Artifact 12: The Crash on Corona Ranch

Well, the US Army has arrived at Corona Ranch to retrieve--whatever it is. Rusty tells them where to go!

Artifact 12: The Crash on Corona Ranch

 

            Because of an interruption to his breakfast, Rusty stood on the Corona Ranch porch and watched the two army vehicles pull up the lane to under the oaks.

A jeep and a medium-sized, canvas-covered truck slowed in front of the porch. Rusty guessed the truck was a heavy duty ton and half like their stake bed. A young lieutenant, who didn’t look a day over twenty-one dismounted from the jeep before it had completely rolled to a stop. The jeep lurched a couple times before the engine died. Obviously, this man was in a hurry. Rusty finished chewing his slice of bacon and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

            “Good morning, sir,” the young officer said hurried but businesslike. “Are you the owner of this farm?” 

            Rusty recognized the accent and placed the young officer from somewhere back east. “I’m the foreman and can speak for the owner. What’s your business here at Corona Ranch?”

             “Good enough, sir. Our official army business is that we’re on a retrieval mission to recover the parts of a downed aerial experiment.”

             “Pardon?”  Rusty asked.

            “Oh sorry, sir.  An experimental aircraft crashed on or near your farm, er, ranch, and we are asking for permission to cross the property, cutting fences if necessary to reach said crash site.”

            “Well sir, you’d better not be cutting none of them fences or you’ll be paying for a couple hundred cattle that will depart this property in short order.”

            “Understand sir, the possibility of escaping animals,” the lieutenant seemed to regroup his thoughts for a second. “Ah, er perhaps, you’d care to escort, accompany us�"perhaps, to the site�"if you could�"to keep the animals from escaping?”

            In the back of the jeep, a private first class spoke on a radio the size of a steamer trunk. Rusty could see various colored lights and dials adorning the radio. Scratchy voices and static emitted from a tinny speaker. Interested, Rusty ignored the officer to keen an ear toward the radio conversation.

            “Crow’s nest twoa-niner, this is Labrador Retriever tree-tree, come in please, over,” the private said into the microphone.

            Surprising Rusty, an overly loud and scratchy reply came back. “Roger, this is Crow’s Nest twoa-niner, go ahead Labrador Retriever, tree-tree, over.”

            “Roger, twoa-niner, our coordinate position on grid marks are as follows: Alpha won-tree-fiver, slash November seven-fore-twoa. Over.”

            “Copy tree-tree your coordinates: Alpha won-tree-fiver, slash November seven-fore-twoa �"stand by. Over.”

             “Tree-tree standing by, over,” the private in the jeep replied.

            Pausing, the lieutenant noticed that Rusty ignored him while paying attention to the radio. 

            “Ah sir, Mister Young?” The lieutenant said impatiently. “We have an aircraft in visual contact with the crash and are cross-checking our location with the crashed aerial vehicle.”  

            “Oh, sure, I see that.  So, let me get this straight, the plane up there tells you how to find this, ah aerial, aircraft crash and you just need to cut a trail to get to it.”

            “Affirmative, yes sir.  Is this acceptable?” 

            “No,” Rusty said straight up. He could see the lieutenant jolt with a shock. “But�" you should be able to get there without cutting fences. We can show you to and through the gates, understand?” Rusty said. “So, we can make this work for both of us. Hold on one second and let me double-check with the owner on this.”

            “Sir, I could...” the officer said, following Rusty onto the porch.      

             Rusty turned and cut him off.  He put his hands out. “Just stay put. I’ll talk to the owner, Mr. Thompson. It’ll be but a minute.”

            Rusty walked back inside to the breakfast table and sat down. “Did you hear any of that, Mr. Thompson?” He shoveled in a couple cold bites of breakfast.

            “I heard something about an airplane crash and cutting fences. What’s going on Rusty; should I talk to this officer?”

            “Doesn’t seem to be much of a thing. Amos had spotted the plane this morning circling out west. This lieutenant says the plane circling up there can guide these guys in, so they can clean up the crash.” Rusty explained with a thumb to point over his shoulder while taking a drink of his cooling coffee. “If we go out there with these soldiers, we keep them from going cross-country snipping wire wherever they feel, which they want to do�"as the crow flies most likely. I suggested we go with them to show them the gates, and not let them beeline like they want cutting fences as they go.”

So, we’ll get them where they want to go just the same and save our fences at the same time. Keeping the cattle put, eh?” John emphasized. “So Rusty, do you want to handle this?” 

            “Sure, but without me there, it’ll slow down the branding this morning,” Rusty said, gripping an imaginary branding iron and pushing it as if he was branding.

            “No senor Young,” Piped up Salazar. “Nostodros, Amos, Tab y yo esta bueno.”

            “Sure, fine then. The boys can get the branding done,” John declared.  “It’ll give me a chance to get out there and lend a hand on a rope or brandin’ iron!”

            “All right, Mister Thompson, I’m on my way for a ride with the GI’s to keep them out of trouble,” Rusty said, with a wink and a smile as he slid out of his chair. He grabbed his hat that hung on the back of his chair and headed out the door.

             Rusty reiterated the preferred plan to the Lieutenant who agreed to the slightly roundabout route to the crash site. During his wait, the Lieutenant had rolled a map out on the hood of the jeep, the edges weighted down with a pair of binoculars, rulers, and markers. 

            “We have the positions plotted on the map.” The Lieutenant waved Rusty closer to take a look. “Oh sir, I’m Lieutenant Thomas Koski.”  

            “Pleasure to meet you, Thomas, I’m Rusty Young.” And the men shook hands on the couple steps to the jeep.

            Lieutenant Koski pointed to the map, which was a topographical map with minimal manmade points labeled. Rusty recognized the highway and the steep rise to the south. The ranch was labeled “Thompson Farm” in a small square. Rusty ran his finger across the map to where an ‘X’ in a circle was marked.

             “This must be your crashed plane.” He tapped his finger on the spot causing a series of metallic bongs.

            “It’s not really a plane, but yes, that’s the crash site given to us from ‘Crow’s Nest.’” Lieutenant pointed up to the large plane circling lower now. Rusty could hear it but not see it through the oak tree foliage. “Straight line it is only three-point seven miles from out present location.” 

             Rusty looked at the map closely. “Well Thomas, it’ll be a little out of your way through our fence gates, but the driving will be better than cutting straight across the prairie.” Rusty said. He ran his finger in a line from the ranch to the crash. “We have three gates to go through, and I think your, uh, whatever it is, is just on the other side of well tower number thirteen that is in this low area here.” Rusty stabbed the map with his finger making another bong.

            The four other men came out of the house with Mr. Thompson in the lead.  Rusty surmised that the hired hands didn’t look happy now that John was helping. Rusty saw the look they threw his way and knew what it meant. They always said that John slows things down when he gets involved, but Rusty knows from experience that John is the owner and if he wants to get his hands dirty, what can any of them say?

            “Rusty. Everything worked out?” John asked donning his hat.

            “It’ll work out fine, Mr. Thompson,” Rusty answered as formally as he could. “Mr. Thompson, this is Lieutenant Thomas Koski in charge of the aircraft retrieval. Thomas, Mr. Thompson.”

            “Glad to meet you Lieutenant; Koski, is that polish?” The men shook hands.

            “Oh no sir. Finnish. Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Thompson. Nice place you have here,” the lieutenant said politely.

 “Thank you, young man. Hmmm, are you from out east? You sound somewhat like friends I have from Maine.”

            “No sir, born and raised in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.”

            “Really, way up there on the map? Never met anyone from there. I s’pose you can’t be much farther from home out here, eh?” Mister Thompson noticed the lieutenant getting a bit antsy. “So, my man Rusty here will show you the way to your equipment out there.  ’Preciate you soldiers coming up to the house and working with us on this. I’d hate to have a couple hundred head of steers wandering around the county that I’d have to charge the US Army for.” 

            “As your foreman, Mr. Young said,” Lieutenant Koski said and smiled politely.  “It is always good to have a favorable working relationship with the local civilians.”

 The other four soldiers standing around listening to the conversation looked a little antsy Rusty noticed.  

            “Well Thomas, are we ready to go?” Rusty asked.

            “Yes sir,” he turned to the other privates and corporal. “Jones, Smith, Brown. We have to stop to open and close gates, so when you pull through, you will have to close it behind. Securely. Understand?”

            “Yes sir.” They replied in unison.

            “Alright, load up soldiers!” 

            The three soldiers trotted to the covered truck and fired up the diesel engine with a cloud of black smoke. The Lieutenant got behind the wheel of the jeep. Rusty sat shotgun. The private remained scrunched in the back with the radio. Rusty could feel the warmth off the glowing, static-emitting behemoth, so figured the private must be cooking back there.

            With the engine started and a gnash of gears, the Lieutenant lurched them forward in the jeep. Initially, Rusty guided him through the yard between the buildings and past the men in the corral who stood and waved to the short convoy. They approached the first southern gate in just over a minute. 

             “Here, I’ll get it,” Rusty volunteered getting out.

            He pulled the retaining loop of wire off the post and pulled the fence back while motioning the vehicles through. One of the privates from in back of the truck hopped out, and Rusty showed him how to properly secure the gate after their passage. 

            “Alright, we’ll keep going south a little bit on this trail, and then we’ll come up on another gate in a couple minutes at this speed.” 

            They sped up a little but luckily for the men in the truck, the dust wasn’t so bad that they were engulfed in a dust cloud. A few grazing steers lingered in the trail that looked perturbed with the vehicles’ approach. Rusty motioned the Lieutenant to keep driving when he started to slow. 

            “They’ll get out of the way,” Rusty said.

            After the steers moved, they speeded up again and shortly came to a branch in the trail that Rusty had to point out because it was only faintly visible. The Lieutenant acted surprised; apparently, he didn’t see it. 

            The private first class spoke on the radio with the circling reconnaissance plane because the aircraft crew was concerned with the circumventing route the vehicles followed. They wondered if they were off track in finding the crash. In as few words as he could, the private explained they were receiving help from a ‘local cowboy’ to guide them on trails and through the gates which kept them from taking the more direct, faster route. Rusty bristled.

The plane’s radio operator requested that the Lieutenant be informed that they were running low on fuel and would have to return to base in fifteen minutes. The plane’s mission commander then relayed his concern over having a civilian along in the retrieval operation. The Lieutenant relayed back that that they expected a low difficulty factor of finding the crash site without Crow’s Nest and expected no complications with a civilian along. 

            “That’s an interesting concern,” Rusty asked over the jeep’s engine noise. “Was this some secret aircraft that crashed out there?”

            “No, Mr. Young,” the lieutenant answered frankly. “It is not secret just an aircraft experiment that isn’t well known to the public or in normal, open air operational use.” He paused. “In other words, we must maintain proper control over who knows about this and make sure, well, for instance, pictures don’t show up in the newspaper for everyone to see,”  Lieutenant Koski said with a glance Rusty’s way.  Rusty nodded knowingly about nosy newspaper people and such.

            After a few silent seconds of listening to the jeep’s engine groan and gears whine, Lieutenant Koski asked the radio operator who had been scanning the map, “Private, how does our progress looks?”     

            The private rustled the map and ran his finger across the map. “Sir, we’re about three-quarters of a mile west of the direct route, but I’d say we’re halfway there from the ranch house.”

            “Good,” said Koski.  “How many more fences to pass through, Rusty?”

            “Well, without looking at your map again, I can’t ‘actly place it, but I figure it’ll be two, maybe three gates,” replied Rusty.

            The Lieutenant looked at his watch, stepped down a little harder on the accelerator pedal, and upshifted despite the roughness of the trail. 

“Maybe we can get there before Crow’s Nest departs,” he said, without taking his eyes off his driving. 

            Another ten minutes passed with another slight delay for grazing cattle. They passed through the next gate efficiently. The radio operator reported that Crow’s Nest was departing the area and the ground vehicles, Labrador Retrievers,’ progress appeared to be in the correct direction. The plane’s navigator estimated that the ground vehicles were just short of a mile away from ground zero.

 Rusty wondered about the term used and watched as the plane started to bank away from the area. He heard the mission commander say that they would undergo a crew change with the refueling and return on orbit in an hour and a half, ETA 1535 hours. On the map spread across his lap, the radio operator quickly used a ruler to figure distances. 

            “My calculations put us at point nine of a mile depending on how directly we continue.”

            Rusty turned to talk to the private. “It’s almost straight in to the next gate which is over the next rise, ah, there it is,” he pointed.

            After opening and re-securing the gate, the two vehicles proceeded. With a rustling of the map, the private folded it and held the section forward for Rusty to see.

            “Sir, can you make out the landmarks in relation to the crash, ah, it’s marked with the ‘X’.” 

             Rusty looked at the private with an annoyed gaze, but he took the map to look closer. “Let me see,” he said sliding his finger across the map even though his finger didn’t slide smoothly because of the jeep’s jostling and bouncing. “This must be the low area at the gate we just passed through and this high spot on the topo-map must be this rise on our right.” He pointed out the open jeep door at a hill devoid of any vegetation with just sand and rocks at the apex. “My guess is that we should see the next gate and maybe the crash right over this hill ahead.” Rusty said, pointing to the map and then out the windshield.

            The gentle grade was hardly noticeable in the vehicles with just enough of a rolling hill to hide what lay beyond. The mountains that were in view for almost the entire trip out the windshield now lay directly to the northwest.  As they approached the top of the hill, the fence line extended diagonally across the trail with what Rusty thought must be the crash site debris glinting a ways off beyond the fence.  The Lieutenant braked to a stop and picked up the binoculars from between the seats and removed them from the case.

            “Yes, I see it.  Looks like a clear approach after the gate.” He then handed the binoculars to the private.

            “Not much to see,” the private muttered.

            After navigating the gate, the Lieutenant seemed to speed up to an almost dangerous velocity. The jeep bounced and lurched across the open prairie because they were no longer following a trail. Rusty decided he should hold onto the grab handle along the side of the jeep and brace with his legs to keep from being jostled out. He thought about his riding a wild bronco at the rodeo when he bounced out of his seat and touched his head to the jeep’s canvas top. He turned to look behind wondering if the other truck was staying in pace with the jeep. It indeed remained close behind.

   As they approached the crash site, the Lieutenant circled the jeep around facing outward away from the debris field. He pulled a leather brief case out from the back of the jeep, opened it, and sat behind the wheel with his legs out the door and feet on the ground.  The men in the truck pulled up behind and turned off the engine.

Lieutenant Koski flipped through a couple pages of documents that Rusty could make out as diagrams, pictures, and paragraphs of data. The lieutenant shook his head after peering over his shoulder at Rusty’s interested gaze and abruptly shoved the papers back into the case.        

            “Soldiers, something is not right about the debris in this crash, so don’t proceed with our pre-planned retrieval procedure.”  

             “Sir?” The radio operator asked.

            “There is too much debris and those pieces there are too large. We need to survey the situation and proceed accordingly. Mr. Young, please stay in the vehicle and please�"don’t be too curious. We’ll tell you if we need you and when you can get out.” 

             Rusty nodded silently. After a few seconds when the soldiers moved closer to the crash, the corporal suddenly cried out.

 “Oh my God Lieutenant Koski, look at that!”

Author's Note

Is anyone actually reading these? I have no idea how many parts there will be to this story!