Chapter Ten of Golden Gate, REV I - from 22 Aug reading critique

10 – Enroute Boat School

The usual suspects

They met at the town jail to update the HUA files. The files, shared tales of the most recent incidences of concern in the town, were at once sad, joyous, or evil to their core. They were shared, with smirks and laughter, by the towns’ police force. The shared tales of assaults, juvenile pranks, robberies, suspicious fires, even the occasional instance of citizen bravery and courage, were the usual sort of shit only shitbirds could bring to life in such a small town. The suspects or perpetrators were all, of course, documented in excruciating detail. Just one file drawer at the jail held their HUA files, about and by people who evidently had their Heads Up their Ass because of the things they did, or the excuses they blurted out for whatever event had transpired.

The HUA files were often shared with State Troopers cooperating on special cases; both groups always had a good laugh! None of the tales were of course normal, but became so in their small world, the town of Cape Elizabeth, Maine. The police force had but a Lieutenant, a Sergeant and two corporals, hardly the necessary force to deal with all these miscreants and these incidents, or so they regularly told themselves.

The shared tales recounted at their meetings led to better law enforcement, better utilization of limited resources, and a shared awareness of what and whom they had to deal with. It also let them share a good laugh every so often. The “usual suspects” as Bogey had said in that movie, recurred across the varied tales in the HUA files.

Among the usual suspects the name Tooley occurred most often.

The first suspect

Padrick Marcus Michael O’Toole, Tooley, was almost always the first suspect of the police force. His pranks ranged from lighting a bonfire across a road on Halloween to hanging rotten pumpkins at windshield level along those same roads weeks later. He was even suspected of chaining the Lieutenant’s rear axle to a tree one night. Nothing was proven; the case remained humorously open.

The Lieutenant mused, “Funny that Mischief never stuck as his nickname! Mischief and Mayhem should be his middle names, not Marcus or Michael. Though I must admit I think that O’Toole saved two children from a house fire, but eluded getting his name in the paper for that; the description of the mysterious savior matches him to a tee.”

Tooley was what he’d been called since first getting in trouble, and this faculty to find trouble and jump in the middle of it seemed to be in the air at the oddest of times. His Maa, prim and proper and all too Catholic, was at a loss to explain why Tooley behaved so, and frequently chastised him. “God will get you and punish you if you don’t stop these shenanigans. One more time and I’ll get your Daa to tan your hide with his belt.”

His grades in school were often very good, especially in math. Yet he was as often rebellious, a trait his Daa attributed to his Irish roots. Tooley was ever distrustful of authority and regimentation. Hadn’t his very own grandfather’s funeral been interrupted in County Kerry by the Black and Tans, they being a very symbol of the crown’s authority on the loose in Ireland? Daa had few good words about Brits and  beamed when telling him how he was descended from a Celtic warrior of great bravery who fought legions of men, who had naturally married the most beautiful of women.

Tooley nevertheless got to know his Daa’s stern words about behavior, and Daa’s belt, especially if it meant damages to be paid. Tooley’s transgressions occasioned several jobs to work off damages, or Daa’s charges. “Padrick, you’re a natural in sports. Why do you wander from sport to sport by season and never became a star in any one sport? And why do you disrupt them all?”

Padrick confessed ignorance of the Why. He knew his Daa approved, at least in part, so apparent were his talents that coaches competed for his participation. Now that has to be pleasing to Himself!

Tooley’s youth was influenced heavily by the assistant pastor of his church, who was more concerned with the average working man than was their pompous pastor. The pastor wanted to build a mosaic tile tower in the front of the church, a monument to him rather than God. It was to be taller than any mosaic in New England, all this in a working class parish. The assistant pastor’s calm and logical resistance led to his “banishment” to an Indian reservation in the backwoods of Maine. The pastor did get his monument. It was a sad lesson to see.

Tooley later attended the parish school, Holy Cross, suffering numerous encounters with its principal, Sr. Mary “Marble Ass,” who regularly applied her thick yard stick across the knuckles of mischievous students.  Tooley was a regular recipient, but learned fast, and often – Behave, or don’t get caught.

Ice cubes for an Eskimo

Tooley’s grades and charm … it was said he could sell ice cubes to an Eskimo … were his saving grace. On a dare, and with the princely sum of five dollars on the line, Tooley had applied to compete for an appointment to the Naval Academy, figuring his chances to twelve decimal places, and quite improbable. He was wrong.

Tooley had been mighty impressed with his feat of somehow managing to get a Congressman’s appointment to Annapolis, the Boat School as his older Army vet brother Evan called it.

“Tooley, I’ll bust your head if you disappoint Daa. You need to straighten up and do something right for once – and no troubles!”

A little off the top

Tooley would not become one of the usual suspects at Navy, but got in more than his share of troubles, more than most of his classmates – right from the get go.

He sat in the barbershop chair, waiting to get his first haircut in months. It was his first day at Navy; he looked out over the tennis courts and the seawall and thought, what have I gotten myself into?

The patterns of the tennis courts outside the windows struck him, like some mathematical equation he’d heard of in some class, or maybe it was the chicks playing with the Firsties out there. Plebes, the name for freshmen at Navy, were not allowed to see or talk to girls – or risked the certain, unforgiving wrath of upper class. Plebes were, as they were often told … “the only thing lower than whale shit in the ocean.” Firsties were seniors, next to God himself in this part of naval heaven.

“Take just a little off the top please”, he politely told the barber, the first colored person he’d seen besides those on television at home. It was the Sixties and he was from Maine. The barber nodded an acknowledgement and promptly removed all but a scant quarter inch of hair all around. Tooley lost his locks and swore at the man, “What the hell did you do that for? 

“Just part of the benefits here. We cut you folks all the same; it keeps your head cooler in the heat.”

Tooley ended up running two hours Extra Duty (ED) for his outburst, learning once again that he was a Plebe and, indeed, lower than whale shit in the ocean. “Pull another stunt like that and I’ll have you out on Hospital Point for ED every day of the week” warned his Second Class Plebe Summer squad leader. Tooley made it through Plebe Summer, with ED each week regular as you please.

There were few light moments during the academic year, one at Sunday night dinner in the mess hall each weekend. The Plebes had to provide entertainment for the upper class at their assigned company table in King Hall. Tooley excelled at performing each Sunday evening, often making the Firsties (seniors) squirm. Across from the Plebes at each table sat the Youngsters, the Third Class or sophomores, just out of their own year of misery. They always chuckled at seeing Firsties squirm.

Late night endeavors

The paint dripped, but it was the message that was important! He painted the laundry smoke stack with BEAT ARMY in foot high letters once, twice if you counted an assist. The assist was a chore to pull off; Tooley and Stan, Bob and Mike had to find a ladder that would reach the roofs’ edge, and yet be light enough to then pull it up on the gravel roof … then reach up to the metal rungs on the smoke stack itself. Their intell had to be absolute that no other class would be there on that particular night, as each vied for showing off its spirit visually. The intell was good. Stan blurted out, looking to see if anyone listened –“Tooley hold the ladder while Bob and Mike climb and do the painting.”

“I hope they don’t spill any on me from way up there,” Tooley said looking skyward. It had only been his class that were there as painters that night. 

Tooley played rugby, a tough sport for guys with leather balls, and had great math and science grades, but consistently failed in behavior, earning demerits for being, well … Tooley. He was the proverbial loose cannon; he got fried or put on report for infractions a lot … quite a lot.

Hundredth Night

100 nights before the First Class (Firsties) graduated tradition let the Plebes take charge of them, and run their ass for an hour before the Hundredth Night evening meal. It was payback time, but one had to be cautious. You had to Order them to Come Around for their hour long in advance. With that kind of warning Firsties could make your life truly lower than whale shit for as long as that advance notice was. Tooley didn’t care.

Tooley planned it out; it was memorable, the gist of stories for years to come. He bought a large flounder out in town, ground it up, and smeared it on the Firsties room’s cast iron radiator. Then he turned the heat on full. The stench drove mids away within days, laughing uncontrollably when they heard the story.

“His ass is mine,” Tony screamed. “I’m going to have him running beer runs for weeks.” Tooley never had more thorough workouts, yet he smiled, knew he’d get his turn, and hazing didn’t bother him in the least. Tooley and Tony lived through the experience, and smiled knowingly at that meal.

Anchor Yanker

Tooley managed to graduate, but only just; he was near the bottom. He actually made a run for Anchorman, last in class by Grade Point Average to graduate. This notoriety had its own tradition which required each classmate to give “their” Anchorman $1.00. I might just leave with a wad of money.

Tooley purposely got fried to bring his behavior grades down, hoping his average would edge him closer to Anchorman status. He missed by just .005 grade points. He swore - Damn, I put more into that than all of my classes this semester. One would think the gods would at least recognize my talents!

At graduation he chose Cryptography as his career path and went to a flock of crypto schools. He graduated at the top of each class, even beating out a Harvard Phi Beta Kappa for first in class. That done he was given his choice of duty stations.

He chose USS Liberty, AGTR 5, stationed in the Med. Liberty was officially a “technical research ship” but every crypie knew it was a spy ship. Its communications or comm gear was the most advanced, sophisticated in the world, and its crew included the most brilliant linguists in the world. Tooley pondered his assignment though … I get to work with the coolest stuff.

He arrived in May of 1967 For Duty. He always wanted to do his own thing, write his own story … and what a story he wanted it to be. On the other hand, crypies were proscribed from ever writing of their duties or experiences. He thought of that edict … this is a strange ship in a strange place. I wonder what shore leave will be like in this damnable part of the world. What have I signed up for? I wonder if it will be a boring tour.

Progress on the Western Front

The correct double vanity is now at our home, and another RWG critique session (see below) has given me lots of suggestions. Isn't life wonderful?

Worked on updating Golden Gate, cleaning up some minor changes throughout this draft. Have lots of work to do, but may actually make goal of completion, and e-sales by Black Friday.

Golden Gate REV H word count as of 19 August 2011 – 67,599

Editorial critiques from RWG reading at Peace UMC – on Golden Gate REV I

Critiques are from members of RWG.

I noted at start of one RWG member's comments, that this segment (Chapter 10) fits just after the 1800 year leap I am still struggling with.

Generally supportive comments were received -

RWG member – “Great writer”

RWG member – “If the rest of the book is about setting the stage; drop it.” “Best I’ve seen

yet;” has interest; “liked HUA – it was a good tease”

Inputs on ninth revision, see below, are being considered for incorporation.

RWG member 01 –

Separate out the (small) stories and elaborate on the (fewer) best ones – in

process

Suggest reword “regular recipient, but learned fast” on page 3 – in process

Suggest delete third paragraph page 4 – in process

RWG member 02 –

            Too anecdotal – in process

            Clipped things; take out some and flesh out major ones – in process

            Connect the threads – in process

            You give each equal size; give some more detail – in process

            Need to explain, show why he is doing these things - in process

            Splain what drives him - in process

RWG member 03 –

            Trouble figuring out POV - in process

            Page 2, et al – too much use of “Tooley” - in process

            Use fewer stories; tie them together - in process

RWG member 04 –

            Leave out reference to Bogey; he didn’t say it – in process

            Is the Priest running a parish really called the “Pastor?” – reject

            On page 5, guy with leather balls – over the top – Done

            Start here; use earlier parts as flashbacks – reject

            Various editorial changes – in process

RWG member 05 –

            If Tooley is main character, give glimpses, rather than long stream of back stories

-         in process

Identify the “they” in first paragraph - in process

Various editorial changes – in process

Add AKA or Also known as for Tooley– in process

Identify the Lieutenant by name – in process

Change spelling of Maa to Ma – reject (Irish usage)

Various editorial changes – in process

RWG member 06 –

            Define HUA sooner - in process

            “Nothing was proven –“ extraneous - in process

            Who called him Tooley, and Why  – reject (O’Toole)

            Too frequent use of Tooley - in process

            Use Tooley, vice Padrick page 2 - in process

            Assumes knowledge of Navy jargon - in process

            Introduce timeline (sixties) earlier - in process

            Give an example of what made the Firsties squirm - in process

            Explain why he chose cryptography - in process

            Explain why he was so good at times - in process

            You started with viewpoint of State Troopers; why did POV change - in process

            Add movement, flow (is in chunks now) - in process

            Splain what is in the mind of Tooley - in process

RWG member 07 –

            Didn’t like HUA files discussion – reject (humor)

            Spell out HUA upfront - in process

            Written as a narrative; would like to see dialogue - in process

            Check point of view (POV) - in process

            Uncomfortable with “humorously open” – reject (obvious)

            Change “eluded” – Done

            Use flashbacks to tie together - in process

            Minor editorial changes – Done

            Reduce use of “whale shit in the ocean” – reject (author choice)

            Reduce use of Firsties – reject

            Reduce emphasis on Naval terminology  – will review

            Change “showing off” page 5 - in process

            Flow missing - in process

            Elaborate on individual actions - in process

            Include more dialogue – in process

            Pages two and three ramble – in process

            Intel or Intell – in process

            Splain the reason page 5 stench was humorous, mids driven away  – reject

            Add “cryptography specialist” as definition of crypie – Done

Take aways – convert rambling, frenetic narrative to active dialogue

Golden Gate status

Worked on updating Golden Gate, cleaning up some minor changes throughout this draft. Have lots of work to do, but may actually make goal of completion, and e-sales by Black Friday.

Golden Gate REV H word count as of 19 August 2011 – 67,599

RWG comments on Open Mic reading

The Riverside Writers Group (RWG) met for their monthly session yesterday. The guest speaker was unavailable due to family emergency, so the agenda was changed to include an Open Mic for RWG winners of “Golden Nib” awards to read their winning entries, then Open Mic for any.

I read a segment from the latter part of Golden Gate, REV H, near the end of the book. It follows. Heavily edited at the meeting to meet imposed time constraints, it essentially follows the current wording.

AS READ (Chapters and sub-chapters not noted in reading)

Major Ali weeks before, as he dropped off the last load of terrorists at Desert One, overheard a casual comment by one of the Force Ten guards, “the NG will take over security duties in two months, just after Ramadan.” Ali realized that a new, unfamiliar guard force would offer the perfect opportunity for escape. A way has appeared … Praise Allah!

All military, officers and senior enlisted – those who know their asses from a hole in the ground – in every service, around the globe, share a pride in their training, in their exploits, in their units … and what their units do. It takes little imagination or effort, especially within the same service, to get others to talk about what they do … and when and where. Military Intelligence analysts call this stuff the Essential Elements of Friendly Information; it can give an enemy just what he needed to know to act. Ali found out what he needed to know.

Ali forged transfer orders for The Five, with appropriately official-looking signatures from senior officers within the Interior Department, Royal Saudi Air Force, and the Ministry of Defense. The signatures and call back numbers, were all in Riyadh. These would electronically transfer a call to the same phone, controlled by a friend. The orders were stamped TOP SECRET, Limited Distribution (LIMDIS) ... assuring minimal questions at Desert One when presented. His most practical approach was to present them late in the afternoon on Wednesday, just as the Saudi weekend started. This would preclude anyone at Desert One from being able to contact any of the supposed signers of the transfer orders and learn of its utter untruth if they had other phone numbers or called one of the Ministries directly and asked for a signer.

Escape Route

His plan, as it evolved, was to use the false transfer orders for The Five, move them to the helo, and transport them towards the Al Kharj military complex just south of Riyadh. The helo would go beyond visual range, descend below radar coverage, and then turn west to climb over the mountains and put down at the terrorist camp. There the helo would be disassembled, buried, and all evidence destroyed before the group drove off. Ali had memorized the route, the terrain, and the wadis that would hide them as they fled. The distance to their destination, however, presented another problem, fuel for the helo.

Ali needed to maximize the helo’s range capacity. The solution was to add a fuel bladder, something he knew he could sell his Squadron Commander to authorize as part of his cover, a training hop. For the “training hop” he’d strap one of the available custom-made 200-gallon fuel bladders inside the helo, extending the Huey’s max load range to 425 miles, just enough with a pre-departure top off at Desert One. He made a point of stressing his interest in the training manual, and the op with a fuel bladder, all conveniently in NATOPS.

The NATOPS manual for his helo variant included annual exercises requiring use of fuel bladders as part of navigation quals. The RSAF typically never did these types of flights, but they would provide the perfect cover for his plan. Ali envisioned using the extended flight envelope provided by a fuel bladder, coupled with procedures for flight under EMCOM, or no use of radar, radios, altimeter, IFF, anything emitting a signal, as ways to significantly improve the probability of their escape.

Ali was unaware that devices existed that could remotely trigger a helo’s IFF.

Dog Run

The Saudi Air Force had contracted with the US Navy for a remote fuel control system for its helicopters, partly as a security measure. The fix, a better mouse trap able to remotely control fuel pumps on RSAF helos, was built, tested, and proofed at Dog Run’s ground plane. Dog Run was the locals’ term for Dahlgren, VA’s Naval Weapons Center (NWC).

The system worked flawlessly; none of the various signals caused improper functioning. The fix would be implemented first in RSAF Huey helos at Al Kharj. Twelve units were packaged up and shipped off with an NWC rep for delivery to Arabia. Each helo squadron’s maintenance officer got one unit, to install, test, and use during quarterly tests of the fuel pump and fuel filter replacement. A second entire set of twelve control units, with different procedures, controls, and intent, went to the various RSAF Helo Squadron Security officers and after appropriate training were marked SECRET, Security Officer Use Only!

Something not shared

At pre-flight the fuel gauge read 800 hundreds of pounds. Ali thought - All seems OK, plus my fuel bladder is topped off. He had a full bag of gas, for a total flight range of 425 miles, just enough to get to the rendezvous point. He had checked the airframe fuel filter and fuel lines for leaks - there were none. The fuel flow meter had checked out; there was no observable damage. The only new component, not yet reflected in the NATOPS procedures manual, was the new UHF fuel pump control system. Ali did not know of its installation or purpose.

As Ali and The Five rose in the air and departed towards Riyadh, he glanced back towards the compound, happy his plan to rescue his comrades was succeeding. Slick 57 was gassed up, in the air, and he knew the route to take them to meet others of strong belief. He saw the sun glint off the golden gate at the Tunnel Eight complex - does that gate keep one in, or out?

35 - Tales told many ways

In trail

Force Ten’s Guns 88 helo was in the air, approaching Desert One. Colonel Khalid occupied its co-pilot seat; two RSAF gunners manned the helo’s weapons. Guns 88 also had a fuel bladder, and its pilot had just done two practice flights with it.  Major Ali had been Khalid’s neighbor at one time, but was now - a disgrace to our town, our tribe, and our country.

Major Ali, his co-pilot and The Five had lifted off before them and were miles ahead, but this did not matter. Ali had bluffed his way through Security verbally; quoting frequently from the Quran and aggressively threw the forged transfer orders at the head guard.

He loudly named The Five terrorists …“Their sentences have been altered. They will be publicly beheaded in Riyadh at the Grand Mosque. I want them bound with ankle shackles and handcuffs for transport.” He paused … and gave emphasis to his next statement.

“You need not be pleasant with them.”

Ali’s bluff had worked precisely as planned; the prisoners were brought to the helo, pushed and beaten across their backs by the guards, with numerous new bruises.

Upon liftoff, with The Five shackled hand and foot, and after having been very roughly treated by the guards, the co-pilot unbuckled his seat belt and moved aft to face The Five. He shouted for them to be silent, and explained their new situation.

“I have welcome news for you. First, I apologize for your mistreatment as you were brought to the helo. It was necessary to mislead the guards and conceal your escape.”

At the word escape The Five all looked him in the eye, giving him their undivided attention. “Second, Major Ali and I are members of Al Qaeda as are you. We are now flying to rendezvous with others and continue our fight.” He  then unlocked their shackles, and other restraints. “Remain seated and keep your seat belts buckled. We will arrive at our destination in less than two hours - and be free!” He offered them water, dates, and kubz to sustain their strength.

Shock treatment

Finding a needle in a big sky

Guns 88 had directional finding gear installed, set to UHF voice communication freqs; the DF system allowed Colonel Khalid to track the terrorists in the fleeing helo ahead, as did the device to remotely trigger its IFF. The men ahead had escaped, and knew the secrets of Ad Dawaidimi … or so it seemed! But they were unaware of the presence of his helo.

Colonel Khalid smiled to no one in particular. We must not let them escape. “They must pay! I will ensure they pay!”

“Their helo”, Slick 57, was miles ahead, four hundred feet below in altitude, and beyond visual range, but Khalid could feel it there. He could track its flight by its altimeter signals and could trigger its IFF transponder at will to ensure they followed the helo they meant to. He checked with the pilot; it was the one he wanted … roughly fifty miles ahead, well within visual UHF radio range.

 

Khalid mentally plotted the helo’s flight, calculating when he must call them, demanding their surrender and return to custody. They must return, or I have no choice.

Will you walk into my parlor, said the spider

Mary Howitt

The mountains ahead of Slick 57 formed part of a chain running from Jordan in the north to Yemen in the south. Directly ahead the desert sands sloped upwards to the peak of Jebel Baidan, rising to 2845 feet at the point where Major Ali intended to cross the mountain range, only briefly coming into the radar coverage of radars at the RSAF Air Base at Khamais Mushayt. He expected that their very brief encounter with radar coverage would be overlooked as a fluke if detected; then he could fly down through an east-west canyon to the Red Sea coast. Since the radars would not see them in the canyon, their flight would be hidden.

“We will be free! Inshallah” -  if God wills it.

Khalid could not see the helo ahead, nor could his pilot, but could trigger its IFF and home in on its response. It told them how far ahead the helo was, its altitude, and its flight path. He told his pilot to adjust their course ever so slightly, to close but stay just out of visual range. They had to remain within radio range, and thus within range of his remote fuel control system. He told the pilot to close to five miles and the same altitude. Closing would take more gas … do we have enough?

Slick 57 approached the mountain ridge leading to the ridgeline and Ali slowly pulled back on his stick, the controls raising the helo’s nose and beginning its ascent. A Huey loses speed as it climbs, the rotor blades lifting more ahead in their forward motion, raising the helo’s front relative to the tail boom and rotor, which together serve to keep the torque of the blades from turning in flight. Slick 57’s climb over the mountain ridge would slow their speed from 125 knots in straight, level flight to just over 60 knots as they crested the ridge. There they would begin a descent to through the canyons to the terrorist camp near the Red Sea. Major Ali had estimated that the thermals from the coast would extend their range by about 20 miles; given the load of his passengers this was sufficient. 

The climb was barely noticeable to the passengers of Slick 57, though they soon sensed the temperature drop as the ridgeline approached. Colonel Khalid and his pilot saw an indication of Slick 57’s climb in the IFF readout. He asked the pilot … “How long will it take them to reach the summit?”

“About two minutes more or less, then they’ll fly level for about 10 to 15 seconds, begin their descent … and that’s when we’ll lose them!” Khalid pondered this briefly … and calculated that he had but two short minutes to get them to turn back, turn themselves in, and face cruel imprisonment. He wondered, what would Major Ali’s decision be? Would he even bother to tell The Five of the demand? No; he would go on and turn irrevocably to terrorism.

An ultimatum

Khalid keyed his headset’s mike …”Major Ali, this is Colonel Khalid of His Majesty’s Security Forces. I am in an helo behind you; I order you to return to Desert One. We will escort you there.”

Ali heard the radio message and frowned. They have spotted us, but can they catch us? A smile crept across his face - They can’t catch us. We must go on. They are too far back to stop us. We can escape … and fight on. He glanced at the beauty below.

Ali cursed over the radio … “Colonel, we will not return; we will escape to fight the unworthy and corrupt Saud royal family. We will push the infidels from this land and impose Sharia law. Warn the infidels that the day of their judgement is at hand.”

A day of judgement was indeed at hand!

Ali muttered a  prayer, then sighed.  He thought it just a mind game, trying to get us to return to certain death. He guided the Huey around the crest; their flight was now level. He felt the helo lift slightly, buoyed by thermals rising from the distant Red Sea coast ahead. 

Khalid thought, and understood the significance of Slick 57’s flight path; the moment of judgment was at hand. I must act … now.

He opened his briefcase and removed the remote control system, plugging in its power cord and input to the helo’s UHF radio. After a second the diagnostics routine was complete and the Ready light on the display turned from Red to Green. He raised the protective cover of the Arming switch, pressed the switch to Fire, and prayed. Allah u Akbar - God is Great!

He thought briefly of Ali. I took you at face value, Ali, but you were a sham, a body double of the devil … we were never meant to be friends.

Five seconds later the fuel system’s pressure in Ali’s helo dropped to four psi, insufficient to supply the twin turbines. The fuel flow gauge turned red; Ali knew things were going south in a big way. What was wrong?

He had flameout, no power, and now no lift. His dash gauges were solid, bright Red, not just flashing. Slick 57 was in trouble. Ali stuttered “Oh Shit!!!”

Buying the farm

Ali had to deal with his first real in flight emergency. His instincts, long engrained in him, took charge. He switched the IFF transponder to broadcast 777, the universal code for an In Flight Emergency.  But … he recalled, no one would see it, he was in a radar blind zone, and indeed, he … DID NOT WANT the RSAF to come.

Next he scrambled to configure his helo to auto rotate and perform an un-powered emergency landing. This emergency flight procedure requires utmost speed to initiate. The engines must be shut down, the collective immediately lowered, right rudder applied – strongly, to balance out any airframe torque. He could do this - he uncoupled the rotor blades from the turbine drive train. He would use the helo’s descent to rotate the rotors, slowing the descent and avoiding a crash.

NATOPS guidance for auto rotation required a minimum altitude of 100 feet above ground level  and minimum weight. He had neither; Slick 57 was just too heavy, too low. He could not recover. The helo was going down; they’d all die. Ali screamed a prayer. He prayed that judgement meant forgiveness and salvation. He told all to brace for impact.

Ali could not control the descent - the terrain, thermals, and their speed didn’t allow time to stop forward motion and auto rotate. Even the thermals were a mixed blessing; they gave him lift, but affected the helo’s response in ways he had not trained for.

The tail rotor hit first, splintering in a thousand pieces that became mini missiles, peppering the passenger compartment and cockpit and impacting the main rotor blades.

“Be merciful God … forgive my sins, let me be with you … in peace.”

The fuselage pitched violently forward and down from the impact. The Laws of Physics structured all aspects of the impact. Forces greater than forty Gs acted on The Five, the co-pilot, and Major Ali, proving that all bodies remain in motion unless acted on by external forces.   

Ali gasped as his eyes closed this last time … he sensed himself in a new place. It was Very, Very Hot!

Critiques

1.  RWG member  -  noted that use of copyright symbol is not necessary and appears amateurish.

2.  Another RWG member –  A couple of suggestions

1)      The structure of suspense is very good and you want to keep the audience focused on the action, so watch for any language that seems too direct from the training manuals.

2)      Remember, your potential audience can only handle a limited number of acronyms *IFF etc) and remember what they are. You can substitute “transponder” for IFF specifics to help focus their attention.

3)      The geographic descriptions are good and succinct. Keep them!

Second RWG member added - change the final statement “It was Very Very Hot!” to a question, to build suspense. (As Ali expected something very different.)

He also said the characterization of the two Saudis was good, and the story had a good rhyme. He said he noted interest in the expressions of other listeners.

Blog entry 44

Well, at last, to the cheers of my thousands of fans … an update for the blog.

First of all, I PASSED my rough-in electrical inspection. I was really sweating it, but alas, had nothing to really worry about. The next inspection is the FINAL, in which all work must be complete. That will take awhile; let me splain.

We ordered a new 60 inch double vanity. It arrived at Lowe’s and due to its size we took it home unopened. It sat in the garage for several days, then we opened the shipping container and my son and I took it gingerly upstairs. There it sat for a couple more days, only its back in view – this so I could mark off  the holes needed for plumbing connections. Then, after the holes were drilled, the son and I moved it into the bathroom and finagled it into place. He looked at it and remarked that its color didn’t match the tall linen storage cabinet also installed. That night my wife got really excited – the vanity’s color was not the only thing which didn’t match. It was the wrong style entirely – but was now installed.

Well, the long and short of the story is that we and Lowe’s ordered the correct style and color. The manufacturer screwed up. A new replacement vanity will be shipped next week, at which point I’ll need to replace the currently installed vanity with the (hopefully) correct one.

Oh, along with that there has been a family reunion up in Maine, land of the Lobstah. And believe it or not, you can get theyah from hereah! We were amongst over forty cousins of all shapes, sizes, and ages. The Lobstah was delicioso! Then we took a short family vacation to Quebec. It was one long week of fun and food. Quebec, especially the Old City, is strongly recommended.

Among Quebec’s many surprises were street performers of all types, which kept us entertained and amused. Real Berthiaume was among these, an accomplished musician using crystal stemware. I believe my wife took a video of him. See -  http://www.montrealix.com/real/anglais.htm , also Andy Giroux  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=onJ0HJt39wI The sequence of Andy’s walk in Montreal was not something I’m familiar with, but his antics, style, and grasp of the audience in Quebec was tangible. He was continually shouting “People” was his way of getting your attention. Sorry, but these were the only performers' names I captured. It was as though each night we got to see the best performers of Quebec for a donation. GREAT!!!

Also of course, is the necessary Journal which “has to be completed” on our vacation. Together we filled the memory cards on all three cell phones and two cameras. There are over 1500 photos to put in a semblance of order, by day, and annotated with all the exciting things we saw, heard, experienced, or ate. Naturally this takes precedence over mere novel writing and becoming rich and famous. I expect this will set the novels back two weeks. I may not make Black Friday, or even New Years!

Oh, since there was this Family reunion up in Lobstah land (where I grew up, so I can poke fun at the strange words), I found a need to identify second cousins who didn’t make (or even know of) the reunion. So that is reawakening my emailing of family trees hither and yon. Again a delay in publishing.

And … I’ll be a part of a Riverside writers’ Group panel discussing blogging in early October – again a delay in writing.

Wish me luck!!!!