The Goodflyers

“You say that word again or any word like that on the radio you’re going home for good- YOU GOT THAT?” No answer. “Tell me where you are- what’s your position from the Whiting VOR?” She read off the information from her instruments and Joe surmised she was about 5 miles northeast of his position near the river. “Okay, head 270 degrees. You should be coming up on the Conecuh River soon.” Silence “Brown?” “Still here, sir, descending to one thousand five hundred feet. I can see the ground now.” “Can you see the river yet?” The river was her best chance to find Brewton. Without that as a reference, she’d likely be lost in the weather. Holiday headed her direction, desperate to find her. “I’m on top of it, sir! The river!” she blurted on the radio. A small sense of relief worked its way into Joe’s veins. “Follow it to Brewton and land! And make sure you’re flying west along the river- I’ll be right behind you.” On top of it… Joe couldn’t control his mind anymore. He needed help, he thought to himself. He spotted the Conecuh River and flew along it towards Brewton. The field was only a few miles away and he knew she had to be close. He suddenly spotted her just ahead flying along the north side of the river. He could see the field unfurling in the distance just ahead of her. It was finally all coming together, he thought to himself. Maybe still time for a beer or two at the O’ Club afterwards, or something a lot stronger, he thought. He needed it. “I got you in sight, Brown. Break overhead for two-four and land! I’m right behind you.” Ensign Brown’s plane suddenly disappeared behind a moving wall of clouds that cut off access to Brewton. Joe turned and circled in a clearing. “Can you still see the ground?” “No sir, I’m back in it- wait, yes! I can see the ground but I can’t see the airport anymore.” Here we go again…. “I should be flying over it… pretty soon, huh sir?” “No, no- you’ll never make it in from there. Turn back to a heading of 150 degrees and that’ll bring you back in my direction. I’ll try to get you back around for a base leg for two-four. Are you still at fifteen-hundred feet??” “Yes, sir.” For the first time, there was a hint of uneasiness in her voice. No more of that calm, collected, smartass-like tone. She sounded like she was unraveling and really needed him. With a wall of clouds around him, Joe kept circling in the clearing which moved in a northeasterly direction with the weather. The clearing passed overhead Brewton and he could see the eastern side of the field. Runway two-four was easily makeable, but he knew it could all disappear in an instant. He had to get her quickly in position to land. Joe scanned desperately through a break in the clouds. “Brown, I got Brewton right in front of me. Where the hell are you?” No answer. “BROWN!” The radio cracked. “Sir, uh…” she was breathing heavy. “I think I just lost my engine…” Silence. Joe closed his eyes for a second. The situation couldn’t have gotten much worse. It was a nightmare. The sound of her voice sounded like she was half panicking and half having an orgasm, Joe thought. “What do you mean, you think you lost your engine? Is the propeller turning or isn’t it?” No answer. “BROWN! Is the fucking thing on or not!” “No, it’s not on.” She sounded like she was coming unglued. Time was critical. He had little- if any- to help her at that altitude “I’m pushing forward on the PCL… no response… zero torque… my airspeed’s decreasing. It’s going down, sir…” Joe tried to stay calm but panic set in. He kept trying to zero in on her while circling in the small clearing. She had to be near. She had to be there! “What’s your altitude now?” “One thousand one hundred… gliding. Eighty knots… passing one thousand now… no restart…” This isn’t really happening. Why me? Why not Pizza or Sugar Bear or the CO or his mother- WHY ME?? Joe muttered to himself, desperate. Stay calm. Stay calm. A small break in the clouds opened up just ahead and Brown’s plane briefly came into sight gliding gently to earth. “I see you Brown! I see you!” Joe yelled into the mike, struggling to maintain his cool on the radio. “There’s no place to put it down there. Try one more restart and if it doesn’t light up, Bail out!” No answer. “Brown! Do you copy, OVER?” “Yessir… trying to restart this thing!” Joe anxiously watched her plane glide closer towards the woods of lower Alabama. C’mon! Get it restarted! What the hell is wrong with it? “BROWN!” “Yessir! I hear you- it doesn’t want to start!” “Then bail out!” The plane kept gently floating down. He lost sight of it for a moment as clouds swirled around him, then it cleared again. She was still in it. “I SAID BAIL OUT OF THAT PLANE RIGHT NOW!” No answer. He slid his T-34 in next to her, right above her left wing. Desperately close. He could see her busy doing something in the cockpit as the plane slipped down past seven-hundred feet. What the hell was she waiting for? She’s in deep shit he thought. She’s gonna die. She’ll hit the ground before the chute opens! “BROWN!” In what looked like slow-motion, she looked back at Joe just off her wing. Her visor was up. She looked haunting, like a deranged ghost. The plane kept gliding closer to the ground. “GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!” She suddenly slumped over in the cockpit. Looking lifeless. Holiday yelled helplessly into the mike again “BROWN! GET OUT OF THERE!” Oh, god…