By Steven Lake
Copyright 2011 Steven Lake
The Rocky Mountains
Ten miles north of the San Luis Valley
December 3rd, 1799 - 6:04pm
A Scottish man in a dark blue parka and matching kilt stood in the main door of hanger bay two and watched as snow fell in thick, heavy sheets of white across the snow caked hillsides surrounding him. He took a long drag on a thick pipe that hung from his lips, and then exhaled deeply, sending a wild cloud of smoke billowing out of his nostrils like a dragon. As he did, the sound of chopper blades began to echo in the distance.
Soon, a pair of dim white lights appeared through the unrelenting wall of snow followed moments later by a large, snow caked chopper. It tilted up slightly as it approached the bay, whipping up a wind that made the man's kilt stand on end. If he hadn't been wearing a thick pair of snow pants beneath it, his nether regions would have become just as frozen as the platform on which he stood. The chopper soon landed and disgorged two passengers, one Irish, and one German, before lifting off again and vanishing back into the blizzard.