I Got This, Don't Ride Me

     John left through the creaky screen door into the thick night air. He noticed that the air smelled musty, and the sky started clouding a little. Cooler air was coming in and surely the warming air would rise and present a foggy morning.             
      February through April was the time of year for rain. John nodded greetings to some of the other pilots as he made his way to the dorm. He saw someone in the darkness approach from the direction of John’s building.

     “I guess Steve has told you the good news,” said Jason’s tall silhouette.

     “Yes, he has. Thank you,” replied John.

     “You’re welcome. If you fly as well as you are determined too, that’s great. I let you fly because I trust you with the lives of locals, missionaries and possibly my family. I have to know I can put my life and those of others in your care.”

     “You’re all safe with me,” John said.

     “I hope so. There are people all over the world trusting me to make the right decisions with their family members. That means choosing carefully who will pilot them. If anything happens, I answer to these people. That means total concentration on the work at hand, nothing else. From the time your training begins, I want you to promise all your focus will be from flight to flight. If not, I will ground you. I can’t fire you, but I can make your life so miserable as to contemplate resignation. Do we have an agreement?” Jason asked.

     He thinks he has it all figured out, thought John. It rubbed him the wrong way. “I appreciate your concern, but don’t ride me. I do well at the yoke, and I come with more than a thousand hours of flying under dangerous conditions. This is nothing new.”

     Both men stood head to head in the dark, neither knowing what to do next. After a few moments, Jason spoke up. “Why don’t we just call it a night? Just remember what I told you. The responsibility for these people lies with you.”

Jeffrey W. Bennett, is the author of Commitment-A Novel and other non-fiction books, novels and periodicals.

Commitment Excerpt

John’s first assessment of Tiom reminded him of the setting in most bush pilot stories he had ever read. The rich greenery surrounding a well-used runway was almost cliché. “Adventures would be launched from this small cradle he would call home, most likely stemming from encounters with such flying hazards as tall snow-covered mountains, smoke from clear-cutting, and clouds.

Daryl led him to the two waiting men. One was very tall, about a head taller than the other. He looked purely business with his hands clasped behind his back; nothing to hide. The other wore the warmest smile John had ever seen.

During introductions, a small crowd of greeters circled the four. John felt himself being whisked away to a more private meeting.

“We’ve been looking toward your arrival,” Jason said in a rehearsed voice. “Our responsibilities cover a lot of ground, as you’ll soon learn.”

“Thank you both for the welcome. Daryl has been briefing me on your little operation here and I’m anxious to get started.”

“I can assure you there is nothing ‘little’ about what we do here,” Jason defended. “There are many people who rely on us for logistical support.”

“Sorry, did I say something wrong?” John asked.

“Never mind him, as the backbone of the setup, Jason’s a little overworked. In fact, he has staff just to monitor his blood pressure,” Steve said chuckling.

“All right, excuse me if I take a little pride. I’m sure you meant no harm, nor did I. I just wanted you to know how important our work is. New pilots don’t understand this until reality hits them head on, sometimes in the form of disease or a plane wreck. Working here is no way to collect flight hours. Our business is people’s lifeline, an intravenous line straight to their hearts. Realize this early on and your work here will be rewarding for you and those whose lives you touch,” Jason said.

“I couldn’t say it better myself,” admitted Daryl. “I guess that’s why you’re in charge.”

“Steve, why don’t you take John’s bags and show him to his quarters and I’ll have the mechanics service Daryl’s plane.” Jason clapped his hands together as if a movie director was cutting a scene. “Why don’t we have a little informal get together for dinner tonight, since we have some special guests. “Around 6:30?”

“Sounds good. You know that Rachel will be more than willing to help,” Steve volunteered his wife. He turned to John. “Let’s get you settled into your new home.”

“Good to have met all of you.” John waved wearily. “I guess I’ll see you tonight.”

John followed Steve to a cinder block building adjacent the hanger compound. It was a long one-story complex with roll-open windows. Just inside a large cork board displayed messages and swayed as the two walked by.

Inside, John’s new room was surprisingly pleasant. Wicker furniture offered a homey atmosphere and was far from tacky. John found himself escorted to a roomy suite doubling as a dining or study area then to a separate bedroom. Everything was furnished except for the kitchen and plumbing which were shared in a community room down the hall.

“After saying good-bye, John unpacked and stared out of the window at the people working to outrace the sun. He recognized some faces of people he had already met. They now struggled to tow Daryl’s plane to a primitive shelter. Some of the now familiar residents removed clothing from clotheslines and others prepared for dinner while another small group carried notebooks and Bibles back to their rooms.

The setting sun reminded John that he had about an hour to clean up. Settling into a creaking chair, he wondered how he would ever have the strength to socialize during the coming evening.

Jeffrey W. Bennett, is the author of Commitment-A Novel and other non-fiction books, novels and periodicals.

This is home

CHAPTER 2

Daryl Stromburgh knew that this stranger had been caught off guard by her appearance, and it wasn’t anything new. Even as a teenager, men had somehow tried to hinder her interest in aviation. She reasoned that female aviation pioneers had been struggling in that battle since before Amelia Earhart and that gave her a tough defensive edge.

In spite of her toughness, her matchless beauty was highlighted by shoulder length red hair emphasized by the rising sun. She cut an imposing figure with hands on hips, but the intimidation softened as she walked toward him.

“John, meet Daryl Stromburgh. Daryl, this is John Braddham,” Ted introduced.

“From the surprised look on your face, I can see you weren’t expecting a woman pilot. If it’s all the same to you, I can out-fly anyone anywhere in this hemisphere or even the world for that matter,” she said with fingers pointed, stressing each syllable, her whole arm taking on the appearance of a pecking chicken. “So don’t try any remarks about women drivers, especially around me. Just a warning before you say anything.”

“I guess I did look incredulous,” John said. He didn’t like lectures, especially when not deserved. “You are correct. I was expecting a man...”

“Typical,” Daryl responded.

“Not so.” John held up his hand, wanting to finish. “I was fooled by your name, and Ted didn’t bother to correct my thinking.”

They both shot a glance in the direction of the grinning director.

“You gotta watch his mischievous side; other than that, he’s not so bad,” Daryl slowly let her guard down.

“Well, as I was saying, the name fooled me. Now, since you prejudged me, allow me to enlighten you about where I’m coming from. I served a few years as a military pilot and most of them in Vietnam. I am proud to have flown with some of the best aviators in our nation, and yes, some were women.” John was still a little steamed under the collar. “So don’t start expecting special treatment, especially from me. Just a warning before you say anything.”

He understands. Not too many left like him. Daryl thought. “Touché, John, and I’m sorry for attacking you like that. It wasn’t fair to punish you for the faults of others, but you seemed to take it well.”

“Now that you two are civil, I think it is safe enough for you to travel together. I wouldn’t let you fly over rivers and through valleys with chips on your shoulders.” Matt spoke with relief.

“The plane is now loaded and fueled, Ms. Stromburgh,” said the young man who had awakened John.

“Good luck, John, and make sure you take care of this guy, Daryl. I don’t want him scared off.”

“As John and Daryl left, John saw the community around the airstrip alive with activity. He watched teachers and children walk to a simple school house. The children wore combinations of traditional and western clothing of handed down or donated t-shirts adorned with pictures and logos. He could tell by their content faces that they had no idea of how utterly strange the mixture of cultures looked.

“May I carry your bags, sir?” the ghost from earlier asked.

“I can handle them,” John replied.

“Go ahead, let him. That’s what he’s paid to do,” Daryl said.

John shot her a glance. “All right, take ‘em already.”

The young man bolted ahead and loaded the baggage.

“You’ve got to be friendlier, that’s what these people know, and that’s what they expect from missionaries.” Daryl was appalled.

“Whatever,” John huffed. “How long is the flight to Tiom?”

“Roughly five hours not including refueling stops. It goes pretty fast though.” Daryl tried to sound optimistic.

“After a quick pre-flight inspection, they were airborne and flying northwesterly. Daryl took advantage of the long flight to fill John in on the operation in the area where he would work.

Daryl and John discovered they had a lot in common. The twenty-eight-year-old pilot was also raised in John’s home state of Texas, but she came from the eastern part of the state bordering Louisiana. And like John, she was very enthusiastic about aviation. What they had in common ended there. She loved the missionary work with its bush flying. For John, missionary aviation was only a stepping stone to bigger opportunities.

“It’s nothing to go from swampy, to mountainous to flat terrain in one flight. You’ll do flying like most people never experience. Hopefully you don’t get airsick too easily, but be merciful if your passengers do. It’s nothing to have to clean up a few sickness-related accidents every flight or so. We are the lifeline, the only access to the outside world the missionaries will have. I usually try to bring magazines or simple games, anything that I can to remind these dedicated people that they aren’t forgotten.”

“Does anyone ever just ‘hang it up’ and go back home?” John asked.

“Surprisingly, many pilots have returned home early. We’ve had a huge turnover because of the war. Some who have lost brothers, fathers, or other families had to help with hardships at home. The rest are another story. Perhaps it is because they came out here expecting something else, or they weren’t committed to the Lord’s work or the hardships involved. It’s not the kind of place you want to be if you’re not dedicated and prepared for what’s ahead,” Daryl warned.

John didn’t say anything, pondering her words carefully. “I don’t know,” he wondered out loud. “What brought you here?”

“Tough question. I guess I felt I was meant to do this. It just feels right, you know?”

As they flew, the terrain began to rise and Daryl flew through well-rehearsed mountain passages. She explained the importance of knowing where they were and stressed that the passages were the only way to access some of the remote mountain villages. Finally, Daryl pointed to a spot on the horizon where two rivers nearly came together.

“Heading west is the Baliem, and southerly is the Tariku. Both are major rivers into the area. It’s not unusual for a lot of missionaries to travel by river to places where we pilots can’t land. The town in the middle…” she pointed, “…is home–Tiom.”

Jeffrey W. Bennett, is the author of Commitment-A Novel and other non-fiction books, novels and periodicals.

I'm Going to the Airlines-An Excerpt from Commitment-a Novel

CHAPTER 5

 

Commitment-A Novel

     “This is probably one of the toughest landing areas you will eventually take over from me,” said Steve.
     “Who lives here?” asked John. Their landing earned only a few glimpses and a wave from the villagers up the hill. John wasn’t sure, but he thought the half-naked males wore gourds to cover themselves.
     “A branch of the Yali tribe. They inhabit most of the Balium Valley. We won’t stay though. The missionary that served here had to leave for personal reasons. I don’t know when he will be replaced.”
     “Daryl told me that a lot of people end up leaving,” said John. He watched as Steve took the controls and pointed the plane downhill.
    “Try taking off this way,” said Steve. “We do have some leaving. The Lawrences were as dedicated as any, but he had to take care of his family. There are a lot of hardships to being a missionary, but it’s tougher when your children don’t adjust,” said Steve.
     John could feel his stomach drop as the plane lurched skyward.        
      “Dedication to job verses dedication to the family,” he said.
      “It’s going to be just as tough for you,” said Steve. “You’ll get homesick and lonely. Dedication takes on many forms and has many obstacles. I’m sure you are feeling some pangs.”
     “Yeah, I guess I am. I’m not sure I will make it as long as most pilots do,” said John.
     “Oh, in what way?” asked Steve.
     John suddenly felt nervous. “I mean, I have no problem being here but I see myself flying airliners. That’s my future,” said John uncomfortably.
     Steve seemed unfazed.
     “You don’t see that as a problem?” asked John.
     “Somewhat, but I think the Lord has you here for some reason. We’ll just have to work with you while we have you,” said Steve.

Jeffrey W. Bennett, is the author of Commitment-A Novel and other non-fiction books, novels and periodicals.

The Lovely Garden-An Excerpt from Commitment-The Novel

The ride to the doctor’s office was only a few miles, but slow and bumpy. Marta rode in the passenger seat next to the young man who kept stealing glances as he drove. Marta perceived it quietly and it made her feel pretty.

Doctor Reese sat in the back with Digul and did a preliminary observation of the boy, quickly determining the extent of his injuries. “I think the young man will be fine, Mrs. Springer. You did a good job with the splint, and the first aid.”

“That’s wonderful doctor, we’ve been praying since Thursday. By the way, call me Marta; I prefer that over Mrs. Springer.”

“Okay, Marta it is.”

“You know Sandy can take credit for saving his life,” Marta said.

“That’s the wonder of modern medicine. Take a few pills and it all goes away,” the doctor stated.

“It really amazes me how I can be only thirty miles away, but we are separated by centuries of technology,” Marta said.

“Strange, isn’t it? Even five to ten miles away, people are dying from sickness and disease that is easily treatable. But how do we reach them?” asked Reese.

Marta turned almost all the way around in her seat and spoke to Digul. It was virtually unintelligible to Dr. Reese, but the driver understood.

“I know he has nothing to fear,” the driver spoke up for the first time.

“You understood?” asked Marta.

“Yes, my father is a missionary in the northern coast, up near Jayapura. I was what you call, ‘immersed’ in the local dialect. I also speak Indonesian proper, and a little Latin,” Benji said, flexing his lingual muscle.

“Well it’s great to meet a kindred spirit,” Marta said. “What are you doing way down here?”

“Would you believe, working for college,” said the driver.

“Benji here is working for me. I will lose him next fall to the university,” said Reese.

“Well, that’s great, Benji. Are you planning on practicing in the mission field?” asked Marta.

“I really don’t know yet. I just hope I like college enough to make it that far,” said Benji.

“Don’t worry. I think you have just what it takes to make it. You have drive, determination, and a love of learning,” the doctor threw in for support.

“I am impressed with your knowledge of languages, and willingness to learn them. That proves a good attitude and aptitude for hard work. Just don’t get distracted by the coeds,” said Marta.

“I can’t say that I am used to being around women, I mean other than my family, other missionaries and their families, and tribal women. Other than knowing them, I have never really had a date,” Benji confessed.

Marta assessed his Mediterranean features. This man would be a heart breaker. His smooth olive skin was tan from exploring jungles and living in tough environments.

“You don’t have to worry about dating. That will come with experience,” said Marta.

“How will I get them to notice me for who I am and not some oddball from a strange country?” asked Benji.

“Believe me, when they hear of the life you’ve led and experiences you’ve had, they will want to learn more about you. Just be polite and honest and you won’t have any trouble. A woman looks for decency and competence, and you fit that mold,” Marta informed.

“How can you tell?” Benji fished for reassurance.

“Just by the way you speak to me. Besides, I think missionaries would expect the most from their children, if only because of their work and who they represent,” said Marta.

“You hit that on the nose. Mom and Dad would never take any back talk. God forbid if I ever hurt my mother’s feelings, or was ever rude to an adult,” said Benji.

“See, I knew I didn’t read you wrong,” said Marta.

The ambulance stopped its bounding and rocking as the road smoothed. Benji rounded a curve as they entered the driveway. The landscaping was beautiful, causing Marta to sigh appreciatively at the driveway bordered with flowering vines and a garden of beautiful indigenous trees and flowers. The doctor had even diverted a stream to a tiny fish pond in the shade near a gazebo.

“Do you like it? I love to garden, and I wanted to bring some civilization to my small part of the world.” Dr. Reese beamed.

“I love how you did this using local plant life. I’m shocked not to have heard about this,” said Marta.

“Well, I’m surprised too. I’ve been working on it for years.”

Jeffrey W. Bennett, ISP is an author of non-fiction books, novels and periodicals.