The Circle of Flight

The Circle of Flight

D. Paul Angel ©2010

The cockpit of the future is going to have a man, a dog, and a single red button. The man is there to feed the dog, and the dog is there to bite him if he ever reaches for the button.

-- Glen Marshall

I feel the wind buffet the Jenny through the stick as I fly through the cold, dawn air. I don't honestly remember if I'm over Kansas or Nebraska at this point, but it doesn't really matter either. They're all just fields still grey below the dawn. It's just nice to feel the wind and the engines rumble as I head West. Putting the Sun to my back and just flying. As it starts to rise behind me I can just start making out the wheat swaying in time to the wind, and matching the strumming of the gusts through the wires between the wings.

Even though I counted the change again last night, and I'll be having to give rides again tomorrow, it's nice to be alone for now. Some of it is the familiarity of the Dawn Patrol routine from the War, I guess. Mostly though, well, mostly it's that there just aren't as many people around. I've met some good people giving rides though; a lot of Dough Boys thinking we lived the glamor life in the war. I wish.

~ ~ ~

"Contact!" I pull my right leg back while pulling down and away on the smooth wooden prop. I can feel the trailing edge with my fingertips, though I'm careful not to let them overhang. A couple steps back and after a couple sputters the little Continental clunks to life. Holding on to the strut, I pass around the back of the little Yellow Cub, untying the tail-wheel before maneuvering myself awkwardly into the rear seat.

I'm not sure what's wrong when my instructor gets out until he raises his voice over the engine, "Three take-offs, three full-stop landings. You're ready." He runs back to the hanger, and she's all mine. My first Solo. I take the runway, ease the throttle forward, nudge the stick, and balance the plane with stick and rudder as I accelerate down the runway. Keeping it balanced until it simply leaves the ground of its own accord, giving itself to the wind's gentle clutch.

~ ~ ~

As I run up the Pratt & Whitney Single Wasp the North Atlantic pitches the Escort Carrier about like a cork in a toddler's tub. Only a crazy man would take-off on a day like this, unless of course someone saw a periscope.

With the wind is coming straight down the deck now, the Martlet is on the verge of flying whether I want it to or not. I release the brakes and the prop pulls it down the deck and into the air, dropping off the end as I strain on the right rudder to keep it straight.

I madly pump the gear handle, hydraulically raising the gear before banking to the South. The turbulence pounds my legs through the rudder pedals, but I don't even feel it anymore. That's just part of flying by the seat of your pants. And it's better flying than sitting. Especially when there's a wolf down there, and I have dozen grey sheep to protect.

~ ~ ~

The Jungle flashes below as a rippling blur of mottled greens and browns. My RIO has the signal from the SAM now, and it's only a matter of a minute, maybe, two, before I dump raw fuel into the J79 and streak directly at them. Some days we hit the SAM site, but today, well, today we're the decoy. It's what the Thud does best.

"Signal engaged, left to heading two zero four."

"Coming left, two zero four." I reply while pulling the 'burner tab, rolling to knife edge, and pulling back on the stick in a high G turn.

"Inbound SAM's,” my RIO calmly calls out, “Charlie-Two, start your run."

~ ~ ~

My wingman and me are on CAP again, boring holes through the air, ten miles up; waiting for an enemy that will never come. They came that first night, I'll never forget it even if they didn't come into my sector, but at a loss of over half their Air Force. So I fly my lazy patterns, keep my feet on the floor, and dogfight in my mind. I miss the Academy's glider.

~ ~ ~

The Predator has easily the longest endurance and highest payload for any aircraft of its size. All they had to do was eliminate the pilot. I fly my UAV from half a world away. Literally. And to think my mom told me playing Xbox wasn't ever going to help me land a job.

~ ~ ~

It's been almost a year since since the Colony ship left and we're just now hitting full stride.. Laelnizo IV is a beautiful planet. Not the best soil, which is why the grass is so short, but there's lots of it. The more we work it, the better it gets, too. But that also means our farms are spread out, so I'm constantly flying people, parts, and everything else around.

It's just us here, and anything that breaks, well, we have to fix ourselves. My Grasshopper has more in common with a 1930's monoplane than the Wasp's which delivered the Colony two containers at a time. I flew them, too. Spce to Surface and back. There's nothing quite like rolling in on an approach to a Colony Ship. At two miles long, half a mile wide, and a quarter mile tall, it all seemed like it should be falling into the planet, not floating above it like a brick hovering over a lake.

Now I'm following the steady dot-dash-dash dot-dot-dot-dash dot-dot of the Main City's NDB back home. I can feel the wind shift a bit through the stick, and kick in a little more rudder to keep the ball centered. The more things change...

For Mother's Love and Father's Honor

I remember most the way that Mother's voice would blend into Father's.  Mother was always the loving one.  She was hopeful, optimistic; she thought each and every one of us would be fine.  That we were all going to make it.  Father was more pragmatic.  He loved us all, of course, he just knew the odds.  Of the forty-two of us, only ten or so would really make it on our own.  I took solace in knowing that that time was still a long way off, but I still tried hard to listen to their advice.

"I just, I just don't understand, Father."  I had finally broken down and said it.  My Father explained things to us slowly, carefully, and with tremendous patience.  He took time to give the extra detail that my slower siblings needed, but I had always understood right away.  He had taken so long with one of them though, that I had zoned out.  I hadn't tuned back in until Father was well into another lesson.  What chagrined me the most was that he knew it, too.

"Fine," he replied.  Patient as always, but I could tell he was frustrated with having to go over it again because of me.  It was a warm Spring evening, a light breeze blew around us, and it took all my concentration not to lose myself to the freshly scented air around us.  I fought to focus as he continued, "It all comes down to Honor.  We all know the odds.  Me even more than you.  I only know of three of my siblings that made it."  His voice got softer as he touched the memory.  We could all tell it was hard for him, and we respected him more because of it.

"All of you think you're different.  All of you think you're one of the lucky ones who'll survive.  All of you think you'll all survive.  But soon enough, as you get older, you'll wonder.  When you hit the Change a lot of you will lose hope, too.  You'll wonder what it's all worth.  You'll feel discouraged, sad, and you'll wonder why you even need to give so much effort with so little hope.

"The reason why, even at your darkest, is Honor.  You are our people's future.  You carry our people's hopes and memories with you, and they are relying on you to give your hardest efforts to carry that burden.  That is your Honor..."

His voice would give way to Mother's and she'd remind us again how loved we were.  How important we were; how much she wanted us all to make it.  And she was so sure we all would.  We knew our lives were difficult, but we were still optimistic.  We were still growing strong, and we were still strongly connected to them.

Then the Change came.  We grew more, but as we did our connection to our Mother and our Father weakened.  It was like the bigger and stronger we were, the more precarious the contact.  It was frightening, and, sad as I am to admit, Father was right.  That loosening made me doubt.  Having been so close to everyone in my family for so long, I felt bleak sadness at the thought that I'd soon be alone.

We talked about it amongst ourselves when we thought Mother and Father weren't listening, but I think they always were.  There were a few times when I felt like all I had to keep me together was Father's words about honor, Mother's about love, and the confidence they shared in us; different as they were.

It happened towards the end of a late summer evening  Mother was telling us how proud she was of us when what felt like the hand of God ripped us out of our home, throwing us aside.  Mother and Father were silent long enough that we felt even more distant from them.  We huddled together, scared.  Finally my Father spoke.

"I'm sorry children," he said with resigned sadness in his voice, "This day was always going to come, it just happened sooner than we wanted.  Your Mother and I, well, one of the truths we never told you is that when you leave us, it is our time to sleep forever."

"You mean die?" one of my siblings asked.

"Yes." he said simply.  "It is our peoples way.  We prepare our children for their release, but once they are gone, there is nothing left for us.  The rest is up to you.  That day happened sooner.  That's all.  Just... sooner..."  As his voice faded, we felt ourselves feeling more energized.  They were giving their essence to us.

My Mother's voice chimed in, calm and demure, "Remember my darlings, I've always loved you.  Always..."  Her voice trailed off, too, and we never heard it again.  But we also knew it was okay.  It was what was meant to be.  By morning we had all grown substantially, the last gift of our Mother and Father.  A breeze came up and, feeling looser and more independent, we knew it was time to scatter with the wind to find our own destinies.

It was a rush like none I'd ever known could exist.  I wanted it to never stop, but remembering my Father's words, I stopped myself from drifting when I found a suitable spot.  I worked the soil.  I put down roots.  And I know I'm going to grow strong enough to one day raise children of my own, to tell my story to, and to carry on our traditions as I did.

The same morning that freedom came for the siblings, a man walked out to his lawn.  The dandelions he pulled out the night before were still there, but they had all gone to seed overnight, and were already scattered across his lawn.  Already dead, they'd given their life to their children.

With a deep sigh he knew that, although he had won the battle, he had lost the war.