Rainbow Dash is officially a Blue Angel! However, when their winter home of El Centro closes early, alternate arrangements must be made.
Rainbow Dash has officially graduated out of reserves and is officially a Wonderbolt Blue Angel! Renowned within the squad for her natural talent and heart, she is more than eager to begin her time here and may be poised to replace Spitfire should it be necessary. Naturally, Spitfire has taken her under her wing to prepare her for that time should it come.
Unfortunately, at around this time, as the Blue Angels slowly wind down their El Centro operations, their two runways are forced to close early due to equipment malfunctions and overall runway condition. Since she has an in with someone who owns an airport, who’s she gonna call?
Mario tag as Rosalina makes an appearance. No other characters appear.
I just got a letter. Wait, I got a letter! Why’d I get a letter? Wonder who it’s from.
“Greetings fellow American,
This letter is a request from the Blue Angels. Due to resource availability - runway reconstruction, we request use of your facilities for final preparation for our spring show. If you accept our invitation, please reply via letter to the following address:
CENSORED
FOR LEGAL REASONS
Thank you for your consideration,
Commander Spitfire
Blue Angels”
Immediately, I type a letter of confirmation.
“Dear Commander Spitfire,
Thank you for your letter. It would be my honor to host the Blue Angels. Included is contact information, which will be my most reliable means of communication:
(xxx) xxx-xxxx - Mondays-Thursdays - normal business hours
(xxx) xxx-xxxx - After Hours
(xxx) xxx-xxxx - Fridays and Weekends
I look forward to hosting your squadron. Please let me know if there is anything I can help you with.
Sincerely,
Split Scimitar “Max”
Immediately, I grab EIFL-65, a Jet Stream Blue C6 Corvette ZR1, after placing postage stamps on the envelope. At the post office, I drop a few cents on postage due, but as soon as I get it posted, I call Rosalina.
“Hello?”
“Hey, you home yet?”
“No. I’m stuck on 210.”
“Where?”
“Just passing Foothill.”
“Do you want to meet me for lunch?”
“Sure.”
“I have news to share.”
“Okay. Where do you want to eat?”
“You feeling anything in particular?”
“Not really.”
“Fair enough. Where are you?”
“I’m at the post office. I’m just about to descend Cajon [Pass].”
“Be careful through there. I hit bad traffic when I left.”
“How bad?”
“Worse than normal, even with that contraflow.”
“That’s still there?”
“Yeah. I’m surprised too.”
“Well, I’m just about to leave, so, um, are you okay with diner fare? I’m kind of feeling breakfast for dinner.”
“Sounds good. You want to go to our usual?”
“Sure. I’m just a few exits away from there anyway.”
“Perfect. I’ll try and get there ASAP.”
“Sounds good. Bye.”
As soon as I close the phone, I fire up the car and get onto I-15. Opting for the less crowded right lanes, I haul ass through Cajon Pass making good time by the 210. Admiring traffic the other direction, I take my sweet time here, gently slowing to the new cruise speed of around a mile a minute.
When I roll in, I park and wait to see where Rosalina ends up. A few minutes later, she rolls in with her Jeep. Touting a new vehicle registration with front and rear brackets present, she parks in another row, where it’s more open.
We share a smile before I ask, “how’s the Jeep?”
“I can’t complain.”
“Good to hear. Shall we?”
“Let’s.”
When we get seated, we place our order for food and drinks quickly before I break the news.
“You’re not gonna believe this, but I got a letter from the Blue Angels. Get this: they want to use Victorville because El Centro needs to be repaved!”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I can’t be certain if it was the real thing. Although, let me ask around. I might be able to verificate that document.”
“Hey, I received a letter from someone claiming to be Blue Angels. What do you know about runway reconstruction at El Centro?” I text Rainbow Dash.
Before long, our food arrives, and after we dig in, I get a response.
“Yo! You got it?! Spitfire’s gonna be so thrilled!!!”
“It’s true?”
“Yeah! We’re desperate for new runways! They both need to be repaved.”
“Why wouldn’t one runway get worked on at a time?”
“We’re leaving for Pensacola soon anyway, but after a piece of equipment went down, figured they may as well start early.”
“Well, if it helps your case, please let Commander Spitfire know I accept. My contact information is enclosed in a reply letter.”
“Awesome!! I’ll let her know. She’ll call you with further details.”
“No problem. I’ll see you soon.”
After I affirm Rosalina, I ask if we should make excuses to not be home when they work. She laughs and avoids the question by snatching the bill from me.
After we roll in, I replace the car and get another text from Dash.
“Hey, can you ship a car of mine?”
“Sure. Origin and Destination?”
“From Pensacola to Palm Springs.”
“You live in Palm Springs?”
“Yeah! I never told you that?”
“I mean, I remember you going through PSP at Christmas, but I figured that was just because of El Centro.”
“Oh no. I just spend most of my time on the road with the Blues.”
“Okay. Nice. Um, the obvious question: what kind of car is it?”
“Porsche 911 GT3.”
“GT3 or RS?”
“Plain GT3. Not worth the extra 0.2 seconds to 60.”
“The Blue Angel says to the airline pilot.”
“IKR!”
“Just give me a date and we’ll make it work.”
“Anytime before we come to Victorville.”
“Let’s do it.”
“I’ll let you know. I’m off duty tonight.”
“You can join my wife and I for dinner.”
“Awesome. I like her!”
“Glad you do. Cya!” “Hey, Rosie! You want to go to dinner with Rainbow Dash?”
“Sure. Where does she want to go?”
“Don’t know. Since we just ate, I didn’t ask.”
“Yes, let’s. Good excuse to get out of the airport.”
“Yeah. So you’re onboard.”
“Yes.”
“Yay!”
After I turn on the tv and grab a snack, I receive a call from area code 850.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Split Scimitar?”
“Yes, this is he. Please, just call me Max.”
“Alright, Max! Commander Spitfire with the Blue Angels. How are you this evening?”
“Much better that you called. I don’t know if Miss Dash already told you, but I did send a letter of response. I accept with humble honor, and look forward to hosting your squadron.”
“Great! If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind helping us out with the move? Fat Albert can only hold so much.”
“Absolutely. I have a trip coming up, but unfortunately I don’t have dates on that yet. What day do you have in mind for moving?”
“Um, well, our spring show is slated for the last weekend in March, and we’ll need a few days to perfect the routine. So, within the next few days?”
“Can be done. I’ll try and put my Pensacola trip between now and then.”
“Wait, you’re going to Pensacola?”
“Yeah, a buddy of mine needs a car shipped.”
“Oh. Well, just let me know when you‘re available.”
“Absolutely. Is this number a good one to call back?”
“This is the best one.”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
“Hey, listen, thank you so much for doing this.”
“You’re welcome. No problem whatsoever. Though I have to ask: why not go to Imperial, or Borrego Valley? Palm Springs even?”
“Well, Imperial and Borrego Valley are too short, and Palm Springs has noise abatement.”
“Oh yeah, and they ban formation flight too.”
“Yeah…”
“Does the city of Victorville know you’ll be in yet?”
“I haven’t told them yet. We just finished for the day.”
“Okay. If you’re going to send like a letter of intent, just to let them know you’ll be in my aerodrome.”
“Sounds good.”
“A pleasure to speak to you. I’ll let you know when I get back from Pensacola. You prefer call or text?”
“I’ll get it either way.”
“Okay. I just prefer text. Thank you.”
“Yeah, no problem. Talk to you soon!”
“Goodbye.”
“Bye.”
With that, I tell Rosalina, “Alright, it’s official. We ship Dash’s car and then help the Blue Angels move. All I need to do is work out a date to grab it.”
“Okay. Let’s try and work it out at dinner.”
“Remind me if I forget.”
“Of course.”
“You want to drive?”
“I don’t care.”
“Neither do I. It’s your call.”
“I’ll let you have this one.”
“Alrighty.” “Hey, you’re a Palm Springs local. Where do you recommend?”
“Whatcha feelin?”
“We’re good with anything.”
“You want steak, or seafood, or something a little less formal?”
“Any recommendations?”
“I mean, there’s a pretty good poke place I like. Right next door is a Tommy Bahama.”
“If you want Tommy Bahama, we can just go to OC. Get Sprinkles Cupcakes afterward.”
“Dang, that sounds good.”
“You want to do that?”
“Yeah! You mind if I spend a night with you? I’d rather not drive I-10 through the desert at night.”
“Hey, Rosie. Wanna spend the night in Newport? Dash is asking since she doesn’t want to drive I-10 at night.”
“Yeah. I’m okay with that.”
“Let’s do it.” I tell Rainbow.
“Awesome!”
After we toss our things into the Corvette, I check the time and Rosalina gives me a time stamp. “Challenge accepted.”
I-15 to 91 is about as heavy as we get, but once clear of the last toll plaza, radar detector picks up none, so I let her sing in 6th. The carpool and the left lane are surprisingly friendly until I-5, no surprises there. Once we clear the 405, I let her shout through 3, 4, and 5 before the 73. Off the freeway at MacArthur, I met my first Challenger, a hellcat Charger in B5 Blue.
Sensing a cop by radar detector, I give a cutthroat gesture but all he can do is laugh and rev. As soon as the light turns green, I engage the clutch enough to give the slightest forward motion so he knows to set off. In less than a second, the clutch comes back out, but the Hellcat is up and running. Just as the cop gives chase, I drive like I normally would and blend in with traffic. Eventually, we roll into Corona Del Mar Plaza and park right in front of Tommy Bahama. After I set the brake and turn off the engine, a Kona Blue Mustang pulls in right next to us. Timed well and an inconspicuous cover blown by the multicolored locks of hair atop the driver’s head, Rosalina waits for Dash to exit her car before we all exchange hugs and pleasantries.
“Because that doesn’t look like something you would rock of your own Accord, so to speak.”
“Yeah.”
“So, you hungry?”
Without answering the question, we head in and request a table. We get asked if we want to sit at the bar, but we pass, opting for a 5 minute wait.
After we get our table, we order drinks and look over the menu. Taking some extra time before we place the order, we start talking about the next week or two.
“Alright, it’s important that we move your car before you move to Victorville. Commander Spitfire will not begin the move until we finish, or next week, whichever comes first.”
“Does she know I’m the client?”
“No. She only knows I’m on a Pensacola trip.”
“Okay, um, I guess we can go get it whenever works for you.”
“We can leave as early as tonight. If it’s in Pensacola, I’ll red eye and do a quick turnaround. Won’t even know we were there.”
“Yeah, you’re not awesome enough to do that.”
“Yes I am.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes I am.”
“No you’re not.”
“Yes I am. Yes I am. Yes I am.” I reply fighting every urge not to sound singsong.
“Fine. Fine. You win.”
“Never thought I’d hear that from you.”
“Well, people are starting to stare.”
“Never thought I’d hear that from you, what with your “Awesome As I Want To Be” attitude.”
“Very funny.” She responds unamused.
“Yeah, so we’ll do that. You mind sleeping in a jumpseat?”
“I do. I thought we were gonna leave early tomorrow.”
“I mean, if we want to, I can hop to John Wayne if you want to stay here.”
“No way. It’ll be easier if we just leave from your place.”
“True. All the noise abatement.”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure you’d get pursued to the fullest extent of the law.”
“Go figure. Well, then we have a choice. Newport or Victorville for the night.”
“We’re already here, we may as well stay.” Rainbow Dash says, to which Rosalina nods in agreement.
“Okay.” I respond just before our food arrives.
We dig in and minimize chatter but communicate through offering pieces of entrées around. Fortunately for us, ours taste good all around, but when the bill comes, Rainbow swipes it from my hand and drops her card into it, handing it back to our server in one swift motion before I even have the chance to coax my wallet out of pocket.
“I am NOT being courted tonight!”
“Wasn’t trying to.” I respond with a raised eyebrow.
“I know, but I’ve been babied my whole life. It’s a personal thing.”
“I can understand. Sorry I wasn’t receptive to it.”
After we leave the restaurant, I ask “Do you want dessert?”
“Why not?”
“Cupcakes and/or milkshakes? I’ll get a milkshake.”
“Me too.” Rainbow responds.
“Do either of you want cupcakes?” Rosalina asks.
“I never know what’s available, so we should look.”
With that, we head in and take a look at the list. I ask for a chocolate marshmallow and banana dark chocolate. Rainbow Dash opts for a red velvet with a black & white, leaving Rosalina with the remaining two for a half dozen. What does she get? German chocolate cake (seasonal), and a classic red velvet.
After Rosalina makes note of our choices, I give her money, but she refuses in a way not dissimilar to Rainbow Dash, leaving the two of us to queue for milkshakes, Rosalina telling me what she wants. Once we place the order, I check for Rosalina outside until she beats us to the out.
With dessert sorted for the evening, we head for the beach house. Once a family gem bought as a gift for mom from her three kids, times changed; people changed, and somehow I ended up with it.
Next morning, I wake up at 6:20 and fight every urge to sleep so I can take a shower. I step in and get steamy to wake myself up. Soon, I’m dressed and all ready to go. Just as I put my clothes on, Dash steps into her shower evidenced by the sound of running water. Rosalina wakes up not a few minutes later, and I greet her with a good morning kiss.
Soon, my teeth are brushed and I’m all packed up. Dash apparently is slow to get ready, as we’re waiting a whole 10 minutes before we get ready. A traffic check shows an added five extra minutes either on 15 or 215. Before we get in gear, I ask if she has Fastrak. She doesn’t, since she’s never around roads that use it, so we settle for I-15, braving Ontario rush hour rather than Riverside.
We pass through Norco and Rancho nicely. Somewhere between Base Line and Devore, we hit brakes, eventually merging into a sea of red just after the 215 merger. Mostly due to slow trucks and trouble mergers, I brave the hill and torture the clutch before Dash sees a clearing and decides to thread it. We follow suit, imitating a race. Many a motorist give us angry looks based off my peripheral, but who cares?
Eventually, we reach the top of the hill, where I retake the lead to take the exit. After local roads treat us nicely, we enter airport grounds. Instead of the garage, I park in front of N709AS.
“Come on, Max! You could’ve at least gone for something a little more awesome.”
“She’s old, Yes. She’s a little bit slower, Yes. She’s quite a bit louder, Yes. But she gets the job done.”
“I mean, come on. A 737 Freighter?“
“You got a problem with the 737?”
“Yeah. It’s too small.”
“Says the Hornet Pilot.”
“Look, I enjoy a workhorse like the 737, but give me a wide body once in a while.”
“You should’ve met me before my accident. I was properly fat. 320 tonnes to be exact.”
“What?!”
“I’m serious. 320 tonnes.” I say as I show her an old profile picture. “There’s a reason some of my uniforms are on display. Though one of them is what I was wearing at the time of the accident, so…”
“Okay! Okay! I get it! Let’s just rescue my Porsche before a hurricane comes in.”
Rosalina takes care of the flight plan as we board. Dash gets comfortable as she can in the jumpseat as Rosalina turns on the APU on my mark. Tanks full, I push back and jump aboard, shutting the door and firing up the engines.
Once set, Rosalina turns off the APU and does the taxi list while I taxi to runway 3. Dash is already fast asleep, because I can hear her through my headset. We both look back and share a laugh before Rosalina gets the clearance. After gear and flaps up, we get a crossing restriction for traffic inbound to Apple Valley. In fact, due to it, I shove the throttles as far forward as possible to get max climb.
Thanks to our near weightless payload, we max out at 4500 fpm, reducing it down to 2500 after getting established on course. Eventually, we reach our cruising altitude of FL360, cruise at Mach 0.76.
We touch down a little rougher than usual, as a tricky approach and landing ‘twas windy. When we park, a Tug meets us to our surprise, but I guess they use it for their business jets under tow, so a 737 Freighter shouldn’t be much different.
After I order tanks to full, I head in and request a rental car. No frills, we receive a Hyundai Accent, where Dash upgrades us to a compact, then receiving the keys to a Toyota Corolla. After we load up, we head for the barracks. Dash drives to get past the guard, and once she grabs her Porsche, we head back, where I return the car and join Dash to the ramp. Rosalina needs the bathroom, so she goes while we get the preflight started. After I request a Tug to move it out for the APU, we instead get a ground power unit, where I pay for it and the fuel. Of course, we need it for only a few minutes, but once cargo is secure and we’re all boarded, I time check and decide to call Spitfire.
“Hello? Spitfire speaking.”
“Hi Commander Spitfire, it’s Max. How are you today?”
“I’m doing just fine, thank you. Are you ready for us?”
“I’m just about to leave Pensacola, and we’ll be inbound to El Centro when you want us.”
“Do you mind coming today?”
“No. Let me check something real quick. One second.” I mute the phone before I ask, “Hey, do either of you mind if we go to El Centro now?”
“I don’t.” Rosalina replies.
“I don’t either. It’ll be awesome to see a non-military airplane land over there.”
“Cool. I’ll let her know.” I say before unmuting the phone, “Hello? You still there, Commander?”
“I’m here.”
“We’re all good. We’ll be there in 4 hours. Tail number is N709AS.”
“Sounds good. We’ll get you some fuel.”
“No problem.”
“Thank you so much again.”
“My pleasure.”
The clearance takes us only to the Imperial VOR (IPL), so once we depart, we settle nicely until we start talking to Los Angeles. As it turns out, to clear my PPR as a formality, our descent vectors are from cruising all the way down to 4,000 in the published hold over IPL before slightly backtracking to shoot the RNAV approach so ramp ops can clear a path and space for us.
Assigned the short runway, I land firm, brake hard, and use full reverse thrust for this landing. Having been asleep for nearly the entire flight, Rainbow Dash is very abruptly woken up, hysterically shouting “oh fuck! Ejector seat! Bail out!” and searching frantically for the nonexistent ejector control.
“Cleared onto 26, two lefts, F, A short of B, and we’ll shut down there, Boeing 709AS.”
Quick work of the flaps and cleanup, Rosalina turns on the APU and turns all our lights off except for taxi and beacon once clear of the runways. I taxi a little faster than normal and hot brakes short of B. Shut down, open door.
“Boeing 709AS, a Tug is on its way to tow you, you can turn off your APU.”
“Roger, Do you have ground power available?”
“We do. We’ll get that to you once you’re towed to parking.”
“Thank you, 709AS out.”
After we shut everything down completely, I grab the handheld and tune ground just in case. I decide to drop the air stair and do a set of stair climbs and descents as a slight workout. When the Tug arrives, I greet the operator and retract the air stair while he mates it. I hold up the handheld and call ground,
“El Centro Ground, N709AS from a handheld. Should we communicate with the tug?”
“No need. Just let him take you where we need you.”
“Roger, thanks.”
After he gets going and tosses us next to Fat Albert, I decide to open the main cargo door just as I descend the air stair with my wife and Rainbow behind me.
As soon as we stand on the ramp, the tug operator comes over to me and interrogates.
“At ease, sir.” He responds after I salute him. “You’re Spitfire’s SA?”
“Affirm, sir. I also have Ms. Rainbow Dash.”
“Got it. Commander Spitfire will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you sir. Thank you for your service.”
“Pleasure’s all mine.” He says as he leaves with the tug.
Just then, a group of three angels in flight suits head for us. The middle angel removes her shades and opens her hand for shaking as I simultaneously salute the three of them.
“Welcome to El Centro! At ease.”
“Commander Spitfire?” I ask as I shake her hand.
She nods. “Pleasure to meet you!”
“My wife, Rosalina.” I say before I look over my other shoulder. “You two I assume are already familiar with each other.”
“Wow, Crash. I didn’t imagine you’d downgrade to a 7-3-[7]. No offense.”
“None taken. Even Fat Albert is an upgrade from this old grey mare.”
“Nevertheless, she is perfect for our circumstances. For obvious reasons, I cannot let you transport certain items. Usually, Fat Albert can take everything of ours, but for our operations at your airport, we need a few extra things.”
“Excellent. I have one piece of precious cargo onboard, so we may have to move it around.”
“Okay. Um, does our equipment reach the airplane?”
“It should. We may not have proper airline loading equipment, but we can hydraulically lift most of the stuff into here.”
“If I may, What kind of cargo needs to be on this airplane?”
“Nothing major, just some extra flight suits, medical supplies, Fat Albert’s rockets…”
“Really?” I respond after she takes a long pause.
“Nah. I can’t allow that. Well, maybe, depending on what Fat Albert needs to carry.”
“Do what you need to do, Commander.”
Once fully declared, loadmasters log everything on our airplane and give copies of the manifest to Spitfire and I. The Angels are gonna practice some formations on the way over, leaving the crew of Fat Albert and me to discuss the plan.
I should depart first, so that I’m there when they all arrive. Since I’m all ready to go, and the conditions allow, Dash has to leave us behind for obvious reasons while I clear the airplane and get her started up.
“El Centro Ground, N709AS with Fat Albert, taxi north departure.”
“N709AS, El Centro Ground, there is no IFR Flight Plan on file.”
“N709AS, Affirm. Our flight plan has us off Imperial.”
“N709AS, you wanting to just depart VFR?”
“Affirm. Is the Kane MOA hot?”
“Negative.”
“Then we’ll depart VFR.”
“Roger, runway 8, taxi via A. Wind 350 at 4, altimeter 29.94.”
“29.94, 8 via A, 709AS.”
Flaps 5 for takeoff.
“N709AS, departure frequency 128.6, monitor tower 119.1.”
“Departure 28.6, 19.1, N709AS.”
As I turn right onto A, tower queries, “N709AS, El Centro tower. Runway 8, cleared for takeoff. Upon reaching 3,000, fly heading 330.”
“Cleared for takeoff runway 8, 330 at 3,000, 709AS.”
Lights on, ready to go. Power set, airspeed alive. Gauges in the green.
80 knots.
V1
Rotate.
V2
Positive rate, gear up.
Flaps up.
“N709AS, frequency change approved.”
“Change approved, thanks for the help, N709AS.” “Los Angeles center, Boeing N709AS off Imperial, IFR to Victorville.”
“N709AS, cleared to Victorville airport via as filed, maintain 8,000. Squawk 1520.”
“1520, Boeing 709AS.”
“Boeing 9AS, radar contact 7 miles west of Brawley, 8,000.”
“Position checks, Boeing 9AS.”
“Boeing 9AS, climb and maintain FL200. Turn left heading 320, intercept Victor 137.”
“200, 320, V137, Boeing 709AS.”
“Boeing 709AS, proceed direct APLES, expect VOR/DME runway 17.”
“Direct APLES, 709AS.”
“N709AS, descend at pilot’s discretion, maintain 6,600.”
“Own discretion 6.6, 9AS.”
Rosalina takes care of that for me and runs the numbers in her flight computer. At our present position, if we want to cross APLES at 6.6, then our descent rate should be about 2500 fpm. She sets that, but instead I ask to just go at 2300, which she decides to set. Descent checklist.
“Set Vref, in case we get a chop and drop for traffic, please.”
“What’s Vref?”
“At our current weight, uh, 130, includes a buffer.”
“Thank you. Flaps?”
“5, please.” Which she sets.
“Alaska, correction, N709AS, Radar service terminated. Change to advisory approved.”
“Over to advisory, thanks for the help, 709AS.”
“Inside WENOD, established on course, 4,300 please. Flaps 15.”
“4.3, flaps 15.” Just then, the gear warning horn comes on. Once airspeed stabilizes, it shuts off.
“2 miles from FAF, below VLO, lower landing gear.”
As Rosalina lowers the gear, I call, “2 miles from UNCAL, Flaps 25.”
“25 flaps.”
“Before landing check.”
“Landing gear?”
“Down, 3 green.”
“Flaps?”
“Set 30 please.”
“Roger. Speeds?”
“135 knots now that we’re inside the FAF.”
“500 to minimums.”
“Thank you.”
“Before landing checklist complete.”
“Thank you.”
“Minimums.”
“Runway in sight, gear down and locked, flaps 30, speed is good.”
50.
40.
30.
20.
10.
Power idle, ground effect.
Touchdown. Spoilers up, no brakes. 2 in reverse.
“Nose down gently please.”
She grabs the yoke and helps relieve my inputs. When the nose settles, I relax the yoke, stow the reversers, and Rosalina raises the flaps. I then blip to taxi power to retract the speed brakes before we take the next exit.
“After landing check.”
“Flaps?”
“Retract.”
“Spoilers?”
“Retract.”
“Lights?”
“All light except for Beacon and taxi, off.”
“APU?”
“Start.”
“APU generator?”
“Off.”
“APU to run?”
“Stable and lit.”
“Thank you.”
“IFR?”
“We forgot to get a cancellation. I can call flight service.”
“I can call, or would you rather do the checklist.”
“Let’s finish.”
“Squawk?”
“We’ll close then set to 12.”
“Ice protection?”
“Off.”
“After landing complete. Let me call flight service.” “Riverside Radio, N709AS calling Barstow.”
“N709AS, Riverside. Understand on the ground at Victorville?”
“Affirm, cancel IFR at this time.”
“N709AS, IFR cancellation received, Joshua didn’t cancel it for you?”
“If they did, they didn’t say it.”
“Interesting. N709AS, IFR closed.”
“Thanks for the help, 709AS.”
1200, park, shut down, grab tugs to offload cargo.
First things first: Rainbow’s Porsche. Damn it, she forgot to give me her keys. Guess we can’t unload anything until she lands. Oh well.
“Victorville, Blue Angel 7 is solo, inbound to land.”
“Angel 7,” I call scrambling for the handheld, “say position.”
“Angel 7, we’re over Silverwood Lake. What’s the weather?”
“Winds light and variable, altimeter 30.04. Any runway’s fair game.”
“Sounds good.”
A few moments later, Angel 7 overflies the field and declares runway 21.
After Angel 7 touches down, he taxis next to me and parks. Unsure of how base will be set up, I decide to put his airplane under tow so we can give him an idea of where to set up. If they need a terminal, I can accommodate. After I place him on one of the open stands, I ask if he needs anything, and all he responds is “bathroom,” so after I direct him that way, I wait for the others.
As a joke, I head to the tower and boot up ATC equipment, which has been disused since I took over the property. Startup takes about 20 minutes, but once the radar is scanning, I wait for their radar return.
“Victorville, Angel Flight is a flight of six in formation over Lake Arrowhead, inbound to land.” Spitfire calls on their behalf about 15 minutes after startup completes.
“Angel Flight, Victorville tower. Should pick you up on radar momentarily. Which runway would you like?”
“Give us your longest.”
“17/35 is 15,050 feet. Wind variable at 5, altimeter 30.05.”
“Angel Flight. We’ll land 17.”
“Angel Flight, roger, I have your crew in sight, which ship numbers are in formation at this time?”
“1, 2, 4, 5, 6, and 8.”
“Angel Flight, Roger. Remain within 10 NM of Victorville Airport.“
“Roger that.”
A few minutes later, Spitfire calls, “Tower, Angel Flight is splitting into a flight of two.”
‘Sounds like Rainbow Dash.’ I think to myself. “Angel Flight 2, roger.” “Angel Flight 1 and 2, say intentions.”
“Angel Flight 1 and 2, circle the field until Fat Albert comes in. Once he’s inbound, we’ll land on 17 in full formation, and Fat Albert will land on your other runway.”
“Angel Flight, roger.“
“Any word on Fat Albert’s status?” Spitfire asks.
“No additional targets observed at this time. Speaking of, where’s ship number 3?”
“Down for its annual.”
“Roger.”
“Victorville! Hey, hey, hey!”
“Fat Albert, Victorville, welcome. Say position.”
“Just past Hesperia.”
“Roger. Your compatriots are circling within a 10 NM radius of the field. Runway 21, proceed your discretion. Wind 020 at 3, altimeter 30.05.”
“Rajah.”
As I keep my eye out for Fat Albert, I soon call, “Fat Albert, I have you in sight. Runway 21, continue inbound.”
“Runway 21, Roger.”
“Angel Flight, target 10 miles out.”
They acknowledge with two keys of the mic. Two minutes later, they report, “Fat Albert’s on final, gear down and locked.”
“Fat Albert, runway 21. Cleared to land. Break. Angel Flight, runway 17, your discretion, cleared to land. Caution company Hercules landing runway 21.”
“Fat Albert cleared for 21.”
“Angel Flight cleared for 17.”
Fat Albert touches down with hardcore reverse thrust.
“Fat Albert, left at B if able, B C, hold short of E.”
“Taking B, B C, short of E, Fat Albert.”
“Angel Flight, Which one of you is first?”
“In order,” Spitfire calls, “1, 4, 2, 6, 5, 8.”
“Angel Flight, Roger. Fat Albert, you can shut down there and unload while your chief and I figure out parking. If you have linemen assisting Angels with unloading, you can leave your aircraft there.”
“Roger, shutting down here.”
“Angel 1, D E to the ramp. Cleared across runway 21.”
“D E, cross 21, Angel 1.”
“Angels 4 and 2, D R, double back via the roundabout, hold short of E. Angels 6 and 5, E3 E R, line up behind Angels 4 and 2 in the roundabout. Angel 8, well done on your short field performance. E2 E R, line up behind Angels 5 and 6.”
“Actually, can Angel 8 join me on the ramp?” Spitfire asks.
“Angel 1, roger. Angel 8, E2 E, cross runway 21, taxi to the ramp.”
“To the ramp, cleared across 21, Angel 8.”
“Angels 4 and 2, behind Angel 8, R E, cross runway 21, hold short of C. Angels 6 and 5, R E, hold short runway 21.”
As each Angel responds variedly, Spitfire parks next to Angel 7, and Rainbow Dash next to her.
“Angel 4, 2, 6, and 5, you can follow Angels 1 and 8 and park as you see fit. We’ll get some aircraft moved around on the ramp to give you some space. Angels 4 and 2, taxi to the ramp. Angels 6 and 5, cleared across runway 21, taxi to the ramp.”
Before they can respond, I leave the tower and fire up a tug to move airplanes around. When I reach Spitfire and Dash, they’re just climbing out with the assistance of their linemen. Others then position the remaining Angels as necessary, so I wait until everyone is shut down before making any more moves.
After all the canopies open, linemen assist as necessary and I meet Spitfire.
“Okay. Now that you’re all here, how would you like to set yourselves up?”
“Well, it looks like we can make things work for the most part with some moving around.”
“If you can fit 2 Angels to each gate, I have a 3-gate terminal you can use, then Fat Albert can park just at the next available space.”
“Let’s try that.”
“Cool.” With that, I kick the Super Tug into gear, spewing some black, sooty exhaust.
One terminal is cleared as it’s close to where everyone’s already parked. Fat Albert gets to sit at an open gate at the next terminal over due to its proximity to the Angels, and because the aircraft parked at the terminal I sleep in are staying put.
The first plane under tow is Fat Albert, with his crew wing walking. Once I move him to his spot, two linemen who have super tug experience request the tugs from each of the gates at both my and the vacated terminal to tow the other Angels. Each F-18 is parked within 45 minutes, so while they take care of replacing the tugs where they got them, Spitfire, Dash and I figure out how their base is gonna be set up.
I move all the fuel trucks over here for obvious reasons.
“How much fuel do you think you’ll need?”
“No exact estimates. What’s your asking price?”
“I don’t sell fuel to the public, but what’s your most competitive rate?”
“Imperial sells just under $5/gal. But between you and me, it is the DoD’s dollar.”
“How about this? $6.70/gal. That includes other surcharges worked into it, so in essence, I’m waiving all my fees and instead working it into the cost of fuel. Plus, at $1/lb, that would increase your operating cost from $20,000/hr to $21,000/hr.”
“I like the way you think. I don’t see why DoD would argue that price.“
“It’s just too bad Fleet Week San Francisco isn’t for a while.”
“Yeah, then we could go to Pensacola from there.”
“Quit talking about Fleet Week so we can be awesome!” Dash intervenes.
“Whoa, Crash. Who’s in charge of the squadron, you or me?” Spitfire grumbles just as the other pilots and linemen join us. “We could try San Bernardino?”
“FedEx and UPS fly into there, but that might work. San Bernardino would be your best bet.”
“Let me talk to my superiors. Maybe they can coerce San Bernardino if they don’t get too busy.” She replies as she leaves to make a call.
I then take the time to meet the other pilots.
In command of Angel 2 is Lieutenant Soarin’ - “Clipper” - USN At the reigns of Angel 4 is Lieutenant Fleetfoot - “Flatfoot” - USMC Angel 5 is commanded by Major Misty Fly - “Dizzy” - USMC Angel 6 is commanded by Major Surprise - “Slowpoke” - USN Lastly, Angel 7, the narrator, is Captain High Winds - “Foot-in-Mouth” - USMC Of course, we can’t forget about Angel 1, led by Commander Spitfire - *unintelligible* - USN Nor can we forget about Angel 8, Lieutenant Commander Rainbow Dash - “Crash” - USMC
A few minutes later, Spitfire returns with news.
“Well, my superiors are gonna talk to San Bernardino. Given that they’re not terribly busy, we have a pretty good shot.”
“No reason to not. UPS and FedEx would just have to deal with it.”
“Amazon too. They’re much of the reason San Bernardino’s actually busy now.”
“Yeah, well, we seemed pretty confident about it on the phone. I expect a word by tomorrow, but for now, I think we should try and figure out some sort of daily routine. Since we can’t go back to El Centro, is there anywhere we can stay?”
“How many of you are there?”
“25.”
“Okay. Each gate is configured as a 4-person ‘suite.’ Three gates where the F-18’s are presently parked covers half of the crew. Plus, there’s there’s the gate at the terminal where Fat Albert’s parked, or however many else you need or want.”
“Let’s take a look. No reason we‘d say no.”
After I show them the gate suites, rooms go up for dibs. Unsurprisingly, Dash picks the room next to Rosalina and I in our terminal and requests solo occupancy, since her parents are coming in. She then asks if we can pick them up. Airport? Ontario. Arriving? Tomorrow. Airline? United.
“Wouldn’t it be great if I could park my airplane at the gate next to theirs and take them to Victorville that way?”
“It would be funny.”
“And it would be pretty awesome!”
“Rosalina, do you want to get something for dinner or would you rather cook tonight?”
“I don’t mind either way.”
“Freddy’s, Sonic, Cracker Barrel?”
“Ooh. Cracker Barrel.” Fleetfoot responds.
“There’s a Cracker Barrel here??!” Spitfire exclaims.
“Yeah! California’s only 2 locations are within an hour of here.”
“Let’s go!”
“Do your comrades want to join?”
“Let me ask.”
When she leaves, I ask, “um, do you mind driving to Ontario to pick up Rainbow’s parents?”
“Not at all. I’m taking all the opportunity to drive the Jeep I can.”
“I’m glad. Oh, speaking of, when do you want to head back?”
“We can head back when they leave.”
“You’ll just miss a month in Maui then? Or do you want an extra month on Kauai?”
“Maui.”
“Cool.”
“Alright, looks like most of us are hungry,” Rainbow says, “but we have pretty mixed results about those who want to go where.”
“Well, for anyone who’s interested, Sonic, Freddy’s Steakburgers, Cracker Barrel, Original Roadhouse, Chili’s, Applebee’s, Johnny Carino’s, Panera, Habit Burger…”
“Wow!” Dash exclaims. “Talk about diverse.”
“All the Vegas travelers. Right off I-15, last stop before descending Cajon Pass.”
“Figures.”
“Okay, here’s the game plan then.” I respond. “Cracker Barrel people, please step forward.”
18 people follow my instructions, so we need to rent cars.
“Okay, anyone comfortable driving a rental car for the next few days? If so, please step forward.”
Only 2 step forward this time: Soarin’ and High Winds.
“Okay. Let’s go grab rentals.”
“I’ll take them.” Dash says.
“Mustang or Porsche?”
“Uh, the GT3 doesn’t have a backseat.”
“Go figure.” I say as the three of them pile into her Mustang.
When the three of them return, Soarin’ and High Winds each have a minivan. Fat Albert’s crew decides to rent a car for themselves and go grocery shopping, seeing as they appreciate the kitchens I have to offer. So, back comes another minivan. Fat Albert’s Marines plus some linemen then pile in and ask for the nearest grocery store before they head out.
Rosalina rides with me, leaving the rest of the crew to pick vans as they see fit. We’ll head to restaurant row and fan out from there. By nightfall, we all turn in quickly. Sunrise is at 7:27, so tower services will begin at the bottom of the hour.
Alarm at 6:05. Breakfast, boot up ATC equipment. NOTAM filed, TFR in effect, waiting on the first call.
“Attention all aircraft, time 0730 local. Victorville Class D surface area in effect. Air traffic control services now available.”
“Victorville Ground, Angel Flight ready to go.”
“Angel Flight, Victorville Ground. Wind variable at 4, altimeter 30.03. Which runway would you like?”
“Angel Flight, we’ll take 3 or 35, your choice.”
“Roger, Angel Flight, runway 3, taxi via C C3. If you wish to use the full length, C C2, cleared onto runway 35.”
“Angel Flight, we’ll go full length. C C2, cleared onto runway 35.”
“Angel Flight, roger. If or when able, could you give me a sequence or hierarchy of ship numbers for my reference.”
“1, 4, 2, 6, 5, 8. Same as last time.”
“Roger, thanks. You can monitor tower now, 118.35.”
“18.35, Angel Flight. Oh, and by the way, I just heard from company that Angel 3 will be joining us tomorrow.”
“Angel Flight, roger.”
“Victorville Tower, Angel Flight ready on 3.”
“Angel Flight, Victorville Tower. Remain within a 15 NM radius at or below 15,000 to remain inside your TFR. Runway 3, cleared for takeoff. Time To Be Awesome!”
“Cleared for takeoff, Angel Flight.”
After the last Angel raises gear, I check the weather station and begin ATIS cycling.
“Victorville Information A, 1420Z, wind 120 at 3, visibility 10, sky clear below 12,000. Temperature 15. Dew point 4. Altimeter 30.03. Notices to Airmen. All runways restricted access. Prior permission required. Temporary Flight Restrictions in effect, 15 NM radius of midfield, surface to 15,000. Air Traffic Control services in effect sunrise to sunset. Advise on initial contact, you have information A.”
“Attention all aircraft, ATIS information A current. Altimeter 30.03.”
I don’t expect any calls since all aircraft are forbidden from entering the airspace anyway, but in some cases, emergency aircraft may need the field. In which case they are the only time I allow public ops on my property.
For the next couple hours, no calls make the radio waves. I take advantage of personal time with Rosalina. Given the work environment, it would behoove us not to talk about the divorce.
About 45 minutes later, I get my next call.
“Tower, Angel Flight, landing.”
“Angel Flight, Victorville Tower. Which runway would you like?”
“17.”
“Angel Flight, roger. Runway 17, your discretion, cleared to land.”
“Cleared to land, Angel Flight.”
“Attention all line staff, Angels inbound for fuel stop. Angels inbound for fuel stop.” I transmit on ground frequency.
One at a time, each ship lands in order. “Angel [1, 4, 2, 6, 5, 8], exit runway when able, taxi to the ramp, cross runway 21. Remain this frequency.”
Since this is a fuel stop, they’re on their first break. I have to remain in the tower in case anyone violates the TFR.
“Victorville Airport Information B, 1715Z, Wind 130 at 7, visibility 10, sky clear below 12,000. Temperature 18, dew point 4, altimeter 30.06. Notices to Airmen. All runways restricted access, prior permission required. Temporary Flight restrictions in effect within a 15 NM radius of the field, surface to 15,000. Air traffic control services in effect 0800-1800. Advise on initial contact, with information B.”
Rosalina then returns with lunch and asks if she can take a trick at the radio. I approve and ask what she brought. Home cooked soup and sandwiches of various ingredients based on what we had in the fridge, so it’s a leftovers meal. No complaints whatsoever, we share a meal and keep an eye on Angels as they take their break.
Dash then texts me and says, “hey, next round is everyone but me. Can I join you?”
“Yeah. Though I am confused as to why you specifically are excluded.”
“Well… I’ll explain once I’m with you.”
“Cool. We have lunch, mostly leftovers, with us. Come on up!”
“Awesome!”
A few minutes later, as Dash decides to fill a plate with food, I keep my eye on ramp ops. Field UNICOM is alight with chatter, but ground and tower? Dead.
“Victorville Ground, Angel 1.”
“Angel 1, ground.”
“Angels 1, 4, 2, 6, and 5, taxi.”
“Angel Flight less 8, roger. Wind 140 at 7, which runway would you like?”
After the five ships line up and taxi in formation, Dash then joins me as Rosalina then tugs on my headset and asks to take tower. I stifle a chuckle but nod and let her take the reigns.
“Angel Flight, Victorville tower. Runway 21, cleared for takeoff. Remain within a 15 NM radius of the field at or below 15,000.” Rosalina keys as we leave the tower.
“So, Max. About my new car for Florida. I need something fast, quick, and awesome!”
“How do you feel about luxury?”
“Well…” She hums just as the whoosh of the Angels, making a buzz of the tower, drown out anything she would’ve been trying to say.
She continues, “I want something loud, something that’s very me. Something I can enjoy for its speed, and sound. Oh, it has to be a V8.”
“You drive a GT3. What happened there?”
“Uh, heh…” She blushes. “I broke.”
“Not like I can judge; you know my garage.”
“For the man who has everything.” She says crossing her arms enviously.
“Well, if it’s a loud and fast V8 you’re looking for, I imagine American muscle piques your interest?”
“Yeah it does! But I don’t like GM products.”
“How about FCA? Or CDJR?”
“What?”
“Fiat/Chrysler? Chrysler, Dodge, Jeep, Ram?”
“Oh. Eh??” She shrugs.
“Let me guess: you like your American muscle, so long as it’s Blue Oval.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Would you rather drive an import?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I love my Mustang, but it did get old kind of quickly.”
“Sure. Do you know how to drive a manual?”
“No…” She blushes even brighter than last time.
“Why is that a bad thing? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Well, I assume someone like you would hold something like that near and dear to you. I just feel self-conscious about not being able to be proud of it.”
“It is. I do. Would you be willing to learn?”
“No.” She responds immediately.
“So why are you so concerned with being embarrassed about it but are not willing to learn?”
“Old dog, new tricks?” She shrugs.
“Come on now, you’re not as far along as me.”
“Fair, but Spitfire does, and you already know my nickname.”
“Oh my god, you think driving stick would get you into an accident?!”
“Yes it will! And it hurts!” She shouts feigning a tantrum.
“As sympathetic as I am for you, that is funny.”
“Well, I’m tired of it!”
“Does the nickname “Crash” bother you that much?”
“That was what childhood bullies used to call me. Fluttershy would know.”
“You two grew up together?”
“Yeah.”
“Nice. So, V8, Muscle preferred, automatic gearbox.”
“Yeah…”
“Your options are pretty open still. With V8, you could go from Mustang all the way to AMG GT.”
“Ok then. Let’s stick to the US.”
“That would leave you with Mustang GT, Challenger, Charger, and the trucks: F-Series and RAM.”
“No trucks. Too big.”
“Fine. Mustang, Challenger, Charger.”
“Ugh. After all that, I should basically just take my Mustang then?”
“You could, or if you really want to, go exotic.”
“Well…”
“How about this? What do your colleagues drive?”
“Uh…”
“I’ll give you a few to think.” I say as I check on Rosalina via text. She says she’s fine but tells us to go to the garage.
When the collection was in Peotone, it was sorted across 14 stories as follows:
Guest parking. Current car(s).
Honda
GM
Toyota
Ford
FCA/CDJR
Vacant
Italy
BMW
Mercedes
VW Group
Others
Rarities
DMC
Here in Victorville, it’s sorted across 7 stories as follows:
Guest parking. Current car(s).
America
Germany
Britain
Japan
Others
Rarities
After I boot up the vehicle sorter, I show Dash how to run a query, but all her available options from my garage are ruled out, because they all have a clutch. In response, she says, “Ugh! I guess it’s gonna be either the Mustang or the Porsche.”
“Oh alright then. Mustang it’ll be.” I respond rhetorically.
Just then, Rosalina calls.
“Hello?”
“Hey, fuel stop, and Rainbow’s back on.”
“On the way.” I finish, to which she hangs up. “You’re due up again.”
“Awesome!“
We quickly head back to the ramp, but before I head for the tower, Spitfire pulls me aside and asks,
“Hey, do you by chance know if San Bernardino has passenger service?”
“They don’t. Volaris was the only candidate, but nothing happened.”
“Okay. Um, Angel 7 is gonna do prelims tomorrow. I don’t know if she’s gonna file IFR, but just in case, since I’m sure it’s been a while since you’ve gone through ATC training.”
“Actually, I haven’t. The only reason I booted up tower is to keep your TFR protected.”
“Well, you better get your shit together.”
“I’m doing the best I can. I never received any ATC training. All my experience comes from my career.”
“Well, you’re not any worse than our guys.”
“Good. I’m glad my instructions are at least comprehensible.”
“It’s fast paced and rapid fire, all at once.” Dash interjects. “I kind of like that. Our guys are pretty slow.”
“Well, I don’t want to interrupt your break, so I’ll head back and see you off. By the way, how’s Rosalina at tower?”
“Better than you could ever wish.”
“Cool. Talk to you on the go.”
Back at tower, Rosalina immediately hands me the headset and says, “glad you’re back. I want to put the food away.”
“No problem. You mind handling the one Ground though? You can hand them over to me once they all get going.”
“Why not?” She says as she grabs another headset.
“Victorville Ground, Angel Flight back to full strength, ready to go.”
“Angel Flight at full strength, Victorville Ground. Which runway?” Rosalina responds.
“Uh, 3.”
“Roger, runway 3, taxi via C C2, hold short runway 35.”
“Angel Flight, monitor tower on 118.35, he’ll call you. Good luck.”
Holding back a laugh, Rosalina then removes her headset and grabs the food. When she leaves, I switch to transmit on both ground and tower and wait for Angel 1 to cross C2.
“Angel Flight, Victorville Tower. Cleared onto runway 35. Runway 3, line up and wait.”
“Cleared onto 35, Line up and wait on 3, Angel Flight.”
Once Angel 8 turns around and lines up in formation, I transmit, “Angel Flight, formation your discretion. Remain within a 15 NM radius of the field at or below 15,000 to stay inside your TFR. Runway 3, cleared for takeoff.”
“Cleared for takeoff, Angel Flight.”
As I keep my eye on the radar, a couple of targets pop up on the ground. Fat Albert then starts up and queries.
“Victorville Ground, Fat Albert with G, request runway 35.”
“Fat Albert, Victorville Ground. Would you like the full length?”
“Affirm.”
“Roger, runway 35, taxi via C C1. Passing C2, monitor tower 118.35.”
“C C1, 35, monitor at C2, Fat Albert.”
As Fat Albert gets going on taxiway, Angel 7 calls with no radar return.
“Victorville Ground, Angel 7.”
“Angel 7, Ground.”
“Just to let you know, I’m heading to San Bernardino for venue testing. You think I should file IFR?”
“Angel 7, that would be up to you. If you’re asking for my experience, I haven’t flown into San Bernardino in some years, but standby. Break. Fat Albert, Victorville tower. Say direction of departure.”
“Departing to the north. Doing practice approaches into Apple Valley.”
“Angel 7, if SoCal can’t give you radar vectors, all of their approaches have the same initial approach fix, the Paradise VOR, PDZ, so it doesn’t matter either way.” I say just as Fat Albert initiates a steep climb.
“Angel 7, roger. I’ll go ahead and file.”
“Angel 7, roger.”
“Attention all aircraft, information J now current. Wind 160 at 5, altimeter 30.02.”
“Ground, Angel 7. Is my flight plan on file?”
“Angel 7, Ground. Not yet. How recently did you file?”
“Uh, about 25 minutes ago.”
“Angel 7, roger. Um, normally, flight plans take about an hour to enter the system, but let’s check in 5 minutes.”
“Roger, Angel 7.”
Just a few seconds later, it pops up, so I call back after chuckling, “Angel 7! Looks like it just popped up on my screen here. You ready to go?”
“Affirm.”
“Angel 7, cleared to San Bernardino airport via direct. Maintain 11,000. Departure frequency 124.55, squawk 5646.”
“Cleared to San Bernardino via direct. 11,000, 24.55, 5646, Angel 7.”
“Angel 7, readback correct. Runway 21, taxi via C A.”
“C A, 21, Angel 7.”
“Angel 7, monitor tower 118.35.”
“Monitoring, Angel 7.”
“Angel 7, Victorville tower. Runway 21, line up and wait, pending IFR release.”
“Angel 7, 21, line up and wait.”
“Angel Flight, company F-18 departing runway 21 for San Bernardino. Angel 7, runway 21, cleared for takeoff. Fly heading 170.”
“Cleared for takeoff 21, 170, Angel 7.”
No sooner does Angel 7 disappear from my radar does Fat Albert return.
“Victorville tower, Fat Albert 2 E SCCAT, RNAV GPS 17.”
“Angel 7, contact Departure.”
“Angel 7. Cya!”
“Fat Albert, tower. Continue inbound. Traffic company F-18’s in formation currently 10 o’clock, 7 miles. Report SUZZQ.”
“Report SUZZQ, Fat Albert.”
“Angel Flight, traffic company Hercules on approach course for runway 17. 7 miles southeast of present position, 4,800 descending.”
Not too long after, Fat Albert reports SUZZQ.
“Fat Albert, Roger. Runway 17, cleared for the option.”
“Cleared option 17, landing. Fat Albert.”
“Roger. Angel Flight, company Hercules now 4 mile final for runway 17.”
When Fat Albert lands, they take their sweet time to the taxiway, since they just missed E3.
“Fat Albert, welcome back. Left at D, D E, cleared across runway 21, taxi to the ramp.”
“D E, cross 21, Fat Albert.”
“Tower, Angel Flight, returning for fuel.”
“Angel Flight, roger. Which runway would you like?”
“17.”
“Roger, runway 17, your discretion, cleared to land.”
One by one, I give each ship their taxi instruction, but just as Angel 8 touches down, Rosalina texts me,
“When do Dash’s parents arrive?”
“She didn’t specify a time. I probably should ask.”
Since her airplane is on the ground, I look for her on the ground, but no sooner do I reach for my phone does she run up to the tower and exclaim, “my parents landed about 20 minutes ago!”
“Let’s get to it!” I respond, but just as I put my headset down, I get a call on the radio.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday! Arrow 323MQ, over Helendale. Engine failure! Need the field! Mayday, mayday, mayday! Arrow 323MQ, engine failure.”
“Arrow 323MQ, Victorville tower. Understand you’re gliding out with an engine failure. There is a TFR in effect from the surface to 15,000 within a 15 NM radius of the field. Can you try for Apple Valley?”
“We can try, but despite your TFR, your field is our best option.”
“Roger. If you need to land here, just let me know.”
“Arrow 3MQ.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to get them without me. We have an emergency aircraft that may need to break our TFR for their sake. Sorry, you’re just gonna have to go.”
“Okay. Do what you need to do.”
“Attention all line staff. Attention all line staff.” I call on ground and Unicom. “Possible emergency aircraft gliding with an engine failure. Standby for further instructions.”
“Victorville Ground, Angel rescue team ready on call.”
“Rescue team, Roger.”
Checking the time, I decide to make a phone call. The phone rings a few times before picking up.
“FAA Riverside FSDO, Roger speaking.”
“Hi Roger, this is Split Scimitar. I’m the tower controller at Victorville, under the Blue Angels TFR. There is an emergency aircraft that just experienced an engine failure and is gliding down. He says he can make Apple Valley, but he’d rather land here.”
“Okay. Well, the purpose of your TFR is to protect the high speed operations of Blue Angels practices, and it’s been hot for the past two days.”
“Yes sir, but the Angels right now are currently on the ground.”
“Okay. Um, let me get my supervisor and see what he says. As it stands now, there is no undue harm, since it sounds like the airspace is completely empty.”
“It is.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He says putting me on hold. I then check the radios and see if anyone’s called.
“Arrow 323MQ, Victorville.”
“3MQ.” He responds quickly.
“Say altitude.”
“323MQ is descending through 7,800.”
“Roger.”
“Hello?” Another voice calls over the phone.
“Hi, this is Split Scimitar running the Victorville tower.”
“Hi, Clarence from the FAA. Um, is this emergency aircraft currently inside your TFR?”
“Um, no. Looks like he’s just outside it at this time.” I then pause as his target tracks towards us.
Just as I finish that sentence, I get a, “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Arrow 323MQ unable Apple Valley. We need your field.”
“Scratch that.” I say to Clarence, “he’s heading for us right now.”
“Okay. Well, we will need to talk to him. As well as you. When can you interview?”
“Anytime within the next day or two.”
“Okay. Can I have a phone number we can contact?”
“Sure. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“(xxx) xxx-xxxx. And the name is Split Scimitar, or Max.”
“(xxx) xxx-xxxx. And Max.”
“That’s correct.”
“Thank you. We’ll contact you tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“Thank you. Good day.” He says hanging up.
“Arrow 323MQ, are you better set up for runway 17 or 21?”
“3MQ is going for 17.”
“Arrow 323MQ, Roger. Runway 17, cleared to land. When able, souls and fuel.”
“17, cleared to land, Arrow 323MQ.”
“Rescue team, ground.”
“Go for rescue team.”
“The emergency aircraft is 3 mile final for 17. Expect E2 or E3 entry.”
“Rescue team, roger.”
I then decide to make a call from tower phone.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hi, we have an aircraft with an engine fire approaching the Victorville Airport. We’ll need fire, an ambulance and some police.”
“Okay, fire trucks, an ambulance and some police. They’ll be on their way shortly.”
“Thank you.”
“Yep. Good day.” The operator says hanging up.
“Rescue team, ground.”
“Go for Rescue.”
“Emergency services have been notified. Is the accident aircraft at a stop?”
“Affirm.”
“Roger. Cleared onto runway 17. Let me know how they’re doing. I didn’t get a fuel or soul count.”
“Roger, cleared onto 17, Rescue team.”
I then text Rosalina and Rainbow: “who’s driving?”
“Rosalina.” Dash replies.
“Okay. The emergency aircraft had to land here because of terrain. Emergency services are on their way.”
“Shit. How bad is it?”
“Don’t know yet. They landed successfully, but since it was an engine failure, we’re not gonna know what’s happening. If necessary, keep your parents stalled and away from the airfield. I’ll let you know.”
“K cool.”
“Anyone on Victorville Unicom?” I then switch to ground, “anyone else on frequency?”
Spitfire then runs into the tower. She bursts in and exclaims, “What the hell is going on??”
“In-flight engine failure. Couldn’t make Apple Valley for terrain.”
“What about our TFR?”
“Called the FSDO, they’re gonna need interviews. Since it was to keep the airspace from being occupied by rogue aircraft, I doubt they’re gonna build too much of a case. The penetration didn’t occur until they for certain couldn’t make Apple Valley, so they’ll probably plead “emergency deviation,” which since everyone was on the ground at the time, I’ll support.”
“I’m glad they didn’t cause any trouble, but what is that going to mean for us?”
“Is Angel 7 going to come back?”
“No word from them. Normally they don’t unless the venue has to change.”
“Okay. Well, obviously, 17/35 is closed. We can do our best with 3/21.”
“Ground, Rescue team.”
“Rescue team, Ground.”
“2 souls, and 2 1/2 hours of fuel. No injuries. But the prop is badly bent.”
“Rescue team, Roger.” I say writing those down. “Um, can I speak to the pilot?”
“Yeah. One sec.”
“Victorville tower, pilot of Arrow 323MQ.”
“Arrow 323MQ, Victorville Ground. Nice work getting down safely. I’ll be down in about 10-15 minutes to tow the aircraft if able. Is the aircraft secure?”
“Yes. Our prop is pretty mangled, and there’s blood all over the cowling, but we’re all okay.”
“Okay, good to hear. I’ll ask for some more information. Emergency services and the FSDO are sending people here, so get your contact information ready.”
“Roger that.”
“Ground, Rescue team.”
“Rescue team, ground.”
“All sounds good here then. You can tow her clear.”
“No problem. I’ll bring out a tug and we can tow the plane off the ramp. Emergency services are en route, so I have to let them in.”
With Rosalina gone, I ask Spitfire if she can take the tower so I can tow the aircraft clear.
“It’s fine. Just glad they’re down safely.”
“No one should call, but if they do, call me.”
“Will do.”
“Thank you.” I say as I exit the tower. I grab a tug and tow bar then run to the main gate. The gate opens in time for a few police cars to roll in. The lead car then asks, “you heading down to the aircraft?”
“Yes sir, I’m the property owner.”
“Alright. We’ve got a position from Air Traffic Control.”
“Okay. I’m heading out to move the aircraft once it’s cleared.”
He responds with a thumbs up before he and his colleague head out to the runway. I then close the gate and head out to the accident airplane. The police are already interrogating the pilot and passenger. Rescue team is keeping their distance but does want to know if they should stay.
“Holy Cow!” The passenger exclaims. “We hit a vulture at 11,500!”
“A vulture?”
“Yeah. Too big to be an eagle.”
“Nice. Um, does your pilot know that he ought to fill out a wildlife strike report?”
“I’m sure he will.”
“And based on the damage, he will need a report to the NTSB, because of the prop damage, looks like some of it sheared off.”
“Yeah it did. It was kind of dizzying gliding down with an unbalanced prop.”
“I can imagine.”
“Alright, we have all the questions we need. You can tow the airplane clear of the runway.”
“Sounds good. We’ll have to leave it though. The FSDO is sending people to interview, and I’m sure the NTSB will send people too.”
“Alright.”
A few minutes later, I run to the gate to meet the FSDO employees, guiding them out to the runway where the aircraft is now parked.
“What happened?” Roger asks the pilot.
“Bird strike. Sheared the prop and crippled us. We tried for Apple Valley because we knew about the TFR, but we wouldn’t’ve made it because of terrain.”
“Okay. Um, where did the birdstrike occur?”
“Over Helendale, roughly.”
“Okay. The TFR was up and active for the past two days. Why didn’t you plan on flying over Apple Valley in the first place?”
“We had heard there was an aircraft doing approaches into Apple Valley, so we wanted to keep their airspace clear. We were also heading towards Palmdale anyway, so we were trying to head into the narrow band of airspace between the TFR and the MOA.”
“Okay. Well, Max, what can you tell us?”
“I heard their first mayday call, asked if they could make Apple Valley, which they tried to accept, but eventually it became clear to them that they wouldn’t clear upcoming terrain, and at around the time of our phone call, they turned immediately towards the field. There was no disruption to any activities, as the airspace was completely vacant at the time of the initial mayday call. I did notify the rescue team of the possibility of them coming in, so as soon as they landed, we made sure they were okay.”
“Thank you for that. Sir, because you did violate an active TFR, I am going to have to scold you, but I’ll just remind you of two things: 1. Go ahead and fill out a NASA report within the next week and we’ll call you. 2. What could you have done better on this flight?”
“I could have done my research on the airspace and planned an alternate route instead.”
“That’s correct. In case the NTSB wants interviews, can we have a name and number to call?”
“Sure. The name is #### and the phone number (xxx) xxx-xxxx.”
“Thank you. You can expect a call anytime within the next week. Same to you, Max.”
“Thank you. Is it safe and legal to move the wreckage now that you have some information?”
“You can move it clear of the runway.”
“Okay. We’ll do that. Do you have any idea when the NTSB will send someone?”
“No. Sorry.”
“No problem. As long as they have my contact information so they can get buzzed in.”
“Sure. Thank you for your cooperation. We shouldn’t call you unless the NTSB determines other factors. Your testimony is enough. Since you had an emergency beyond your control occur, the worst we can build a case for is improper cross-country procedures since you should’ve known about the TFR and didn’t take any precautions.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Have a good rest of your day, gentlemen.” Roger says as he and Clarence head out.
Immediately, I hook up the tug and tow bar, and with the pilot onboard and his passenger riding with me, I tow the aircraft off runway 17 and announce on the handheld, “Ground, Tug 1.”
“Go ahead.”
“Anyone say anything on frequency?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. Runway 17/35 is clear, swept, reopened.”
“Roger that. We have one more fuel period before the day ends. Angel 3 will be online in about a couple hours.”
“Roger that.”
I park the plane in the roundabout to keep the taxiways clear. The pilot then makes a phone call after I park the airplane. I drop them off at the terminal Fat Albert’s parked and direct them to a computer, telling them, “Go ahead and create your wildlife strike and NASA reports. When you submit them, go ahead and meet me in tower.”
“Will do.”
I head over to the tower and step back in. Spitfire is waiting for me.
“What took you so long? We should’ve been in the air an hour ago.”
“Sorry. The FAA and Victorville police did some on-site interviews. Apparently they hit a vulture at altitude.”
“Whoa! Nice.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Well, let’s see if we can get anything else done. On your mark.”
“Cool.” She says as she runs back to the line.
“Attention all line staff, this is the final run of the day. Blue Angels final run for the day.”
As linemen shout and prepare aircraft, I get an unexpected call.
“Victorville Tower, Angel 3 over Hesperia, landing.”
“Angel 3, Victorville tower, welcome. Runway 21, enter left downwind, should pick you up on radar momentarily.”
“Left traffic 21, Angel 3.”
“Ground, Angel 1.”
“Angel 1, Ground.”
“Status on Angel 3?”
“Angel 3, say position.”
“At the 395-15 interchange.”
“Angel 3, roger.” “Angel 8, Angel 3 is about 12 miles south.”
“Roger. Angel flight ready to go.”
“Angel Flight, runway 35, taxi via C C1.”
“C, C1, 35, Angel Flight.”
“Angel Flight, will ship 3 be in formation with you?”
“Affirm. Angel 8 was a substitute until its return.”
“Roger. You can monitor tower 118.35, he’ll call you.”
“18.35, Angel Flight.”
“Ground, Fat Albert.”
“Fat Albert, Ground.”
“Departure to San Bernardino with Flight following.”
“Fat Albert, Roger. On request.” “Fat Albert, runway 21. Taxi via C A. Joshua Departure 124.55, squawk 1771.”
“24.55, C A, 21, 1771, Fat Albert.”
“Fat Albert, Roger. Angel Flight, remain with a 15 NM radius of the field at or below 15,000 to remain within your TFR, runway 35, cleared for takeoff.”
“Angel Flight, cleared for takeoff 35.”
“Tower, Angel 3, left downwind.”
“Angel 3, are you joining the formation or landing?”
“Angel 3, we’re actually joining formation.”
“Angel 3, proceed to join formation at your discretion. Remain within a 15 NM radius of the field from the surface to 15,000 to remain within your TFR.”
“15 miles, 15,000. Formation my discretion, Angel 3.”
“Fat Albert, contact tower 118.35.”
“Fat Albert.” “Tower, Fat Albert 21 via A.”
“Fat Albert, Victorville tower. Runway 21, line up and wait.”
“Line up and wait 21, Fat Albert.”
“Angel 3, report joining the formation.”
“Angel 3.”
“Angel Flight, company Hercules departing runway 21 for San Bernardino. Remain north and west of midfield. Fat Albert, on departure, fly heading 160.”
“Angel Flight.”
“160, Fat Albert.”
“Tower, Angel 3, now northwest of the big runway.”
“Angel 3, roger. Fat Albert, runway 21, cleared for takeoff, on course departure approved.”
“Cleared for takeoff 21, departure on course, Fat Albert.”
“Fat Albert, contact Joshua Departure. Talk to you soon.”
“Cya!”
“Angel Flight, area restriction removed. The airspace is yours.”
“My name’s Windy Whistles!” Her mom says offering her hand, which I shake.
“I’m Bow Hothoof. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s so great to see our little Dashie flying with the Blue Angels!” Windy shouts excitedly.
“Absolutely! How long are you in town?”
“The week. Scrambled for tickets as soon as the show got rescheduled.”
“No kidding! Are you staying here or Palm Springs?”
“Wherever Rainbow is.”
“Okay. Well, I’d love to show you around if I had the time. Unfortunately, I do have to take my wife to Maui the day after the show.”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate. You seem like just the guy to show us around.”
“Mom and Dad,” Rainbow begins, “if you want to, you can come to my room. There’s space for you.”
“Which car are they using?” I ask Dash.
“Do you want to use the Mustang or the Porsche?” She then asks her parents.
“Either one’s fine.” Windy says.
“Eh, I can give you the Porsche.”
“Hooray!” Windy cheers as they leave the tower.
After about a half hour, the formation does something different. A routine I haven’t seen before. No other radio calls are made except for the occasional call to ground. About another 10 minutes, the pilot and passenger of the accident aircraft come up to the tower.
“Hey, we called home base, and our reports are submitted.”
“Okay. Um, the NTSB should be sending someone to begin the investigation. I’ll do my best to keep the aircraft okay. Don’t forget, you’ll also need to write an NTSB report, since you did lose pieces of prop.”
“Already did that. Submitted digitally, and a digital copy is in my possession.”
“Okay. Do you need accommodations back to home base? If you still need a ride when tower closes, I can take you.”
“Okay. Well, let me ask around. Someone might be willing to take us.”
“Okay. Just let me know.”
“Will do.”
A few minutes after they leave, I get a call.
“Tower, Angel 3.”
“Angel 3, Victorville tower, go ahead.”
“Angel 3, having some trouble with engine 1. Immediate landing.”
“Angel 3, roger. Runway 17, proceed straight in.”
“Straight in 17, Angel 3.”
“Any linemen on frequency?” I transmit on ground. “Any linemen on frequency?” I then repeat on the Unicom.
“Ground, you got one.”
“Roger. Angel 3 inbound with engine trouble.”
“Roger, standing by.”
“Angel 3, runway 17, cleared to land.”
“Cleared to land 17, Angel 3.”
“Tower, Angel Flight.”
“Angel Flight, Tower.”
“How quickly can Angel 8 get airborne?”
“Standby.” “Any linemen on frequency?”
“Ground, you got one.”
“Scramble Angel 8. Engine trouble with Angel 3.”
“Roger, thanks.”
“Angel 3, left E3, E3 E, cross runway 21, monitor ground 124.45.”
“E3 E, cross 21 to the ramp, 24.45, Angel 3.”
“Ground, Angel 8.”
“Angel 8, Ground. You ready to go?”
“Affirm.”
“Angel 8, roger. Wind 160 at 7, altimeter 30.02, information Q current. Runway 35, taxi via C C1.”
“C C1, runway 35, Angel 8.”
“Angel 8, passing C2, monitor tower 118.35.”
“18.35 past C2, Angel 8.”
Angel 8 passes E just as Angel 3 turns onto E south of D.
“Angel 8, Victorville tower, runway 35, line up and wait.”
“Line up and wait 35, Angel 8.”
Just as Angel 3 shuts down and opens canopy, I get a phone call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Carlos from the NTSB. I’m calling about the incident involving N323MQ.”
“Yes! I’ve been looking forward to your call. Are you in town at this time?”
“Not quite. I’m currently laying over in Phoenix. I’ll arrive late in the evening, and then I’ll be on my way up to you tomorrow morning.”
“Sure. Be advised, the Angels lunch break goes from 11:00-13:00, so I would recommend getting here at around 10:30-10:45.”
“Sounds good. I’ll make a note of that.”
“Thank you for calling.”
“Certainly. Talk to you soon. Goodbye.”
“Bye.” I then decide to write on a post it note, “NTSB, tomorrow at 10:30.”
“Ground, Angel maintenance.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Angel 3 has a more serious problem than the engine.”
“Roger. Do you want me to tell Commander Spitfire?”
“Affirm.”
“Roger.” “Angel 1, Tower.”
“Angel 1, go.”
“Looks Like Angel 3 has a bigger problem. Maintenance should debrief you on it, but they wanted me to tell you.”
“Angel 1, roger.” She responds with a drudge.
“Attention all aircraft, information R current, wind 150 at 12, altimeter 29.97. Break. Angel 8, runway 35, cleared for takeoff. Formation your discretion.”
“Cleared for takeoff 35, Angel 8.”
As the Angels continue to practice, I watch Angel 3’s maintenance crew working hard to remedy the situation.
Soon, the final landing call comes in.
“Tower, Angel Flight, landing for the day.”
“Angel Flight, Victorville Tower. Runway 17, your discretion, cleared to land.”
“17, own discretion, cleared to land, Angel Flight.”
“Angel [1, 4, 2, 6, 5, 8], left [E3/D], [E3/D] E to the ramp, cross runway 21, monitor ground 124.45.” When the last Angel crosses runway 21, I announce, “Attention all aircraft and vehicles, time now 1805 local. Class D surface area terminated, class E airspace now in effect. Air traffic control service is terminated.” And with that, I prep the tower for non-towered operations before shutting down all other unnecessary equipment. I then take off the headset and exit the tower just as the sun gives way to civil twilight.
“Good work today, boys.” Spitfire addresses her squad, sounding like she just finished a pep talk. “Alright, tomorrow is the final day before we leave for San Bernardino. Make it count. Dismissed for the night.”
“Cracker Barrel anyone?” A voice sounding like Soarin’ asks.
A group of about 5 or 6 pilots and line staff alike concur and pile into a van and head out. Dash joins me while Spitfire attends to Angel 3.
“You want to have dinner with my parents?” Dash asks me.
“Why not? Let’s just not go to Cracker Barrel.”
“Right… how about Freddy’s?”
“Sure. I’m not picky. Ask Rosalina. She’s pretty much the final say and authority when it comes to meals.”
In response to that, Rainbow pulls out her phone and gesticulates a whip.
“¡Jajaja, qué funny!” I respond unamused.
“You speak Spanish?” She asks caught off guard.
“No.”
“Pinkie does. She might enjoy you for that.”
“You think Pinkie would like me? I didn’t spend much time with her in Chicago, and I made it clear that people that chipper make me nervous.”
“This is Pinkie Pie we’re talking about though. She’ll go to great lengths to make you smile.”
“That’s exactly it. She makes me feel uneasy, even though I know she means well.”
“Well, take it from me, despite her very loud façade, she really has your best interests at heart.”
“I’m sure. I always like giving people the positive rate, so to speak.”
“Well, Max, I can’t say I know many people like you, who always want to see the good in people.”
“I’m genuinely surprised you would say something like that.” I respond nonchalantly as we return to the terminal.
Rosalina and Rainbow’s parents are talking in the main hallway heading towards us.
“Hello.” I respond monotonously.
“Hi Max!” Windy calls back. “You’re done just in time! Your wife wanted to get dinner.”
“Where did you have in mind?”
“Well, it seems the consensus is burgers.” Rosalina says to Dash and I.
“No shortage of that around here. They have everything you can’t find anywhere else in the state, except for Dutch Bros, Menard’s, and other places. But they do have a Cracker Barrel, Freddy’s, Original Roadhouse, and a Sonic.”
“Well, sounds like there’s plenty of choosings for us.” Bow replies dryly.
“I mean, you get all the truckers, Las Vegas travelers, and similar types out here. For reference, the only two Cracker Barrel in California are that one and the other is less than an hour away.”
“Wow!” Windy, uh, whistles back. “We have one in Colorado Springs, but it’s always packed.”
“Same with this one. No queue time goes below 45 minutes when they’re open.”
“Plus, a group of the crew is going there, so we should probably go not there.”
“If it’s burgers you want, there’s no shortage of options.”
“Freddy’s is always good. But if it’s sit down you want, we can always dive down to explore other options. I’m also not one for sticking to usuals, so BJ’s and a Chili’s if you ask me are a bit of a last resort.”
“I can understand that.” Bow replies respectfully. “But, um, I must ask: where’s the best burger in the area?”
“Um, Shake Shack is one of my favorites, but unfortunately, we’d have to go all the way to Los Angeles, two hours away.”
“Aww.” He pouts.
“What about Freddy’s then?”
“I won’t pressure you. I don’t mind one way or another.”
“I haven’t had them in a while, so I’ll approve.”
When we pile in to Rosalina’s Jeep, Rainbow scrunches up in the middle as we head for Freddy’s. Of course, when we get there, we eat in so as to “get out of the airport,” but also because we need time to look at the menu.
When all’s said and done, we grab a table and sit. Rainbow sits across from me with her parents, and Rosalina is of course next to me.
“So, Max, how did you two meet?” Dash asks pointing at my wife and I.
“You want to hear her version or mine?”
“Well, she’ll probably tell the truth, so you first.”
“Okay. I was on a charter in New York stuck in traffic when I got rear ended. The driver of that car was the person who introduced us, Luigi. A few months after that, I invited them on a Labor Day weekend trip to Hawaii. That’s when we met for the first time. With Luigi was his wife Daisy, his brother Mario, and his wife Peach along with Rosalina. The day we left Hawaii, we had some time to go to one of my favorite vista points to watch the sunset. Overtaken by its beauty, and thankful that they had joined us, I slowly moved my hand towards hers, but right before we could join hands, we had to leave. Eventually, I brought her home after the others left, so I asked if we could spend time together again.”
“Aww!” Windy responds.
“Very nice.” Bow adds.
“That’s the story of our first date,” Rosalina says, “but how we got married is where things get strange. After Hawaii, or rather, when were in Hawaii, I found an open job offer for a company called Sunshine Helicopters. They do helicopter tours on Maui, Kauai, the Big Island, and for a time, across Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon. I took a position that originated on Maui, but during my interview, they asked about my ability to work on different islands as demand dictates. Basically like a cyclical wanderer. Max took me to Maui to interview, and in the process, he couldn’t keep himself contained. He revealed his feelings almost immediately, but it worked out nicely because we had reason to celebrate, me landing the job, which I grew interested in the time since I had discovered it. Like most men, he couldn’t not spoil me, so how does he celebrate? He has me live in his houses, of my choice, on Kauai and Maui, and “just to have an excuse to own one,” he bought a house on the Big Island.”
“Whoa, whoa. I didn’t spoil you. I said it would be worth your while to live there, for “tax” purposes.”
Windy and Rainbow laugh as Bow then asks me, “how did you manage to get her acquainted to you so quickly? It makes sense you’d help her by moving her to Hawaii for the job opportunity, but how did so much happen all at once?”
“Ah, well…” I begin.
“Actually, one of the best best parts of our relationship was that he gave more than enough space, but at the same time, if I needed or wanted, he would drop everything to support me.”
Both parents “aww” at that, but Rainbow goes redder than ever and is visibly disgusted.
“Enough with the namby-pamby! If you wanted to stay friends for so long, why did you decide to start dating?”
“Ironically,” I begin, “our first date was at Disneyland, the day after a friend’s wedding.”
“What happened there?”
“If you ask me,” I say, “my version goes that we both felt kind of love struck, and since I had made it clear that I was interested, she reluctantly decided to take the plunge.”
“You’re forgetting about the fact that we had been intimately platonic to begin with. So basically he said ‘we owe it to ourselves. If we had been so close and intimate with each other as friends, why not just finish the circle?’”
“But I thought you two were…” Dash begins, but much to my surprise, she keeps her mouth, aided by the arrival of our food.
“Were what?” Windy asks.
“Wait, how did you know?”
“Applejack told me.”
“May as well say it. The Apples know, The Sparkles know, now you. The only families left are Rarity’s and the Pies.” I say indignantly.
“What??!” Windy pleads, desperate for answers.
I pause to look at Rosalina before taking a breath and uttering out, “we’re getting a divorce.”
“Oh no!!” Windy exclaims.
“What happened to such a beautiful romance?” Dash interjects, which earns her looks from all of us. “What?! Just because I project it doesn’t mean I have to be macho all the time.”
“Max, I’m sorry we asked about your marriage.” Bow says quietly.
“Don’t be. You wouldn’t’ve known unless your daughter had told you. And we have a de facto prenup anyway. She’s just moving back to Hawaii to work. I keep what was always mine, and she what was always hers.”
“Well, I’m sorry nonetheless. Too bad it didn’t work out.” Windy finishes sadly.
“Look,” I say halfway through dinner, “I don’t want to bum anyone out, especially because the whole reason you’re here I assume is to see your daughter as a Blue Angel. I mean, this is the bid you’ve been waiting for.”
“Yeah!” A voice from behind us shouts.
“Spitfire?!” Dash asks.
“Evening, Crash!”
“You remember my parents, right?”
“How could I forget?” She says shaking Windy’s and Bow’s hands. “It’s always nice to know that some of us have our very own super-fans.”
“Heh…” Rainbow sighs in embarrassment. “I thought you went to Cracker Barrel.”
“I went last night. Thought I’d change it up. Besides, we know your talent at the controls. We’ve been waiting for a spot to open up ever since you first bid. After Colonel Fire Streak retired, we couldn’t not give it to you.”
“Yeah I did!”
“Hey Max, Angel 3 is still giving us trouble. If we can’t resolve it, you may need to keep her on your grounds. Hope you don’t mind potentially housing an expensive piece of extremely sensitive government property.”
“As long as I can move her under tow without compromising anything, that’s fine.”
“Do you have an ejector seat endorsement?”
“No.”
“Then I couldn’t let you sit in it anyway.”
“What’s the issue with her?”
“Well, she was perfect and beautiful out of her annual, but in practice, she surged once or twice and had a compressor stall.”
“Nice. Is it serious?”
“Maintenance is trying to figure out what caused it, since a compressor stall of this nature would require a simple retard and restart, but she wouldn’t fire up.”
“Weird.”
“Yeah, I know.” She finishes kind of mysteriously. “Well, enjoy your night.” She says as she gets her bag of food before heading out.
“Night, Spitfire.” Dash says on our behalf.
“I imagine your story is just as romantic as ours.” I then inquire a few moments later.
“College sweethearts.” Windy says smiling at Bow. “Married the weekend after graduation.”
“How sweet. How long did you date?”
“2 1/2 years?”
“Yeah. I proposed on the fifth date.” Bow responds.
“And it was so beautiful too.”
“Did you write a song for her or something like that?”
“Oh no. I have no sense of tone. I took her to one of our favorite places to just lay back. I waited until just the right moment, and right after the sun hit the perfect spot on the hillside, I proposed.”
“It was so beautiful.” Windy says elatedly.
“I can imagine.” I say giving Rosalina that look of, ‘remember how it went the first time I asked.’ We both stifle a chuckle, but Rainbow picks up on it.
“I know that look. What happened?”
“The weekend Luigi and Mario’s kids graduated from the University of Hawaii, I figured it was time for us to finally get married. But the first time I asked her to marry me, right after I got down on one knee, she ran off to vomit before I could even pop the question.”
All three burst out laughing.
“That’s horrible!” Dash wheezes out.
“Context, though. She had some bad seafood.”
“Yeah. There’s a reason I don’t eat cephalopods.”
“See? Context. But at least it went right the second time around. No frills, no surprises, just down on one knee, ring in hand, “Will you marry me?””
“It was just the way I would’ve wanted it.” Rosalina says laying her head on my shoulder.
“So then why get a divorce??” Dash blurts out.
“Because contrary to popular belief, some marriages just aren’t meant to be.”
“Some of us aren’t comfortable with a person who treats everyone like a potential partner.” Rosalina adds, mostly to boost our apparent narrative.
“What do you mean?”
“I have been known to take my chivalry across bounds. I’ll leave it at that.” I respond embarrassingly.
“Oh. You’re afraid he’ll cheat on you.” Bow says bluntly.
“I know he has, but I’m not bothered.” Rosalina responds.
“Besides, Rainbow, I never took you for a traditionalist.”
“Credit to these two.” She says pointing at her parents.
“Anyway, if you want to continue the conversation, we can head back.” I say, seeing as we’re all finished with our dinners.
After Rainbow and her parents leave, Rosalina pulls me into our bedroom and says, “Look, I don’t appreciate you saying it wasn’t meant to be. It makes me feel like I haven’t been a good wife to you.”
“I’m sorry, I guess now that we’re on the path to divorce, I just feel that we should just be honest with ourselves.”
“I must also admit, that I could’ve been a better wife in that department.”
“But I’ve told you that that was never an issue.”
“I know, but you remember how we always made sure that there was always a time and a place.”
“Of course. It just gets me wondering at how your feelings of inadequacy coincide with the divorce. It’s not like you’re saying, ‘oh, we’re getting a divorce. We should’ve been having more sex.’”
“No, it’s not like that. I really can’t say that there’s a reason for my sudden feelings of inadequacy. I suppose that now that we have to talk about it, especially in the context of a divorce, that it’s surfacing.”
“That makes sense. Look, I know you feel like that, especially because we have to bring it up, but I promise you, there was nothing you could have done sexually to change my feelings towards you. I’m a slag, and both of my ex wives can attest to that. Eventually, you can too. I cheat, I sleep around.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to say.”
“I know, but the fact of the matter is that you found me at a time when I was down. Once you settled in and got to know the real me: a heavy smoker, a heavy drinker, a slag, a self-loathing, playing the victim, sex-as-an-ulterior-motive…”
“Stop.” She says in a stern yet gentle voice. “You know just as well as I do that what we had when we first met was something special.”
“It really was.” I smile back, remembering the times when we shared plenty of chemistry.
“But,” she continues, “you needed me more than I needed you.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“And besides, look at what’s happened to us since we got together. You dropped smoking, almost entirely, your drinking has gone way down, with the exception of the holiday in Chicago. You changed in so many great ways, but now that the divorce is upon us, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. And by the way, those supposed shortcomings of yours became much less of a problem when we started dating.”
“Well, I’m glad to know that at least that’s true.”
“This is for the best. I promise that. Nothing will change between us.” She says as she grabs my hand.
“Thank you.”
She responds by pulling me into a hug, to which we both then start our bedtime routines.
Sunrise at 7:22, I’m into the tower at 7:17 to power on the ATC equipment. The computer takes about 10 minutes, so once the first linemen are prepping the airplanes, the fuel trucks are in use as I check once again to make sure everything works, I wait until the strike of 7:30, as posted in the NOTAMs before announcing,
“Attention all aircraft and vehicles, time 0730 local. Victorville Class D surface area in effect. Air traffic control service is now available. Temporary Flight restrictions within a 15 NM radius of the field, surface to 15,000.” “GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD MORNING, ANGEL FLIIIIIIIIIIIGHT! Hey! This is a radio test, Time to Be Awesome! One More Day here, before the big show at the SBD! Is it just me, or is that a little too much Pony? Whee-hoo! Feed me a block of salt and jump start a heart attack! That’s why I could never be a vegetarian! No offense.”
“Ground, Angel Maintenance.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Angel 3 looks good. Spitfire wants her in formation.”
“Angel Maintenance, roger.”
“Ground, Angel Flight, taxi.”
“Angel Flight with 3 instead of 8, Ground. Information Y current, wind 130 at 11, altimeter 29.91. Runway 21, taxi via C A. On A, monitor tower 118.35.”
“Y, C A 18.35, runway 21, Angel Flight.”
When Angel 3 reaches A, I call, “Angel Flight, Victorville Tower, say direction of departure.”
“Angel Flight departing northwest.”
“Angel Flight Roger. Runway 21, line up and wait.”
“Line up and wait 21, Angel Flight.”
“Angel Flight, your discretion. Runway 21, cleared for takeoff. Remain within 15 NM of the field, surface to 15,000.”
“Angels cleared for takeoff 21.”
“Angel 8, Ground.” I call. No response. “Angel maintenance, ground.”
“Go for Angel Maintenance.”
“Is Angel 8 on call?”
“Affirm, but no dispatch order has been given yet.”
“Roger.”
As I watch both at the radar and my own eyes, Angel 3 does some proper left shark stuff, I assume to push the frame to its limit for retesting. Eventually, she rejoins the formation and continues with their routine.
Soon, the Angels make their first stop. Spitfire huddles all the pilots together and gives a good pep talk. They’re still not quite show quality tight, but they’re well on their way based on what I can see from the tower. This next round involves all 7 Angels, because apparently Dash is the star of the show, doing her own stunts that the remaining squad supports. It’s gonna be so! Awesome!
“Ground, Angel Flight plus 1, taxi.”
“Angel Flight plus Angel 8, Ground. Information B current: wind 130 at 18, altimeter 29.94. Could you still accept runway 21 or would you rather go off the long one?”
“We’ll take 21.”
“Roger, Angel Flight, runway 21, taxi via C A.”
“C A, 21, Angel Flight.”
“Ground, Angel 8.”
“Angel 8, ground.”
“Request runway 17.”
“Angel 8, as requested. Runway 17, taxi via C E, cross runway 21. Will this be an intersection departure or full length?”
“Full length, Angel 8.”
“Angel 8, roger. Runway 17, taxi via C E E1, cross runway 21.”
“C E E1, runway 17, cross 21, Angel 8.”
“Angel Flight, monitor tower 118.35.”
“18.35, Angel Flight.”
“Angel 8, passing D, monitor tower 118.35.”
“18.35 past D, Angel 8.”
As soon as Angel 8 crosses runway 21, Angel 1 reaches the hold short line.
“Angel Flight, Victorville Tower. Runway 21, line up and wait.”
“Angel Flight.”
I wait until Dash is past the roundabout before I say, “Angel Flight, runway 21, cleared for takeoff, remain within a 15 NM radius of the field, surface to 15,000 to remain within your TFR.”
“Cleared for takeoff, Angel Flight.”
“Angel 8, Victorville tower. Runway 17 at E1, line up and wait.”
“Line up and wait 17, Angel 8.”
“Attention all aircraft, information C current: wind 150 at 12, altimeter 29.93.”
“Probably. San Bernardino as it stands right now is 300 at 9. Though if it’s Santa Ana’s, the wind should be blowing out.”
“Great.”
“Well, I guess it’s good on ‘ya to practice in these conditions. If they hold tomorrow, you’ll be outta here before they shift. Break. Angel 8, runway 17, cleared for takeoff.”
“Cleared for takeoff 17, Angel 8.”
About 20 minutes later, I key on frequency, “Attention all aircraft, information D current. Wind 180 at 18 gusting 23, altimeter 29.94.”
“Tower, Angel Flight, do you have a TAF?”
“Negative, but most weather models I can pull up and from my own past experiences, the wind will die down, but it’ll be like this for at least a couple hours.”
“Roger. We’ll go ahead and land. It’s pretty rough out here.”
“Angel Flight, roger. Runway 17, your discretion, cleared to land.”
“Cleared to land 17, Angel Flight.”
“Sorry about this. The only disadvantage to training here. Santa Ana winds generally run from September to May. Hence the unpopular saying, Santa Ana’s are 9 to 5.”
“Interesting. Never thought of that before.”
“The more you know.”
“Tower, Angel 3, remaining airborne for extra flight testing.”
“Angel 3, roger. The airspace is yours.”
“Angel 3, thanks.”
“Angel [1, 4, 2, 6, 5, 8], left [E2/E3]. [E2/E3] E to the ramp, cross runway 21, monitor ground 124.45.”
“Angel 3, if able, describe the conditions out there.”
“It’s pretty rough. More the gust factor than atmospheric instability.”
“Angel 3, roger. Thank you.”
“Ground, Angel 1.”
“Yes’m?”
“If and when the winds die down, we will be practicing with smoke.”
“Angel 1, roger. Understand dress rehearsal.” I say as I write that note down on another post it note.
Just as the clock strikes 11, I get concerned. Our NTSB representative hasn’t shown up yet, so I text Rosalina and ask if she can cover in case he shows and they decide to resume practice.
A few minutes later, she arrives just as Angel 3 finishes.
“Ok Max. Carlos from the NTSB. Sorry I’m late. I’m on my way right now.”
“No problem.”
“See you soon, Bye.”
“Bye.”
I then hand the ATC reigns over to Rosalina, to which I hear her transmit, “Angel 3, left E3, E3 E to the ramp, cross runway 21. Monitor ground 124.45.”
After I grab my multi-passenger golf cart, I wait by the gate and look out for cars. I then boot up the handheld and call, “Victorville Ground, Chief 1.”
“Chief 1, Ground. Loud and clear.”
A few minutes later, the pilot and his passenger show up.
“Good afternoon.” I greet.
“NTSB called.”
“You’re first. Go ahead and park anywhere near here. For security reasons, I can’t have you drive.”
“Sure.”
Not too long after they climb onboard, another car arrives. I open the gate and let him in.
“Hi, Carlos?”
“Yes sir!”
“Split Scimitar, but Max is fine.” I say offering my hand.
“A pleasure.” He says shaking it back.
“Go ahead and park over by them, I have to escort you for security reasons.”
“Alright.” He says heading down to park.
After all 3 are aboard and holding on, I call, “Ground, Chief 1.”
“Chief 1, Ground.”
“E to the Arrow in the roundabout.”
“Chief 1, E, cross runway 21, R to the roundabout.”
“E, cross 21, R, Chief 1.” And after checking their security, I put my foot down and head to the plane.
At the roundabout, I park a respectable distance and let the three go as they please. I get asked only what traffic was in the airspace when they declared the emergency: “all aircraft were on the ground when they first called.”
After the inspector does a thorough inspection of the prop and cowling, he gets denied the ability to access the engine block, as only maintenance personnel per rental company procedures can remove the cowling.
“That’s okay.” He responds. “This might be one of the shortest investigation periods for GA. If all you had was a bird strike that destroyed the prop and cowling, all I need is a completed report within the next week along with a NASA form for the TFR, a wildlife strike report by my request, and a letter to your local FSDO about the sequence of events, or just schedule an interview.”
“I have my NTSB 830 report with me. Digitally.”
“Would you like to print off a paper copy?” I ask.
“Did you submit it electronically?”
“I did.”
“Okay. Well, just in case, I’d like a paper copy.”
“No problem. We’ll head back after you finish up here.”
“Do you have your other reports in your possession?”
“No I don’t. The NASA and Wildlife forms were filled out via online application.”
“Right. It’s no problem, but on the off-chance we don’t receive it, we’ll just call you and you can submit them again.”
“Sure.”
After Carlos puts on a glove and does some knocking tests, he pulls out his phone and attaches a thermal camera. As I watch him move around the aircraft, I ask, “checking structural integrity?”
“Yeah. If it was a vulture they struck, it’s worth checking.”
“Yeah. Are you going to have to check on potential landing sites of the vulture?”
“Yeah. We can try. ATC tape can give us a good radius.”
“Right.”
“Should we call the FSDO and obtain an SFP assuming we can get a technician to put a new prop on?”
“Maybe. Since this is merely a wildlife strike, the biggest case that either the FAA or the NTSB could build is breaking the TFR. Though, if you filed a NASA report, you wouldn’t have anything more to talk about other than at the most an interview and some TFR re-education courses. Don’t take my word for it, though. As soon as ATC can release the tapes, we can work out an approximate search radius for the vulture in question, assuming it didn’t survive and landed with a reasonable trajectory. Give it a couple of days, a week at most, then we’ll see. And with that, looks like we’re done for today. Sorry to get you all the way out here.”
“No problem. I understand.”
“When you’re ready, we can head back.”
“I think…” Carlos replies as he takes some notes and more pictures, “we’re good.”
“Alright, let’s head back.” The pilot replies.
“Ground, Chief 1.”
“Chief 1, Ground.”
“R short of E, to the ramp.”
“Chief 1, left E, cross 21, taxi to the ramp.”
“E, cross 21, to the ramp, Chief 1.”
When the three head out, I return to tower and check on the weather. Rosalina then hands me the headset, so I ask if we want to split. She accepts and takes Ground/Unicom, but before she takes it, I broadcast on all 3 and see what’s up.
“Attention all aircraft, information F current. Wind 150 at 12. Altimeter 29.94.”
No sooner do I switch to tower only does Spitfire radio back, “Ground, Angel Flight, taxi.”
Rosalina quickly plugs in her headset and transmits, “Angel Flight, Ground. Which runway would you like?” “Roger, Angel Flight, runway 35, taxi via C C1.” “Angel 8, Ground. Runway 21, taxi via C A.”
A few minutes later, I then get Spitfire calling, “Tower, Angel Flight ready at 35.”
“Angel Flight, runway 35, cleared for takeoff. Remain within a 15 NM radius of the field, surface to 15,000.”
“Cleared for takeoff 35, Angel Flight.”
“Tower, Angel 8 on A for 21.”
“Angel 8, tower. Runway 21, line up and wait.”
“Line up and wait 21, Angel 8.”
When Dash takes position, the formation fly runway heading. I wait about 8 seconds before I clear Dash for takeoff.
With the 7 Angels in formation, Fat Albert’s crew leaves the airport. Wondering where they go, my thoughts are rudely interrupted by Dash buzzing the tower. No sooner do her turbofans deafen us does the smoke show begin despite the High Winds. After they do a complete run through of what appear to be their entire skill set, I get a radio call.
“Tower, Angel Flight, landing for full stop and taxi back.”
“Angel Flight, tower. Runway 21, your discretion, cleared to land.”
“Cleared to land 21, Angel Flight.”
“Tower, Angel 8, landing.”
“Angel 8, runway 21, follow company formation, number 7 for landing. Runway 21, cleared to land.”
“Cleared to land 21, number 7, Angel 8.”
“Angel 1, say intentions for takeoff.”
“Depart runway 35, complete run-through of flat show.”
“Roger, Angel 1, 4, 2, 6, 5, and 3, left E, contact ground 124.45.”
“Left E, contact ground, Angel Flight.”
“Angel Flight, Ground.” I hear Rosalina speak, “runway 35, taxi via C C1.”
“Angel 8, say intentions on the go.” I call after she lands.
“Angel 8, depart runway 3 as part of the flat show.”
“Angel 8, roger. Left E, contact ground 124.45.”
“Left E, 24.45, Angel 8.”
“Angel 8, Ground. Runway 3, taxi via C C2, hold short runway 35.”
“Tower, Angel Flight, Ready on 35.”
“Angel Flight, tower. How long between your maneuvers begin and Angel 8’s entrance?”
“2 minutes.”
“Angel Flight, Roger. Runway 35, line up and wait.”
“Line up and wait 35, Angel Flight.”
“Tower, Angel 8, short of 35 at C2 for runway 3.”
“Angel 8, tower, cleared onto runway 35. Runway 3, line up and wait.“
“Cleared onto 35, line up and wait on 3, Angel 8.”
Dash then moves onto the runway quickly.
“Angel Flight, runway 35, cleared for takeoff.” I call after Dash stops moving.
“Angel Flight.”
As the Angels engage in sequence and depart per show procedure, I wait until they collectively level off before beginning the 2 minute timer. When that time expires, I call,
“Angel 8, runway 3, cleared for takeoff. Formation your discretion.”
“Angel 8, rolling.”
A full run through of the flat show calls for a full stop, taxi back, complete run through of the low show. Rinse and repeat.
Before they practice the high show, they stop for lunch and some fuel and smoke replenishment. Rosalina stays with me even as they take care of themselves, but she eventually leaves to go and get food. More leftovers, so I’m not complaining.
When she returns, we dig in to our lunches while they enjoy food on the ramp. A few minutes later, Dash runs in and asks if we want anything from Freddy’s. I ask for only a concrete dessert and Rosalina asks for a sundae. I give her a $20, but she leaves before she can take it.
Suffice it to say, the radio waves are dead. No chats, no hats, no bats on frequency. About 35 minutes later, Windy and Bow come up to the tower and ask if they can sit in with us.
When Dash returns with our orders, we thank her, which cues her parents to go ahead and do some shopping of their own. They then leave in her Porsche while we enjoy our desserts to the sight of the Angels lining up for the off.
“Angel Flight, Victorville Ground,” Rosalina says about 5 minutes later, “information G current: wind 140 at 9, altimeter 29.93. Runway 21, taxi via C A.” A few minutes later, Rosalina says, “Angel Flight, monitor tower 118.35.”
“Angel Flight, Victorville tower.” I call about 10 seconds later. “Runway 21, line up and wait.”
“Line up and wait 21, Angel Flight.”
“Angel 3, tower.”
“Angel 3, go?”
“Curiosity question: any anomalies on your test flights?”
“Thankfully, no.”
“Roger that. Glad you’re back at it.”
I wait for a response but she responds late with, “Thank you. Glad to be of service.”
“Roger. Angel Flight, runway 21, cleared for takeoff.”
“Cleared for takeoff, Angel Flight.”
“Angel 8, Victorville Ground, runway 35, taxi via C C1. Passing C2, monitor Tower 118.35.”
A few moments later, after Dash rushes down, I call at a proportionate speed, “Angel 8, runway 35, cleared for takeoff, formation your discretion.”
“Cleared for takeoff 35, Angel 8.”
“Think about this,” I tell Rosalina, “it’s back to Maui for you, and after we take care of the paperwork, we can finalize it in Honolulu between island hops.”
“Yeah.” She says rather distantly.
“What’s the matter? Not glad to be heading back?”
“I am. It’s just that I think I’m gonna miss the fun times like this we’ll have together.”
“They won’t be gone forever. I’ll always be able to join you, I just need a day’s notice rather than the tip of a hat. Besides, maybe this is a blessing in disguise. You haven’t been at work regularly.”
“Because the business handles itself. I’m basically only needed at this point to handle the office work. Only on rare occasions do I actually get to do any flying. Speaking of, I don’t want to bring up any bad memories, but why have we never run into your blood relatives?”
“They’re scattered across California. Brother’s a dentist, lives in the Inland Empire. Sister’s a physician, lives in Orange County. One cousin’s a lawyer, lives in the Bay Area. Other cousin’s a dentist, lives in San Diego.”
“Why have I never seen pictures of them?”
“Disownment.”
“Why have I never heard any stories before the disownment?”
“I never came around to it.”
“Surely you had some good times before then.”
“Absolutely, but they’re all inside jokes and stuff like that. Sorry to say, the disownment did little more than sour any and all connections I have to my past. The only exception is that I decided to buy back some of my childhood homes when they hit the market.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“I mean, I was pretty close to them. And there was always infighting; so guess who played the middle man?”
“Mmm.” She hums in response.
“Of course, it didn’t help that at some point in our lives, we’ve all suffered from my family's curses.”
“What curses?”
“Well, there are two big ones, the driving curse, and the intellectual curse. The driving curse is scary, but if we’re moving on a highway at speed, we can fall asleep easily, especially at the wheel. Pulling off and resting doesn’t work because now that we’re stopped, we can’t sleep. The intellectual curse is arguably worse, because despite the insane book smarts, we don’t apply a lot of common sense to practical situations. It’s a weird 2 and 2 kind of disconnect. All this academic knowledge and intellect, but in the everyday life? Just can’t handle money, so to speak. One example, my sister wanted to show how good of a driver she was, so we went to go get gas. We had a gas card that had $20 or so left on it. She fills up her car and such; when she gets the receipt, the card had 33¢ left on it. The card was wrapped in a receipt with the remaining balance from the last fill up, which she threw away after she started the pump.”
Rosalina sighs exasperatedly. “Okay, that kind of common sense.”
“Even better example: my cousin that lives in San Diego to this day, still pronounces unleaded “unleeded” even though he knows it’s pronounced unleaded. Old habits more likely but still. But the real knee-slapper: same cousin, when we were in high school, needed to back a car out of a tight San Francisco parking spot because no one else could fit into the driver’s seat. He starts the car and asks, “which one’s the gas?”
Rosalina tries not to laugh, but poorly stifles a giggle and cracks the corners of her mouth.
“I don’t know why now is when those memories resurface, but I have a feeling it’s not gonna be the last.”
“Mmm.” She hums in response. “Why don’t you go see a psychologist?”
“Because the last time I saw one, he made me feel worse about myself. He actually accelerated my suicidal thoughts. Refused to visit one since.”
“One bad experience?”
“Yeah, and that was enough to scare me.”
“If it gets worse, you really ought to.”
“Even so, you can understand by apprehension towards psychologists in general.”
“What about Sunset? She would be more than willing to work with you. I’m sure she’d understand.”
“I’ve never worked with her. She’s a great friend, and I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship.”
“You’re really gonna have to let that one go. So you had one bad experience with a psychologist. All you have to do is move on. There’s nothing wrong with visiting a psychologist. It doesn’t make you any less of a man.”
“I know.”
“Tower, Angel Flight plus 8, landing for the night.”
“Angel Flight plus 8, Victorville tower. Runway 17, your discretion, cleared to land.”
“Attention all aircraft, time 0710 local. Victorville Class E surface area terminated. Class D airspace now in effect. Air traffic control services are now available.”
“Ground, Angel 8, taxi to 35.” Dash calls after a few moments of silence.
“Angel 8, Victorville Ground, runway 35, taxi via C C1. Information I current: Wind 250 at 12, altimeter 29.92.”
“C C1, 35, Angel 8.”
“Ground, Angel Flight, taxi.”
“Angel Flight, Victorville Ground. Information I current: wind 250 at 12, altimeter 29.92. Runway 21, taxi via C A.”
“C A, 21, Angel Flight.”
“Angel 8, contact tower 118.35.”
“Switching, Angel 8.” “Tower, Angel 8 taxiing to 35.”
“Angel 8, Victorville Tower, runway 35, line up and wait.”
“Angel 8.”
“Tower, Angel Flight, Ready at 21.”
“Angel Flight, Victorville tower. Runway 21, cleared for takeoff. Remain within a 15 NM radius of the field, surface to 15,000.”
“Cleared for takeoff, Angel Flight.”
When they clear the runway, I clear Dash for takeoff. Sensing no real need to stay, I decide to run back to house and get breakfast.
When I return to tower, Rosalina is already monitoring.
“Oh, hey.” I say as she sits back and watches the radar.
“Morning. I see you made breakfast. I wanted to surprise you, but you beat me to the punch.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine. No radio calls since I got here. They’re rehearsing the high show, since that’s what they’re performing tomorrow.”
“Sweet. Have you seen Bow or Windy?”
“Not since last night. Why?”
“Just curious is all.”
Before I can wonder about what happened to the two of them, Rosalina stares out the window towards the Angels, smiles, and tells me to turn around, pointing at the space in front of the window.
Right There In Front Of Me, laid out in the sky are the following letters:
T
H
A
N
K
Y
O
U
!
THANK YOU!
“Straight out of a Mario game.” I think to myself as I shed a few tears of appreciation. “Angel Flight plus Angel 8, good to be of service.”
“Angel Flight plus 8, final landing.”
“Angel Flight, tower. Runway 17, your discretion. Cleared to land.”
“Cleared to land 17, Angel Flight.”
“Angel [1, 4, 2, 6, 5, 3, 8], left [E3/D], contact ground on 124.45.” “Attention all aircraft, information J current. Winds 340 at 6, altimeter’s 29.96.”
As I watch the Angels packing up, I smile at Rosalina, who reciprocates.
Before the first Angel starts up, I say, “let’s send towered ops off by two voices into one mic. That way, we can hear everything.”
“Ok.” She says as she unplugs her headset and puts it away.
When the last of the line staff board Fat Albert, the canopies drop and each jet fires up. This is for real.
“Victorville Ground, Angel Flight, Departure to San Bernardino.”
“Angel Flight, Victorville ground.” Rosalina takes. “Runway 17, taxi via C E E1, cross runway 21.”
“17, C E E1, cross 21, Angel Flight.”
“Victorville Ground, Fat Albert Ready to go, Departure to San Bernardino with Flight following.”
“Fat Albert, Victorville Ground, on request. Runway 21, taxi via C A.” I grab as Rosalina heads for the ATC computer.
“C A, 21, Fat Albert.”
Just as I release the PTT, I get the strip from Rosalina.
“Over to tower, Fat Albert.” “Victorville tower, Fat Albert, 21 via A.”
“Fat Albert, Victorville tower. Runway 21, line up and wait.”
“Fat Albert, Line up and wait, 21.”
“Angel Flight, contact tower now, 118.35.”
“Angel Flight switching.” “Tower… Victorville Tower, Angel Flight on E to 17.”
“Angel Flight, Victorville Tower. Runway 17, line up and wait.”
“Line up and wait 17, Angel Flight.”
“Fat Albert, runway 21, cleared for takeoff. On course departure approved.”
“Cleared for takeoff. On course, Fat Albert.”
“Victorville Ground, Angel 8, last to leave, information K, taxi runway 35, departure to San Bernardino.”
“Angel 8, Victorville Ground. Runway 35, taxi via C C1.”
“C C1 to runway 35, Angel 8.”
“Fat Albert, contact Departure, Semper Fi.”
“Your services are greatly appreciated, great day, Fat Albert.”
“Angel Flight, company Hercules off runway 21 for San Bernardino. Runway 17, cleared for takeoff.”
“Cleared for takeoff 17, Angel Flight.” Spitfire keys back as I prepare to shut the tower down.
When the last jet raises their gear, I call, “Angel Flight, Joshua Departure 124.55. San Bernardino tower 119.45. Frequency change approved. Anchors aweigh.”
“I thank you, we thank you, your country thanks you, Angel Flight over and out.”
“Victorville Tower, Angel 8, short of 35, ready to go.”
“Angel 8, Victorville tower. Caution wake turbulence departed Company Hercules and jet fighters, runway 35, cleared for takeoff, on course departure approved.”
“Cleared for takeoff, Angel 8.”
She takes off in record short distance, having dumped fuel on the afterburners. As she climbs away, I send her off.
“Angel 8, Joshua Departure 124.55. San Bernardino tower 119.45, frequency change approved. It’s been a big adventure with tons of fun.”
“Thanks for doing this. Be awesome!”
“Happy to help.”
Before I power anything else down, Rosalina smiles and points behind me as Dash rockets past the tower with full afterburner. She pulls a knife edge, canopy towards us, before she levels, rockets straight up, and disappears from radar.
Once the noise dies down and the dust dissipates, I wait a few more seconds so that the airwaves and airspace are absolutely clear before keying the mic One More Time.
“Attention all aircraft, vehicles, and personnel. Time now 1715 local. Victorville Class D surface area terminated. Class E airspace now in effect. Air traffic control service is terminated.”
