ATHENA'S DAUGHTERS: Millie

“Say again, Tower?” Blocker tried to look behind them, a futile exercise given that there were no “rearview mirrors” and the bulk of the aircraft blocked any view they could have had. Times like this Sara missed flying her beloved Super-Stallion, the CH-53E. It was big, powerful, and could get out of the way in a hurry.

The radio crackled again. “Unknown aircraft has landed and rolled to a stop. No comms. Suspect they are in distress. The pilot is waving.”

Sara slowed and turned Christine to face the way they’d come. There before her, on the runway, was a little yellow biplane.

“Is that a tail-dragger?” Blocker gave Sara a disbelieving look.

“Yup, and flying in an open cockpit in this weather. They must be in trouble, or nuts.” Maybe both. Sara keyed the mic button on her yoke. “Tower, I’m guessing they meant to land at Cherry Point for the air show and got turned around or something in the storm, which I’m sure probably also shorted their radios. We’ll taxi up and wave at them to follow us to parking.”

After a long moment of silence Tower responded with their concurrence. Sara taxied forward. The storm began to break up, taking the weird green lightning with it, and by the time they were within waving distance of the two-seater biplane, the rain had all but stopped.

Blocker motioned at the drenched figure in the yellow tail-dragger, and then pointed toward parking in front of base ops. The other pilot nodded and Sara turned onto taxiway alpha, gratefully following the lineman’s illuminated wands directing her where to park.

Time Slip

Shutdown checklist complete, Sara threw her headset and pink covered iPad into her helmet bag and climbed over the center console. She walked back to the door, slightly stooped in the small passenger compartment, followed closely by Blocker.

“Hey, Cheetos, want me to start the postflight while you talk to our mystery pilot?”

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.” Sara had just laid her hand on the door release when it twisted seemingly of its own accord and lowered down before her, turning into steps. A wave of post thunderstorm heat, humidity, and general summer unpleasantness assaulted her.

Their lineman, and the aircraft’s maintainer, Nicole Grace, was waiting for Sara at the bottom of the stairs. As always, she was clad in her blue, grease stained, utilitarian button up, rolled at the sleeves to her elbows, and trousers. Her thin gray eyebrows raised in question. “Any problems with Christine?”

“The ILS couldn’t stay coupled again, but aside from that, nope.” Sara climbed down the stairs carefully. Even with the non-skid on them, they could be slick.

“She’s too stubborn to adjust to all this new fangled automation.” Nicole affectionately patted the top of the plane’s gray painted wing before jutting her chin at the little yellow plane shutting down behind the King Air. “Should I chock the mystery plane?” She held a set of yellow wooden blocks to put around the plane’s tires to keep it from rolling.

Sara nodded and set down her flight gear. She rolled up the sleeves of her Nomex flight suit, and then reached back to pin her long black braid up into a quick bun. Set back to rights, she followed Nicole over to the plane, her eyes eagerly taking in its classic lines.

The plane looked like something straight out of World War I with its enormous single wooden prop-driven engine in front, and sleek, yellow body behind. The twin-stacked wings harkened back to images of early twentieth century wing walkers and barnstormers. The tail curved around in a graceful arc, an open invitation to take the little plane up for a dance in the sky. In Sara’s opinion, anyone who considered these old planes lumbering and ugly was an idiot. This was flying in its rawest, most simple form. Just the pilot, the plane, and the sky. Freedom.