Alive and Alone by W. R. Benton Page A

spoke, hung up and dialed the number to the alert shack.
    “Captain Zlotkowski.”  
    “Zee, Frank Wilcox here, it’s an immediate go.  But, Zee, you only have about a five hour window to reach the site and return.”
    “With our flight time that will leave us enough time to do a good search Colonel.”
    Wilcox was quiet for a moment and then said, “Zee, if the weather starts to turn bad you're to abort the mission.  Do you understand me?”
    Zlotkowski immediately replied, “Roger that, Colonel Wilcox.  I think we’ll be okay with a five hour window, and I’ll not risk the safety of my crew sir.”
    As Colonel Frank Wilcox hung up the phone, he wondered if his order to abort with bad weather just signed death certificates for Jim and David Wade, but he knew he had to think of the safety of his aircrews first.  He stood, looked out his window for a moment and thought, Please, God, let my men find something .
    An hour later the colonel was in the command post listening to Save One, Zlotkowski’s helicopter, as they neared the location were the commercial pilot had picked up the emergency beeper.
    “Rescue Center, this is Save One and we are at the beeper location.  I have nothing visual to report at this time.  We have started our search pattern and I will keep you informed.”
    “Roger, Save One, understand you have started your search pattern.”
    Many long and tense minutes pasted as Frank Wilcox sipped his cold coffee and waited to hear the radio come alive once more.  
    Finally Zee’s voice said, “Center, Save One, we are picking up a very weak beacon on guard.  We will move around a little and see if it will come in stronger.”
    “Roger, Save One, copy.”
    “Center,” The radio broke the silence of the room a few minutes later, “we are where the signal is the strongest, but have nothing visual at, ah . . . wait one.”
    “I think they just saw something.”  The staff sergeant seated at the radio said as he turned to look at the colonel.
    “Thank God, let’s hope so son.”  Wilcox spoke as he moved closer to the radio.
    “Center, this is Save One, we have found the crash site.  I repeat, we have found the crash site, but no sign of survivors.  I'm sending a P.J. down to check the scene.”
    “Copy, you have the crash site visual.  Keep us informed.”
    In the air, Captain Zlotkowski grew apprehensive as he realized there were no survivors on the ground near the crash.  He’d been in the business long enough to know any survivors would be jumping and screaming like crazy people at the hovering aircraft.  Looking back over his shoulder he asked, “John, you ready to go down?”
    Sergeant John Banks was a United States Air Force Pararescue man, or P.J. as they were commonly called, and had long months of training behind him, as well as two years of active flying.  While this was not his first rescue, it would be the first one with fatalities and it looked as if there were no survivors.  He gave Zlotkowski a big grin and said, “Yes sir.  I’ll check the wreckage first and then contact you to let you know what I find.”
    The crew chief moved the forest penetrator over to where Banks could sit on the device as a wench lowered it.  Once on the ground he would disconnect from the penetrator and then search for survivors.  The P.J. positioned the device between his legs, disconnected his communications cable to the aircraft, and moved toward the open door.  Stopping, he double-checked the strap from the device that ran under his arms and around his back.  He then stepped out into space and the crew chief lowered him by wench to the snow.
    The crew watched as Banks landed on the snow covered ground, disconnected from the forest penetrator, and slowly made his way to the crashed aircraft.  Many long and tense minutes passed before Zlotkowski heard the young sergeant say over the radio, “I’ve got one fatality in the pilot’s seat.  He appears to be a male of