Last Bird Out -- 2009 NaNoWriMo

Triumphs and tribulations as air medical staffers evacuate patients before a hurricane

         “Huh? What’s happen – OW!” Ben Maguire jerked awake after hitting his head on a metal crossbar that was part of the bunk above him. “Oh geeze… the bunkroom. How in the hell did I get here?” Rubbing the stars out of his eyes, he lay back down on the thin Army-surplus mattress to get himself together. After checking his left wrist, he reached above his head to the small shelf at the top end of the bunk. His groping right hand found his watch, while the left pulled his glasses towards his face. After looping the wrap-around frames behind his ears, he pushed the night-light button on his watch. “Oh-five-twelve. Jesus Christ, how long have I been out of it? I need to get back.” Swinging his legs off the left side of the bunk, Maguire made sure to duck and not hit his head on the upper bunk again.

         Ben was about to get up from the bed when he saw the chair in front of him. A pile of neatly folded clothes lay atop it, with a towel and a note card. Picking up the three-by-five card, he read:

“Hey, Admin Warrior –
         Get yourself spruced up with a hot shower and these fresh clothes. There will be hot breakfast waiting for you in the command post. Besides, with the storm getting closer, who knows when your next hot shower / meal will be, so take advantage of it.

                                                                     Mahoney”


         “God love you, Maggie,” Ben chuckled to himself. “You’ve been looking out for us ever since you got here. Wait… clean clothes?” Maguire reached under his bunk, only to find nothing there. Feeling around, he realized his large duffel bag of clothing was sitting under the chair in front of him. Inside, everything he’d packed in the bag – t-shirts, jeans, socks, underwear, even several polo shirts – was clean and neatly folded. “Damn it,” he muttered, “Maggie, that was supposed to be for the crews, not for me.” Accepting what had happened, Ben trudged off to the shower room.

         As the hot water, soap and shampoo began clearing out the cobwebs, Ben Maguire realized he had been the recipient of his own morale-boosting idea. Several days after arriving, Ben had talked to his boss, Jason Kilbride, about things that could be done to keep up the spirits of their coworkers. Now, two weeks after arriving, Maguire was on the receiving end of his own efforts to keep other people happy. While grateful for the attention, he felt he had not done near as much to earn it as the flight crews he was working with.

         Maguire and Kilbride were two of the 90-plus LifeMed employees who had been field-deployed to Corpus Christi, Texas, to support hurricane evacuation efforts. Their company, a nationwide provider / operator of air ambulance helicopters and aircraft, was one of several contracted by the Federal Emergency Management Agency to assist in the evacuation of hospital patients from coastal communities to facilities farther inland that could take them. One of the lessons learned from FEMA’s Hurricane Katrina debacle was to get patients out ahead of time, instead of trying to move them after the storm had inflicted its wrath. Prior-to-arrival aircraft deployments had proven majorly beneficial during Hurricanes Gustav and Ike, and FEMA had no wish to drop that ball again.

         This time, it was Hurricane Kelsey looking to make a visit to the South Texas coast. With memories of Ike fresh in their minds, various emergency management officials in Texas had asked for evacuation assistance well ahead of time. FEMA at first had held off, citing the fact that Kelsey was still far out in the Gulf of Mexico and its path had been quite unpredictable.

         FEMA had nevertheless alerted LifeMed and several competing companies of the potential need of aircraft for evacuation purposes. At their Hays, Kansas, corporate headquarters, LifeMed’s senior administrators began making aircraft / crew relocation plans as soon as FEMA had called. Chief among the planners had been Jason Kilbride, the company’s Director of Aircraft Operations. Along with his bosses and assistants, they tagged 20 aircraft from around the country (including several already based in Texas) to be used if called upon. They also determined which places would be potential aircraft staging bases for the effort, as well as safety / relocation bases further inland to use once the storm got close enough to hamper flight operations.

         A week after the initial warning, FEMA advised the air ambulance companies of the increased potential for a call-up and where the aircraft would most likely be needed. In that time, Kelsey’s path had taken a more definite direction – heading towards Southeast Texas. She had also greatly strengthened, enough so that some meteorologists were referring to her as “Katrina’s Angry Daughter.” Hearing all of this, emergency management officials throughout Southeast Texas were preparing evacuation plans while beseeching FEMA for indications of what assistance they might receive.

         Just before leaving to scout potential staging locations, Kilbride had met with LifeMed CEO Willem van der Meer and Communications Director Peter Dempsey. The three of them started making plans / arrangements for someone from the company’s headquarters communications center to come down to Texas once Kilbride had made the final determination on a staging base. Dempsey had tried to get himself sent to Texas, only to be struck down by van der Meer.

         “What do you mean, boss? I’m the perfect person to send to Texas on this. I can coordinate aircraft and files with the best of ‘em. And I know that area like –”

         “The back of your hand? Come off it, Peter. Back when we bought Permian, you told me you shouldn’t go to Texas to check out their operation because you’d never been there.” Dempsey turned beet red as van der Meer added, “You can’t walk both sides of the Streets of Laredo on this one, Peter. Now, do you really know Texas that well?”

         “No,” replied a subdued Dempsey. The man’s true reason for wanting to go was to get noticed by company higher-ups as something more than the Director of Communications. Over the years, Peter Dempsey had made no secret of his lust to move up the corporate ladder, occasionally to the detriment of others. If there were a way to make himself shine above others, Peter Dempsey would try his best to find it.

         He now realized that his Texas comments were going to bite his ass a second time. The first had been almost two years previous, when LifeMed had bought out a struggling West Texas aircraft operator called Permian JetFlight. At the time, Dempsey had refused to fly to Lubbock and examine their communications center while other administrators looked at various parts of the newly acquired company. While being honest about his lack of Texas knowledge, his negative delivery of the statement had contrasted with that of several of his communications specialists, who admitted they didn’t know much about Texas but were willing to learn. Two of his subordinates ended up spending three weeks in Lubbock, helping to smooth over the transition of communications functions to the Hays communications center. Those two staffers had come home to much praise from the company higher-ups (somewhat to the chagrin of Dempsey).

         “So tell me, Peter, who would be the best person or people to send to Texas?”

         After several moments of thought, Dempsey grudgingly replied, “Ben Maguire, Todd Cambridge and Shelly Clapstone.” Maguire and Clapstone were the duo who spent three weeks working at the Permian communications center, and Cambridge was the senior and most motivated of the five communicators who had moved from Lubbock to Hays. Dempsey had not wanted to say any of those names, but knew van der Meer would call him on the carpet if he didn’t. Though largely removed from day-to-day matters as the CEO of LifeMed, Willem van der Meer kept a close eye and ear on various operations. He knew as well as Peter Dempsey who the most talented people were on his in-house communications staff.

         “Besides, Peter, I’m going to need you here to coordinate all the incoming FEMA records while this happens. Now, let’s bring them in and talk with them.” Over the following days, it was decided to send Maguire and Clapstone to Texas if and when the time came. Todd Cambridge had removed himself from the discussion for health reasons; he had recently been diagnosed with severe kidney problems and needed dialysis several times a week. As the chances for the field deployment grew, Ben Maguire and Shelly Clapstone were called in to meetings with Jason Kilbride and the company’s chief pilot, Jake “Hondo” Hobson, to make sure that everyone would understand their roles in the upcoming mission. Everyone was also briefed on what necessities to bring with them: clothes, snacks, cell phones, personal grooming supplies and any medicines they might need. Though told to plan on only one week away from Hays, Ben made a mental note to double that (especially when it came to underwear, as he doubted there would be laundry facilities available). Maguire also spent time with the company’s Information Technology staff to make sure his laptop could be used to send updates back to Hays as needed.

         With the storm looming ever larger on the horizon, final deployment plans were made. Along with Kilbride, Maguire and Clapstone, Hays was going to send other support personnel: “Hondo” Hobson, Edmund Tallboy (the Assistant Director of Maintenance for LifeMed), and Abigail Moncrief (the company’s Assistant Medical Manager). Tallboy would be in charge of all maintenance operations related to the deployed aircraft, while Moncrief would coordinate the medical staffers on the aircraft. Various bases around the country were advised to prepare to bring their aircraft to South Texas, each with a pilot and medical crew onboard. Those aircraft big enough would take two pilots and the med crews; additional pilots, mechanics and med crews would be flown down via commercial airlines.

         The same day that FEMA made the formal request for aircraft deployment, Jason Kilbride called company headquarters. He had selected the area staging location – Corpus Christi, Texas, where the company already had an established aircraft and maintenance base. He was also looking at the company’s operation in New Braunfels, northeast of San Antonio, as the safety / relocation base for the aircraft and crews when it came time to get away from the brunt of the storm. Within an hour of both calls, various bases around the county were advised they were being deployed in support of FEMA. At Hays, that meant getting the aircraft and staffers ready to go.

         Anticipating the call, Ben Maguire had his laptop and a duffel bag of clothes packed and waiting in his apartment. He was at the company base at Hays Municipal Airport 20 minutes later, talking with Hondo Hobson and Abby Moncrief about who would be flying in which aircraft. A native of Southeast Texas, Hondo had put himself on the pilots list because of his familiarity with the area. He was taking a twin-engine Eurocopter EC 145 down, one of two helicopters being flown from headquarters. It was decided that Ben would fly with Hondo and the medical crew of Estelle Parsons and Joel Martin. Shelly Clapstone would fly in the other helicopter leaving Hays, a single engine Eurocopter EC 130 B4 being flown by Pierre Dufresne with Heather Shoeman and Tiffany Regal as the med crew. The other staffers going would fly down in two of the company’s Beechcraft Super King Air fixed wings used for long-distance transports.

         All was going well until Shelly Clapstone walked onto the aircraft ramp at Hays. Several of the staffers noted she wasn’t looking well, but she brushed off their comments and concerns. Just before getting into the helicopter, however, Shelly grabbed the right side of her abdomen and slumped to the ground. After a quick examination, Shoeman and Regal put her on the aircraft’s cot and told the pilot to fly them to nearby Hays Medical Center.

         As they were lifting off, Pierre Dufresne advised HaysComm of their new flight intentions. “Say again?” he heard in his radio.

         “HaysComm, five-seven-three-lima-mike. I say again, lifting four souls, inbound Hays Medical Center. Patient on the ramp outside company headquarters. Standby for medical report.”

         “Five-seven-three-lima-mike, HaysComm, en route Hays Med from company ramp at zero-seven-three-two. Standing by for medical.”

         “HaysComm, Three-lima-mike medical,” Tifany Regal said into her helmet microphone. “Female patient, approximately 37 years old, complaint of severe pain to lower right abdomen before passing out. No trauma noted. Advise Hays Med we may have a hot appendix brewing here.”

         “Three-lima-mike, HaysComm, will relay. Zero-seven-three-five.”

         It had indeed been a hot appendix; the surgeon would later refer to as a “hidden lethal weapon.” The surgery and follow-up hospitalization ruled Clapstone out of any field deployments for at least several months. Ben Maguire ended up being the lone communications staffer to make the trip, as no one else could be rounded up on such short notice.

         Now, two weeks after flying south in N845LM with Hondo Hobson, Estelle Parsons and Joel Martin, Ben Maguire was stepping out of a much-enjoyed hot shower. In spite of the rather Spartan conditions (Army-surplus bunk beds on the second floor of the hangar LifeMed 9-5 used as its crew quarters, largely pre-fab / pre-cooked meals, little to no entertainment), Ben was having the professional time of his life. On landing at Corpus Christi, He, Hondo and Jason Kilbride had immediately set to getting procedures organized. Within two hours, Kilbride and Hobson had decided to let Ben organize his own area, providing him the supplies and equipment he needed. Soon after that, it was agreed that Ben and Hondo would work together closely to coordinate aircraft responses and transports, keeping Hondo as a reserve pilot. Hondo would later comment to company brass that Ben “was so completely in his element, we hated to shut him down unless he seriously needed sleep.” This had been especially true in the previous four days, after Jason Kilbride had left for New Braunfels to get the inland relocation base organized there. The previous night had been one of those instances, when Maggie Mahoney had dragged a dead-on-his-feet Ben Maguire to his upstairs bunk. Once he was safely tucked in, Maggie had made sure his clothing surprise was ready when the younger man awoke.

         Maggie Mahoney had spent her whole two weeks in Corpus Christi doing such things for her fellow crewmembers. She had arrived there rather at odds with the whole situation, because she had ended up coming alone. Her regular partner had missed their commercial flight out of Philadelphia, claiming illness. Administration at her base in Northern Delaware (one detailed to send medical staffers but not an aircraft) had decided to send her alone, saying they would try to find a replacement “in a few days.” The replacement hadn’t come, because no one at the base was willing to volunteer. Base management also suspected the ill paramedic had faked his illness after complaining long and hard about being drafted to go to Texas in the first place. They decided to wait until Hurricane Kelsey was over before having their own personnel storm to deal with.

         The first few days, Maggie had felt like a fifth wheel. The idea that she might be able to substitute into another crew died a quick death, as many of the crews were experienced teams who, while appreciative of the offer, didn’t care for an “outsider” in their midst. She had spent those days helping organize things at the makeshift base while waiting to find out if she was going to be sent home. That had included getting bedding supplies and such in, and cooking some meals for everyone. When Ben Maguire had broached his idea about doing something nice for the crews, Jason Kilbride not only agreed but also decided whom he would detail to the chore. Upon hearing the idea, Maggie had made one stipulation – “Give me at least one person local to the base who can either help me out or at least point me in the right direction.” With that assistance, the 58-year-old divorcée and grandmother had become a self-appointed “den mother / housemother” for the relocated crews, making sure there were at least small creature comforts to help ease the burden of being so far from home.

         The person who had resisted the help most, strangely enough, was Ben Maguire. He had politely turned down several offers by Maggie Mahoney to get his clothes washed along with the flight crews’ laundry. When asked why, he had commented, “they’re the ones who have earned it, not me.” Maggie had taken care of that “problem” the previous day by having Hondo Hobson call Ben out onto the aircraft ramp to check something with an aircraft. When that happened, she snuck Ben’s duffel bag off to the Laundromat and personally washed everything in the bag. Then she waited until he was asleep before putting his surprise in place.

         Refreshed and in clean clothes, Ben walked downstairs to the base’s main room. His smile broadened as the wafting aroma of bacon and eggs met him halfway down the steps. Turning the corner, he saw Maggie cooking away in the kitchen and assorted crewmembers spread around the big main room enjoying their hot breakfast.

         “Well, well,” she said from the stove. “The admin warrior has come back to life. I hope you like your eggs scrambled, kiddo; I’ve not had time to handle individual orders. Get yourself some coffee and juice, then grab a plateful.” Ben got himself coffee and orange juice and put them by his usual place – the table where his laptop and aircraft status boards were set up. Knowing he would be there for at least the next several hours, Ben made a concerted effort to walk over and get his breakfast. “Okay, Maggie, how was it I found myself lying in my bunk at oh-dark-hundred this morning? I sure don’t remember going there.”

         “Hell, boy, I dragged you up there probably about 12:30 in the morning. You were having trouble remembering your own name at that point! I told Hondo to take over for you, and not to wake you unless ab-so-LUTE-ly necessary.” Though she had lived in the Northeastern U.S. for over 30 years, at times Maggie’s Alabama roots would peak through in her speech. “Listen boy, you don’t take better care of yourself, you won’t get to be old as me! You understand, boy?”

         “Yes, ma’am,” grinned a sheepish Ben. Something tells me Hondo didn’t argue with you last night, either. Damn, I’m gonna miss you when this is all over, he thought to himself. Then again, I think all of us will. Taking the proffered plate of eggs, bacon and hash brown potatoes, he moved back to his “command chair,” as he jokingly called it. A glance at the situation boards showed that several flights were already written in. “Hondo, bring me up to speed, then get yourself some sleep.”

         “Okay. As you’ve probably seen, we’ve already got a few missions tagged up…” Hondo proceeded to explain the details of the flights already pending and awaiting aircraft and crews. The company chief pilot had quickly cottoned to Ben’s system of organization and flight assignment, making the morning switch over easy. FEMA’s representatives in the area had called in several early-morning requests, knowing they would be handled as soon as the crews came on duty. Chewing on some bacon, Ben looked over the information as Hondo explained the details and saw nothing he would change. Though outranking Ben on the corporate ladder, Hondo knew that flight coordination was Maguire’s bailiwick. He’d only override Ben if there were a specific problem. “We do have one glitch so far this morning.”

         “Oh?”

         “Yeah. One of the hospitals here in Corpus Christi wants to set up a neonate shuttle between here and San Antonio. They want us to do dual-isolette flights with one of their neonate nurses on board. I’m not sure we have an aircraft that can handle it, and I KNOW we’ve had little to no safety training with them.”

         “What about 384PJ? Can’t it do the job?”

         “It could if the thing was cleared by maintenance.”

         “Oh great… it’s yet again living up to the name ‘three-eight-four-piece of junk’. Just what we need right now.” That particular aircraft, a Sikorsky S-76 with the tail number N384PJ, had been a thorn in Ben’s side since three days after flying in. When it worked, the aircraft offered good flexibility in what could be done in terms of patient transports. Ever since the Permian buyout, however, that particular helicopter had been a “hangar queen,” constantly needing maintenance. Ben had inwardly groaned on hearing N384PJ was coming in, and praying it would last the whole time they were in Corpus Christi. It had flown five patient transports before going out of service for a tail rotor gear box chip light, indicating too many metal shavings in the oil supply for the aircraft’s tail rotor. Once that problem was fixed, the aircraft flew two more missions before having problems with the starter on the #2 engine. Three missions after that the aircraft had a chip light on the main transmission. Luckily for the crew, that warning had come up just before lifting off from Corpus Christi, instead of partway through the mission. Mechanics had been working on the aircraft over the past week, between repair jobs and inspections on other aircraft that were part of the relief effort. Even with the extra attention, however, the helicopter was still grounded. “What’s 381PJ doing?”

         “It should be finishing a transport into San Antonio. You thinking about using it? They’ll need to switch crews and preflight before doin’ anymore runs.”

         “Yeah. Let’s double check what it’s doing.” Ben looked at several program windows on his laptop. Just as he was about to look something else up, the phone next to his computer rang. “LifeMed Corpus Ops, Ben speaking… yes… landed zero-five-four-one at Mercy San Antonio, got it… okay, have you lifting in five. Come straight back to Corpus Base for crew switch. Talk to you on the radio.” Ben made several entries on his computer before turning to Hondo. “Talk about timing… that was 381PJ. They’re about to lift off from Mercy Hospital in San Antonio to come back here.”

         “Okay… that means about 45 minute flight time here. Then there’s preflight, reconfig, and the hop over to Memorial. Looks like 90 minutes or so. I’ll call over and see if they’ll accept that.”

         “When you do, see just how many babies they need to fly and how many isolettes they have.”

         “Why?”

         “I’m thinking it might be quicker –”

         “Wait, are you looking at 192PJ? Is that even feasible? You realize that aircraft is a behemoth compared to what most hospitals are ready to handle.” The two men were contemplating the use of N192PJ, a Sikorsky S-92 aircraft that was far larger than normally used for medical missions. It had been bought by Permian JetFlight several years before in an attempt to start doing flights between Gulf Of Mexico oilrigs and the mainland – an attempt that failed because the market was already saturated with competitors. Unable to sell it off, LifeMed had kept the aircraft in storage until an opportunity to either use it or sell it came along.

         Several days into the relief efforts, someone at corporate headquarters had gotten the idea that “evacuation” meant a repeat of the 1975 fall of Saigon, when large military troop-carrying helicopters were used to evacuate U.S. and South Vietnamese citizens trying to escape the final assault of the North Vietnamese Army, and ordered the aircraft sent down to Corpus Christi. Since arriving at Corpus Base, N192PJ had been sitting unused for several reasons. One, there had as yet been no call for large-scale movement of evacuees. Two, because of the aircraft’s lack of overall use, there were only a small number of pilots in the company who were “current” (i.e. qualified and checked out by an instructor or check ride pilot) and legally able to fly the aircraft. On seeing the aircraft land a week ago, Hondo Hobson had made a promise to “find out which headquarters shit-head had the bright idea to bring that beast down here and feed him or her to a tail rotor. It’s going to do us as much good as tits on a boar-hog.” This was even truer in Corpus Christi, where most of the pilots were only qualified to fly the various relatively smaller models of aircraft in the company’s fleet.

         “Hey, Hondo,” Ben said, “if we can get six or eight babies at one time, let’s use it. Think of it this way – if it can work, we’ll fly three to four times the number of patients in the same number of flights, and leaves 381PJ available for other missions. Even with extended load and unload times, it still at least doubles the number of babies we can fly out of there today. And isn’t the hospital here using the parking lot for a landing zone? Bringing in multiple aircraft at the same time?”

         “Yeah… let me check on who we have for pilots; that’s always a hurdle with that beast. We also need to know where they’re going with the babies. If it’s to the same hospital, you may have hit on something. If they’re going to different places in San Antonio, it won’t do us any good.” Hondo grabbed a cup of coffee, then walked over to the spot on a plastic banquet table he was using to keep track of aircraft and pilots.

         Taking a bite of hash browns, Ben looked out the window towards the apron – and saw the unmoving form of N384PJ. Two mechanics, a man and woman, were on a maintenance stand looking under the engine cowlings. Crap, I hope we can get that pile of parts working and out of here, Ben thought to himself. If nothing else, it will keep Jason from freaking out. I hope things are going okay at New Braunfels.



         “Yeah… it’s finally coming together here. And none too soon.” Jason Kilbride was talking to himself as he looked out over the empty airport ramp at New Braunfels, Texas. With the help of staffers from the local LifeMed base, he had been able to finalize arrangements for all of the company’s aircraft to relocate here once Kelsey approached the Gulf Coast. Not only did he have landing rights arranged, but he had been able to temporarily lease five different hangars – more than enough room, he judged, to put all of the aircraft under cover and out of the rain and wind that would surely hit the area once Kelsey came ashore.

         Kilbride had also made arrangements for the crews who would be coming in. At first he had tried to secure a block of hotel rooms at several different hotels, only to be told by each manager they wouldn’t commit unless he gave a firm date for arrival. And one hotel had told him they were going to be shutting down completely because of the storm. So he had set about trying to do a repeat of the crew accommodations that had been set up in Corpus Christi. Along with securing various emergency supplies (generators, battery and propane lanterns, back-up water supplies and getting the base’s liquid propane tank topped off), he had made arrangements for bunk beds, mattresses and linen to be delivered and set up inside. And unlike Corpus, where the crews had one large bunkroom, he had been able to organize it this time with separation of the sexes in mind. Granted, some of these jokers might want a few coed rooms, he thought. Only Heaven knows what sort of lustful pairings might be brewing in all of this mess. And who knows… just maybe… forget it, mister, and keep your mind on the job.

         Kilbride’s own personal distraction had started a few hours after arriving in Corpus Christi. After checking into his hotel, he had driven out to the base to see what still needed doing to prepare for the onslaught of incoming aircraft. While being shown around by the base’s chief pilot, he had run into someone he hadn’t expected to see.

         The two men had walked into LifeMed’s #2 hangar, the one used for major maintenance. In the center was a red-and-silver helicopter, with a mechanic standing atop a rolling ladder working on the engine. “Sir,” said Tom McCrory, “let me introduce you to our chief mechanic. Hey Cheryl,” he yelled across the hangar, “we’ve got brass here.”

         Oh shit, though Kilbride, it’s not possi –

         “Sir, this is Cheryl Sokolow. I’ll put her up against all the other wrench benders and grease monkeys in the company. Cheryl,” he said as the woman walked over, “this fine, outstanding, gentleman” – McCrory had never been above kissing up –

         “Is Jason Kilbride,” she completed. “As ah live and breathe, the demigod of LifeMed flight operations. Here in little ol’ Corpus Christi.” Kilbride was just able to hide the rush of memories that West Texas accent brought back to him. “What brings you to our humble little ‘ol Texas airpatch?”

         “I take it you two know each other,” said a rather surprised McCrory.

         “Yes, we do,” sighed Kilbride. “But it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other. What, eight years?”

         “More like ten,” she replied. Hearing the vinegar mix into her voice, McCrory excused himself to let the couple talk privately. “Ah’d ask how you’ve been, Jason, but ah think ah ahlready gots a good idea. It seems you found thuh success you was lookin’ fer.”

         “Well, yes, I’ve done well the last few years.”

         “Ah’d say so, boy. Now, whut’s a high-brass type like you doin’ herabouts?”

         “I’m sure you’ve heard about Hurricane Kelsey.” She nodded. “LifeMed is bringing 20 helicopters down here at the end of the week to do FEMA evacuations. I’m here to get everything organized for when they get here.”

         “Tar-nation!” she yelled, the word echoing through the hangar. “I gots enough problems handlin’ the three aircraft in this area. Do they really espect me to keep 20 more birds a-flyin’ on my own? Somebody muss really hate me –”

         “Ed Tallboy is coming down from Hays,” he said in an attempt to prevent a pity party from erupting. Cheryl’s capacity for such things was one of his (rather few) unpleasant memories of the woman. “And we’ve got at least five or six other mechanics coming from around the country. So no, you’re not going to be doing this alone.”

         “Okay,” she sighed. “But that means ah still gots to puht up with yew for a while.” Seeing the man start to say something, she put up a hand. “Jason, whut we had ended long ago. Do us both a faver and leave it in the past. And remember – wrenches can make good weapons.” Seeing him nod in resignation, she walked back to the helicopter she had been working on and climbed up the ladder. After the two men left the hangar, she put her torque wrench down in the engine bay and shook her head. “Aw, heyell, Jason… whay’d yew have to waltz into mah life aginn?”

         Outside the hangar, Jason talked with Tom McCrory. “I don’t anticipate needing to use the hangars unless we suddenly get nasty weather. Frankly, the plan is to fly all the birds inland before the storm gets here, while flying out as many patients as possible. And 20 aircraft means a lot of people coming in. If you’ve got an idea for hotels or some other way to house them, I’m all ears.”

         “Okay, forget the hotels. As nice as it would be to put them up in the luxury suites that are sure to be available, the hotels won’t go for it. You might get one week, then have to find somewhere else to put them… like in the hangar here.” McCrory gestured towards the combined hangar and base offices to their right. “Something tells me that won’t sit well with crew morale.”

         “Now wait a minute. I’ve seen plenty of news coverage during hurricanes –”

         “Oh, yeah,” McCrory interrupted. “Several hotels stayed open during Ike, and you had reporters from The Weather Channel and the major networks camping out. Not this time. A lot of the hotel owners have already said they aren’t sticking around, and will board up their places no later than three days before the storm arrives. They don’t want the damage or other liabilities that might come from people still being here. The lumber yards have ordered extra plywood because of that.”

         “Okay, that means we put everyone up here. But where?”

         “We’ve got a large training room upstairs from the crew quarters. We turn that into a dormitory. I might be able to even find us some bunk beds to handle everything.” Actually, McCrory already had them lined up; his wife’s brother owned a local Army surplus store and had bought up various military bunking supplies after Hurricane Ike on the idea he could sell them off when the next storm came in. “There’s also a full bathroom with shower up there, so folks can stay cleaned up and feeling human. Also, we can set up any admin desks you might need in the main room downstairs, and the kitchen works well. When the crews start coming in, we can be ready.”

         “Good, because they start arriving Friday latest. Start working on those bunk beds, Tom. And keep an eye out for food supplies; we’ll probably need them.” Kilbride was trying to think of all the concerns involved in bringing over 80 people to the base, but unbidden memories of Cheryl kept clouding his mental vision. Damn it, I don’t need this now. There’s too many other things going on to have this little blast from the past. Okay, Jason, he told himself, get over your broken heart feelings and clear your head. “And if you can pull it off, Tom, see about sheets and stuff to use on the bunks. I know it sounds crazy, but you’d be amazed what a clean-feeling bed can do for someone.”

         “Yes, sir,” McCrory replied, thinking just how much LifeMed money he could try to funnel to his brother-in-law. Of course, the bastard probably won’t be all that appreciative of all of this. “I’ll get right on it.”

         “Hey, I’ll go with you.”

         “Well, there’s no need to do that sir. I can find you what you need while you concentrate on things out here. You might want to talk to the FBO guys about fuel –”

         “Already did, Tom, before I left Hays. The contract we have with them is in full force. Actually, they’re grateful we’re coming in and have guaranteed we’ll always have someone here to help fuel up. No call out fees, even. We may need to load that person on one of our aircraft to fly out when the time comes, but we’ll take care of that.” Kilbride had already guaranteed that with the manager of the Fixed Base Operator (FBO), the airport equivalent of a gas station that LifeMed had a fueling contract with. Kilbride hadn’t thought it would be too much trouble, since the business was a nationwide company with numerous local contracts with LifeMed, but the evacuation offer had been the icing on the cake. “Besides, you can take me around to the hospitals here; I need to get a better idea of just what the helipads are like and which aircraft we can send where.”

         “Oh… okay.” The two men walked to Kilbride’s rental and left the airport. As they made small talk, McCrory remembered his boss’s reaction to seeing Cheryl Sokolow working in the hangar. I wonder what that’s all about? And is there a way I can turn it to my advantage?

         At the same time, Kilbride’s memories had been cleared away by a new concern. The change in McCrory’s responses when Jason decided to go with him instead of leave the pilot to his own devices had broken through the administrator’s mental fog – and done so glaringly. Having seen and dealt with various schemers over the years, the sudden attitude change in his subordinate had him wondering what things the base chief pilot was working on. I bet you’re a lousy poker player, too, Jason thought. Your emotions are too easily read. Jason had earned spending money in college through good poker play, and even made money in some professional tournaments. Along the way, he’d learned how to read people both in and out of the poker room. That skill was now telling him to be wary of Tom McCrory, that there was something going on beneath the bald scalp with the University of Texas baseball cap that was driving him around town.

         By the next morning, the base’s medical manager and Cheryl Sokolow had confirmed his suspicions. In separate discussions, Jason learned that Tom McCrory was an honest man, though always looking for ways to get ahead without much extra effort. Cheryl had provided the convincing piece of the puzzle that morning.

         “Bill Abernathy? He took you to see Bill Abernathy?”

         “Yeah, Cheryl, the guy owns –”

         “A Army surplus store with a lottta stuff. Yeah, Abernathy has quite the business. He makes a heyell uva lotta money outfitting hunters with camo fatigues and such, even stuff fer der huntin’ cabins. But his stuff don’t come cheap. And one other thang…”

         “Yeah?”

         “His wife is McCrory’s sister.”

         “Thanks,” Kilbride sighed. “Something seemed a little amiss in all of that. Now I know why those warning bells were going off.” Just as in poker, Jason Kilbride had learned to trust his gut instincts when it came to the business world.

         “And Jason… why’d you have to waltz intuh my life aginn?”

         “I hadn’t planned to, Cheryl. Please don’t be angry when I say this, but… I honestly had no idea you were here. Hell, we haven’t talked to each other in ten years.”

         “Ahh know, Jason.” Seeing this would go nowhere, the two of them simply sat staring at their coffee cups. They were having breakfast at Ronny’s, a local 24-hour eatery that had been a Denny’s Restaurant in a previous life. Jason had made the invitation to see if he could calm his memories down. Cheryl had quickly turned the discussion to the reason for Jason’s visit; she had no desire to open her own wounds from so long ago. She was also afraid that she would blame him for decisions she had made (and regretted) since they had parted. “How’s abouts we just leave the payst in the payst and deal with the hurricane. Okay?”

         “Okay.” Though not what he had wanted to hear, Jason went along with it. While he had very few regrets about his professional life, he realized now he had sacrificed a future with Cheryl to get it. Twelve years earlier, the two had been an in love and very sensual couple. While both wanted aviation careers, they had begun to move in differing directions. The final point had come ten years ago, when Jason had decided to pursue an employment offer with LifeMed instead of stay in West Texas with Cheryl and her job at Permian JetFlight. Looking back, Jason realized he had sacrificed his closest love for his career – and had little in the personal arena to show for it. He had a few standby lady friends who would go out to dinner or a bar with him, but nothing beyond that. And nothing close to the bonds he had severed with Cheryl those years ago.

         Cheryl also wanted to avoid the past, which included two failed marriages (one to an abusive cowboy) and no children. She knew that if she started talking she would try to blame Jason for the choices she had made since he left. While realizing long ago that she had put herself in those situations, a part of her heart wanted Jason to feel the pain of that past. It ain’t fair tuh him, she told herself, and we’s gots bigger things to face rights now. “Jason, I knows you wanta to say something else. Please don’t; they’s been too much Rio Grande go under the El Paso bridges.” The two of them finished their breakfasts in silence, mentally agreeing to not wake up the sleeping dog of their past times together. “Now, whut’s do I owe –”

         “Breakfast is on me, Cheryl. And thanks for the info about Tom McCrory.” Before she left, Cheryl gave Jason advice on a few other places to look for supplies and equipment for the base. Getting up from the table, Cheryl looked into Jason’s eyes and realized he had his own pains he didn’t want to face. “Aw heyell,” she said as she drove to the airport, “why’d he haft uh show up now?” The teary eyes in her rearview mirror couldn’t give her an answer.

         In the parking lot of the restaurant, Jason looked at the receipt. “To hell with it,” he said as he crumpled the paper and threw it away. “I’m not putting that on the expense account. Besides, with as much stuff as I’m going to have to buy for the company, they won’t even notice one breakfast missing from the report.” His own sense of propriety would not allow him to charge the company for something that had been purely for his own benefit.

         His suspicions about Tom McCrory were confirmed later in the day. The base’s chief pilot had barely contained his anger when his brother-in-law’s chief competitor delivered bunk beds, mattresses and linen supplies to the base. When he asked Kilbride why he’d gone that route, Jason calmly replied, “better price and better service. This company is charging us at least 30 percent less, and they’re helping put it all together. Abernathy’s Surplus never offered to help with that. And, it’s the exact same merchandise Abernathy was selling.”

         “Well… are you sure? Abernathy’s got great –”

         “I’m sure, Tom. And it’s a done deal, so don’t try to talk me out of it.”

         “Okay. I, uh… I need to check on some stuff in the hangars.” McCrory stomped away, slamming the hangar access door open when got there. A short while later, Kilbride stopped short of the door to the chief pilot’s office when he heard a string of profanity come through the open doorway. “What do you mean I promised you? Damn it, Bill, I didn’t guarantee anything, I only said we had a big wig coming down who MIGHT buy some of your stuff… of COURSE I steered him towards you… come off it, I never even mentioned Schuster’s place to him, never drove him by… look, it’s not MY fucking fault Schuster underbid you! Maybe you priced yourself out of a deal, ever think of that? Yeah, well… fuck you, pal!” McCrory slammed the phone down hard enough that Jason made sure to move down the hall before being noticed. It also left Kilbride wondering if McCrory might soon need a new office phone.

         The next four days had been filled with arriving aircraft, setting up an operations office at the Corpus Christi base and getting the first flights completed. It was during that time that Ben Maguire had made the suggestion to “do some nice things for the crews while they’re here. It’s gonna be a long pull, and we don’t need anyone getting ground up by it.” After hearing some specific ideas, Kilbride had approached Maggie Mahoney about the prospect of being the “house mother” for the crews. She had taken to it with relish, and had helped morale among the visiting crews to remain high. When Kilbride left Corpus Christi for New Braunfels, he made a promise to either find someone there to do those things, or find a way to have Maggie hit the ground running in the same manner.

         “Okay,” he said, standing on the New Braunfels airport ramp, “the crew quarters are almost ready. The hangars are ready. I need to check the kitchen, the phone and data lines, and see about some food supplies. We’ve got probably 90 people descending on this place, and a good lot of ‘em are chowhounds.” Just then, his out-loud thinking was interrupted by the trilling of his cell phone. “LifeMed Ops, Jason Kilbride.”

         “Jason,” he heard through the phone, “it’s Hondo. Need to let you know we’ve got an alternate plan going on…” Over the next few minutes, Hondo Hobson described how they were going to use the unexpected S-92 as a large-scale neonatal transport. “Once we get it rigged up we can carry eight isolettes at a time, plus several nurses to monitor them. We’re gonna fly it dual-pilot; 381PJ needs an oil change and 384PJ is still busted. I just need you to say ‘yes’ to all of this.”

         “Sounds like you’ve got it all set up. I take it helipads won’t be a problem?” Jason listened as Hondo described the arrangements that were made at the hospitals involved. “Alright, go with it. And good thinking; it beats that beast sitting around doing nothing.”

         “Thank Ben Maguire. When one of the hospitals wanted us to set up a relay of babies, he had the original idea to use 192. I just ran with it.”

         “I will. I just need to make sure,” Kilbride chuckled, “that he doesn’t try to take my job when this is over.”

         “He won’t, he likes communications too much. But maybe Pete Dempsey should be worried.” Both men chuckled over the possibility of Dempsey having competition; each of them secretly thought it was needed at times to push the man to do his job. “And on a serious note, when this is all over, include Ben in the corporate after action conferences. He’s had some good ideas along the way. We might want to put him on the Disaster Planning Team.”

         “Agreed. Now, why the hell are you still awake?”

         “Don’t worry, Jason. As soon as the ‘baby bird’ is finalized, I’m going into crew rest. Ben and Abby can handle most things while I’m asleep. And if they really need me, they know where I am.”

         “Okay. I’ve got to get things done here. Get some rest and talk to you later.” Kilbride hit the “off” button on his phone and holstered it on his belt. “Yeah, Pete Dempsey might want to be careful about his job. If Ben keeps this up, he might scoot Pete out of that office without trying.” Then another thought hit him, and Jason started thumbing through the presets in his cell phone.



         “Life Med Corpus Ops, Ben Maguire speaking.”

         “Ben, Gil Morrow. One-niner-two-papa-juliet is safe on the deck in San Antonio.” Listening to a question, he replied, “We landed approximately six minutes ago. We’re shut down and unloading the two babies we brought. Once they’re off, we’ll get the other isolettes loaded and strapped in. Good job on organizing this, by the way. The teams from San Antonio were out here waiting for us when we landed. So far it looks like it’s going to go off without a hitch.” Listening to Ben’s reply, Morrow pulled an apple out of his pocket and took several bites. Seeing his copilot walk towards him, he said, “Sorry, Ben, I have to cut this short. We just got the weight manifests; Gary and I need to work the weight-and-balance numbers and get everything organized. I’ll call you about 10 minutes before we lift off.”

         “Okay, Gil, we’ll be waiting for the call. Talk to you then.”

         “See ya!” Gil hung up his phone and turned to his partner. “Okay, Gary, let’s see what we’ve got.” The two men started taking the information from the various neonatal teams and plugging it into a chart on Gil’s clipboard. They were looking at the weights of the isolettes and the nurses from each team, figuring out just where in the aircraft everything and everyone would go. This calculation, called “Weight-and-balance,” was necessary on every aircraft on every flight; if not distributed properly, the weight of their load would actually hamper the pilots’ ability to safely control and fly the aircraft.

         “Listen up, everyone,” copilot Gary Blaisdell yelled as the team from Corpus Christi came out of the hospital. “Here’s how it’s going to work. We can take six isolettes, and the two lightest people from each team can go. We can only take two staffers per team, or one per isolette.” As some of the people started to protest, he added, “I’m sorry, people, it’s simple arithmetic. Between the isolettes, the people and the fuel on board, we can only lift so much. Plus, we have to be able to secure everything and everyone safely. So if you need to, take a few minutes to decide amongst yourselves just who is going on the aircraft. Once you’ve done that, we’ll get everything organized as to who and what is going to be loaded where.” After a few minutes, everything was organized; Corpus Christi’s two isolettes and staffers would be going, along with two of each from University Hospital and one of each from two other San Antonio facilities. One of the nurses from Corpus Christi called the news ahead to their hospital, so the staffers there could get the right babies ready to go to the right teams when they arrived.

         “Ben,” Gil Morrow was saying into his cell phone, “we’re about ready to crank up. We’ve got six isolettes and six staffers on board.” Gil read off the names of the four new neonate staffers onboard so there would be a record of them flying. “We should be cranking up in about ten to fifteen minutes; we’ve still got to do the safety briefing. Once we get back to Corpus, we’ll drop off the teams then hop over for refuel.”



         “Okay, Gil,” Ben said into his phone. “You guys are coming through clear on the satellite GPS tracking, so we’ll keep an eye on you that way. Stop in for coffee and a snack when you come over for fuel. Fly safe!” Maguire hung up his phone and made some notations on his computer and several charts. To him, it looked like the “Big Baby Bird” was going to work out well. It had meant one aircraft going out of service to borrow pilot Gary Blaisdell, but that airframe needed preventive maintenance and would not have been flying anyway. And his medical crew was taking the chance to get some extra sleep upstairs. Just about every staffer had been following the old soldier’s survival creed, “sleep when you can, because you never know when you won’t be able to.”

         Standing up to stretch his legs, Ben looked at the “available aircraft” white board. To his (and he was certain, LifeMed’s) pleasure, almost every aircraft was in service and most were flying missions. The only big wrench in the planning was three-eight-four-piece of junk. The Sikorsky S-76 was still unable to fly despite the best efforts of the maintenance crews. Maybe we should just leave the thing here and let Kelsey take care of it, he thought to himself. Then he dismissed the thought; Ben knew that the company wasn’t going to leave any aircraft in the direct path of a hurricane unless it absolutely had to, piece of junk or not. “Maggie, can you watch the phone? I’m going to grab a cup of coffee and step outside for a moment.”

         Maguire walked onto the airport ramp to see four different aircraft being refueled and restocked by their crews. Three others were sitting unattended; they would be used tonight. Hondo Hobson had set up a plan to keep a few aircraft on a rotating reserve in case a maintenance problem cropped up. It also made sure that the aircraft themselves, as well as their respective crews, would get a break from the wear and tear of the evacuation effort. Then his gaze fell upon N384PJ. The engine cowlings had been replaced and the maintenance stands removed. Could the damn thing finally be fixed? he asked himself. The sound of jet engines came across the ramp as Ben saw 384PJ’s rotors start to turn. When it looked like the aircraft was running at full power, a loud SSCCRREEECH was heard above the roar of the engines. Ben then saw two sets of hands rapidly throwing switches and controls in the cockpit as the engine sounds and metallic screech faded away. Several doors on the aircraft opened as soon as the rotors stopped turning.

         “TAR-NATION!” Cheryl Sokolow’s yell could be clearly heard above other noise on the aircraft ramp as she stepped out of 384PJ’s passenger area. “If it’s not one thang with this piece o’ shit, it’s another! Did Sikorsky instahll ahll they’s collected lemons intuh this pile?” She further vented her frustration by kicking the tires on the right-side landing gear.

         Meanwhile, Ed Tallboy had climbed out of the copilot’s seat and was walking towards a maintenance stand. “Don’t ask, Maguire,” he told Ben as he passed by. “If it’s what I think it is, this puppy won’t be flying for weeks. I don’t care what Kilbride has to say about it.”

         “Weeks?” Ben followed the mechanic out to the aircraft. “Jason’s going to flip his beanie when he hears that. Not to mention Hondo. I hope you’re wrong, Ed.”

         “So do I. But the last time I heard a high-pitched wail like that, I had to replace the transmission. And there’s no way either Sikorsky or the Hays base is going to bring a new one down here with this storm coming in. Even if they did, we wouldn’t have time to install and test it before Kelsey came ashore. What are they looking at now before she gets here, three days? Four?”

         “Four at the outside, and that’s only if she stays slow. The Weather Channel’s saying if she gets up to Category Five she could speed up. And the latest track projection shows the eye going just south of us.”

         “Putting Corpus right in the brunt of the storm surge.” Tallboy had learned about hurricanes while growing up in southern Florida. “You know, Kelsey may solve our problems with this aircraft. We’ll put 384 in the hangar if we have to leave her, but that hangar is no match for Category Five hurricane winds. We’ll probably have a trashed hangar lying on top of a piece-of-shit helicopter. At least insurance should cover that. Maybe the best thing for the company – but don’t tell anyone I sad that.”

         “I never heard a thing. I agree with it, but I never heard it.” Ben walked back to the building, passing Cheryl Sokolow going the other way with another maintenance stand. The two mechanics soon had all the cowlings up and were peering inside. Both were checking other systems in the hope that it was something other than the aircraft’s transmission; both knew that would effectively condemn the aircraft to Hurricane Kelsey’s wrath.

         “What was that noise I heard?”

         “Three-eight-four-piece of junk, Maggie.” Ben had refilled his coffee and was sitting at his desk. He saw that Maggie had been paying attention to his stuff, as 192PJ was shown in the dispatch software as flying back to Corpus Christi and several other aircraft had been updated. “Watch it, Maggie,” he said after seeing her work. “We may draft you into communications.” He took a big sip of coffee “ You actually heard that racket in here?”

         “I wondered what was about to explode.”

         “Ed’s afraid it was the transmission, and it may need replacing. If so, you may hear Hondo or Jason explode in reply. They don’t want to leave any aircraft here unless they absolutely have to. And there’s no way to replace an aircraft transmission before Kelsey gets here.” Maggie shook her head, knowing the company brass would pitch all sorts of fits. “And speaking of getting out of here, Maggie… there’s something I want to talk with you about.”

         “Ut-oh… this sounds serious.”

         “Well, it is, in a way. We’re going to be moving out of Corpus Christi soon. You’ve been an incredible asset to the crews while we’ve been here, and if you’re up to it, I want to have the same when everyone gets to New Braunfels. Granted, I still have to run this by Hondo and / or Jason, but here’s what I’m looking at. Tomorrow or day after tomorrow at the latest, I want you to drive up there.”

         “Um, okay… but what am I going to drive? And how do I keep from getting lost? I’m not one of the locals, you know.”

         “I know,” he replied with a smile. “One of the medics based here is looking for someone to drive a Chevy Suburban out of the storm zone. Her husband has already left with their kids and all the stuff they need to protect – except for the Suburban.”

         “Wait, is this Angie Dean we’re taking about?”

         “That’s her. She’s found out she’ll need to stay here for flights, and fly out when the aircraft relocate. So she’s looking for some help. And I’m looking to kill two birds with one stone.”

         “I don’t understand.”

         “If Angie will agree, I’m going to have you drive her Suburban to New Braunfels. In the back, you’ll have those roasters and extra pans and such you’ve been using for cooking. Along with the duffel bags everyone has with them for clothes. We’ll have everybody keep a two-day supply of clothing; otherwise everything else will be waiting for them at New Braunfels. Like I said, I still need to get Hondo and / or Jason to sign off on it. But if they do, are you game?” For a moment, Maggie rested her chin on her chest. Then she looked up and took Ben’s hands in hers.

         “Young man, you have no idea what these last weeks have meant for me. I’ve felt more involved in a flight program than I have in five years. Did you know I was looking at retiring?” Ben sat there at a loss for words. “I came down here because I needed a change from my base in Wilmington, from the things I was seeing and doing. I wasn’t sure what I would find, especially when I came down here alone. But you and the others have made me involved, even if I’ve not treated a single patient. Ya’all gave me a challenge, and ah’ve enjoyed it.” In the midst of her emotions, her Southern roots started poking into her speech. “I want to keep doing it. So if you can get me a good map to New Braunfels, let me know when ah’m a-goin.”

         “Don’t anybody make any plans for going anywhere just yet.” Abby Moncrief had walked into the room. “For all I know, Maggie, I may need you to spell someone on short notice. I can’t do that if you’re driving across Texas to no end. And YOU, Mister Maguire… you need to remember your place. Yes, you handle flight scheduling and communications, and you’ve been working closely with Hobson and Kilbride. Perhaps a little too closely for your own good.”

         Ben leaned back in his chair, doing his best to keep cool. You picked a hell of a time to throw your weight around, Abby, he thought to himself. We’ve been here for two weeks, and NOW you chose to step on me? With Kelsey only three or four days away from turning this whole area into kindling? Yeah, real executive talent there, Miss Moncrief. Sitting next to him, Maggie Mahoney was close to showing this part of Texas what Mount St. Helens had done to Washington State.

         “Remember, Mister Maguire, you’re communications, not operations or personnel. That means you sit there and communicate, not make staffing decisions. You need to leave that to me and Hondo.” Walking up to stand over him, she added, “Is that understood, young man?”

         “Yes, ma’am. Crystal clear. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see what communicating needs to be done.” Ben turned his back to Moncrief and looked at his computers. Maggie stood up and walked to the kitchen. Half way there, Moncrief added, “Maggie, you’re doing a really good job handling all the ‘crew support’ work here. I know everyone appreciates it.” Maggie kept going, saying not a word to the company’s assistant medical manager.

         Upstairs, Moncrief pulled out her cell phone and dialed. “Hey, Pete… Yeah, just like we talked about, I put a little salt on Wonderboy’s tail… don’t you worry, I’ll make sure he stays under control… Oh, he just tried to act without authority in trying to send one of my staffers to another town to get things ready there… Yeah, it’s just like you said, give him enough rope and he’ll hang himself… Don’t you worry, baby, we’ll soon be rid of the problem called Ben Maguire… Okay, lover, talk to you later.” Moncrief hung up her phone and hummed a tuneless melody as she walked back downstairs.

         “Can you –” The voice was silenced by the wave of a hand from the next bunk over. A few minutes later, certain that Moncrief had left, five people gathered on a pair of bottom bunks and started talking quietly. The group agreed that something needed to be done, that Ben Maguire was going to get steamrollered by someone – or a pair of someone’s – with some sort of agenda. The most senior of the group said not to worry, there were ways to prevent that from happening. And in the process, justice would most likely be done. When the group broke up, some went to sleep, one decided to get a snack, and one made some phone calls.



         “Now, tell me what the deal is? Wait, are you kidding me? I can’t believe… well, yeah, part of me can believe it. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of this little problem. I’ll talk to you in a little bit.” Jason Kilbride thumbed the “off” button on his cell phone, disgusted at what he was hearing. I guess I’m going to have to stomp a few people, but good, he thought to himself. But it’s got to be done at some point.

         “Problems?”

         “Yeah, some crap going on down at Corpus. I’ll need to make a few phone calls a little later about it. Now, let’s get back to –” Jason grimaced as his cell phone trilled again. “LifeMed Operations, Jason Kilbride speaking… yeah? Oh for heaven’s sake, you have GOT to be kidding! Is it REALLY that bad? Oh, Hell… well, keep doing what you can… okay, talk to you later.” Hanging up the hone, Jason added, “oh, good God, what a pile of scheisse.”

         “And just where did YOU learn the German word for ‘excrement,’ Jason? Granted, we’ve got a lot of German families here in the New Braunfels area, but we don’t expect you outsiders to know words like that.” The area had originally been settled by German Lutherans, giving rise to several ethnic-German communities in the heart of South Central Texas.

         “Geez, Owen, you’d think you’d never visited Hays. I know you’ve been there for Oktoberfest before. Yeah, ‘Hays’ itself is an English name, but the community is full of Volga-Deutsch families. Not to mention all the little nearby towns with various German names. You still hear quite a bit of German spoken there, especially among the older residents. I guess it just rubs off on you after a while.”

         “Yeah, the same thing happens here,” replied Owen Gerlach. The chief pilot of the New Braunfels base had lived there for seven years and picked up some of the local customs along the way. “Now, care to tell me what’s got you cursing in German?”

         “One of the aircraft we brought in has turned into a maintenance nightmare. One thing after another, after another, and then some. And now…” Kilbride tried to clench his hand into a fist, only to remember it was still holding his cell phone. He quickly holstered it before risking throwing the thing across the airport parking ramp. “Now, we may not be able to fly it out before the storm hits. NOT what I wanted to happen. Van der Meer could very well have my butt in a sling if we can’t fly 384PJ out of Corpus before the storm arrives.”

         “Wait, they actually sent three-eight-four-piece of junk?”

         “You know it?”

         “Know it and hate it. I’ve had that thing fail on me too many times at too many bases in the last 10 years. Why Permian didn’t ever scrap it for parts, I’ll never know. That’s about all that barrel of scheisse is worth. What happened this time?”

         “Ed Tallboy’s trying to find another cause, but he thinks the transmission might have shredded itself.”

         “Which could mean, ‘alas poor Yorick, I knew him when he was a Sikorsky helicopter.’ Listen,” Gerlach said as Kilbride enjoyed a much-needed chuckle, “here’s a little advice. Park that hunk of junk in the hangar at Corpus and let the chips – or ceiling beams – fall where they may. Trust me, the best thing that could happen to the company is for that aircraft to die once and for all. If nothing else, it’ll save on maintenance outlays. As for your other problem, anything I can help with?”

         “Actually, no… that’s already being dealt with. Though I need to make a phone call or two in a little while.” And I might even enjoy making those calls, Kilbride thought. If this is what I suspect it is… oh yeah, I’ll enjoy making THOSE calls. “Okay, let’s get back to what we need to do here. What’s the next thing on your list…”



         “…are there any questions? Yes, Rose?”

         “How much time do we have to get organized?”

         “We’re not certain,” replied Abby Moncrief. “A lot of it, frankly, depends on the latest storm information. Mister Hobson, do we have an update on Kelsey?” The two administrators were holding a meeting with the flight crews currently at the base. The topic was the beginning of evacuation / relocation plans to New Braunfels. Dark clouds were appearing on the southeast horizon, the first harbingers of the impending storm.

         “Thanks, Abby,” he said as he stepped forward. While showing no visible reaction, Hondo had noted the condescending tone in Abby’s voice as she called him “Mister Hobson.” Looking at the faces in front of him, he saw that others (especially senior staffers) had also noticed her tone of voice and the fact she’d not used his nickname – the only person in the last two weeks not to do so. “The eye of the storm is still over 150 miles offshore. I could give you all the millibar readings and meteorological folderol, but here’s the simple version: as of the last update, about –” He consulted a piece of paper he was holding. “Okay, the National Hurricane Center issued an update about 40 minutes ago. Air Force Hurricane Hunter aircraft reported sustained winds at 168 miles per hour, with gusts approaching 200. That means Kelsey is now a Category Five storm. For those of you who remember when Ike came through here several years ago… Ike was a Category Four. And Katrina hit Category five right before coming ashore in Louisiana and Mississippi.” Everyone in the room shuddered, especially those who had been part of relief efforts related to the earlier storms.

         “The storm is currently moving to the west-northwest at fifteen miles an hour. Landfall of the eye is expected in six to eight days.” Seeing some of the staff relax, he added, “that, folks, is the eye wall. HOWEVER… Bob, can you help me for a minute?” The pilot stepped up and talked to Hondo for a moment, then held up a large chart the two men unfolded. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Hondo said, “this is a satellite image of Hurricane Katrina. When the first outer rain bands arrived on the coast, the eye of the storm was a good 80 miles offshore. Thanks, Bob.” Hondo helped the man put the man put the chart on the table behind them before continuing. “Some of you are wondering, I’m sure, what all of that means to us. The latest reports about Kelsey say the leading rain bands are at least 100 miles from the center of the eye.” Hondo took a moment to let that sink in before continuing. “We can probably expect the first storm rains in three to four days. Which means we’re going to be evacuating to New Braunfels soon.