Valle de Desolación

The valley we flew out of, Lou takes the shot from Abby's cargo door with safety on. Almost lost the camera.



In think I might have pissed myself. I sit in the quiet of the cockpit, my hands shaking, eyes closed. No one is talking. Lou has left the plane and last I saw of him from the side window he was leaned over, hands on his knees and throwing up. I don't move for a time, just sitting there wondering if I might have given up the ghost.
When I finally stand, I am relieved to see that I hadn't pissed myself. It is a miracle seeing that I should be dead right now. I should have at least pissed myself, or worse yet shit myself. But apparently nothing of this nature is going to phase me ever again.
I make my way through the cargo hold. It is dark and it smells like a third world men's room. Someone was making a uniform change, that's for sure. No one is in the plane. There is no greeting party to meet us for whatever reason. I am still shaking as I jump from Abby's cargo door.
"Oh... man." Lou stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He turns and is looking at the approach we had made. "Oh Jesus."
I walk up next to him, making sure I don't step in the mud where he just puked. We both look at the sharp walls of the canyon, at the trees, and at the crisp blue sky above us. The air is cool for the season. We are literaly in a chasm of sorts with steep walls that climb several thousand feet from our position. Looking back from where we came there is a clear swath of forest that is missing... the trees topped and eventually cut nearly in two as Abby lost her fight with gravity. I had told them I was no pilot.
"You are so fucking LUCKY. That was the move, man... that shit where you almost stalled it and flared up. Man, I thought we were going to be impaled on those fucking trees man. You just mowed them down. Did you SEE that shit?" Lou is on the edge of insanity, I just know it.
"I had my eyes closed, Lou. I didn't see it because I had my eyes closed."
"You're crazy man, you are a crazy motherfucker."

At the far end of the valley we just crash-landed in "Jack" is walking toward us. I don't know where he and his men went, or when. The last thing I remember is when we ran out of fuel and rode Abby down into this canyon, onto this "airstrip".
"Is this where we are supposed to be?" I ask Lou, who is looking at Abby's leading edges.
"According to Jack we are. You don't remember?"
"Not yet."
"He was directing you for the last thirty minutes or so. You were heading in the right direction, I just don't know if this is as far as he wanted to go. Never the less we are here now. You don't suppose they launched that cargo plane they crashed at Tapia's from here, do you?"
"It's like taking off from inside a cereal box." I look up at the walls, "I don't think we will be able to get her out of here."

Jack walks up to us and then pokes his head inside Abby's hold. I never see him look back at the bulkhead door. Never saw him or his men make any attempt to open it or ask for a key. So for now the money is safe. That is if by some miracle we can get her out of here. But that is the least of our worries.
Once he is satisfied with whatever he came to look at, he steps back over to us. He starts to make some gestures and Lou basically cuts him off. Lou asks him a few things in Spanish that only require nods and holding up a couple fingers here and there.
"I asked him if he got in contact with his base. He has and they are coming with trucks for the cargo and fuel for the plane." Jack taps him and we both watch him as he seems to signal that we are to fly the plane into the next valley and land it there."
"Tell him he is out of his fucking mind." I say flatly.
Lou talks to him and I here "piloto". Jack shakes his head and then points to me.
"Looks like you're it, Jake."
"No way, there is no way in hell you can take off out here."

Lou talks with Jack and I walk back behind the plane and head toward the edge of the landing strip. But this is no landing strip, its a mistake. Whatever luck I have had with me since taking off from Ferdi's has got to be spent by now. It was a good thing that Jack had us lining up on the next valley. I would hate to think of what might have been if we were at ten thousand feet and this happened. I look at the situation with Jerry's eye as I start up the incline where the trees are broken off. We raked at least a hundred yards of treeline when we dropped in. I can't believe we didn't bend a prop or fuck up the gear. There were a couple of good dings in the leading edge, but not enough to keep her from flying. At the furthest point from where she sits now I stand at the treeline. We would have to be back this far, brakes on, flaps set for landing, no cargo, hell... no Lou, and just enough fuel to make it up and over to the next valley.

I walk back just as the trucks pull up and off load the cargo. They make quick work of it, a few of them talking back and forth... not La Segunda Vida. When they bring up the fuel trucks I tell Lou to tell them just to put a hundred liters or so. That should keep us running at all angles until we make it up and out of this hole.
"Think that will be enough?" Lou asks as he watches the crew run the fuel into the port wing tank.
"It will make less of a fire when she goes down for the last time."
"Think there's any wind up there?"
Now that is a good question. One that I haven't even thought of in my planning my second day as a pilot. "Why don't you start for that end of the valley and let me know. Give a whistle or a shout or something."
Lou starts off, moving a few large rocks out of Abby's path as he goes. There is just a slight breeze down here, but it is possible that up a little higher in this pit the wind may be blowing hard enough to help us over the ridge.
The crew puts the other half of the fuel into the starboard wing. I watch Lou climb the far end of the valley and then his whistle can be heard. He has his shirt off and he is holding it at arms length over his head. It is blown straight by a decent breeze a third of the way up the sloping exit of the valley. From here it looks fairly smooth in comparison to the two sides and the forest where we dropped in. When Lou returns I question him on the terrain.
"Well, out of the four choices it is the best. It sure as hell isn't good for anything. A lot of boulders near the base."
"If I don't quite make it to the top will she be able to touch and go off the upper edge?"
Lou gives me a look, "I don't know, Jake. If you have a choice then I would advise against it."
"No shit?" My sarcasm was lost on him.
"You want me to ride with you?" He looks at the plane and the task at hand. "I mean I don't think my buck forty five is going to mean too much in this operation. Either she can do it or she can't."
"I don't want to kill you, Lou. Not like this anyway."
"Fuck you, I'm going. You may need some help."

We are alone. The crew has gone back out the way they came. Jack and his boys are gone. It is just me and Lou and Abby. There is enough room to turn her and run her back up the hill, then it is show time.

The valley floor stretches out in front of us, a bit of an "S" curve with a near vertical climb. I am at peace with the whole thing. Either it works and we hop over and land in the next valley, or the trip is over and we are done. I am tired as hell, so is Lou. He cracks the last bottle of Tapia's homebrew and the last Coke. We each kill half of each, and set up the flaps set the brakes. We will have to lock the tail wheel in as soon as we get rolling. Once again we run her up until we feel her sliding on locked brakes. I release them and we go.

It reminds me of the Tokyo Raiders when they launch those B-25's from the carrier deck. We are up, it seems, in fifty feet or so. She is set up for lift, but not speed, and that will be a problem.
"Flaps to three quarters." I call out and Lou pops them up. You can feel a little speed and more lift. "COME ON, COME ON GIRL."
I leave the gear down, torn between the barrier they provide and the lack of speed the represent. The wall climbs steep in our windscreen and I pull back as much as I can and still be flying, "FLAPS TO ONE HALF", she is making so much noise in the echo chamber of the valley that I can barely hear myself. Lou moves the flaps up one more setting and we climb.
"NOT ENOUGH... WE HAVE TO PUT THE GEAR UP."
The handle is moved and Abby lets me pull back even more. She bucks and jumps when we catch the wind up the side of the canyon. "YEAH... YEAH BABY... UP, UP."
Lou lets out a whoop and a holler, "GO ABBY, GO BABY."
It seems like we are standing her on her tail as we climb up and up, nothing but the blue sky of heaven out of the windscreen. We climb for what seems an eternity, but she is strong and willing. "SHE'S GONNA MAKE IT, LOU!"

Lou has to look over his shoulder and out of the cargo door to see that we have cleared the peak. "WE'RE CLEAR." He calls over his shoulder. I level her off and he runs back for the picture.
I'm too spent to do anything but line up on the airstrip that presents itself in the next long valley. It is as perfect as anyone could want. Long and straight, a nice head wind. We dropped the gear and the flaps and touched down within a couple of minutes.

A rather large man in a land cruiser drives out to meet us and guide us back to the hanger they have under camouflage netting. Once we are in and turned, I shut her down and once again a peaceful silence. I know Jerry would have been proud of that one.

"Looks like they shot you out of a fuckin' cannon man." The big man says as he climbs down out of the Landcruiser and walks over to the both of us as we climb down out the plane. "When you shot out of that valley you looked like you were going straight up, man. I didn't think that old plane could fly like that. You must be one hell of a pilot, man." He wipes the sweat out of his eyes with a well used shop rag.
He extends a hand, "Chris Antonelli," he makes the introduction. We both give him a nod and a shake and tell him who we are. Young kid, nice enough. The climate melts him like a snowman. He is constantly busy wiping sweat out of his eyes, off his head, off of his neck.
"You're not Colombian." I state the obvious.
"Italian, but I look the part so I think that is why they hired me. I've spent the last five years working for the Dominican brothers. They haven't shot me yet, so I must be doing something right."
"These guys are Dominican?"
"No, man, they are Colombian. Their last name is Dominican. They are some bad motherfuckers. I work on their planes when they land them here. I take it that Guenther's plane is down somewhere?" He runs his hand over his scalp and the quarter inch of hair he has growing there.
"That must be the plane they crashed at Tapia's. Your boy is dead, man. Plane was totalled." Lou tells him.
"Oh, shit man, they are going to be pissed about that. Those boys that flew here with you, as good as dead for losing that plane." Chris walks toward a beat up metal cooler against one wall of the hanger and lifts the top. "You boys want a beer?"
"A beer and a place to sleep. Haven't been to sleep for two days."
"Yeah, that won't be a problem. They have the bungalow ready for you guys. The brothers will want to meet you, man... to thank you and shit. They're really generous when shit goes their way."