Chapter 6

Cindy’s turn:

The Oklahoma run was a piece of cake, once we get past that whole ‘right NOW!’ thing. Our techs verified the failed transformer, we left a couple there to configure and test a portable substation this little operation brought in from another utility, Jason was already onto finding a replacement.

“You wanna buy it or you wanna rent it?” he asked Mister Stinson.

“Costs. What’re the costs?”

“Quarter of a mil to get this one out and on the road. ‘Nother quarter of a mil to put the next one in. Probably a quarter of a mil to get the old one fixed. We can probably work out a swap with the people we rent from. Your rebuild for their old one, you see. But I wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Rental’s fifteen years old. Yours’ll come back in the same can it went out in, but it will essentially be new.”

“So?”

“Quarter of a mil to put yours back and send theirs off.”

“Give me some hard numbers by early next week?”

“We can do that,” Jason said. “I’ll fly back and pick up my techs Saturday morning.”

Mister Stinson gazed at Jason, then me. “You people are amazing.”

Jason sort of smiled and shrugged. “My boss says DO the work and we’ll get more work...”

“He’s right. I have some work coming up. I won’t forget this effort.”

So I’m thinking that’s about all the air adventure I needed for a while. Fate had other ideas.

Don Matzke’s turn:

(Don Matzke is the chief pilot and operations manager of Mid-South Air Charters, the biz-jet charter service that 3S Transport bought into.)

Well, hell. Got a cargo charter to Minot, ND. And no pilots. Four planes, four different directions, and one of my pilots has the flu. I could take that flight myself, but I have a passenger charter for tomorrow morning.

This charter is a “hot-shot” -- pays nicely -- probably twice the value of the items being transported. And I don’t like the alternative, but there’s not much choice. I have another name on my list. Little red-headed snot. Yup, she can do it, probably better than anyone here, and I LIKE her, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a PITA. However, she also OWNS a big chunk of this place, and if I don’t make this call, she’ll be all over my butt. Suck it up, Don -- she’s better than you, smarter than you, and she’ll be nice about it. I make the call.

Cindy’s turn:

Just sitting at the breakfast table, drinking coffee and smiling at the love of my life as he finishes his oatmeal. Heart-healthy, you know, and we need him to have a healthy heart. Just before seven.

Phone rings. I’m irritated, first, because it’s an intrusion, and second, that it’s so early, but third item, it’s the generic ringtone, so I glance.

“Don Matzke,” I say to Dan. “Wonder what’s up?”

Dan looks at me. I punch the speaker button and put the phone on the table.

“Mornin’, Don,” I say. “Kinda early...”

“Morning, Redhead. Hate to bother you...”

“ ... But,” I answered.

“Jim Shepherd’s out with the flu. Me and the other two pilots are tied up...”

I feel a squeal coming on.

“And we’re in a bind.”

“Entertain me,” I said.

“We have a client who ships oilfield apparatus around a bit. I WANT him on my ‘permanent’ list, but right now we’re in a bind.”

“What’s the deal?”

“I wrote a check with my mouth, hoping my butt can cash it. There’s a hotshot truck en-route from his shop in Mobile and it will be in Birmingham at our hangar in another hour. They’re loading up the Citation II...”

“MY Citation,” I squealed.

“Yeah, okay, YOUR Citation. YOUR Citation needs to be in Minot, North Dakota by late afternoon with that load. Premium money, and if we pull this off, the client makes a lot and so do we, and we get a big gold star and a long-term relationship forms.”

Double squeal. I like money. My mind runs fast, though. Tomorrow ... commitments.

“Can we dead-head back tonight?”

“Cindy, it’s about a five hour flight, but you’ll need a fuel stop in the middle, probably at Kansas City. I’d probably lean toward spending the night there, lady.”

“I have a lecture tomorrow morning. Not a routine lecture. It’s people who want to hear about my doctoral research. I need to be back.”

“Up to you. Do NOT stick YOUR Citation nose-first into a cornfield in Kansas.”

“I avoided Kansas cornfields successfully before.”

“So I can put you down as a ‘yes’?”

“Yes. Let me get things going.”

“Okay. See you on the ramp in a couple hours. If you trust me, I’ll have your flight plan outbound ready when you get here.”

“DO it.”

“‘Kay. Bye.”

I clicked to end the call, then turned to Dan. “Baby. Adventure.”

“Don’t make that one solo.”

“Can you come?”

“I can’t. I guess I could ditch that meeting with Foothills Co-op...”

“No,” I said. “We need to keep those people happy. Lemme see who...” I thought for a second.

OK, my “go-bag” is already set up -- it stays that way. Hmm. Co-pilot. Dana would be my first choice, since she has no kids. But she’s not ready for this. OK, Tara. I’ll call her.

“Hey, Siri. Call Tara Helton, mobile.”

“Hey, Cindy. Kinda early.”

“I know, Tee, but things’re afoot. I need an accomplice for an adventure. Are you interested?

“What kind of adventure?”

“An emergency just arose, and I need a co-pilot. You ready for a boring adventure? And can you pack an over-night bag quickly? And arrange a keeper for Derek? Aaron, maybe?”

“I’m pretty sure Derek would prefer staying with Rachel, but Beck wouldn’t be happy about it,” she laughed. “I can do the rest, but where are we going?”

“Tara, it’s Minot, North Dakota. Colder than a well-digger’s butt, I think. It’s a cargo flight.”

“Cindy, you’re crazy, did you know that? OK, I’ll get the bag together and call Aaron. Maybe he’ll stay here with Derek. How soon?”

“Umm. No rush -- anything in the next fifteen minutes will do nicely. Just meet me here.”

And now, Dan. Here we go. “Dan, hang with me on this one. I know it’s on short notice, but you heard...”

“Yeah ... Long flight. Lots of hours. Into sub-arctic conditions.”

“Do you need the 180 tomorrow? I need it to run over to Birmingham tonight, and back tonight.”

“Go ahead, Sweetie. Do you need help?”

“If you could go roll the old girl out, then. As soon as Tara gets here...” I paused, then called Tara back.

“Hey, Cin.”

“Hey. Bring WARM stuff.”

“Figured that.”

Pfft. Bathroom run, then barely time to pack some snacks, juice, and a thermos of coffee. Sad thing about the coffee is that we can’t actually drink it until we’re within an hour of KC -- bladder issues, you know. Last thing: a BIG coat, and now that I think of it, an Auburn sweat shirt. This isn’t a dress-up event.

And just as I walk out the front door, Tara shows up with Aaron and Derek.

“Hey guys. Thank you for coming. And Aaron, thanks for looking after Derek -- I have duct tape for him, if you need it.”

Aaron grinned, and said, “I think we’ll be OK, Cindy. If he gives me any trouble, I’ll just nail his feet to the floor.” Derek grinned a little. And Tara grinned, hugged Derek, then grabbed the back of Aaron’s head and gave him a serious kiss. Hmm. I think she just took ownership of him -- I wonder if he knows it?

I grinned, and said, “Enjoy dinner tonight, guys. Dunno what Mizz Juana has underway, but I’m sure it’s excellent. We’ll be back tonight, late.” And we jumped in a golf cart and headed over to the field.

We rolled up just as Dan was wheeling the 180 out to the ramp. He said, “Ladies, your chariot awaits. I checked the oil and it’s OK, but we need to check the rest.”

So we did the walk around, checking the fuel and each control surface, and an odd thought occurred. I said, “Dan, how do I do this in Minot? That bird is going to be REALLY cold.”

He said, “Yup, and you’ll do it just like we did it in Alaska, when I bought this old girl. You have to wear gloves, and guess what’s in the back seat, awaiting your backpack? They’re intentionally thin, but they’ll work for what you need to do. Air Force surplus, I think. And Tara, there’s a pair for you, too. You’ll need ‘em.”

“Where’d you come up with those on short notice?” I asked.

“‘Nother emergency bag,” he said. “My cold-weather bag. I keep a couple of pair of gloves in it.”

“You’re STILL something,” I said, then I jumped up and kissed him and said, “Thanks, baby. We’ll text you at Birmingham, KC, and Minot. And we’ll be back tonight.”

He said, “OK, kiddo. Go do what you have to do. Be careful. You’re my life, you know.” And he kissed me back as Tara watched with a wry smile.

We fired the old girl up, rolled to the South end, and lifted off, headed for Birmingham. Tara said, “Cindy, this whole thing is weird. Here you are, flying a really OLD bird, just to get over to where you can fly a high-tech one. How old is this bird, anyway?”

“Tara, this one was built in 1963, so it’s fifty-five years old. Way older than Dan. Doesn’t matter. What I like is that it just FEELS good -- like an old pair of shoes, nearly. But flying is flying, at some point. And I can’t tell you why I like it, exactly. But when we push the throttles on the Citation, you’ll get an idea why, I’m pretty sure.”

And now, Birmingham. ATC stuff, land on 36, roll to the FBO. Been here, done that, but that one particular time was a bitch. So, full stop, tie-downs, all that. And Don Matzke rolls out in a golf cart.

“Howdy, Cindy. Who’s this?”

“Don, this is Tara Helton. Brand new private certificate. My co-pilot and reader of checklists. Tara, Don Matzke, real pilot.”

“Pleased to meet you, Tara. Are you ladies ready?”

“First things first, Don. Let’s go to the office and get the flight plan worked up.”

“I already got if for you. Easy stuff, Cindy. Weather is good, and I printed out all the radio frequencies, and got the refuel managed at Signature in KC, and all the stuff in Minot. Told ‘em you needed a quick turnaround. The client’s crew will be waiting on the ramp for your cargo.”

“OK, Don. Let’s go look, and I’ll get it filed.” The rest was academic, so we used the facilities, got the company credit card, and went out for the walk around. Hmmph. Worn tires. “Don, these will probably work for this trip, but it’s time to replace them.”

So, into the Citation -- new (to me) bird this time, but they’re all nearly the same. Carefully check that two crates are tied down securely in an area normally carpeted and occupied by four passenger seats. We’re good.

Light it up, activate the flight plan, then permission to taxi, over to 36 for departure, and push the throttles. We’re lifting, then climbing.

Tara retracts the wheels, looks at me, and says, “Holy shit -- I think I get it now!”

“Tara, it ain’t quite as good as sex, but it’ll do. Just about the most fun you can have with your clothes on.” And now, busting thru ten thousand, more radio stuff, fiddle with the transponder code, and we’re cleared to FL300.

“Tara, this is where it gets a little boring. You can look at the stars some, and the lights below, but your hook to reality is the panel in front of you.”

“Jesus, Cindy. Does the space shuttle go up this fast?”

“A little faster, but not much, at least for the first part. Tara, the instrumentation is different, but they all do the same as the 150, mostly. And everything we’re doing is about the same, too -- just a little more quickly. And while I’m thinking about it, look at the Mach ring on the airspeed indicator. Mr. Geno told me that you REALLY don’t want to bump up more than about 0.7 or so. Otherwise, your day might get really ugly.”