A young man discovers “The real me!” and finds his soul’s purpose.
By
Ed Benjamin
Several months after his entry into the United States Air Force, Harry was hot and bored. The heat radiating from the cement taxiway was easily 105 degrees, as forecasted. He had pulled the panel van serving as the crew bus outside the squadron briefing area and waited for the pilots to emerge. Sweat pooled under his armpits and he chafed underneath his heavy cotton fatigues.
“It would help if I could remove this damn fatigue shirt,” He thought, “but no, Sergeant Towne won’t allow it.”
He realized Sergeant Towne was not being a “hardass.” Regulations forbid him or the other drivers from removing their heavy cotton fatigue shirts. The small fan mounted underneath the dash helped some, blowing the hot air around towards Harry’s body offering some relief when it hit the sweat on his face offering a cooling effect.
He drank some more water. His Duty Sergeant had insisted all the drivers keep themselves hydrated. When he could, he would drip some water in his handkerchief and rub it around his face and neck.
“What a way to make a living! If I had waited until graduation, I would have at least been an avionics mechanic, provided I made it through tech school. There would be some work on the flight line, but most of the work would be in the Avionics shops where they had air conditioning.”
As the thunderous sound of a two-ship flight taking off blasted the sky, he saw the door swinging open from the pilot’s briefing room. He knew the two F-16 Falcons were headed toward a rendezvous with other aircraft over a training area somewhere.
He saw the four pilots exit the orderly room and head toward his crew bus. They called it the ‘bread truck’ because it reminded people of the panel van bakers delivered bread in with the exception the Air Force had installed benches along the sides for passengers. Once they climbed in, Harry put the ‘Bread Truck’ in gear and began to deliver them to their assigned aircraft where crew chiefs waited on the tarmac to assist them. As he drove, he could see the waves of heat emanating from the parking area.
“At least I am sitting inside this van. It’s better than pounding the flight line I would hate to be a crew chief taking care of the airplanes.”
For a moment or two, Harry wondered how it would be working on the airplanes with the heat blistering up through the leather soles of his feet.
As always, he listened to the banter of the aircrews as he drove the truck and delivered them to their assigned aircraft.
At first, they seemed to speak in a mysterious code. They never referred to each other by name but used names, such as “Snake,” “Fury,” “Tugs,” “Fang,” “Viper,’ and so forth. Over time, he learned these were ‘Tactical Call Signs,’ used to identify each other both in the air and on the ground.
The process by which they acquired these call signs remained a mystery.
On the bus, they seemed to give each other a hard time, but in a lighthearted way.
“Watch your ass, Snake.”
“Remember what happened last time, Fang, so watch your six once we enter the area or you’re toast today.”
The one called Fang, grinned, his eyes crinkling, replied, “Don’t worry, I’m always ready.”
Harry liked the one called Fang. He always took the time to thank Harry when he exited the van.
Harry dropped them off at the aircraft and headed back toward his dispatch area. His shift was almost over. He had a plan. He has almost resolved the debt to the funeral director. He had been sending the funeral director extra payments to pay down his debt. The debt was almost resolved.
He had squirreled away some cash and decided he wanted to see what the fuss was all about.
❋
Harry hurried back to the dormitory room he shared with another airman and changed into blue jeans and a shirt. His roomie put down the book he was reading and asked,
“Harry, want to catch a movie tonight? They are replaying Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince!”
Sam was an avid Harry Potter fan.
“No thanks. Sam, I got plans tonight. Maybe next week. How many times have you seen the movie?”
“Sure, Harry, catch you later. I’ve only seen it four times, This will be my fifth.” Sam left.
After changing, Harry ran over to the Dining Hall and grabbed a hamburger from the quick order line. He then headed to the bus stop and began the journey to a small private airstrip outside Phoenix.
This evening, with an extra hundred dollars in his pocket, he was determined to resolve his curiosity and see what this flying was all about. Harry had flown twice before on commercial flights—once when he enlisted, and the Air Force flew him from Raleigh to San Antonio for basic training, and then again, the Air Force had flown him from San Antonio to Phoenix. Although he had been excited about his first airline flights, he did not understand what all the fuss was about. To him, it was a glorified bus.
As the bus traveled toward his destination, he noted the paper on McCain/Palin billboard beginning to shred, the election being a couple of years past.
When he arrived at the small Air Base Operations, he walked in the office area. An older man sat in a chair; his feet propped up on an old metal desk.
The older man asked, “Can I help you?”
“I’m Harry Miles. I’m supposed to meet Jim Farris here for a flight.”
The older man motioned toward the back of the room. “Yeah, he’s here. Just went to the crapper. Be out in a sec. They did tell you it’ll be a hundred dollars cash, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, “but I was wondering if you gave a military discount.”
“Nice try, kid. No military discounts. Okay, while we’re waiting for Jim to finish stinking up the crapper, we can take care of the fee now.”
The older man put his feet down and began filling out some paperwork. He took Harry’s money and then gave him a receipt. After they finished, Harry sat on a bench and two or three minutes later, Harry heard a toilet flush. Then a man emerged from the back. He appeared to Harry to be about forty years of age with grey tinged sideburns and a black stubble of beard.
“Jim,” the older man exclaimed, “meet Harry. He’s your six o’clock.”
“He’s late,” Jim exclaimed, “it’s more like six thirty.”
Harry started to explain, “Sir, the bus was late….”
The older man interrupted, “Jim, quit your bellyaching. You’ve been in the crapper for over fifteen minutes, don’t give this kid any more shit.”
Jim grinned at the older man, gave him the finger, and winked at Harry. The wink highlighted his black and grey bushy eyebrows.
He nodded his head for Harry to follow him and led Harry over to a Cessna 172 parked near the office. Jim started looking around the plane, opened the engine compartment, checked the oil in the engine, and spent some time tugging on the flight control surfaces.
He then escorted Harry to the right side of the plane and made certain Harry was strapped in. He handed Harry some earphones with a microphone attached and showed Harry how the intercom worked.
Jim then climbed in the left-hand seat and started the engine. He started talking on the radio and flipped a switch. Harry heard a variety of communications over the earphones.
“Aircraft Niner 91452 beginning taxi.” Harry had seen Jim’s lips moving and deduced the airplane he and Jim were in was Aircraft Niner 91452.
“Metro 5632 landing.” Harry noticed a two-engine plane approaching and landing on the runway.
By this time, Jim had taxied to the edge of the runway. Harry noticed a mixture of numbers adorning the asphalt. Then Harry felt Jim’s hand on his shoulder. Then Jim’s voice came over the intercom. “No tower here, Harry. We must be careful we’re not impeding traffic. We’ll be announcing takeoff when we’re clear.”
Jim craned his neck to look at the approach path to ensure no traffic was about to land.
“Aircraft Niner 91452 on active,” Jim announced as he taxied the plane onto the runway.
The small engine revved up. The small craft vibrated a bit while the engine spun up. Jim release his foot off the brake pedal. The aircraft began its roll down the runway.
Looking out the windshield. the trees on the edge of the runway flew past merging into a running band of green. The concrete of the runway rushed by underneath. Then the pilot pulled the yoke back and the craft lifted into the air, the wind whistling past the cabin.
Whoosh!
Instantaneously, Harry’s stomach unwound. He felt lightheaded. He didn’t remember much about the rest of the flight. It was a blur. A sense of freedom engulfed him. He felt connected. His detachment from life evaporated.
Whoosh!
His eyes widening, in that instant, Harry felt part of the sky. His ability to sense the entire environment around him rushed into his consciousness, and he pictured himself in the plane in the sky with other planes flying around. It was as if he were outside the airplane taking in the entire panorama. He suddenly felt he was home and a voice bubbling up from deep within his soul told him.
“This Is The Real Me!”
His mental ability to see his surroundings kicked in and in one part of his mind, Harry was able to visualize his plane flying – almost as if he were outside the plane with a separate vantage point – in the environment.
At that moment, he knew he wanted to be able to fly more than anything. Flying seemed to alleviate some of the loneliness he felt. It was not just a deep desire, but a deep need – an obsession. His very being validated the truth of the statement, “the heart wants what the heart wants.” He would not be satisfied until it became a reality.
He scraped together some cash and paid for the Ground School and completed it.
He soon discovered he could not afford the remainder of the flying lessons. He thought about getting an off-duty job so he could afford flying lessons but after looking at the situation and paying more attention to the conversations of the pilots as he ferried them back and forth from the orderly room to the planes, he hit upon a different approach.
In a flash, he knew what he had to do. He would get the Air Force to pay for his flying lessons.
❋
From the moment he had flown that flight in the Cessna, Harry’s soul began to understand flying may take him on a journey which could make him whole again. He felt he might be close to finding family again.
❋
Harry struggled to get the Air Force to agree to his plan. At first, it seemed impossible, then only daunting, then just difficult, and he kept at it until he eventually succeeded.
That desire to fly had entered the core of his being and would not let him focus on anything else until it became a reality.
He found out the Air Force had a program where enlisted members with high school diplomas could apply to attend the Air Force Academy. Sparked by that inner desire, Harry pushed himself to study, attend night school, and receive his High School General Equivalency Diploma. Armed with his High School diploma, he applied for the Academy.
Initially, the Air Force refused his application, but Harry persisted. He applied again. Finally, the Air Force approved his application with the proviso he first attend the Air Force Academy Prep School, a one year program designed to improve his math and science skills. Harry put up with the year at the Prep School, then four years at the Academy.
While at the Academy, he underwent a program called Initial Flight Screening where he learned to fly a single engine turboprop aircraft and he soloed. After leaving the Academy, he went to undergraduate flight training graduating at the top of his class. Afterward, he completed his F-15 fighter training.
He excelled in flying. The Air Force called his mental mindset enabling him to see the whole picture while flying in mock combat “situational awareness.”
Initially, he had marveled at the fact. “They had a name for it.”
The Air Force not only recognized his natural affinity to visualize air battles; they honed it like a razor-sharp knife into a finely tuned ability.
Some of his fellow fighter pilots called him “lucky.” Others just said he was “intuitive,” but they all admitted he was hard to defeat in their constant training to see who would prevail in aerial combat. If there had been a vote on which pilot they would fly into combat with, Harry was a top pick.
❋
Eleven Years After Enlisting
Eleven years after he enlisted in the Air Force, he found himself as part of a two ship Combat Air Patrol, often called a “CAP,” flying a route along the Iran/Iraq border. He flew his F-15C Eagle fighter plane armed with medium and short-range air to air missiles, a 20-millimeter Gatling gun, various countermeasures in case he found himself in a deadly air battle. He and his other pilots were aware the Iranians were flying similar missions on their side of the border. They did not expect to engage in conflict but continued this cat and mouse game just in case.
❋
Harry not only succeeded in getting the Air Force to pay for his flying lessons, but along the way, he picked up a surrogate family, his brothers and sisters-in-arms in the Air Force.
His time as an enlisted airman, a student at the USAF Academy Prep School, his four years at the Academy, his fighter pilot training, and his service as a line fighter pilot in a squadron all contributed to the sense of belonging which he felt as a member of the Air Force.
He enjoyed the camaraderie with his fellow fighter pilots, the intense training, the mock air battles, and the feeling they were joined in serving a common cause.
He felt he belonged.
He had a family. He knew he was living his life as “the real me.”
The End
Thank you for reading this story. I hope you enjoyed it.
It is actually Chapter Two of my novel, “Redemption,” and if you are interested in knowing more about Harry’s mother – of – all – air – battles and the aftermath; you can visit the Amazon sales page here.
