A Time for Patriots

“I can do this, damn it,” he said aloud to himself. “I know what I’m doing, I know what I’m doing.” He took a deep breath, then keyed the mike again: “Roger, Ground, Centurion Two-Niner Bravo Mike ready to taxi from the south hangars with information Tango.”

“Niner Bravo Mike, information Uniform is current, winds three-two-zero at eight, altimeter three-zero-one-zero,” the ground controller reported — Brad had forgotten to get the current Automatic Terminal Information System data. “Two-Niner Bravo Mike cleared to taxi to Runway three-zero.”

“R-roger,” Brad responded nervously. “Taxi to Runway three-zero, Niner Bravo Mike.” Wiping his sweaty palms on his pant legs again, he turned on the taxi light, released the parking brake, and started rolling.

It was a long and lonely ride to the runway, even though he had done this dozens of times. Brad had to consciously remind himself to use beta and low power settings to avoid tapping the brakes. Everything seemed louder, and every bounce or sway was cause for alarm. What was that vibration? Was that rattling from the nose gear normal? He found himself checking every millimeter of the electronic displays, looking for some indication of a problem, and then he found himself swerving too much across the taxi line.

“Get it together, shithead,” he said aloud to himself. “You’re the damned pilot. Be the pilot, or park it. When you’re taxiing, you concentrate on taxiing, not on looking around the cockpit. Be the pilot, or park it.”

He taxied to the run-up area and completed the “BEFORE TAKEOFF” checklist. He couldn’t believe how nervous he was: he actually forgot what to do next

! The checklist jumped to the “AFTER TAKEOFF” items, but what was he supposed to do now? Maybe I’m really not ready to…

… and at that moment he was startled from a blur of motion in front of him. It was an XS-19A Midnight single-stage-to-orbit spaceplane, coming in for a landing at Battle Mountain! In all his confusion about what to do next, he had never even noticed the radio transmissions between it and the control tower!

The Midnight was the most incredible aircraft in the world: it could take off and land from almost any airport in the world, but once it refueled after takeoff, it could launch itself into Earth orbit. It could take passengers or supplies to and from Armstrong Space Station, fly around the planet in just a couple hours, retrieve and deploy satellites in orbit, and even launch antisatellite and antiballistic-missile interceptors or ground-attack weapons.

That’s what I want to do, Brad told himself: I want to fly a spaceplane. I want to go on missions to the space stations, orbit Earth hundreds of miles up, fly around the planet in less than two hours, and defend America with weapons fired from space…

… and the first step to doing all that: make three takeoffs and three landings solo in this little air-breathing Cessna Centurion.

And like that, everything came together. He switched radio frequencies on the right multifunction display like he always did and spoke: “Battle Mountain tower, Centurion Two-Niner Bravo Mike, ready for takeoff Runway three-zero, staying in the pattern.” When cleared, Brad released the parking brake, cleared the approach end of the runway, taxied out, and made his first solo takeoff.

The three landings and takeoffs were over before he knew it, and he taxied the Centurion back to the hangar, after acknowledging a “Good job, new solo pilot,” from the tower controller. After shutting down and securing the plane, his father and the others greeted him to applause. As soon as he stepped away from the plane, the others ran up and doused him with water from plastic bottles, and his father ripped half of the back of his shirt off. “Gotta have someplace to write about your first solo,” he said. “Every new pilot-in-command gives it up. Congratulations, Brad.”

Brad hugged his father tightly as the others continued their applause. “I wasn’t sure if I could do it,” he admitted. “I couldn’t even remember what to do after I finished the checklist. But I saw the Midnight come in, right in front of me, and it all came back.”

“Good for you, son,” Patrick said. “You’ll be flying a Midnight before you know it. Your uncle John is going to kick in with us for the rest of your flight training, right up to your check ride. By the time you get your cross-country flights, night flights, and instrument time, you’ll have enough hours to do the check. And since I just got my authorization as an FAA designated examiner in the turbine P210, I’ll be giving you your check ride.”

“Awesome!”