You [Birds] Have a Choice to Make

“You want me to shadow your run of tagged contact packages in efforts to shut down drug rings?” I ask just as we park at SMG.

“It’s the best we could get. Rainbow Dash put in a good word for all of us.”

“How did she get word to DEA?”

“Beats me. Are you in?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Peotone traffic,” Boyle’s distinctively burly voice announces on frequency, “ship 685 is at runway 33, going to San Francisco.”

“Gusty Garden traffic,” I then key, “Blue Amigo taxiing to runway 15, special pickup at Reagan National, with an ex-honor guard on board.”

“Cool. 685 rolling.”

A few seconds later, they run past us and I key,

“What other ships are active for this set?”

“679.”

“And 684.”

“I hope there’s another online soon. Who’s going where?”

“679’s planning on… DFW.”

“684’s expecting to go to Atlanta.”

“Nice homecoming then.”

“We’ll see. Either us or the other ship due out will get it. Otherwise, it’s Kennedy.”

“THAT one I know is slot-restricted. Surprised the Hartsfield is going lottery on you.”

“So are we, but I guess they’re down two runways.”

“That would do it then. 8s or 9s?”

“Uh… the 9s.”

“Well then. That’ll be fun.”

Eventually, the guard taps my shoulder from the jump seat and shows me where he’s carrying his gun. Too nervous about the River Visual to consider that a serious thing, I acknowledge him with a nod and slow the taxi down to talk to ATC.

“Chicago departure, N229JB, clearance to Reagan National.”

“N229JB, cleared to Reagan as filed. Maintain 7,000 on departure. Departure this frequency, squawk 4536. Clearance void 30 minutes from now.”

“Cleared to Reagan as filed, 7,000, 132.5 on departure, squawk 4536, void in 30 minutes, 229JB.”

“N229JB, readback correct.”

“Talk to you soon.” “Secure, sir?”

He responds with a thumbs up after tugging on his safety restraints.

“Gusty Garden traffic, Blue Amigo taking off runway 15, departure to the nation’s capital.”

Thrust set. Gauges in the green.

80 knots.

V1

Rotate.

V2

Positive rate, gear up.

Flaps up.

“Chicago departure, N229JB off Gusty Garden, 1,900 climbing 7,000.”

“N229JB, Chicago departure, radar contact 2 miles SE Gusty Garden. Turn left direct WHETT, climb and maintain 7,000.”

“Position checks, direct WHETT, 7,000, N229JB.”

“Washington Tower, N229JB, 1 mile from FERGI, FRDMM5 to the River Visual.”

“N229JB, Washington Tower, caution wake turbulence landing A321neo, number 2, runway 19, cleared to land.”

“neo in sight, cleared to land 19, number 2, N229JB.”

“Erm, 229JB, are you the Rionegro runner?”

“Affirm, 229JB.”

“Roger, 229JB, full length exit, please. Expect further instructions once on the ground.”

“9JB.”

“Alaska 4, exit E, ground’s .7.”

“E, 21.7, Alaska 4.”

Flying the River Visual is no doubt unnerving, especially for a private operator. Throughout the entire course of the approach, being completely within Restricted airspace and directly across from 2 areas of Prohibited Airspace, the lone exception to the rule is granted as the airspace defined within the lateral limits of the Potomac River. Basically, stay on top of the water at all times. It’s no easy feat either, considering the path of the Potomac is quite windy, and narrow. Threading a needle? Sure, but not quite as such.

“Before landing checklist.

Gear and flaps? As necessary.
Spoilers? Armed.
Speeds? Set.
Autopilot? Modes armed in case of go-around.

Before landing checklist complete.

Over the River now. All manual control on the way in. Set flaps 2.

Gently descend as the River narrows. Follow the path, don’t let the winglets stray onto land.

Approaching our first bridge of reference, recommended 1,800’, but I cross her slightly low. The River is at its narrowest on the approach, so I really need to keep her over the water.

Set flaps 3.

Arresting descent temporarily as we follow the River to become abeam the US Naval Observatory, located within Prohibited Airspace P-56B.

1,500’. Set flaps 4, lower landing gear. Here the River widens slightly, so I can breathe as the Georgetown Reservoir becomes closer and closer.

3 green, down and locked. The final reference bridges are in sight, set flaps 5.

Roosevelt Island and accompanying bridge (named for Teddy, not FDR). Directly across from the Kennedy Center. 1,000.’

Memorial Bridge, directly across from Tidal Basin. 750’. Airport elevation of 14’. Doing well.

Gear down and locked. Flaps 5. Spoilers armed. 500’.

200.

100.

“Shit!” I exclaim as I shove the throttles forward.

“Pan, Pan. N229JB going around. Low-level bird flock across the runway.”

Flaps 3. Positive rate, gear up.

“N229JB, Roger. Just saw them. Fly runway heading. Climb and maintain 3,000.”

“3,000, runway heading, N229JB.”

Airspeed sufficient, flaps up.

“Sorry sir. Bird flock.”

“I saw them too. I was gonna call them for you.”

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

“N229JB, follow the Potomac, climb and maintain 5,000.”

“Over the River, 5,000, N229JB.”

“N229JB, contact Potomac Departure on 125.65.”

“125.65, N229JB.” “Potomac Departure, N229JB, level at 5,000. Missed approach at National.”

“N229JB, Potomac approach, Roger. Turn right heading 310, expect direct DUKES in about 2 minutes, radar vectors back to FERGI for the River Visual.”

“310, expect DUKES, thence to FERGI for the River Visual, 229JB.”

“Washington tower, N229JB, FERGI, River Visual once again.”

“N229JB, Washington Tower, runway 19, cleared to land.”

“Cleared to land 19, 229JB.”

This time, we land with no additional complications. Even though we’ve slowed enough to exit at A, we get the following instructions from tower.

“N229JB, exit full length at J, park in hold bay 1 and shut down. You are to be towed to parking. Do you need fuel?”

“Affirm, 229JB.”

“Roger, 229JB, you want us to stay with you?”

“Yes.”

“Roger, 229JB.”

Rolling gently off the end of runway 19, I coast into the hold bay and hug the edge. Gently braking, I bring us to a gentle stop, shut off all the lights except beacon, then do the shutdown checklist with the APU running.

“Tower, 229JB is sitting in hold bay 1.”

“Roger, contact ground 121.7. Welcome to DC.”

“Over to ground, 229JB.” “Washington ground, N229JB, Rionegro, sitting in hold bay 1.”

“N229JB, Washington ground, Roger. The tug is on the way.”

“229JB.”

“Ground, JetBlue Tug 2, hooked up and ready.”

“JetBlue Tug 2, J E, cross runway 4, A W, hold short of the alleyway.”

“J E, cross runway 4, A W, hold short of the alleyway, JetBlue Tug 2.”

“JetBlue Tug 2, 2 Southwest out, then one in, then you can go.”

“2 Southwest out, 1 Southwest in, then cleared in, JetBlue Tug 2.”

After the tug disconnects, I don a surgical mask and head into the terminal to get some water, confirm this tab is covered by the government entity responsible for the hire, and use the bathroom, not necessarily in that order.

A few minutes after everything is squared away, a group of muscular men enter the terminal building, all brandishing duffel bags along with obviously disguised tactical gear.

“Excuse me, sir.” One of them calls, “are you Captain Max?”

“Yes I am. Are you going to Medellín?”

“We all are. DEA pointed us in your direction.”

“I hope the aircraft I brought will suffice. It’s a smaller jet, but it aids in conspicuousness. And at your agency’s request, it keeps costs down.”

“Go figure.”

“If it were me, I’d’ve chosen something bigger, but as it stands, this is the cheapest nonstop they can get.”

“Whatever.” He shrugs as he hands me a file folder with a stack of papers inside.

“Please hold onto this so we can reenter American soil on our return trip.”

“What are these?” I ask myself.

“Oh.” I say when I see the words “not detected” emphasized in the middle third of the paper.

“These are your SMEARS test results?”

“Yes sir.”

“When did you get tested?”

“Yesterday.”

“Well, if this is a red eye, do you know how many raids you’re doing?”

“I can’t disclose that. I do however need you to pick up more luggage for us.”

“No problem.”

With that, all head to the airplane, currently being refueled.

“100 seats. First 4 rows have extra legroom.” I say as I put the folder inside my own travel bag, since I know that won’t be tampered.

“If there are any last minute bathroom trips, I’d prefer you do that before we leave. We’re not due out for a few hours anyway.”

“When’s scheduled departure?”

“22:00, last slot of the day, which would place our arrival in Medellín at 5 am or so.”

“Fun.” Another agent responds dryly.

“At least the intertropical convergence zone is kind to us tonight. Should be smooth as silk the whole way down.”

All of us then return to the terminal as the crew doing the refueling are taking their time. I review the flight plan on file and make a slight change in the route to allow for the extra time for the rest of the crew to arrive with the suspicious cargo, which is how Celaeno got me involved in this. We need to be the last to arrive so that the tagged packages can be processed ahead of the raids.

While we lounge around here, since I can’t leave until scheduled, the agents return to the plane with me and decide to thoroughly check their weapons. With a small squadron here, I imagine the rest of the agencies on this case will meet us in Colombia. Since I’m only a contractor, my current and disclosable knowledge is limited.

A few minutes after we return to the terminal, I’m handed a card of the apparent leader, who says,

“We’ve been called back to base for new intel. Everything onboard will stay. I think we’ll be stocking up on more ammo and weapons. If we don’t return here by 20:30, call me.”

“Will do, sir.”

Alone again, I decide to borrow a snooze room and catch a couple hours’ sleep ahead of a long night upcoming.

I wake up and find no notifications, and about 2 1/2 hours elapsed. I walk to the lobby to request the courtesy car so I can grab some food.

I return with a bag of fast food and a large drink, enjoying it in the lobby chatting to Applejack to pass the time.

“Hey, just wanna throw out there that I’m a bit nervous for the hire I’m on now. It is classified, so I can’t say a whole lot.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“I mean, that is why I asked.”

She calls a few moments later.

“Hello.” I respond dryly.

“Hi Max. What’s on ‘yer mind? What’s gotcha in a twist?”

“The nature of the hire I guess. Never done something like this before, so in a way, it’s just first-time jitters.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

“I know, but I can’t help but feel that something could go wrong.”

“I’m not gonna say you have nothin’ ta’ worry about, but if I know you, ye’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Honestly, I don’t know why I do this.”

“I can’t comment on that, but I can say that I know how ye’ can be particular about things. Even so, I won’t say you need to, but I know ye’d much rather be in control.”

“Yeah… thanks AJ. I knew I could count on talking to you.”

“Aw shucks. It’s the least I can do for my… you.”

“You know, you can say ‘boyfriend’.”

“I know, but Big Mac and Sugar Belle are here. Wouldn’t want ‘em on either of our backs, at least ‘fer now.”

“I do want to meet her, you know.”

“So do I. She did say she wanted to move closer ‘ta us, so maybe we’ll be askin ‘fer ‘yer help.”

“Just let me know.”

“Oh! Sounds like I’m gettin’ called ‘fer supper.”

“I just finished eating mine, so I’ll leave you to it. Thanks again.”

“Of course. Love ya, Max.”

“Love you too, Applejack.”

“Ready?” I ask as all the agents, confirmed per a head count and the manifest, belt up.

(Battlefield code names at their request.)

“Jax?”

“Yessir!”

“Exo?”

“Waddup?”

“Dre?”

“Yo!”

“J?”

“Wassup?”

“Bvng?” (“Bang.”)

“Hello!”

“[And]… Bam?”

He only responds with a wave and a nod, since he’s the last on the list.

“Okay. Welcome aboard, nonstop service to Medellín this evening. Approximate flight time will be 6 hours and 45 minutes. To fasten your seatbelts, insert the metal tip into the buckle and tighten with the strap. Should fit low and tight across your hips. To unfasten, lift the buckle flap and sea palate the two ends. There are 6 exits on this aircraft, an Embraer E190. Two in the front, two over wing exits, and two in the rear. Please take a moment to locate the nearest exit, and keep in mind it may be behind you. Instructions on the operation of exits are on the safety information card located in the seat back pocket in front of you. In case of a drop in or loss of cabin pressure, oxygen masks will drop from compartments overhead. Pull down on the mask to initiate the flow of oxygen, place the mask over your nose and mouth, secure and tighten with the straps on each end, and breathe normally. Oxygen will be flowing, even though the bag may not inflate. Please secure your own mask before assisting others.

“Should a water evacuation become necessary, life jackets are located under your seat. Remove the vest from the compartment, place the vest over your shoulders, wrap around and fasten the buckle, and tighten with the strap. Your seat cushion also functions as a flotation device. Once outside the aircraft, pull firmly on the tabs at waist level to inflate the vest, or breathe into the tube at shoulder level to inflate the vest manually. Each vest is equipped with an LED light that illuminates upon contact with water.

“There are 2 lavatories onboard this aircraft. One in the front and on in the rear. Federal law requires compliance with lighted signs, posted placards, and crew member instructions. Any questions, comments, or concerns, please direct them to me. Once again, we are expecting about 6 hours and 35 minutes, not 45, to Medellín this evening. For security reasons, the cockpit door must remain closed until we reach cruising altitude. If there are any problems prior to then, please pick up the phone and dial 1. If so desired, the forward galley has water, some sodas, and a few light snack refreshments. Thank you for your patronage, welcome aboard.”

The tug towing us out of the ramp will provide external power, so once I radio them, he tows us to holding bay 19, then gives us the power to get both engines started. However, there are a few operations ahead of us to conclude operations for the night here in Washington, so setting the highest practicable climb rate for my desired power setting, I get everything ready while under tow.

Once the engines are running, I set takeoff flaps and get all my necessary data. Cleared as filed via CPDLC.

“Washington Ground, Blue Amigo 141, holding bay 19, with… Foxtrot.”

“Blue Amigo 141, Washington Ground. Information Hotel now current. Advise current ATIS. You’re at the back of the line.”

“We’ll get Hotel, Blue Amigo 141.”

“Washington Reagan National Airport ATIS information Hotel. 0249Z. Wind 170 at 8. Visibility 10. Sky condition few clouds at 11,000, scattered 14,000. Temperature 6, dewpoint -1. Altimeter 29.86. Visual runway 19 in use. Landing and departing runway 19. All VFR aircraft contact clearance delivery prior to taxi. All aircraft read back hold short instructions. Advise on initial contact you have information Hotel.”

“Ground, Blue Amigo 141 has Hotel.”

“Blue Amigo 141, roger.”

With the remainder of tonight’s operations regional jets going to various destinations, the last one eventually takes the runway, allowing me to turn lights on and announce,

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re now number two for takeoff. Please be seated at this time.”

“Blue Amigo, switch to Washington tower now, 119.1.”

“19.1, g’night. Blue Amigo 141.” “Washington tower, Blue Amigo 141, short of runway 19, ready for departure.”

“Blue Amigo 141, Washington tower.” The same controller responds. “Runway 19, line up and wait.”

“Line up and wait 19, Blue Amigo 141.”

Landing, strobes on. Ready to go.

“Blue Amigo 141, you can expect an extended hold. Additional traffic at Baltimore and Quantico, Marine One also inbound to Andrews.”

“Blue Amigo 141.”

Mostly for fits, shits, giggles, and grins, I send a link to follow my flight live to Applejack. With both origin and destination on the same time zone, and AJ back at home, we might land as she just wakes up.

“Blue Amigo 141,” tower calls after a long 5 minutes on the runway, “runway 19, cleared for takeoff. Follow the path of the Potomac.”

“Cleared for takeoff 19, over the River, Blue Amigo 141.”

Short field takeoff. Throttles set, gauges in the green.

80 knots.

V1

Rotate.

V2

Set climb angle as practicable. Positive rate, gear up.

Flaps up. Shallow out climb as wing camber changes. Stay over the Potomac.

“Blue Amigo, contact Washington departure, 119.85, good night.”

“19.85, thanks for the help tonight, Blue Amigo 141.”

“No problem.”

“Washington departure, Blue Amigo 141 off Reagan, following the Potomac, 2,900 climbing.”

“Blue Amigo 141, Washington departure, evening. Turn left direct MCNAB, climb and maintain 5,000. Speed 230 knots or less.”

“Direct MCNAB, 5,000, 230 or less, Blue Amigo 141.”

Cruise checklist complete. Cruising gently at 37,000 feet. Fuel is good with about 1 hour 15 in reserve. Expected to land at about… 4:30 am.

I make a quick dash to the galley to grab some water before returning to the cockpit. With plenty of United States airspace to negotiate, I send a few texts to my friends from the Mushroom World.

“Hello Peach, Cap here! I know it’s been forever since we’ve talked, but I’m proud to say that I’ve been extremely lucky to have some opportunities to work during these trying times. I know I say this all the time, but as soon as you deem it safe, we must absolutely meet again! I’m sure my friends here would love that too! Love you all, miss you all. Stay safe! Until we meet again!”

“Hi Daisy, it’s Cap! I know it’s been forever since we’ve talked, but I can be proud to say that I have been able to find some work during these difficult times. I know I say this all the time, but I do mean it: we need to meet up, with everyone, either here or your world, once it’s safe to do so. I know my friends here would be eager to explore your world, with you or the other ladies perhaps. Love you all, miss you all. Stay safe! Until we meet again!”

After I send the message to Daisy, I pause, but not necessarily by choice. As I told Applejack, the last time Rosalina and I talked, she cried for the first time since I’ve known her, so I want to make sure this message doesn’t detract from the heart of my usual texts.

“Hello.” I begin. “I’ll be honest, I know that I say ‘we should meet up once all this is over’ all the time, and I know you know I do mean it every time. I know it’s been tough for you, and I admittedly still feel some residual guilt in having abandoned both you and the Lumas. I hope that they still remember who I am. Even so, I know how hard it was for you to have talked when last we did. I know this is probably the worst thing to happen to us, but at least I know we both made the right choice.

“Sunshine is doing okay, but quite a few helicopters are due for their annuals and some 100-hours, and I did call my mechanic, Torque Wrench, to assist your staff. With the downturn due to the pandemic, we have kept one heli available on each island instead of two. The exception is Kauai, whose stricter-than-state mandates have led us to completely shutter that office and transfer the fleet and staff to other islands. To keep the pilots current and proficient, we are doing our own internal shuttling for the Kauai people. You don’t need to worry about anything on that front. That was my idea and is covered entirely by me. I haven’t been in a few months since there are still strict quarantine laws in effect and I don’t have immediate access to testing, but I do hope to check in on everyone soon.

“There was talk of potentially subleasing a few ships to try and raise a little extra money, but those were dismissed, even with my financial backing for shipping and the dry leasing. Everything else is still in good hands and is sound enough to confidently weather this pandemic.

“Please send my love and warmest regards to any of the Lumas who might remember me.

“I miss you.

“I love you.”

Quickly sending that before I start crying, the clock strikes midnight. I grab another bottle of water and use the lav in the largest window where I know I won’t be changing frequencies. I’m also glad my clients haven’t really woken up, which I’m taking as a compliment. Nevertheless, I know they need all the energy they can get.

Presently, we leave Florida behind and head for the Caribbean. I settle in nicely and keep sharp as we head into the longest part of the night. Now I can ruminate a bit.

I don’t have anyone to talk to, since Dash I know is busy training Blues in El Centro. Fluttershy might be available, but I don’t have anything worth talking to her about. Despite my hopes getting up for shelter rescue flights, no leads turned up (which is really saying something – double entendre intended). Maybe I’ll hound her again (I’ll try and stop), as I would be happy to get involved with such work, even if it’s more or less pro bono. Just as it was moving the ventilators, I just want to fly again.

Sunset I’m sure is down to chat, but she may be close to turning in, since I’m pretty sure her practices in either psycho or psyche are essential. If she’s back to work, I don’t want to intrude, as much as I love talking to her, hanging out with her, and believe it or not, our strong flirt game with each other. Well, maybe flirt isn’t the best way do describe it, but banter doesn’t quite encapsulate it either.

Anyway, I dismiss her to text as she may be soon be turning in, and any of the girls on the same time zone are definitely close to or have already turned in. So, “content” to just be alone with my thoughts, I pass the time by monitoring the gauges.

*message – Applejack*

“Must be lonely up there.” She sends along with a screenshot of the live flight path.

“Sadly. The squad’s all asleep in the back. ADS-B shows no returns except ships on the ground, and if I’m honest, it feels weird to be the only one in my immediate sector.”

“Well, it is late.”

“True, but I guess I was expecting some overnight cargo runs or something.”

After about 10 minutes, she doesn’t respond, so I continue on.

Eventually we leave Cuba behind and say a swift hello and goodbye to Jamaica, making out the lights of Sangster International as we turn more towards a truer south heading. This is the hardest part of the flight, but no more difficult than a Hawaii run. No need to worry right?

This squad has been dropped into war zones to help take out some pretty prolific figures, though they have not to my knowledge taken out anyone who made national headlines. I haven’t even heard of these guys before, but they are a trained militia with backgrounds from various countries’ armed forces. The squad name only goes by “one-four-one,” hence the callsign.

Back to what I said earlier. No way would they have a problem with a flight like this. In fact, this may well be the most plush journey they take. They are entering the country in civilian threads and rendezvousing with a legion of various local, state, and even federal law enforcement entities.

This could be a run of the mill non-entry charter, where I only remain at the airport until they return. Classically however, most of my charters are anything but, and it seems all the pieces here should prove no exception, but you know what they say, open mind and all that.

After I use the lav again, a time check shows just shy of 3 am. Why am I craving a burger? Especially because I had 2 of them for dinner. In any case, it looks like my passengers are still asleep. Depending on how things go in Colombia, I have specific instructions for returning them. Details are of course need-to-know, with my orders only coming from how the squad leader reports back to base.

Either way, our AOE for return is Boca Raton. From there, I can only presume means either back to home base (that surely can’t be Reagan) or onto their next mission, wherever it may be.

With a few hours still left to fly, I request a higher cruise altitude now that we’ve burned enough fuel to lighten us comfortably, and to increase our reserves, which will of course reduce the fuel bill upon landing. This reduces our ground speed by a couple knots overall, but that’ll be good, since it’ll allow for a bit of extra sleep time.

As we reach our new cruising, one of the squad members finagles his way into the right seat.

“Hello,” I greet, “sorry, it’s dark out. Who dat?”

“Jax.”

“Aight, wassup?”

“Not much. Just woke up.”

“How long ago? Did the climb wake you up?”

“Maybe. Couldn’t say. How much longer we have?”

“Couple-two-three hours.”

“You wanna get up and stretch your legs?”

“Nah. I’m good. Did that earlier when I last used the lav.”

“Al…right.”

He sits there content to stare into nothingness. We have about an hour before we make landfall, so theoretically, we should see the landmass of South America pretty soon.

I don’t know why, but this trip feels so much longer than my usual Hawaii runs. Normally, I could say easily that we’re in a smaller aircraft and thus cruise at a slower speed, as this aircraft certainly has the range to do it, but I suspect the other reason it feels slow is because it’s government work, and thus high-profile clients. Best I can say in response is,

“The legal ramifications are much more consequential if I muff this up.”

“Hey, hey. Calm down. You’re doing well so far. You had a go-around in the FRZ, no problems there. I doubt any other non-airline Pilot would be as calm as you were.”

“I wasn’t exactly calm. Even with a former honor guard onboard, I was scared shitless.”

“Yeah, because you were afraid of a birdstrike. Tell me: the entire time you were on the River visual, when did you break down and panic?”

“Uh… not until we saw the flock.”

“And what did you do in the wake.”

“Power up, pitch up, clean up, call up.”

“Case. Rested.”

“Hey, it ain’t over ‘till it’s over.”

“Medellín tower, buenos días, Blue Amigo 229, 15 miles north, visual runway 19.”

“Blue Amigo 229, Medellín tower, buenos días. Número dos atrás de un Airbus A320, runway 19, cleared to land.”

“Cleared to land 19, number 2, that traffic in sight, Blue Amigo 229.”

Speed no more than 200 knots. Set flaps 2.

Note that the callsign is changed. The first call with the new number was after switching to a non-American ATC facility, which would’ve been over Cuba.

Speed 190 knots. Flaps 3.

Lower landing gear.

3 green down and locked. Traffic ahead vacating the runway now. She’s all ours.

Airport elevation is 7,025’, one of the highest I’ve flown into. This will be a tricky one, even with the early morning hours and kinder than expected weather.

180 knots or less. Flaps 4. Spoilers and brakes armed.

Approach speed 135 knots. About 5 high in case of any windshear, which at this altitude is pretty critical.

Flaps 5. 5 mile final.

1000.

500.

200.

100.

50.

40.

30.

1. 10.

Touchdown!! Spoilers up, brakes on. 2 in reverse.

40 knots, disengage reverse thrust.

“Blue Amigo 229, A G to Aerosupport. Monitor ground 121.9.”

“A G to Aerosupport, monitor ground 121.9, Blue Amigo 229.”

Spoilers down, flaps up, lights off except beacon, nav and taxi once clear of runway. A F to the ramp, monitor 121.9.

“On behalf of your flight crew based in Southern California, welcome to Medellín. The local time is 4:37 am. Weather’s 27°C, which is about 81°F, skies mostly clear, and a gentle northerly wind. For your continued comfort and safety, please remain seated until the aircraft has come to a complete stop and the seatbelt sign has been turned off. At that time, please use caution opening the overhead bins. Items may have shifted during the course of our flight and could fall, injuring you or someone else around you. It’s been a pleasure serving you, and we hope to see you again on a future flight. Thanks again, welcome to Medellín.”

As a lineman directs me where to go, we’re soon parked and unloading everything. Having set the parking brake, the lineman then chocks the wheel and brings a set of stairs.

After the others step out onto the tarmac, the last person off then hands me a business card and says,

“Bring a bigger plane.”

With that, I ask “how long,” and after a reply of “two days,” I order fuel and head inside to rest up for the return journey.