Chapter 2

Edward leaned to his left, taking his wallet from his right pants pocket. Opening it up, he took out a plasticized card.

“I renewed my pilot’s licence last year. I still manage to fly several times a month to keep up my hours. I’m current on twin-engine turboprops and small jets.”

David looked at Edward, caught by his own suggestive words. “You’ve got to be in your seventies by now.” Hinting that Edward was too old to pilot an airplane.

“I’m a very healthy seventy-five and could probably still fly circles around all you younger pups!” He teased, gazing at them.

“Somehow, I don’t doubt you.”

“Would you actually let me fly her?” He hoped.

“I don’t know. I didn’t expect you to really remember how to fly.”

“Sonny, flying my girl is like the old saying about riding a bicycle: you never forget.”

“I didn’t think you’d actually want to take her up.”

“Are you kidding me? Imagine the public relations you could generate if the original pilot flew her fifty-five years after her last time. How much is she worth?”

“She’s insured for five million.”

“If I had the money at the end of the war, I could have bought her for 2,500 as war surplus. I’ll write you a cheque if I scratch the paint,” he joked.

Dave looked to Brent; they were both hesitant to agree with his request. Edward worked the rudder, ailerons, and flaps. “I’ll just fly around for a few circles, then land.”

“I’m afraid that you might crash and kill yourself,” Dave reasoned.

“If I do, then I’d die a happy man. Besides, you wouldn’t believe how my girl has saved my ass on more than one occasion. I trust her.”

“She isn’t the same plane she was fifty-five years ago.”

“She’ll remember me and wonder where I’ve been.”

Brent looked at Dave, and all he did was shrug his shoulders. “I ought to have my head examined. Okay, but first I have to get clearance from the air traffic controller.”

He walked away and called the tower, then soon returned. “I’ve got a feeling I’m going to regret this, but the tower has agreed. You have to stay within a twenty-five-mile radius and no higher than eight thousand.”

“Agreed!” Edward smiled.

Edward took off his leather jacket, and David helped him strap into the seat and parachute and go over a few details.

“I’m going for a little sorte with my girl!” Edward yelled to his family, patting the outside of her. Victor knew it was useless to protest against his dad.

“The tower is on 101.9,” David said, dialling the radio to the required frequency. He plugged the earphones into the console and patted his shoulder. Edward closed and locked the bubble-style canopy as David stepped down from the plane and moved the portable stairs away. He repeated the start-up procedures, and with a turn of the switch, the Corsair sputtered to life.

Edward checked the instrument panel, tested the rudder with his feet, and adjusted the flaps to full with a neutral aileron. He let the engine idle at 1,000 rpm as the oil pressure built and the engine warmed up. Edward could feel the vibration of the stick control, which magically moved right to touch his knee.

“Helen, are you ready to go up for a little flying? I promise, no enemy planes are trying to shoot us down.” The engine surged twice as if answering him. He smiled at everyone giving the thumbs-up sign and gave them a smart salute.

“MacDill tower this Corsair niner-niner November one-two-four, piloted by Lieutenant Commander Edward Martin, US Navy, retired. Requesting permission to taxi and take off,” he asked, using his wartime call letters.

“Corsair niner-niner November one-two-four, you are clear to taxi on echo to runway two-two. Winds are from the west at five. Welcome to MacDill, Commander. You can depart on runway two-two at your discretion.”

“Thank you, MacDill Tower.”

Edward took a deep breath and exhaled. He eased the throttle and control stick forward, and the Corsair began to roll. As he taxied, he worked the different controls again, getting a feel for his reconditioned girl. The suspension gently rocked over the cemented pads of the taxiway. He turned left onto the runway, needing a fraction of the distance of a jet fighter to depart.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as his right hand worked the stick and his left eased the throttle lever forward. The Corsair came to life, beginning to roll down the runway. Edward increased the power to full throttle, feeling the wheels undulate under him.

At 2,700 RPMs, the rear wheel lifted parallel to the ground, and he could see the runway slipping past quicker. Reaching a distance of 250 feet, he’d usually be airborne, taking off from one of the carriers he served aboard. He kept going, then, at 450 feet, slowly eased the control stick back with a slight up on the elevator.

Reaching past the stall speed of eighty-six miles per hour, he felt the wheels bounce lightly, and then, easing the stick further back, they were finally free of the ground. Jet fighters require height quite quickly; the Corsair gained altitude while flying parallel to the ground, at sixty, eighty, one hundred, and two hundred feet. He felt the long-forgotten slight thump, thump of the landing gear retracting into the wings.

“Yahoooo!” He yelled as the ground began to separate from them. By using neutral aileron and pulling more on the stick, the pair became one with the sky. Edward climbed to 2,000 feet and, cracking open the glass canopy, felt the long-forgotten feeling of the wind buffeting him in the cockpit. Then, using the right rudder, right aileron up, left aileron down, and tilting the stick, the mighty bird banked into a slow ninety-degree right turn. He returned the ailerons and rudder to neutral and continued. Then he did the reverse, banking left in a long curve to resume his original direction.

Climbing to 2,500 feet, he could see scattered dark blotches on the ground and shadows cast by the few clouds that dotted the sky above him.

Edward did a series of left and right banking turns, feeling more comfortable aboard his girl. The horizon would tilt vertically to each side, which could seem disorienting. Then, lowering to five hundred feet, he moved the control stick left and right, the wings dipping in a friendly wave. Below him, there was a growing crowd of spectators on the tarmac.

This tiny plane that fought for peace in wartime seems out of place, flying over the modern jets and cargo planes parked on the ramps. Members of his family were taking pictures and videotaping Edward’s flying experience. He banked left, then right, returning to fly past them.

“Okay, my girl, let’s see what you can do! Think you can remember how?” He asked as if a rider were aboard his trusty, sure-footed steed. He closed and locked the canopy.

Edward applied full throttle, pulled back on the control stick, and applied elevator and opposite ailerons. The Corsair effortlessly climbed nearly vertically, pressing him into the seat and reaching for the sky in a controlled series of gentle rolls. The 2,250-horsepower Pratt and Whitney engine pulled him smoothly toward the early afternoon sun.

The needle on the altimeter seemed to spin in a blur as the Corsair passed through five and six, reaching 8,000 feet. Those watching from the ground had to shield their eyes from the sun as the fighter plane became a speck in the blue sky. Edward levelled off, feeling the pulse pounding in his temples.

“Wow, that felt so good!” He exhaled deeply. “At least I’m not too dizzy.”

Next, Edward began a long, looping descent that grew tighter and tighter like the vortex of a tornado. He could feel the pressure from a few Gs pressing against him. Passing the crowd, Edward did another long right bank, then pointed up in several spins. Returning over the air base, he slowly applied the opposite elevator, turning the fighter onto its left side. He gazed at the specks of people as he flew sideways, then corrected.

On his next pass, Edward tilted the Corsair right, then right once more. Now, the plane was flying inverted, upside down. The ground was now the sky for a moment, and then he slowly rolled upright. He pulled the stick, pointed the nose up, and banked right to come back at 4,000 feet higher.

Flying towards the crowd, he inverted and flew upside down past them. Again, he felt his body push against the safety straps, turned over, and flew straight.

Edward was having so much fun that he’d fly his love until she ran out of fuel. Many observing the impromptu air show trained powerful binoculars and cameras on the vintage plane. He felt the odd motion of some turbulence buffeting the plane.

In his mind’s eye, Edward was flying in formation with other comrades in their Wildcats or Corsairs. He glanced left and right, imagining the final wave of a hand as they engaged the enemy. His memory seemed like a newsreel as he recalled many he knew and didn’t know who perished in their planes, and he again wondered how he had survived those years of combat. He banked right, gaining altitude, and pointed the nose towards the sun, and with several slow rolls, he saluted his fallen comrades.