more. The wheels touched the ground again, and the pilot lost all control. Before anyone could react, the plane veered left of the strip and began to spin on a patch of ice near the water’s edge. In a matter of seconds, the plane disappeared completely into the water. The entire formation of soldiers ran to where the water was swallowing the small plane. Young Jeffrey was the first one to reach the downed craft. He did not hesitate at all. He jumped into the icy waters. He was followed by at least three others. When he would remember this later, he could never remember feeling the coldness of the nearly frozen water.
He felt like he was moving through molasses. It took forever to reach the metal doors. The plane’s tail was starting to sink. He could see the president trying to free himself from his restraints. The pilot did not seem to be conscious. The other soldiers were at the door with him and pushed young Jeffrey aside. The door came open, and before he could reach up to grab the handle, the president was jumping out. The other soldiers were trying to lead him back onto the ice while the rest of the men watched. Cannon looked once again at the doomed pilot and reached for the door. Pulling himself into the plane was very difficult. The next few moments were very intense. The restraints that were holding the unconscious pilot were nearly impossible to unhook with his freezing fingers; however, he managed to get them loose enough to pull the pilot through. He screamed for someone to help, but when he looked back through the door, he was alone inside the sinking craft. He pulled the poor pilot toward the door of the aircraft, screaming, “Wake up! Wake up!” How could it be that no one was returning to help? He was starting to panic. As he pulled the pilot toward the opening, the entire plane plunged farther under the numbing waters. The opening was half submerged. Young Cannon lurched forward with his entire strength, trying to push the pilot through the opening. He felt as though he was pushing watermelon through a keyhole. Just when he began to make a little progress—both of his feet were now dangling in the water—two hands grabbed the pilot. The hands pulled the pilot free and reached back for Jeffrey. The plane creaked loudly and began to roll onto its side. It suddenly sank a couple more feet. Jeffrey was thrown into the rear of the craft. He looked toward the opening and realized that he was going to have to go underwater to free himself. Without taking time to think, he dove into the icy water and frantically grabbed hold of the doorframe. He pulled his entire weight forward and kicked his heavy feet. Just when he reached the opening, he lost consciousness.
He later learned that the plane had broken into two pieces. The rear section of the plane had practically dissected him. The metal had ripped through layers of clothing and sliced him from his shoulder, down across his back, to just above his tailbone. The force of the plane had pushed his body to the surface where he was rescued along with the pilot and the president of the United States.
When he awoke, he was lying in a bed inside the building. His surroundings assured him that he was still in Alaska. He immediately asked how long he had been unconscious. He was told that he had been out for almost forty-eight hours. He remembered everything up to when the president jumped out. Everything else seemed to be somewhat blurred.
In the bed beside him lay another young man. He was sleeping. When Jeffrey coughed to clear his throat, the man woke up. “Welcome back. I was sure hoping you’d make it. I’m Lieutenant Philip Roth. I think you saved my life.”
The following few days were filled with visits from every officer on the entire post. It seems he had emerged from the water a hero. He felt confused and smaller somehow. With all the attention he was receiving, he forgot all about the president. The young lieutenant next to him assured him that President Harding would know his name. The president had already returned to San Francisco by boat.
The president had handpicked Lieutenant Philip Roth to be his pilot. President Harding had only recently begun to travel by plane. He chose Lieutenant Roth over hundreds of other young officers. The lieutenant’s injuries were minor, but he remained in Alaska to meet the young man who had saved his life. Philip was not much older than Jeffrey. The soldiers became friends on the first day they spoke to each other.
“Seriously, you are the president’s personal pilot?” Jeffrey asked on the morning after he woke up.
“It was only our third flight, so I doubt if that will be my title much longer,” Lieutenant Roth answered.
The soldiers talked for hours and were only interrupted when Kikimo would bring food. She would smile at both of them and tell them they were too skinny. Lieutenant Roth called her Mama Kiko after knowing her less than twenty-four hours. Jeffrey told Philip of his desire for adventure and begged him to use his influence to get him a more interesting assignment. Philip promised to do all he could. Philip remained in Alaska for the next two months, awaiting a new aircraft. The president had written and assured him he still had a job. At the end of July, he learned that President Harding was still in San Francisco. He had developed pneumonia and was recovering there. On August 2, Philip heard the news by telegraph. President Warren G. Harding had suffered a stroke and died. Two days later, a letter arrived asking Lieutenant Roth to fly the president’s body back to Washington. He showed the letter to Jeffrey. “This is too much.” He looked at his new friend and added, “How could this have happened?”
Jeffrey could not think of anything appropriate to say, so he just said, “It will be all right.”
“How do you know that?” Lieutenant Roth spoke out loud but did not seem to be waiting for a reply. Two days later, he flew back to San Francisco, promising Jeffrey that he would get him out of Alaska soon.
True to his promise, Corporal Cannon left Alaska in December of 1923 en route to his new assignment, as close to Alaska as any other US holding but as far from Alaskan climate as was possible. The islands of Hawaii were as picturesque as all the still photographs he had seen. Everything felt so serene and remote. All the people seemed so content all the time.
Later in life, when he remembered this time, it seemed as it had happened the day before. The memories were a permanent part of him.
The next few months were the best of times and the worst of times. From every beach to every jungle, young Cannon hopped from island to island, training night and day, for a job he could not imagine. He trained hard and quickly excelled to the top of his class. The special operations team that he was assigned to was code-named C-Unit. President Coolidge had signed off on all his missions so far. The pilot of his team, Captain Philip Roth, flew them into the jungles of South America. Citizens were unaware of these missions. The two men became lifelong friends. When Jeffrey introduced Philip to his sister, their friendship changed forever. His friend Philip had just become his brother.
Throughout the rest of the decade, the pilot and the soldier became not only friends but also partners in a sense. They looked after each other as best they could. Philip married Margaret in 1926 and had a daughter the same year. Uncle Jeffrey could not have been happier for his friend.
In 1932, Philip accepted a new assignment in Washington DC while Jeffrey continued in special operations. The two friends’ military paths would not cross again until December of 1941.
Sergeant Cannon paused and seemed to be remembering something of particular interest. Jack and Em remained motionless in their chairs, mesmerized by every word. Neither of them could comprehend what they were hearing. Questions erupted inside their heads; however, before they could start asking, Morton returned and announced, “All aboard.”
Em realized this was not the appropriate call to board an airplane, but nevertheless, the message was understood. Sergeant Cannon stopped pacing, and his demeanor changed to professionalism. “Ready, you two? There’ll be plenty of time for questions later. We better find our gear. It gets mighty cold at ten thousand feet.” He hugged his Mama Kiko and told her he would see her again. Jack and Em followed him through the mazelike hallways of the hangar, both of them silent except for their obvious rapid breathing.
Em felt like the walls were surrounding him. What exactly were he and Jack getting into? Were they seriously going to go on secret missions authorized by the president? Sergeant Cannon seemed to be implying that. Training so intense it’s done in secret. Colonel Roth was a pilot and a real good one. He had flown with presidents. What could he want with two boys fresh out of basic training? It seemed that in answering their questions, Cannon had merely