The Great Ark

by T. C. Driver

  An Indian couple known to Goldwater, welcomed us into their simple house across the back alley from hangar one. We all plunged through their door from the storm and flood. Stopping cold, we wedged tight together inside; no room for us in the Inn. Unk, Moore and I cleaned off chairs in the front room piled high with junk and slept into the next day's afternoon. No food or drink was offered to us and by the looks and smells inside, that was a blessing. Our group of six persons, and very many large cockroaches joined the old couple in refuge from the flood. We all huddled together in their little house. Afternoon sunshine brought still no relief from the never ending rain. At 3pm, we all, (now almost dry) stood in hangar one. Unk was describing our flight plan on large, 'clean', stainless steel mechanics tables. Cold pizza never tasted so good. We tore into our boxes. All except Duck. He ate all of his food in the chopper yesterday. Nobody would show ole Duck any pizza mercy. Nobody that is, except my Sarah.

  We were each to fly one new Boeing B48 to the VPI of India for the big air show. We would be joined there with others to form two groups of six; a stunt formation and team in the show. We would be at the show seven weekends in total. Then the planes would be taken apart and flown (in storage) to Thailand. At this old, formerly American base, refitting of plane's landing gear would take place to make them operational for use on the Great Ark. This whole process seemed 'complicated' and boring. Unk started talking 'Goldwater-like' during our long briefings he was not impressive; both men became overbearing butt holes. All I could think about was one Sarah Coe. She was cozy up tight beside me as we bent over flight plans during the briefing. We both only pretended to listen. Sarah was an expert at the 'one breast' back stab hug; all men know it well. Sarah used it to her great advantage. I felt like an old caged bull pawing the ground, heart pounding, hoping my embarrassing, boyish stupidity did not show. The Big Air Show was very near the VPI of India and took place in a beautiful 'high class area'. This show, for an old aviator like me, was candy store priceless. We all enjoyed flying in the show and gladly put in long hours. The first month was all practice. Unk was in charge of our stunts. Unk, four Boeing guys, four from another ship, myself, and two old, has been Indian Air Force aces made up our squadron's team. Sarah was bumped to 'alternate'. She flew only one fourth or so of the time. The Indian Air Force home team would not allow women pilots and 'Daddy Coe' was protective as to what close to ground foolishness his Sarah could be involved in with the new B48s. Unk and Sarah could often be heard screaming at each other at the top of their lungs as the old Russian 'weasel' did Daddy Coe's bidding in our flying routines. Towards me, Sarah was also hostile, cold and snobby; not like herself. Always pouting and uncaring; even more so around our comrades.

  Mitch Johnston, a Boeing Vice President, would soon place orders for another three hundred B48s during this big air show. The plane was now up to seven years of production. He broke all of his sales goals. Mitch and his wife, Janet, make a good-looking, classy couple. Both were press magnets, very much at ease at black tie events. This pair was extremely popular about town. Their pictures and those of their twin daughters and sons-in laws stayed in the newspaper and on most magazine covers during the Big Air Show. I found out that they were all related to Coe's first wife, Gloria. Mitch and Janet had known all the Coe kids from childhood.

  Our new B48s were not a dramatically different looking version of the B44s. No mention of a carrier version was made during the air show. Like B44s, they were light-weight and not supersonic. The B48 was almost a foot longer and five hundred pounds heavier than a 44. This weight came from an engine modification which hurt radar image a bit. It was the new plane's need of less maintenance and added thrust when using hydrogen fuel that ruled the engineering changes. Wings and tail section 'skin flex' was more 'bird like' in each generation. A one hundred mph faster dive put this plane right at the speed of sound. These planes could turn faster than the human body could endure.

  “Indeed” said Mitch.

  These manned versions are popular, but the unmanned versions were the main thrust of military sales worldwide. Without complex computer restrictions on flight, a B48 would kill its own pilot, snapping his neck at the first sudden turn and then making mush of his face, splashing the pilot against the inside of his helmet. When the plane landed, the flight suit would have a pilot milkshake inside. Not a pretty sight, and also bad for morale. The unmanned version was very hard to shoot down with straight flying missiles because of this bat-like flying agility.

  Five large 'world class' resort hotels were close to both the college and the big Air Show. These were good times, indeed. We all received the red carpet treatment. My Sarah was constantly burning mad. She was always cold now in public; often hurtful, belligerent and stubborn (just like her Father), but little Sarah did have her warm side. Our third night in town, Sarah Coe smarted off to me in front of friends. She put on a good show with a loud, flippant goodnight. She was acting like I was siding with Unk against her. As she smarted off, she also placed a plastic room key in the left hand behind my back. This was the beginning of our 'air show honeymoon' together. I used my key and went to her that night. Without speaking, we had marathon sex, almost fighting each other in unbridled passion. Before speaking (full sentences), our bodies were spent. My old plumbing had kept up only with the help of pills. Our daily sex romps made me feel young again. Both of us enjoyed playing the part of lovers. Yes, during our month-long honeymoon together, we were both very happy. Being lovers was much more enjoyable than just being friends, and we needed to spice up our bland lives. We both wanted to live the good life. Unk started talking about 'The Stunt'. Unk said he would take the stunt himself if I was too old or didn't like the odds. I knew what he wanted. My old 'tail stall landing' like in Paris way 'back in the day'. Twelve years back, in fact.

  “Unk, don't they do something new by now?” I groaned. “Do you think that old stunt would go over?”

  “Old Corny, if you want it, the last stunt is yours. If you pass, then let me know now” demanded Unk, raising his voice.

  I was sure from way back at the corner table talk with Joe Coe back on ship, that they wanted a tail stall landing. They just needed someone stupid enough to put their butt on the line. Yes, a glory seeking sucker to do it. Back in the day at that old Paris air show, the aviation world was all abuzz when I landed my jet in the middle of the stadium. I used a nose in the air vertical descent and then slammed to the ground with a not so gentle bounce. My plane's wheels dug so deep into the football field grass that my back has never been right since that day! I rubbed my aching back and said “Still, that stunt was very impressive 'back in the day'!”

  The big air show was full of good times. In this life, I have been blessed with more than my share. Sarah and I soon grew so close that she stopped 'hiding me'. One night at her place, she popped the big question.

  “I want to do the stunt” she said softly. “Oh, please, Cornelius.”

  “What stunt?” I asked her.

  “You know” she shouted. “Your stunt, I can do it!”

  “Sarah, is this about beating Haley at something?” I snapped.

  “If you love me, truly love me, Cornelius, you will let me do the stunt. I've been practicing every day at ten thousand feet. I'm a great pilot. I deserve a shot. I deserve to be in the show!” She started to cry. Sarah got up from my old laptop computer and angrily stormed to her room, slamming the door behind her. She was crying pretty good; a lifetime of practice. Her act was impressive. You have to be good to impress an old fart like me. I have known some great criers in my time. Things were not looking up; we had not had our daily sex romp yet!

  My heart was troubled. I did care for her 'a little bit'. Should I protect her like her Daddy or give her a shot at fame? She was a highly skilled pilot in the new B48 planes and yes, a spoiled brat! I poured myself some red wine and sat down to think. Sarah had not closed her face book. My heart was grieved by her page. She was in competition with her sisters in another race, a
race to download the first Coe grandchild. All of the Coe sister's baby clocks were now being pushed forward by their younger brother's unwelcome girlfriend, Katie. No, Katie would not have the first-born Coe heir! My heart sank as I shut down the computer. I sat back in the chair, ashamed of my tears, focusing my mind on the upcoming stunt. Yes, ground effects on the flight of her plane had to be taught. Let’s see, the odds of breaking something on the plane during landing, is about 50/50. Her odds of the plane flipping backwards or rolling sideways into the grandstands is about 20%. What is love all about, protection or respect? Worst, I had played the old fool, just as I had feared. Had Sarah been with me to get back at her overprotective father? Maybe she just used me for great sex, or maybe to butter me up to get her way in the stunt. I guess it could be all of the above, plus the sibling baby race. Daddy will be pissed! That's life, you old fool, get over it (ha-ha)!

  The Big Air Show and our little honeymoon both were almost over. I had seen some good times for a short season. Now dark storm clouds were forming on the horizon.

  A few days later the big finale came. This was the last day of the show. That day, I realized that the 'lust' Sarah and I shared was not real love at all; no, not the forever kind. Nothing like what Patty and I had. Sarah and I were just a couple of players; each playing out their cards. This world can fool you quickly; very quickly. It makes one play the fool. Now was not the time for breaking-up. This was her moment. It was time for friends to support each other. We kissed and then Sarah climbed into the cockpit with my codes and the show's tower call signs. I went over each and every step of 'the stunt' once again. Not on the simulator this time, but just talking; making believe my hand was the airplane. Sarah took off to 'fame' or 'flame'. The world would soon know. She circled in the tower pattern waiting her turn; not speaking, but using computer text with the tower. The evening sun was setting. The big air show was drawing to a close. Three large helicopters full of stunt men were thrilling the overflow stadium crowd. My plane circled the stadium slower and lower with each pass, and the, when the choppers all landed at once, Sarah came into the light right on cue. Her plane was only feet from brushing the flags and lights as the B48 dropped into the stadium. The plane's long, straight, glider-like wings seemed to reach from one end of the stadium to the other. The 'eagle reflex' set into many fans as the shadow of Sarah's plane passed over top of them. People ran, screaming and falling down in fear. Her plane's powerful jet engine wound up speed and then blasted into afterburner to break the forward and downward motion of her descent. Pulling up to a stall, Sarah balanced her plane completely motionless in the middle of the stadium, slowly backing off the throttle as fuel weight-loss tried to blast her off like a rocket. That's when I walked into Mitch Johnston's VIP press box and nodded hello to Unk and Goldwater. Unk turned and asked “Where is.....Damn it!” His eyes quickly focused back to my plane. Which was now Sarah’s plane?

  Goldwater beside me, also looking straight ahead whispered “You dumb, pervert bastard!”

  We all stared at Sarah's plane as it hung motionless in the middle of the stadium, balanced seemingly forever on its powerful exhaust. Ole' Duck had designed and added to the plane a special thrust-out plate to aid the odds of the stunt. Sarah was playing it well, only now starting to fold up her wings. In just seconds, she would run out of fuel and fall the rest of the way to the ground. Sarah lingered much longer in mid-air than we could 'back in the day'. The crowd was glued to this spectacle in front of them. The Astro-turf started burning as Sarah got close. She inched down to almost touching. Then, flame out, and her B48 plane leaned forward a few degrees, falling flat onto the fifty yard line, a still smoking black hole just behind it. As the B48 hit the ground, its front landing gear crumpled so the plane seemed to bow as for her to get out. The plane's large, bubble cockpit canopy then blew off, flying high into the air; a safety regulation no-no. This was very dangerous to people in the stands. Sarah then stood on the plane for pictures. This also was against all the rules. When her flight helmet came off and that long, red hair of hers spilled out, the press stopped announcing me, and fans and the press both stormed the plane, completely overpowering fire and rescue staff. Sarah would be on every magazine cover in the world that month. A new generation of aviator was born.

  “Best thing ever for the show” said Mitch Johnston. “That was pure marketing genius, Cornelius! Worth more than money could buy in free advertising!” Mitch grabbed me with a hug and grinned.

  Unk, the ole’ Russian weasel, was silent, holding back a smile. Goldwater had his ship phone out, looking at me with a 'got you' frown, as he frantically tried Joe's line. He wanted to be first to tell Daddy Coe, just in case Captain Coe was not watching T.V. I walked away from one lonely reporter working our high-class press box. I was quickly yesterday's news. Marshall Moore and I met in the hallway walking out. We spent the next couple of hours celebrating Sarah's triumphant closing of the air show. We were with a group of five or six friends in the lounge of our big, fancy hotel. Sarah joined us after about an hour and a half. She had been mobbed by the press. She pretended to be tired of so much attention. We hugged in the lobby and sat down for one drink. Sarah talked about almost flipping backwards twice. After her drink, she excused herself to her room. “Thank you, Cornelius, for making all this possible” she said. “I'm going to call right now. I will do what I can with, Joe. He will listen to me. Haley and I together, we will do this.”

  Duck and I drank one more drink by ourselves, now at the hotel bar. We both knew the hard cold facts. The odds were 50/50 that at least one of Coe's men was already here. None of us were safe. Not even from each other; or from someone unknown to us sitting in this very bar.

  The next morning, our whole group took off again, plus the two Dave brothers, Bo and Don. They were two blues musicians who were close friends of Mitch and Janet Johnston. They were hitching a ride because Bo had wrecked their tour bus. These two really 'mellowed out' our flight. Think Woodstock (ha-ha)! Complete with rose colored glasses. Bo and Don were from Yorktown, Va. They were famous 'back in the day'. I still have some of their early stuff on vinyl.

  For this long flight to Thailand, we flew in a small, slow cargo box plane, a puddle jumper with two old, very loud turbo-prop engines. This was a worthy 'all glory is fleeting' moment for all of us famous aviator types. We rode in cargo class (ha-ha) with stacks of air plane tires between our long, bench style wall seats. There was only one window in the side door of our plane. Old Paul Goldwater sat down between Sarah and I. Everybody in our group knew we were lovers. Paul was being his 'I'm the boss' self and an ass! Bo and Don started smoking up the cabin with the biggest blunt I'd ever seen. Unk, Sarah, Duck and I, all knowing a twelve hour flight was ahead of us, gladly joined Bo and Don's party. We all numbed the painfully loud decibels with dope and laughter. The two Indian pilots were raising hell about the smoke, but the old plane was not airtight anyway. Goldwater was fuming mad. Paul soon moved up front close to the pilots. They closed the curtain on him (ha-ha) and Paul laid his head down as far away from the rest of us as possible. Both the Indian pilots and Goldwater eventually stopped raising hell about the smoke and the 'Indian police'. We all knew that there was much more to worry about than dope and continued blunting our long flight.

  I stared out 'the window' during flight as Sarah slept, and leaned on me as a pillow. I thought about 'back in the day' when Paul and I were brothers-in-law. He married the oldest (homely and stocky) sister, HEDDIE, called 'Sissy'. I married the middle, cute sister, the popular one, PATTY, and a 'big bark' Pee Wee Herman type of guy named Barnie married the hot, spoiled, angry baby sister, DEBBIE.

  The Mother and Father of these three girls, and one somewhat normal son, were great, generous and God loving people. Mr. Cracker worked as a diesel mechanic all his life. Mrs. Cracker stayed home or helped in the local school cafeteria. The family lived in a small, simple home on the side of a steep hill, very close to the main 'two lane' highway. The children had a modest,
but Godly and blessed childhood. The oldest and youngest sisters grew close; they were fourteen years apart in age. The middle sister Patty was their mother’s favorite. The other two would have nothing to do with my Patty. All of their lives, the 'evil sister duo' has played the 'both ends against the middle' game. Both sisters hated the popular middle sister.

  These Cracker girls grew up envious of their many 'middle class' neighbors who had, in their eyes, 'fine brick homes' and fancy cars. At this level of society, 'money' meant that Dad worked for the Post Office, UPS or the N&W Railroad.