A Time for Patriots (14 page)

Patrick decided these guys weren't going to answer any questions, so he walked back to the camp and woke up the adults. “We have visitors,” he told the senior members.

“What?” Fitzgerald thundered. He followed Patrick's outstretched hand. “Those guys have been watchin' us, and they got
guns
? I'll straighten them out!”

“Negative, Fid,” Bellville said. “Stay put; get the cadets up and the camp packed up.” Fid turned, glaring at the newcomers.

“They said Andorsen will be out shortly,” Patrick said.

“What else?”

“Nothing. They weren't very chatty—or friendly.”

“Another Jeep to the south,” Leo said, lowering a pair of binoculars. “A little better hidden than the others.”

“Looks like Judah has had us under surveillance all night,” John said.

“Judah?”

“Judah Andorsen,” John explained. “Fourth-generation rancher out here. Good customer of mine at the store. I've known him for years.” He fell silent; then: “I wonder why he didn't come in.”

“Or why he didn't report us to the sheriff, and why the sheriff isn't here,” Patrick said. “You think Andorsen wants to handle this situation by himself?”

“We'll find out pretty soon,” Bellville said, “because I hear a chopper.” Sure enough, a minute later a Bell JetRanger helicopter approached, flying low. It stirred up a cloud of dust as it settled a few yards away from the Jeep to the east. Through the swirling sand, a tall, broad-shouldered man emerged and strode purposefully toward the camp, flanked by one of the men from the Jeep, carrying the rifle at port arms.

When he was a few paces away from the CAP members, the man shouted over the subsiding roar of the helicopter's turbine engine, “Who the hell is McLanahan? I want to know which one of you is McLanahan!”

“I'm McLanahan,” Patrick replied.

“So you think you can steal one of my trucks and leave
this
as some kind of IOU?” the man said. He was waving the CAP Form 104 Patrick had stuck in the ranch house's door. The man was wearing a leather flying jacket, jeans, cowboy boots, and leather ranch hand's gloves. “I've got news for you, bub: we don't do that out here in Nevada on my land. I think it's time to teach you a little down-home respect for . . .” As he got closer to the group, he looked at the others and froze. “John? Is that
you
?”

“Good morning, Judah,” John said with a smile. “You're in quite a state this morning, aren't you?”

“You're with this group of thieves, John? Are you all right? What are you wearing?”

“A flight suit, Judah,” John said. “I'm a mission observer for the Civil Air Patrol. We're out here on a mission.”

“A mission? Civil Air Patrol? Why, I don't . . .” He continued to scan the group, and they could see his eyes widen in surprise again. “Trooper Slotnick?”

“Morning, Mr. Andorsen,” Leo said.

“What in hell is going on out here?” Andorsen asked. “Are you making an arrest, Trooper? Why didn't you call and—”

“My mission base has been trying to contact you for the past eighteen hours, sir, but there's been no answer,” Bellville said.

“Who are
you
?”

“David Bellville, Civil Air Patrol ground-team leader. We're on a search-and-rescue mission.”

Andorsen seemed to relax a bit. “Oh yeah . . . the crashed plane we saw coming out here,” he said, nodding. “You looking for that plane? It's about three hundred yards back that way.”

“We found the plane,” Bellville said. “We were out here looking for a survivor.”

“A survivor? From
that
? No way in hell.”

“Mind keeping your voice down, Andorsen?” Fitzgerald asked in a low growl. He jabbed a thumb back toward Jeremy's tent. “The
survivor
is sleeping.”

Andorsen first scowled at Fitzgerald—obviously unaccustomed to being spoken to like that—but then nodded. He turned to McLanahan. “You fly that plane onto my airstrip?”

“Yes.”

“And steal my truck?”

“I didn't steal your truck. I borrowed it to make contact and assist the ground-search team. I left that form so you could call our mission base and we could explain what was happening.”

“On my land with my property I prefer to get answers for myself,” Andorsen said, “and out here,
I
decide what is stealing and what's not.” He looked more carefully at Patrick, then glanced at the Form 104. “What'd you say your name was?”

“McLanahan.”

“Unusual name,” he said. Andorsen read the name and information on the card, then Patrick's leather name tag on his flight suit. “
Patrick
McLanahan?
The
Patrick McLanahan? But you're wearing colonel's rank. The real Patrick McLanahan was a three-star Air Force general.”

“In the Civil Air Patrol, I'm a colonel,” Patrick said.

Andorsen's eyes slowly grew wider and wider in sheer amazement.
“You're General Patrick McLanahan?
No shit?”
he exclaimed.

“The one and only, Judah,” John said proudly. “He's a volunteer for the Battle Mountain squadron, just like us. That's his boy over there.”

“I don't believe it!” Andorsen said, mouth agape. He reached over and extended his hand. “It is an honor to have you on my ranch, sir, a real honor.” Patrick took his hand, and Andorsen pumped it enthusiastically. “I'm sorry about getting in your face there, sir, but we get a lot of trespassers and thieves these days, what with the economy going to shit and all. The sheriff is doing his best, but this is a big county and a big ranch, and his department's been slashed to the bone . . .” He waved a hand in his own face, interrupting himself, then said, “I apologize, sir, but I'm babbling. You need someone flown to the hospital? If you can put him in the chopper, I'll fly him myself. Otherwise I'll have the boys at the house bring out the Hummer.”

“I think he'll be better off in the chopper,” Bellville said. “John, Leo, get him ready.” They hustled off.

“So you're out here doing a search-and-rescue, and you find the crash, and then you find a survivor who walked away from the crash,” Andorsen said. “Amazing work. I'm proud of you guys. And you're
volunteers
. That's even more amazing. I've always believed in the spirit of the volunteer, the person who doesn't expect to be paid for service to his community and country. Real proud of you.” He shook his head as he looked at each one of them with a smile. “What else can I do for you?”

“Our van is parked next to your gate number twenty-three,” Fitzgerald said. “The gate was locked.”

“Like I said, we've had a lot of trespassers over the past couple years,” Andorsen said. “Even had some cattle rustlers a while back.”

“And you like to deal with them yourself, instead of calling the sheriff?” Fid asked. He nodded. “Sounds like the way it should be done.”

“Bet your ass,” Andorsen said. He looked Fid up and down. “Do I know you?”

“I've been on your ranch many times for open-range fire drills with the Department of Wildlife air and ground teams,” Fitzgerald said. “You've been extremely generous with your time and hands. You've donated help and land for CAP cadet campouts also. I have all of your gates mapped out.”

“Happy to do it,” Andorsen said, nodding approvingly. “You and your kids need a ride to your van?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take the pickup, and my boys will tag along and take anyone that doesn't fit, then drive the pickup back,” Andorsen said. “You'll probably need one adult to stay with your survivor when we drop him off at the hospital.” He turned to Patrick. “I'd be honored if you'd fly along with me, General. I'd like to chat and show you my ranch before you fly off.”

“We're grounded for now,” Patrick said.

“Grounded? The plane not working?”

“The FAA has grounded all flights around the country,” Bellville said. “The plane crash in Reno?” Andorsen wore a blank stare. “The plane that crashed into the federal building in Reno carrying radioactive material?”

“
Radioactive ma . . .
are you
shitting
me?” Andorsen retorted.

“You didn't hear about that?”

“Son, my ranch is over fourteen thousand square miles across five Nevada counties,” Andorsen said. “I operate a thousand crop circles, fifty thousand head of cattle, eleven mines, and two thousand workers. I go eighteen hours a day, every day; I'm in the air at least three hours a day. I don't have time to watch TV.” He looked concerned. “But I've got offices in Reno, and they should've alerted me. Same as that plane crash on my land—someone should have noticed that, and noticed you flying around out here. I'm gonna look into that too.” He saw John and Leo two-man carrying Jeremy toward the helicopter, followed closely by Ralph. “That the survivor? Damn lucky kid. Well, let's get rolling.”

“I'll stay with Jeremy until next of kin or child protective services show up,” Bellville said. “Fid, you head back to base with the cadets.”

“Can I stay with Jeremy, sir?” Ralph asked.

“ 'Fraid not, Ralph,” Bellville said. Ralph looked dejected, but nodded assent. Bellville turned to Andorsen and explained, “Cadet Markham here led the ground-search team right to the survivor, and he's been the survivor's medical attendant since moment one.”

“So why can't he ride along?” Andosen asked. “I got plenty of room.”

“Because we need at least two adults together with at least two cadets, unless it's an emergency,” Bellville explained. “Liability and child protection regulations.” Andorsen nodded, saying nothing but wearing a puzzled expression on his face. “Patrick, do you need John or Leo to fly the 182 back to Battle Mountain? I need one of them with Fid and the cadets.”

“I'll take Leo and give him some stick time,” Patrick said. He saw Brad's anxious expression, wanting some stick time too or at least a ride in the plane, but now was not the time.

“Then John will go back to base with Fid and the cadets in the van,” Bellville said. Patrick nodded. “I'll call it all in.”

It was a half-hour flight to Battle Mountain, where Andorsen himself landed on a nearly empty parking lot next to Battle Mountain's small hospital. He had already radioed ahead to report the situation, and a nurse and paramedic were waiting outside with a gurney. They carefully placed Jeremy on the gurney and strapped him in while Bellville got out. He shook hands with Patrick and Leo. “See you back at base, guys,” he said.

“Roger that,” Patrick said. He and Leo stayed by the helicopter while Andorsen went into the hospital with the nurse and paramedic. More hospital staff members came to the door to greet him. “Popular guy,” Patrick observed.

“Notice the name of the hospital?” Leo asked. Patrick searched and found the sign that read
ANDERS G. ANDORSEN MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
. “Judah's grandfather,” Leo explained before Patrick could ask. “The Andorsens have their names on most of the public buildings all over north-central Nevada.”

“I've worked out here for years and never noticed,” Patrick said.

“Just like most folks out here had no idea what the military was doing out on the base for decades,” Leo said. “Even now, it's the same: the greatest wartime general since Norman Schwarzkopf is living right here in our little town, and no one has a clue.” He looked at Patrick's neutral, faraway expression and smiled. “I was referring to
you,
sir.”

“Thank you, Leo,” Patrick said. “I'm not feeling very heroic these days.”

Andorsen came out a few minutes later and climbed into the JetRanger, with Patrick and Leo scrambling to catch up with him. “Looks like the poor kid's being taken good care of,” he said. “Let me give you a tour of the ranch, and then get some breakfast back at the house.”

“Aren't all aircraft still grounded, sir?” Leo asked.

“I'm sure that don't apply to local flights below one thousand feet aboveground, Trooper,” Andorsen said. “No interceptors will be flying around the boonies—they'll be setting up over the big cities. We'll be okay.” He started the engine and lifted off. “That Bellville guy really seems to have his shit together,” Andorsen remarked. “That Fitzgerald guy too. I'm gonna have to pay a visit to you guys someday and see what you're all about.”

“That would be great, sir,” Patrick said.

“Please, call me Judah, General.”

“Only if you call me Patrick.”

“I'd be honored to, Patrick,” Andorsen said.

“Thank you.” Patrick noticed they were flying right toward Joint Air Base Battle Mountain, whose controlled airspace extended ten miles in all directions from the surface to five thousand feet above the surface. “Better be careful of the Class-C airspace, Judah,” Patrick said. “Do you have the approach control or tower frequency handy?”

“The guys in the tower know my chopper,” Andorsen said, “and as long as I stay away from the approach paths, we're good.”

Both Patrick and Leo looked at the control tower in the distance, and they could clearly see alternating red and green laser light gun signals from the remote video-tower controllers, indicating “EXERCISE EXTREME CAUTION.” “I see red and green light gun signals from the tower, sir,” Leo said. “Better stay away from the base.”

“With all the shit happening in Reno, I'm not surprised,” Andorsen said nonchalantly. He turned slightly east but was still going to break the ten-mile limit. “I can't believe I'm flying with
the
Patrick McLanahan. How long have you been in the area, Patrick?”