An instrument that displays the degree of pitch or bank of an aircraft relative to the horizon.
* * *
César
"I think," Captain Jesús Villamor, the squadron commander of this celebrated Sixth Pursuit Squadron of ours, started out of the blue late that night of the eleventh.
With the remaining people in our squad who remained here in Batangas, almost halved when some others were in Manila, we've just finished our dinner and somehow found peace in moments as this for some late-night games over cards or talks watching the open sky right next to the runway of this provincial airfield—just a few meters away from the hangars that sheltered the remaining six Peashooters we have brought along with us from Zablan earlier today, and from the barracks itself.
"I have always been a dreamer," he added as he almost absent-mindedly watched Lieutenant Carmelo Ortiz shuffling the deck of cards after the early finish of the previous game a minute or two ago. "Paniguradong hindi lang ako. Kaya nga tayong lahat ay nagpiloto."
No one from the group—roughly twenty airmen and more or less forty or fifty mechanics are gathered right now—had replied back. Even though there's only about ten of us in the current table of a game, the others who are also playing their own rounds, stop and grow silent at that, except for the small shuffle of cards thrown and arranged.
It hadn't been always this quiet. A week ago, Batangas Airfield is full of the entire squadron—about almost half a thousand—everyone in high spirits, roaring with their friendly bets, rousing everyone to the entertainment of drinks and laughter. Now, even the series of card games had been too quiet for everyone's liking, but no one is also in the mood of trying to lighten the mood.
"Ganoon ba 'yon, kapitan?" Lieutenant Federico Reyes inquired after taking a puff of his smoke, seated on the nearby other table. "Na masyadong malalawak ang mga imahinisyon natin kaya natin pinili mag-piloto?"
"Hindi ba?" Capt. Villamor counters as Carmelo starts to distribute the cards for another round.
I slightly raise a hand, halting Carmelo from handing me a series of cards my own, as I push myself up from my seat that seems to cause all others to turn at my direction, waiting for me to definitely say something as an excuse. It never become as awkward as this most of the time, but with everyone being the way we all are right now... "Kukuha lamang ako ng maiinom. At mag-uunat-unat lang din saglit."
"Basta 'wag lang alak, 'oy," reminds Capt. Villamor back at me. "Ayaw kong magpaliwanag sa mapapangasawa mo na alak na ang dumadaloy sa katawan mo kaysa dugo."
I smile sheepishly. "Naiintindihan ko, kapitan."
With that, as I leave the rest of the group, heading on to where I am really after for some drinking water, I heard Capt. Villamor once addressing the issue back at Federico regarding his earlier statement. However, it seems like I've been quite too far away already to hear whatever contradiction Federico or the others will be having.
But it seems like something to reflect on as well. In a sense, I will actually agree with his words—that pilots are dreamers. For most people, the sky is the limit; but for us, it is limitless. There are too many possibilities being up in the air, and I think that it is that curiosity of mine that actually lead me to this path.
After all, for the past two years that I've trained and received my wings, I've been always asked. My first interrogators had been my own parents, certainly surprised of my sudden intention to be a pilot myself when I am starting my last year as a chemistry student at that time. I think, they never predicted that I'll turn my back to chemistry—of course, no one thought of that plot twist in my life—but I guess, I'll only be fooling myself if I'll be lying that the sky never fascinated me as a kid.
It is like some sort of my life's greatest mystery about what separates man to be stuck on earth, and be deprived of flight. It's like the safest haven for whatever things I'll be wishing to escape from here.
And yet, it become and will be my own battlefield. That fighting over Bataan Peninsula just yesterday... it thrilled my nerves. There is no denying that the adrenaline is kicking that proves to me that I am alive. I've never felt it from any previous flights, and though every take-off and landing and everything between are moments of life and death... fighting against those Japanese planes is a different matter. Only when it ended and I managed to land the plane that I thanked the earth beneath me and realized that I was actually very scared.
Flying never felt like that at all. Even on the first logged minutes that turned to hours, then to the solo ones, then to the mock dogfight trainings from before... I think it take Japanese planes to actually make me really be afraid of the thought of flying itself.
Though I know that it is starting to settle in my mind slowly, since the rumors that the war is about to reach the Philippines... I told myself back then, when it finally arrived that, "It will be a huge war. I will not be back."
And I guess it is my selfishness to fight against it and dare all hope to survive. Because of (Y/N).
Consider me truly not being the dutiful son. I never think of myself to be one, as I've always been a thorn at my parents' side with my recklessness and stubbornness—deciding to fly being the absolute contradicting sorrow. But with (Y/N), the woman who've caught my eye since that first meeting, all the while I am beginning my journey as a pilot... I want to make it back to her.
I know that most pilots always carry an image of the Sacred Heart or the Blessed Virgin. Others are even pinning it against one instrument reading—mostly against the fuel tank gauges as it is usually not reliable, but also not when the readings are having too much when there's fire, and having too less when there's no best landing spot. Of course, I have my own as I keep on with my faith. My mother ensures that I'll have it as the center of my decision, and I always keep a rosary closest to my heart.
But like most pilots, too, I always carry a portrait of hers. After receiving those photos we have taken together, it is always there against my chest. I don't need any further reminders of her, because every movement of my hands, I know that she's always with me. She had me for so long already that all that matters is to physically be with her.
And the only way for that is to survive. That's why, I hug her tight against my quivering and scared frame; and it is strange for how she can make me feel safe. That's why I kiss her—without any preamble, without any warning, without any permission; without even deciding or thinking to do it at all, but simply because I couldn't have done anything else at that moment. I need that breath she is holding; as it belongs to me, and I want it back.
I tousle my hair, light up a cigarette, huff a smoke and with closed eyes, crane my neck to the sky. Wanting to find this night and tomorrow to once be over, and make it back to being selfish for just a day and two without this selfless part of my brain telling me that this is more than just a duty that I need to serve for the country but an honor that binds me to think of the future. Slowly, I open my eyes to watch the stars that twinkle in the darkness with the half-moon hanging above.
"(Y/N), (Y/N), (Y/N)," I hear Antonio saying in an almost song-like manner as he draws closer to where I am, causing me to turn to him with an amused frown. He laughs, definitely upon seeing my reaction. "Kahit hindi mo sabihin ngayon, alam kong siya ang iniisip mo."
"Anong ginagawa mo rito? Natalo ka na naman ba ulit kanina sa baraha?" I inquire, avoiding the discussion.
"Sabi mo kasi iinom ka lang at mag-uunat-unat," he answers before taking a cigarette from that of his own, lighting himself one as we stand just outside the mess hall, meters away from where the others are gathered at one of the hangars, and with a still good vantage view of the calmed down wind cone at the end of the well-trimmed field of the runway. "Tapos nagiging masyadong pilosopo na ang mga tanong habang naglalaro; sumasakit lang lalo ang ulo ko kaya sinukuan ko na rin."
"Hmm... Paniguradong marami-rami ang magiging kwento ni Manny tungkol doon. 'Yon naman ang gustong-gusto ni Geronimo."
"At mas magandang damayan ka sa iyong pangungulila ngayon."
"Pinaalis mo rito si Clara? Nabanggit sa akin nila Jose kanina. Pinasama mo raw pabalik ng Maynila."
He sighs heavily, a little bit embarrassed and disappointed about it. "Kahit bombahin kasi ang Maynila ngayon, halata na ang intensyon lamang ng mga Hapon ay 'yong mga airfield. Kung ganoon, hindi rin magtatagal na susunod na rin dito. Para akong tanga, ano? Pinadala ko siya kung nasaan ang gitna ng labanan; pero paubos na kung ano pa man ang natitirang lakas ng pwersa natin sa norte. Pinurga na nga nila, 'di ba, ang Cavite Naval Yard simula pa kahapon hanggang kaninang umaga? Palapit na sila rito. Or rather, this is definitely their next target."
I know that. And hearing it from another only makes it much more real.
He draws closer and claps me lightly on my back. "'Wag ka mag-alala, paniguradong bukas pa lamang ay papabalikin ka na rin ni SC sa Maynila. Ikakasal ka na, kaya tanggap ko na wala pang isang araw noong huli kayong magkita at halatang si (Y/N) pa rin ang iniisip mo. At paniguradong maging bukang-bibig."
I chuckle lightly. "Natural lamang na siya ang isipin ko, at ang maging bukang-bibig ko. Gano'n din naman ang turing mo kay Clara, hindi ba?"
"Oo." At that, he suddenly frowns as he looks at me intently. "Pero, tangina, César. Bakit... Putangina, kinilabutan kaagad ako. Bakit ngayong tinititigan kita... at noong sinabi mo 'yon... bakit parang pakiramdam ko na hindi si (Y/N) ang iniisip mo? Bakit parang may iba kang iniisip?"
"Tangina mo rin. Sa tingin mo ba may iba pa akong babaeng iisipin pwera kay (Y/N) at sa nanay ko?"
"Hindi kasi iyon. Makinig ka nga sa akin ng maigi, tapos putangina, minura mo pa talaga ako. Seryoso kasi. Hindi ko naman sinabi na may iniisip kang ibang tao, ang sinasabi ko ay parang may iba kang iniisip."
"Ang gulo mo namang kausap."
"'Yong seryoso kasi, César. Naramdaman ko rin 'yon na may bumabagabag sa iyo; hindi lang dahil gusto mo uminom o mag-unat o manigarilyo dito at nauwi tayo sa pag-uusap na ito. Ano talaga 'yon? Dahil 'yon sa biglaang sinabi ni kapitan, ano?"
I stare back at Antonio, and now that he asks the question, it feels like he had been much more honest than I actually am. It is strange and almost scary to admit that I feel like something ominous suddenly becomes attracted with me; that if I am to repeat Capt. Villamor's words myself—I think I have always been a dreamer—it sounds to be the truth.
He didn't say anything at that, and only looks back at me, frowning as well.
"Sa kabila ng napakarami kong pangarap sa buhay. Minsan," I begin, before correcting myself. "No, rather... I suddenly feel like I am running out of time."
"César!"
"Hoy, Basa!"
Both I and Antonio freeze at that, clearly surprised at the sudden voice that interrupts us. We slowly turn to the direction from where we heard the voice, and we definitely come across the other end of anger itself—for Capt. Villamor crosses the distance between from where he is to us, visibly furious as he definitely catches the end of our conversation.
"K-Kapitan," mutters Antonio, even though the said anger is not thrown to him but to me.
Capt. Villamor, despite his height—about five feet and three or four inches, roughly half a foot shorter than I do—is someone that I both feared and admired. There is no denying about my admiration, or even that of the others' with his skills, courage and command; however, in terms of fear, it is in moments that we feel that way when he don't assert his rank, but much more of his concern. Perhaps, it takes quite a lot of his self-temper not to decide in punching me squarely, and instead, manages with a rather hard shove. It didn't result much given that in terms of physical strength, he knows that I am superior.
"Anong pinagsasabi mo diyan, ha?" His eyes flash in anger. "Magkakalapit lang tayong lahat ng edad dito, tapos nagagawa mong sabihin 'yan kahit na mas matanda pa ako sa iyo? Hoy, umayos ka talaga, César Basa. All of us are too young to feel that we're running out of time!"
Almost behind Capt. Villamor, I notice Antonio biting his lower lip and shaking his head. I know that even if Capt. Villamor will not be cutting in with this conversation of ours, it will be his job order to do so and knock some sense in me. Probably, he already throws the punch.
However, I am in no mood to contradict what I've said. It is my honest feeling. I've never shied away from the truth; no matter how frank or rude I'll ever be. I always believe that it is better to hear the cruel reality than to be blinded by the beautiful lie. And I think, one of the reasons I am having such delusions as that is because of how things appear to be going on with everyone else ever since the war started.
True, everyone seems to have grown and become quiet, whispering among ourselves our questions and ideas and predictions. The advent of the war definitely caused all of us to wake up from the peaceful days and realize that it is time to finally test our practice and skills to the battle. And despite that, it is strange that nobody particularly is talking about life or death; when those are the very evident choices alone right now.
Knowing that whatever words I'll be saying will definitely only cause such a strained argument, I decide to keep my mouth shut. For the first time, I didn't try to explain myself with the truth itself, deciding then to bury it and let the future make predictions of what actually lead to all of my choices.
Even Capt. Villamor and Antonio didn't say anything more about it, and by the time that the captain somehow eased down, he tells me that I better be up early tomorrow morning to be assigned for a reconnaissance flight; and after that, I'm off back to Manila.
The thought of returning to Manila—to be reunited with (Y/N)—excites me and fills me with hope. As I laid down that night wearing my flight suit and shoes, just like all others do for any event of sudden attack in need of response, taking then that portrait of hers, my only thought is that it didn't do her beauty and warmth of any justice; that I all decide to keep so close to me in memory. And for that night, I dream of everything that she ever is.
* * *
I am up fifteen minutes before sunrise, and decide to sneak out quietly of the barracks to be greeted by the still dark sky, slowly brightening from the mountains on the east. One of the things that I hate concerning flying, despite the presence of goggles, is when it is necessary to fly at the direction where the sun is; hence, for this morning, I'll definitely need to take note of whatever route I'll be wishing to take. Good thing that I also take along with me that of my flight computer and navigation log to the lounge. Already there, sipping some coffee and listening to the latest news from the radio are Capt. Villamor, as usual, and Geronimo, who is the officer of the day. They aren't talking, intently listening on whatever worse news could be heard from compared to yesterday, and all we manage to do are an exchange of nods in greeting.
I also head to the far table where some coffee could be brewed, and all the while waiting for that of my drink, I head on to recover a sectional chart and plotter from the drawer. Afterwards, I settle on the table, laying down the Southern Luzon and Northern Visayas chart before working on with the plotter, logging down possible navigational waypoints to later work on with it through the flight computer. And as I do work, I can't help keeping my ears attuned to the series of news.
"Cavite Naval Yard is finished," the announcer remarks. "The Japs had set their eyes on the continuous bombing of Iba and Clark Airfields, and Olongapo; they've been doing so for four days already. Nichols and McKinley weren't spared as night bombings continued last night."
"César," Capt. Villamor calls for me this time, causing me to stop for a second and turn to him. "'Wag ka mamalagi sa norte. Kung pupunta ka patungo sa may Manila Bay, hanggang Nasugbu ka lang. Mas kinakabahan ako sa magiging aksyon ng mga Hapon na ito kung magmumula sa may timog o 'di kaya sa silangan sa may Bicol."
I look down on the charts for a moment, and nod. "Hanggang Ragay siguro, kapitan."
"Mga tatlong oras na lipad iyon," Geronimo remarks.
"At sana, sa loob ng tatlong oras na iyon na nagpapatrol ka, wala kaming mabalitaan mula sa iyo na may namataan kang mga Hapon. God willing." Capt. Villamor sighs and clicks his tongue, he adds, as if remembering the encounter last night, "At para wala kang ibang gawin na kalokohan, tatlong oras lang na gasolina ang dalhin mo."
"Naiintindihan ko, kapitan," I answer; and Geronimo, despite his silence, is visibly curious about what is with that sudden remark from Capt. Villamor himself.
After logging down distances, bearings and highest altitudes of mountains to watch out for, and a quick computation with the flight computer based on the cruising speed of Peashooters at 150 miles per hour, three hours' worth of fuel is enough.
Roughly thirty minutes past eight, after ensuring that my Peashooter is up for the flight with the necessary fuel, I take off with every intention to leave the sun behind for me to head on to the area of Nasugbu first. Less than half an hour, I make a one-eighty back to Batangas, flying south of the airfield to proceed on with the rest of my navigation log—to Batingul Point, crossing the Tayabas Bay with the sight of the Marinduque Island and the Bondoc Peninsula, onward to the Ragay Gulf of Camarines Sur.
Two hours and more lapse. The only company I have had been the constant sound of the engine powering the propeller's rotation, that the absence of any other flying planes is starting to creep through my skin. It's like the stillness or the calmness before a storm. No matter how much I do not want to trouble my mind with thoughts as such, it might not be today, but it'll definitely follow to haunt me.
Or perhaps, I am not the one meant to evade away from that storm as it calls on for me. That upon my return, climbing to twelve thousand feet is what both my selfless and selfish personas decide to do.
(Y/N).
My mind suddenly thinks of her ever so fondly.
I'm on my way home. For the last time.
* * *
Teaser for the next chapter:
[...] But how can anyone blame me? For the past few days, I've lost people that I've known throughout my training, and it had been some sort of an assurance that I am yet to lose someone I share fond memories of to death. Losing them through trauma is equally painful, but I believe that time will heal us; however, death... Death is something that had been too unforgiving. Even for someone who in his strength and youth had been a fellow.
* * *
A/N: Vote, comment and share! Whatever you do means a lot to me, and I am really wishing for some feedback!
Titular chapter and a POV from César! I absolutely enjoyed writing this through that of his, and also those of others... Watch out for it! Something outside from the POV of the Reader, but... yeah. This chapter and the succeeding ones are what I am the most proud of in writing; some sort of a pinnacle moment. For more details about the decision of why I've chosen this title for this chapter and for the entire book, read on for the following Author's Note! But below are a few notes related for this chapter.
And hey, just mentioned about waiting for an IR check ride to you, guys, last chapter, right? Well then, I am having my IR check ride this coming week! On 8-11 August, to be exact, depending on the schedule. I'll surely be informing you of what will happen with me by the next chapter. Wish me immense luck! :>
A few list of notes to share!
1. Capt. Villamor's opening statement in his book, They Never Surrendered, on a respective chapter entitled "Zeros... Zeros... Zeros..." that detailed his flying career and the events that led to the first month of World War II in the Philippines, also started with the same words: "I think I have always been a dreamer." I decided to also incorporate it as the beginning statement for this chapter that has César as the narrator instead of the Reader.
2. Covering the instruments, is that even allowed? Well, will anyone even know that you did? Kidding. During flight training, there are flight instructors who do this because students tend to be fixated with the instruments when one should be on the look-out, especially when flying VFR (Visual Flight Rules). Though there's a rule that a pilot should trust their instruments than depend on their body's feeling, which caused a spatial disorientation. Anyway, yeah. As mentioned, will anyone even know that you did? To let you in a secret, there is a flying school, according to my flight instructors, who have the altimeter (the one that gives the reading of one's altitude) and/or airspeed indicator not working that they cover it instead with an image of Jesus Christ or Virgin Mary? For the sake of propriety, I'll not be dropping the name of the flying school so it is best to ensure that the aircraft of a flying school is, at least, properly maintained.
3. According to timeanddate.com, 12 December 1941 was a half-moon. Hence, the night before, to the naked eye, it was already almost a half-moon. There was a correlation as well about the half-moon being the two sides of the moon itself—the darkness and the light. And at the moment that the moon's phase was mentioned, César had been torn between duty and love. That after a long narration of his excitement with flying, the fear that had been subsequent with his baptism of fire and the thought of leaving the Reader, and that of his determination to survive for the Reader, it all befall once again to him assuring his own decisions to make peace of both his selfish and selfless consciences.
4. Civil sunrise, which begins when the geometric center of the sun is 6 degrees below the horizon, on that day, 12 December 1941, was recorded to be at 06:13 am. Roughly two hours and thirty minutes later, César take-offs from Batangas Airfield.
5. The first sectional chart was published in 1930; in 1937, the full series of the lower 48 US states was completed. Capt. Elrey Jeppesen and his namesake company produced the first instrument enroute charts and approach plates, later coming around 1936. Governments around the world later adopted the standard plate format. It is easy to assume that with the Philippines being under American regime, charts concerning the Philippine airspace are also earlier introduced and made. Though there were a debate whether sectional charts nor world aeronautical charts were first made; upon watching The Forgotten Battle, I notice that they were not using charts but plain maps. But then, just searching for "Aeronautical chart in 1941", and guess what Google showed me first? A sectional chart of the Northern Luzon, Southern Luzon and Visayas. (You can see the said chart at the chapter entitled Photographs.) Hence, it is true that there are aviation maps at that time already. Additionally, along with my expedition at the Philippine Air Force Aerospace Museum, I also found items that pilots have at that time which involved an early version of plotters and flight computers.
6. How come pilots instantly know how long travels will be based on locations alone? It's because we often fly to that waypoint or destination on the aircraft we are accustomed of. With that, we could also calculate the distance and speed and time and fuel consumption. The only thing that will cause a few deviation from such is the presence of the wind, which we can also calculate depending if the wind is a headwind or a tailwind. The very way that I can ascertain that with a C172, cruising at 90 knots, a 2 hours flight is enough for San Fernando, La Union to Vigan and back; a 3 hours flight is enough for San Fernando, La Union to Iba and back or to Laoag and back; and a 5 hour flight is enough for Subic to Vigan and back. I mean, these had been our usual cross-country flights. But I can also attest that a 4 and a half flight for a C172 could also take the route: San Fernando, La Union to Lingayen to Infanta via Zambales Mountains to Iba to Mount Pinatubo via Botolan to Subic via Castillejos to Mariveles to Corregidor to Guagua to Clark to Aringay via San Fabian to San Fernando, La Union.
7. One-eighty back and flying south of station. "One-eighty back" is our own version of a U-turn. And "flying south/north of station" or wherever you may be at the moment is to give a proper separation for aircraft that could be around the area flying VFR for them to take note of your location and for them to be on the lookout if they'll be around the same area, too.
8. It is actually a great question to me how much fuel he actually has. Aside from the three hours-worth of fuel mentioned, my technical mind wants an exact amount of it in gallons. Hence, I made a computation of it based on what I know of. Not to mention that I also made a navigational log of my own for what could be within the three hours-worth of fuel flight. From what I managed to come up, I have a total flying hour of 2 hours and 28 minutes; and as it is heavily assumed that César returned to Batangas with almost fifteen minutes of fuel, this can actually be a rough estimation for everyone involve. Anyway, I hate not knowing how much fuel in gallons he really has at that time. This will be discussed in a much extensive mention for the succeeding chapters to be featured in the chapter entitled Creating the world of AH.
Chapter title: Artificial Horizon. This is to be discussed in the next chapter entitled The Story behind "Artificial Horizon".
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