about the radio. I had a visitor.” I showed them the tracks and told them what I’d done to the bear.

  Joey looked around nervously. “We really need more firepower,” he said.

  “What we need is to get out of these woods, so we can see what’s coming.”

  “What about the chute?” asked Clara.

  I looked up. It didn’t look torn, but the shrouds were tangled in the branches. “Later.”

  Joey used his handheld radio to tell Marie that they’d found me intact, then they led me back to the clearing, showing me the rocks they’d used to ford the stream. Marie waved when we broke cover.

  “Did you hear from Rick?” I asked Clara as we walked across the meadow.

  “Maybe. I thought I heard something, but I’m not positive. We were awful low on the horizon.”

  Marie hugged me when we reached the Maule, surprising me. Felt good. “Nice flying,” I said.

  “Amen,” said Clara.

  Marie shrugged. “Scary stuff. It was easier, though, when you guys bailed out.”

  “The weight?” I asked, doubtful. The weight shouldn’t have been that significant—I really wanted to be able to render first aid if they’d cracked up.

  “The responsibility. I still had to worry about Clara, but at least I didn’t have to worry about you two.”

  “Well, so much for preparing the landing field before you land. How’s the plane?”

  Marie shrugged. “Don’t know about the engine—we shut it down pretty quick. I checked out the landing gear—it’s fine. They make these Maules tough.”

  I started shedding equipment, stacking it inside the Maule. “Clara, why don’t you see if you hear anything on the radio. Joey, stand guard. Marie and I are going to take the prop off.”

  “Why?” Joey asked. “We don’t have a replacement.”

  “True, but we don’t dare run the engine to see if it’s okay, until I pull the unbalanced prop off.”

  “Ah.”

  I took the tools out from under the copilot’s seat and we went to work. It takes a lot of work with just hand tools. It wasn’t like pulling a simple fixed pitch prop. We had to take off the entire head of the Hartzell constant speed propeller. At least we could replace the blade, instead of the entire assembly, if the engine was okay.

  An hour later, I had the propeller assembly sitting on the ground, I started up the engine and tested it briefly. I left the cowling off—with no pro
peller, cooling was a major problem. It ran smoothly, even with a brief stint at 2000 rpm.

  I shut down the engine and the radio came alive.

  “Coyote three five zulu to Maule one seven baker.”

  I pulled headphones on. “Rick? What the hell are you doing off the ground? Over.”

  “Jesus! Are you guys all right? What the hell happened?”

  “Bird hit the prop. Everybody is fine, though. What are you doing in the air? If you crash, what the hell is going to happen to us?”

  “Don’t worry. I made arrangements. I’m fifty miles north of the base at ten thousand feet. It’s the only way I could reach you on this dinky hand radio. I can come ahead and fly you out one at a time, but only if we use the fuel from the Maule for the trip back.”

  “Don’t—we can fly the Maule out, but we need a new blade. You’ll probably have to get it from Houston. Hang on.” I read him the part number off the prop and told him where to find the phone number for a parts dealer with Hartzell spares. “And what kind of arrangements did you make?”

  “Tell you later. This stupid plane doesn’t have a heater and I’m about to freeze. One way or another, I’ll contact you at 10:00 A.M. tomorrow. Can you guys last the night?”

  “We’ll manage.”

  “Three five zulu out.”

  “One seven baker out.”

  We recovered the cargo duffel from the edge of the meadow and unpacked it, removing a chain saw, an ax, a machete, a shovel, and two dozen four-foot wire-stakes with fluorescent orange streamers on one end. We cleared the flattest part of the meadow, chopping out the brush to below ground level, filling in the worst holes, and marking a thousand-foot runway with the stakes. At the midpoint, to one side, we set up a wind sock.

  Near evening, Joey went down to the far end of the meadow, his shotgun loaded with bird shot, and killed a wild turkey. I backed him, “loaded for bear,” as the expression goes. The turkey, though wary, didn’t know to be scared of us at thirty feet. His loss, our supper.

  We collected enough firewood for the night—with the chain saw that wasn’t particularly difficult—and built a fire near the plane. Joey cooked the turkey on a spit over coals. I was surprised when he pulled beer out of the cooler we’d brought the lunch in. I looked at him.

  “Hey. By the time we were going to eat lunch, the plane was going to be on the ground, and I wasn’t going to be jumping again, much less flying. Why shouldn’t I have brought the beer?”

  The turkey was good. We ate most of it and burned the bones and scraps to discourage scavengers. We split the night into four two-hour watches. When Marie woke me for my turn, she said, “There are wolves, those long-legged red ones. They don’t like the fire, much, but they were getting used to it.”

  “‘Were getting used to it’?”

  She shrugged, obviously pleased with herself. “I waited until they were downwind and gave them a dose of the Cap-Stun. Even from thirty feet they did not like it.” She wrapped herself in a Mylar space blanket near the fire and pillowed her head on her flight jacket.

  I heard wolves howling from far away as I fed the fire, but nothing bothered us the rest of the night.

  Joey and I took the machete and the chain saw and retrieved my parachute the next morning. I brought it back to the meadow and folded and packed it on the grass with Clara’s help. Joey offered to kill something for lunch, but I said, “Let’s see what Rick says at ten, first.”

  We gathered at the plane, at ten before, anxious and curious. Rick came on the air at five minutes till.

  “Coyote three five zulu to Maule one seven baker.”

  “We’re here, Rick. What’s the news?”

  “I’m en route. I’m carrying your prop blade and three jerry cans of gas strapped into the right-hand seat.”

  “Who’d you file your flight plan with?”

  “Your lawyer.”

  “Luis? You told Luis?”

  “No. I gave him a sealed envelope. If we don’t call him by ten tomorrow morning, he’s going to open it. Good enough?”

  “What if bad weather moves in? What if we’re okay, but can’t get there in time?”

  “Uh. I didn’t think about that. Do you want me to head back and change the instructions?”

  I looked at the sky. It was clear as a bell. “What was the barometer reading when you left?”

  “Uh,” he paused, obviously looking at the numbers he’d recorded on takeoff.

  “Three-zero-point-three-five.”

  “Can you still get the ATIS now? I mean, see what it says now.”

  “Will do. Give me a few minutes.”

  We listened to static while he switched over to the other frequency. In forty-five seconds he was back.

  “Three-zero-point-four-zero. You copy?”

  “I copy. Come on ahead—looks like the weather might hold.”

  The Coyote didn’t have any electronic navigation equipment. Without the ability to at least get a bearing on Wildside Base, he wouldn’t find us. But find us he did, flying north until he crossed the Trinity, then following it west until he reached the junction of the east fork of the Trinity. It was only thirty miles then, and we set off an orange smoke pot ten minutes later to guide him in the last bit. He touched down easily in the tall grass and rolled to a quick stop.

  Clara hugged him after he’d shut down the engine. He held her tightly for a moment, then said, “Nice place you have here.”

  Marie and I replaced the propeller while Joey and Rick refueled the Coyote from plastic cans.

  The assembly ran slightly rough until I added a counterweight to one side, then it smoothed out.

  Clara decided to fly back in the Coyote with Rick. For a moment, I thought about my senior pilot/junior pilot rule, then I shrugged and said, “Okay. We’ll give you a forty-five-minute start—that should get us all back about the same time.”

  The Coyote lifted off easily, the bumpy grass almost lofting it into the air. We put out our fire, packed up the equipment, and followed three-quarters of an hour later.

  We passed them in the air. The Maule landed at twelve-thirty and the Coyote came down ten minutes later. We were laughing when we came out of the barn, the giddy laughter of disaster survivors, but Marie, who was in front, stopped abruptly. I looked up.

  Luis Cervantes was standing on the porch.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “FACED WITH JAIL, IT’S REALLY NO CHOICE, RIGHT?”

  “You’re all right, then,” he said. He was holding an envelope in his hand. His face was frozen.

  I nodded. Our adventure suddenly seemed foolish—childish. “Luis, you know Marie. This is Clara and Joey and, I guess you’ve met Rick.”

  Rick shook his head.

  “No. I wasn’t there when the envelope was delivered. Sylvia took it,” said Luis.

  “Ah. Let’s get out of this heat.”

  I shut the barn and locked it. On my way across to the house I started to sweat and took off my flight jacket and carried it the rest of the way.

  In the living room we hung our coats on the rack by the door and stood around for a moment, awkward. “Drink? There’s tea.”

  Luis looked like he was going to explode, but Rick said, “Tea for me,” echoed immediately by Clara and Marie. Joey said, “I’ll take a beer.”

  Luis sat suddenly and shook his head. “What the hell—beer.”

  Clara helped me. They didn’t talk until we were back in the room handing out drinks.

  “What’s going on, Charlie?” Luis asked, after one pull on his beer. He tapped the envelope on the side of the beer can. “What’s this about?”

  I licked my lips. “We ran into some mechanical trouble,” I began. “Rick had to bring us a part, but, in case he ran into any trouble—problems—he wanted someone to know enough to come get us. He didn’t have any problems, though.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “Mechanical. Weather.” Animal.

  “Why didn’t you just call?”


  “Uh, no phone.”

  “Where were you?”

  Silence. I could say, “Up near Dallas,” but it would be a lie and I hadn’t lied to him yet and I didn’t want to. Finally I said, “I’d rather not say.”

  He stood, walked across to the coat rack and ran a finger across the snarling sabertooth head on the back of my jacket. “You’re wearing coats in August.” He turned and faced us. “The barn is locked like a bank vault but the house was unlocked. You turned in receipts to the bookkeeper that include shotguns and tear gas, airplanes, long-range fuel tanks, and aviation gas at six hundred gallons a pop. On top of all this, you left sealed instructions for me to open in the event you failed to contact me by tomorrow morning. What the hell is going on, Charlie? Isn’t it about time you told me what this is all about?”

  I became aware of a chill in my right hand and looked down to see my glass of iced tea, untouched and beaded with condensation. I stared at it for a moment, then drank deeply from it, looking over the edge of the glass at the guys. They were watching me, their faces still.

  I finished the rest of the tea, then said, “You’ll need a jacket.”

  I showered quickly and changed before we took him through the tunnel. He hung back—the passage was dark and the steadily increasing chill as we neared the hangar was daunting. The others followed behind us.

  “How deep does this cave go?” he asked. I laughed. “You’ll see. We’ll have light in a minute.”

  There was light from the edges of the hangar doors, but until I hit the switch for the fluorescents, the interior was a jumble of shadows. Luis blinked at the light, looking from the Maule parked facing the door to the Coyote, parked off to the side, its wings folded. He became aware of the chill and pulled on the coat he’d been carrying under one arm, an old fleece-lined denim that used to belong to Uncle Max.

  “Uh—who wants to get the tower?” I asked.

  “I will,” said Marie. She went to the back wall and put on the webbing harness with the Cap-Stun gas, air horn, and ammo. Then she took her shotgun from the rack and checked the load. The others followed suit and Luis’s eyes opened wide as he saw the guns. Marie put her gun on safety, slung it over her shoulder by its strap, and climbed up the ladder to the trapdoor in the roof.