Little Sioux, Iowa ? Boy Scout Ethan Hession wasn’t scared until the windows shattered.

Sirens had blared. Lights in the cabin had blinked out.

The scoutmaster had burst in and yelled, “Everybody under the tables!”

Within seconds, Hession heard the sound of smashing glass and the deafening locomotive roar that means tornado. He felt glass rain down on his shoulders.

The 13-year-old crouched in a corner of a cabin at the Little Sioux Scout Ranch, elbows pressed against the concrete floor, hands covering his face. About 50 or so other members of the “Red Team” did the same.

Hession tried to close his eyes. Something struck his head.

He felt his body lifted up, as if he were flying. He looked up, through a blinding white mist, and saw that the cabin’s roof was gone.

“God help us!” yelled the boy next to Hession.

Then it was over.

A window into the fury

For the 100 or so boys who have spent their young lives learning the rigors of Mother Nature, Wednesday was a window into its fury.

In the days before the tornado drilled the camp, the Scouts had drilled on what to do during and after a tornado.

So Wednesday night, when the clouds had parted and the chaos had passed, the Scouts took count of each other, just as they had practiced.

Forty-two people were hurt, most of them in the north cabin where Hession cowered.

Four Scouts died.

Laying under a table in that building, Zach Jessen, a 14-year-old leader of one of the eight-member patrols, said he “prayed and prayed” that everyone would survive.

Minutes later, he stood amid the rubble and took count of his patrol. Everyone was accounted for, except one – a shy kid from Omaha.

Scouts and Scout leaders were performing CPR on the 13-year-old, to no avail.

Watching and waiting

The campers spent the afternoon on a high-tech treasure hunt – using GPS devices to find hidden prizes on the camp’s sprawling, 1,800-acre grounds.

With word that severe weather was coming Wednesday night, Thomas White, an 18-year-old camp worker, and other camp staffers decided to give the kids a break. Instead of making each group cook its own dinner, the staff cooked it – “mounds and mounds” of spaghetti.

The staff decided to serve the food early, about 5 p.m., so the kids could watch either a Frankenstein or James Bond movie before any storms hit.

White had seen weather reports on his laptop computer Wednesday morning. The park caretaker had called and given word.

“Everyone thought we would get a lot of rain,” White said. “But, I mean, no one really knew what else was coming.”

After 6 p.m., Jessen could spot the impending problem in the southwestern sky.

He and several other Scouts gathered on the porch of the administration building, watching the lightning show.

Jessen was watching something else, too: a huge, dark, low-hanging cloud – slowly starting to swirl.

Soon, the camp doctor’s weather radio was blaring sounds of a tornado warning. The caretaker called with word that tornadoes had been spotted over the town of Little Sioux, about 15 miles to the south.

Suddenly, Rob Logsdon said, storm clouds shifted between two bluffs, near the entrance to the Scout camp.

“We could see a funnel cloud drop down, and it was heading right for us,” the high school sophomore said.

Camp staffers sounded the alarm.

Rushing to safety

Jessen ushered several Red Team Scouts to the north cabin – about a quarter-mile from the camp’s administrative building.

Scouts on the Green Team rushed to the south cabin, also a quarter-mile away.

White took a homesick child to the south cabin, then ran out to see if anyone was lagging.

White and Scout leader Doug Klug rushed to the side of an overweight child who was struggling to get to the south cabin.

Rain picked up. Air pressure dropped. White’s ears began to pop, and it felt as though air was being sucked from his lungs.

“Get down!,” Klug yelled.

With no ditch nearby, the three dropped into a shallow, foot-deep depression next to a dirt road.

The tornado roared. Branches snapped and crashed. A foot-thick branch fell from a huge oak and landed just beyond their feet.

White, who also served as camp chaplain, started to pray.

“I was like, ‘God, come on! This cannot be the way I gotta go.”‘

Within seconds, the tornado had churned past.

‘My heart sank’

When it was over, Hession struggled to his feet and scanned the room.

He and others freed one of several boys buried by cinder blocks from the cabin’s leveled chimney.

A second boy had a gaping wound on his head. Hession ripped off his T-shirt and handed it to another Scout trying to stanch the blood.

Hession sat on the injured boy’s legs to keep him from struggling as the third Scout pressed the shirt against the injured boy’s head.

The trapped boys screamed for help, but Hession and the others couldn’t reach all of them.

He saw one boy lying motionless in the debris. Rescue crews ran in – maybe 10 minutes after the tornado hit, Hession said.

They moved the uninjured Scouts to the side. Only then did he look around.

The walls had crumbled. The tables were crushed. The chimney’s cinder blocks had rained down, causing most of the serious injuries.

Jessen emerged from under his table to locate his eight-Scout patrol.

Seven answered his call.

“My heart sank,” Jessen said. “I didn’t want to lose anyone. None of us did.”