Hidden Courage (Atlantis)

by Petersen, Christopher David

  Shortly thereafter, they all shook hands and wished Jack good luck. They stood back on the sandbar and watched as he lowered his water rudder, started the plane and began to slowly move to deeper water.

  Jack could see the coastguard Cutter that was moored in deeper water. The crew of the Cutter had been radioed by the one of the four on the sandbar that Jack checked out and was now leaving. The crew lined the bow of the ship and, with binoculars in hand, watched as he prepared to depart. It wasn’t often that they got a glimpse of an experimental floatplane departing from a remote sandbar this far out at sea. They also needed to be there for Jack’s safety, as part of their job.

  The water still had tiny swells. The takeoff would be short, but still quite bumpy. Jack ran through his checklist, then lowered the flaps to their full position as he slowly taxied out to sea. With all eyes watching, he radioed the coastguard Cutter as a joke.

  “Coastguard Cutter, experimental floatplane requesting clearance for departure,” he said, trying to sound very official and professional.

  “Do you want me to call your mommy and ask if it’s okay with her?” a voice came back immediately.

  He had an authoritative tone about his voice. Jack looked at the Cutter and realized it was the commanding officer who was joking with him. He could see the handheld radio pressed again his ear while he stood on the bow, holding the railing.

  “Well, now that you mention it, while you’re on horn with her, tell her no more starch in my underwear,” Jack retorted, hardly able to contain his laughter.

  “Good luck, son. Be careful,” the commander said in with genuine concern.

  “Thank you, sir,” Jack replied.

  He looked back at the four who were still standing on the sandbar, then back at the men lining the Cutter. He advanced the throttle to full power. Slowly the plane glided forward, parallel to the swells. Jack pulled back on the stick to keep the nose elevated slightly. As the plane gained speed, the airspeed indicator came alive.

  Twenty knots, twenty-five knots.

  The floats elevated out of the water and rose up on the step, a portion of the floats that allowed Jack’s plane to break free of the surface of the water sooner. Gliding along on the step, moving faster now, he worked the rudder pedals to help steer the small plane between the swells.

  The ride was rough as Jack worked the stick to keep the plane on the step. He looked down at the airspeed indicator; it registered thirty-five knots. Suddenly, the rough ride was gone. He looked down at the floats. They were no longer creating a wake behind them. He was airborne.

  Jack lowered the nose of the plane to gain more airspeed before he entered his climbed. At fifty knots, he hauled back on the stick and launched the plane into a steep climb. He then retracted half the flaps and the water rudder and stabilized the climb.

  “Nicely done, son. Have a safe trip home,” Jack heard the commander announce as he flew by the Cutter.

  “Will do,” Jack replied.

  He then rocked his wings aggressively, and all that were watching waved back.

  Climbing out, he felt a sense of pride. It was a good feeling to have a man of high status recognize his abilities.

  Jack flew northwest to the George Town airport and refueled. His next stop was Nassau International Airport, on the little island of Nassau. As he flew, he felt completely secure. Land seemed to be everywhere. Two hours later he was given vectors to the airport by air traffic control. He parked his plane at general aviation, then took a cab to a casino with $20 to spend. This was all he would allow himself to lose.

  The casino was exciting. He envisioned himself winning thousands of dollars, but knew he’d probably be done in minutes, losing his money quickly due to his complete lack of knowledge of gambling. This being Jack’s first time, he wasn’t sure what to play and eventually he settled on blackjack.

  The casino was crowded and noisy, something that made him feel a little uncomfortable. As he wandered through the seemingly endless rows of gaming and slot machines, he finally found a table he could afford. He sat down at a table as another got up, beating out still another individual looking to try his luck at a bargain price of $5 per hand.

  As predicted, in less time it took to use the bathroom, he lost $15 of the $20. A little annoyed at how bad his luck was, he decided to play the slot machines. Wandering to the other end of the casino, he passed high rollers with colored chips that he guessed were $10,000 apiece. He stopped and watched as they gave away their money as if they were betting with pennies. Disgusted with the waste, he continued on.

  He found a row of $1 slots. They all looked the same, so Jack picked the first one on the row. He changed his $5 chip to $1 chips, allowing him five plays in total. He dropped the big silver chip into the machine and pulled the handle. With much anticipation, he watched as the spools of fruit turned. One by one they slowed to a stop. He waited for something to happen, but the sound of dropping coins into a tin container never materialized. Undaunted, he dropped in another coin. Again, nothing happened. Disappointed, he played two more times with the same results.

  In frustration, he got up to move to the machine in the middle in one last desperate attempt to win. Just as he got there, an elderly woman cut him off and sat down to play, almost falling off the chair in the process. Settling herself, she blandly looked over at him, inserted her coin and lost.

  “Hmm, penance for rude behavior,” Jack said out loud as he turned back to his still empty machine.

  As he sat down, the elderly woman retorted, “First come, first serve, poor sport.”

  Her remark demonstrated her total lack of manners and etiquette. Irritated by the selfish old woman’s response, he thought about leaving the area, but sat down at his previous seat. The more he thought about it, the more her presence irritated him. He dropped his coin into the machine and pulled the handle. Seconds later he heard the silence of the tin container. Getting up from his chair, he saw the old woman smugly eyeing him. She had an arrogant smile that cut through Jack, but then her smile changed. Her whole expression changed instantly to a blank stare.

  Then Jack heard it. ‘Clink’ was the tinny sound the coin made as it dropped into the pan under the slot machine.

  Clink: Jack heard it again.

  Turning from the distasteful old woman, he spotted the yellow light at the top of his machine flashing. Clink, clink, clink came the sound of dropping coins into his container. He looked up and tried to figure out how and what he was winning. The display had three rows of characters. There were fruit and numbers locked in across them. He saw the middle row had three 7s displayed. Distracted by the miserable old woman, he had overlooked this winning combination.

  The coins kept falling. He watched in disbelief as the bottom of the metal pan began to fill up. Ten seconds ticked by and still the money kept dropping.

  Jack’s eyes were glued to that metal plan. Twenty seconds later and still more coins dropped. Nearly thirty seconds later, the machine went quiet. He stared in at his newfound fortune. He knew it wasn’t a lot of money, but it was a lot more than he had ever won in his life. He collected his earnings, a total of $234 dollars, and stood up to leave, not wanting to push his luck and lose any of it.

  As he was leaving, the old woman jealously glared at him. Jack thought for a moment, then said, “What comes around goes around. Have a nice day.”

  He turned as a scowl crossed the old woman’s face. Walking quickly out of earshot, he left her in her petty world, muttering something in retaliation.

  With his newfound fortune, he decided that he wanted to have a decent meal, something he hadn’t had for over a month. The only way Jack could afford this trip was on half a shoestring, eating peanut butter sandwiches morning, noon and night, occasionally spending a couple dollars here and there to experience the local cuisine – but always the cheapest thing he could find. Now, after winning, he had enough to actually afford anything he desired.

  He wandered into one of the fancy seafood restaur
ants and ordered the biggest thing on the menu: surf and turf. He gorged himself on baked stuffed shrimp and prime rib for the next hour. It was of the finest quality and Jack thought his taste buds were in overload, barely able to comprehend the exquisite flavors. After paying the $55 check, he was so full he felt like he was waddling like a duck as he window-shopped through the city.

  This marked his final night outside the US. He made his way to the beach and sat and watched the sun set. He felt sad that his adventure was nearly over. After the sun had set, he took a cab back to the pilots’ lounge at the FBO where his plane was parked. He settled in for the night, completely sated from the fantastic food and the recollection of the wonderful memories he had built.

  The day broke and Jack woke from a comfortable night’s sleep. He took some of his winnings and ate a big breakfast at the airport restaurant. He then made his way out to his trusted friend, his floatplane. He looked at it with pride, but also a sense of thankfulness. It had carried him so far and through so much without a single problem. Together, they had flown through oppressive heat, freezing cold, and balmy tropical temperatures. It had cradled him while he slept at dangerous airports in unfriendly countries and landed without protest in locations that most wouldn’t dream of attempting.

  Jack ran his hand down the back of the plane affectionately, like he was patting the beloved family dog. He jumped in, called “Clear,” and started the engine. An hour and a half later, after skirting Cuban airspace to the north, he caught sight of land out on the horizon. Excitement and disappointment filled Jack’s emotions. Thirty miles ahead was Miami. He would finally be in his own country and the adventure would be over. Ten miles out, he could see the skyline and the skyscrapers that marked the big city’s location. Ten miles out, he was now in contact with the tower at Miami International Airport.

  Crossing from the ocean to the beach, flying the vectors requested by the tower controller, he looked down at the fancy tourist hotels and the brightly colored buildings marking the Latin culture, dominant in the area. It looked like the many tropical locations he had landed at in the past month. It was nice to know that if ever he longed for that experience again in the future, it was just a short flight away.

  Jack was home, back in the United States. It would take him another three days to fly up the coast to New England. Along the way, he took in the sights from above, the terrain and geography completely different than what he’d been living and seeing for the past two months.

  He crossed Long Island Sound and into Connecticut. Thirty minutes later, he saw the enormous 1500-foot radio towers that marked the location of home, true home – Robertson Airport. As he made his approached to landing, he looked down and saw two small figures standing beside the runway. He recognized them right away: his mom and dad. His mom was jumping up and down, excited at the first sight of the floats, the most distinguishing feature about his plane. His heart started to race. He had missed his parents terribly.

  Moments later, he touched down and taxied to the FBO. This time there would be no need for fuel. Grinning ear to ear, he jumped out of the plane, nearly tripping over the float. He ran to his waiting parents.

  “Welcome home, Jack,” his tearful mother said, racing to him and hugging him.

  She didn’t let go and his father had to cut in on the mother’s moment.

  “Can the ole man get a hug over here?” he said, grabbing Jack and hugging him now.

  Jack’s eyes welled up with tears as he hugged his parents. It was one of the most emotional moments of his life. He didn’t want it to end.

  His dad finally brought everyone back to Earth, saying, “So what’s your next big adventure? Finishing school, I hope,” he said jokingly.

  “School first, the Caribbean second,” Jack dryly replied.

  “Liked it down there, huh?” his mother asked, second guessing his meaning.

  “You might say that,” Jack replied cryptically.

  Jack’s mother stared at him momentarily and thought about his response. With her intuition gnawing at her, she said, “I know you too well, Jack. What are you up to this time?”

  “It’s nothing, Mom. Just buried treasure,” he responded with a forced chuckle.

  “You’re serious aren’t you?” she asked, now growing worried.

  “Well, I did see something intriguing under the water while I was flying between the islands. I can’t be sure, but I think it looked like a hunk of gold.” He paused a moment, then added, “But don’t worry guys, I plan on finishing school first… then I’ll plan my next adventure.”

  “Well, just make sure you do it after we’re dead. We’ve had enough worry and stress to last us a lifetime,” his dad said, rubbing his shoulders.

  Getting into their warm car, he looked back at his plane. “Thank you,” he mouthed to the tiny floatplane, now sitting alone on the tarmac.

  His parents were chattering back and forth, asking endless question, so excited they didn’t even wait for the answers before they asked another. Jack sat in the backseat, watching his tiny plane get smaller and smaller as they drove away. As it finally dropped out of sight, he finally turned and happily began to answer the barrage of questions before him.

  ~END~

  Message from the Author:

  Hi, I’m Christopher David Petersen,

  Thank you for your purchase. I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have the time, I’d greatly appreciate you leaving a review.

  Hidden Courage is book one of a three book series. Please see below for the first chapter of book two: The Tomb of Atlantis.

  If you’d like to contact me personally, please use the email address below:

  CDPPublishing@yahoo.com

  For further reading by Christopher David Petersen:

  The Tomb of Atlantis

  Sample Chapter:

  Atlantis – Chapter 1

  THE ATLANTIC OCEAN: 10,000 B.C.

  His hand was moist with sweat as he nervously grasped the tiller. Shaking it out, he wiped the offending moisture on his sleeve, then quickly returned his hand to the rudder. Looking over his shoulder, fear and apprehension broke free of their restraints and began to escape from their exile. His eyes shifted and his posture softened as his mind toyed and deceived his logic. Like a ravaging cancer, desperation flooded his conscious and he now began to consider defeat. “Blast!” he called out in disgust, and he banished the offending emotions to their asylum.

  Narrowing his eyes, he summoned his courage deep from within. Like a Greek god, he stood bold and statuesque as he returned his stare to the expansive seas in front of him.

  Sophocles, captain of his vessel and admiral of his fleet, scanned the horizon. A warrior by trade and a sailor by passion, he spent most of his forty-seven years at sea. Tall and muscular, yet weathered and gray, he was considered an enigma to most warriors half his age. Having survived tragedies, battles and storms, he was called upon once more to push the limits of his courage and skill as he attempted to cross the Atlantic.

  Sophocles searched the horizon and surrounding waters for signs of land. There were none: no distant gray shadows on the horizon that distinguished land, no birds flying to their nearby destinations, and no floating plant or human debris that signaled a civilization just beyond their line of sight.

  Disappointment spread through him as he realized there was no safe haven to be found.

  Sophocles turned around and stared at the Egyptian armada that trailed only a few hundred yards behind him. Spread out over a quarter mile to each side, there were more than a hundred ships in his hot pursuit. Over the course of two weeks, Sophocles’ slower, less skilled ships were picked off one by one, and now his fleet consisted of only a handful of his most skilled and fastest sailors.

  Sophocles squinted hard at the lead ship, trailing directly behind him. Standing triumphantly on its bow was Lempithius, captain of all the Egyptian fleet. The two admirals locked stares upon each other and for a moment, no one else in
the world existed. Even with the distance between them, Sophocles could see the deep hatred and anger that seethed from Lempithius as he stood with clenched fists. Lempithius’ time had come and he would fully enjoy his revenge.

  “He’s gaining on us, sir,” called a voice from behind Sophocles.

  “Indeed,” Sophocles replied without breaking his stare.

  “The men are rowing at maximum capacity. I fear they cannot keep up this pace much longer,” called the familiar voice once more.

  Sophocles turned to face his first mate. His eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to intimidate his first officer, Zotikos. Realizing his unintentional action, he reached out and placed his hand on Zotikos’ shoulder.

  “Zotikos, you are my finest. I am confident you have done your best. We are now in the hands of fate and destiny,” Sophocles said.