by Steven Swaks
As I was orbiting over the site, I had nothing else to do but think. I thought about my possibly dead friend, about him this morning joking around, and of course, about his wife, Dana. Ironically their house was the closest to the crash site. Dana was at home and did not suspect anything. She did see the fire engines parked in front of her house, but she had no idea of what was unfolding. Roman’s plane had crashed only a mile away. The fire apparatus and ambulance staged there, after that, it would be the snow machines’ time to take over through an improvised trail.
As I was circling, I saw some movement outside the plane, a tall black silhouette, standing by the wreckage, my friend was alive!
I feverishly keyed the microphone. “Bethel Tower, Five One Charlie, I have somebody standing outside the plane! I didn’t see any snow-go coming in, might be the pilot!”
“Thank you Zero Five Uniform, we’ll advise rescue.”
Two snow machines departed the fire department’s staging area and headed towards us, their head light beams bouncing along the rough terrain. If the land appeared flat from the air, it was much rougher on the ground, the tundra was littered with small ravines and bushes, depressions and frozen ponds. Soon, the lead snow machine swerved and headed slightly off course. It dawned on me that my turning radius was very large and did not indicate a very precise location. I stopped turning, flew away from the first snow machine for a few seconds, and came back behind the rider towards the crash site rocking my wings to show the proper direction. In this early morning hour, the sun was barely rising and the tundra was still dark, the rider had probably not found the Caravan hidden behind a bluff or tall bushes. They swerved and turned towards the wreck.
I had nothing to do but wait and stare at the crippled plane, the tall standing figure, and dwell on the unfolding events. My thoughts were firing at will on any related topic. Dana was on top of the list, the two rescuers rushing to the site, Tower trying to coordinate the event, Lydia, dispatch. Dispatch! I hadn’t thought about those ones in a while, I could only picture the anxiety going on in there. I had not even told them about Roman.
“Bethel Base Five One Charlie.”
Chris picked up. “Go ahead.”
“I found the plane, looks like Roman is standing outside!”
“Great!! Thanks!!”
Let’s stop for a moment and talk about our marvelous rescue system. A plane was missing; Norton Aviation did their own search. The underpowered Alaska State Trooper R44 helicopter was… inexistent. Much later, back on the ground, I watched the poor spectacle of my Troopers trying to start the chopper without success. But wait! We have a National Guard Blackhawk, the pride of Bethel, the beautiful bird buzzing by on the 4th of July above the parade to amaze the children. That day, the proud bird stayed in its multimillion dollar heated nest, bound by unrealistic regulations and militarily justifiable explanations wrapped with a pink bow. The rugged combat machine stayed home, and the rescue was performed by snow machines. There was no fast and smooth means of search and rescue, only inadequate snow machines and sleds. What would have happened if the site was ten miles away? Thirty miles away? The time critical patient was there, waiting for snow machines. Our outstanding Alaska State Troopers and Bethel Fire Department did an exceptional job, as usual, but the logistics were not there to back them up.
The brave Troopers were like soldiers on a battle field, fighting their way to the goal. They fiercely rode their snow-gos through an impossible tundra, jumping over ditches and avoiding obstacles. The short mile to the site was a ride through darkness and improvisation. As the first snow machine reached the Caravan, the second stayed a few hundred feet back wounded. The Trooper had crashed and hit his chest on the handlebars; there was one more victim in the madness. The Trooper painfully regrouped and carried on, the throbbing chest was not a priority, there was a job to do.
I did not even think about my freight and mail, I did not think about my two passengers waiting, it was all about Roman. It was about getting back to the terminal and talking to Jim, Chris, and all the others. I had to talk to Dana and see Roman. I called Tower, landed, and taxied back to the fuel pit, force of habit I guess. I mechanically shut down and stepped out of the plane.
One of the ground crew came to me, “Hey Steven, do you want me to unload?” He was just doing his job, but I really did not care. Flying, the freight, the passengers, it was another world, another futile requirement so far away from my current saddened reality.
“I don’t know, do whatever you want, I don’t care,” I grunted back at him.
I walked towards the terminal door. I had started the hundred foot walk to the door with decisive strides, but my legs were slowing down. I could not even enter the office. For the first time, I could take a break, my thoughts set free to wander. There was no flying to think about, no notification to give, nothing to focus on. For a while, I thought my friend was dead. For now, it seems he would be fine.
I entered the terminal, Chris was there, silent. Like a robot, I walked upstairs and once again slowed down in the long stair case, withering. Chris was behind me, the horrendous thought of talking to a good friend, and finding out that he was probably dead was taking over. I can’t picture how it must have been in a combat theater, no wonder why some lost it. Chris tapped me on the back, he had seen his share of accidents. Often, controllers were in a front row seat of a pilot’s last seconds of life, powerless witnesses of a disaster unfolding.
I continued to walk upstairs, Jim and Toad were there. I described the extensive damage on the plane, the folded wing, the intrusion on the right side. It looked like someone had used a giant can opener and lacerated the side of the fuselage in a continuous wide gash, but Roman appeared ok, at least he was standing, that was what counted.
This was when it dropped. Toad looked at me, pale. I had never seen him like that. He was not the joker we loved, he was the bearer of bad news. Jim stood back, almost afraid, he knew. Toad approached me.
“Steven, Roman was not alone in the Caravan…” it came like a blow in the stomach, “Alex was with him.”
It was a confession, a single soft sentence, along with the simple and terrible meaning it carried. I did not respond, the logic was easy and simple. Alex, our ground crew, a twenty year old native kid, was sitting in the copilot seat. The right side of the plane took most of the impact and was partially crushed and lacerated. It came like a simple conclusion; Alex was probably dead or severely injured.
I did not know what to say. I did not know what to do. I had to leave. Where? The emergency room was the logical answer to see Roman and find out more. I drove there and met three of his friends huddling in the small emergency room waiting area. One of them was the tall and slender Jeffrey, Roman’s summer job’s manager during the float plane season. In this time of crisis, Jeffrey was there for him. Jeffrey’s wife, Jennifer was also there, I had met the couple a few times, mostly through parties at Roman’s. There was a second lady with long brown hair and chubby cheeks, I had never met her before. The waiting room was sober with a few chairs and white walls. Here and there, were a few posters promoting early diabetes detection and a cigarette free life. Who really cared about not smoking when visiting a patient in an E.R?
Roman was already cared for in the emergency room. In a low and respectful voice we exchanged information, I gave them my version, the course of events, the plane, and what I had seen. Jennifer came next to me, she had sandy blond hair and a certain elegance, even in those circumstances.
“Somebody who works in there told us that Roman has cuts on his face and he has blood everywhere, even out of his ear. He has bad frost bite on his hands and pain in the back.”
That was the best we could get, an unofficial report gathered from somebody who worked in the emergency room. Worked in the E.R. did not mean much, it could have been from a physician or a clerk who saw something. I had not even thought about the cold, this morning must have been around 0°F, without the wind chill. I was overanalyzing everyth
ing, years as a firefighter dissected the info. Cuts on the face, can be fixed. Blood in the ears, who knew? Could be anything. Could be blood from the lacerations on the face, could even be a skull fracture. Could he stand with a skull fracture? I did not know. So long ago I had been an EMT, not a physician! What else? Frostbite. Could be bad, could lose fingers. I could not stay there, I had to do something. I looked at Jennifer.
“Did you hear anything about Alex?”
“The young man in the plane? He’s on his way.”
“Is he alive?” I asked suddenly hopeful.
“I think so, but Roman said he’s pretty banged up.”
“You don’t have any details?” I was dying to find out more. I had to know.
“That’s all I’ve heard,” she replied.
The clerk entered the small administration area and sat behind the counter, I walked to the protective glass window and asked if I could see Roman. The late teen clerk looked at me without a care in the world. It was just a job, another 2 hours 45 minutes before lunch break. The girls are coming tonight, watch a DVD, b.s. about the boys! Now, this guy, who is he asking about? Oh, yeah, the pilot that smacked himself. Can he see him? I saw the nurse talking to him. Don’t really want to see if she is done. Can wait.
“The nurse is still working on the patient, please take a seat,” she said with an overly professional tone vainly hiding a true lack of interest. Her head bounced back and forth left to right as she talked, chewing her gum in a rhythmic cadence. She did not care, we were just numbers waiting to be called.
I really could not stay still. What was next? Norton, talk to Jim. I had to do something.
Dana, Roman’s wife, came out of the E.R. with red eyes. One by one, she gently hugged us.
“Thank you for being here. Roman is relaxing. They only want me in there with him.” She talked softly, still stunned by the events.
Jennifer stepped forward. “How is he doing?”
“He’s stable, he’s in pain but they are worried about his hands. He was outside without gloves for a long time. I’ve got to get back, thank you guys.”
I left the hospital unable to stay still. On the way back to Norton, I thought about the waiting room, the ex-boss, the brown haired woman, Jennifer, Dana coming in and out, and nobody from Norton.
I entered our unusually quiet terminal. The ground crew was probably hiding in the mail room, that was their refuge, a safe place to smoke a cigarette and wait for a bark from dispatch. This morning, it was probably best to stay out of the way. There was a strange mood in the building, an unpleasant silence creeping over us. They too had their share of anxiety, Alex was still in a limbo zone, confirmed alive without much precision.
I passed by Chris in dispatch, who looked at me with an inquisitive look. “So?” I briefly told him what I knew about Roman and Alex. That would be the motto for the day, getting news and spreading the word.
I walked into the mail room, most of the ground crew were there, the young, calm, yet witty Trent sitting on a forklift’s driver seat, the shy and quiet Danny leaning against the wall, and Ron who was on the phone spreading the news and updating worried people. Dave, the older and wiser of the group was standing in the middle of the fenced room, carried by his incredible but controlled energy. I had developed a deep respect for him, not that I did not like the others, but Dave did not rush to a task, he took the time to analyze a situation and act accordingly. Danny was more mellow and always stood back, hesitating. He did not want to take chances and often needed to be coached. Then, there was Gabe. The tall and muscular man was more delicate to deal with. He was cheerful but not really concerned about his job and was more inclined to flirt with Annie, whether she liked it or not.
Trent’s eyes locked on me the instant I entered the mail room. “So?” That was the second nervous “so?” I had in five minutes. I was the bearer of news. As far as they were concerned, my updates were not that good.
“Alex is alive, but he’s injured, that’s all I know. I’ll go back to the hospital soon. I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Ron hung up the phone and looked at us with a grave and somber expression.
“What now?” Dave asked noticing the saddened stare.
“Just talked to my cousin, they found the snow machine rider yesterday evening, you know, the missing kid from Eek.” Ron said with a resigned voice.
“Alive?” Dave asked.
“Dead. Froze to death. Found him south of Eek on the tundra, his snow machine was out of gas. They don’t know what happened. He went ahead of the group. Maybe he got lost.”
Dave sat on a wood crate. “This is never going to end.” He shook his head and wiped his face with his callous hand before looking at us. He opened his mouth but no words came out. His lips came back together unable to produce a sound.
A thick silence filled the room. We stared at anything to focus on something else and forget, a familiar object, a tool box, a calendar to find some cohesion. My heart was pounding, drumming in my chest like a hunted animal. Nobody moved. If we stayed still nothing else would change, people would not get hurt anymore. There was too much suffering, too much pain and trauma.
I looked one more time at the familiar faces, the friends standing before me. I did not want to walk out of the room and handle anything outside the safety of this small mail room.
I had to talk to Jim to exchange the latest news. I turned around without a word and walked upstairs. Jim was on the phone trying to get some update on his side. I waited in the break room, looking at the window, the sky was now a deep blue. In a sad contrast, it was a beautiful morning with a sky standing out over the fresh white snow. From the heated room, it was almost enchanting with sparkling ice crystals floating in the air. Next door, two flight school students slid on the frozen ramp, excited to go fly. A mile further, on the frozen tundra, it was a nightmare.
Jim walked into the room.
“The rampers told me about Alex, they’re lucky to be alive. They had a four wheeler in the back. And guess what! They had 300 pounds of fireworks! If the damn four wheeler didn’t crush them, the fireworks could have blown them up!” Jim stopped talking for an instant. “Did you see Roman?”
“No, they were still working on him, I had to stay outside of the E.R. He has a few lacerations on his face.” I did not want to mention the blood in the ears. At this point, we had no idea what it was. “Alex is alive, but I don’t know how he’s doing.”
“I’ve tried to call everybody, the E.R. won’t tell me anything, and Dan Biset does not know what’s going on.”
Biset was high up in the Health Corporation and Jim’s personal friend, but he was not involved in the day to day operation, he was only an administrator buried in his office. Lydia was not even an option, she was bound to non-disclosure. She just could not get patient information and spread the news.
Jim was on overdrive, governed by adrenaline and stress. “I’m out of here, I’m going to the Caravan!” Now, more than ever, Norton Aviation needed to be managed. Soon, the NTSB (National Transportation Safety Board) and the insurance would be here to investigate. It was only the beginning of a painstaking process.
I walked back downstairs and saw Chris behind the counter.
“You knew what was going on this morning when you called me.” I said.
“Tower had just called me,” Chris muttered. He sighed. “They told me they were switching shifts, you know, the ground guy and the tower guy. Anyway, when Tower, I think his name is Ross, was pointing at each plane to brief his relief…” he hesitated, “that’s when they saw Two Five Delta flying very low. Actually, they only saw its lights, it was still very dark. And all of a sudden the lights went off. They realized that something was going on and they called me. They just told me that we might have lost a plane, they didn’t know for sure. Ross told me that he had heard a short grunt on the radio, no call sign, nothing.” Chris was running the palm of his hand back and forth on the wooden counter. “I didn’t want to
alarm you. You know, you had to fly.”
“I quickly figured it out. Tower was all over it.” I replied. “I’m heading back to the hospital to see if they have anything new about Roman and Alex.”
Another trip to the hospital. I walked into the empty waiting room and saw the same dull clerk reading a teen magazine. I approached the window, “Hi, I am coming to visit Roman Matic.”
The young girl painfully raised her eyes to look at me. “You can come in. He’s in room seven. It’s all the way in the back.” Then her heavy head dove back down to the magazine as if somebody had released the strings of a doll.
I entered the emergency room; it could have been a local E.R. in Anywhere USA. Eight or ten rooms opposed the long and narrow nursing station. Some patients were hidden behind a thick window; others owed their privacy to a simple curtain. The white walls stamped a proven level of cleanliness in the middle of the sick and injured. Most of the staff corralled behind the nursing station’s counter, discussing cases and completing patient charts. There was a single physician running the controlled chaos, a handful of nurses, and a couple of technicians. I could feel the energy, the latent tension in the air, the patients’ pain, the worries of the families. The staff was electric, attending the patients, coming back to the desk, jotting down information and comments, the doctor dictating notes and giving orders, the techs running around, disappearing and coming back though the service entrance throwing the double doors open in a theatrical move.
The emergency room never slept, it was one of a kind within hundreds of miles, a nervous system of a well-organized medevac system. The next step to the emergency trauma treatment was Anchorage and their advanced trauma centers. If they had an operating room in the hospital, there was no surgeon to man it, there was only the minimum staff to patch up injuries, wait for the medevac Learjet from Anchorage, and the promise of advanced trauma care. The golden hour, the ideal theoretical hour between an accident and the operating room, was a beautiful and well unrealistic concept so far from our reality.
