TANGLED

TANGLED

The grandfather looked on at the boy with the tangled kite string. The boy tried to clear the tangle by pulling the strings on both sides of it. The mess tightened into a ball of knots. The boy dropped it on the ground wanting to give up. But he did not want to give up on flying the kite. He tried again and further constricted the knots. His shoulders slumped in visible frustration.

"Bring it here, Connor" The grandfather said in an inviting tone. "I like untangling things."

"You do?" the boy questioned. He could not imagine how something so frustrating could be likable.

"Of course. It just takes patience and persistence and understanding. If you have those you can bring order from chaos. You will like it once you know how."

The grandfather explained. "Now we know that the ends of the string were not involved in the tangling so they do not need to be involved in the untangling. Now get your little fingers in there and pull that mess apart. Gently now. Just loosen it up so we can see what is going on in there. That's it."

"Now, you see these strands hanging down from the mess? Like this one. You see where the string comes out and turns around and goes back in? We call those bights. Grab one of the bights both strands of it and follow it back up. Pull on it just a little. Yes, just enough that it straightens out. Now you can see where the bight goes though some tangle loops. Grab the bight on the other side of the tangle loops and pull it through."

As soon as the bight was pulled free, some of the tangle loops untwisted and slacked.

"Good. Now this one."

The boy grabbed another bight and pulled it straight. "That is a good one. You can see the strands go through three tangle loops then split apart here." He grabbed it by the split and pulled it free. Now the whole mess loosened in his hands.

"Good! Now pull the ends gently and see how much comes out."

The boy pulled a good length out of each side of the tangles. He stopped when the mess began to tighten again. It was much smaller and simpler now. He could easily see which bight needed to be freed next. And the next. Now he could feel the fun in it. As the last bight was freed from the wraps, the mess freely unraveled. The last loops went straight, and the string fell slack between his hands.

The grandfather began wrapping the string around the spool. "Did you like that? Now, remember, nothing is impossible to untangle now matter how complex and twisted. And I mean you can untangle the messes you can see like strings and ropes and chains. And, you can untangle the messes you cannot see like thoughts, emotions, situations, and relationships. You may not be able to understand the whole mess and it may look impossible. But if you examine it, you can find the next loop that needs to come out. With patience, understanding, and persistence you can work things loose. Eventually the chaos will come out and things will fall back into order. Practice this skill and it will serve you well.

11 years later...

Connor was the newest on the crew of four. He sat facing the back of the Navy Sea Knight helicopter. The voice of the pilot in command sounded in his helmet. "Mission accomplished. Returning to base." The two rotor heads rolled the large craft into a left bank as they turned back toward Anderson Air Force Base. Connor adjusted the night vision goggles that were clamped to the front of his helmet. Through the side window he could see the jungles of Guam below.

"Are the fighter jets still operating on the west coast?" the copilot asked. The crew chief responded, "It just turned midnight, they should be almost done."

An urgent voice came loud over the radio. "Mayday! Stinger two-one Engine failure! Eleven kilometers west of Anderson" Another voice, "Stinger two-one this is Anderson tower. We have you on radar. Can you make it back to base?" There was an uncomfortably long, tense silence then the fighter pilot responded, "Restart failed... breathing... Descending through four thousand feet... breathing... That is a negative, base."

"Knightrider, Anderson tower, are you Search and Rescue capable?" The pilot in command keyed the radio. "Affirmative, base. Knightrider seven-zero has Rescue Swimmer on board and one hour of fuel remaining." "Knightrider seven-zero, fly heading two-nine-zero best speed."

The helicopter banked left and picked up speed. "Swimmer prepare to deploy." The PIC ordered. Connor jumped up and began stripping off his flight gear.

"Stinger two-one radar has you at six kilometers and closing. Status report?" "Stinger two-one is gliding through one thousand five hundred feet. Preparing to eject." "Stinger two-one eject at your discretion. Rescue crew is approaching from the east." "Stinger two-one ejecting."

That was the last Connor heard before he took off his helmet and hurriedly slipped on his wetsuit. The whine of the jet engines was loud. The deck under his bare feet pitched downward at an aggressive angle. The large blades of the twin rotor heads whopped as they gripped the night air for more speed. Connor could see his heartbeat through the thick black wetsuit as he buckled his rescue harness around his chest. He was still fresh out of training. He had only been in the fleet for three months and his first rescue mission happens to be a midnight rescue.

The upper portion of the cabin door was open, and the crew chief was standing with his upper body out in the wind gazing forward through his night vision goggles. He turned around and held up two fingers.

Two minutes. They already spotted him, then. Connor thought as he strapped his fins onto his feet. He felt lightweight as the helicopter started the descent approach.

The crew chief opened the cabin door and beckoned him with urgency. Connor walked backward to the door to avoid tripping over the heavy rubber fins protruding from his feet. The crew chief had the end of the hoist cable and its hook in his hand. He grabbed the V-ring of Connor's harness and clipped the hook through. There was a clank as the hooks keeper snapped closed.

The crew chief gripped the back of Connor's harness Connor he positioned himself in the doorway. The black wind that streamed past his face made his eyes water and blurred his vision. He saw a white flash on the water. Then another. The strobe light was a familiar sight from training; but there was something different about this one. It looked bigger and more diffuse almost like there was huge lamp shade over it.

The helicopter slowed and the wind lessened. Another flash and he saw clearly what it was. The pilot and strobe were under the parachute. The fabric was still partially ballooned over the pockets of trapped air. Those pockets would not stay there for long. The air would find its escape and the smothering wet fabric would settle onto the pilot.

The crew chief yelled in his ear. "He is under the canopy. We will deploy you 50 meters away. Disentangle and get him away from the reef."

The copilot swept the area with the search light. Connor assessed the scene. Where the pilot was the waves were four-foot swells lazily undulating toward the island. Between him and the island the waves piled up and were tumbling into froth over an invisible shallow reef.

The helicopter was within fifty feet of the water and slowing to a hover. The pilots switched on the belly lights. Large rings of ripples and white spray appeared below like spiderwebs spreading across the sea. That is why they were keeping their distance. The downdraft of this heavy helicopter could either flatten the parachute or inflate it. Either result could be deadly for the tangled pilot.

Connor's harness suddenly tightened around his chest as he was lifted off of his feet. He was hanging from the hoist beside the helicopter, his body suspended in the night sky. Surprisingly, the sensation activated his training and the anxiety was suddenly replaced by eagerness. Let me at him! He thought aloud.

"Ready!" The crew chief shouted. It was more of a command than a question. Connor acknowledged with a thumbs-up and the hoist quickly began to unspool. He grabbed the mask that was hanging around his neck and sealed it onto his face. The glass was immediately speckled with spray as he approached the wind whipped surface. He put the snorkel in his mouth. The tips of his fins immersed, then his legs, then torso. The cable slacked and he felt the familiar sensation of weightlessness in the warm salt water that soaked into his wetsuit.

He grabbed the hook at his chest, sprung back the catch, unhooked his harness and immediately began swimming hard toward the canopy. He locked his ankles and kicked from the hips. The fins flexed upward and downward propelling him forward. His arms reached and pulled the water past him in long strokes. The helicopter kept distance but followed him with the spotlight. He could see the bottom 15 feet below. It was a combination of coral and volcanic rock sloping up toward the island. He could feel the surge of each wave pushing him gently but persistently toward the shallows. Any closer to the reef and the waves would not be gentle.

He looked ahead at the light strobing through the water. With each flash he could see the pilot's legs hanging down amongst the stings and cloth of the parachute. The scene was surreal, like the bell and tentacles of a giant jelly fish shocking and consuming its prey.

Connor reached the canopy and took the snorkel out of his mouth and shouted. "Rescue swimmer United States Navy. Can you hear me sir?"

"I hear you, swimmer."

"I am here to get you out. Are you injured?"

"My left shoulder is dislocated."

Ejecting from a fighter jet is violent experience. Rockets propel the seat with great force. Sometimes the seats tumble. The wind blast and G forces can grab limbs and force them directions they were not meant to go. Rescue swimmers are trained to assume spinal injury for ejected pilots.

"Let's get you untangled." Connor shouted as he grabbed a seam of the parachute. He followed the seam to the edge of the fabric and grabbed a pair of strings that were attached to the hem. He followed the pair of strings to the pilot's harness. He grabbed the harness between the pilot's shoulder blades began towing him away from the reef. He swam on his back with his fins kicking beneath the pilot. With his free hand he pulled bunches of wet fabric over the pilot's helmet. He found the edge and pulled it away from the pilot's face.

His oxygen mask was already unclipped. The pilot was holding his left arm with his right. The strobe light on his helmet gave blinding flashes that revealed the tangled mess of strings cloth and buckles. Connor switched off the strobe.

The helicopter spot light pierced to the clear water to the bottom. It was only eight feet down. Some strings of the parachute drooped uncomfortably close to the coral. Each wave gave more pull as it passed them. He could hear the thunder sound as they broke over the reef. If they reached those breakers they would be churned, tangled, and shredded on the bottom.

He gripped the pilot's harness and kicked hard pulling the pilot away from the reef. The mess began to trail behind them and some of it unraveled. Some loops tangled and tightened. There progress suddenly stopped. The parachute was pulling back. He could see parts of the canopy inflated with water. Connor kept kicking as he felt for the tight strings. Unsnag this one from a buckle. It slacked and another tightened. Unwrap this one from from a limb. Pass this one over his head. Slip this one off of his shoulder. The mess was clearing. The strings began to trail in more orderly lines from the buckles that attached them to the pilot's harness.

Connor lifted the cover from the shoulder buckle that connected the left parachute riser to the harness. Just then he felt a large wave lift them and he tightened his grip knowing what was next. The strings went taught as the passing water tugged the canopy. They were being dragged. Connor released the buckle and felt the canopy dump most of the pressure. The riser was pulled away as the wave drew the parachute into a streamer of wet fabric.

Connor kicked hard trying to regain lost distance as he groped for the other buckle. There was still much drag. He had just found the last buckle when there was a strong tug that almost pulled the harness from his grip. The free buckle had sunken and the cords snagged the coral. They were effectively tied to the bottom of the sea with the next wave approaching.

He found the shoulder buckle again, lifted the cover as they rose on the face of a wave. He released the catch. The tension was instantly relieved, and they were free. The wave passed and broke ten meters beyond.

They were progressing now. Each kick putting distance between them and the reef. He signaled the helicopter for pickup.

The helicopter swooped in. The salt spray hissed on his mask. The crew chief lowered a stretcher on the cable. The stretcher hit the water next to them. Connor pulled the pilot into position on the stretcher and buckled him in. He clipped his own harness into the hook and gave the hoist signal.

The rigging tightened, and they shed water as they were lifted from sea to sky. They reached the hovering craft and the crew chief pulled them inside. The door was shut, and they were flying full tilt toward the hospital. Connor unhooked is harness and pulled himself off the deck onto a seat.

The crew chief patted him on the shoulder and handed him his helmet. He put in on and heard the copilot transmitting to the hospital. "Knightrider 70 is 10 minutes inbound with one patient on board. Patient is conscious and stable. Ejected pilot, water landing. Injuries to left shoulder possible spinal stress."

As they approached the hospital Connor reminisced on his grandfather's words. With patience, understanding, and persistence you can bring order from chaos.

DAN SEIDEL 31JAN17