You [Birds] Have a Choice to Make

by Split Scimitar

Rating: teen
Tags: Rainbow Dash (EqG), Other, Applejack (EqG), Equestria Girls, My Little Pony: The Movie, Slice of Life, Alternate Universe, Human, Narcotics, Captain Celaeno, Original Character
Length: 21214

My first trip to Equestria is cut short in the name of a kind of important hire.

In order to properly and neatly manage my business amidst the constantly changing world, including aircraft in storage with me, I must jump back to periodically check for updates and other things related to the future.

This particular check, I receive a voicemail requesting I bring one of my larger planes to carry medical supplies.

This isn’t just any medical supply run though. The person who left the voicemail represents both the supply manufacturer as well as a group of people who also are interested in leasing aircraft I listed. To them, they can not only help me, but also see what kind of operation I am and what I have to offer them. It’s both a humanitarian effort and a sales pitch.

Rated T for abrasiveness.

Published 2021-02-13 08:30:00 UTC
Last updated 2021-03-13 08:10:19 UTC

Apples Are Not Meant to Fly

“Howdy Sugarcube. I see you’ve landed.” Applejack texts just as I step into the terminal to pay my fees.

“Are you at FSM?”

“Yes.”

“Would’ve been nervous if you had said somewhere else.”

Suddenly, she walks through the doors, wearing a mask with an image of a bitten apple off-center from her mouth. It’s actually quite cute on her.

“I mean, I could’ve tracked yer flight path with that app thingy you told me about.” She says.

“I wouldn’t expect you to use it. I can always just give you position reports.”

She chuckles. “I’d prefer to see ya land in person.”

At her request, she has me climb into her Raptor, and sit the driver’s seat.

“I’m ready to give her to ya.” She begins after taking her mask off and putting the keys in the cup holder. “We’ve been holdin’ onto the money ye’ve sent us for a while now, and now that I can give ya my truck, we can start spendin’ it.”

“I have this month’s payment ready too if you want it.” I say, speaking up slightly to compensate for keeping my mask on.

“Actually, I think ye’ can skip this month and all the rest fer now. I still have ‘ta count everythin’. I don’t wanna take more than we need from ya.”

“Hey, if you need or even want the money, I’ll happily give it to you.”

“No. I hate askin’ for more than I need.”

“I’m not holding you to a strict schedule of payment. This plight is an insurance issue and I don’t want you to suffer any more than you have.”

“Nonsense. It’s fine. And would you mind takin’ yer mask off? I want to see yer smile.”

“Have you been in any contact with anyone outside your household? Or has anyone else of your household?”

“No. All of Apple Bloom’s deliveries are contactless. I don’t really do anythin’ other than prune and pick, and Mac? Well, he’s probably the highest risk out of all of us. He’s seein’ Sugar Belle, but they’ve been together since before everythin’, so I trust ‘em.”

“And your grandmother?”

“She keeps busy. She does most of the housekeeping, though ye know I’m nervous for her. She’s gonna get herself hurt one’a these days.”

I chuckle.

“Max,” she then continues, grabbing my hand, “please. I can understand if ye’r nervous about catchin’ anything, but I… I’d feel a lot better if ye’ took it off.”

Now I can tell she’s being serious. With just enough hesitation, I take a deep breath and remove the straps from my ears.

She tightens her grip and says, “thank you.”

“So, uh,” I begin out of a desire to address the elephant in the room, “do you want to talk about your… um… confession?”

She blushes just enough before removing her hat and saying, “well, no use puttin’ it off. I like you, Sugarcube, and I think I’ve got it bad.”

“How bad are we talking? Obviously, our personal definitions are different, but…”

She interrupts me with, “I think about you a lot. I wish you were by my side quite a bit, and most of all… I… I have… fantasies.”

“Really?” I respond dry but neutrally. “Gotta say, AJ: I’m impressed. By how you make it out, sounds like you’re nearly head over heels for me, which is odd coming from you because I know how little you tend to put towards that side of your life.”

She doesn’t respond, but her eyes say so much. That, and not quite visible but somehow palpable quivering, so I continue.

“That’s not to say you’re completely unopposed – or as some would say, incapable – of romantic feelings. I just have a hard time processing the fantasies part. I never took you for that kind of girl. Anyway, it’s not my place to ask, but if that’s so, I must say I’m quite flattered. How long have you been like this?”

“Only since…” she responds immediately and quite quickly, “since you and Rainbow Dash did that flight together, ‘fer Delta, was it?”

“Oh, when we went to the Azores?”

“Yea. I was kinda jealous of Rainbow because you two were spendin’ lotsa time together.”

“Shucks,” I respond trying to play it off, “I don’t have many other friends. Who are pilots. Less so ones that have the kind of experience she does. Plus, you have to remember she is training under me. I’m getting her qualified to fly that airplane. Or the two that her certificate sought covers.”

“I know, but the more I saw that you two were doin’ stuff together, the more I felt like we never really spend time together.”

“In fairness, I will admit that while I can see why you feel that way, we have no shortage of… let’s call it intimacy. Sure, we don’t spend a lot of time together, but to me, the time we do spend together is actually quite intimate. Whether it be having a bit of fun while I help you work, or we’re cozying up to each other in the mid-to-late evening. Just because we’re not affectionate on the surface doesn’t mean the time we spend together isn’t intimate or meaningful. Quality Time is a love language.

“It seems to me, at least now that I’m thinking it aloud, maybe I’m the one overstepping the boundaries of what we should do with the kind of relationship we have?”

“No.” She responds bluntly, and immediately. “It’s more than that. It’s… when I’m with you, I feel comforted, I feel loved, I feel… treasured. I feel like I’m more than just some rough and tough farm gal that devotes way too much time to her work. Heck, I’m surprised ye haven’t ever spoken up about me workin’ too much.”

I smile, but wait for her to continue.

“I know that ever since you told me that ye had some sort of feelins fer me that you’ve been more or less careful about what we do, but I’ll say that I really did appreciate yer honesty. I’m also not afraid to say that even though it’s taken this long for me ta realize it, I think that I may have liked ya for a while anyway.”

“Well, I mean, if I met anyone else in your… disposition, doing some of the things we did, even and especially early on in our friendship, would certainly be off-limits to anyone else. I’m a lot more physical of a friend than most would consider normal.”

“That’s exactly it. Maybe our first spark of intimacy started something between us? I know I was pretty resistant to ‘yer admission at first, but we still did a lot of stuff that most friends would definitely not do.”

“Exactly. The way I see it, with all the physical and emotional intimacy we share, maybe that’s the cause for your feelings. Being so close so quickly may have fostered those feelings.”

“I see it the opposite way, Sugarcube. I think I always knew we had somethin’ special between us, shortly after the first time we met. I think because you always made me feel comfortable and valued, that… validated my kindling feelings.”

“Well,” I say with a new warmth building in my stomach, “however which way you cut it, there is simply no opportunity for us to work. You have your life, I have mine. I also would like to note that since what we have is quite special, I would hate to risk it, especially given my track record with romance. I wouldn’t want to lose any of you, and I fear that would happen if I went for any one of you. Or maybe I should phrase it as dating one of you risks the danger of quite literally betting the farm.”

“Isn’t that what you said to Rarity?”

“And Sunset. For good reason. Rarity arguably out of the seven of you best understands that the demands of our careers would create a conflict of interest, at least in terms of living situations. I think the reason she got over me so quickly after our trip to Europe is because she was attracted to her idealization of me. And while I’m not confident in saying this, because we haven’t done anything to the level that Rarity displayed in the events leading up to, and during, the Europe trip, I think you might be having the same Problem. [I’m thinking] you love the thought of me more than you love my presence.”

“Max,” she says closing her eyes, clearly agitated, “I know that wasn’t intentional, but I’m being serious. I’ve talked to the other girls about it, and they all can speak for me when I say that that’s not true.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I reply as genuine as I can sound. “You know each other a lot better than I do, so it’s not my place to make any call on the authenticity of your feelings. However, if you would like, I am willing to ‘trial date.’”

“No. I wouldn’t want to do any of this “trial” nonsense. I really like you Max, and I think that the timing of how my thoughts of and about you along with what’s currently happenin’ jus’ might be a sign ‘fer me.”

“Of what?”

“Well, as I said with you and Rainbow Dash, with all the time ye spend together, I feel like we never do. Even though we do things that most friends at our level of kinship would easily shy away from, we’ve never really had a problem with bein’ a might intimate.”

“Well, you know me. I’ve always been a proponent of being physical with friends who are okay with it, and actually, to my surprise, you put up more resistance than even Fluttershy, though that may be because she pities me since I’m always so self-deprecating around her. Point is, even though I haven’t really thought much of it, I guess you have, and maybe it was my fault that you caught feelings. We’ve been pretty intimate both physically and emotionally despite what it may appear to others when we spend time together, so I guess falling for me was the next step.”

“But that’s the thing, Max. I’ve felt this way ‘fer a while. I don’t think yer theory is true, at least from my view.”

“Put yourself in my shoes.”

“Can’t, ye’r too many sizes too big. Even if I could, I don’t think I’d want to. I could never wrap my head around wanting to die.”

“Ouch, AJ.”

“Sorry, but it’s the truth.”

“No argument. I see your view, and it’s not invalid at all, but I stand by my word. We were and still are close enough of friends that we could get away with cuddling and snuggling and even spooning, (from the last time I was here). Even without needing to be physical, we’re still very intimate.”

“And I stand by mine. I’ve always known we had somethin’ special, and being warm and fuzzy with each other was because of that, not the other way ‘round.”

“Maybe that’s why we can. Let’s not forget that I outed myself as liking you basically when we met.”

“Yea, and I love that you did it.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking about it, and I even asked Sunset from a psychological view, did the fact that I told you upfront that I liked you have any effect on your feelings?”

“Uh, maybe at first. It was certainly a shock, but… I’ll say I think so.”

“Would you say that you liked me more because of it?”

“Well, it definitely stoked the fire, but it didn’t really fan the flames as it were.

“Ye’ know, if I ever had more time off, I’d want to spend as much time as I could with ya.”

“I’d like that, but I wouldn’t want you to completely readjust your life just so you could see me more.”

“I wouldn’t do that, not even fer you.”

“Thanks.”

“Haha!” She chuckles heartily, “if there’s anything I’ve learned as of these past events, it’s that I ought to find other ways to keep myself busy besides the farm.”

“Too bad it took something like this. Now that there’s fun stuff you more or less want to do, most of it we can’t even do.”

“I know. At the very least then, I’d love ta’ join ya on some flights from time to time.”

“That would be fun.”

“Oh, can ye’ take me home? Since Mac’s gone fer a few days, Bloom and I have to continue tending to the inactive orchards while they rest.”

When we return to the farm, I’m instructed to park at the farmhouse, but we notice the garage open with Big Mac’s truck missing along with Granny Smith’s.

“Wonder where she went.” She ponders.

“Is she in the fields with your sister?” I ask.

“Maybe. Or she’s loadin’ up scrap metal.”

“There a lot?”

“Not really. Enough to fill one of the trucks, but I wouldn’t expect Granny to do it on her own.”

“Well,” I say as I throw the gear lever into park, “you want me to go with you?”

“Ye don’t need ta be anywhere, do ya?”

“Not until next week I think. You wanna come on my next hire flight? Rainbow’s the contact. Well, the liaison.”

“Why would Rainbow Dash need ya to fly her somewhere?”

“Don’t know. All she said was to make sure I’m available. Wanna come with?”

“Sure, I’ll come with ya.”

“Are you and Dash gonna be okay? I know she was… interested in dating me, were it not for my smoking.”

“Are ya gonna quit or not?”

“Depends. Is my smoking still a dealbreaker?”

There’s a long pause as she grabs the handle, but she ponders an answer before opening the door and not answering the question.

“Come on. Let’s make sure Granny isn’t hurtin’ herself.”

Call in the Team

“Waddup, loser?”

“Hi Dash. The flight plan is filed, the performance data is ready, the lower deck is without its seats, the upper deck is warm and welcoming. All we’re missing is you.”

“Sorry. Tough to be fast in this traffic.”

“How ironic. Los Angeles?”

“Yeah. I had to pick up your potential clients there.”

“What’s this all about, anyhoo?”

“Uh, I'll explain more once we arrive. For now, all you need to know is that we need to get to Paris by tomorrow, and Korea the following day.”

“You’re making me nervous already. Just hurry up.”

She doesn’t respond and instead hangs up.

“Do you have your passport, Applejack?”

“Yeah I do. I carry it when I travel.”

“You make life so easy.”

“What’s goin’ on?”

“Don’t know. Rainbow is currently on her way up from Los Angeles, and the airplane she hired comes at the request of the contact we’re meeting at our first destination. Said they wanted the lower deck without seats, but to try and cush up the upper deck. If I’m even the slightest bit onto her, I’d say we’re about to do a cargo flight.”

She perks up a bit.

“Excited to finally join me on one of my escapades?”

“First time ‘n all.” She says trying to hold back an excited blush.

“In case anyone asks, you’re extra muscle for whatever it is we’re working with.”

“Dash didn’t tell ya what it is?”

“You know how she is. Of course she’s gonna be pretty hush-hush about it.”

She only rolls her eyes and smiles endearingly.

“Does she know you’re with me?” I then ask.

“‘Fer the flight or… us?”

“Mostly the former. If she is or was interested, she snoozed and lost I guess. Can I trust you two will behave yourselves?”

“I can’t guarantee anythin’. She’s usually the one who winds me up.”

“‘Bout 50/50 I’d say. Though I’ve only known the both’a youse for a fraction of the time you have.”

“Welcome.” I say dryly to Rainbow Dash as I grant entry to a full Transit van with quite a few others in it.

Our airplane is sitting on a remote stand, and a set of stairs is already mated. Applejack should be inside getting herself comfortable and checking that the cargo space on the lower deck is usable.

“I did say I was bringing a crew,” Dash begins offering her forearm for bumping, “and this particular crew are joining us for a couple of reasons. They’re security for us, but primarily… I did tell them about your freighter thing.”

“Oh?” I respond somewhat confused.

“I’ll let them explain.”

“Celaeno.” Their evident leader says as she steps forward, exchanging a fist bump. “My crew and I used to have a ship of our own, but she was sadly lost. We’re looking for some new equipment, both to restart and expand our operation, and thanks to our friend Rainbow Dash here, we hope you can make that a reality.”

“I have no shortage of available aircraft. What’s your type?”

“767.”

“A noble steed they are. Sorry for your loss, but glad you’re all okay nonetheless.”

“So are we. It could’ve been much worse.

“Anyway, these are my crew members,

“Mullet,” she says pointing to a burly yet lanky gentleman with a dome cap, which he acknowledges with a salute.

“Marco,” who responds by standing at attention.

“Pinwheel,” who gives a 2-finger salute.

“Boyle,” who nods.

“Ace,” responding with a valiant crossing of his arms.

“Lix Spittle,” responding with a smirk and a wink.

“Brutus,” who responds by pounding his chest.

“And Squabble, he doesn’t speak much English.”

“Sim, señor.” He responds with some trepidation.

“¿Eres bueno?”

“Sim, sim.”

“¿Habla Portugués o Español?”

“Os dois, pero sim e não.”

“Así… Portuñol entonces.”

He nods.

“Welcome aboard.” I say with a nod of respect and a tip of the hat to the rest of the crew. “Let’s complete this flight then I can get you set up with a new ship.”

“Howdy y’all.” Applejack greets as she steps down the stairs.

“Applejack??” Rainbow responds incredulously. “What’re you doing here???”

“Had a little bit’a free time since we’re not growin’ anything at home.”

“She’s extra muscle for us.” I respond in Rainbow’s speechlessness.

“We can handle loading.” Celaeno adds. “We used to do our own load sheets.”

“Then consider Applejack here an extra set of hands.” To which she responds with a tip of her hat.

“I know we just got here, but we are all a bit hungry.” One of the crew members interjects.

“Lunch time.” Celaeno declares.

“Get comfortable. It’s 9 1/2 hours to Paris, which doesn’t account for the time it takes to load. From there, it’s another 10 hours to Seoul.”

“Are ye gonna be okay? That’s almost a full day’s worth of travelin’ just in the air.” Applejack says.

“Well, depending on how long it takes to get the cargo, I can hopefully get some rest. Otherwise, Rainbow Dash monitors the airplane in cruise.”

Dash only responds with a smug expression, mostly directed at AJ.

“Alright.” I then continue. “The time is now noon and a half. At the rate we’re going, we’ll land hopefully just after morning rush.”

“Which airport are we flying into?”

“Uhh… Le Bourget.”

“You couldn’t file into Paris?” Dash then claps back almost provocatively.

“Technically speaking, Le Bourget is the closest airport to Paris town center. Plus, Charles de Gaulle is slot-restricted, and Orly discourages large airplanes, while also being slot-restricted.”

“Lame.” She refutes with a very unamused look on her face.

“Victorville airport information Papa. 2048Z. Wind variable at 6. Visibility 10. Sky clear below 12,000. Temperature 21, dewpoint -4. Altimeter 30.01. All runways restricted access. Prior permission required. Advise on initial contact you have information Papa.”

“Joshua departure, N675NW, going to Le Bore-zhay.” Rainbow calls as the engines are getting warmed up.

“N675NW, amended route clearance, advise when ready to copy.”

“Roger, stand by, 675NW.” I call, instead handing RD the checklists.

“Flaps?” She asks grabbing the lever.

“10.” I respond as she sets them.

“Trims?”

“Set.”

“Departure brief?”

“In case of fire, failure, loss of vis or directional control, below V1, full reverse thrust, RTO straight ahead. Above V1, take it to air. Initial heading, altitude, and code from U2; comments, questions, concerns?”

“Instrument check.” She responds shaking her head, which is my cue to begin moving once all indications are either in or close enough to normal operating temperatures.

“Airspeed Zero.
Attitude indicator level and erect within 5 minutes.
Altimeter, within 75’ of field elevation at 30.01.
Wing in, trapezoid out.
Zero point noted.”

“Check all my side. Controls?”

“Elevators check.” I say moving the yoke up and down.

“Ailerons check. Left and right.”

“Rudders – upper and lower – check left… and right.”

“Temps, pressures?”

“Gauges in the green.”

Before takeoff.

“Transponder?

“Never mind.

“Initial heading the runway.” I interrupt.

“What runway would that be?”

“3.” I respond as I set the bug.

On my call, Dash queries ATC.

“Joshua departure. N675NW ready to copy.”

“N675NW, cleared to Le Bore-zhay via DAG BLD J107 HML, then as filed. Maintain 10,000 on departure, expect FL370 within 5 miles of BLD. Departure frequency 124.55, squawk 1017.”

“Cleared to Le Bore-zhay as filed via Daggett, Boulder City, Juliet 107, Humboldt, Minnesota; then as filed. 10,000 on departure, FL370 within 5 miles of Boulder City. Departure 124.55, squawk 1017, N675NW.” I respond for her.

“N675NW, readback correct. Talk to you soon, void in 2 minutes.”

“675NW.” She then replies.

Programming the new route as quickly as I can, Dash watches the clock.

With just under a minute to spare, strobes, landing, pulse lights on. Autopilot armed and ready.

Takeoff thrust set. Gauges in the green.

“80 knots?”

“Check.”

V1

Rotate.

V2

Positive rate, gear up.

Flaps up.

“Joshua departure, N675NW off Victorville, 3,000 climbing.” Rainbow calls.

“N675NW, Joshua departure, welcome. Turn right direct DAG, climb and maintain 15,000.”

“Direct Daggett, 15,000, 675NW.”

“Cruise checklist please.” I ask.

“Speed?”

“Set.”

“Lights?”

“Landing, taxi, pulse off.”

“Fuel?”

“Looks good with about… 9.5 hours reserve.”

“That’s a record.”

“Could change.”

“Complete.”

“Alright then. I trust you can monitor this thing. I’ll sleep now so I can take her through the night.”

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Later, loser.”

“Bye, Dash.”

“We can help too.” Celaeno adds as I step out of the cockpit.

“Sure. All the usual, just wake me up if something comes up. I should be back in about 7 hours.”

“N675NW, bienvenue. Your instructions are to park at le Musée de l’air et de l’espace. Stand by un moment, s’il vous plaît.”

“675NW.”

“Er, N675NW, Le Bourget.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ve just been told your cargo is awaiting a ramp for conveyance. However, please taxi straight ahead to le Musée. Park next to the Airfrans 747.”

“Roger, 675NW. Merci pour ton hospitalité.”

“De rien.”

Park, shut down, awaiting the release of our cargo, which by the looks of things, appear to be ventilators.

“That’s our load right there. I believe your airplanes brought them here from Dee-troit.”

“Mons avions, yes. I didn’t however transport them from Détroit. You can thank United for that. Well, United masquerading as Allegiant.”

“Whatever. Give me your phone. I need to call the man in charge of our cargo.”

I roll my eyes and give Dash my phone, thankful my international plan covers all of Western Europe.

“Yo, we just landed.

“We’re sitting right next to them.

“Be quick. The sooner you get here, the sooner we can get to Korea.

“Yes, it’s a 747. Yes, the lower deck is cleared. Hurry up.

“Ok, bye.

“Here. Our contact’s name is Jake. He’ll be joining us to Korea.”

“Cool. Where is he?”

“Working out some release forms. Something about getting the ramp to wheel the ventilators in too.”

“Surely it can’t be that hard to just request one.”

“It must be.”

“Well, you say ramp, those are hard to come by, more so one that can reach our aircraft.”

“Why don’t we just load them below deck?”

“We could do that too.”

“Bonjour.” A lineman greets as he approach Dash and I. “Are you taking ze ventilators?”

“Oui, monsieur. Savez-vous où nous pouvons obtenir… équipement de… de…”

I can’t find the word for “loading,” so I try and gesticulate the word.

“De chargement?”

“Oui! Merci, mon français est un peu terrible.”

He smiles. “I understood it.”

“Can I go inside?” Dash then asks.

“Les toilettes? Straight ahead and to the left.

“Do you need fuel?” He then asks me.

“Oui, s’il vous plaît. Quatre-vingt-et-dix-un mille kilos.”

“Quatre-vingt-onze mille, monsieur. Coming right up.”

“Onze mille.” I reply chiding myself. “Vous vois? Mon français needs work.”

“C’est bien, monsieur. Being able to speak French with foreigners… ‘tis a breath of fresh air.”

“De rien, monsieur. Mon plaisir.”

“Oh, how much is that weight in liters?”

“Erm, one second.

“Cent-treize mille litres.” I reply after running the number through my flight computer.

“Merci, monsieur.”

He then leaves and radios the fuel truck.

When Rainbow Dash returns from the terminal building, the fuel truck arrives.

“Cent-treize mille litres, monsieur?”

“Oui. Moitié ici en le gauche, moitié en le droit.”

“D’accord.”

Figuring they don’t have much experience with large aircraft, I point out the tank fillers on each of the tanks I want filled.

A few minutes later, Dash calls me inside to the terminal.

“Max, this is Jake.”

“Hi, how are you?” I say tipping my hat.

“Jake.” He responds offering his hand.

“Max. Where you from?”

“San Bruno.”

“How’d you meet Rainbow Dash?”

“We play soccer together.”

“Where at?”

“San Diego?”

“Whereabouts at?”

“Downtown. I practice dentistry down there.”

“Oh wow. Nice. How did you get involved with the ventilators?”

“I’m a business partner of the owner of the company that manufactures them. No one else at the company was able to receive them here, so they called me.”

“Did you accompany them from Detroit?”

“No, someone else did. I don’t speak any French, but I am accompanying the ventilators to Korea. We’re meeting one of my friends there who can get them to where they need them.”

“Good stuff. We’re just taking on fuel now, so can we start loading them?”

“Yeah. I was having trouble with some of the paperwork.”

“I have plenty of muscle to help us, so I hope we can get acquainted while we’re in the air.”

With Applejack’s help, along with the Tetris skills of Celaeno and her crew, we fit the entire lower deck (save a few stations near the entry door) with ventilator apparatuses and associated equipment. Extra tubes and some other miscellaneous things occupy the overhead bins, and the lower deck baggage compartments needed not be utilized.

As they load, I do the performance data and get our flight plan squared away. With the fuel left over from America, and what I’ve taken on here at Le Bourget, that’s enough to get to Seoul with about an hour and a half reserve. Due to slot restrictions, we’re still awaiting our approved destination. If we have our way, we’ll be able to land in Incheon, but in a nod to the past of especially this aircraft and many others from an era sort of bygone, landing in Gimpo would be nice as well.

“Sugarcube?” Applejack calls from the other room.

“Yeah?” I respond poking my head out of the office.

“Everythin’ okay?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“We’re ready t’go, except we need you.”

“Well, we can’t leave until I get my flight plan processed, and because Seoul meters their traffic, I can’t begin any prep until we get our approval for either Incheon or Gimpo. Plus, even in spite of the essentiality of this flight, we may not even make Seoul.”

“Doesn’t seem to make a whole lotta sense to restrict traffic when most of that traffic is now kinda nonexistent.”

“Yeah, I know. Still, Korea has entry requirements, since Jake as I’ve been told is staying with the cargo. I guess he’s facilitating their release into Korea.”

“Makes sense, if he’s invested in ‘em.”

*new email alert*

“Ooh, an urgent notice.” I say as I open an email from a sender with Korean Hangul in the name.

After glazing over the Hangul and even some Hanja, I find an English manuscript just below them.

Looks we got approved for…

“Incheon it is. I’ve got the performance data, plenty of fuel, and of course all the cargo we need and then some. Given our average weight of each unit, that places us slightly below MTOW, so no matter what, we need their longest runway.”

“Sugarcube,” she then interrupts, “I actually came here for a reason.”

“Is it essential to the flight?”

“No. It’s… personal.”

“Oh. Well, let me just check something really quick.”

“*Flight plan – filed 1214Z.*”

“The flight plan’s on file, so we should get going soon.” I think to myself, especially as clouds roll in as per the TAF.

“What’s troubling you?” I then ask Applejack.

“Well, I’ve been thinkin’ about what you said, about how I’m not really one to devote time to romance ‘n all that… mushy stuff, but…”

There is a pregnant pause.

“Applejack? Have you had… those kinds of fantasies?” I ask with nothing short of alarm.

“No! Well…”

I’m just beside myself. Never in my life has anyone I’ve ever dated thought that about me. Rosalina never did, none of my former two ex-wives did. Applejack’s a first, and we haven’t even been on a proper date yet.

“Applejack, if I had known it was that bad…”

“No Max. I can’t say ‘fer sure. Only as a passing thought.”

“Either way, that puts you in a position that none of my former partners, Rosalina included, ever reached. That makes you the first person to have had those types of fantasies about me.”

“Now that can’t be true.”

“Cannae lie.” I respond with one hand flat down and the other up, as if taking an oath.

“I… I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Let me ask this first. Whether or not your fantasies are of that nature, does your perception of me change when you see me?”

“What’re ya gettin’ at?”

“You obviously fantasize about me – wow, I never thought I’d say that in my life – when you’re alone. Now that you’re actually with me, and in the middle of a long time together, does it make things any more or less different for you?”

“I… don’t really know how to answer that.”

“Will this help?”

Steeling my nerves and taking a deep breath, I pull Applejack close and place my lips on hers.

In it for the Long Haul

“Le Bore-zhay,” Rainbow Dash calls, “Northwest 69-02, clearance to Incheon.”

“Northwest 6902, cleared to Seoul Incheon via radar vectors, then as filed. Maintain 5,000 on departure, expect FL370 10 minutes after departure. Charles de Gaulle frequency 131.2, squawk 7727.”

“Cleared to Incheon via radar vectors, then as filed. Climb [and] maintain 5,000, expect FL370 10 minutes after departure. De Gaulle departure 131.2, squawk 7727, Northwest 69-02.”

“Northwest 6902, readback correct. Contact ground on 121.9, advise ATIS information Québec.”

“69-02.”

“Le Bourget airport information Quebec, 1301Z. Wind 250 at 7. Visibility 1. Heavy rain. Sky condition overcast 700, overcast 1,200, overcast 2,900, overcast 3,300, overcast 5,000. Temperature 10, dewpoint 1. Altimeter 1005.4. Notices to airmen: runway 25 braking action reported good. Advisory: all aircraft read back hold short instructions. Advise on initial contact you have information Quebec.”

“Ground, Northwest 69-02, Air & Space Museum, Quebec.”

“Northwest 6902, Le Bourget ground. Runway 25, taxi via… standby. Say aircraft type.”

“747-400 series,” I respond, “Northwest 6902.”

“Roger, you need to be towed then. You’re too large for one of the taxiways. Have you started your engines yet?”

“Affirmative.” Dash responds.

“Roger, Northwest 6902, we’ll get you a tug.”

“Roger, we’ll shut them all down.”

Without skipping a beat, Dash releases the push-to-talk and in one swift motion, moves all four fuel levers to cutoff without even giving me time to react.

“We have checklists for a reason,” I seethe as I check the APU and generators. “We’d be fucking beached if the APU was already turned off.”

“Heh… Whoopsies.”

“APU, running and lever in ‘run’. APU generator on.”

“Northwest 6902, ground. Expect to taxi on runway 3, then a right turn onto runway 9, then a left onto B, then taxi to runway 25 via B.”

“Expect runway 3, then runway 9, B to runway 25, Northwest 69-02.”

Soon, a tug arrives, and after ground gives us our tow instructions, we get towed out of the museum ramp to the run-up area on taxiway C, short of runway 3.

When the tug operator is clear of the area, Dash and I restart the engines and redo all the checklists for ground ops.

Due to the short runway, our take-off weight, and need to climb steeply both for noise abatement and getting above the clouds, we’ll use flaps 20.

Flaps 20, trims set, all lights except strobes (the fog is thicc) on, as we’re on a runway.

After we turn onto B, I flip off the landing and pulse lights then quip to Rainbow,

“You want to change your type? There’s plenty of time for you to move to a heavy. Well, heavier.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, but still replies with a dry, “Nah. I like where I am.”

“Figured you would. It does pain me to say these are a dying breed. Thank God the Mushroom World has a place for them. A380s too.”

“I’m glad twinjets are making the leaps and bounds they are though.”

“I won’t argue. It’s the process of evolution. The only constants in life are death, taxes, and change.”

“Even by your standards, that’s pretty cynical.”

“Hi; Split Scimitar. Nice to meet you.”

She only rolls her eyes as we run through checklists.

“At least the winds are gentle today. If we got IFR, heavy rain, AND heavy wind?”

“You afraid of a little challenge?” She quips back rather humorously.

“Enough to count my blessings.” I say as I monitor the engine gauges. Having been warmed up slightly before being so quickly shut down, I appreciate the minimum time to warm up the second time.

“Temps, pressures green. Flaps 20. Trims set. Squawking 7727. Autopilot armed, references bugged and armed. Brakes at RTO, spoilers armed. Tower set, departure on standby.”

“Le Bore-zhay tower, Northwest 69-02, runway 25, ready to go.”

“Northwest 6902, Le Bourget tower, runway 25, line up and wait.”

“Line up and wait 25, 69-02.”

Strobes, pulse, landing lights on. Expect a short-field procedure.

“Northwest 6902, three departures off Charles de Gaulle.”

“69-02.”

I then get on the horn and announce,

“Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize. Uh, we’re encountering traffic delays related to the fog. Should be just a couple of moments, we appreciate your patience.”

A few moments later, I check behind the open cockpit door and see both Jake and Applejack walking in.

“What are you doing??”

“Sorry, wanted to move up at the last second.” Applejack responds.

“Same here.” Jake adds.

“Belt up quickly, please.”

“Northwest 6902,” tower calls a few minutes later, “fly runway heading to 5,000, then turn right heading 040. Runway 25, cleared for takeoff.”

“Cleared for takeoff runway 25, runway heading to 5,000, then turn right 040, Northwest 69-02.”

Brakes on, set takeoff thrust.

Throttles set. Gauges in the green.

Brakes off. Rolling.

80 knots.

V1

Rotate.

V2

Positive rate, gear up.

400’ AGL, autopilot on. Flaps 10.

Stabilizing. Climb speed and thrust set by autopilot.

“Northwest 6902, contact departure, au revoir.”

Flaps up.

“Over to departure, Northwest 69-02.” “Paris (sic) departure, Northwest 69-02 off Le Bore-zhay, 3,200 climbing 5,000.”

“Northwest 6902, De Gaulle Departure, bienvenue. Climb and maintain FL130.”

“FL130, 69-02.”

“Alright, that’s the top of the fog.” I say as I get blinded by the sudden change in light. “Tops at about 7,800.”

“Noice.” Dash says as she adjusts the pressurization system to ensure ΔP stays within parameters.

“Same drill as last.” I say to the rest of the cockpit. “Once we reach cruise, I’ll tag up with each of you and you can monitor the airplane as necessary. I’ll probably take control back about an hour or two before landing. Incheon is expecting us at about 11 AM local.”

Instead of going straight to the crew rest module, I decide to walk up and down the lower deck. I’ve had a lot on my mind, and suffice it to say, most of uneasiness around it all has manifested itself as queasiness.

As I pass by each unit and cluster to check their security, I ponder of each unit in active use for a frightening moment. Amidst this shambolic crisis, I wonder how many lives these machines have mingled with. How many people used them? Relied on them to sustain their life? It’s pretty heavy stuff.

In any case, after about 10 minutes, I head for the crew rest chamber and settle into one of the bunks, letting out a straggle yawn before closing my eyes.

When I wake up, I slowly emerge from the chamber and head for the cockpit. Seated and either asleep or engrossed in a device or a book are all but Celaeno and Applejack.

A few steps later, and Rainbow Dash emerges from the lavatory.

“Hey Max. You’re up early.”

“Guess I only needed a power nap.”

“You were out for about three hours. Celaeno’s monitoring with AJ.”

“Are you gonna go rest then?”

“I guess. I’m not tired though, so I can stay if you want me to.”

“You can do what you want. Celaeno’s rated in your current type(s), so she should know what she’s doing.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean. I have crew members who can help besides you. If you want to sleep, I trust Celaeno.”

“So do I. We spent the last hour talking about the 767.”

“Speaking of, I know it’s been a while since our last lesson, since you’ve been busy training future Blues.”

“I know. When do you think my checkride will be?”

“Well, given our progress, extra remedial to regain proficiency, and a date by which to test, you could be looking at your checkride to carve out… a 4-6 week block?”

“Really? That long?”

“It’s been how long since you last flew the thing? She isn’t exactly an easy flier.”

“Yeah… you’re right… I wanna test on the 757 though.”

“Figured you would. Anyway, I should probably check on this bird before I decide to return to slumber again.”

“Aight, later.” She finishes with a fist bump.

“Well, guess who’s back. Back again?” I say as I enter the cockpit.

“Howdy, Sugarcube.” AJ calls from the right seat. “Nothin’ to report. Smooth sailin’.”

“ATC not giving you any grief?”

“No. Only thing would be the occasional traffic reports. Surprisingly chatty in this part of the world.”

“Moscow? Er… no, Leningrad.”

“Did you want to take back control?” Celaeno asks a few short moments later.

“Would you like to keep monitoring?”

“I can. I’ll leave it up to you.”

“How comfortable are you for the foreseeable flight? It’s nothing but Russia until we hit Mongolia, then China.”

“I’ll stay here until you return again.”

“No problem at all.” I say as I leave the cockpit, seeing Applejack’s travel bag open on the jumpseat.

Out of a slight urge to keep my physicality up in the long-haul environment, I take a walk up and down the aisles again. A couple of straps have shifted, so I re-secure them as necessary. When I reach the back of the plane, I get a good look at the emptied galley (for weight purposes of course) and think back to when this aircraft was in active service, both with Minneapolis and Atlanta.

Before too long, I decide to return to the crew rest module and find Applejack waiting for me.

“Hey Max, can I bunk up in here?”

“Yeah. I don’t have a problem with it. Top or bottom?”

“Top’s fine.” She responds climbing up to it.

“You have the WiFi password, right?”

“Yea, I do.”

“Cool.”

A few hours later, I wake up again, finding Applejack fast asleep on her side, facing away from me. Her hat is covering her face, so I chuckle as I watch her breathe peacefully but for a few seconds before I return to the cockpit.

Inside, only Celaeno is monitoring, so when she notices me, she says,

“Oh, glad you’re back.”

“You’re finally free.” I say as she relinquishes control back to me.

Sitting back in the left seat, I readjust just in case I have to fly manually before Jake unceremoniously shuffles into the right seat.

“Oh, hello there.” I respond with an almost memeatic mock-Glaswegian, or maybe it’s Edinburgh. I don’t know.

“Thanks for doing this.” He says after he puts the headset on.

“Happy to help.”

“You made the excellent choice to use one of the ex-Northwest birds. I’ve always been a huge fan of the airline.”

“Got any memorabilia?”

“No. Just memories.”

“Favorite livery?”

“Bowling Shoe. Easily. I absolutely love the retro style.”

“Seems to be the trend these days. Nissan, BMW, even Coca-Cola [Classic].”

“True.”

When we pass the halfway point, Jake leaves the cockpit and Dash comes in to take her place.

“So, how’d you meet this… Jake from San Bruno?”

“When I have to stay in San Diego, we meet up when we can and play soccer with a bunch of other guys. It started as him and another friend, but eventually, the two of us got talking and recruited a bunch of other guys. Gotta pass the time, you know?”

“Of course. I never spend any time down there since I’m always fixin’ to beat traffic, but it’s nice to know I might have incentive to put them back on the radar.”

“Sort of. Since I’m in Miramar, it’s a little less San Diego. It’s time to select future Blues, so this arrangement is only temporary.”

“Fair enough. Your group go against others?”

“Nah. It’s all pickup games. Some days you get some, some days others. That’s the fun of it. No one’s competing for money, no one’s trying to make a career out of it. It’s purely recreational.”

“Well, knowing you, you’d find a way to turn it into a competition.”

“Not really. With all this collective tension brought on by the pandemic, most of us understand that these activities are to help alleviate the tension.”

“This pandemic really has changed people.” I mutter to myself. “What’s your post?”

“I play left back.”

“And Jake?”

“Center Attack Mid.”

“He’s the playmaker?”

“Not per se. None of us really play a full strategy, if you know what I mean, so since no one squad is ever really the same, it’s more of an on-the-field read.”

“Interessant.” I reply in anglicized Deutsch. “Sounds like you’re always in for a good time.”

“Well, no. With all the public parks closed, we don’t meet anymore, though a bunch of us keep in touch.”

“That’s nice.”

“You should join us sometime.”

“If you want to guarantee yourselves either a loss or a bad time.”

“Why do you always have to compare yourself?”

“Because it’s how I was raised. ‘One is only as good or bad as those surrounding them.’”

“That’s the law of averages, not the weakest link.”

“Which I would be. Besides, it’s not like the other people who play with you would want some wannabe on their team.”

“What position do you play?”

“Either goalie or defense. I don’t have any goalie gear though, so I always play off or away from the ball.”

“Can you take PKs?”

“I never have, but I’m always itching to try. No one’s ever considered me though.”

“GKs can take PKs.”

“I know. I had a friend who did just that on varsity. The same one who said I shouldn’t play because I’m not really that good at soccer.”

“Dude, fuck him! Just because you’re unproven on a soccer field doesn’t mean you’re ‘not that good.’”

“I literally have zero equipment. Closest thing you’d find are cleats for baseball and [American] football.”

“Stop making excuses.”

“I don’t play soccer. That’s the long and the short of it.”

“Well, what sports do you play?”

“I played baseball and football, plus basketball mostly against my will.”

“Against your will?”

“Parents signed me up for a kids’ league, even though I didn’t want to. Football, same story, except I wanted to do that. But it was flag ball, so…”

“Lame.” She responds dryly.

“I really was. Then again, you’re also talking to one of the nerds of his high-school class.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“63,360.”

“What?”

“Inches in a mile.”

Instead of smiling, she groans, rolls her eyes, and leaves the cockpit.

“Northwest 6902, descend and maintain FL300. Radar vectors to Incheon, standby for approach.”

“FL300, vectors to Incheon, Northwest 6902.”

Figuring I don’t really need Dash here with me, I do as much of the descent checklist as I can solo before Celaeno comes in with a couple of her crew members.

“Welcome,” I greet dryly, “we’re in the initial descent. Hope you enjoyed your time napping and/or here in the cockpit.”

“Appreciate the opportunity,” Celaeno says with a nod.

“Aye.” Boyle adds. “The Queen lives another day.”

“Thank Jake, it was his idea.”

50.

40.

30.

20.

10.

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

60 knots, disengage reverse thrust.

“Northwest 6902, D6 D, hold short at position 33 and shut down, we will tow you to your spot for security reasons.”

“D6, position 33, and we’ll shut down, Northwest 6902.”

“On behalf of your Southern California based Captain and… Pensacola-based first officer along with your additional flight crew based in Los Angeles, welcome to Seoul Incheon International Airport.” I say after turning from D6 onto D. “The current weather is 26°F, mostly cloudy skies, and a light southeasterly wind. For your continued comfort and safety, please remain seated until we have come to a complete stop and the seatbelt sign has been turned off. Per ATC instructions, we are shutting down and then getting towed to our gate, so please remain seated until the seatbelt sign is turned off. It’s certainly been a pleasure to serve you this morning, and we hope to see you on a future flight. Thank you so much for your patronage, welcome to Seoul.”

Once parked, Celaeno and I do the shutdown list with the APU on.

A few moments later, a tug comes and mates. The operator then pops open a panel and hooks up an audio cord.

“안녕하세요 (Annyeonghaseyo.)”

The operator only responds with, “감사합니다 (Gamsahabnida)” before I hear him radio to ground.

“Ground, Korean Air Tug 2, ready.”

“Korean Air Tug 2, tow approved as assigned.”

“Tug 2.”

In about 5 short minutes, we park, I meet an air stair at the airplane, but upon the entry of the lineman, he climbs aboard and upon seeing the cargo, his face changes to a look of shock then quickly says “excuse me” and takes the air stair back.

A few minutes later, he returns with a few more men and bows this time, along with the others. However, they remain on the ramp and don’t enter the aircraft.

I bow courteously to the group then go fetch Jake, who then emerges from the lavatory drying his hands.

Unfortunately, Jake doesn’t speak Korean, or any of the rest of us for that matter. In spite of that, the crew chief, who speaks the most English out of the others, then asks me to hook up external power, which I approve, so I head to the cockpit to turn off the APU.

When we both return to the ramp, the two of us along with Jake say that the contact for receiving our cargo here is on her way over here. When the lineman relays that to his colleagues, they all nod in agreement then return to the terminal.

The crew chief however, remains with us, so I invite him in so he can see the arrangements again. Since all the units are on wheels, besides the fact he changed from stairs to a ramp, I do give notice of the contents in overhead bins by lowering the two that mark the boundary of loaded bins, followed by all the rest between them.

By the time we return to the door, the chill has reached the cabin to the point where the others voice their discomfort.

“Can you come with me to terminal?” He then asks both of us.

We both affirm and follow the lineman in, granting permission to close the door provided someone can watch for us when we return.

My Illinois blood is working wonders, as despite only bearing a standard short-sleeved shirt, I feel not even the slightest discomfort. Jake however has a hoodie over a sweater on top of, or rather, all underneath, a trench coat and is still shivering.

Fortunately, it’s not too far to the cargo terminal, and upon our entry, we’re led to a “public” lobby, which is to say a separate from the sorting floors and the “inner workings” of the terminal.

“Jake!” A woman’s voice exclaims a few moments after we arrive. The two of them share a hug before she introduces herself to me.

“Hi, I’m Joy.” She says extending her hand.

“Max.” I reply by extending mine, but supporting my forearm just below the wrist and shaking it, giving a small customary bow, seeing as how despite local customs, she isn’t really observing them.

“Did you fly the ventilators here?”

“I did. Jake was our contact in Paris.”

“And she’s our contact here in Seoul.” Jake fills in.

“Oh, perfect!” I exclaim as she beams in response.

She then asks the lineman if someone can get the release paperwork. He then bows courteously and runs to fetch presumably his supervisor.

Not long after, two gentlemen return, to which Joy then introduces us.

“Max, this is our customs agent. He’ll be supervising the process of unloading. He’s ready, and all the paperwork is ready for the three of us to sign.”

“Right this way, sir.” I respond leading everyone else back.

A couple of knocks, and Applejack opens the door for us. The whole crew then steps aboard as Celaeno and her crew undo all the straps and hooks.

“Can we unload from the back of the plane first and go back to front?” I ask Joy, who translates.

Everyone then complies, so we all head for the back.

After about 40 minutes, we get everything offloaded. Jake, Joy and I all sign for the cargo as proof of release, and once all the cargo is set on the floor of the cargo terminal, everyone thanks each other, and with a final handshake from both Jake and Joy, I give them each my card for future contact or in case of any other issues, then complete a bit of paperwork for the airplane, since we’ve operated into a SIDA secure area (requiring full TSA clearance), submission to a background check is required, since I did have to leave the airplane.

When I finally return to the airplane, I ask if everyone is comfortable quarantining in Hawaii. None really object, but also express their preference to bypass quarantine. For that reason, since we’re heading to VCV to keep costs down, our AOE will be… not in the USA.

As we take on fuel, of which we’ll need plenty for the transpac journey, I call and confirm an appointment in 9 1/2 hours at none other than YVR.

“We’re home.” I say once we park and shut down at VCV, hooking up external power as quickly as possible, a job for AJ and RD.

Once hooked, Dash runs to fetch the fuel lorry, returning in almost a flash. I just for kicks drain the last of the fuel in the tanks since I don’t plan on using her for awhile. So, after we clean sweep, we unhook external power, tow her off the stand, and mothball her in the same spot we got her, next to all her sister ships.

“Well Max,” Celaeno says removing her own hat, “I must say I’m very impressed. I expressed confidence in leasing aircraft from you, and I can say with full confidence now that we all look forward to your help in expanding our operation.”

“I’m very glad you feel that way.” I respond with a tip of my hat. “Do you have accommodations for the night?”

“We do. We’re staying with Rainbow.”

“All’a youse staying in Palm Springs?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow responds. “I’ll get the van started.”

“Good looks. I’m in no rush to get you to my other airport to show you my offerings, so I’ll leave our departure up to you.”

“We can afford to wait awhile. Most of us live near L.A.”

“Whereabouts specifically?”

“Culver City,”

“Torrance,”

“Carson,”

“Inglewood,”

“[and] Hawthorne.”

“Close by LAX then.”

“[It’s] where we were based, before we got shuffled around.”

“I see. Company not provide you with new ones?”

“They let us go. Even before our accident, we were going to be laid off, so we’ve been out of work, but with an increase in cargo traffic due to the pandemic, we have everything we need to begin our own independent operation, except airplanes.”

“Can be done. If you also don’t mind relocating, I can base you out of one of my airports. Probably cheaper for you.”

“We’ll see, but I’d much rather think about it on more energy.”

“Absolutely. Thank you so much for accompanying me.”

“We appreciate the work.”

“I’ll see you soon then.” I reply extending my forearm, exchanging bumps with everyone leaving.

[A] New Lease(s) on Life

“N512AS, no landing information available for Gusty Garden airport, their ATIS is… last reporting information Lima.”

“We’ll get it and relay it back to you if it’s changed.”

“512AS, I appreciate that.”

“Gusty Garden airport information November, 2358Z. Wind 320 at 7. Visibility 9, mist. Sky condition overcast 4,200, scattered 15,000, broken 25,000. Temperature -1, dewpoint -4. Altimeter 29.88. All runways restricted access, prior permission required. Advise on initial contact you have information November.”

“Chicago Approach, Gusty Garden is reporting information November.”

“N512AS, roger. Thank you. Report the airport in sight.”

“In sight, 512AS.”

“Roger, change to advisory frequency approved. IFR flight plan is closed, retain squawk code to landing for flight following. Have a great day!”

“Change to advisory approved, squawk to the ground, same to you, N512AS.”

Below 250, flaps 5.

210 and slowing, flaps 10.

200 or less, flaps 15.

Lower landing gear.

3 green, down and locked.

Below 190, flaps 25.

175 knots, flaps 30.

1000.

100.

50.

40.

30.

20.

10.

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

60 knots, disengage reverse thrust.

Clear of the runway; spoilers down, flaps up, strobes, pulse, landing lights off. Squawk 1200.

“I know it’s late, and the sun has gone down, but I’d like to show you to the terminal where you’d base operations.”

“Sure.”

After we unload, I load up two of my large golf carts with our things, Applejack driving the second one. With an airport about the size of O’Hare, it’s not exactly walking distance.

The terminal in question is a large FBO that was used by general aviation. In its prime, she would’ve seen quite a few operations, and could fit quite a few airliners in the ramp space. An operation like theirs, based on what I’ve been told, will need about this space, maybe even more, though future growth per their own calculations can be dealt with later. With the obvious [teething] troubles of starting new, having at least some base of operations would make sense, at least if it were me.

“I like it. Moving here will be something to get used to though.” Celaeno says upon her first impressions of the building.

“Do you want to leave California? I wouldn’t mind shuttling you.”

“I don’t know. It’s definitely a lot to think about.”

“Oh! I completely forgot. You’re rated in the 757 and 767. Did you express a preference?”

“I did say we want to expand our operation, so we could all just get multiple 757s and split the crew up.”

“I have no shortage of those, or either type actually. I was the one who acquired all of Delta’s Boeing aircraft. You could blame me for them going all Airbus, but they always wanted to, so all I did was rescue the Boeing aircraft.”

“I did wonder why so many Delta tails were sitting around here.”

“Among other reasons. I know you were confident in leasing my aircraft, and I do have plenty of those to go around, and still more coming in. I don’t want to pressure you one way or another, but I must admit: in expressing your confidence for leasing airplanes of mine, I am feeling a little put off by your albeit not-unfounded reluctance.”

“If I didn’t affirm your hopes, yes, we would love to lease airplanes from you, and yes, it makes really good business sense for us to set up a base of operations here. Obviously, this place does need a few homey touches, and it would be a change moving to this part of the country. I personally however am ready to start building the foundation of our new business.

“However, the only thing standing in our way is a restructuring of our business model. With how much cargo we were moving before we were furloughed, there are a few things we have to do for our business before we can make additional affirmations.”

“In that case, help me help you. I know things haven’t gone maybe as quickly as either of us had hoped, but I’m not on a fixed schedule.”

“Neither are we. Dash said that you needed time to recuperate, so we all kind of unwound over the past few days.”

“That is appreciated. Nevertheless, now that we’re here, I can show you my expansive list of available ships tomorrow.”

“Sure.”

Next morning, I find AJ having fallen asleep on one of my couches outside. More or less amazed at how I’m awake before her, I ultimately write it off as jet lag.

Naturally, I leave her to it and get ready for the day. As Celaeno’s crew slept in the old GA hangar, I hope to get a leg up on showing off my available 757s.

Wasting no time getting a super tug running, I tow two 757s to the ramp. One is from Atlanta, and the other… from Dallas. This is one of the 757s that hosted repatriation flights, which along with a few of its sister ships was converted to a freighter. Why the two in particular? Same question I asked Rainbow Dash when she began training with me, Rolls-Royce engines (AA) or Pratt & Whitney (DL).

The sound of my busyness must’ve woken some of the crew up, because they step outside just as I tow the second 757 onto the ramp.

“Good morning!” I call to whomever is standing at the entry door. “I have two available 757 types for you, so the call is yours.

“Rolls-Royce?” I ask pointing to the Chrome-body.

“Or Pratt & Whitney?” I ask pointing to the blue tail.

“Talk to the boss.” A voice I can only surmise as Brutus’ booms back.

“No hurry. Be right back.”

With that, I head back to the former airline terminals to grab breakfast and check on Applejack.

“Mornin’ Sugarcube!” She calls while preparing breakfast with what little ingredients were left in the fridge.

“How could you cook with what’s left in the fridge?”

“I went shoppin’.”

“What car did you take?”

“The white Audi.”

“That’s Rosalina’s car. It was the car she owned when we first met. Surprised she never sent it to her world.”

“Really?” She blushes.

“Yeah. I’m not worried about it, and I don’t think Rosalina would be either. Besides, it does need to be driven.”

“Say… do ya miss her?” She then asks with trepidation.

“Rosalina? Of course I do…” I answer longingly, “and so does she. Matter of fact, despite having the Lumas with her, I think it really hit her hard that she’s unable to return to this world indefinitely. I don’t think at any time since we’ve known each other up until we last talked did I see her cry.

“I didn’t think she would ever get to that point. Even while we were married, she always kept a level head. She’s a lot like you in that respect.”

“I know. We talked a lot when ye were still together. I just hope we can still be friends, ‘cause I kinda feel like she thinks I stole you from her.”

“She doesn’t think that. She wanted a divorce even before we met. She only waited until that holiday season to voice it.”

“Still, I can’t help but feel like I got in between the two of ya.”

“Trust me. You didn’t.” I smile. “Thanks for doing this, by the way. I’m waiting on the final decision for airplanes from my soon-to-be clients. Just waiting on which engine they want powering their fleet.”

“Of course, Sugarcube. Happy to do it. And to finally spend some time with you.”

“Even though most of it was spent either bunked up in the crew rest module or with anyone else but me?”

“You said so yourself: quality time is a love language. Besides, I enjoy seein’ someone at work. As do you.”

“Man in uniform?”

“Sorta, kinda… but not really. It’s excitin’ just to see you fly a plane.”

“Same for me. Obviously.” I reply giddily.

AJ chuckles.

“Ye’r cute when ye’r excited.”

“It’s how I got Rosalina to marry me.

“Not really.” I add after a long enough pause before taking a bite of what she’s prepared and heading back out to the ramp, returning to the GA terminal to find the entire crew waiting for me.

“Have we made a decision?”

“I think…” Celaeno says stepping forward. “Actually, what differences are there?”

“Well, the Rolls-Royce RB211 has a slightly higher thrust rating, provides better climb performance, and a slightly better dispatch reliability. The Pratt & Whitney PW2000 series is quieter, slightly cheaper to operate, and has longer maintenance intervals.”

“Don’t make anything final yet, but I think we’ll stick to familiars. Pratt & Whitney.”

She then looks around at the rest of her crew, who mostly nod in agreement.

“What kind of engines did your 767 have?” I then ask.

“P-Dub (PW).”

“I like it, though you’d be transitioning from 4000 series to 2000 series. -300ER, right?”

“Yessir!”

“Good looks. How many do you think you’ll need?”

“Two to a plane, and I have another mate of mine who can join me, so… five.”

“Very nice.” I reply in a mock Kazakh voice. “Would you like to do a test flight?”

“Sure.”

“Winglets ‘er no?”

“Probably not.”

“I have a slew of Pratt & Whitney that I’m sure you’ll love. Let me get them for you.”

With that, I tow the RR AA off the ramp and fetch another ship in the set of ex-Delta 757s that hopefully will serve this crew and serve them well.

Eventually, after about an hour, I present 5 non-winglet ex-Delta 757-200s. They’ve been sitting for a bit since they were converted into freighters and as such will need a flight or a few to see what they need before they reenter service. To that I call my two trusty mechanics.

“Hello?” Sunny Flare answers.

“Hi Sunny Flare, Max here. How you doin’?”

“Not bad. Just working out a small kink in an FMS computer. And you?”

“I’m not too bad myself. How urgent is that fix?”

“It’s on one of the 787s that came from Norwegian.”

“-8 or -9?”

“-9.”

“If you’re not in the middle of something important with that, would you mind coming to Illinois to work on some 757s? I just brought them out of storage and have clients that want to lease them.”

“No problem. Would it be okay if I brought a friend to keep me company?”

“I don’t mind at all, as long as they’re careful in the shop and you take all your virus precautions. Wouldn’t want any‘a youse getting sick. I’m asking Torque Wrench to come too.”

“Sounds like a plan. When will you be ready for me?”

“I’ll need to talk to Torque Wrench and see when she can come out here, and my clients still have to do the test flights. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“I can make myself available. Just let me know.”

“Will do. Talk to you soon.”

“Alright, bye.”

“Bye.”

“Hello?” Torque Wrench answers a couple minutes later.

“Hey Torque, [it’s] Max. How you doing?”

“Okay. You?”

“Not bad. Say, can you come to Illinois to work on some 757s?”

“Sure! When?”

“I’m not sure yet. I just pulled them out of storage, so my clients need to do a test flight to see what items need to be addressed. Sunny Flare will be on her way here too, so I can shuttle you when the time comes.”

“No problem. Just let us know.”

“Will do, see you soon.”

“Alrighty, bye!”

A few minutes later, Applejack asks me to bring her over, so I whisk her over and get things started with the help of an external power unit.

With one ship running, despite an exit limit of 5, we all pile in, Applejack included, to go for a test flight.

For procedural reasons, I take the left seat just for taxi. Our tentative plan for now, cold as it is, and with the already-padded downturn in travel to Chicago due to up and coming rules about quarantine (only in the city), I think we can confidently do our test flights over Lake Michigan. That’s why when we depart, I’ll communicate with ATC. I know the area well, and assuming an east flow, I think we should be okay. That’s what flight following is for.

“Takeoff flaps 15 for all takeoffs has been my SOP. I’m sure you may find a good time to use flaps 5, but I always stick to 15.”

“We’ve always used flaps 15, so that doesn’t change.”

“Alrighty then. Gauges in the green, flaps and trims set. Lights as appropriate.”

“Thanks again for doing this.” Celaeno reiterates as I get us to runway 1.

“Of course! Happy to show you. My maintenance team will be here to resolve any issues that might come up at the conclusion of all our test flights. That’s why I want you to make sure everything you want and need is on your gripe sheets.”

At the runway, I get the weather just in case we have a tailwind.

“Gusty Garden Airport information Romeo, 2048Z. Wind 350 at 6. Visibility 10. Sky clear below 12,000. Temperature -2, dewpoint -6, altimeter 30.01. All runways restricted access, prior permission required. Advise on initial contact you have information Romeo.”

Switch seats so I can communicate with ATC. Strobes, landing, pulse on. Autopilot armed. Runway heading checks.

Throttles set. Airspeed alive. Gauges in the green.

“80 knots?”

“Check.”

V1

Rotate.

V2

Positive rate, gear up.

Flaps up.

“Chicago departure, N685DA off Gusty Garden, 2,000 climbing 10,000. Request flight following for flight testing over Lake Michigan.”

“N685DA, Chicago departure, received. Radar contact 2 miles north Gusty Garden. Turn right heading 050, remain clear of O’Hare Class B.”

“Clear of the class Bravo, 050, 685DA. If able, can we get a block altitude?”

“N685DA, if you’d like, do you want a pop-up IFR instead?”

Celaeno nods.

“Affirm, 685DA.”

“N5DA, cleared to work over Lake Michigan within boundaries as follows. You ready to copy?”

“Affirm.”

“N685DA, your area is bounded by KUBBS intersection to Pullman – Papa-Mike-Mike, to Muskegon – Mike-Kilo-Golf, to Badger – Bravo-Alpha-Echo, to KUBBS. What block altitude do you request?”

“You choose. I can work with it.” Celaeno tells me.

“Uh, between 11,000 and FL240.” I then request from ATC.

“N685DA, standby.”

“5DA.”

“N5DA, cleared to work in the prescribed area from 15,000 to FL300, airspace necessary for departures off Chicago area airports.”

“Between 15,000 and FL300, N685DA.”

With that, I quickly program the pressurization system to 30,000 feet and the altitude bug armed at 15,000.

“N685DA, proceed direct PIVOT.”

“Direct PIVOT, 685DA.”

I then switch seats with the next crew member to take the right seat. The others then join me in the galley where already the airplane’s in-unit microwave is being put to use. Heating up water for coffee or hot choccy it looks like.

“Everything okay back here?”

Lix responds “no complaints here” on the others’ behalf.

As each crew member does their own little test for the airplane, I follow our position to make sure we’re within our boundaries. As each member moves between seats and takes turns, I monitor our fuel consumption. Though I know the fuel consumption goes way up for a plane like this, at much steeper scalars than other jets, she’s actually quite frugal today, though that may be due to the colder temps and virtually weightless payload, even if we’re all concentrated at the front.

Nevertheless, after about an hour, we return back and I go find the other ships for them. Surprise, surprise, I do a tail count and recall a nice little collection with the common tail suffix ‘Delta-Alpha (DA).’ There are eight of them available, and one of them has winglets, which is the one we just test flew.

After a whole day rinsing and repeating with seven other ships, all of which are winglet-less, our last flight touches down just as the sun sets and civil evening twilight begins.

After we park the airplanes for the night, Applejack climbs into bed with me and almost nervously cozies up to me.

“I don’t bite Applejack. Plus, you’ve been the big spoon before.”

“It’s not that. I’ve just been thinkin’ about some stuff.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Not right now. I appreciate it though.”

Eventually, she falls asleep, and out of respect for both her and stuff going through my mind, mostly about work, I try and fall asleep, to no avail. Instead, I gently get out of bed and head for the kitchen to get some water and run some numbers.

Thanks to the pandemic, my largest source of income isn’t the few hires I’ve gotten. If you’d believe it, it’s the revenue from airlines parking aircraft at all three airports. Worse still, of those that came in for storage, over half of them are not slated to return to service, meaning that their retirement is not only an inevitability, I’m basically relegated to buying them outright or funding/financing their replacements if there are any.

I know what you’re thinking, “how can someone like me be concerned about money?” The answer is simple. Other “ancillary” revenue has all but disappeared.

I don’t make money by hires or parking alone. I own a few companies, and in one case am a majority owner of the shop in Beverly Hills where Rarity and I met for the first time (the founder’s family/estate own the rest). Or the restaurants across Chicagoland that I catered when we all holidayed with Lockie and Melody. I also in collaboration with an enthusiast’s group and a small loan of one million dollars from my business in real estate revived the DeLorean Motor Company. I can’t reveal too much on that for legal reasons.

Brief history on DMC though: after the dissolution of most DeLorean owner’s clubs, only two remained in America. Humble (um-bull, silent H), just outside of Houston, and Huntington Beach, CA, just an hour (or two, traffic depending) from me. While not associated with the original company in the strict sense, there were always hopes amongst the fan base that production would “resume,” but due to various extenuating circumstances, plans got dashed, the company went up for sale, and I became the sole proprietor of DMC IP after the Huntington Beach chapter dissolved and the owner/founder of this incarnation (who ran the Humble club) passed away. I then moved the company out of Texas, where I had hoped to restart the company again in Chicago. After a few failed starts (which the original car was also famous for), the company was resurrected with our base of operations centered in a redeveloped part of the city, whose real estate I entirely control.

Thanks in small part to Chicago’s quarantine laws and out of an abundance of caution, I shuttered the factory and had to furlough about half the company, since our CBA and our internal workers union (to avoid arbitration) decided that furloughs would be more feasible than half-pay with rotating shifts. Same story in Beverly Hills. As Los Angeles County reels in their own issues with the pandemic, I made the executive decision to keep the brick-and-mortar boutique closed and focus all resources on online operations, which has been surprisingly good for a boutique operating by-appointment-only. The real estate business is pretty slow too, even as the market is slowly shifting to buyer’s. The restaurant business is now the one weathering this pandemic the best, but I’m not taking a salary there so employees and delivery drivers (in-house, as we have a catering branch) can maximize their time and avoid furlough, which thankfully has only been part-time workers.

Next morning, I return to bed just shy of 6 am after checking in with the crew. After asking for a frequency list, I get two jets started so they can go for test flights of their own. With nine out of ten present, and that tenth, per Celaeno’s word, available to start work soon, I offer to fill in for that tenth slot.

Eventually, four out of five are up and running, as Celaeno chooses not to fly, instead doing business numbers of her own. I decide to stay in the main residence and find some form of entertainment in the form of television, but alas, no interesting programmes, games, or even an old series to stream feel worth watching, so I look for Applejack.

Eventually, I find her busy on her phone, but she stops what she’s doing when I step in the room.

“Hey, Max. Ye bored?”

“Yeah. Nothing’s speaking to me right now. Four jets just went out for test flights, and I’m not really in the mood to boot up the old tower and its radars. It takes too long and wouldn’t even justify it anyway if all I’m going to do is monitor it.”

“Yeah… I could see why that would be a lot of work fer’ basically nothin’. There is… the other option.”

“And what would that be?” I respond, knowing exactly what she’s suggesting. To that, I walk up to her, pull her close, and kiss the top of her head.

With shades open and our viewing area best oriented towards the rest of the airport, Applejack and I cozy up to each other with a view fit for me, and admittedly only me.

“Now this… this feels right.”

“We’ve done this once before.”

“Yeah, but did you miss this?” She asks as she makes herself little spoon. “I missed this.”

“You were big spoon last time.”

“I wanted ta be the big spoon because you needed to feel safe. Now, you can return the favor.”

“Lucky for you, I prefer to be big spoon, but I don’t mind switching off.”

“Ye’r the best.” She coos before we share a quick peck on the lips.

Our time together is cut short however by the sudden whoosh of thrust reversers followed by a slowing jet rolling into view. Looks like all the test flights are back.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. We were just getting comfortable too.”

“I’ll keep it warm here ‘fer ya.”

When I return, I position the jets so that they can taxi out without a tow. Each of the four jets that took to air today are soon chocked upon request, indicating they’re done for the day.

“If you have anything to put on your gripe sheets, send them my way. Maintenance should be here soon to resolve any issues you might have.”

“Hi, I’m Gamora.” A lady says as she approaches me holding a sign at Los Angeles International.

“Hi, I’m Max. I’ll be your driver on Celaeno’s behalf as well as your pilot to get you to Illinois. I understand you two have worked together previously?”

“Yes we have. We used to fly ourselves bored across borders to deliver cargo and other, usually luxury, goods.”

“Runner?”

“What?”

“Runner. You know, something out of Breaking Bad or Dallas Buyers Club. Do you run that kind of cargo?”

“I wouldn’t know. I was only called to work when no one else was available.”

“I see. Well, I’m just assistance to your colleagues for now. As I am leasing my airplanes to them and providing them a base of operations, it’s all part of a package deal.”

“I hear you’re looking for work too?”

“From who’d you hear that?”

“Word gets around. And Rainbow Dash, by the way, she and I have a pretty good plan I know you’ll love.”

“I’m interested.” I reply with much intrigue, perfectly timed with me beaning the throttle to get onto the 405.

With maps and CarPlay guiding us to Celaeno’s provided address, we roll into a neighborhood that by some people’s accounts would be described as middle class, others maybe less so…

Anyway, I identify Celaeno by the multitude of boxes and things in her driveway along with her flagging us down, so to be quick, I pull over and park the wrong way round so we can load quickly.

Once we all rendezvous, we pack boxes in, but Celaeno grabs one thing before securing her house. She places it in the back with her and says,

“Your place.”

“Illinois now?”

“Yes.”

“Got it.”

Tagalong

“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.

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.

Coca Powder, Cocoa Beach, Mouse’s Mouth

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.

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.’”