Hidden Courage (Atlantis) Read online

  Soon he was flying over mountains and dense forest. This kind of flying made Jack nervous due to the lack of flat open land he would need in an emergency landing. Without a suitable option for landing, he was left to consider a ‘hard’ landing in the trees, the kind that could easily produce a fatality.

  “What a way to start a morning,” he said out loud.

  He tried to relax by listening to the smooth sound of the engine. As long as it ran flawlessly, he had nothing to worry about. He checked his gauges often to confirm his feelings.

  Pretty soon, the view out in front of him started to become hazy, like a hot August day in New England – only it wasn’t August; it was April. Jack new this was the first evidence of the storm front he was trying to avoid. The haze had wispy, finger-like clouds that stretched out from the storm’s center, located hundreds of mile away. They reached out and ‘felt’ their way across the sky as they moved east toward him. He looked down at his chart and recalled the position of the storm he had read off the computer in the pilots’ lounge earlier. The storm appeared to be moving faster than reported.

  Looking down at his instruments, he saw he was traveling eighty-five knots at 8,000 feet. He decided to try to improve upon his position by increasing his speed to ninety knots. Looking down at his map, he saw that he could also safely descend to 4,000 feet, hoping to get under the storm's reaches.

  Thirty minutes later, haze had become an overcast sky, and he noticed that the cloud’s ceiling wasn’t much higher in altitude than he was.

  Jack had been flying for about three hours now and needed to stop and refuel. This was going to have to be quick. He descended to the regional airport in Columbus, Mississippi, refueled, checked the weather, used the bathroom and departed. He was on the ground no longer than fifteen minutes.

  ‘An impressive turn-around,’ Jack thought to himself.

  Once airborne, he climbed as high as he dared, almost to 2,500 feet. Looking up, Jack guessed the ceiling had dropped to 3,000 feet. This was a very bad sign. The weather was now deteriorating rapidly.

  Checking his map, Jack was happy to see that he only needed to fly another hour to be out of it. He knew that the highest obstruction along his route of flight was only about 1,200 feet high. If he needed to, he could descend to 1,500 feet and still feel relatively safe he would avoid any dangerous obstructions.

  Thirty minutes later, Jack was forced to fly lower. The clouds were just above him now at his altitude of 1,500 feet. Below, the heavy green forests that had made the flying uncomfortable were now absent. They were replaced by green grassy plains and brown plowed farmland. He watched dust rise from the middle of a couple of ‘rectangles’ as he observed farmers on their tractors, plowing their fields.

  Suddenly, without notice, Jack's world went white. The cloud bank had descended to his altitude and he was now flying through it. He heard a strange sound from the engine. It sounded as if he had changed his power setting.

  “What the....?” he called out, puzzled.

  Frightened, he frantically scanned the instruments. In seconds, his eyes locked on the attitude indicator. Jack’s eyes widened. Without the horizon to use as a reference, he had inadvertently pulled the control stick toward him, causing the plane to climb higher into the cloud bank. He was losing airspeed rapidly and approaching a stall. If left unchecked, the wings would lose their life, stall and he would spiral down, out of control in a maneuver called a spin. He had practiced the spin before in clear airspace, but he was now in dense clouds and low to the ground, creating a life threatening scenario.

  Quickly, he moved the stick to its center position and watched the attitude indicator as the wings began to level. Moving the stick forward, he began to descend as he scanned the gauges rapidly to ensure the control of the plane.

  Suddenly, he heard the pitch of the engine change once more. Scanning the gauges, he noticed his airspeed rapidly climbing.

  “Dammit, I’m diving,” Jack hollered.

  He hauled back the stick to slow his descent. Again, the pitch of the engine change. Jack scanned the gauges and realized he was now in a spiraling descent.

  “Dammit. Watch the attitude indicator, you idiot,” Jack yelled to himself.

  Jack hauled the stick in the opposite direction. In seconds, he was now spiraling the other way.

  “Focus, Jack, focus,” he called to himself frantically.

  He scanned the instruments again, then concentrated on the attitude indicator. He watched it carefully as he made subtle control inputs, leveling off the plane and forcing it into stable flight. Slowly, holding the stick steady, he pushed it forward and began his descent once again, this time ensuring he did not overreact to any further inputs.

  Moments later, at 1,100 feet, he popped out below the clouds.

  “Phew, that was close,” Jack shouted out loud. “That could have gotten ugly.”

  Jack was now flying far below the safe altitude for the region. Anxious and scared, he immediately thought about making an emergency landing in one of the farmers’ fields.

  “Hold on, you idiot. Don’t overreact. As long as you can see, you can fly,” he said, trying to soothe his fears.

  Jack could see out in front of him clearly now. The only obstruction in the area was a radio tower that he knew he would easily miss. Nervously, he continued on.

  “Whoa!” Jack shouted.

  Again, without warning, all went white. Jack was now terrified. With flying conditions deteriorating so rapidly, even if he did find clear air again, he had no idea if he would be able to land. Jack’s mind started to race – but he quickly controlled his thoughts and slowed his thinking.

  “Think this one through, Jack,” he said to himself. “Slow and methodical. Keep a cool head.”

  Through beads of sweat, Jack focused on his gauges. Pushing the stick forward, slowly he descended and passed through 900 feet. This was now a dangerous situation. He couldn’t see anything. His altitude left no room for a planned emergency if his engine quit, and he was flying below the legal altitude allowed for that area.

  At 700 feet, he popped out from under the cloud bank. His hands were shaking and he was having trouble controlling the plane. He knew he couldn’t continue on like this. Many had died doing exactly as he was doing at that very moment.

  He checked his map for the closest airport to fly to. Everything seemed too far away. Jack realized he would have to make an ‘off airport’ landing in a field below. As he surveyed the landscape, he breathed a slight sigh of relief: the possibilities for landing were everywhere. The land was flat, plowed and without obstructions.

  “Okay, how about that one?” Jack said, talking himself through the dangerous decision. “Too soft… maybe that one further up ahead,” he continued.

  Jack flew by the first location and continued on to the next possible landing spot. Watching the second location, he spotted what he thought was an even better landing spot even further up ahead.

  “Hmm, a grassy field. No furrows to contend with and it looks really flat.”

  Jack bypassed the second landing possibility and headed for the third location. As he approached the third, just as he had done before, he spotted an even better landing opportunity further along his route.

  Over and over, the selection process continued. With each site he selected, a better one popped up on the horizon in the distance. Disregarding the previous site and heading for the new promising site, he inadvertently continued on his course.

  Fifteen minutes later, still flying and still selective, something dawned on Jack.

  ‘As long as the farmland continues, so can I,’ he thought to himself.

  After a while, Jack noticed that he could fly a bit higher. Pulling back on the stick, he was able to ascend to almost 1,200 feet.

  ‘Could this be the end of the storm?’ he thought to himself.

  As he flew, he kept his eyes on the landing sites around him while he attempted higher altitudes.

  1,500 feet, 1,800
feet, 2,000 feet.

  Jack breathed a sigh of relief. He now realized he no longer needed to consider an emergency landing. He had beaten the storm and was now in the clear.

  “Woohoo! Dodged another bullet,” he shouted out.

  A short time later, he landed in Alexandria, Louisiana and refueled. Confirming the weather was indeed behind him, he took off for his last destination of the day: Galveston, Texas.

  With all the excitement from the ‘scud running’ – a term used in aviation when referring to flying illegally below the clouds - Jack hadn’t noticed that he was now flying over a type of land he had never seen before. It was the high plains of the south. Obstructions, as well as towns, were few and far between. The flying was relatively safe; something he rarely observed in New England with its endless rolling hills and heavy forests.

  He’d been flying for quite some time as he crossed over from Louisiana into Texas. He was now near the coast and could see large rivers that ended with gaping mouths to the oceans. They seemed to be everywhere. No matter where Jack looked, he saw something relating to the oil industry: refineries, rigs, tankers, etc. He felt it detracted from the land’s beauty, but was very entertaining nonetheless.

  Up ahead, he approached the city of Galveston. With a city of this size, an airport could easily blend in with the roads and landscape, making visual contact very difficult. At previous large airports, Jack had spotted his airport only after flying over it, creating a very dangerous scenario when air traffic was heavy.

  Instead of searching for the airport, Jack opted for help from Air Traffic Control in locating his destination. He radioed ATC with his position and within seconds he was being vectored to his destination.

  With a second set of ‘eyes’ watching his flight path, Jack felt he could now relax a bit and take in the sights of the ocean and the city. The water wasn’t exactly the Caribbean blue-green color he’d seen in brochures. It was an ugly, dark and brownish color, much like that of the Mississippi river. He could see oil rigs way off in the distance, dotting the horizon.

  ‘Ugly and disappointing,’ Jack thought to himself as a first impression.

  He lined up for his approach to the runway, and moments later he was down. As he taxied along the runway, the control tower asked his destination on the ‘field’.

  “General aviation,” Jack replied.

  They gave him directions as he rolled across runways and taxiways, until he parked at the Fixed Based Operator – or FBO for short – where general aviation business was conducted on the field, usually supplying fuel, weather services and aviation-related products.

  Day two was now behind him. He found the pilots’ lounge, then prepared for the next day’s flight into Mexico while he ate another peanut butter sandwich. Once again, having completed his duties, he laid down on the couch and fell asleep.

  DAY 3

  Jack woke the next morning, excited. This was the first time he was crossing out of the country. Flying the coastline of other countries brought visions of lush tropical vacations that Jack had only seen in magazines. He would be experiencing them for real now. His first destination was Brownsville, Texas, the last city before entering Mexico. He departed before dawn and headed out over the Gulf of Mexico.

  Three hours later, having pushed the limits of his fuel, he could clearly see Brownsville. As he flew along South Padre Island, a huge sandbar that sat just beyond the mainland, he looked down at the high rise tourist hotels and beaches. As he descended, he could see people out for their morning walks along the beach, and felt envious that he wasn’t staying there also. He then realized the irony of this, knowing that his adventure was bigger than their stay on the island.

  Jack lightly touched down on the runway and rolled into the nearby FBO, where he refueled and ate a peanut butter sandwich. He then made his way to customs for last minute advice when crossing into Mexico. With his paperwork in order, he was ready for the ‘real’ adventure to begin.

  Stepping into his plane, he gave one last look around at American soil. This would be the last time he would feel safe for quite some time. He cleared his mind of everything negative he’d read about flying outside of US soil, and concentrated on the next leg of his flight.

  Jack rolled to the beginning of the runway and the tower cleared him for takeoff. He added power and lifted off into a slow steady climb. A few minutes later, he was in Mexican airspace and hugging the shoreline of the blue-green waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

  Jack chose not to fly at 8,000 feet this time, instead electing to fly at a much lower 3,000 feet. Flying close to the shoreline with floats, he felt that he could land safely anywhere in case of an emergency. In addition, at this lower altitude he could really see the countryside in more detail.

  As he skirted the Mexican shoreline, he occasionally found things of interest that caused him to investigate at lower altitudes. The shoreline was essentially a far reaching sandbar, periodic breaks carved out by rivers and bays. Jack marveled at how deserted such beautiful beaches appeared.

  “Man, such beautiful beaches and so empty,” he remarked to himself.

  Jack opened the vents to let in some fresh air and cool down the interior. As he flew south, he could feel the hotter temperatures in this region of the world. He laughed to himself that three days before, he was freezing in the backseat of his parents’ car and now, three days later, he was warm and comfortable. As he breathed in the fresh salty air, he could detect the essence of seawater. It was a wonderful smell to him.

  He thought to himself, ‘I could get used this.’

  The coast was beautiful; everything he imagined and more. The sands of the beaches looked white from his altitude. The blue-green water looked inviting. The beaches appeared to be deserted for the most part, something that appealed to Jack, as he was mostly introverted and preferred solitude to crowds.

  As he viewed the rolling mountains in the distance, the vegetation was far different than the oak and pine forests he was accustomed to in New England. From his altitude, the vegetation looked tropical, with ferns and large palms that dotted the edges of the far inland waters.

  Time raced by as he flew, fascinated by every turn of the beaches. His next destination, Tampico, was less than a half hour away. He mentally prepared himself for his landing at this next big airport.

  A short time later, he was vectored to the airport, just as he had been in the States. There was no mistaking this airport: it was huge. The congested city appeared as if someone had removed a large ‘chunk’ of the population from it and left in its place blank land - blank, that was, except for a very long runway. As Jack was on his final approach, the tower radioed to him at the last minute to land on the shorter, alternate runway to his left. He broke off his approach, added power and leveled the wings, then flew left to the designated runway. As the runway came up off his right wingtip, he banked hard and dropped the nose, still flying about eighty knots as he descended directly toward the runway. As he crossed the threshold, he reduced his power setting to idle and lowered full flaps, quickly slowing himself down. Seconds later he lightly touched down and was requested to take the first taxi way on his left.

  All this happened so fast he hadn’t had time to think about it, but as he was now slowly taxiing, he realized that someone in the tower must have spotted his floats and heard his English and realized that he was an American flying on Mexican soil. He would need to go directly to customs.

  “Pretty sharp,” Jack surmised. “Now the fun begins.”

  His logic was correct, as he heard the ground controller directed him to the customs.

  As Jack taxied to their location, he could see two men in military dress standing in front of the building. They had their rifles slung over their shoulders, but stood menacingly and waited for him to roll to a stop and shut down. Jack started to worry a bit, wondering if this was going to turn into one of those horror stories he had read about. He stopped his plane a few feet from them, composed himself and got out. He w
aited with papers in hand, anticipating their request.

  “Papers, señor,” one guard said in broken English. He was all business; no smiles or warmth in his body language.

  Jack stiffened and handed him the required papers. He forced a smile to try to break the tension, but the two military men weren’t buying any of it. They looked at him stoically, then began to look at his paperwork, occasionally glancing back up at him.

  The two military men took the paperwork and circled around the plane, pointing and making notations on their clipboard. After a short conference between the two, their posture changed slightly. They became a bit more relaxed. They handed back the paperwork and smiled. This was the first time they had done this and Jack took this as he being in the clear.

  “Qué es su destino, señor?” one guard said in Spanish.

  Jack looked at him, confused. He had picked up a few phrases that he thought would help him on his trip. One of them was ‘I don’t understand.’