You [Birds] Have a Choice to Make

After returning with, in fact, a bigger plane, a considerably bigger plane, I open the cabin main and pay the dues and fees before checking my fuel. Turns out, I overfilled slightly, and assumed the burn rate of this ship fully laden, so I may have to burn extra on the way back.

Nevertheless, I do customs procedures so I can meet the rest of the crew, who roll up in quite a normal road car. With the illegality of rideshare apps “undercutting taxis,” it seems odd a drop, but nevertheless, once all six agents return to the terminal, they tell me we should talk in the airplane in a quiet voice, so we do.

“Man, check this shit out.” Exo semi-mumbles as he sets a bag down on one of the first class chairs and shuts the windows. He then opens his bag and reveals exactly what I think it is.

“How much is in this bag?”

“Beats me. How much shit can you fit overhead?”

“This much.” I respond opening the bins on both sides of our aisle. “These two, all the way to the end of the plane, double that because we have another aisle.

The look on his face widens.

“Hold up.” I interrupt. “Let’s keep a low profile. With the teams you were working with, I certainly don’t want them on my case.”

“We took care of it. It’s fine. We have a lot of shit to load. Cars are waiting for us, so let’s get it.”

“Cars?!” I exclaim internally.

After quite a few trips, another large jet squeezes onto the ramp. The winglets and tail along with the faint remnants of lettering tell me two of Atlanta’s former are now on the ramp.

As linemen assist them, I keep a low profile and carry what is undoubtedly dozens of kilos of cocaine. These men are armed and dangerous, so no doubt I’m gonna cooperate.

After a few more trips back and forth, the last bags of which actually contain weapons, assumably theirs, as I’d recognize the weathered trigger housings and paint-stripped grips.

When the last bag is safely stowed, the squadron boards and I queue the safety video.

“Alright, welcome aboard,” I say appearing as calm and collected as I can, “our port of entry is Boca Raton. Hopefully we can get in this time.

“When I brought the first jet back, I cleared in Orlando. Diverted me three separate times from Boca, Palm Beach and Punta Gorda.

“Please direct your attention to this safety video, as it outlines and explains the features of this Boeing 767-300ER aircraft. While that plays, I’ll be right back. I need to get a statement for my reimbursement.”

I then start the video and head out to the ramp so I can meet Celaeno and Gamora, both of whom are now in command of 685.

“I thought Brutus was on 685.”

“We switched after they got delayed in San Francisco.” Celaeno responds. “I see you’re transporting the recovered materials.”

“What did I just sign myself up for?” I ask to air out my nervousness.

“It’s nothing. Trust me.”

“No, seriously.”

“Seriously, it’s nothing. Just do as you’re told and get your cargo safely back to base. We’ll handle it.”

“If you say so…”

“You’ll be fine. They’re friendlies.”

“Doesn’t mean they can hold me at gunpoint.”

“Just… trust me on this.”

“Alright,” I then say as I get back onboard. “Please keep your seats upright and locked and your tray tables stowed until I give the all-clear after takeoff. It should be smooth back up to Boca. And… actually, we may even have to circle for a few minutes to burn off extra fuel so we can squeeze into the tiny field. 6 hours 10 estimated, thanks for choosing me.”

2 alight and stable, cleared as filed. Plenty of runway for a V1 cut, plenty of performance for an initial altitude of 7,025’. Just enough fuel to get to base comfortably, and to fit into the small runway at BCT.

Flaps 15, trims set, lights as appropriate.

“Medellín ground, Tango Foxtrot 1-4-1, tengo una pregunta.”

“Tango Foxtrot 1-4-1, vaya.”

“Tango Foxtrot 1-4-1, ¿hay flow de tráfico al metrópolis de Miami?”

“Tango Foxtrot 1-4-1, no creo así, pero déjame ver.”

As I await an answer, I run the FMS to make sure all the calculations are correct and complete the checklist.

“Tango Foxtrot 1-4-1, no hay flujo de tráfico, pero Miami Internacional será cuando te llegas.”

“Roger, gracias. 1-4-1. We’ll get the ATIS and then we’ll be ready to taxi.”

Cockpit door closed and secure.

“Medellín José María Córdova International Airport information Lima, 1941Z. Wind 160 at 5, visibility 10. Sky condition clear. Temperature 25, dewpoint 14, altimeter 29.89. ILS runway 19 and visual runway 19 in use. Landing and departing runway 19. VFR aircraft contact clearance delivery prior to taxi. Advisory: all aircraft read back hold short instructions. Advise on initial contact you have information Lima.”

“Ground, Tango Fox 141, Lima, ready to taxi.”

“Tango Foxtrot 141, Medellín ground, runway 19… taxi via A. Hold position for now, traffic inbound to the terminal.”

“Short of A for now, Tango Fox 141.”

“Tango Foxtrot 141, you’re clear now. Taxi to runway 19 via A.”

“A to 19, Tango Foxtrot 141.”

Short of the runway, I notice one inbound on ADS-B.

“Medellín tower, Tango Fox 141, short of runway 19, ready to depart. We’ll wait for the traffic inbound.”

“American 1127, runway 19, cleared to land.”

“Cleared to land 19, American 1127.”

“Tango Foxtrot 141, Medellín tower, hold short runway 19.”

“Short runway 19, 141.”

As the American touches down rather firmly, I watch the tire smoke get carried into dissipation in its wake before placing my hand over the lights in anticipation of the takeoff clearance.

“Tango Foxtrot 141, runway 19, cleared for takeoff. After departure, turn left heading 110.”

“Heading 110 on departure, cleared for takeoff runway 19, Tango Foxtrot 141.”

Lights on as appropriate, approach end, final, runway, clear.

Throttles set, airspeed alive, gauges in the green. Sluggish performance from the airspeed indicator.

80 knots. Finally.

V1. Wow that took forever.

Rotate. Come on.

V2. Mains wobbling as weight transfers.

We have liftoff.

Positive rate, gear up.

Turn left heading 110.

V2 + 15 knots and climbing, flaps up.

“Departure, Tango Foxtrot 141 off Medellín, 8,000 climbing.”

“Tango Foxtrot 141, roger, resume own navigation, climb and maintain FL200.”

“Own nav, FL200, Tango Fox 141.”

“Palm Beach approach, Tango Foxtrot 141, we’re just a bit heavy for airfield performance into Boca. Request hold at KISEC to burn some fuel off.”

“Tango Foxtrot 141, roger. You can expect that. For now, continue inbound, but maintain 180 knots.”

“180 knots, continue inbound, Tango Foxtrot 141.”

A few seconds after I set the airspeed at 180, J and Jax enter the cockpit.

“Yo Max,” Jax begins, “don’t make any sudden movements.”

Almost immediately, J presses a gun to my head.

“Any word of this. Any of this,” he says firmly, as J pushes the gun against my head.

“Couldn’t say anything even if I tried. Besides, we need to burn fuel.”

“Tango Foxtrot 141, looks like Boca wants you to hold anyway so they can free up ramp space to accommodate you.”

“141, roger.”

With the gun still pressed to my head, I suppress every urge to appear nervous. Even shaky breath could send the wrong signal.

“We’re a formidable presence at Boca Raton,” I tell them, “so we have to hold for a few anyway. It’s a small field too, so pardon a hard landing.”

“Alright.”

“Tango Foxtrot 141, your hold at KISEC is approved. Descend and maintain 4,000. Hold as published at KISEC, maintain 4,000 and… can you hold at 160 knots?”

“Affirm, Tango Foxtrot 141.”

“Tango Foxtrot 141, roger. Descend and maintain 4,000. Hold as published at KISEC, maintain 4,000 in the hold, maintain 160 knots.”

“Hold as published at KISEC, 4,000, 160 knots, Tango Foxtrot 141.”

Below 10,000, landing, taxi, pulse lights on. Seat belt sign on.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I then begin as I set the FMS, “as we begin our final descent into Boca Raton,”

I then pause to catch my breath.

“Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Return your ‘tray backs and chair tables’ (sic) to the full upright and locked position. Please lower all aisle armrests and open all windows nearest you and store all cabin baggage for landing. We will be holding for a few minutes while Boca Raton prepares for our arrival, and due to the size of our aircraft relative to the airport, this landing will be quite a firm one. Thank you.”

Below 240, flaps 1.

Below 220, flaps 5.

RNAV GPS RWY 23 into Boca Raton. Primary navaid GPS with WAAS and RAIM, free of internal anomalies and unaffected by outages in the system or satellites. Approach course inbound 229°. 5,898’ of runway available, airport and touchdown zone elevation 13’. Holding as published at KISEC at 4,000. Can descend to 2,000 once cleared for the approach and established on course inbound. Once past KISEC, we have… LPV minima available to us, so follow glideslope down to LPV minima of 263’. Missed approach point intersection of glideslope at 263. Missed approach procedure, climb 2,100 direct to TANAH, then track 297° to ATONE and hold.

Below 210, flaps 15.

Level at 4,000. Lower landing gear.

3 green, down and locked. Below 195, flaps 20.

Autopilot holds for us, though I do need to practice. Entering KISEC via MRLIN, hold direct.

Crossing the fix, keep turning to hold course outbound, 1 minute leg, then turn back inbound to cross KISEC again. Below 190, flaps 25.

“Approach, Tango Foxtrot 141 is established in the hold.” I then report once we cross KISEC again.

“Tango Foxtrot 141, roger. Let me know when you’re ready to attempt the approach.”

“141, roger.”

Flaps 25, gear down, flaps 30 once on course inbound. Fuel burn rate is good, should be a few circuits before we can be considered, and a few more after that to get us down to a comfortable landing weight.

Spoilers armed, brakes set to maximum.

“Tango Foxtrot 141, Boca Raton tower reports they’re ready to accept you.”

“Tango Fox 141, roger. We’ll be a few minutes.”

“Tango Fox 141, there are a few arrivals due in to Boca, will you be landing before them?”

“How far away are they?”

“One is arriving via Palm Beach, and the other is close behind, about 3-5 minutes.”

“We’ll do one more circuit, Tango Fox 141.”

“Tango Fox 141, roger, speed restrictions removed, proceed at your discretion. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“141.”

Below 162, Flaps 30.

“Palm Beach approach, Tango Foxtrot 141 turning course inbound, ready to begin the approach.”

“Tango Foxtrot 141, roger, cleared RNAV GPS runway 23 approach, contact Boca Raton tower now on 118.425.”

“18.42, Tango Fox 141, thanks for the help.” “Boca Raton tower, Tango Foxtrot 141, 2 miles from KISEC, RNAV GPS 23, parking at Customs.”

“Tango Foxtrot 141, Boca Raton tower. Winds variable at 4, runway 23, cleared to land.”

“Cleared to land 23, Tango Fox 141.”

3 green and locked, brakes max, spoilers armed.

Glideslope intercept, hand fly to landing.

1000.

Winds are nice and calm, speed is good. Click autothrottle, autopilot off. Arm in case of go-around.

500.

A few stray gusts, corrected by slight yoke movements. Certainly more than in a light aircraft, but necessary.

Minimums. 200.

100.

3. 20.

10.

TOUCHDOWN! Spoilers up, brakes on, 2 in reverse. That should wake up everyone onboard.

30 knots, disengage reverse thrust.

“Tango Foxtrot 141, full length, P P7 entry to Customs, monitor ground .8.”

“P, P7 entry, ground 21.8, Tango Foxtrot 141.”

Spoilers down, flaps up, lights except taxi and beacon off once clear of the runway.

“On behalf of your Captain, welcome to Boca Raton. Current temperature is… 75°, light winds and sunny skies. For your continued comfort and safety, please wait until the aircraft comes to a complete stop and the seatbelt sign has been turned off. As this is our customs inspection, please be wary of agents inspecting all necessary baggage.”

Again I pause to avoid making my waver noticeable.

“Once we get our approvals and further instructions, we’ll continue on to our next destination. Thanks for your patronage, welcome to Boca.”

I park as far away as possible, thereby blocking any entrance to the customs ramp. I might have to run onto the infield, but I have enough thrust to power through it.

Parked, parking brake set. Shut down, APU on. Expecting an air start since their ground power probably won’t provide enough power.

As customs agents meet the plane, I open the exit door and prepare to be boarded, but instead, the agents await us at the bottom, so as each of the squad deplanes, their duffels with weapons in tow, we head inside.

I present each of the SMEARS test results to the agents, who then clear each agent back in. Since I don’t have a test result, I have to quarantine as soon as I get home, but after a brief temperature check and a thorough nasal swab that felt like they were trying to mine my brain, the test is submitted to the lab, where I await the results of a quick test.

“Your results should be ready in about 15 minutes, so you all need to stay here.”

The agents then decide to re-test the agents, since they did interact with local law enforcement.

A few minutes later, after being given some water, my results come back.

“Not detected.”

I breathe a sigh of relief as I’m released back to the airplane. Once back onboard, I check some of the bins to make sure the other bags are still in place. I know I was basically held at gunpoint and did see the stuff in the bags before they were loaded, but I take another good long look at the contents of one bag and then realize that there’s kilos of the stuff.

Soon, all six men are released back to the plane and we get ready to roll. Now I’m awaiting orders for the next drop-off.

As I get stuff squared away, both Exo and Jax make some calls. I decide to track the tail numbers of Celaeno’s jets to see where they are. Two are enroute back to the US, one is back to domestic hauls, one is still in Colombia, and the last one is… already back at Peotone.

When both men finish calls, they store their gun bags and say to me,

“Go back to your base. I think this is a good time to tell you what this is and what we are. We are more than just the one-four-one. We were a squadron of elite fighters, special forces trained, War Zone ready at a moment’s notice. We’ve been training soldiers since the Cold War. Next thing you know, we’re no longer needed and are wiped from the slate. We’re nothing, they move on as if we never even existed.

“Cut to today. DEA apparently wants to try (in vain) to stop this kind of shit getting into the country. Now is the time for us to prove what we’re capable of. What we can do when shit goes down. We are very few, we are very proud, we do not take fake, two-faced liars. I don’t care what you are, I don’t care what you think. No one wipes us out of existence and gets away with it.”

Sounds like an awfully familiar plight of mine, add in a mix of entities who I have a gripe with. Of course I’m gonna be sympathetic to their cause. Of course I get 100% where they’re coming from. I have no reason (other than knowing I can be held at gunpoint and capped) to not support them, but I still have my doubts. How can I voice my concerns without coming off as “just like everyone else?”

“I won’t lie,” I then begin, “I do have my doubts, as I always do. That being said, there are two things I want to know.”

“We ask the questions here.” Jax interrupts as Dre and Bam prepare to draw a weapon from their bags.

“Alright then.” I respond avoiding a waver. “Let’s go home.”

“Peotone traffic, 169 with the 1-4-1, clear of the runway.”

“Hey boss,” Gamora says on frequency. “Where’s she parking?”

“Probably with the rest of the freighters-to-be.”

“We’ll pick you up. We owe you an explanation.”

“Damn right you do.” I say, but only to myself.

Parked, shut down. Disconnect all electrical power once verified.

Down the stairs, onto one of the golf carts.

“We’ll clear her out when the time’s right. To our terminal.”

In the long ride back to the terminal, the last 757 gently lands and deploys reverse thrust as I suddenly feel my heart rate climb. I take a few subtle deep breaths before we park in front of the terminal, the last 757 only minutes behind us.

After I follow the squadron into the terminal, I watch sort of out the corner of my eye as the shifting shadows of the airplane parking provides a bit of psychological respite for what has to be some sort of ops meeting.

Squabble and Lix then step inside, and as the doors close, my heart drops to my stomach as I then get surrounded.

Sunny Flare and Torque Wrench then emerge escorted by Bvng and J. Both are nervous, but only because they’re eyeing the guns pointed at them.

“Alright, stand down.” Gamora says as she approaches me in a confrontation position. “Jax has told me you’ve been familiarized with… the background of the 1-4-1.”

“Yes I have.”

“I think it’s safe to say then, that we have a bit of a love-hate relationship with the DEA. All these acts and statements of “fair, impartial enforcement of United States policy” show no benefit to anyone except the drug makers, with only us to shoulder the blame. The 1-4-1 is sick of it, we’re sick of it, and quite frankly, we’ve had enough.”

“Our assignment was to bust a ring,” Exo continues, “but it was a fake. As far as DEA knows, mission accomplished. As soon as we “brought it down,” we ended up with enough for every single inhabitant in North America.”

“I think I can fill in the blanks.” I say after a long enough pause.

“So, are you in?” Jax asks provocatively.

I look at Gamora, then Exo, Jax, then at my two employees.

Then, with only a brief hesitation and a deep in-breath, I say confidently,

“Yeah. I’m in.”

“I knew you would be…

“‘Mr. DeLorean.’”