Time shift a historical.., p.1
Time Shift: A Historical Novel Of Survival, page 1
TIME SHIFT
A Historical Novel Of Survival
By
VICTOR ZUGG
TIME SHIFT
© 2021 by Victor Zugg
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
www.victorzugg.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Many thanks to Brandi Doane McCann for the cover design. As always, her creations belong in a gallery. Equal thanks to Tamra Crow for the professional editing. And, of course, many thanks to Sarah Gralnick. She’s always the first to read my work; I very much appreciate her suggestions. Each of these people helped make this book infinitely better.
www.ebook-coverdesigns.com
tcrowedits@yahoo.com
CHAPTER 1
“You sure you want to do this?”
Jackson Lee jerked his eyes to his friend’s face, accentuated in orange from the morning sun. “Now is not the time for doubt.”
“It’s the perfect time for doubt,” John Michael Esperilla said, Jimmy to his friends and family. He had always been referred to by the pronunciation of his initials. Somehow it fit his slim body and thin face. Like Jackson, he wore his black hair shorter on the sides, in a taper, longer on top, spiked in the front. But, unlike Jackson, Jimmy wore a short, well-manicured beard and mustache. He had worn the facial hair in the same style for years, starting as soon as he was old enough to grow it. The only time Jackson had seen him without the beard was when they joined the military and entered boot camp. But he grew it back as soon as he was allowed.
Jackson shifted his eyes back to the cliff edge only twenty feet away. He felt the morning breeze against his face. It provided a bit of relief from the already rising heat of the day, made even more sweltering by the equipment he wore. That equipment included the thick, nylon harness, a helmet with a built-in comm system, goggles, a two-liter water bladder on his back, and a utility vest containing a few essentials.
Beyond the cliff’s edge, Jackson peered into the relative darkness of the void, the largest and deepest chasm in the continental United States. The Grand Canyon. He glanced back to Jimmy. “Check my harness again.”
Jimmy ducked under the hang glider’s wing, grasped the suspension point, and ran his hand down to the locking carabiner. He twisted the lock, ensuring it was closed as tight as possible. “Jackson—”
“The plan is solid, Jimmy,” Jackson said, as Jimmy continued checking the various lines, straps, and buckles. “I follow Bright Angel Creek to the river. From there, I’ll keep the safety boat in sight at all times.” He peered at the radio mounted on the left control bar tube and the GPS on the right. Both were on and operating. “I’ll be in and out before anyone’s awake to see me.” He glanced over his shoulder at the young woman kneeling at the keel. “GoPro’s set?”
Melody Lewis’ long, blond hair stirred with the light breeze as she tightened the Velcro strap securing the final camera. “I have one at the nose, one at the keel facing to the rear, and one on the right wing facing you. And, of course, there’s the one mounted on your helmet and the tripod has been running since we arrived. Should get some never-before-seen footage. All in high def.”
Jackson squeezed the button mounted on the control bar and spoke into his headset mic. “Jackson to John Paul, you read?”
“Loud and clear,” the radio squawked. “On station at the creek.”
“Stand by, John Paul,” Jackson said, as he caught Melody’s attention with his chin. “Switch ‘em on. Time to get this show on the road.” He looked at a visibly nervous Jimmy, still at his side. “Conditions are perfect. We’ve thought and planned for six months, down to every possible situation. In, out, upload the video, and we move on. Just like all the others we’ve done.”
“Yeah, it all sounded great, until now,” Jimmy said. He peered at the canyon’s rim. “And you know what they say about plans.” He took a step back from the glider.
“GoPros are running,” Melody announced, as she stepped back and raised a fifth camera up to her eyes—a Canon 5D with a long lens and a large lavalier microphone.
Jackson gave a nod as he stared straight ahead. He squeezed the mic button. “Jackson to John Paul, stepping off now.” He received a double mic break in his helmet’s earphones, acknowledging receipt.
He glanced left and right, ensuring Jimmy and Melody were clear, lifted the glider by the control tubes, and angled the nose neutral to the breeze. Despite years of gliding, the rush at launch was always a heart-pumping event. There was no greater exhilaration and there was nothing closer to natural flight. No source of power other than the wind and thermals.
He bolted forward, balancing the fifty pounds of nylon and aluminum above his head. Within a few steps the yellow and purple wings billowed as the glider took flight and lifted his one hundred and sixty-five pounds of bodyweight with only a slight squeak from the nylon apex strap. Just over the cliff’s edge, the uprush of air propelled the glider up another three hundred feet almost instantly.
Jackson glanced back to check his distance from the rock face. He saw Jimmy and Melody below, both standing back from the edge and facing skyward. Melody still had the Canon pointed at the glider.
He faced front and dipped the nose to gain speed and distance away from the vertical wall and the turbulence of the updraft. He shifted his body to the right, which put the glider into a smooth turn to the southeast, away from the rim. With the turn completed, he shifted back and followed the crevice cut by the creek, now thousands of feet below. With over a mile in elevation drop from the rim to the Colorado, he had plenty of room for error as long as he stayed away from the rock faces.
The goal was to get the best video footage possible to feed his multitude of subscribers, nearly a million at this point. The plan was to exit the crevice at the creek’s mouth and fly directly across the gorge to the visitor’s center on the south rim. Crossing the ten-mile span was possible given the rising heat thermals and currents. Tricky, but possible. From there he would follow the safety boat upriver, capturing good footage of both sides of the gorge. If all went well, he would land on the bank at Kwagunt Creek, forty miles north of the North Rim Visitor’s Center, at the end of Route 67, his launch point. He expected to be in the air just over two hours.
They had picked out several possible emergency landing sites along the way. There were a number of islands and banks with enough room to land a glider. If the wind didn’t hold, or he got tired, he could land the glider at any of those points, fold the wings, and jump aboard the safety boat. He could also ditch in the water if necessary. At least, that was the plan. A helicopter to haul them out at Kwagunt Creek was also part of the plan.
Every aspect of the entire endeavor was strictly prohibited and highly illegal. They would all face high fines and probably jail time if caught. But that was part of what made this whole adventure worth the time, effort, and money. With so many people uploading to Youtube and TikTok, it was necessary to come up with better content which generally meant more and more risks.
This had been the routine for just over three years. Come up with an adventure, scout the location, plan the operation, perform the operation on video, add narration, edit, upload, and get paid. They had averaged one video each month or so since they started. And they had made Jackson Lee practically a household name and a highly paid influencer in the adventure sport community.
There were five to the team, plus any additional people as needed for each operation. Jimmy handled logistics. John Thomas and Paul Edwards kept things safe. Melody Lewis pulled it all together with first class shooting and editing. And Jackson was always the one in front of the camera. With his jet-black hair, square jaw, and chiseled form, he looked the part. He was handsome and quick-witted, with a dry sense of humor. That seemed to be the formula for sky-high success in this new age of real-life video. Often, Melody stepped in front of the camera as well. Her cute face, athletic body, and blond hair didn’t hurt. She was also the youngest of the group, at twenty-nine. Jackson and Jimmy were the oldest, at thirty-four. On this particular adventure, the helicopter pilot was an extra. And, given the risks, legal and physical, he didn’t come cheap.
Jackson rode the eddies and updrafts to the middle of the gorge where he lost altitude directly over the river. For a time, the glider dropped well below the rims but then began to climb with the thermals once back over land. It was possible to stay aloft forever in a hang glider, given the right conditions, limited only by the body’s need for food, water, and sleep. Two years earlier he had ridden the updrafts for nearly six hours along the cliffs and ridges at Makapu’u, the eastern most point of Oahu, Hawaii. But that was child’s play compared to this.
Riding the currents back and forth in front of the South Rim Visitor’s Center, he was soon back to altitude well above the rim. He made sure to get good coverage of the Bright Angel, Thunderbird, Kachina, and El Tovar lodges. He saw no one out at the early hour but that would soon change, so he made his final turn to the east.
He pushed the mic button. “Jackson to John
“Couldn’t be better,” John said, barely decipherable over the loud rumble of the boat’s engine in the background. “My neck is already developing a crick from looking up.”
“Roger that,” Jackson said.
“How’s the air up there?” John crackled.
“Mostly smooth, with a few bumps here and there,” Jackson replied, as he maneuvered one of those bumpy areas. He lost his stomach for a moment as a sudden downdraft dropped the glider a hundred feet. He veered the glider closer to the ridges until he found a thermal.
The glider began climbing.
“Just found my first shear,” Jackson said into his mic. “Hundred-foot drop.”
“Let’s keep it safe up there,” Paul said. The background noise was even worse with Paul, which meant he was closer to the engine.
“Will do,” Jackson replied.
As he made his way along the rim, he dipped the wings left and right as necessary to counteract the turbulent air. He found plenty of thermals and eddies in the process and was able to quickly gain several hundred feet in altitude above the south rim. Suddenly, he dipped the left wing and put the glider into a tight spin. Within seconds he was back down to the south rim’s elevation where he steered out of the spin.
“Nice,” Paul’s voice squawked. “That even made me dizzy.”
“Crazy fun,” Jackson said, “you should try it.”
“For the hundredth time, no thanks. I’ll leave that part of the show to you.”
“I’ve tried to talk him into it,” John cut in. “Just face it, he’s a pussy.”
“With no broken bones to prove it,” Paul said.
“He has a point,” Jackson replied. “I’m the only glider pilot I know who has not broken at least one bone. Came close though. Crashes are a part of the sport.”
Jackson began the search for the next thermal updraft and slowly worked his way back to altitude above the rim. He squeezed the mic button. “Jimmy, you still in range?”
A voice amidst a flood of static spoke. “Still hear. Packed up and ready to head out. May stop along 67 for some ‘B’ roll.”
“Roger that,” Jackson replied. “See you soon.” He received a double mic break.
He could see John and Paul in the safety boat, keeping pace as he soared, dipped, and rolled his way along the canyon walls. He’d drop down for a closer look at interesting formations and then work his way back to altitude. He was forced to hug the sheer canyon south wall for the most part to take advantage of the updrafts. Flying that close to the rocks meant he could not let his focus waiver for even a second. The wind and turbulence within the canyon were unpredictable. And while he had plenty of altitude and was able to easily handle the shears, avoiding the crags and the wall itself required constant vigilance.
He had flown for nearly an hour when he came up to the Desert View Watchtower.
Three people stood on the platform, staring up at the glider. They were dressed as tourists, so Jackson banked the glider, did two loops around the watchtower, gave the people a wave, and then steered to the north.
The rims were still miles apart, but the rocky crags directly along the river had become much lower in elevation. Updrafts from the rising heat remained plentiful and Jackson had no trouble staying aloft. Just in case, every so often he would scout the terrain below in search of a suitable emergency landing site. And, of course, he kept the safety boat in sight.
Thirty minutes from his turn to the north, he checked the GPS to determine his distance from Kwagunt Creek. He estimated another couple of miles, so he began contemplating his descent. With nearly two thousand feet of altitude, he breathed a sigh of relief since, from this point, he could make the landing spot with no updrafts.
With the creek mouth in sight, he made a slow three-sixty directly above the river and then began maneuvering closer to the east wall. It was there he would find those final bits of wind as he continued his descent.
The whole event had gone much smoother than even he expected. Remaining aloft proved to be no problem along the entire flight and he had apparently not been sighted by the authorities. He based that on the fact that there were no helicopters buzzing overhead.
He began working his feet free of the nylon harness cocoon in preparation for landing. The cocoon kept his body, including his legs, parallel with the wings in order to reduce drag. He preferred a cocoon to a pod since the pod was more restrictive during flight. Plus, the cocoon was a little easier to get his legs free from on approach.
With his legs now dangling, he swung is hips left and right to trim the wings against the turbulence, more turbulence at this point than he’d expected. So, rather than glide in from downwind, he decided to gain some altitude and spin in from more directly above the landing site, which was now in view. This section of the gorge was quite narrow between the crags to either side, at the level of the river, but there was still plenty of room to drop in from above.
The designated LZ was a spit of sand and low brush almost directly at the creek’s mouth, on the west side of the canyon. John and Paul were in view, having already beached the safety boat. They stood staring up at Jackson’s approach.
Jackson slid his hips left to put the glider into a steep counterclockwise spin. This would also make for a much more dramatic landing to conclude the video.
Just as he made his first full turn a sudden gust of wind pushed the glider toward the vertical east wall. It was too late to steer clockwise out of the spin, which left no choice but to continue around until the nose was pointed west. It would be close, given that the wind was still pushing the glider toward the wall.
With no time to think, it was by total instinct that he slammed his hip against the left control tube which dropped his left wingtip even more. This would give his right wingtip more room to clear the wall as he came around. It was the right move at the right time, but it didn’t work.
In a sickening sound of aluminum against rock, the right wingtip clipped the canyon wall, which cause the nose to cartwheel around and slam into the rock face head-on.
The glider came to a dead stop against the rock face and dropped. The only thing Jackson could do was brace.
CHAPTER 2
“Holy shit,” John exclaimed as he watched the glider crash into the opposite canyon wall and immediately drop out of sight.
“He’s behind that shelf,” Paul said.
“Do you see him?”
“Nope, nothing, the glider is completely out of sight.”
John pushed his mic button. “Jackson, you read?”
With no response for several seconds, Paul keyed his mic. “Jackson, come in. You okay, man?”
Still no reply.
“Shit,” John screamed. “Shit, shit, shit.” He scanned the rocks on the opposite side of the canyon. “You see a way to get up there?”
“Not really,” Paul replied, as he dropped his gaze and jumped into the fourteen-foot rubber Zodiac boat. He scampered back to the engine. “Push us off,” he said, as he started the engine.
John pushed off and scrambled aboard. “We should call in the chopper,” he said, as he took a seat.
Paul twisted the throttle to full, pivoted the boat, and was across the river in a matter of seconds.
The rubber boat slid up on the tiny strip of sand.
John jumped out with rope in hand and tied off to the nearest rock as Paul leapt out.
Both men stared up at the rocks.
John keyed his mic. “Jackson, you read?”
Paul keyed his mic. “Dammit, man, answer the phone,” he barked.
Both men scanned the rocks above.
“There’s no way we can climb up there,” John said, “it’s vertical rock most of the way.”
Paul returned to the Zodiac and rummaged through a black, nylon backpack and came out with a satellite phone.
At that moment both their earphones crackled with Jackson’s voice.
“I’m here.”
“Jackson,” John replied into his mic, “we thought you were a goner. You okay? Anything broken?”
