part0020

Hatch fought to catch her breath as she watched the strange man in the plaid hat and aviator's jacket deliver five quick rescue breaths to Tracy. The Talon commander lay flat on his back. His leg bent awkwardly. The dislocated knee had not been reset, and if it wasn’t soon, his leg could be lost. That wasn't the priority. Getting Tracy to breathe again was.

Red and black plaid flaps slapped Tracy’s chin as the man moved in to deliver another round of breaths. Tracy coughed a lungful of water into his rescuer’s face. He sat up with assistance.

Hatch moved to the other side. She performed a quick assessment, starting with Tracy’s head. "Take it slow. You've got a pretty nasty gash on the side of your head there." Hatch moved her way down to his injured knee. She ran her hand from his ankle up to shin. "No breaks that I can feel. Looks like it's just the knee."

"Got to put it back in place." Tracy grimaced as he poked around the kneecap bulging on the outside of the joint. "Care to do the honors?"

Hatch gripped his ankle and straightened it as far as the dislocated knee would allow. She elevated the knee off the ground. "Ready?" Tracy nodded. Hatch then bent the knee inward. Tracy grunted through grit teeth. A pop sounded and she felt the kneecap slip back into place.

"Not the Baywatch moment I'd envisioned as a kid, but I'd take it over the alternative any day of the week." Tracy cackled at his own joke as he let go of his injured knee and extended a hand toward the stranger. "Appreciate the assist."

"Don't mention it." Hair the color of smoke hung connected to a long, thick beard. Water ran off the plaid flaps. He looked like a wet sheep dog. "Didn't do much but lend a hand. I'm sure you'd do the same. She's the one you should be thanking."

Tracy shifted his attention to Hatch. "My tablet was in the Land Rover. I'll reach out to headquarters and get a status update. And give them ours." Tracy pulled the phone from his wet pocket. White light turned the sleet into falling diamonds. The screen cast shadows on the scowl etched across his face. "Shit."

"What is it?" Hatch looked at the screen for answers but couldn’t make anything out through the beads of water.

Hatch moved closer. Tracy shared the screen.

Tracy shot a quick reply. Hang tight. We're coming for you . He made a call. "Looks like you and your boys are up to bat. Landslide hit my team. Yeah. Yeah. They're trapped on the ATV trail. I've got one dead, one MIA, and one who's trapped. I'm going to need to get them off that mountain and to a hospital as fast as possible. I'll send their location. And Hoop, best of luck."

Hatch couldn’t believe what she was hearing. "You're turning it over to the FBI? There's no Talon contingency team ready to fill the void?"

Tracy wiped water from his face. "Situations like this don’t typically require the manpower. We try to leave a minimal footprint when we put boots on the ground on ops like this one.” He searched the sky for answers. “Do you have a better plan?"

"Yes." Hatch looked past Tracy at the van with the antennae poking out in all directions.

"You've got to be kidding me?"

"How long will it take those choppers to get here?"

"Around forty-five minutes from takeoff to landing."

"Does that message from Cruise sound like he's got forty-five minutes?" Hatch stood and helped Tracy to his feet.

"No." He slapped the thigh of his injured leg. "This leg isn't going to make the climb."

"Won't need to. I'm faster on my own." Hatch heard the way it sounded. "Not saying you couldn't hang. It's just how I've been making a go of it since joining civilian life."

Hatch turned to the strange weatherman. "Sir, I hate to do this, especially after what you just did for us. But one way or another, I’m taking that vehicle up that mountain."

"First off, don’t call me sir. I work for a living." A seriousness in the man's eyes prefaced his words. "Secondly, nobody drives Jessie but me."

She didn’t have time to argue. "It's an emergency."

"Ma'am, no offense, but look around. This seismic activity is being felt for hundreds of miles in every direction. That means thousands of emergencies are happening around the region right now."

"First off, don't call me ma'am, I work for a living, too." Hatch eyed the faded leather of the weatherman's bomber jacket getting a freshwater rinse from the endless rain. The sleeves were lined with military patches spanning all four branches of service. "Do those patches mean something to you?"

"Every single one of them." The man beamed with pride.

"Then I assume it would matter if I told you the people I’m going to save wore a similar patch to the one on your arm, right there?" Amid the smattering of patches, one stood out to Hatch as she attempted to commandeer his van. A stitched image depicted a tattooed frog wearing a sailor's cap and smoking a cigar while carrying two sticks of dynamite. Above it read, Underwater Demolition Team 12 . UDTs were the primordial ooze used to form the Navy's SEAL teams. Hatch tapped her finger to it.

"Yes ma’am, it would. I still can't let you take Jessie. She's everything I have." Before Hatch could make a rebuttal, he snapped to attention and presented a salute, tapping the edge of an index finger to the red and black plaid of his fur-lined trapper cap. "Aerographer's Mate, Third Class, Burton Hill, at your service. If you need to get up that mountain, there's nobody better to get you there than my girl, Jessie. And there's nobody who drives her but me. She’s a bit particular."

"I don’t care who drives as long as you get me there." Hatch turned to Tracy. "Up for it?"

"I'd just slow you down. Besides, I'm going to need to maintain comms with HRT inbound."

"You can get yourself out of the rain in old man Gentry's place." Hill pointed beyond his van to the log cabin. "Second oldest surviving roadside lodge in the entire Kenai Peninsula. Nearly sixty years it's sat here."

"Looks closed," Tracy said. "But I'm sure I can find my way in."

"No need. The key is under the wood carved bear on the porch. Old Man Gentry did it years back. It's run by his son who lives in Anchorage. He maintains the upkeep on supplies but rarely keeps shop during the winter months. He leaves the key for locals to use while he's away."

"That's some trust." Tracy's southern twang returned. He began limping his way toward the long rectangular cabin.

"No. That's Alaska." Hill opened the door to the van and hopped inside.

Hatch climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door to the rain and wind. The distant sound of the storm sent tingles through her frigid skin. She watched as Tracy ambled up the wooden steps to the porch where the carved bear stood guard beside the front door. He looked over his shoulder and waved. Hatch returned the gesture, then focused on the road ahead.

“And we’re off.” The tires spun before gaining traction. The Ford E350, better known as Jessie, pulled forward.

"Do you know the ATV trail that runs off the main road outside the entrance to Camp Hope?"

"I know it. That's going to be a tough run for my girl here." Hill drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "But she's never backed down from a challenge. And I'm not about to change that today."

"You really don't have to do this."

"You asked me if the patches meant something. The one you pointed out belonged to my father. He was on the last UDT demolition mission, Fourth of July 1945 in Balikpapan, Borneo." He shot a glance at the cigar-smoking frog. "So, you see, I really do have to do this."