The Buffalo Pilot: A Ford Stevens Military-Aviation Thriller (Book 3)

by Lawrence Colby

  One section depicted the 328th Squadron’s recent 75-year anniversary, with a new picture displayed of retired and current aircrew alike in front of a static display of a KC-135 and C-130 airframes.

  Wow, these guys did it all, Charlie thought. Transport of airborne forces. Resupply of equipment and supplies. Extraction. Airdrop. Evacuation.

  Charlie stood in the land of curmudgeon experience and looked down at his new olive flight boots that didn’t have one smudge of dirt on them. Awestruck, Charlie walked over to look at last year’s Thunder Over Niagara Air Show wall photos, full of smiling Thunderbird pilots standing near their glossy-painted red, white, and blue F-16 Falcons.

  Charlie heard the beat of rock music and finally made it to the Pilot Room, then immediately felt the heat. He ran directly into the crosshairs of the pilots who seemed to be waiting for him, as he figured either Pat called and warned them or they spotted him studying the hallway photos. Seeing Charlie standing there with fresh-out-of-the-package helmet bags was the only cue they needed to start the hooting and hollering.

  “Freaking New Guy!” someone yelled.

  “F-N-G!” another added.

  “Rookie! Rookie!” was yelled by multiple guys, in addition to whistling, clapping, and loud laughing. Another pilot was holding up a drum symbol and banging on it with a drum stick, while another was tooting a large Buffalo Bills-themed air horn.

  As the howling continued, it stopped Charlie in his tracks.

  “New meat! New meat!” was the new chant being sung in unison, and the final coordinated thing Charlie heard.

  He turned away soon as he heard it, red faced, but doubled back to the pilots in the room to face the music. Charlie could see a room full of flight planning tables, and at least eight pilots in flight suits standing in a close group together. He strained to act happy but plastered a smile on his face anyway. This group of pilots figured out fast that the new lieutenant checking in was the brother of their squadron commander, Major Ford Stevens.

  Charlie saw guys of all ages, in their early 20s to early 50s, which meant they were of all ranks. Some had a full head of long hair, like they’d never served a day in the military, while others kept it short and tight. He also heard some music playing, most likely from the large speakers hanging down from the ceiling on silver metal chains.

  “Better have some thick skin, kid!” yelled one of the taller, but younger, pilots standing in the rear of the group.

  Charlie’s temperature started to rise now. “Nice to be here!” he yelled back, wondering in self-doubt if he could withstand the pressure of being new and not immediately accepted.

  He scooted into the locker room, which resembled a traditional gym locker room – like the ones seen in high school – but with their callsigns Velcroed to their lockers. He walked down the aisles, found an empty locker, placed his stuff inside, and left.

  Returning to the Pilot Room, Charlie listened from the hallway first before entering, finding it oddly silent. Upon rounding the corner to enter, he saw the same pilots from just moments ago, now with their backs to the doorway. Hell of a welcoming committee. They parted ways, as if on cue, and one of them turned around. It was his brother, Ford.

  Charlie was relieved and happy to see Ford. It had been years since they last saw each other because of travel commitments, school, and deployments, and they embraced in a strong and powerful hug. Charlie couldn’t help but picture Ford as a little kid. In reality, his older brother had changed considerably since they’d last seen each other. Now, he was Major Ford Stevens, and Charlie was proud. Admired him even.

  “My brother! Boys, my brother Charlie is here!” Ford bellowed out, genuinely excited.

  “Hey Ford, how you doin’, bro!” Charlie answered as he leaned in again for a second hug.

  Major Ford Stevens was the commander of the 328th Air Refueling Squadron. He was a pilot’s pilot, working hard on his way up through Air Force Reserve billets by earning them the old-fashioned way, with hard work. After graduating from Notre Dame, Ford completed jumps at the U.S. Army Airborne School learning to parachute, completed Survival School, then flight training, and later the flying squadrons. His flight experiences included all the traditional trainers, then the B-1B Lance bomber, and later a cross-service tour with a Navy F-18 Hornet squadron.

  Charlie saw all the pilots laughing and giving him a sincere, warm welcome now, and he was thankful his temper did not explode from the ribbing they were giving him just moments ago.

  “Guys, thanks for the warm welcome. You have no idea what a character this brother of mine was in his teenage years,” Charlie addressed the pilot room.

  A voice from the back of the group spoke up. “Like what, Stevens? Tell us a story about Ford!”

  Ford stood smiling at Charlie, proud his younger brother was there with him.

  “Well, Ford was a prankster. While at Notre Dame, he got into trouble during his junior year for toilet-papering school vehicles outside the Student Center, then watered them down with a garden hose.”

  The entire room was in laugher now, enjoying seeing the two of them together.

  Charlie continued. “Another time, he took all the student keys off their key rings while at a school function, causing complete disorder for all affected. No one knew which keys were which.”

  Ford had grown more serious as he matured, accepting more responsibility as he rose in age and military rank. He had traveled to quite a few countries over his career, exploring and enjoying all of them. He’d also flown some sensitive national security missions he couldn’t talk about with most pilots, which bothered him. Because of his social nature, he would enjoy more than anything to just chat about flying missions with the camaraderie of the guys, but couldn’t due to security reasons.

  Ford pointed at Charlie. “Is this kid good or what? All right, all right. Let’s head down to my office, then we can come back and you can grab a beer with the guys. Good? You guys good with that?”

  The crowd of pilots, which had expanded from the original eight or so, was now substantially larger. Plenty of “yeses” were heard among the murmurs.

  While not officially diagnosed with any medical issues, Ford did feel the post-traumatic effects of his last life-and-death mission from time to time. Seeing his share of death, from close friends to nearly losing his own life more than once, had affected him on a deep level. After experiencing raw operations in the field, he could comprehend what other military and first responders were suffering from. Fellow aircrew to City of New York firefighters to the infantry, he knew the feelings and symptoms all too well. Ford was also savvy enough to know most of America did not understand the sacrifice.

  “Missed you, brother,” Charlie said. They walked down together to Ford’s office, wrapping up arms over shoulders. “Can’t wait to catch up, hear about Emily.”

  “Missed you, too, bro. It’s been too long. Nice to have you here, Charlie,” Ford replied.

  They continued to make their way to Ford’s office. “Gotta tell you, Charlie. I missed you. I missed telling you what to do. Been a while,” Ford said.

  “Easy, big bro. Let me settle in first. I’ll get you back for all the years you made me cry.”

  “Ok, relax, tiger. Have a seat right there,” Ford said, pointing to a chair in front of his office desk. “Before we go any further, I need to give you the official pitch. I’m now your commander and responsible for the squadron, including you, so we have to follow some minimum protocols. Plenty of time for us to laugh, but it’s Major Stevens in public. It’s a tough start for you here as my younger brother, but that’s the way it has to be with our protocol. You’ll be alright. Pitch complete.”

  What the hell… who cares if you’re the commander?

  “Okay, Major Stevens,” Charlie said with full sarcasm.

  “You’ll be fine, Charlie. Can’t believe you’re here, though. How
cool is that?” Ford continued. “I know we haven’t caught up in a while, so plan on coming over for breakfast on Saturday. But for today, I have to tell you right up front about our formal, working relationship.”

  “Shoot, Commander. All ears,” Charlie replied, rolling his eyes and smiling.

  “Well, Charles, you wise-ass. You are going to get no special breaks at Niagara because you’re my brother, so any fantasy hookups you’re dreaming of getting… tough. No shoulder rubs. You’ll have to work harder than the rest of these guys and earn your stay.”

  Ford continued. “You were accepted to the squadron before my arrival, so I didn’t have input to say something about it. But if I had something to say about it, it’s possible I would have asked some curveball questions to ensure you were serious about coming here. People at this base are great, and they want folks to stick around a long time. I know your pilot board voting wasn’t at a hundred percent during the interview process to get your ass accepted, but I am glad you’re here.”

  “Well, sir,” Charlie said with a special emphasis on the word. Smiling, he continued. “Thanks for the breakfast offer, I’ll be there… but your warm welcome at Niagara is kinda cold. You can pound sand. My entire life, I’ve had to compete with you. Against you. Now you’re coming off holier than thou. I earned my wings.”

  “Charlie, stop,” said Ford, putting his hand up. “Come on, man, I am welcoming you here, but just wanted to get that stuff out of the way. Formality, so you don’t think you can get away with anything. Have to do it for everyone, and more with you because we’re literally brothers. And speaking of getting away with stuff, how about the little stunt you pulled at our wedding. You had to do it there?”

  Charlie did understand since Ford was the commander, then had to think about the wedding part he was referring to. He thought about their Hilton Head Island wedding reception for a second, and a smile came right to his face. Skull Creek Boathouse on the water. Hilton Head. That was fun. “Out back on the deck, just behind the outdoor bar?”

  “Yeah, dickhead. You couldn’t have thrown up someplace else?” Ford asked, laughing.

  “You guys did have a fun wedding, Ford. Loved the Skull Creek Boathouse Bar and Deck. But that’s long and gone. What I want to dig into is you missing my Vance winging last week. Mom and Dad were able to come, gave me your nice hand-written letter. Thank you, it meant a lot. But you missed it. Mom told me you were struggling with some after-effects from your last mission and drinking? Some of it bothering you from your hospital stay?”

  Ford nodded. “Mom told me she passed the message on to you. I’m still a recovering alcoholic and have some challenges, which we can chat about later for sure. Appreciate you understanding. Also had squadron business to take care of, unfortunately. You don’t know yet what it’s like as you climb the ladder. A tough go.”

  They both sat in silence. Charlie took a moment to look around the office. Wooden models of the B-1 and F-18 were on the bookshelves. Hand-carved Air Force Pilot Wings behind his desk. Some weird flight helmet with Chinese markings on it sat on his desk. China?

  Ford broke the silence. “Anyway, congratulations on your wings. That’s really awesome. Dad sent me pics of your ceremony.”

  “Thanks, man. Means a lot to me to follow you up here at Niagara. Can’t wait to fly.”

  Ford had previously made fun of Charlie’s decision-making for being somewhat of a slacker post-college, out selling t-shirts and kicking back craft beer at Stowe Mountain while he was out risking his life for his country. Charlie had no idea about his classified missions of the past, along with the treacherous mishap that killed his co-pilot.

  “Charlie, I am still a bit uneasy with the missions I’ve flown, which led me to turn to alcohol to deal with it. It’s just… tough to deal with it all.”

  “Anything you need, Ford. I’m a local,” Charlie told him.

  Ford smiled while he broke his chops. “What did you even join for? Dude, Dad browbeat a decision out of you?”

  Grinning now, Charlie told him the truth. “Yup, Dad got ahold of me and gave me some ideas. Took some leave from the police department after thinking about it. Joined for the same reasons millions of others did. To serve, the glory, love of country. The adventure.”

  Two knocks were heard at the door as Chief Pilot Major Fred “Shorty” Holliday stopped in to meet Charlie. It was the tall pilot, easily six-foot-four or more, that Charlie recognized in the Ready Room earlier. In typical squadron fashion, he had earned himself the “Shorty” callsign.

  Charlie finished his thought before turning to fully check out the visitor knocking. “Yeah, brother, I’ve reported in. I’m here as a pilot now, so like it!” he said, smiling.

  Ford smiled, too, and leaned around Charlie to greet the visitor. “Hey, Shorty, come on in,” he said, giving a wave. “This little fella is First Lieutenant Charlie Stevens,” Ford said as they shook hands.

  “Hey, Charlie. What’s up? Welcome.”

  “Shorty, get this cop on the flight schedule. We’ll need him trained up. Local course rules. Ops down at Buffalo Airport, Rochester, Elmira. All the local refueling anchors, the works. Full syllabus. No breaks because he’s my brother, either,” Ford told him, waving his finger. “He gets graded like all the other pilots in this squadron.”

  Nearly all flights were graded against strict standards. Topics such as mission planning, take-off, landings, navigation, radios, and flight maneuvers were covered. The graded events list was lengthy and would shock most non-fliers of the minutiae required for a single flight.

  “You got it, boss. We’ll take good care of him.” Shorty was a full-time pilot at a major commercial airline, but his part-time job in the Reserves was training and leading the pilots in the KC-135 airframe.

  “Up to you, Charlie, if you can even hack it up here,” Ford said. Glancing at the red digital clocks on the wall, he added, “Look, I have to go to a Maintenance Squadron meeting. Shorty will start to train you up and introduce you to some of the other aircrew. He doesn’t know about your ski bum days or dating that skinny tattooed girl with the short hair. What was her name, Stacy? Or protesting at our nation’s capital for a Save the Whales campaign and the environment. Be sure to tell him it all.”

  “Okay, Major Stevens. Asshole,” Charlie replied with a smile, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Good to see you, too.”

  Ford left the room, and the chief pilot turned and followed him. “Let’s go, Charlie. I’ll introduce you to a couple of the guys,” said Shorty, inviting him down the hall.

  Charlie took a quick glance at all the framed photos in Ford’s office on the way out. Typical D.C. monuments shot. Emily. Diego Garcia. Vegas. Bangalore, India. When did he go to India? “Hey. Hang, on, Ford. When can I see Wu? Dad says he lives near you.”

  Ford went through the glass doors in reverse, opening the doors with his back. “I’ll take you to see him later. Get to work!” Ford yelled and left.

  Chapter 6

  28th Congressional District, Buffalo, New York

  The afternoon sun shot her rays through the bulletproof glass and warmed Congressman Bruce Michael Anderson’s Capitol Hill office. He represented the local 28th Congressional District of New York in Washington and had a local office in downtown Buffalo. His hometown of Buffalo was his anchor city, along with sister cities Rochester and Niagara Falls.

  “This is a good upcoming schedule,” he said, waiving the paper around and looking above his cheater glasses that rested on his nose. “Gets me home some of the spring, nearly the entire time we are on Summer Recess. Thanks for working it,” he told his staff. They were all seated around the table in a circle for their weekly meeting. “What’s next, Committee Business?”

  Buffalo, Niagara Falls, and Rochester had declining populations, making it tough for many socio-economic groups, as businesses and people were both leaving the area at high rates.
Over in Rochester, it didn’t help that the local film-related products company thought digital cameras were silly technology when they could have led the world in sales. Right behind them was the foremost contact lens company from the 1850s to present that just sold, seeking greener pastures outside of New York’s high taxes.

  In Buffalo, the local cap manufacturer, and later a solar panel manufacturer, both announced they would be leaving the area.

  “Yes, sir, Committee Business. And I’d like to tie it to the 28th. After visiting western New York the past few days, I am convinced more than ever we need to discuss specific draft legislation around the District’s economy,” said the Economic Director.

  “What were you thinking?” asked the congressman as he ran his fingers through his thick gray-and-black hair, each strand held in place with his morning hair tonic routine.

  “It would serve the area better if we could gain a stronger foothold on finances. We all know that. A stronger economic foothold. You know, capitalize on the positive things, from automobile parts manufacturing, and Canadian trade and commerce,” the Economic Director said.

  “Of course, of course. Tell me more. Perhaps I can talk to Albany about State Tax incentives for corporations?” Bruce asked. He took off his black rimmed glasses and they slid across the table.

  “No, not really, congressman. I’m toying with the idea of expanding the principal recipient of resources for the area, the Niagara Falls Air Base. Let’s talk with the HASC Professional Staff Members about getting Niagara a new hangar, maybe some fuel tanks. They have that simulator building that sits empty… maybe we finally get a simulator installed and working.” It was an excellent idea. He’d do anything to make it look like he was the only politician putting money into the base. After all, Bruce knew the political game was all about appearances, and he was an expert.