Mission Open

A landscaper’s assistant constantly mowing lawns. A retired Army officer. A volunteer firefighter. A half dozen high school students. A high school graduate fresh from Air Force Reserve Basic Training. A volunteer EMT with too much on his mind. A pilot and his family on their way back from vacation. Seemingly unconnected, lives hanging in the balance will depend on the dedication of a select few, brought together by a series of tragic events leading to disaster.


That cool September day began as any other. I woke up around 10, watched a little TV, and decided on an afternoon of swimming and rock climbing at the YMCA. I gathered up my stuff and jumped in my Explorer. About halfway there, my phone rang. I recognized the number to be Mike Mitchell's, a friend of mine and one of the members in my Civil Air Patrol squadron and fresh back from Air Force basic training.

“City Morgue, you kill them, we chill them.”

“Dude, you gotta get some new material.” The phone went silent for a second. “I’ve got some bad news.”

“Uh oh. What’s up?”

“We got a sat hit this morning from AFRCC. Looks like it came from somewhere in the Torrington area. When we checked flight plans, we got a match. A family of four on their way back from Maine was due to arrive in Danbury late last night or very early this morning. Nobody showed up and there’s no trace of the plane.”

“Ooh, not good. It was a little cold last night. I think it was close to forty degrees. AFRCC wants us to open a mission?”

“Yeah. Temporary command post and mission base will be at the Wal-Mart in Torrington. You know where that is?”

“Yeah. Right up Route 44 on the left.”

“Be there as soon as possible. First sortie goes out in two hours. While you’re at it, call Nick and get him off his lawnmower and out there.”

“Will do. See you there.”

I made my phone call and was on my way. I knew the route well and was there about a half hour after I got the call. I always thought it was a waste of time to keep my gear in the trunk, since I thought I would be at home if I ever got a mission call. However, here I was, with only a few other people ready to go out with the first team assembled.

"Name, Rank, and CAP serial number." asked a short older gentleman who I knew to be the director of Emergency Services at the Wing Headquarters.

"Graves, Richard D. First Lieutenant. 331475"

"Qualifications?"

"Sir, Flight Line Marshaller, Mission Staff Assistant, Ground Team Leader, Advanced Communications Training, qualified medic, National Certified EMT. I'll be doing field work on this one, sir. I'm out of the shadows and into the fire. Just the way I like it." I answered.

"Good. Wish you were at base for this one, but we need a qualified team leader on this one to get out early and begin the hunt. Resources?"

"Personal gear, ready to go, both 24 and 72 hour field packs, handheld VHF radio, and medical jump kit."

"Callsign?"

"Mine, Sir? Charter Oak 542."

"Excellent. You will be assigned as leader of Ground Team 1 Alpha. You mentioned a jump kit. What's in that?"

The jump kit is a medic's best friend. When he gets off the ambulance at a scene, he jumps out the door with that bag over his shoulder. "Sir, that bag has everything that I need to take care of a patient in the field until they can get to a Level One trauma center. Cardiac monitor, defibrillator, airway tools, and assorted band-aids. Big ones."

"OK. You're good to go. Inspect your vehicle while I gather your team. The white van with the lightbar is yours." He chuckled to himself as he threw me the keys. "Just kidding. It's 004's van."

I was glad he told me which van it was. All of the Civil Air Patrol vans are white with yellow lightbars.

My vehicle for this sortie was a 1996 Ford Econoline E-350 XLT. 15 passenger, but nothing special. The only difference was the lightbar and the dozens of antennas on the roof. There was one for the car stereo, one for the VHF radio, two for the distress beacon locator gear, and one antenna stuck to the front windshield. It went to one of those old bag phones. You know, those really old cell phones that were the size of a briefcase and never worked. But, the glue held too well and there was just no removing that stupid thing.

After I finshed my vehicle inspection, as if on cue, my team assembled around me. 2 senior members, 7 cadets. Excellent. The cadets are much better searchers than the seniors. Their eyesight is better, they can keep up better, and they don't get tired or worn out as easily. This was shaping up to be a good sortie. Salutations and introductions were sent around, and then we fell in for the briefing from the incident commander, Major Mike Ingalls.

"Pay attention people, here's the deal. The target: a Mooney Bravo. Color: White with blue trim. Tail Number: November 1087 Zulu. 4 souls were on board when it went down sometime last night. One male, Frank Blanding, age 47, One female, Melissa Blanding, age 38, and two children, one male, Max, age 10, one female, Samantha, age 8. Listen up; I don't have to tell you it was cold last night. National Weather Service offically said it was 42 degrees. In those hills, it was probably around 38. These people are probably on borderline hypothermia unless they got really lucky and got their survival stuff going good. I highly doubt that. There are probably some serious injuries, and the "GOLDEN HOUR" for trauma patients is long gone, so there will probably be at least one fatality. Be ready for it. Lifestar is on standby. We are also getting all four CAP aircraft airborne with full crews and all that new tech stuff. Cameras, Satellite modems, slow scan video, the works. If we find anyhing, they take pictures, send them to us, and then we will go from there. Also, I placed a call, and Massachusetts Wing aircraft are on standby. We will probably end up requesting them if we don't find this thing in less than 5 hours. Alpha, go out there and try to find a signal. AFRCC's hits were 45 miles apart from hit to hit. The satellites must be having a hell of a time tracking this one. It's probably up in the mountains somewhere. Take a look. Report back on the primary simplex if you get a good signal. Use the Mohawk mountain repeater if you have to. One note on comms. Press is out there. Soon enough they'll know we're out ehre. They'll be around before we know what hit us. Remember what you say on the radio is public. If you find something that shouldn't be said on the radio, call it in, tell us you've found something, then call mission base on a cell phone. Got it?"

At that time, Nick pulled up. That was a blessing, as he was one of the best searchers I could have asked for, besides Mike Mitchell. Mike could write whole volumes on search techniques, and still not tell everything he knows.

"Nice timing. You just missed the briefing. Get your gear and get in after you check in. You're on my team" I yelled as he ran toward the command post. "You've got thirty seconds! One, two, thirty! Get going!"

While waiting for Nick, I moved on with the customary procedures before deploying. First was a gear check of all team members. After that was accomplished, a communication check was in order.

"Mission base, this is Charter Oak 542 on team 1 Alpha."

"Go ahead, 1 Alpha."

"Good to go, sir. Have we been cleared?"

"Affirmative. You have your assignment. Go to it."

"Roger. 1 Alpha out."

And so we went. I drove and Nick took shotgun. We were both authorized Ground Team Leaders, but because we have so much success jointly leading teams, Major Ingalls decided to put us together. I flipped on the strobe lights and roared off toward one of the ridgetops along the winding roads of the Northwest Hills.

"I should get the Explorer. I really should." I muttered. "We're gonna have to go off-road and we can't do it in this thing."

"Hey, relax. We're due back at mission base by 1600. Talk with Major Ingalls then about getting a small team together for searching deep in the woods. We can cover a lot more ground than a team. Plus, we'll have all the extraction gear in case we have to move the victims. Don't really want to, but we can if we have to."

"Good call. I'll talk it over with him when we get back."

At that point I began to get into the zone. Soldiers talk about how in combat, there is an extreme focus and one becomes more aware of their surroundings. Similar, but when I get into the zone, millions of things run through my mind all at once. Search tactics, probable locations, probability of survivors, and medical procedures after trauma. Everyone knew that once we got to the crash scene, IF anybody was still alive, the scene would be a mess. Victims would be scattered everywhere. Once they were ejected from the plane on impact, they would skip across the dirt like a ragdoll. Then would be the stop. In the densely wooded area where we would be seaching, the brake would be a tree. The victim's core would wrap around the tree, with limbs continuing to speed along until they ripped themselves loose from the joints that contained them. If they were lucky, their neck would break on contact. If not, they could suffer in extreme agonizing pain until death set in, which could be many days later. Or, they could survive until located, and would probably end up as a quadrapalegic. However, there are documented instances of people crashing into extreme terrain, getting up without a scratch, and wandering off, leading searchers on more extensive searches, sometimes never to be found.

I shook the unpleasant thoughts from my head and consulted with my most experienced team members on where to start.

"Lt. Machado, you live here. You know the area pretty well. Any recommendations on a starting point?"

"Well, there are some good hilltops to start out on." He pointed to a series of close lines on the topo map, indicating a steep ridgeline.

"No dice. Not good at all. Too steep. No roads going up, no marked trails. It would take the team hours to get up there." Since I was driving, I had Nick deal with finding a place for us to start. It was about 15 miles from the mission base to the area where the two closest signals had been recieved from, so he had a little time to find a spot while I drove along the winding hills at a liesurely 35 miles an hour.

"Sir, can't this bucket of bolts go any faster? Lives are at stake here!" I was startled to hear someone yelling at me from the back of the van. I looked in the rearview mirror to see one of the cadets staring at me with a look combining a certain curiousity, but at the same time, a little amazement.

"Cadet, just how many missions have you been on?"

"This is my first, Sir."

"And have you read up on your regulations governing CAP on search missions?"

"Not really well, Sir." I figured as much.

"CAP regs dictate that we have no special treatment on missions, and that we have no authority to break any laws while on said missions. Understood?"

"Yes Sir. But with all due respect, Sir, those rules blow."

I couldn't disagree with him there. I thought that with some help with local law enforcement, our job could get done alot quicker. Then again, there wasn't much I could do about it. It was all a giant legal issue, and everyone knows NOTHING happens fast in the legal world. So for now, all we could do was a mere 40 miles per hour. We all knew there was nothing we or anybody else could ever do to change that.

"Ground Team 1 Alpha, this is mission base, over."

"Mission base, go ahead, over." This could be good news. Then again, they could just be telling us that the situation just got worse. There was no telling at this point.

"What's you current location, over?"

"Hold." I glanced over at Nick, who in turn looked at our navigator, Cadet Senior Master Sergeant Chris Taylor. "Nav, what's the verdict?"

Taylor looked up. "Sir, we are on Old County Road, approximately 2.5 miles from the entrance to Falcon Hills State Park. Approaching the intersection with Route 43."

"Mission base, Ground Team 1 Alpha approximately 2.5 miles from Falcon Hills State Park. ETA 7 minutes, at which point we will drive up the emergency access road to the summit. Will radio upon arrival, over."

"Roger. Keep me informed. Mission Base out."

"Ground Team 1 Alpha out."