Waterkill (Dave Henson Series) Read Online Free

level with his left hand the pilot reached out with his right and quickly began to punch a few buttons on the GPS unit mounted in the center of the instrument panel. As he did, a strong wave of air turbulence violently jerked the plane down and toward the left. He instantly returned his right hand to the yoke and fought with both hands to level out the aircraft and recover altitude. When it came to flying an airplane, your two closest friends were altitude and airspeed. He wasn’t ready to abandon any of his flying friends yet thought the pilot, as he manhandled the aircraft back to reasonably stable flight and altitude.
    Once more he reached out with his right hand and again started punching buttons on the GPS unit. He needed to find the closest airport to them. After a few taps on the GPS screen with his index finger he identified a small private airfield ten miles west of them in Alaska. As he hit the activate icon button on the GPS screen to set up a flight path from their present location to the airfield, he hoped to himself that the runway was maintained. Landing on a runway covered with a foot of snow would produce the same results as landing in any backcountry snow covered field. The plane would instantly flip as soon as its wheels sank into the snow. 
    The pilot adjusted the aircraft’s flight path heading to coincide with the GPS screen. A direct route to the small private airfield. Gently, he pushed forward on the control yoke to nose the plane over and speed their descent to it.
    Though they were only ten miles away from the airfield there was rugged mountainous terrain only a few thousand feet below them for the entire route. As the pilot flew the aircraft towards the airport the GPS unit frequently broke in over his headset with audio warning messages about terrain ahead, and commands to pull up.
    He was acutely aware of the aircraft’s low level flight over the mountains below him, and the GPS warning messages only proceeded to aggravate him as it broke his concentration on flying the aircraft. While he continued to fight to keep the plane in the sky, he kept reciting to himself over and over again what his first flight instructor had repeatedly drilled into him, “Fly the plane.” No matter what else is going on around you, no matter how dire the situation looks, continue to, “First fly the plane.” Secondly, with time and opportunity permitting, “Navigate.” And third, again with time and opportunity permitting, “Communicate.” Those were the three fundamental rules, and the order to execute them in, for a Pilot-in-Command of an aircraft in distress. He was doing his best with the first two, flying and navigating. However, the last rule was not an option today. He was flying across the Canadian / U.S. international border and he didn’t want anyone to know.  
    As he continued to fly towards the airfield in the whiteout conditions, the pilot kept thinking about the well-dressed Middle Eastern man sitting next to him, his sole passenger. The pilot silently cursed the man. If it hadn’t been for him, he wouldn’t be in this predicament, risking his life and airplane.
    The man had not spoken a single word since they departed Dawson City airport. Other than asking for the charter flight service to Fairbanks, he had virtually said nothing else since they met earlier that day. During the entire flight he had just sat silently, staring nervously out the aircraft’s windows while holding on tightly with both hands to a silver metal briefcase that sat in his lap. 
    The pilot had sized the guy up as a strange type from the moment he had set eyes on him. But Dawson City was filled with strange types and he wasn’t about to pass up on a lucrative charter flight job. The well-heeled man had mostly kept his eyes pointed downward, looking at his feet, when he inquired about the charter service to Fairbanks. As if he was hiding something thought the pilot. Also, similarly to what he was doing now, the