This week’s “Flash Fiction Challenge” is again something new, and it’s (at least) a two-parter. Our favorite word monkey sensei, Chuck Wendig, has told us to write a cliffhanger, and then next week we’ll get some instructions on using other folk’s works from this week as the starting point for our resolution for next week. Or something like that. We’ll see. For now, it’s the usual “1,000 words or so” to leave the audience on tenterhooks. (What in the hell are “tenterhooks”?)
As always, comments and constructive criticisms are appreciated.
MIDAIR
The rolling hills of eastern Oklahoma were slipping away beneath me as I cruised along eastbound at five thousand feet. I would have preferred to be up at seven thousand, or even nine, but a layer of broken clouds above eliminated that option until I got my IFR ticket.
Given the circumstances, I wasn’t doing badly. I was cruising at 144 knots indicated, but a solid tail wind was giving me a ground speed of 168. I had plenty of fuel to make it to Jonesboro.
Salisaw was just starting to slip under the tip of the right wing as I headed east. The autopilot was doing the grunt work. I was just monitoring ATC and watching the hills roll by. Right about on time, Fort Worth Center chimed in.
“Eight Charlie Delta, contact Memphis Center on 126.1.”
I toggled the radio button. “Fort Worth, Eight Charlie Delta. Going to 126.1. Thanks for…”
My world exploded.
A large blur come in from the left. Instantly everything was noise and pain. I was buffeted by a hurricane wind. All I could see were some blurry, shapeless shadows. I could smell oil and gas and other things I couldn’t identify. The left side of my neck and head were in agony. Possibly worst of all, over the wind I could hear the plane’s engine clank, sputter, and die.
Instinctively, I keyed the mic and said the words that no pilot ever wants to say.
“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Cirrus Niner Seven Eight Charlie Delta declaring an emergency.” If anyone was answering, I couldn’t hear them. I didn’t even know if I was being heard.
Oddly, I could clearly hear my flight instructor’s voice in my head. I had always hated it when she had killed the power at the most inopportune moments to see if I was ready to handle an emergency. Now that I needed that training, her voice was still there, reminding me of what we had practiced dozens of times.
“Fly the plane! Fly the plane! Fly the plane! In an emergency that’s always your number one priority. Everything else is secondary.”
In order to fly the plane, first I needed to see. I gingerly felt my face and found a dozen bleeding cuts. The blood running down my forehead was getting into my eyes and blinding me. My sun glasses were gone. The headphones were also AWOL, which would explain why the wind was so loud and I couldn’t hear the radio.
I held my left arm up to my forehead and pressed the sleeve there to try staunching the blood, ignoring the pain as best I could. Using my right sleeve to wipe more blood away, I blinked and tried to see what the hell had happened.
My plane was a mess. The side window on my left was gone and the windshield had been smashed on the left side. There was a rusty red stain across it and the left side of the cowling. The propeller was bent and motionless.
Inside the cockpit it wasn’t any better. I was covered in blood, some of it mine, some of it from the large goose that was on the floor next to the passenger seat. There was no sign of my sun glasses, but my headphones were on the floor next to the bird carcass.
The good news was that the instruments were still working. The autopilot had kept us more or less level, but with no power it was fighting a losing battle trying to simultaneously keep the airspeed up and the altitude level. I turned it off and manually set the trim for best glide speed, eighty-seven knots.
We were going down and needed a place to land. I hit the “Nearest” button on the map display and wasn’t happy with the results. Sallisaw was twenty-two miles to the south and Tahlequah twenty-five behind me. I was already passing through four thousand feet, so I was going to be on the ground in seven to eight miles.
Make a decision, make it quick, and stick with it. The terrain ahead was getting more hilly and uneven as we approached the Ozarks. Below was nothing but trees and hills. Back behind us, in spots around that big lake we had passed, it had looked flatter. Not flat, but flatter. I turned gently back to the west, keeping a constant eye on the airspeed.
Now would be a good time to see if any help was available. I pulled my arm away from my forehead and hoped that the bleeding had stopped. Ignoring the blood and goo that was smeared all over the headphones, I pulled them on. Immediately the sound of the wind was partially muted and I could hear ATC calling me.
“Cirrus Niner Seven Eight Charlie Delta, this is Fort Worth Center. Do you read? What is your emergency?”
“Fort Worth, this is Eight Charlie Delta. I’ve had a midair bird strike and have lost the engine. I have moderate injuries and will be making a forced landing. Sallisaw and Tahlequah are too far. I’m heading back west to the flatter terrain next to that large reservoir.”
“Roger, Eight Charlie Delta, we’ll notify emergency services. Report fuel and souls on board?”
“Fort Worth, one soul and twenty-two gallons of fuel onboard.”
Looking ahead I could see the reservoir, surrounded by hills and forests. I was losing altitude steadily, down below three thousand feet now. I could see some square areas just to the east of the lake which had been cleared of trees, probably farm fields. At least I hoped they were.
Getting lower and closer, it looked like I might just barely clear the tree line and get to the fields. It would mean landing without flaps to stretch my glide to the max, and that meant landing fast. No other options came to mind.
“Fort Worth, Eight Charlie Delta. I’m on a straight-in approach to some fields just to the east of the lake. Cutting electrical now.”
Everything was happening way too fast, but the checklist came up just like it had been drilled into me. Electrical system, off. Master switches, off. Seat belt, snug. Door, unlocked and cracked open. Watch the airspeed, don’t stall and spin in now. Remember to keep the nose up,flare, and keep it in ground effect as long as possible.
One hundred feet up, pegged at eighty-six knots, I cleared the trees and was over open land.
That’s when I saw it.
We Love The Stars Too Fondly 