A Time for Patriots

“Thank you,” Frank said, and hung up the phone. He turned to Kara. “There’s a line of thunderstorms south of our route of flight,” he told her as he quickly packed up his charts and flight plan, “but I think we can outrun it because it’s moving pretty slow. If it moves up quicker, we can fly farther north around it, and if we can’t, we’ll turn around and land back here at Elko.”

“No, we’re not, ” Kara said adamantly. “I’ve had enough of this little cow town. Two days stuck here because of thunderstorms — I’ve had enough.”

“I think it’s a cute little town.”

“All we’ve seen of it is the McDonald’s down the street,” she said.

“The hotel was nice, the people are nice, and the casino has a bowling alley and movie theater.”

“I’m not taking my son into any of those casinos — I don’t care if they offered free ice cream and movies for life.” She turned to her son. “Jeremy, I asked you to please pick up your stuff. We’re going… finally. ”

“I have to go cagada, ” the boy said, using the Spanish word for crap, and he hopped up and dashed off.

“Again?” his mother commented. “I hope you’re not coming down with something.”

“I’ll start untying the plane and do a preflight,” Frank said. “Be careful going outside on the ramp.”

Jeremy was gone for more than fifteen minutes. “What took you so long?” his mother asked. “Are you runny again?” The boy nodded, embarrassed. “I think that last sundae at McDonald’s was not a good idea. Maybe you should wear the you-know-what this time.”

“I am not wearing a diaper,” Jeremy said. “I’m ten.”

“It’s an adult diaper,” Kara said. “If you wear it, you don’t have to pee in the bag thing, and if you have an accident, it’ll be easier to clean up.”

“I am not wearing a diaper,” Jeremy insisted.

Frank came back into the flight planning room and looked at the pencils and drawing pads still on the floor. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you guys ready?”

“Jeremy spent a while in the bathroom.”

“Are you loosey-goosey again, buddy?” Frank asked.

“Daaad … !”

“Well, you should put on the personal hygienic undergarment, then, buddy,” his father said with a smile.

“You mean the diaper, Dad! I’m not wearing a diaper!”

“The astronauts wear them, and you want to be a Space Defense Force astronaut, right?”

“When I have to do a four-hour space walk, then I’ll wear it,” Jeremy said.

“All right, all right,” Kara said with growing impatience. “If you make a skid mark in your pants, let’s hope your grandparents don’t see it. Pick up your stuff and let’s go.”

It took another few minutes for Jeremy to collect his stuff. While he waited, Frank took his iPhone out of his pocket and punched up an app that downloaded NexRad radar images. He immediately saw the line of thunderstorms that had been forecast, and noted they were farther north than anticipated.

“How’s it look?” Kara asked.

“Mean and nasty — we’ll definitely have to deviate around them to the north,” her husband replied. He was suddenly very anxious to get going, so he skipped his intended bathroom visit. “C’mon, guys, we need to go,” he urged his family. Soon they were on their way to the plane, the boy’s hands filled with stray colored pencils.

Outside they were greeted with brilliant sunshine, a welcome change to the past two days of booming thunderstorms and swirling winds. Frank noted that the wind was from the southwest and breezy on occasion, which would mean a slight crosswind takeoff, but nothing he couldn’t handle. In minutes, he started the Cessna 182 Skylane’s engine, received his IFR clearance and taxi clearance from Elko Ground Control, and was soon on his way, splashing through a few large puddles, taxiing a little bit faster than he normally did in order to get airborne as quickly as possible.

There was no one else in the pattern or on the taxiways. Frank did a hurried run-up check of the magnetos, then hustled through the rest of the checklist. “Everyone ready to go?” he asked over the intercom.

“Ready, Dad!” Jeremy replied enthusiastically.

“I’m ready,” Kara replied, turning and checking to be sure her son’s seat belt was tight.

“Here we go.” He pressed the microphone button: “Elko Tower, Cessna Two-Eight-Three-Four Lima, number one, runway two-three, ready to go,” he radioed.

“Cessna Two-Eight-Three-Four Lima, Elko Tower, runway two-three, cleared for takeoff.”

“Three-Four Lima, cleared for takeoff, runway two-three.” Frank taxied onto Runway 23, and instead of locking the brakes, running the engine up to full power, and then releasing the brakes, he kept on rolling, then applied full power as he turned onto the runway centerline. The engine smoothly roared to full power, and the four-seat Cessna responded as spritely as ever, accelerating quickly…

… except there was a sharp banging sound on the left side of the plane, from the direction of the left main gear tire, getting louder and louder as he accelerated. “What the… something’s wrong,” Frank muttered, and he jerked the throttle lever to idle.