Okay. Well, Dana, you’ve gotta get yourself outta here, you’re on your own. She stood up. This time, her head was clear. Gingerly, because of the steep slope, she guided herself past the branches and trunks to explore the region to her left, across the slope.
Ten or so metres along, she could go no further. The shelf she was on shrank into a near-vertical rock face. Carefully, she moved back to her original spot. She looked up the slope. About five metres up-slope, the trees stopped at the base of a cliff that rose nearly vertically, so that she could not see its top.
Hoo-boy. She continued on across the slope—but a few metres later, she was confronted with the same problem as before. Her shelf had shrunk to nothing. Nothing left but a rock-face. Gingerly, she turned and returned to her ‘home’ base.
Very carefully, she let herself downslope against the tree trunks, which became thinner and weaker as she approached the edge of a precipice.
She gasped. She had not realized this until now. Earlier, when the helicopter had been here, she knew it had gone below her level, but she had had no concept of where she was in space. Now, it all became clearer.
She was on a small ledge, a sloping shelf, on a cliff-face going down into a deep gorge. Now that the trees were not obscuring the view, she could see the other side of the gorge—a rugged, craggy hillside, with cliff-faces such as the one she must be on, with pockets of trees clinging precariously to any root-holds they might find.
Far below, she could hear water flowing. Must be a river. Of course; the Anja, that’s what it is. Yeah, this is the gorge we were all following up on the road. Yeah. So where am I? And how the hell did I get here?
She sat there, safely locked in the trees near the edge of the precipice, staring at the scene. Slowly but surely, the magnitude of her problem dawned on her. There is no obvious way to get off this ledge by myself. Nobody knows I’m here. Apart from a minor injury, I’m okay.
She mentally counted the squares on the chocolate bars—I’m okay for food for a few days. There’s a trickle of water coming off the top cliff. Okay, I can stay put for a while—no need to panic, yet.
But her mind would not let her relax. Now that she knew basically where she was, but not how she got there, she knew that she was in real danger. This gorge region was basically in the hands of the Anjastas, a breakaway rebel group that would not accept UN demands and the cease-fire agreements. That was why her patrol had been moving cautiously up the gorge road—
Oh no, No! Her eyes closed tight. Noise, explosive sound, indescribably loud, shock, moving through space … She struggled with sensations crowding into her mind, disconnected, fragmented sensations, screams … What’s happening?
Shaking, shivering, she opened her eyes again to the scene before her, still the cliffs opposite, the river far below. Were we attacked? Were we blown up? Is that how I got here? What about the others?
Shaking, she tried desperately to coax more from her memory, but all she could find were haunting, frightening fragments of sounds and sensations. Nothing, but nothing, rational could she find, beyond that mental image of looking back from her hatch on the Coyote at the other two vehicles following hers up the road.
I’m in deep shit. If we were attacked, that helo and the jet were probably looking for survivors. Given the rebel danger, they’ll likely not come in again looking soon. Maybe they’ve figured everybody was killed.
As she sat there, pondering her fate, another problem came into her consciousness: her fear of heights. It had been with her since childhood, never a real issue for years because she never put herself into such situations. But it had come up seriously in basic training, and could have perhaps cost her her career before it had really begun.
Her mind went back to that day, a hot, dry day out on the range, with those ropes suspended out across the ravine and the river below—the abrasive instructor barking at everyone’s heels as they prepared to cross, with an equally barbaric instructor waiting to finish you off over at the other side.
In her mind’s eye, she watched as the recruit two ahead of her slipped halfway across. He was left sitting astride the lower rope, hanging frantically onto the two guide ropes, petrified with fear. The two instructors bawled directions at the poor guy, only making him worse. She remembered how, at long last, he recovered and was able to drag himself inelegantly to the far side.
She recalled how she had steeled herself at the outset of her crossing, and had made good progress to about the midpoint, following all the instructions, not looking down, when all at once, she had felt the ropes start to sway sideways, and bounce up and down. The wind had risen.
In a moment of panic, she had glanced down—disaster. She had lost control, her steeling was gone, she was shaking, the ropes were swaying, her stomach was in her mouth, then in her boots. She was frozen.
In the background, she could hear the barked directions, but they made no difference; she alone had to regain control. Slowly, she had mustered up all her parts and, fixing her gaze on the far side, had begun to move again, step by step, hands gripping and sliding alternately.
It took forever, or so it had seemed. But what a relief, and surprise, when, at the end, the instructor put out his hand to guide her onto firm land, saying, “Well done, Dana.”
She knew she had come through that time, but that was in training; there were others around to help, and there was a safety rope. Now it was different—a real matter of life or death. She was alone, and there were no convenient ropes or guides, just trees and rocks, and far below, water.
If only Rory or Caleb could be here. She had spent many happy hours, days even, with those two from RMC, hiking and scrambling over rocky hills back home, where nothing as steep and precipitous as this would be attempted—at least not when Dana was with them. She knew Rory and Caleb were expert rock-climbers, but they did that when Dana was not around.
It wasn’t that height itself was the problem for her. She didn’t mind it when she had the feeling of something solid and extensive beneath her. The CN Tower in Toronto was okay. Even standing at the edge of Niagara Falls, on the firm viewpoints, was not a problem, although, if she watched the water too closely, she did begin to lose control. It was when she didn’t have a firm base supporting her that her fear really came to the fore.
But here she was, trapped. Slowly, she turned and dragged herself up away from the precipice. Her ribcage was hurting again—too much stretching was not doing it any good.
She reached her original spot. It was becoming home to her; it had acquired a ring of familiarity. She lay back on the slope and closed her eyes. She shuddered. Fear was not far away, but he had not taken over yet.
The rain was heavier, now. The frail shelter she had managed to build with a few leafy branches was already leaking, and water was dripping through to her at various spots.
The darkness was closing in. She could no longer make out the shapes of the tree trunks downslope at the edge of the precipice. With the complete cloud cover and rain, there was no light at all, now. She was totally trapped, trapped by her surroundings, trapped within her mind—trapped by her mind, constrained to go wherever her mind would go. All she could see was that which was in her mind.
Her mind began to hunt, to hunt for images, old images, childhood images, home, good images, bad images, scary images, Tony, black images that grew to frightening ones.
Get a hold of yourself, Dana—the thought verbalized in her mind. She switched back to the present. Cold and wet, she shifted to another position; she moved a twig to make the water drip in a better spot.
For a while, she focussed on the near world, her mind under control. She leaned back against the sloping ground. Eyes open, eyes closed, it made no difference—there was nothing to see. Time had no meaning—she had no idea how long she had been trapped. Gradually, the darkness bore down on her; her eyes closed by default, and her mind began to wander …
She awoke suddenly. Her face was hard against something rough and wet—her arms
flailed out, but were held down by chains. She was shaking, gasping, shrieking, tensing as a reflex into fight mode. Wildly she fought, flinging off the chains and clearing her face.
Sobbing, shivering, shaking, she came to full consciousness, dripping, cold, and wet. Gradually, in the pitch-blackness, she realized again where she was. Her shelter had collapsed on top of her. Now, in her frantic escape from the dream, she had broken it apart completely.
The full rain was now coming down at her through the trees. She could not possibly be any wetter than this.
She shivered in the pre-dawn, faint glimmerings of light, watching, seeking, hearing, listening: sounds of dripping and creaking—images, dark images, gradual forms emerging in the cold, wet greyness of dawn. Endless rain, and now the wind came, moving the trees, groaning, creaking, shuddering in the dripping, growing light of day.
Beyond the trees, shades of light and grey surged by, moving on the wind in endless motion. And stronger wind; now the trees shook and twisted, leaning and groaning, the rain lashing through to sting on her face; gusts that shook and tore, this way, that way.
A brilliant light. She cringed. Crashing rolls of thunder rattled through the gorge.
She cowered down, low to the ground. Water was pouring down the cliff behind her, down the slope, around and through her very being.
She struggled to move to a safer spot, wedged between trees, to ride out the storm. Lightning and thunder filled the air for an endless time, backed by the fury of the wind and the rain …
Numb with cold and drenched to her skin, she gradually realized that the storm was abating; the worst may be over, for now. But what next? The whole cliff, the ledge she was on, everything was saturated, dripping with water. She was trapped, totally trapped.
She began to tremble, partly from the cold, but partly from fear—fear that she may never escape this trap. Condemned by whatever fate brought her here to die. I cannot escape, and no one will find me. How long? How long will it be?
She focussed on the reality. She had seven squares of chocolate left. She ate one, and at once felt some warmth. She calculated: how long can I last with six more? What then? What will it feel like?
Get a hold of yourself, Dana, be real. You’ll find a way.
But there is no way. I cannot get off this ledge; I’m trapped, fucking trapped. Shit! What a fucking waste of a life. All that effort, all that training, all that crap I put up with—just to end up like this? No way.
“No way!” She was shouting. The anger, the frustration, the fear, every emotion was breaking loose. “No fucking way!”
Shattered, she fell back against a tree trunk. No fucking way, no fucking way …
The rain was still falling as the light faded, and the forms of the trees and the cliffs merged into blackness yet again.
The fight had gone from her again. She was cold, and trembling. What is it like to die? To starve to death? Slowly, agonizingly slowly? What will I do? What will I think about? Will I know what is happening when it happens?
She shuddered. Her mind filled with panicking images, trembling images, faces, dark faces, tortured faces, screaming faces, shuddering, cold.
Bryce, oh no, Bryce, so cold, he didn’t know.
Her mother’s face now, sad, a faraway look, inscrutable—what was she thinking, why didn’t she say? What is she doing now?
Tony. An emptiness engulfed her, and she shuddered again. Tony, Tony, dear Tony …
- 37 -
Dwayne and Elizabeth Hampden approached the outer doors of the Hennigan Centre as a crowd of silent people edged forward; they joined at the rear of the line. Gradually, they moved inside.
“Bob, I am so sorry, this is such a tragedy, such a loss.” Dwayne shook Bob Munro’s hand.
“Thanks, Dwayne, Ah’m glad ye’ve come,” responded Bob.
“I’m so sorry, dear Bob.”
“Guid of you tae come, Elizabeth, thanks,” said Bob.
“Caroline, my dear, I am so sorry for you all.” Elizabeth embraced Caroline.
“Thank you so much, it’s kind of you to come.” Caroline tried to smile, but it was clearly difficult.
Dwayne and Elizabeth moved along the line.
“Iain, I’ve not seen you for quite a while. I’m sorry it’s on such a sad occasion.”
“Thanks for coming, Mr Hampden. This is my wife, Tracey.”
Dwayne shook Iain’s and Tracey’s hands. Elizabeth hugged them both.
“Thank you, it’s kind of you to come,” Tracey responded.
Dwayne and Elizabeth found seats near the back, as the hall was almost full already. A small portable organ was playing softly.
Elizabeth looked about her. “There’s Dave Adkins, over there in the grey suit.”
“Uh-huh.”
A quietness descended on the people. Time seemed to hang suspended, as the family members took their seats at the front, near the stage.
A sound of quiet footsteps mingling together came from behind, and a general rustle of sound spread as the people rose to their feet. Dwayne turned slightly to look.
Slowly and surely, led by a chaplain, a group of soldiers moved steadily forward up the aisle. First, a soldier carried a tablet on which rested a cap, belt, and gloves. Following him came two female soldiers. Two male officers brought up the rear. Dwayne recognized one of them to be Graham Stennings.
As the procession reached the front of the hall, the chaplain stepped to the right. The first soldier moved forward with the cap, belt, and gloves to the table set at the front. He placed them carefully in front of a small cross, flanked with flowers. By the flowers were two photographs.
The soldier stepped back two paces, bowed his head, and stepped aside. In turn, the other soldiers stepped forward, bowed heads, and stepped aside. Finally, all five stepped back to form a line, and then returned to places in the front row, furthest from the centre aisle.
“Welcome to this Hennigan Centre,” the chaplain began. “At first, this ceremony for our dear Dana was intended as a vigil, in the hope and prayer that she was not lost. However, word was received yesterday …”
The chaplain himself hesitated, clearly moved. “Today, we come not only to mourn her, but to celebrate her life …”
The organ sounded, at the start of a psalm, number twenty-three.
“Crimond,” whispered Dwayne, as the familiar tune brought back memories.
As the psalm ended, all sat down. David Adkins stood and walked to a lectern, set to the side of the small table.
“The reading is taken from St. Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, Chapter Four …”
People were attentive, watching and listening to David, whose voice wavered at times. The reading ended. Everyone stood, and the chaplain recited a short prayer.
Rich tones of the organ now filled the hall, carrying up voices in the hymn “Abide With Me”. By the end of the hymn, emotion gripped everyone. The people remained standing as the chaplain led them in prayer.
“… glory, for ever and ever. Amen. Please be seated.”
People sat down, as the sounds of rustling clothes, and of noses and throats being cleared, wafted through the hall.
The chaplain took up a position at the side of the ceremonial table. “It is hard for us to grasp, to try to understand the loss of a daughter, a sister, a friend, a companion, a comrade, a leader. And it is harder still for us, when she is young and in her prime, with much to offer.
“Dana came to us as a gift from God, and now she returns to her Maker. While she was with us, she did many things for us; many things that will live on with us in our lives. She gave us her love, her concern. She has been an inspiration for us, and she will continue to inspire, for she will remain strong in our memories …”
The chaplain continued; Elizabeth pulled out a tissue. Dwayne reached over to lay his hand on her hand.
“… and let us remember Dana as we knew her. Amen.”
There were rustling sounds as people adjusted their pos
itions.
The chaplain continued, “If anyone wishes to share with us their thoughts about Dana, you are welcome to come forward.”
A very tall, elderly man with a shock of white hair rose and walked forward to a position by the stage, to the right of the chaplain. Dwayne recognized a friend.
“I’m George Simpson. I have had the privilege of knowing Dana for several years. I came to know her through her brilliant initiative that has resulted in a lasting physical monument to her life, this fine Hennigan Centre.
“I admired her from the moment I met her. I admired her quiet, carefully managed confidence. Her efforts to bring the Centre to the successful venture it now is have benefited us all.
“As many of you know, Kurt Hennigan, the Centre’s benefactor, died last year at the age of a hundred and one. During his last days, he said to me, ‘Young Dana has been a blessing to me. She has given me five extra years to my life. She has helped to fill the void.’
“Mr Hennigan lost both his son and his daughter in the Korean war, and his wife not long after. During her years at the military college in Kingston, Dana visited Kurt almost every week when she was in the city, to talk with him, to walk with him, to read to him. After she was commissioned and away with the Army, she wrote to him regularly … And now we mourn her passing. We will remember her always.”
George Simpson wiped his eyes as he returned to his seat. The chaplain scanned the congregation.
A young woman walked to the front and turned. “I’m Fiona Stacey. I just want to say, ‘Thank you, Dana.’ You brought me out into the world. You gave me an example to follow. I know I can’t do what you have accomplished, but you gave me the confidence to do well what I can do. I’ll never forget you.” Red-eyed, Fiona returned to her seat.
An older woman walked to the front of the side aisle, and turned to face the congregation. “My name is Jane Stennings. I would just like to pay tribute to Dana. I first knew her at another tragic moment for her family, the loss of her brother Bryce, and our hearts go out to Caroline, Bob, and Iain at this time. I am proud to have known Dana, and to have worked with her. She was made of the right stuff. She knew what was needed, and did her utmost to see that it was done right. God bless you, Dana.”
Angel in Blue Jeans Page 24
