Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,99

their M4 carbines.

The Caravan’s little brother, the 185, was a taildragger, with two balloon-like tundra tires up front under the cockpit and a single wheel under the tail. There were seat belts for six passengers, but weight restrictions made it a decent four-person airplane. Even then, with the survival gear required on the airplane at all times, along with all the equipment specific to this mission, Trooper Huston had to be judicious with how much fuel he took on. Fortunately, Stone Cross was a short hop away, so he was able to fill up the aircraft with people and bags, and still take on plenty of fuel for a roundtrip before he went over gross weight.

Warr was not a pilot. Even in the Marines he’d never seen the allure of flight, except to get from point A to point B. He let “the surly bonds of earth” keep a firm hold on him every chance he got, thank you very much. Sure, planes were a necessity here in C Detachment where roads, such as they were, ended at the edge of town. Sometimes, though, the aircraft section seemed more trouble than it was worth.

As the boss trying to move pieces around the map every time the shit hit the fan, it seemed to him like the aviators told him no a lot more than good to go. A get-it-done guy with a Devil Dog mentality, Warr took a while to learn to trust his AST pilots when they told him it just didn’t matter who was hurt or sick or lost. A lucky pilot might find a hole in the clouds and be able to land safely—or what was left of him might end up in a hole in the ground. The axiom that There are old pilots and bold pilots, but no old, bold pilots, proved all too true in the Alaska bush.

But for now, they had a weather window. According to Trooper Huston, the trip to Stone Cross was “only slightly suicidal.”

Eager to go, the troopers made ready to wedge themselves in the cramped aircraft. Each of them was dressed for a long slog in the arctic weather, with heavy boots, and insulated snowboarding bibs with loops to accommodate their pistol belts. Their layered parka systems allowed them a full range of motion in the event they had to go hands-on with someone, or sit for hours behind the scope of a rifle. All of them had enough experience to know that when a plane went down, there was a good chance that the only gear they might have was the gear they had on their persons—and they equipped themselves accordingly. Two of the men were bush veterans and wore seal and sea otter fur hats that had been made by local Native women. The newer pair wore wool balaclavas they could pull down over their faces against the rapidly falling temperatures.

“Earl called,” Warr said, when the trooper pilot looked up from the left cockpit door. The 185’s high wing threw him into the shadows. “He can’t get the Caravan out of Nightmute. Too much danger of icing.”

“Figured,” Trooper Huston said. “That thing turns into a two-million-dollar lawn dart when the wings ice up.”

“You’re not worried about ice?” Doctor Dubois said, smiling nervously and looking like she was drowning in her giant parka.

“I am always worried about ice, Doctor,” Huston said. “That said, I’ve got a system that bleeds deicer on the leading edge of the wing and the prop if it becomes a problem. Honestly, though, I plan to be on the ground in a wink.”

“I see,” Dubois said.

Huston and the other troopers eyed the doctor warily. All of them knew her from the YK Regional Emergency Department. They also knew Mrs. Warr was not the type to look kindly on the L.T. cruising around Bethel with a pretty physician unless there was a reason.

Warr saw the question in their faces, and gave them the reason.

“Trooper Fisk, the doc needs your seat. You’ll stay here until Huston gets back to pick us up.”

Fisk, a burly twenty-six-year-old who’d played college football for Ohio State, stepped away from the airplane, swallowing his disappointment. The kid had been a star down at the academy in Sitka, but he was the newest set of boots in the Bethel post, so he drew the short straw.

“Joe,” Warr said to the pilot, “drop the other two off to assist the marshals. If the doc says Jasper can be moved, take out the seats