Flying along in his Jet Ranger, Dan Richards knew they were just barely in advance of a storm closing in. Returning from his work in Fairbanks, Search and Rescue was the last thing on his mind. Besides, they didn’t have much time. They had to get this chopper on the ground and in a hanger or no one would be flying it, ever. If they didn’t make it to Base, which was the only hanger around, there was a very high likelihood the chopper would be damaged, even destroyed by the storm. Base was about twenty minutes away, so he figured they could just make it to safety. But, Base knew that as well; they wouldn’t have called him if it weren’t serious. In fact, a rescue beacon alarm was an urgent call for help. Someone was in great danger, or worse. That was something with which Dan was familiar. Although not his job, in the wilderness of Alaska, he often found it was his calling. If they thought he could help, maybe he could. He nodded to Ted Matthews, his fair-skinned, buzz-cut, no-nonsense co-pilot.
“Base, Red Wing. Go ahead.”
“Red Wing, Base. I have a constant SOS from a rescue beacon. It may indicate an avalanche victim, given the region and the weather.”
“Roger, possible avalanche victim. Where is it?”