A New World: Chaos (27 page)

Want to know what my thought bubble said at the time –
Fuck you!!! You are the ones who sent me into this god-awful mess!
 
What actually came out was, “Otter 57, unable.”
 
They then came back and said, “Otter 57, you are cleared maneuvering airspace from six to one six thousand.”
 
Yeah, right,
Maneuver! Are you kidding me!
 
If I only could
.
 
My ability to ‘maneuver’ had ceased long ago and the aircraft had lost any functional aspect of the term ‘flying’ and became more like a high speed puppet; pulled this way and pushed that.
 
Oh yeah, did I mention it was raining.
 
I mean, raining inside the cockpit.
 
It was raining so hard, it was coming into the cockpit through the canopy seal, dripping, no, pouring onto my lap and side consoles.
 
Yay me!

After a three hour battle – okay, more like five or ten minutes – and aging twenty years, I was finally given an easterly vector and eventually flew out of the cell.
 
After landing, I crawled out of the cockpit furious.
 
Seems that happened a time or two.
 
One of my buds that had just parked next to me came over and asked me what happened.
 
I was absolutely soaked.
 
“Never mind,” I told him.

“I mean with that,” he said pointing at my jet.
 
I looked back and my heart froze.
 
Every bit of paint from all of the leading edges of the aircraft was gone leaving only the gleaming metal showing.
 
The rain had been so intense that it had stripped the paint off.
 
Yes, I respect thunderstorms!

Other stories flash around in my head, such as the one where my wingman was struck by lightning, but the line of thunderstorms is looming large ahead so I focus on the coming penetration.
 
In the 130, we will maneuver through them as best as we could.
 
I know the aircraft can take just about anything but I hate them nonetheless.
 
After all, the weather chasers would fly 130’s through hurricanes into the eye to get telemetry data so I knew the aircraft could take it.
 
I wouldn’t want to be one of those pilots though and there was one thing I could never understand about them; how they could fit their balls inside the cockpit.

As the sun sinks below the horizon behind us, the Great Lakes appear ahead on our route and slightly south of it; the line of thunderstorms is rising to incredible heights above them.
 
Large cumulus clouds rise above our altitude with even larger, imbedded cells within.
 
Lightning strikes downward against the earth’s surface in a continuous light show.
 
Flashes of light show within and between the clouds; their strobes, in almost continuous intervals, highlight the rising mass.

“Everyone buckle in tight,” I say slowing the aircraft down to 180 knots.
 
“Robert, give me a heading around that monster,” I say pointing directly ahead.

We have turned on the instrument and outside lights and I dimmed my instrument lighting enough to read them clearly.
 
I look over at the NDB – non-directional beacon – and see the needle swing left and right.
 
Another lesson learned from thunderstorms, the beacon needle will point to lightning.
 
One night, I threaded my way under a squall line at low level and at night using the NDB and my mark-one eyeball to show the imbedded cells.
 
That was another time I had to have the seat cushion removed via a surgical procedure.

“Come left thirty degrees,” he replies as I bank the aircraft and we enter the outlying clouds; the sudden turbulence within the billowing clouds bounces us and welcomes us to their domain.

Rolling out, I notice the NDB needle is now swinging to the right with occasional trips to other parts of the compass row.
 
The outside of the aircraft is dark with the exception of flashes of light off to our right.
 
With each flash of light, the outside environment is shown to us like a Polaroid; the propellers caught in mid revolution and the rain frozen in time, each drop stark still yet giving the indication of movement.
 
I turn on the wing lights and check for icing.
 
None.
 
Good
.

We are being bounced around inside, feeling an updraft for a moment only to be dropped downward, the downward motion stopping with an abrupt slam before we are propelled upward once again.
 
My hands are in constant motion making adjustments to the control wheel countering the constant changes in the aircraft’s attitude.
 
It’s very much like riding a high speed roller coaster except the corners, hills, and valleys are squared instead of rounded.
 
I look at the NDB again and see the needle fluctuating between our immediate right and dead ahead.
 
I glance over at Robert and see him silhouetted by the instrument lights, his widened eyes staring outside.

“Robert, the radar!”

He shakes his head and looks down to the scope.
 
“Um, turn right here shortly.
 
There’s a red cell to our right and one ahead.
 
I see some more on the edges of the screen around us,” he says refocusing on his task.

“Okay, let me know when we have enough clearance to cut between the one on the right and the one ahead.”

“Okay.”

A minute or two passes before he says, “Turn right 60 degrees.”

“60 degrees!
 
Are you sure about that?”
 
I ask thinking that will take us too close to the one on the right.

“Yeah, the two are pretty close to each another but there’s yellow in between.”

Oh great, here we go
, I think banking to the new heading.
 
The bank is hard to control as the 130 is being tossed about.
 
I try to anticipate the forces and apply corrections.
 
That is one thing having a few hours of flying time will give you and knowing your aircraft, the ability to tell, almost in advance, what the aircraft is going to do and applying a correction before or just as it happens, negating the opposing force.

I roll out on our new heading and the aircraft is suddenly caught in the grips of the storms.
 
Our initial turbulence nothing compared to the beating we take now.
 
I am barely able to hold our altitude to within a few thousand feet.
 
I pull the throttles back and attempt a descent to a lower altitude keeping the airspeed as close to 180 knots as possible thinking I should have done this prior.

“What are you doing?”
 
Robert asks shakily.

“Descending so a large updraft won’t launch us above our service ceiling.
 
That would be bad.”

I hear a scream, actually a couple of small screams, through the headset as the bottom drops out from under the 130; the kind of drop that tickles the stomach for a seemingly endless period of time.
 
The monstrous drop is followed by a bone-jarring crunch as our descent slams to a stop.

“Well, that’s one way to do it,” I say applying power and leveling off as best I can.

We have just lost 5,000 feet in a single moment.
 
A mile drop.
 
This plane certainly was built well
, I think, thanking the engineers who designed it and amazed the wings are still attached.
 
I am pretty sure, for one split second, that my hips and shoulders became as one; compressing my torso into the size of a dime.

“Come left 45 degrees,” Robert says, threading us around another one.
 
“There’s a little more distance between this one and the one we’re passing.”

Rolling out, I see the NDB needle twitches are mostly off our left wing now with a few to the upper right quadrant.
 
The turbulence, although mighty, has decreased a bit from the roller coaster ride from hell to more like being in a paint shaker.
 
We momentarily fly into open airspace; clouds built up all around and two, very impressive monolithic towers, one to the left of us and one to our right front.
 
These monstrosities are lit by flashes within.
 
We gaze up at them in complete awe before we are immersed in the clouds once again.

Threading our way around three additional large, red cells and feeling like we have been bashed against the side of a cliff repeatedly, we are suddenly launched into clear weather.
 
One moment we were enclosed in the clouds, shaking to bits, and the next, thrown out of the system, emerging on the other side.
 
The turbulence slows and then stops altogether, the drone of the engines filling the sudden silence, the 130 shakes it off and continues its harmony with the skies as if nothing happened.

“Fuck me,” I say breathlessly, pushing the throttles up to accelerate back to cruise airspeed.
 
We had only been in the thunderstorms for about thirty minutes but it seemed like an eternity.
 
I am coated in sweat and am pretty sure I will need to visit a proctologist to remove the seat cushion.
 
“Good job everyone.”

I glance out the windows to the wing on my side looking for damage.
 
Looking back over the wing, the storm continues to flash mightily as if angered we got away.
 
The moon is out and reflects on the cloud tops with the thunderstorm anvils reaching out towards us.

“Check the wings on your side for any damage Robert,” I say after verifying that everything looks fine on mine.

As he glances out and behind him, I look up to the pressurization gauge.
 
It still reads 10,000 feet and steady.
 
Good.
 
No leaks so the fuselage looks to be intact
.

“All good over here,” Robert says and I turn off the wing lights.

Once we intersect our course, I set the autopilot.
 
“I’m going in back for a look around,” I say unbuckling from the seat.

“Dad, I have to go to the bathroom,” Bri says.

“Me too,” says Nicole.

“Okay, you two come with me.”

They unbuckle and we head into the back.
 
I turn on the interior cargo light and inspect the inside after showing them the toilet.
 
All appears normal with the exception that some of our supplies have been tossed loose.
 
While Bri is in the screen-enclosed toilet, Nic and I gather the stuff we can see and put them back as best as we can.

“Dad.”

“Yeah, hon,” I say stooping over to pick up a water bottle that has rolled loose and looking up to her.

“Thanks.”

“For what, hon?”
 
I ask standing up with said water bottle in hand.

“I was terrified and thought we were…. Well, just thanks.
 
I am really glad you’re my dad.”

You know, I live to just hear that line.
 
That makes my whole life justifiable to hear that and my eyes well up with tears.
 
“Hon, I’m the lucky and fortunate one to have been able to be your dad.”

She steps over and wraps her arms around me, burying her head in my shoulder.
 
I fold my arms around her and feel her shake as she releases the emotion of the storm passage and the events of the past few days.
 
That is my Nic, in all of my life with her, it is a rarity to see her cry and that is usually only a silent sob and the shedding of a couple of tears.
 
I hear the curtain swing back, “What’re you guys doing?”
 
Bri lightly asks stepping out.

Nicole steps back and I release my arms from around her.
 
“Nothing, babe.
 
Just picking some of this stuff up,” I say as Nicole starts for the bathroom.

“Are you okay, Nic?”
 
Bri asks, half turning to follow her as Nic passes by her.

“I’m fine, Bri,” responds Nic turning her head toward Bri but continuing to the toilet and pulling the curtain closed.

“Help me with the rest of this please, Bri,” I say.

She turns back toward me and starts fishing loose items off the floor with an occasional glance toward the curtains and Nic.
 
Those two have always been close.

With Nic finished and the loose items stowed, at least as many as we could find and gather, we head back to the cockpit, settling in our seats for the final hour and a half to our stop.
 
I attach the night vision goggles to my helmet and brief Robert on what to do if we have to resort to a night vision approach.
 
Basically, he is to read out the airspeed and altitude on the radar altimeter.
 
The radar altimeter gives a reading on feet above the ground when we are within 2,000 feet.
 
The altimeters are basically worthless down low as we don’t know what the local altimeter setting is.
 
I will be looking out front for the runway with my instrument lights turned down.
 
Night vision goggles aren’t the best for depth perception so it is important for Robert to call out the instrument readings so I can assimilate what I see with what he tells me to better present a three dimensional picture, although my hope is to be able to just use the landing lights and the GPS.