“Yes, sir.”
“I’m saying this as your friend, Katelyn, not just your CO,” Harlow went on. “You’ve obviously got some martial arts skills, which I didn’t know you had. Nothing wrong with that, as long as it’s used for self-defense — otherwise, you should be smart, avoid confrontation, and notify the proper authorities first before things get out of hand, whether it’s myself, a teacher, your parents, or the police, if you’re in a situation where your friends or family are getting hurt.” Harlow could see Katelyn’s eyes briefly turn away when he mentioned her parents, but they quickly returned to his. “If you start acting like the enforcer, you turn into nothing but a bully. Am I making myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was Johansson’s comments about your hands, Katelyn?”
He could see her eyebrows droop a bit under the brim of her fatigue cap, but she replied, “I’d rather not say, sir.”
“You know that hypoplastic thumb is one of the most common congenital birth defects of the limbs, don’t you?” Harlow asked. Katelyn had received special permission from the Air Force to join the Civil Air Patrol because she was born with bilateral hypoplastic thumb — missing thumbs from both hands. At the age of one year she had pollicization surgery to position her index fingers in place of her missing thumbs, so she only had four fingers on each hand. But the results were excellent: despite her handicap, Katelyn was an accomplished student, pianist, typist, outdoorsperson, marksman — and apparently a martial artist, especially with her feet, which made perfect sense for someone with deformed hands. There was no skill or challenge in the Civil Air Patrol that she couldn’t master.
But her greatest skill wasn’t what she could do with only four fingers on each hand, but in the realm of leadership. Perhaps because most others expected less of the diminutive red-haired girl with the “ET hands,” she inspired others by her actions and distinguished herself as a natural-born leader. Her “Red Dog Delta” flight was consistently tops in required exams, dress and appearance, and field exercise performance in the squadron, and she often beat out flights all across the state that had far more physically capable members.
Yet she never stayed in the spotlight for very long, was annoyingly camera-shy, and had no other hobbies or interests outside her little northern Minnesota school other than Civil Air Patrol. She was a standout performer — especially so in an organization composed mostly of boys — but preferred not to stand out at all. It was the same with her parents: older, rather formal, bankers or some sort of financial consultants, always well-dressed but modestly so, not particularly demonstrative or affectionate. Like Katelyn, the parents looked as if they liked a challenge and craved a little action but preferred to be quiet and stay out of the spotlight.
“I did a little checking on the subject when you joined the squadron,” Harlow went on. “Although double hypoplastic thumb is rare, the condition is…”
“May I go back and supervise my flight, sir?” Katelyn interjected.
Harlow kicked himself for his insensitive babbling and nodded. “Just remember what we talked about, okay, Katelyn? Don’t try to be the hero. Being a good leader doesn’t mean kicking butt.”
“Yes, sir. May I go, sir?”
Harlow wasn’t sure how much he had said sunk in, but his clumsy way of trying to act empathetic toward her and her affliction probably ruined any chance he had of reaching her today. “Of course, Lieutenant. Carry on.”
“Thank you, sir,” she responded immediately, then saluted and headed off toward the clearing.
Katelyn had taken just a few steps when Harlow heard the beat of helicopter rotors approaching. He was a former Army finance officer and didn’t know very much about helicopters before joining the Civil Air Patrol, but he did know that wasn’t a Chinook — besides, it was arriving too early for their scheduled pickup, and it was in the wrong place.
Then he saw it — it was a UH-60 Black Hawk military helicopter with Minnesota Army National Guard markings on it — and it looked like it was maneuvering to land in the clearing! “Flight commanders, helicopter landing zone procedures, now!” he shouted. “Clear a zone for the helicopter!” His troops were very accustomed to working with helicopters, so the clearing was made ready in very short order. Moments after touchdown, two men stepped out of the helicopter — one in civilian clothing, and one in green battle dress uniform.
Harlow saluted the man in the BDUs, a lieutenant colonel, who returned his salute. “Captain Harlow? Grand Rapids CAP?” the man asked, shouting over the roar of the Black Hawk’s idling turbines.
“Yes, sir, that’s me.”
“I’m Lieutenant Colonel Clay Lawson, commander of the Second of the One-forty-seventh Guard Aviation Brigade out of St. Paul,” the man said. “My unit’s been asked to provide support for the U.S. State Department. Because this request was…rather unusual, I decided to do it myself.”
“The State Department, sir?”
Lawson turned to the man in civilian clothes. “This is Special Agent Bruce Hamilton of the Protective Liaison Division of the U.S. State Department’s Bureau of Diplomatic Security,” Lawson said. “He’s here to retrieve one of your cadets.”
“Retrieve one of my cadets, sir?”
“Son, you’re going to have to get it together and work with me or we’re going to be out here all day,” Lawson said patiently. “This man wants to take one of your cadets with him. Now I don’t know your procedures, so I need you to tell me exactly what you need to do or who you need to call to accomplish this.”
“Y-yes, sir. Which cadet?” But he thought he already knew who…
“VanWie. Katelyn VanWie.”
Harlow opened his mouth, then closed it, looked away, then began to collect his thoughts. “I…I can only turn a cadet over to his or her parents, sir.”
“We thought so.” Lawson turned back to the National Guard officer. A crewmember opened the right side door, revealing two individuals strapped into web seats and wearing headsets. “Are those VanWie’s parents? Do you recognize them?”
Harlow stepped toward the helicopter and looked at them carefully, then waved at them. They did not wave back. He turned back toward the National Guard officer. “I want them out of the helicopter so I can speak to them directly.”
“I appreciate your concern, Captain, but we should make this quick,” Lawson said. He waved, and the flight engineer helped the two out of the harnesses and out of the helicopter. Harlow escorted them away from the helicopter. Hamilton began following them, but Lawson held him back. “He’s doing his job, Hamilton — let him,” he said.
Now several dozen yards away from everyone else, Harlow pulled the VanWies closer to him. “Richard? Linda? What’s going on? Are you two okay?”
“Where’s Katelyn?” Linda asked.
“I said, are you two okay?”
“We’re fine, Ed,” Richard said. “But we need to leave right away. Where’s Katelyn?”
Harlow turned and saw the squadron together around the periphery of the clearing, in front of the helicopter in full view of the pilot, as they were taught. As usual, Katelyn was mostly hidden in the back, almost out of sight. “She’s right there. She’s fine.” He thought for a moment, then said, “I thought you guys were at your mother’s place in Duluth during the encampment.”