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Halfway in, and Friday, June 19th, 2020 would always be a day burned in Nathan’s memory. They were doing short live runs; simple take offs and hover in place for 60 seconds, then bank right and raise to 100’, turn right again, and return to the landing pad, where the pilot had to hover for another 60 seconds before touching down. They would do the right side, then the left. Each person did two runs each before handing over the cold copter to the next pilot. Every time the machine switched hands it was shut down completely, and the next pilot started it cold.
But something had gone wrong when the young pilot they’d called ‘Jersey City’ got in. He was one of the best on the simulator – he’d logged hundreds of hours of his own time prior to training, and had been one of the aces when it came to the paper tests. He had promise. His family was a huge, Italian clan with six generations still living in the same town, and he had a fiancée and a child waiting for him at home. But something went wrong, and Nate still couldn’t figure it out. The kid had done this exercise several times before, and aside from a few wobbly hovers, had done pretty well…until today. The memory of the craft banking left and then continuing, not righting as he ascended, still replayed in Nate’s mind. It looked like he just dove into the asphalt instead of taking off.
Thankfully both men in the aircraft were alive. Alive, but injured. Thankfully the plane didn’t catch on fire and there were many first responders waiting on the side, but it might derail Jersey City from his plans; it certainly meant he had to do Phase 2 training again, if everything checked out and it was declared a mechanical issue and not pilot error.
Nate debated over whether or not he would tell Irene. She was doing better now – thank God the test came back negative, but she was still in recovery. He had been next in the queue to fly that craft. If it was mechanical, it could have been any of them in the pilot’s seat.
That Sunday he felt restless as he waited for ‘their’ time to call. It wasn’t a nervousness so much as a looking-forward-to. Though he still sent her little letters each week, some with stories of classes, some with interesting clips of news he saw, and a few with short thoughts that crossed his mind. He carried the notebook with him throughout the day and sent what he had accumulated on Wednesdays at lunch, so it would get to her by Saturday. He was a man of routine, if nothing else.
So when the eleven rolled round he sat down at his desk and sipped an iced tea as he swiped his phone to Irene’s picture and pressed the green phone symbol, then rested his cheek against the surface as it began to ring.
But something had gone wrong when the young pilot they’d called ‘Jersey City’ got in. He was one of the best on the simulator – he’d logged hundreds of hours of his own time prior to training, and had been one of the aces when it came to the paper tests. He had promise. His family was a huge, Italian clan with six generations still living in the same town, and he had a fiancée and a child waiting for him at home. But something went wrong, and Nate still couldn’t figure it out. The kid had done this exercise several times before, and aside from a few wobbly hovers, had done pretty well…until today. The memory of the craft banking left and then continuing, not righting as he ascended, still replayed in Nate’s mind. It looked like he just dove into the asphalt instead of taking off.
Thankfully both men in the aircraft were alive. Alive, but injured. Thankfully the plane didn’t catch on fire and there were many first responders waiting on the side, but it might derail Jersey City from his plans; it certainly meant he had to do Phase 2 training again, if everything checked out and it was declared a mechanical issue and not pilot error.
Nate debated over whether or not he would tell Irene. She was doing better now – thank God the test came back negative, but she was still in recovery. He had been next in the queue to fly that craft. If it was mechanical, it could have been any of them in the pilot’s seat.
That Sunday he felt restless as he waited for ‘their’ time to call. It wasn’t a nervousness so much as a looking-forward-to. Though he still sent her little letters each week, some with stories of classes, some with interesting clips of news he saw, and a few with short thoughts that crossed his mind. He carried the notebook with him throughout the day and sent what he had accumulated on Wednesdays at lunch, so it would get to her by Saturday. He was a man of routine, if nothing else.
So when the eleven rolled round he sat down at his desk and sipped an iced tea as he swiped his phone to Irene’s picture and pressed the green phone symbol, then rested his cheek against the surface as it began to ring.