Chapter 9 - Returning to the Skies
Six months later.
The quiet morning air over Saint Cloud Regional Airport was cold and crisp. The sun was just breaking over the horizon, casting long, golden light across the concrete runway.
On the ramp stood a sleek, brand-new twin-engine Beechcraft Baron 58, painted in brilliant white with navy blue stripes. On the tail of the aircraft was a small, elegant decal: The Michael & Emma Carter Foundation.
Emma stood near the wing, performing her pre-flight walkaround. She wore her University of Minnesota flight jacket, a clipboard in hand, carefully checking the fuel strainers, elevator hinges, and propeller blades.
Beside the aircraft, sitting comfortably in a specially modified hydraulic wheelchair ramp designed by her university engineering classmates, was Michael.
"Fuel selector checked?" Michael called out, shielding his eyes from the morning sun.
"Crossfeed set, drain clear, pure blue 100LL fuel," Emma reported, climbing up onto the wing and stepping into the cockpit.
Today was not an emergency. Today was not a life-or-death struggle against forty-knot wind shear and toxic cockpit fumes.
Today was her official flight check ride for her Multi-Engine Commercial Pilot Certificate—the final formal step before entering airline bridge training.
The FAA designated examiner, a veteran pilot named Captain Frank Miller, walked up to the aircraft, holding his clipboard. He looked at Emma sitting in the captain's seat, then looked at Michael on the ramp.
"Miss Carter," Frank said with a wry smile. "I usually give candidates a tough time on their commercial oral exams. But I think your practical experience over Denver six months ago covers most of the emergency procedures section."
Emma chuckled, adjusting her headset. "I still want to do the full checklist, Captain Miller. No shortcuts."
"That's what I wanted to hear," Miller said, climbing into the right-hand seat and closing the cabin door.
Michael watched through the plexiglass window as his daughter’s hands moved across the overhead switches with practiced, effortless grace.
CLICK. CLICK. HUMMMMM.
The twin Teledyne Continental engines coughed, sputtered, and roared to life in a smooth, powerful cadence. The dual propellers whined as they chopped through the crisp morning air, sending a cool breeze across the tarmac.
Emma checked her left, checked her right, and looked down at her father through the window.
She gave him a sharp, crisp two-finger salute.
Michael returned the salute, a slow, proud smile spreading across his face.
The Beechcraft taxiied smoothly out to Runway 13, its white fuselage gleaming in the early morning sunlight.
"Saint Cloud Tower, Baron November-Four-One-Seven, ready for departure Runway One-Three," Emma announced over the radio.
"Baron Four-One-Seven, Saint Cloud Tower," the controller responded instantly. "Wind clear, runway clear. Cleared for takeoff. Fly high, Captain."
May you like
Emma advanced the throttles.
The twin engines roared, and the aircraft accelerated rapidly down the centerline, lifting off the pavement smoothly and climbing into the infinite, clear blue sky.
