Christmas Eve arrived with weather that had been getting worse throughout the day.
At first, the snowfall had seemed ordinary.
Colorado winters were familiar to us.
Snow on roads.
Cold air.
People checking conditions before driving.
Nothing about a little snowfall automatically meant trouble.
But that afternoon, the conditions changed.
The snow became heavier.
The wind strengthened.
Visibility began to disappear.
What had looked like a quiet winter evening was turning into a dangerous night.
I was already assigned to remain on duty.
The schedule had been arranged, and the younger soldiers who had been given coverage were able to spend the holiday with their families.
I didn't regret that part.
I was glad they had gone.
At around 1800 hours, the call came through.
Our unit was being requested to assist local emergency responders.
The weather had created serious problems, and there was an incident requiring additional personnel.
The details were enough to tell us that this wasn't going to be an ordinary assignment.
I began preparing.
Equipment was checked.
People received their instructions.
We gathered what was needed before heading out.
I remember the sound of the weather outside.
The wind pushed against the building.
Snow moved across the ground in thick sheets.
The visibility was already poor.
I checked my gear and made sure everything was where it needed to be.
Alvarez was nearby.
She was preparing as well.
There wasn't much time for conversation.
We both understood why we were being called.
As I finished getting ready, my mind briefly went somewhere else.
Home.
I pictured my father's dining room.
I could almost imagine the arrangement of the evening.
Jason sitting among the guests.
His new wife beside him.
Her parents meeting the family.
My father listening while Jason talked about his promotion.
Maybe there would be a toast.
Maybe someone would ask about his new responsibilities.
I imagined my father's expression.
Proud.
Comfortable.
Happy to have everyone gathered around him.
And then I remembered the phone call.
The way he had explained that people might ask about my military career.
The way he had made it sound as though my service was something I should keep out of sight for the evening.
I looked down at my gloves.
For a second, I felt the familiar disappointment return.
It was strange how quickly it could come back.
I had been busy for days.
I had arranged the duty schedule.
I had canceled the flight.
I had convinced myself that I had made the right choice.
Yet one picture of a dining room was enough to remind me that I was missing something.
I took a breath.
There was no reason to keep standing there thinking about it.
The people waiting for assistance didn't know anything about my family.
They didn't know about Jason.
They didn't know that I had been told not to come home.
They needed help.
That was all.
I pushed the thought away and returned my attention to the assignment.
Duty came before everything else.
That was a principle I had lived with for years.
Sometimes it meant missing birthdays.
Sometimes it meant leaving people disappointed.
Sometimes it meant being far away when I wanted to be somewhere familiar.
But that evening, it meant something much more immediate.
There were people out in the storm who needed someone to reach them.
We moved out with the responding teams.
The weather made the journey difficult.
Snow covered the roadway, and the wind kept pushing it across the surface.
Visibility was limited.
Every movement required attention.
Nobody treated the conditions casually.
We were traveling toward an area where emergency responders were dealing with a serious roadway incident.
Near mile marker 214, we reached the scene.
The first thing I noticed was the charter bus.
It had overturned onto its side.
It was large enough to dominate the scene, even through the blowing snow.
The bus had been carrying close to forty passengers.
There was also a pickup truck behind it.
The truck had jackknifed, leaving it in a dangerous position.
Farther uphill, another vehicle drew my attention.
A fuel tanker.
It was leaning toward the frozen shoulder at an angle that immediately concerned me.
The entire scene was worse than I had expected.
There were multiple hazards.
There were passengers inside the bus.
There were emergency vehicles trying to work in difficult weather.
And the tanker was positioned in a way that could make an already serious accident much worse.
We were among the first organized teams to arrive.
There wasn't time to stand around studying everything.
I stepped down into the snow.
It reached my knees.
The cold came through quickly, but I kept moving.
I looked at the positions of the vehicles and the people already working.
Then I began assigning tasks.
Alvarez was close enough to hear me.
"Get with State Patrol and coordinate the response."
She moved immediately.
I continued.
"Have the ambulances positioned farther downhill."
The instructions were short.
There was no need for long explanations.
Everyone understood that the scene needed coordination.
The bus was the immediate priority for the passengers trapped inside.
We had to reach them safely and bring them out.
The overturned vehicle had created an unusual position for its doors and openings.
Its exposed side gave us access to an emergency hatch.
We moved toward it.
The snow made every step difficult.
The wind made it hard to hear.
But the people inside were waiting.
I looked at the bus.
Then I looked at the team.
There was work to do.
And Christmas was no longer something I was thinking about.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: The Little Boy Wouldn’t Let Go of My Jacket, and Somewhere Uphill an Older Driver Was Running Out of Time
Three Nights Before Christmas, My Father Made One Phone Call That Changed Where I Would Spend the Holiday
Part 3 of 20
