Midwest Air 2059

Darkness was settling in like a cliche from every dramatic movie ever. The horizon was rich with those clouds every writer calls ‘ominous’. It had been a smooth ride so far, the calm before the storm. Jesse looked over at his Captain, a Russian man with whom he often flew. Although Maksim was usually quite focused and generally quiet, he looked especially deep in his work today with his full brows furrowed and tightly knit.

The duo had accumulated a couple hundred hours together in their past year at Midwest Air. Jesse often swapped trips with other First Officers so he could fly with this favorite Captain of his, though he wasn’t sure Maksim knew this. Maks reminded him of Gru from the Minions movies, and though his English was good enough to keep him going at an airline, it wasn’t particularly broad enough to carry on mindless banter during long flights. He often ate Chick Fil A, but he always called it Chicken Fil A, which made flight attendants giggle. Jesse egged it on by shrugging as if he didn’t know why they’d laugh, because he found it amusing when people chuckled when Maks said Chicken. Jesse had a fondness for this fella, the kind of fondness one gets when they look up to someone. Maksim was one of the airline’s most skilled captains, and Jesse knew this because he’d seen it repeatedly. 

He’d watched Maks react to wake turbulence upsetting the wings out of nowhere, handle spur-of-the-moment maintenance issues as they inevitably cropped up, and land their CRJ-200 jet in hefty crosswinds with precision and graceful execution while never even touching the autopilot for relief. The man could take a full jet weighing 47,000 pounds and set it down so gently in the harshest conditions that passengers didn’t even know they’d landed yet. “I’ll just call you Land-O, because you land smooth like Land-O-Lakes butter,” Jesse had teased him once. 

Jesse had learned exactly how to jest with Maksim to keep the mood light as well as prod him to explain things when Jesse’s lack of experience showed. Maks always seemed happy to oblige and had begun returning the jokes. They’d had more than one session of gut-busting laughter during cruise loud enough for the flight attendants to call up front and beg to be in on the fun.

Today, Maksim was patiently thumbing through his company iPad’s approved weather applications and studying the charts they were following to get to their destination, comparing the path of the jet to the path of the storms ahead. Jesse started to do the same, but keeping an eye on the weather could be tricky. It could change so fast, and they were still an hour away from Key Field. 

Out the windshield, lightning lit up the distant, haunting storm. The sun was just about done setting in front of them, leaving the sky around the clouds looking even darker with dreamy stars shining above it all through the ombre of blue to black. Out the side windshield, Jesse could see smaller, scattered thunderstorms being lit up by their own white bursts of light. Some of them faded on the edges to soft turquoise and powder hues. These clouds always reminded him of the movie Aladdin, the part where Jafar was chasing through the desert to find treasure and met sand rising to create the giant head of a tiger with flashes of magic lighting inside of it. That’s exactly how thunderstorms look from above at night, Jesse mused. And this metal tube is my magic carpet.

He made an executive decision to strike up conversation with a looming question. As he slid his sheepskin-covered seat back a notch and propped his head on his fist, he slouched as he asked, “So Maks, do you think you’ll stay at Midwest Air another year?” 

“Heh?” Maksim often started his sentences with that. “Oh, ehhh, no.” Short and precise with a thick Russian accent as he swiped closed the extra applications on the iPad, letting his eyes scan the squall. Maksim’s words always had a staccato feel to them, as if placed into a rhythm keeping time with his brain as it multitasked between socializing and the job.

“Where will you go?” Jesse waited for Maksim to admit he wouldn’t stay at the regional airline much longer. Most people didn’t. It was a stepping stone to wide body aircraft and international flying at the Majors like Delta and American. Maks had already been here far too long at an age still prime enough to have something to gain by leaving.

“I believe I will fly for New England Cargo”, he rolled the r’s. Jesse was surprised to see not even a slight wince from Maks, but then, the man wasn’t the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. He had nerves of steel and simply accepted what was matter-of-factly.  

“New England Cargo?!” Jesse exclaimed with enough emotion to make up for the absence of Maks’ feelings as he dropped his hand to his lap. “I had a friend go there to build enough time to come here! They only pay $18 an hour! Why would you go backwards?”

Maksim, looking all business and like he didn’t really want to explain it, started reciting the reason anyway. He told Jesse about how New England Cargo would pay for the lawyers and paperwork necessary for him to get his green card, an expensive process he needed to avoid being drafted into the Russian-Ukraine war back home. Also, it was something the majors required him to have before they could accept his applications. The cargo contract would hold him captive for two, long years.

“Two years?” Jesse was disgusted. Cargo flying for that company was done in small turbo-prop planes through all kinds of unimaginable weather. At least at a passenger airline, a captain could tell the company ‘no’ if anything seemed too risky. They could divert and wait things out. They could delay. From the stories he’d heard, he knew you had to have balls of steel flying for that small airline, because no one told the company ‘no’. “Can’t you just find a nice American lady and marry her?” Jesse probed, a smile appearing that dripped with sarcasm while simultaneously he searched his mental rolodex for a suitable woman for Maks.

“Heh?” Maks began to smile, the kind that only smart people get before they outwit someone as he confidently added, “Cargo would be cheaper.” Jesse started howling with laughter at the response. This is the part of their camaraderie Jesse had worked hard for that the other First Officers didn’t usually get to see. Jokes. Clever, witty jokes. 

Then, as if out of nowhere, a whap! of turbulence interrupted their banter and smacking the aircraft into a thirty degree bank left, kicking off the autopilot. Although it was Jesse’s leg to fly, Maks was faster and grabbed the yoke to rotate the aircraft back to level while announcing “I have the aircraft,” like it happens every day.

“You have the aircraft,” Jesse stuttered as he struggled to get his shoulder harness and seat back in their proper positions. Maks didn’t have to ask him, Jesse knew by now what to do while the Captain continued flying. He picked up his handheld ElectroVoice microphone from the sidewall and hit the PA button for the cabin on his communication panel. “Flight attendants, be seated immediately!” He glanced to make sure the fasten seatbelt sign was still on. Here we go! He thought, thrilling rides today! 

Although the heavy bumps continued as they skimmed the clouds, the two agreed Jesse could have the aircraft back, and they exchanged controls. Maksim then started calling Air Traffic Control for deviations in their path to avoid spots visibility stronger via radar. He got the clearance, and Jesse turned them thirty degrees right and started to descend. Their onboard radar was archaic, and he caught a glimpse of Maksim eyeing him as Jesse tried to adjust its settings for a better view of what lies ahead. “Go ahead and mess with it.” Jesse was surprised when his voice sounded more pleading than directory as he gave up trying to manually adjust the equipment while managing a handful of airplane. Jesse thought Maksim was a whiz with that thing though, and he would explain everything as he did it. He had an honest talent for teaching.

Maks started adjusting the range so they could see further, then the gain to see how bad it really was. Though they rode in the green currently, yellow splotches appeared bigger with every swipe of the radar beam in front of them as the storm exploded with growth, triggering Jesse’s memory from his early flight training weather classes. The classes were chum full of warnings and reasons to stay at least twenty miles away from thunderstorms, or was it thirty? He felt like that was almost impossible now, and most airline crews worked with a blurry line of about ten miles regardless. 

“Well, that built up fast!” Maks noted out loud. 

Another jolt tossed and rolled them; passengers in the cabin screamed. The convulsing air shoved the aircraft abruptly every which way. Jesse buried himself in his instruments, scanning quickly from airspeed to altitude to attitude to path, repeat, holding wings level and repeating the thought “it’s  just like riding waves on a boat! Just waves on a boat!”

Maks must have sensed Jesse’s grip tightening on the controls and said in his confident, reassuring tone, “You’re doing great, Jesse. Stick vith it!” Jesse’s heart pounded with excitement, but fear snuck in as he noticed even Maks holding the oh shit handle near his head to steady himself. He suddenly worried for the passengers in the back that usually had zero training in aviation and would instinctively be terrified at the moment. 

“You may want…to check in…with the pax,” Jesse prodded in between jousts of violent air.

“Excellent idea,” Maks agreed before keying up the PA. Jesse realized Maks had already been reaching for the handheld mic with his free hand, meaning they’d come to the same conclusion nearly at the same time, kindling some pride. I’m thinking like a Captain, he told himself while Maks soothed the people in the back. “This is your Captain ehhh, as you might have noticed, we have, ehhh, hit patch of rough air…”

As the weather heaved the airplane, Jesse thought of all kinds of things with one side of his brain while doing his best to keep the blue side up with the other half. There was plenty of lightning on their sides now as they wove in between updrafts and punched through layers of clouds, but he never heard thunder. At 280 knots, they were not even close to the speed of sound, let alone faster. The hull of an aircraft is quite thick, but it was surprisingly quiet for how chaotic the ride was. 

Maksim started to gather the landing data they needed. His face was back to business with furrowed brows and thin lips pursed into a straight line. Things started to move fast between checklists and prepping for landing and ATC calls. Jesse briefed charts and set his instruments, bugging the altimeter for Meridian, MI. They were about to enter another bank of clouds while the radar warned what lay ahead, red peppering into the now dominating yellow, and Jesse knew the turbulence would get worse.

“Uhhh…Maks?” he asked.

“Heh?”

“I don’t want to fly through that.” Jesse had learned the hard way in his year at Midwest Air not to sound questioning when he wasn’t comfortable. He had to sound decisive. 

“Oh, it is nothing,” Maks said with a wave of his hand. “The weather coming behind is muuuch vorrse. We have time to make it in.”

“I trust you,” Jesse said. “We can try it once, and if it sucks, we divert to Atlanta.”

“Is a deal,” Maks compromised. 

ATC then gave further clearance to descend. They accomplished more checklists and tightened their shoulder harnesses. Jesse did his best to hold the aircraft lightly like Maks taught him, but firm enough to keep control. He re-engaged the autopilot, but neither one of them trusted it to stay on, pending another demanding kick. Jesse guarded the controls and couldn’t help but think the sky was trying to spit them out while Maks worked with ATC to give Jesse headings to fly. Poof! Into the thick clouds. Flash! Lightning on either side of them. “Almost through!” Maks said above the newly pounding sound of rain. “Hold it steady!” 

It seemed to last forever, and the turbulence went from bumping back to sharp slaps again, straining the boys in their seats so badly that Jesse could hardly read his instruments. He was no longer enjoying the ride and hoped the passengers in the back weren’t scared enough to be shitting themselves. He’d heard stories of that happening before. “You’ve never smelled anything worse than a plane full of frightened passengers who thought death was ‘nigh,” one of his flight instructors had said. Accident case studies flashed through his mind: the Delta Flight 191 crash that doomed all aboard from a thunderstorm’s microburst, American Airlines Flight 1420 in Little Rock over-running the runway when thunderstorms changed the wind direction as they landed. I hate this, Jesse admitted to himself. My parents are going to be so disappointed when they find my body.

Punch! Another blast of air powerfully pushed the right wing up.

“Is-is that hail?” Jesse squinted as loud thuds spattered the aircraft like flack. The anvil, he thought. That’s where hail is - the anvil of the storm. We shouldn’t be here!

“Remind me to write that up in Meridian,” Maksim sighed. “Perhaps you were right, and we should’ve gone to Atlanta.” The omission didn’t make Jesse feel more comfortable. The pucker factor was really at its maximum.

Jesse felt like he was running a marathon as he summoned all of his training to keep his wits about him when the air suddenly smoothed and the pounding gave way to a pitter-patter as they reached a dark green section on the radar. “Ah, there, you see?” Maksim seemed to be loving every bit of it as he smoothed his tie back under his shoulder harness. “Is okay now!”

Jesse rolled his eyes and let out the breath of air he had been holding captive in his lungs.

ATC came over the radio and commanded they slow for the approach. “Slowing to 200 knots,” Jesse said as he bugged the airspeed they were given. ATC gave them vectors to intercept an approach for their runway.

“Midwest 2059, that storm built alarmingly faster than predicted. Do you have a ride report for us?” The air traffic controller had a deep, raspy, southern tone that Jesse thought fit the phrase ‘hold my beer’.

“Hail, and moderate, turbulence. Ten out of ten, would not, recommend,” Maksim keyed back into the radio with his consistent rhythm. 

“Roger, thank you for the report. Midwest 2059, you are five miles from ACZUP, intercept the localizer for Runway One and maintain 2700 feet until ACZUP, cleared for the ILS Runway One approach,” the gruff air traffic controller cleared them to proceed.

As they neared 2700 feet, they began leaving the cloud layer. Jesse could see the airport through the jagged cloud bottoms and rain, the airfield’s blue taxiway lights and array of runway lighting looking like a welcome oasis between the oncoming chaos. He called for flaps and landing gear down. Maksim responded dutifully, sounding as if none of the events had bothered him even in the slightest.

There was a crosswind of thirty knots, but Jesse slowed the aircraft to approach speed. He almost felt like he was watching himself fly as he crabbed into the wind that was trying its hardest to push them back to the chaos. “Windshield wipers,” he added as they continued to the ground at an angle that felt bizarre and sideways. The wipers screeched back and forth across the glass, rubbing it clear before it immediately blurred again with fat drops.  At about ten feet above the runway, he stepped on just enough right rudder to straighten the aircraft, ailerons left into the wind. He floated a ways down the landing zone, but the touchdown was professionally firm on the center line. Relief swept through him as he moved his feet to the brakes at the top of the rudder pedals and slowed the aircraft with the thrust reversers, happy to notice his soul returning to his body. 

“Very nice,” Maks said in an obligatory instructor’s tone. “I have the aircraft.” He took over and brought it down to a crawling taxi speed, exiting the runway just as the rain picked up intensity, shielding one side of the airfield from the other. “Well done Jesse, well done!”

The ground controller guided them to the terminal where they waited for the weather to pass before the ground crew could help them deplane. As they sat, engines spooling down and windshield wipers off, the only sound was the rain. Before they took off their headsets, the ground controller added “Boy, that was perfect timing fellas!” Jesse smiled, because it sure was. 

“You are okay?” Maks asked, eyes finally showing worry for his crew mate. 

Jesse could see the wisdom gained and sincere regret. He gave his captain a weak smile and said, “Let’s just never do that again.”

“Da, better not,” Maks agreed.

“So,” Jesse started as they flipped switches to terminate the aircraft for the evening, “working for $18 an hour for two years would be cheaper than marriage?” He laughed through it as Maks sighed through another cunning smile.