The engine sputter and Randal Magnuson knew the noise
meant trouble. The stick vibrated dully in his hands, while he looked for any
indication of a problem on the gauges. They read normal, his altitude and speed
were normal. The gas was full, he always filled the tank before
flight.
He did not
feel the plane sinking, but worried that the engine would not last long. He thought of any potential problem, while rechecking the gauges and looking for any indication.
Nothing appeared to be wrong,
but the noise continued.
He served
as an aviation officer for the last fifteen years. After early retirement he didn't know
what to do with his life. After many weeks of considering his
options, he concluded he was a pilot born to fly. He purchased a
yellow painted PZL-106 Kruk, a small crop duster, that relieved his stress since
returning home from his service.
The plane had rusted slightly on the hinges and around a couple bolts, but given its age it
was in great condition. The plane didn't cost him a lot of money, which was why
he could afford to fly again.
Randal
never crashed a plane and he didn’t want to start. He began his decent,
in anticipation of a problem, although the noise was the only indication.
He would
have preferred to fly back to the air strip, but decided he
might not make it. His destination was a field, which he never would have
attempted, but his gut was telling him to land, so he descended.
His
altitude and speed decreased in preparation and everything went
wrong. His fears became his reality, as the engine screamed and smoke
billowed from the sides. The propeller spun oddly and in infrequent patterns.
The plane sunk with a lurch and he pulled the stick back in an attempt to
stabilize the small aircraft.
He still
had power, but not enough to make this landing easy or possible. Smoke
collapsed in and around him, making things worse. He did all he could to
keep the plane up, but it was sinking and he couldn't see anything through the
smoke. He tried to keep it from diving straight into the ground.
When
Randal was young, he was used to diving. Before joining the navy and
earning his wings, he swam, his specialty, diving, and that’s how he met
Mary Lillet. He dove to show off. She was beautiful, with long blond hair. She
was the envy of the town. She had caught his eye and they dated till he left
for war, but she only wrote twice. Since he never heard from her, he stayed,
flying routines at sea, and had been there ever since.
He tried
his hardest to land, but the conditions were unmanageable. The plane
crashed, sinking into moist field. The shock jarred his thighs, where they
connected to the seat and it sent a shock through his spine and rattled his
head. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and his vision went
black. He slumped in his seat unconscious, lucky to be alive. He involuntarily sucked
the smoke in, which was black and thick.
He woke,
tried to orient himself and quickly realized he was in a dangerous situation.
He pushed the hatch out, which was still intact and unhindered. He flopped out
on to the windshield, sucking in clean air. He climbed down the side of the
plane, thinking she looked bad the entire way. He knew she was destroyed.
He walked
away, stumbling, trying to recover from the shock. He felt pain in his lower
leg and saw no blood, which surprised him. He headed for a side road that he
saw from the plane. He knew it was to the East.
He neared
the road, as a truck pulled up. The man driving was in his fifties. He had the
window down waving his arm and called out. The sun was in his face.
Randal
lifted his arm and waved back glad he came to help.The man parked facing the
field. He had pulled a little off the road, and hurried to help Randal.
"The
names Murphy, Murph for short." He said as he put his arm under
Randal's armpit and helped him walked the short distance to the truck. He
looked like a hard man who knew his way around machinery, his oil stained rag
and suspenders worked as indicator of his profession. The bed of the truck was
littered with car parts and hay. Randal liked the man since seeing him, but the
more he saw of the him, the more he felt they related to each other. Murph
helped Randal into the passenger seat, which was upholstered with a red, black
and white patterned blanket. The seat was extremely worn, but he sat grateful.
Murph
moved to the driver side and pulled himself in. He backed up, onto the road and
said “I’ll take you into town. My wife Louisa will get you bandaged up, and
then we'll go to the hospital and get you checked out.”
Randal
nodded his head, “Thanks” he said and the effort made him start coughing. The
smoke had done its damage. His throat was hoarse.
“You know after seeing you crash, I sure hope
you weren’t one of the airmen flying above me in the war.” Murph said with a smile,
mocking the wounded man. Randal smiled and began laughing, both
laughed long and hard. The laughing made Randal start another coughing
fit.
The two
drove down the road. Murph talked the entire time, while the plane continued to
burn and Randal tried not to laugh at Murph's jokes.
