Brett Battles - No Return

Wes looked back. “I’m going to be okay.”

With a reluctant nod, she let go, and Wes started toward the plane.

“Wait,” Dione said, reaching out and grabbing his arm. “You’re not going back there.”

“He’s stuck! The only way to free him is to cut his straps.”

“I don’t care. It’s not safe.”

He shrugged out of her grasp and began running.

This time he angled himself so that he didn’t have to stop as he jumped onto the wing. Again his knees smashed against the surface, but he anticipated it this time and didn’t slip.

When he stood up, he could see the pilot straining to look over his shoulder. Wes raised the knife. The pilot started to smile, then suddenly he craned his neck, as if he was trying to look behind his seat.

The man’s eyes went wide. He started to yell at Wes. “Get ba-”

Whoosh .

An explosive burst of flames engulfed the cockpit.

“No!” Wes yelled.

He started to charge forward, hoping he could still get to the pilot.

“Wes! Stop!” Anna screamed.

He made it to the middle of the wing before the heat of the new blaze forced him to throw his arms up in front of his face. He staggered backward a few steps before the wing disappeared from under him.

He hit the ground hard, knocking the air out of his lungs. Gasping, he rolled out of the burning brush.

Hands grabbed him, pulling him farther away as he sucked in air, trying to fill his lungs again.

“We’ve got you,” Anna said, her voice raised so she could be heard over the roar of the fire.

Danny showed up a few seconds later and helped them lift Wes to his feet and half walk, half carry him farther back.

Wes tried to turn back. “The pilot!”

“It’s too late,” Anna shouted. “There’s nothing you can do for him.”

Wes looked toward the cockpit. It was completely engulfed in flames. He sagged against his friends.

“It’s all right. We’ve got you,” Danny said.

Together the three crew members dragged Wes away from the heat of the fire into the cooler heat of the desert, finding shelter on the other side of the vehicles.

Once Wes finally caught his breath, Dione asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah … Fine.”

“Here.” Anna handed him a bottle of water.

Wes took a sip, paused, then took another. “Thanks.”

“What the hell were you-”

“We’ve got company,” Danny said, cutting Dione off.

Wes’s eyes, stinging from the smoke, were having a hard time focusing on anything. But before he could ask Danny what he’d seen, a not-so-distant thumping answered his question.

Helicopters. A whole mess of them.

“You’re lucky.” the search-and-rescue paramedic applied ointment to Wes’s forearm. “A little singed hair, first-degree burn, a few bruises, and that scrape on your arm. Could have been a lot worse.”

Wes owed two people for his life that day: the pilot for changing his plane’s course, and Dione for delaying him. Those few critical seconds she’d blocked him from running back to the jet had kept him from being caught in the flames.

He stared at the wreckage while the medic continued to work on him. The fire was out now, and several members of the naval rescue team were working to remove the pilot’s body, while others were moving around the plane, some taking photographs, others searching for God knew what.

“Excuse me, Mr. Stewart?” Wes pulled his gaze away from the wreckage. Standing a few feet away was a naval officer. He was wearing a khaki uniform, not the olive green jumpsuits of the rescue team. “I’m Lieutenant Miller. When you’re through, there are a couple of questions we’d like to ask you.”

“Of course,” Wes said.

The medic taped a piece of gauze over Wes’s burn, then stood up. “He’s good to go.”

“Please,” the lieutenant said, “if you’ll follow me.”

He led Wes to the helicopter farthest from the plane. A canopy had been set up beside it, and several portable stools were scattered about underneath. The other members of the Close to Home crew were all there, even Alison and Monroe, who’d been left back at the Pinnacles when the others had followed Wes to the crash site.

The moment they saw him, those who weren’t already standing jumped to their feet and ran over.

Anna was the first to reach him. She looked at the gauze bandage on his right arm and grimaced. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Wes said. “I’m fine. Nothing major.”

“Jesus, Wes, you could have been killed,” Dione said, not for the first time.

Wes shrugged, but didn’t reply.

Danny gave him a lopsided grin. “You going to be able to hold your camera up with that?”

“Danny, seriously,” Anna scolded.

“I was just joking,” Danny said.

Alison glared at him. “Now might not be the right time.”

The lieutenant put his hand on Wes’s back. “Sir, if you’ll please step into the helicopter.”

“Are you taking me somewhere?”

“No, sir. Just more privacy inside.”

“They just want to know what you saw,” Dione said. “They’ve talked to the rest of us already. The guy inside said once they finish with you, we can get out of here.”

The lieutenant stopped at the open door of the helicopter and motioned for Wes to pass through.

Inside, another man sat on the bench seat that ran along the back of the passenger space, glancing at the top page of a notepad. He, too, was dressed in khakis, but he was older than the lieutenant, probably in his mid-forties. On the collar of his uniform were the silver leaves denoting a commander.

The commander set the pad down as he rose from the bench, his back hunched slightly to compensate for the limited space. “Hello, Mr. Stewart. My name is Thomas Forman.”

Wes shook his hand. “Good to meet you, sir.”

“Have a seat.” Forman settled back on the bench, motioning to a spot near him. As Wes sat, the commander glanced toward the door. “That’ll be all for the moment, Lieutenant.”

Lieutenant Miller saluted, then closed the helicopter door, leaving the two of them alone.

Forman gave Wes a smile. “First of all, I want to thank you for reacting as quickly as you did. Your colleagues told me you didn’t hesitate to rush to the scene. Not many people would do that.”

Wes shook his head dismissively. “I don’t know about that, Commander. It didn’t end up helping, anyway.”

“I think you’re undervaluing your efforts, Mr. Stewart.” Forman picked up his notepad. “As much as I wish it wasn’t, my job is to investigate this accident, and try to find out what happened. Part of that means interviewing witnesses such as yourself and your colleagues.”

“I’ll help however I can,” Wes said.

“Thank you, I’m sure you will.” Forman smiled briefly, then turned serious. “As you can imagine, what you witnessed here is an event we consider very sensitive. It’s always a matter of national security when one of our planes goes down, but today we’ve also lost a member of our family.”

“Of course,” Wes said. “I understand completely.”

“Thank you. I promise I won’t take up much of your time. Just a couple of questions and you can go.” The commander glanced down at his pad. “Mr. Stewart, why don’t you start by describing what you saw?”

“You can call me Wes, sir.”

“All right.” Forman paused, his eyes seeming to assess Wes anew. “You’re a Navy brat, aren’t you?”

Wes looked surprised. “Yes, sir. How’d you know?”

“You called me Commander. Then the ‘sir,’ ” Forman said. “One of your colleagues, Miss Li, I believe, mentioned you’re actually from around here.”