I want to thank everyone who reviewed this last chapter. I'm so glad to see that this story is gaining momentum, as Owen and Cristina stories are somewhat obsolete now, given Sandra Oh's departure from the show four seasons ago. These first three chapters are very Owen-based, but Cristina is coming soon, so don't lose interest yet. I'm very fond of my OC, Major General Collins, and I hope you all feel the same.
"Mountain Home Air Force Base, how may I direct your call?" he heard a deep, monotone voice state over the speaker.
"I need to speak with Major General Thomas Collins, stat." Owen's voice was confident yet urgent as he spoke with the operator. Owen knew that he would be hard pressed to get the operator to dial him through due to the Major General's rank, so Owen had to pull himself together in that moment to reinforce his position. He mustered the strength he needed to remain of stable-sounding mind, even though he could fall to pieces any minute.
The operator was silent for a moment. "If you'd like to speak with Major General Collins, you will have to-"
"My name is Major Owen Hunt. I am a former surgeon for the US Army, and Chief of Surgery at Seattle Grace-Mercy West Hospital. A plane with five of my surgeons disappeared tonight, and Major Collins is in charge of the rescue operation actively searching for it." Hunt was seething at this point, demanding that his authority be recognized. "Put me through to him, now, or I will see to it that you receive the harshest form of discipline for obstructing the progress of an ongoing mission."
"Transferring you over now Dr. Hunt," the operator said, clearly phased by this new information, and immediately, the phone began to ring once again. Hunt balled his fists together and covered his chin, forcing himself to remain calm. He had so far succeeded in not thinking about the worst case scenario, focusing instead on the task at hand, but the longer the phone rang, the more time he had to be alone with his thoughts, and these thoughts centered around Cristina in a mangled mess of body parts, her eyes glassed over, her black curls plastered with blood against her pale white skin in her post mortem state. He felt his hands tighten around one another, his knuckles white as snow, and his fists began to knock against his chin with uncontrollable shaking. How many damn times has that phone rang? He thought, trying to rid his mind of the images taking refuge in his head.
"Major General Collins speaking. State your name and business." Finally, Owen thought.
"Dr. Owen Hunt, Chief of Surgery at Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital in Seattle, Washington. I'm calling regarding the disappearance of the aircraft en route from Seattle to Boise, flight number BVA8275. Five of my surgeons were on that charter flight to assist in a surgery at Boise Memorial Hospital and never arrived. I've been told the plane has disappeared, and you were the Air Force personnel responsible for directing the rescue mission, so my question for you is a very simple one." Hunt had quickly regained his composure and agency, speaking clearly, loudly, and with unquestioned authority. "What are you doing to bring them home?"
Collins sighed heavily into the phone. "Dr. Hunt, are you familiar with military protocol on missing aircrafts?"
"I was formerly a US Army surgeon, so I am familiar with basic search and rescue protocol but am afraid my knowledge on aircraft search and rescue is somewhat lacking. Care to fill me in?" Hunt knew he was being short with Collins, but he hoped the Major General would understand.
"I thought I recognized that name. You're well-regarded among the military community for your service in Iraq. I hope you know that."
Owen nodded, grateful he had not burned a vital bridge amidst his anxiety. "Thank you, sir."
Collins cleared his throat. "I wish I had better news for you, but to cut to the chase, we have yet to receive any new information in our mission. Now, before you say anything," Collins added quickly, hearing Owen try to interject, "remember, it's been less than 10 hours since the plane's disappearance. Let me explain how this works." He heard Hunt sigh in resignation, prompting him to continue. "We have a number of parties responsible for a number of different procedures in finding the aircraft, all pertaining to why the aircraft disappeared. This, in turn, will lead us to the crash site, if all goes as planned. We have one team actively researching the weather conditions at the exact time and place the radar lost track of the plane. This team also contacts pilots flying the same route to determine if that particular area experienced unusual wind patterns or any other sort of disruption. If the pilots' accounts match up, we have found at the very least a piece of the problem and can determine how far off course the plane got before crashing. A different team will investigate the aircraft itself. They will contact Bayview Aeronautics and retrieve, in detail, the plane's condition: when it was last serviced, what those services were for, any complications it had previously in the air, and any malfunctions that particular make and model consistently exhibited. Again, any evidence retrieved will lead us closer to the problem and will allow us to find the crash site more easily. A team will also investigate the plane's pilot. These guys will call Airport Authority and find out exactly who this guy is: his name, his age, his home life situation, his mental stability, any physical or mental hinderances, and so on. We never hope the pilot is the problem, but it's important, as I'm sure you can understand, that we learn everything we can about this guy and rule him out immediately when we find out he was not the threat to your people." Owen grunted his understanding on the other line, feeling utterly exhausted by this conversation. "Lastly, most obviously, and most importantly, we have guys in the air, on the ground, and behind computers actively searching the field for any evidence of the aircraft."
Owen had listened patiently to the man on the other line as he explained the protocol in great detail, growing more irritated by each description. He took a long pause before speaking. "So, you're telling me you have all personnel working on all of these tasks, and you don't have so much as a sliver of evidence?" His voice was not his own. He didn't recognize the venom in his voice as he spoke to Collins.
"Now listen, Hunt. Firstly, I want to assure you wholeheartedly that we are expending every resource we have available at this time. We haven't left a single road untouched." Owen rolled his eyes. That's what they tell patients' families when a patient is critical. "Secondly, your military experience will help you realize, I hope, that 10 hours in an investigation is a mere second in the grand scheme of things. This investigation is just a baby right now, but we are going to work day and night until your people are found. You can trust that much."
This piqued Owen's interest. "What is the average time on an investigation like this?"
"Depends, really. We could find them in the next hour, or it could be weeks. There's not really a good time estimate for something like this."
Hunt's eyes grew three times their normal size. "W-weeks?! With all due respect Major General, 'weeks' is not an option. My people may not have hours let alone weeks." His heart rate increased drastically at the thought of Cristina starving to death or Derek attacked by a wild animal or Lexie succumbing to the elements in the freezing northern terrain. That is, if they're even…
"Dr. Hunt…" Collins had paused while Owen imagined the horrors of their situation. "You should prepare yourself for the possibility that your people will not make it home alive. As morbid as it may sound, you know as well as I do that good people don't always make it home from predicaments such as this one. Now, I'm not saying you should anticipate the worst, but you should be prepared for it."
Owen dragged his hands down his face. Again, he had regurgitated that speech innumerable times to patient families pertaining to a risky surgery or critical trauma case. After a great deal of silence, he finally resigned himself to the fact that they would not be found tonight. "Okay," he sighed, defeated. "I need your direct contact number, so I can call you tomorrow for a follow-up."
"Sure thing." Collins listed off his personal number, and Hunt did the same.
As they were finishing up, Owen made certain of one thing. "You'll call me as soon as you get an update?"
"Wilco. You'll know before anyone else, from one soldier to another."
"Right. Thank you, sir."
"You got it. And for the record, I hope your guys are found alive…for both our sakes."
"Me too." Hunt stayed on the line for a few more seconds, then hung up, sitting in the silence of the conference room, drowning in the feeling of dread and hopelessness that had consumed him for the past few hours. Cristina. His Cristina could be dead. He still couldn't process this thought. His mind wouldn't allow it. He half expected her to storm through that conference room door any second to tear into him for one failure or another in their relationship.
It was a beating he would gladly accept, hell, embrace if it meant she were alive and well. Amidst this terrible tragedy, Hunt was confused, pained, exhausted, and depressed, but on one account, his mind was perfectly clear. If she came back alive; if she came back to him, he resolved to do anything to win her back; to protect her, to hold her, to heal her. He wasn't sure about much today, but as far as he was concerned, that was simply a fact of life.