Death In The Air
Rob McShane
Death in the Air
A Short Story By
Rob McShane
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Death in the Air
Copyright 2014 Robin McShane
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Death in the Air
As the engines roared to life, he wondered, not for the first time, if he was doing the right thing. There had to have been an easier way. Well, he sighed to himself, orders were orders. Frank spoke to the tower and obtained clearance to taxi out to runway two. Hedley was sure there could have been a better way.
“Okay, Hedley,” said Frank, “We taxi out to runway two and we’ll fire up the engines as a sort of a test just before we move onto the runway and get going.”
Privately, Hedley thought that they were already “going” as the 172 was trundling along between the other planes belonging to “Flight Charter 345 Company Limited”. He was also concerned as to why a “sort of a test” was necessary but held his peace. He had agreed and had to now accept his fate.
The 172 was clanking a little as it moved and, already, Hedley could feel the wind attack the craft as if it knew that this flimsy kite was going to invade its space and it wanted to make sure that everyone knew who the boss was and that invasions were only tolerated, not condoned.
Frank explained that he was steering with his feet, using the rudders but Hedley was more concerned about keeping his knees out of Frank's way. His legs seemed too long for the cabin, especially as he had been unable to move the seat far enough back after he had got in. Even that had been a mission, only successful after two attempts, and then only after Frank had suggested that he pull his body up using the handles on the outside of the aircraft and then jump in feet first .
Frank had also laughed about the parachute that Hedley had insisted on wearing. “You’re safer on this plane than you are in your own car,” he had said. But Hedley had insisted. Now Hedley’s feet were in danger of blocking the rudder pedals or his knees preventing Frank from turning the steering handles. He tried to sit cross-legged with his feet away from the pedals and his knees below the steering grips. He was not comfortable.
“Roger, tower.” Frank spoke into his hand held microphone. Hedley wondered why the headset did not plug into the radio and that flashing red light on the console continued to worry him.
“You are fourth in line for runway two foxtrot delta tango thirty five,” said a tinny voice with bursts of static over the radio. “Taxi out and prepare. Wind is now 14 knots south, south east, over.”
“Thank you tower, wilco, over,” said Frank into the plastic in his hand. He proceeded to hang up the microphone on a hook on the dash and started playing with the knobs and switches in front of him. Frank stomped hard on a pedal and, suddenly, the plane swung 30 degrees to the right.
“Just so as we don’t burn the guy behind,” Frank explained.
Hedley was swallowing hard, his stomach settling in the back of his throat. He wished Frank had explained before he turned the plane. The engines were now roaring and the plane bucked as Frank turned on the power and sat on the brakes.
“Have to be sure that everything works fine,” Frank shouted above the noise of the engines, all the while scanning his instruments.
“And?” Hedley spoke for the first time since climbing aboard.
“A- Okay,” smiled Frank as the engines climbed down from their precarious pitch and he turned the plane back towards the runway.
“Foxtrot delta tango thirty five, the wind is gusting, how heavy are you?” a stronger, deeper voice came over the tinny speaker.
Frank picked up the microphone, “Tower, this is foxtrot delta tango thirty five, we are two adults and 120 kilograms of luggage, over.”
“How is your fuel, over?”
“We have three quarter tanks, over,” Frank replied
“You are a little heavy, Frank. Suggest you use the entire runway, over.”
“Roger that, Dave. Thanks, over,” and Frank dropped the microphone in his lap.
“Okay,” said Frank, “We’re going to taxi down the runway to the end to give us some extra length. That was Dave Foggart, the Senior instructor. Seems like we could be in for a bumpy ride.” Hedley swallowed hard.
Frank was given clearance to enter the runway and taxi to the end, which he did. He then swung the plane through 180 degrees and lined up with the runway.
“Foxtrot delta tango thirty five, this is the tower. You are clear for takeoff on runway two. Wind is gusting at 26 knots, south, south east. Enjoy your flight, over.”
“Thank you tower,” Frank replied, “Have a good day yourself,” and he gunned the engines, raised the flaps and released the brakes. The 172 trundled forward, faster and faster. “When we reach 62 knots,” Frank explained, “I’ll lift her up.”
The speedometer was climbing but slower than the runway tarmac was disappearing under them it seemed to Hedley. The plane was seriously shaking around them and, at sixty knots, Frank began to pull back on the steering column. The front end started to lift. Gradually, the back end followed the front.
Suddenly a gust of wind took the plane sideways. Frank swore and dived to push a red button in front of him. The engines revved down and the plane started to sink back to earth, albeit at an angle. Frank measured the amount of runway left, swore again and gunned the engines. Too late. One wheel hit the ground and the plane bounced. At the same time, the engines roared into life again, the nose picked up and the plane lumbered awkwardly into the sky. The runway disappeared and the wheels skimmed the trees at the end of the airport. They were airborne.
“Sorry about that,” Frank said casually, although the moisture beading on his forehead told a different story. Hedley opened his eyes and saw the roofs of houses almost within touching distance. Frank still seemed worried.
“We’re not climbing as fast as we should be,” he said, “We may just do a circuit and land,” he seemed very unsure. Hedley gripped his seat and waited. He could hear the engines straining.
Slowly, the 172 clawed its way upwards. Frank started to bank around the airport.
“If we reach seven thousand feet, which is 1000 feet above the ground, the air will get thinner and we should be OK," he did not sound very convincing and, right now, Hedley needed convincing. Frank continued to bank.
After a few minutes, Hedley sensed Frank relaxing. “Okay, we should be alright now,” Frank said. “Let’s head for Darnley,” and he directed the plane onto a heading for Darnley. The altimeter read seven thousand one hundred.
It was a glorious day, not a cloud in sight and the view was fantastic. The plane climbed through seven and a half thousand feet above sea level, one thousand five hundred feet above the ground, as they passed over Winsley Dam. Hedley could see many boats and water skiers on the dam and the patterns the wind was making on the water. Everything looked like toy town.
Frank was not having too easy a time of it. The wind was buffeting the small plane around and he was continually correcting and correcting again so that they would stay on course. Hedley’s
stomach was doing strange things and he was glad he had eaten early this morning. He closed his eyes and practised some breathing exercises. He wondered if there was an air sickness bag on board, not that he would ask for one. He watched the altimeter as he decided he would not take a job like this again.
The plane climbed through eight thousand two hundred feet, two thousand two hundred feet above the ground.
Hedley reached for his gun. Again he thought that there had to have been an easier way. He gave a mental shrug as he fired twice, put the plane into a dive towards the Pilsbury Woods, opened the door, swung out onto the wing and launched himself backwards into space.
He swung his parachute away from the plane's flight path so that he would not be seen and was sure the explosives in the back of the plane would obliterate any evidence and ensure that no bodies were found so that two people would be presumed dead.
Not for the first time, he wished he had followed his father into the bank. At least there he would have been able to keep his feet on the ground.
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