Finding Your Way Back

With some time on his hands, he ambled over to where a group of parachutists were gathering up their nylon after a jump. He saw her, recognizing her form and carriage before he saw her face. He waited patiently as she debriefed her students and then approached.

"Marty?"

"Wes, isn't it?"

"That's right."

"Come for your first sky diving lesson?" she said with a certain degree of sarcasm.

"Nope. Not sure that's ever going to happen. Came to offer you your free first hour of flight instruction---if you've got the time."

"Are you serious?"

"I don't have another student for a couple of hours."

"Why not?" she said with a hint of a real smile. "Let me dump my stuff in the truck. I'm free for a couple of hours myself."

Wes followed her to her truck at which point she peeled out of her jump suit. She was wearing shorts and a simple tee shirt beneath. She was an even prettier girl than he had realized in the dimly lit bar. In spite of her muscularity no one would have missed the fact that she was a girl.

"What's an airplane like this cost?" she inquired.

"With the avionics and instrument package, a little over forty. I'm considering trading it for a twin; something maybe a couple of years older but still in top-notch condition. Multi-engine would significantly increase my teaching opportunities and improve the caliber of the clientele."

"Only one engine? Should I go back and get my chute?"

"It's a very reliable engine. The glide characteristics are excellent and you don't need a hell of a lot of room to put her down."

"Have you ever 'put her down' without the engine running?"

"In training. Twice in a helicopter---a Huey and an OH13. We'll give you a taste of what it feels like today---back to the runway, of course."

There aren't a hell of a lot of gages and instruments in a small Cessna. Marty had been up in enough airplanes to have some familiarity with the control layout. Wes got clearance to taxi. As he did so he gave Marty the typical IP patter for a normal fixed wing, VFR takeoff.

"Marty, there's five times more runway here than this puppy needs. Follow along with me on the controls---stay very light, particularly on the rudder. This type of airplane pretty much takes off by itself. If you don't do anything other then keep it lined up on the centerline---it's going to fly. No gear to retract---a very tame flying machine. Ready?"

Wes turned the airplane over to her as soon as they were airborne, explaining the coordination between the pedals and the yoke, demonstrating a slip versus a coordinated turn...the old needle and ball. She had good instincts...an easy control touch. He demonstrated some basic flight maneuvers and let her execute them.

"Let's reenter the traffic pattern and do a normal approach. We'll take a couple of runs around the pattern so you can get the feel of it. Then we'll do some emergency procedures."

As a jumper, she understood the concept of sight picture. Her second, virtually unassisted landing was almost perfect. He called the tower for permission to do the power off landing, chopping the throttle on crosswind.

"It's very quiet. Like sky diving."

"Do you jump with a foil---I don't know what you call it---a chute you can steer?"

"Yes."

"Same thing. We've got lots of wing area for our gross weight. Trading airspeed for altitude. Keep it above a stall, no sharp turns, shoot long...kiss it on...like this."

They went around and did it two more times with Marty essentially in control on the final one. They left the traffic pattern. He demonstrated some more advanced maneuvers and then let her perform them. She was a very quick learner.

"Okay, let's try a stall. Essentially it means the wing ceases to be aerodynamic---no longer produces lift. The aircraft falls off to one side and without correction enters into a spin. You start falling out the sky. The untrained instinct says pull back on the yoke---get the nose up. Completely the wrong action---the nose is already too far up, that's why you stalled. You have to get airspeed back---get clean air over the wings---fly out of the stall or spin. Don't fight the spin with the rudder---you'll lose. Nose down....build airspeed. This is a very hard airplane to stall---you virtually have to cheat to get it into a sustained spin. As long as you have sufficient altitude, it wants to fly again. As we slow down and begin to enter the stall, the yoke will start to shake---it's not natural, they built it into the controls as a warning."

He demonstrated one, had her follow along on the controls on the second and let her fly for the third. She got it on the first try.

"Okay, one more emergency procedure. Engine failure. Before you attempt to restart the engine, turn into the wind, adjust the rudder for the loss of thrust, make your mayday call---look for a place to land. Then and only then, attempt a restart while always keeping at the forefront of your mind where you're going to put it down."

Marty understood and absorbed the final lesson as well as she had all the others.

"Marty, you're a very competent pilot for a first ride. You have aerodynamic sense---thanks to your sky diving experience. You pay attention and absorb instruction remarkably quickly. I'd expect you'd solo in under six hours. Then it's thirty hours, give or take, mostly solo time followed by a check ride and you have a VFR private pilot's license. You'd need to study some ground school stuff, take a written test and file some forms with the FAA but it would be no big deal."

"No chance we could trade for sky diving lessons?" She said with a grin. She instantly regretted it. "I'm sorry...I apologize."

"You really want me to jump out of an airplane---don't you?"

"No. Yes. Although I believe it might be a good thing. Forget it! I don't know what I'm talking about."

"Okay. I'll do it. On one condition: dinner. You put on a nice dress, I'll even wear a coat and tie. We go to dinner some place nice. Just you and me."

"You'll strap on a chute if I let you take me to dinner? I thought your were scared of..."

"Absolutely terrified beyond anything you could imagine. You'll probably have to throw me out of the airplane and I'll scream and piss my pants all the way down. Might even throw up in there somewhere. I didn't tell you something the other night. Someone else had the idea that jumping out of an airplane after the accident would be good for me. I bit---even went through the ground school and went up in a plane with a parachute on my back. I couldn't do it---wouldn't do it."

"But you'd do it for a date with me? I don't get it."

"In case you haven't looked in a mirror recently, you're a very pretty girl. It's more than that. ...but you are a very pretty girl---particularly when you smile. You've got a hard edge to you---so do I. I don't have any friends in this town, Marty. I don't sense that you are exactly a social butterfly. I told you some shit the other night that I've never told anyone...not that way. I don't open up to people, Marty---never have. I did to you---a perfect stranger. I'm not looking for miracles here...no grand expectations...I need a friend. You do too. Dinner's a start."

Marty had Wes strapped into a chute in less than thirty minutes. She had quickly discerned from quizzing him that he had retained everything he needed from his prior ground training in skydiving. Fifteen minutes later they were over the drop zone; she would jump with him. It would be just the two of them.

He was even more terrified than he had let on. All the memories came back...all the terror...the certainty of his own death...or worse.

She sensed it. "Wes, I'll be right there with you; you can do this. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

She took his hands in her own and then did something completely unexpected. She kissed him softly on the lips.

He registered his surprise. "All I had to do to get a kiss was jump out of a perfectly good airplane? Why didn't you say so?"

She punched him playfully in the arm. Before he realized it, he was out the door...falling. He frantically glanced around...couldn't find her...where the fuck was she? And then she was there, filling his field of vision...calming him...smiling...mouthing words he couldn't really here. She gave the signal, close enough to activate his chute for him if he failed to do so. He pulled the D-ring; his peaceful descent abruptly slowed. This was what he remembered...the chute opening...the searing pain in his back...not there today...but soon the ground would come up to meet him and then...it did. And he was still alive...and he could wiggle his toes.

He was crying and laughing at the same time, again frantically searching for her. And then she was there...holding him...laughing and crying with him...softly touching his face...kissing his face...his lips...and he was okay...all was good.

"Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed. "Okay, I have to admit it had its moments. I'm not completely sold but...thank you. Thank you for caring...thank you for being there."

Marty agreed to pay up regarding the dinner date that evening but insisted on splitting the tab. He didn't argue. He went to pick her up, surprised to discover that she lived not ten minutes from where he did. He rang the bell and waited. Oh my, where do women get those damn little black dresses? He was speechless.

"You clean up pretty good, officer, if I may be so bold."

"You don't look so bad yourself, flyboy."

They lingered for several hours over dinner in one of Buckhead's finest eateries. They learned about each other. Candor prevailed in most areas with the exception of the traumatic event in her life nine months earlier. Wes decided not to push it.

Later came that awkward moment at her front doorstep. There was a kiss and an embrace and then uncertainty. Wes decided to take charge.

"Marty, I haven't enjoyed an evening with anyone in as long as---ever. I'd like to think you've given some thought to inviting me in and if so, as much as I'd like to say yes, I'm going to let us both off the hook and say goodnight. One question: do I have to jump out of an airplane again to get another date?"

"No, flyboy. You earned your wings today. I enjoyed it...it's been a long time. Thanks for letting me off the hook. I'm not...I'm not very good relationship material, Wes. Don't know if I ever will be...again. But I'd like to see you again."

A few days later, Wes embarked on a quest. He was not remotely sure he was doing the right thing for Marty or for any chance they might have to be more than friends. He sought out Marty's former training officer, George Carr. He had a plan but needed help to implement it.

"I don't know, Wes. The idea makes sense. I'm not sure how she'll take it. I can set it up at a place forty-five minutes south and east. We can simulate it---to a point. Give me a few days."

Wes and Marty went out together several more times. Their ardor in the car and at her front door had certainly increased dramatically. If he just wanted to get laid they were probably at the stage where she would have said yes.

In the long days of summer, it would stay light until nine. He called her and told her he would pick her up after work on Friday. It was a surprise. He hoped it wouldn't be the surprise that would make her never want to see him again.

She knew the place---had been there before. It was a private shooting club...South River. She'd fired there in a competition. Many of the regular members were LE types.

"Wes...this isn't such a good idea...what..."

"You never told me about it. Marty...that day...nine months ago...but I know about it...George told me...told me that first night we met at Bernie's. I don't know how this is going to work out. I do know that from the day you made me jump out of that fucking airplane---the dreams...nightmares...they're gone...for the first time in eighteen months. It wasn't a perfect replication, no spin, no Martin-Baker ride through the canopy, no broken toes or bleeding face but as imperfect as it was, it was enough. You have friends Marty---I'm jealous. You have many more friends than I do. They're here. They care. They want to help. More important, they need your help. They love you. I love you. Please don't hate me."

All of the survivors were there to meet them. A stage had been set in the center pit of the small arms tactical range. The bad guys would be represented by corrugated. The faces of the men she had killed that day were pasted on the targets. It was set up as a live fire range with all appropriate safety protocols.

"I can't do this, Wes...what were you thinking?"

"You can do this Marty---if I can jump out of an airplane, you can do this. You have to do this. I know it's just a simulation but it's as real as is humanly possible. You've got more fortitude inside you than anyone I've ever known. These are the people that were with you that day---the only ones on the face of the earth that know how it felt. They need to do this too. If you don't want to do it for you---do it for them. They have nightmares...horrible visions that won't go away. They need you here. They need to relive it one last time---and then never again. Help them---as you helped me. You can do this...you have to do this...for them...for you...for us."

The former comrades in arms greeted each other, spoke softly...exchanged hugs...rekindled an old bond. They walked through the staging several times for the sake of safety. It was Marty's call; it was her show. The players took their positions; each gave the range safety officer the thumbs up. And then it began.

The original firefight had begun and ended in all of three minutes. For Marty it all came back...almost in slow motion. She moved as she had that day...her comrades fell as they had that day...she did her job as she had done it that day. She hit the corrugated targets as precisely as she had hit the people she had killed that day...remembering the faces...the impact of the rounds as they tore through human flesh every bit as real as it had been that day. In three minutes, it was over. She was on the ground behind a car as she had been that day, not shot this time but feeling all the pain of that wound. Beside her was a plastic form...a representation of the man she had tried to save... the one who had died in spite of her efforts.

The safety officer called, "Clear?"

Magazines were ejected and slides locked to the rear. The confirmations came, each visually confirmed by the safety officer.

"The range is clear. The range is cold."

Wes ran to her. She was sobbing uncontrollably, sitting on the ground surrounded by what to the unknowing was simply mock carnage but to her was horrifyingly real. She fought him...beating her fists against his chest...and then she let go...let his arms surround her...let his voice comfort her...his lips caress her. He could hear the soft sobs of others around him...and then a change...almost a collective release...a sigh...letting go. It was done. It was over...finally over.

"And then you stood up and walked out...alone...too proud to ask for assistance...wait for a stretcher. You're not alone now, Marty...you have friends around you...people who care deeply about you and a man who..."

"A man who what?" She almost spit the words out.

"A man who wants to love you...wants you to love him back...needs you to."

"A crazy man."

"Damn straight!"

And then she smiled. The others came up to her...hugged her...thanked her.

"Thank him---the crazy one. It was his idea...his insane plan." And they did so.

"You want to love me....for me to love you?"

"Enough to risk making you hate me and never want to speak to me again."

"You did this for me? You got nothing out of it?"

"Oh, I don't know. Time will tell. If I get the girl, then it wasn't so crazy after all---was it?"

"Men! What they won't do to get in a girl's panties!"

"I hadn't thought about it that way, but now that you mention it..."

She kissed him. "Thank you. Who could have known? Some guy who doesn't look old enough to legally buy a drink...tries to pick me up in a bar...tells me some crazy story...will wonders never cease."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. It'll always be there but hopefully, now, not right there. I'm damaged goods, my friend...you don't know what you're getting into."

"Does that mean...?"

"Yeah, it does, cowboy. You got the girl---if you're sure you really want her. Now comes the hard part."

"I've always loved a challenge."

"You have no idea."

Epilogue

A man I knew survived a horrific series of events in combat. He was shot down while flying a small observation aircraft. The person riding with him was blown to bits in front of his eyes and he had to evade the enemy for three days and nights. They came within inches of his buried hiding place and even pissed on him. Think about it: he had literally buried himself alive in a desperate attempt to avoid capture or death. No food, little water...all alone.

The weather broke and we finally got him out; physically he was fine. Mentally he wasn't. He never flew again. They shipped him home a couple of weeks later and discharged him not long after. His brain had been so scrambled that he couldn't even do the one thing he loved the most---fly. This all happened before his twenty-first birthday.

I clearly recall how difficult we all found it to be around him---to talk to him. We all just figured that he'd be okay. We assumed that maybe he didn't want to talk about it---that he would work it out.

He never got to celebrate his majority. He blew his brains out with a .45 ACP the day before with his medical discharge notification in his hand. No party was in the offing. He died alone in a BOQ room. He didn't leave a note.