Is he back?

[Mac The Wrench]

It was a dark and stormy night in San Jose... Across the windblown ramp, a shadowy figure silently aproaches the seemingly abandoned old hangar... against the night sky, the shape of a toolbox can be clearly seen in one hand, a coffeecup in the other. The unknown figure pauses for a second, looking down the runway and into infinity with a steady piercing gaze that could only be forged by years of bad temperament. The shadow quietly unlocks the door and enters the dusty hangar, outlined only for a moment by the dim glow cast from the long since open door... A moment later all is as it was... Or so it appears...

To be continued...

[Mac The Wrench]

The morning air is as still as can be after the previous night's storm has blown itself out. The large hangar doors creaked open, allowing more of the near dawn darkness to seep inside than the dim lighting to shine outward. In the background, an air compressor quietly came to life with it's distinctive throbbing hum. Time passes... Finally, Mac himself can be seen uncovering his beat up Yak 12A, methodically beginning his preflight by pulling the engine through 18 blades backwards to clear oil out of the old Russian radial. He fiddles around a bit with the fuel valve, checks the tanks, airs up an almost flat tailwheel, moves each of the control surfaces by hand from outside the aircraft, and finally opens the cockpit door. Climbing in the old bird, he seemingly disappears into the darkness, as the twilight of the new day has yet to appear.

"Contact"

And the prop jerks to life... two blades, then three, then a few more, and the distinctive uneven pocketa-pocketa-pocketa sound only a round engine can make fills the morning air.

"Tower, Yak one-oh-delta-delta, request takeoff, runway two-niner.

"Roger, please say type again?"

"Yak 12... Russian... Old..."

'Copy that...Yak one-oh-delta-delta cleared, runway two-niner."


"Click-click" was the subtle noise from Mac's PTT.

The old plane rolls down the taxiway like the ghost of a time that was. For a brief moment, there in the twilight, it feels more like 1934 than 2004. He wonders briefly how many people get into their little spam can airplanes with their modern reliable engines and never experience the sheer thrill of wondering how long it will run this time... He lines up, cycles the prop, then eases the throttle forward as he relaxes pressure on the brake pedals.

With a take-off roll shorter than you'd believe, the ratty Russian bird rises up to meet the coming sunrise...

[Mac The Wrench]

The evening din of normal airport operations gets a little louder as the tired little 12A pulls up to the hangar with fresh duct tape on one wing, Mac and two men can be seen getting out. Without a word being spoken, the three men open up the hangar and push the plane back in tail first. The two long-bearded men grab duffel bags out of the plane and head for the loft. A large bag of Eastern Elbonian cofee is retrieved from the back of the Yak, and Mac heads towards the PGA office with the unwieldly package...

"Bet they don't have any doughnuts." he grumbles

(Everyone knows East Elbonian coffee is the closest thing to real mud a pilot will encounter outside of a hayfield...)

[Cherry Pneumatic]

"Mac, how could you?" Cherry gasped. "You went out for Elbonians and coffee, and you didn't even think to bring your wife a beignet!" (not to mention my triple mocha latte with raspberry syrup)...At this point she was wondering why she kept him around at all.

"You're going to tape and rubber-band that Yak back together and chart a course for New Orleans immediately!" Cherry was never this nasty to anyone else, but this was the only kind of charm that Mac understood.

The Elbonians grabbed their rubber bands and duct tape. The Yak was in a sad condition and might not make the flight. Mac grabbed his tool box grumbling, "10,000 Krispy Kremes in this country and I'm heading for Louisiana!"