by T I WADE
“I’m thinking that David is quite a good-looking guy,” mentioned Jennifer, picking up some of the two dozen dirty glasses sitting on every flat surface available. “I was talking to him last night for quite a while. He was in the Israeli Special Forces for over a decade before he came over to live here in the States. He is twenty years older than me, but I suppose that’s not really a lot, if you don’t want it to be,” she sighed.
“Well, look at the one following me like a puppy dog, Jennifer,” Sally added, putting some glasses down and then thumping Carlos in the side ribs with her fist. “He’s not that much younger than David, but better looking, and I think our friend Carlos here has a few manners more than Oliver.”
“Age means nothing when you have experience,” answered Carlos, winking at her.
“Carlos, don’t give me that crap,” laughed Sally. “You have never really been interested in women, or known to be a famous porno-movie star, or even had that many girlfriends! That’s what your friends say, anyway. I’ve checked up on you.”
“Maybe he’s scared of REAL women?” laughed Jennifer.
“Or maybe I’m being a little old-fashioned and keeping myself for the right woman,” added Carlos, tactfully.
“Oh, Bull H. Crap!” interrupted Martie, walking in. “Carlos, poor Preston has been defending me from you ever since we first met. And I saw you trying to chat up poor young Jennifer last night with that bottle of red wine in your hand and all those hand movements you were doing with your other hand.”
“I must admit that’s true, sweet Martie,” answered Carlos, trying to save face. “How can any man stay cool while you’re around, and we Latinos do gesture a lot when we talk. It’s the way we are made.”
“Sally, Jennifer, you had better watch Carlos. I’ve known him to be as smooth as a blunt knife through butter and as gentlemanly as a snake in the grass can ever be,” added Martie. “I could have fallen for him myself if he didn’t have such big eyes for you, Sally Powers, when you’re around.”
“Well, if he wants to marry me, he’d better put those big eyes and any other big things away until I’m an astronaut,” replied Sally trying to be serious and filling the dishwasher. “I’m not on the market until I reach my zenith.”
“I could be older than David and even Martie’s grandfather by then!” exclaimed Carlos. “I could be in a wheelchair and over the hill years before that.”
“News, Carlos!” added Preston, also walking in. “You and I are already over the hill for these young men-killers.” Carlos laughed and nodded his agreement and got another punch in the ribs from Sally as Preston reminded the three women to stop bullying his friend.
* * *
By 11:00 that morning, Martie had two large turkeys baking in the duel ovens in the house and a large ham warming in the hangar’s kitchen oven. Pumpkin pies arrived with Joe, his five boys, and David. Several dozen presents also arrived for everyone and the tree was nearly hidden by gifts. The two older men, Grandpa Roebels and Michael, arrived shortly afterwards and Martie thumped on the ceiling below Buck’s room with a broom to get them up. They came down sleepily a few minutes later.
There were many presents to hand out. Martie, with the help of the girls, turned several bottles of the red wine in hot German glűwein, and by the time the presents had been distributed two hours later, most of the crowd was already loud and boisterous. Joe had given all his sons new hunting rifles, and they were easily visible under their Christmas wrapping.
The hangar phone rang several minutes after the last present had been opened and Martie answered it. It was Maggie in Los Angeles, three hours behind, shouting Merry Christmas over the phone so everyone could hear. Maggie had good news for Martie. Will had to work over New Year’s Eve and he had given her three round-trip tickets aboard Southwest from LAX to RDU for her, Ben, and Oprah to visit them in Raleigh for two days. Martie jumped up and down with excitement, and Sally happily grabbed the phone out of her friend’s hand.
“I told you he would!” shouted Sally into the phone to her friend. “I told you, I told you! He loves you so much. Don’t you ever let him go!” she laughed, giving her friend a kiss over the phone and handing it back to a happy Martie.
“I have two extra single beds at home,” injected Joe once the call was over. “There is enough room in Carlos’ room to put another single in there and Carlos can sleep on the other down here.”
“Good idea, Joe” replied Preston, slapping Carlos on the back. “Carlos, you still have a couple of nights in that new bed upstairs. It sounds like they are only coming in on the 29th or 30th. Oh, I forgot, what about your friend coming in. Where’s he going to sleep?”
“No problem,” laughed Carlos. “He has a bed in the back of his aircraft.”
“A what in his where!?” asked Preston, again looking worried.
“Well, if it’s Air Force One Preston,” laughed Sally “Maggie and the kids can move in with the President and his wife. I’m sure they won’t mind,” watching Preston’s face go totally white. It took him a couple of seconds to digest what Sally had said before he laughed, realizing that there was no way Air Force One could land on his short airstrip and that Sally was playing her usual jokes.
“Don’t worry, Preston, my good friend,” smiled Carlos. “This is a supercharged short-runway medium-size turboprop, and the joke will be on Sally when he arrives.” Sally now looked at him totally puzzled and Carlos just winked at her, shrugged his shoulders innocently and gave her a triumphant grin.
The rest of the happy day was a party that could only be enjoyed with a group of maniac flyers. There was much jousting, much drinking and eating, and commonly making a fool in front of their friends. It was a good day.
The weather was still fine on the morning after Christmas. It was a Wednesday, and with the holiday break between Christmas and New Year’s Eve underway, it was time for a little flying. Martie switched on the television to hear the weather report to see if Maggie was going to have any problems getting out of California on the 29th.
“A couple of small ships collided in the English Channel on Christmas Day,” stated the male newscaster. “One of the ships changed course for no apparent reason. It is suspected that the crew must have been dozing or not at their posts. She veered off course and into the way of a second ship going in the opposite direction. This ship was a coastal oil tanker with 10,000 gallons of heating oil aboard and both went down within minutes—the second one leaving a massive oil slick several miles long and wide. Oil experts are already flying in to try to contain the oil spill.”
“An Indonesian Boeing 737 with 124 aboard crashed minutes after takeoff last night. It was just before midnight, the weather was clear and the aircraft, bound for Jakarta flew straight into the side of a mountain. Air traffic control was not able to communicate with the pilots after takeoff, and the aircraft did not follow its usual flight pattern. Nobody survived the crash and a search is underway for the two black boxes.”
“Locally, a military aircraft went down in the sea just off the San Diego coast early yesterday morning. The Navy jet was on a transfer flight to a U.S. aircraft carrier just offshore when its jet engine cut out and the plane crashed into the sea. The pilot escaped moments before using his ejection seat and was picked up by a Coast Guard cutter with only minor injuries.”
“A spate of Chinese killings ended in Salt Lake City with the shooting of a gang of what the police and FBI called “Chinese thugs.” Law enforcement closed in on the group of four Chinese men after a tip-off in a Salt Lake City neighborhood. They presumably set another, the seventh house this month, ablaze. They were seen driving a black SUV north along Highway 85 and several police cars closed in. A firefight on the highway commenced, and the four men were killed. Seven innocent civilians, three policemen, and two FBI agents were also killed in the firefight, which lasted for well over an hour. The four men were well-armed with automatic weapons.”
“I didn’t know you had Chinese gangs in Salt La
ke City?” Preston asked Carlos.
“Me neither,” he replied, all watching a taped recording of the end of the gun battle from a news helicopter. There were bodies everywhere on the ground, with several crashed cars all over the highway. “That’s weird, I drove on that piece of road just the other day. I take that road to get to Hill Air Force Base. That fight was about five miles south of the base.”
The helicopter zoomed in on the smoking SUV and California license plates could be seen on the rear of the vehicle. “The SUV is from California,” continued Carlos. “The only Chinese guy I know of in Salt Lake City is Lee, our cleaner guy who you spoke to on the radio. He certainly wouldn’t be involved in gang activity. He’s an old man.”
“The gang of four with their California-licensed SUV is believed to also be connected to the many house fires in California in December where 17 Chinese family members lost their lives. Ten of the victims were said to have been shot in the head before their houses were set on fire to disguise these execution-style killings. The other three house fires in Washington, Seattle and Durham, North Carolina just before Christmas couldn’t have been the work of the same gang, and the FBI believe that a second, or even a third gang squad could still be on the loose. A APB has been posted nationwide by the FBI, and the public are being warned against getting close to any group of Chinese men. The four men killed in Salt Lake City worked with military-style precision, and were professionals. It seems that Chinese gang violence is on the rise. Several large attacks killed American troops in the war-zones around the world on Christmas day.”
“The Pentagon has not released figures yet, but several attacks on American bases across the Middle East and South Korea looked like they were well-planned to disrupt Christmas for our troops. We will give you more news later today when the Pentagon releases more information.”
“In other news, Christmas has been a normal weather affair for most of the country, except for the West coast, where rain and high winds pelted Seattle and Portland in the early morning hours of Christmas Day. The fast-moving storm is heading due north out of California and not expected to cause delays for New Years Eve travelers, except across the northern areas of the country.”
Martie switched off the television. “I just wanted to see if Maggie would be okay,” she said. “The news is getting worse and worse.”
“Then don’t listen to it,” replied Preston. “I get a better weather report from NOAA than the news anyway. Okay guys, tomorrow is our first field trip down to Charleston for lunch at a friend’s restaurant. Let’s get everyone in here and file flight plans.”
It took several minutes, but eventually everybody arrived, including Joe, David, and four of his sons. They were all looking forward to a flight in Lady Dandy.
The DC-3 had very uncomfortable side seats on both sides of the aircraft. Usually they weren’t needed, but they could be dropped from a vertical position against the side walls. Bob had installed a dozen on each side in case he needed to carry passengers, but being in a permanent cargo setup, they were not practical for long flights. Sleeping bags and mattresses laid out on the floor were certainly a more comfortable arrangement.
“We want to fly, don’t we?” Preston asked, and everyone nodded. “I have reserved a table in a friend’s Greek restaurant in Charleston, actually on a beach called the Isle of Palms slightly north of the city. We have five aircraft flying in—the three P-51 Mustangs that Martie, Carlos, and I have been waiting a long time to fly together, Sally’s Pilatus with her and Jennifer, Grandpa Roebels and Michael, and Buck and Barbara flying in Lady Dandy. Martie, Carlos, and I are flying on flight plans over Ocracoke on the coast. Martie, Carlos, and I will continue out to sea and then drop down to below 3,000 feet and practice some formation flying, and after that we’ll meet up with you guys over Charleston. Hopefully our formation flying won’t be noticed by any excitable air traffic controllers. Our destination airport information is Mt. Pleasant Regional Airport, Faison Field, just north of Charleston International.”
Preston gave them the airport’s latitude and longitude. “Asphalt runway is 3,700 feet, longer and wider than mine. Distance from here is 240 miles direct. If flying over the Outer Banks, add on another 150 miles. To recap: the three of you are with Sally,” repeated Preston, nodding in Jennifer and the older men’s direction. “That leaves you and your boys, Joe, and David with Buck and Barbara. I suggest that we all fly in a non-formational group over the Outer Banks and then both Sally and Buck fly separately or together down to South Carolina. The views will be nice tomorrow. The weather is perfect and the sea is expected to be calm. You guys do what you want to do and we should be no more than 30 minutes behind you.”
Preston scanned the room for any signs of questions from the beaming faces around him before continuing. “There is no tower at Mt. Pleasant and pattern altitude is 1,000 feet MSL. We are expected at the airport at exactly midday and my buddy Joe will have two vehicles to take us to his restaurant for a traditional Greek meal. It’s good. Martie and I have been down there many times—it’s one of our favorite food destinations.” There were nods of approval from the group.
“OK, refueling. Carlos you need to fill your tanks. Since we can only fuel one aircraft at a time, you will refuel first tomorrow morning. Then, the turboprops—Sally you fill up first with jet fuel and then you, Buck. We take off at 10:00 am on the dot, and Oliver is coming along. David, do you mind looking after him on a leash in Lady Dandy?” David affirmed that he would be happy to.
The next day was clear and the flying fun. The three Mustangs, together only for the second time in their history, flew low and fast to the Outer Banks, 30 miles out to sea, and practiced tactical maneuvers and tight-formation flying. The Pilatus and Lady Dandy were left far behind by the faster Mustangs, and flew together to the coast with the occupants enjoying the view.
Lady Dandy needed most of the runway to get airborne. With tanks half full and a small cargo of humans and one excited dog, Buck taxied her to the south side of the runway as a light 3-knot wind came in from the north. He turned her around to face the 2,970 yards of asphalt, with his rear wheel in the dirt. He was going to use every inch possible. It was his first take-off from such a small field, and he did not want to take any risks with extra people on board. Preston wanted him to go first. Buck was the slowest and everyone else could easily catch up with him. The Pilatus was already warming up on the apron. The three Mustangs had been pulled out with the tractor a couple of hours earlier and were in a line facing the warming Pilatus.
Buck and Preston had talked about the take-off the previous night, and Buck had allowed his two large turboprops to get warm before he taxied down to the runway end.
Everyone waited in their respective aircraft as Lady Dandy’s engines began to rev up for take-off. Buck pushed the throttles to maximum, and kept his feet on the brake until they reached a crescendo. The aircraft began to shake violently and then he moved Lady Dandy into forward motion. With her two massive propellers biting hard into the oncoming air, she rapidly gained momentum, and by the time she passed the Pilatus still waiting on the apron, her rear wheel was rising. Preston noted that Buck still had 100 feet or so of asphalt left when the large front tires left the ground. Buck pulled her up a little steeper than normal, quickly retracted her undercarriage, left the flaps down, and rose gracefully into the air. Within seconds he was over the trees, a couple of hundred feet higher than the highest one.
Preston signaled to Martie and Carlos to start up, and the three Mustang engines coughed into life as the Pilatus moved onto the runway headed to the south end and neared the end of the runway to turn around. Sally already had her checks done and her engines warmed, and she quickly turned and began her take-off. She let the engine increase its revs as she was moving. The Pilatus was a single-engine turboprop, much less than half the size and weight of the DC-3, and the smaller aircraft left the ground several feet earlier than Buck had. Sally had the engine under full take-off power, quite lig
ht on weight as well, and she climbed quickly like a fighter pilot, turning left as her wheels retracted to follow Lady Dandy.
The three Mustangs taxied to the end of the runway together, lined up one behind the other and each one let go of the brakes as the one in front left the tarmac. They were gone in two minutes and the farm suddenly became quiet and peaceful with no one home, not even faithful Oliver.
Sally caught up with Lady Dandy within five minutes and she past her about 100 yards away on the DC-3’s right side. She climbed up to altitude, circled, and waited for Lady Dandy and then lowered her cruising speed to 230 miles an hour as the four aboard relaxed. The three Mustangs reached the right side of Lady Dandy a couple of minutes later, slowed down to Lady Dandy’s 230 mile-an-hour maximum cruising speed, and each waggled their wings and waved at the occupants.
“Buck, you had 100 feet of asphalt left. If I removed the lights, I reckon you could get out with full weight,” Preston stated over the radio.
“Roger that!” replied Buck over the unused radio frequency they had all agreed to use as a chat frequency. All the aircraft had one radio tuned to the air traffic control frequency they were all currently using, and the other for chit-chat. “I’ll try that when I need to, not before.”
“Sally you had at least 200 feet remaining—just letting you know.” He received an acknowledgement from Sally, and then Buck and Barbara watched from the front as the three fighters climbed away at full power at Preston’s command, disappearing into the blue sky a minute or so later. They were certainly beautiful to watch.
Lunch was excellent Greek food, with no drinking for the pilots. Only the ground crew captained by Grandpa Roebels ordered a couple of bottles of imported Greek wine. They were not under flying laws and the pilots were happy discussing sweeps and turns without needing alcoholic support. They would get theirs back at base. Oliver was spoiled, behaved admirably, and achieved a large pile of rack-of-lamb bones on the ground by the table, as well as a doggy-bag for home consumption. Martie was sure that he would have to find a new burial ground to deposit all the bones.
