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

by Lawrence Colby

  “I don’t like fire on a jet any more than you do. Come on!” Charlie yelled.

  Emily must have had enough of the commotion downstairs and walked down the staircase to pandemonium. “Ford, stop. Ford! He didn’t do it! Stop it before you bloody kill each other. Right now!” she demanded.

  Charlie rolled off of Ford, both of them sitting on the ground, now out of breath, huffing. Charlie took the back of his hand and wiped the blood from his lip, tasting the metallic crispness of blood. Their faces were red and hands sore. They were both worn out.

  “Get off your bums and come upstairs. Savages. You two are brothers, for bloody sake,” Emily said.

  Ford looked at Charlie. “Ok. Alright,” he said, breathing hard. Ford wiped the small amount of blood on his shirt.

  “This is tosh. Get going upstairs. Both of you, mates.”

  Huffing hard, he told Charlie his final thought. “Charlie. You better hope to God, for the sake of the dead aircrew and their families, that you’re telling the truth.”

  Emily left them in the basement and sat in the sunroom, her flu-like symptoms kicking in again as they had for the past few days. Fatigued from the mishaps, the brothers fighting, and now doing the easiest of errands around town today, she was drained and didn’t feel like herself. All she had done that morning was unload the groceries, something she had done so many times before.

  She sat in the loveseat overlooking the river, and surfed her phone. Feeling queasy, she kicked her legs up to grab a nap, maybe even ring her sister in London for a minute. She closed her eyes and just rested.

  Chapter 18

  Niagara Air Base, Niagara Falls, New York

  Three days went by as the squadron buried their dead, took care of the families as best they could, and struggled to tackle the overwhelming amount of paperwork. Life insurance, beneficiaries, wives and ex-wives, all their children; so many hurdles to help facilitate the family members.

  Over in the maintenance hangar, Zeke, Grape, and the Mishap Team were just starting to set up their temporary offices. Computer gear, witness cameras and audio recorders, baggies for evidence, and procedural manuals covered the long rectangular tables. A few other guys from the team were wheeling in electronic equipment in large cabinets for their portable laboratory, placing them in a few locations Grape scouted out.

  Zeke wanted a cigarette, so he left the office and wandered upstairs to look down at the hangar floor, watching the maintenance crew turning wrenches on a jet. Such teamwork, he thought. One tanker had just pulled in for some type of maintenance, while a variety of parts and scaffolding were in a separate part of the hangar.

  He lit up a smoke on the second-floor balcony of the hangar, despite the large sign he was standing in front of that said “No Smoking.” It took balls the size of Cleveland to do what he was doing, but he knew the flashpoint of jet fuel and vapors would never ignite it. It was a trick he learned from attending the University of Southern California Aviation Safety and Security Program.

  “Hey, you. You, there. You got to put that out. Got to put that out,” said an impatient voice to Zeke. “I’m in charge here, and that sign says no smoking.”

  Zeke was one crusty officer and didn’t even look at the person attempting to reprimand him. He inhaled long and hard, blowing smoke rings on the way out. Zeke slowly turned to look at the visitor and gave him a stare.

  “Ok, Boy Wonder. And you are?” Zeke asked in a monotone voice.

  Looking nervous after now seeing the full-bird eagles of a colonel on his shoulders, he responded, “I am one of the maintenance officers. This is my hangar.” He was holding a stack of navy-blue rags in his hands.

  “Well, major,” Zeke replied.

  “I’m a lieutenant colonel,” Richard interrupted him.

  Zeke knew he was a lieutenant colonel, but had called him a major just to screw with him.

  “This hangar belongs to the taxpayers and Air Force Reserve. Far from you,” Zeke said. He looked at his name tape on his uniform and recognized his name from somewhere.

  “Well, sir, yes, but the...”

  Now Zeke cut him off. “I know you. I know your name. Lansing,” Zeke told him. “You were the last person on the mishap jet, and signed it off for flight. Lansing, safe for flight. Lansing. Lansing. Is that correct, there, Lansing?”

  Richard had a puzzled look on his face.

  “I checked the records last night and watched the surveillance videos from security,” Zeke said. With the attitude of a rebel, he took a drag and looked out at the hangar floor from the balcony. “I saw you, along with a few others.”

  Zeke knew he had a frail, bleeding animal in his trap, so he put out his cigarette.

  “That’s my job, colonel. I’m in and out. As are others,” Richard leaned in to read his nametag, “Colonel Ziehmann. Like the new pilots. Like that squadron commander, Stevens, who sent his brother down to me to get oriented with our procedures,” Richard replied.

  Zeke put in another cigarette, held the lighter out, and counted to five.

  “Really, colonel?”

  Zeke moved the lighter over and lit up another one in total defiance. He turned and started walking towards the staircase to the first floor, his lit cigarette hanging off his lips. “We’ll talk again soon, Lansing.”

  Zeke walked over to the big hangar doors and had a weird feeling. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he could feel it. He dropped his butt and stepped on it. Aviation safety statistical data demonstrated that the chances of having two mishaps in the same squadron on the same day were zero. Over the years, he knew to trust his instinct and knew something wasn’t right with both the mishaps, and this Richard Lansing.

  Chapter 19

  Water Street Landing Restaurant, Lewiston, New York

  Charlie had just buried some fellow squadron mates a few days ago, so he needed a distraction and figured asking Grace to dinner the following evening would fit the ticket.

  “Yeah, Charlie. I’d love to go out with you. It was good seeing you the other week in your squadron, too. You pick the place and I’ll meet you there,” she told him. He was on cloud nine after hearing that from her.

  They met at Water Street Landing, of course, and right away his feelings for her were validated. Her colorful sundress fit her tan body perfectly, as her hair was down straight and looked shiny under the patio lights. Grace looked attractive as ever, right down to her red painted toe nails. Charlie really noticed everything tonight, including the fragrant perfume she was wearing.

  He was a bit on-edge about his own clothing, as spending the last few years in flight training didn’t help his current closet clothing line.

  After a few short moments to break the ice, they fell in sync through dinner.

  “That was a great meal, Grace. Can I offer you a, ahem… post-dinner riverside walk?” Charlie asked.

  “You’re so formal, Charlie. What would happen if I said no?” Grace replied.

  “Then I’d go alone and leave you here to pay the bill.”

  She laughed and gave him a flirtatious smile.

  Once outside, the sun was starting to set and the weather remained beautiful. Some kids were running around eating their ice cream, and Charlie led them up into the nearby Lewiston Landing Park on the water.

  “Here, let’s sit by the Freedom Crossing Monument,” Charlie offered. “That way I can hold your hand.”

  “Yeah, right, Charlie. How about we walk through the park here and grab some mint chocolate chip down at that caboose stand?”

  She has an answer for everything.

  Sitting on a park bench overlooking the water across to Canada, they realized they had had a fun evening together telling stories from childhood, funny things that happened to them in college, even down to their first significant others in seventh grade. They were having a happy time to any casual observer. They had re
ally hit it off.

  “June, July, and August,” Charlie laughed, telling her his favorite months in western New York.

  “Yeah, Mister Charlie, I agree. But in the winter, the lakes are frozen. The skiing… it’s beautiful. Good feel, good people.”

  Charlie took another bite. “How’s work? What’s going on with your boss and the base?”

  She looked down at her ice cream and back up at him. “Been working hard to shape and advance policy for the constituents, Charlie. Facilitate in-person visits at all our offices, answer email, work the social media, too. Social media is important because it increases accountability for him. Ensures he’s doing his job.”

  “Grace, come on. I read the news… see what’s going on.”

  “Charlie, he’s super concerned and compassionate toward his constituents. He’s from the Buffalo area and is doing all the legal and ethical steps to keep his district on the map. He really is.”

  “Let me guess, he’s doing everything he can to ‘save the base,’” Charlie interrupted her sarcastically, making air quotes with his fingers.

  “Yes, he is. The BRAC committee is powerful. And anything you can do on your end to make positive impacts, from the military point of view, of course, is helpful. Let us handle the politics.”

  He shook his head from side to side. “I love politics and follow it as much as I can, but I don’t trust him, Grace. Seems too slick. Too well put together. Family, looks, I don’t know. Just a sixth sense, but he is powerful and runs this half of the state,” Charlie said, wondering about what he said. “Guess I better like him, huh?”

  She gave him a punch in the arm. “You better like him, Charlie. He’s your only advocate… you’ll be working with him on saving that base of yours. Anderson is the man that’s going to keep you and your little flight suit friends in the cockpit flying club,” she said, pointing with her thumb.

  Charlie looked into her brown eyes and noted her tan skin even more tonight. Must have been the warm, pink glow of setting sun from Canada reflected off her face.

  “What?” she said, embarrassed.

  Some middle-schoolers ran past them playing tag, nearly interrupting his moment to lean in for a kiss.

  He shrugged, smiling. “I don’t know. You, ah… you want to get out of this place?”

  They walked north along the river together as the sun set to their left, and he reached over and held her hand. She grabbed it back, and continued to share her dreams for her future, and he did the same. For the next hour, they unloaded their hopes and ideas with each other, sharing and trusting. They returned to the park near the statue, this time more empty with only a few other people around.

  “This outdoor lighting screams of romance, just like Myrtle Beach,” Charlie said, laughing. “I’d like to see you more.”

  Blushing, she put her head down, then looked up at him and into his eyes. “Me, too. Romeo. I would like that.”

  Charlie put his rough hands on her tight waist and pulled her in for a kiss. She went along with it, and seemed to like him just as much. He noticed her smooth skin, her sugary taste left over from the ice cream.

  “Sorry if my leathery fat lip got in the way. You can thank Ford for that one.”

  She looked down. “It’s not an issue. You feel great. Have a woodsy, manly scent.”

  He took both of his hands and wrapped them around her, and she did the same to him. This time she went in for the kiss, which impressed him. Off in the distance, they barely noticed the fishing boat going down the river, its engine whining as it navigated the dark river.

  “When do I get to see you again?” she asked.

  Meanwhile, back at the base, Charlie had no idea that a team of investigators were combing through his personal and professional life, looking for evidence to come after him. They were the hunters, and Charlie was their prey.

  Chapter 20

  328th Airlift Squadron, Niagara Air Base

  A few more days had gone by and the squadron was once again flying. They were attempting to get back to normal, from turning wrenches in maintenance to establishing a regular drum beat of day and night flying. The investigation in other parts of the base was ongoing, but to date, did not bother current flight operations. At the end of the day, the fighters, bombers, and airlifters were still flying, and they needed fuel. The world was not going to wait for Niagara.

  It was late afternoon on a partly cloudy day when Charlie and Ford had just landed from their first flight together. They were sure to snap plenty of photos, as their parents would be proud, they were both in the same cockpit. Actually, it was historic in nature, and both of them were ecstatic.

  After getting out of their flight gear and returning on the aircrew buys, they met up in the squadron hallway outside of Ford’s office. Ford was quite impressed with Charlie’s flying skills and was satisfied with his knowledge and performance to date. Although not a formal checkride, he did a little informal evaluating to ensure Charlie was coming along in the flying syllabus. The squadron offices were humming with business as usual.

  Ford entered his office first and Charlie followed. Ford pulled a handwritten note off his desk from Zeke and read it: “Come down and see me, Ford. Zeke.” He threw it away before Charlie saw it, and bit the inside of his lip while thinking about what it could mean.

  Charlie looked at Ford’s wall of photos, framed in random order around the office. “I didn’t know you kept this one,” Charlie said, pointing to the shot that captured both of them on the Okinawa flight line as kids.

  “Yup, I kept it. Might have been our first real exposure to flying, you know, with dad. His F-15 flight with the ejection. Second memory of airplanes was on that whitewater rafting trip with Wu in China.”

  Charlie grinned. “I kinda remember that, but I was pretty young. My man Wu! Hey, I haven’t seen him yet. How come?”

  Ford grinned at hearing Wu’s name but wanted to change the subject. “We will, we will. How about mom and dad? Doing okay?”

  “Getting older, but enjoying retirement in Hilton Head. Beach house is as beautiful as ever. They have a new restaurant next to Skull Creek Boathouse they enjoy, called the Dockside. Skull Creek built a new gazebo. Huge. They are all on the water, too. You should visit them, Ford.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I will. On my list, once things settle down in the squadron. Tackling all the new commander stuff. These mishaps, though …,” said Ford, putting his hands up with a sigh.

  Charlie nodded to him. “Hey. Our fight the other day in your basement. We good? You know, between us? Seems like we are ok, but we had some pretty good emotions flowing.”

  Ford looked at him and squinted. “Yeah, Charlie. I think we are, kind of,” he said, not being able to help what Zeke’s note meant. He couldn’t say anything to Charlie yet, but it was killing him. “It’s wasn’t the first fight we’ve had, and it won’t be the last. What do we call it, brotherly love?”

  Over the public address system came an announcement: “Attention in the squadron. Attention. Commander’s call. Commander’s call in the Ready Room for all pilots.”

  Ford looked as his calendar quickly, knowing he was hosting the meeting. “All pilots meeting. Let’s go.”

  “Wait, what… what’s this?” Charlie asked, befuddled.

  Ford hurried out of his office, with Charlie in tow and following behind. He stopped short of opening the doors to the Ready Room and turned to look at Charlie. “Hey, you go first. You can’t walk in behind me because I’m the boss, and then you’d be late. Boot. Go in there.”

  Charlie hesitated, listening for the guys talking inside. He opened the door wide, a bit much for making a low-key entrance, then realized Ford had helped him swing open the door with effort and made a loud bang as it hit the wall.

  Inside the room of lounge chairs and a podium was a sea of guys wearing olive drab flight suits, all staring at Ch
arlie coming in the doorway. The yelling and cat-calling started, similar to when he first checked in, with Charlie being pushed by Ford toward the small stage up front.

  All sorts of yelling were hitting Charlie at the same time. “Sit down, rookie!” “FNG! FNG!” “Put the baby to bed!” “New Meat!” were all heard overlapping each other. So was the laughing, yelling, and general chaos. The guys were also shooting silly string from cans, throwing confetti, and wadded paper balls. It would never fly in a corporate office environment, but this wasn’t corporate America.

  Red-faced and embarrassed, Charlie stood up front next to Ford.

  “Ok, ok, calm down,” Ford said, attempting to take control of the room. The room got louder. Ford let it go for a moment, laughing along with the squadron mates.

  “Ok, fellas. Thanks for giving Charlie your warmest, most professional welcome that one could ask for,” Ford told them. “Just flew with the new kid today. Our first combined flight. Charlie, why don’t you just reintroduce yourself to the boys. Tell them about yourself.” In perfect comedic fashion, he set Charlie up.

  Charlie looked out at the thirty pilots in the seats. “Well, I am-”

  He didn’t get more than two seconds into his introduction before the room erupted again, telling him to sit down and shut up. It was all in good fun, and Charlie finally got the joke. The joke was him.

  Ford grinned at his younger brother. “Fightin’ 328th! We welcome our newest pilot, Charlie Stevens. Today, he completed the flying syllabi at Niagara. Almost didn’t make it!” Ford said, joking. “Thanks to Shorty for putting up with Charlie’s crap, in addition to the program over a difficult long set of weeks. Congratulations, Charlie.”

  Charlie nodded his head and turned to the Ready Room. He wanted to say a few words, but Ford put both his hands on Charlie’s shoulders. “Stay silent, Charlie-boy. These guys will kill you.”