Red Tails in the Sunset

Chapter 1 Vista Montaño, New Mexico Mid-June The powerful plane floated down through the fiery-hued haze of smoke and dust, engines muted to a dull roar. The wheels touched the runway, stirring yet more dust as it rolled along, slowing to a stop near the terminal. The service crew swarmed out to the aircraft, which now looked as clumsy as an albatross on the ground. Lilliputian ants, the crew milled around the soot-streaked bird to check every aspect of its airworthiness, fill the fuel and fire retardant tanks, top off all the fluids and prepare it for the next mission. Nothing would go unchecked. Watching from the edge of the runway, as close as he was allowed to get to the action, freelance investigative reporter Durazo “Daz” Contreras scanned the scene. He raised his video cam and taped a few minutes, although mostly he absorbed the atmosphere, the hectic yet orderly routine. The scene put him in mind of a team of first responders, dealing with a major accident or tragedy. Make haste slowly, everything controlled and precise, urgent yet never frantic…The adrenaline rush always took hold of him when he covered such action. And as a reporter known for tracking down the bizarre, scandalous, and deeply hidden stories, jerking the camouflage off cover-ups, he made ambulance chasing and disasters his stock in trade. As he watched, a tall, lean figure emerged from the cockpit and descended to the tarmac. From the man’s lanky build, he identified Blaine Darby, the owner of this and two more slurry bombers now contracted to the U.S Forest Service for fighting the spreading epidemic of wildfires in the drought-stricken west. After some research into a subject that had become a passion, Daz knew this one, clearly Darby’s favorite, was a P-2V Neptune. It had the size and power to deliver over two thousand gallons of water or slurry to a blaze, but also the maneuverability to deal with the confined spaces of the rugged southwestern terrain. Daz started in Darby’s direction as the pilot headed toward the terminal. Although exhaustion etched every line of the man’s body, he did not slouch or stumble. His pace slow, he still marched rather than trudged. From the little Daz had learned about him so far, that probably reflected his military background. As if he sensed the reporter getting closer, Darby sped up and slipped in through a door marked “Official Personnel Only” in screaming scarlet letters. He’d been just a few strides ahead of Daz. From experience, Daz knew the door was locked and would remain so. Knocking was always useless, as the press was emphatically not welcome. He shook his head, cast a last look at the parked airplane, and then headed for his SUV in the parking lot. No interview this evening; no close up shots of the latest hero of the battle against the brutal Mescalero blaze. Daz had a hunch there was more to the recent epidemic of fires than merely weather extremes and bad luck for those who lived in the areas. The word arson had floated past him more than once. They used the “human-caused” euphemism in most of the official reports as if the fires were only an accident. Still, the bottom line seemed to be someone or several someones were kindling wildfires with ruthless determination. Although Darby shunned the public eye as much as possible, Daz had learned he’d been a US Air Force pilot in the Middle East and seen combat in both Iraq and Afghanistan. After his second tour, he resigned his commission as soon as he got home. Again, there were whispers as to why. They were mere rumors and so wildly diverse it was hard to take any of them as valid. Obviously, it wasn’t cowardice since fighting wildfires ranked right up there beside combat as far as danger went. It seemed clear the pilot had secrets, deep, dark ones. Facing the rest of the evening with no new leads, Daz felt his enthusiasm for his usual investigative work dim. He realized he was very tired. The last few days had been hectic, and although he had some good tidbits, the story he sought was illusive, not taking shape quickly enough. Still, effort to extract revealing comments from the forest service officials or anyone else involved would wait for another day. He knew his near-obsession with Darby was foolish—and likely futile—yet he couldn’t seem to shake it off. The man seemed larger than life, a demigod or super hero complete with wings. Almost as if he could fly without benefit of that red-tailed aircraft. Somehow and somewhen, Daz vowed he’d get an interview and maybe even an entry to Darby’s dangerous and dramatic world. Just not today…