This is a story I originally wrote in the ‘70s and resurrected for a short-story contest. I hope you like it. Chow Run
“Sam? Sam are you listening to me? Sam!” Alicia said after crossing the room from the kitchen into the den where Sam’s attention was transfixed on a football game. She finally got his attention by standing in front of the TV.
“Hey!” he said, finally looking up at her after several long seconds. While it looked like he was watching the game, his mind was apparently elsewhere.
“I still need you to go to the store. We’re out of dinner rolls and canned green beans.”
“Yea, yea, after the game. I said I would go after the game. Now come on, step to one side if you don’t mind,” Sam said with a plaintive edge in his voice. He leaned forward from his recliner reaching for Alicia’s apron-covered hips that were blocking his view.
Alicia could tell that Sam was in one of his moods. They seemed to come on more often since he had returned home from his last tour.
“That’s what you said two hours ago honey,” she said sweetly. “That game ended forty minutes ago. Come on, your parents are coming over later and your dad likes my green-bean casserole so I…” Alicia said taking a step to the right.
Sam’s eyes returned to the TV at first but then blinked. “Sure… sure I’ll go now. The Cowboys are losing anyway. Their new coach really sucks,” Sam said as he pushed himself out of the recliner and started moving toward the door.
“Just dinner rolls, you know the heat-and-serve kind and a couple of cans of green beans, and nothing else. Last time you came home with enough chips and beer to feed your whole Cav troop.”
“Yes, mam. Beans and rolls. Beans and rolls. I got it,” he said giving her a mock salute as he headed down the hall to the garage. His walking gate was interrupted by the limp that prevented him from going back for another deployment. On the way out Sam grabbed a tattered baseball cap with the US Army Aviation logo emblazoned on the front. He pulled it down over his forehead and re-curled the brim. As the garage door crept open Sam put on a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses and the smirk his friends knew well.
Before getting into his ’70 Ford Mustang he walked around the car kicking the tires and feeling the sheet metal as he inspected every inch of the car. Stopping at one corner, he put his knee on the bumper and gave the chassis a bounce. “Still a bit loose. I’ll have to write that up, but it’s flyable.” He was leaning over the windshield inspecting a ding when he heard Alicia behind him.
“Aren’t you gone yet?” She had been standing back by the door to the house watching him go through his ritual.
“Just leaving,” Sam replied as he quickly stood upright, moved around the car to lower his six-foot frame into the driver’s seat and immediately buckle his seat belt. Throwing unseen switches above his head he began a series of unexplainable motions that only another UH-1 helicopter pilot would understand. After adjusting the radio he lowered the driver-side window and called “Clear!” as he turned the key to bring the engine to life. He listened to the motor purr quietly for ten seconds or so before gradually increasing the RPM to about 1500. He held it there apparently listening intently for a misfire and waiting for the temperature gauge to move off “C”.
Alicia had gone in the house to answer the phone. “Hi mom. Can you wait a minute?” she said a bit louder over the engine noise. “Sam is still running up the car. No, he’s supposed to be going to the store. Ah, yes,” she answered, “… he’s doing it again. It’s the third time this week.”
Sam put the car in reverse and putting his arm over the seat looked behind him and pulled out on to the driveway when he again began listening intently to the engine. Clicking an imaginary button on the steering wheel he said “Holloway tower this is lift two niner. Request taxi and departure to the west—I have information Charlie.” Waiting for a moment Sam echoed the unheard tower’s instructions “Roger, cleared to taxi to runway two seven. Altimeter two niner niner six. Winds two four five at ten.” He quickly backed out into the wide residential street in front of his house but stopped at the corner where he announced: “Holloway, this is lift two niner—ready for takeoff on two seven zero.” He paused a moment and listened to the radio playing country music before responding “Roger that, cleared for takeoff on runway two seven zero. Have a good day.”
The short trip to the grocery store about five blocks away was relatively uneventful—at least for Sam. Granted, a number of other drivers were a bit confused at the driver that seemed to be talking to himself and adjusting unseen knobs and switches on the dash and ceiling over his head.
After taxing to a suitable revetment, Sam spent about twenty minutes inside the cavernous supply depot and yes, he came out with beer, chips and pretzels. Thankfully, he remembered to go back for the dinner rolls and beans. He got several kinds because by the time he got to the shelf he had forgotten what kind the supply officer wanted. Returning to the car, he checked the items off the manifest as he loaded the boxed groceries in the back seat. Sam made sure the carton was secured with all of the available seat-belts—tugging each one in turn. As he had told Alicia on more than one occasion, you can’t put cargo in the rear. “… it throws off the CG.”
“We’re running a bit heavy,” he thought. “I hope we can make it over the tree line at the end of the strip,” eyeing the line of 100 foot trees that guarded the end of the runway, he recalled trees just like these whose outstretched arms had invariably reached up for his skids as he crossed over. Those same trees had brought his ship down not a year ago. He had been lucky to survive—the rest of his crew had not been so lucky.
Sam stuck a wet finger up to test the wind and after a quick walk-around, he repeated the start-up sequence. In the process he scared a 79-year-old granny out of 10-years of life when he yelled “clear!” out the cockpit window. She promptly walked over and hit the hood of his ship with her purse. “Nut!” she said with a glare.
After getting taxi clearance from the public radio station, Sam hovered out of the supply depot on to the main runway waiting at the takeoff line for tower clearance. Twisting the throttle to reach flight RPM and pulling enough pitch to get the airframe light on the skids, he waited for the green light from the tower. He balanced the chopper on the tarmac like a panther coiled to leap on its prey.
When the signal from the tower turned green he nosed the chopper over and quickly began to gain speed. He held the ship within a foot of the ground until he reached 80 knots pulling 105% power. Pulling back on the cyclic he began to make his climb. The trees were moving a lot closer but Sam didn’t worry until the engine started to miss—he was losing power when he needed it most. Edging off a bit on the pitch Sam got the turbine to settle down around 101% but the trees were an even taller obstacle now. He had already reached the point of no return so he pulled back just a bit on the cyclic to trade speed for a bit more climb. It’ wasn’t enough. The chopper’s blades shredded the new growth on the tops of the trees and peppered the windshield with chipped branches and leaves. Sam just held steady and said a prayer through the deafening roar.
A moment later Sam’s ship broke through to the other side of the treetops but his airspeed was dangerously low. The chopper started to shudder and began to fall to one side—just like the last time. Sam instinctively dumped the nose over and traded what little altitude he had for speed, pulling up just before barely missing a three-wheeled taxi trying to get out of his way who shook his fist at the chopper now regaining altitude and making its way east.
Thankfully, the rest of the flight back to base was a piece of cake compared to the take-off. Ten minutes later Sam was back in his recliner and his heart rate had almost returned to normal. He changed channels and found another football game—digging his hand into a newly opened bag of chips.
“Sam?” Alicia said. He did not answer. “Sam? What did you do with the rest of the groceries?”
“Oh, sorry. They’re in the car. I’ll go…” but it was too late. Alicia was already on her way down the hall to the garage.
“Sam? Do you think you bought enough beans?” she said a few minutes later returning with the box in her arms. “You bought every kind except green beans…”
“Sorry…” he said not taking his eyes off the set.
“And how did you get all those branches jammed into the grill?” Alicia asked, but not really wanting to know the answer.
And Sam didn’t answer. He had already departed to his other world.
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© 2010 William R. Vaughn All Rights Reserved.]]>
_3.jpg "The Owl Wrangler POD Cover (just front)")
_2.jpg "The Owl Wrangler POD Cover (just front)")