Page 31 of Burnin' For You
She grabbed the de Havilland checklist and did the manufacture preflight check, looking for “smoking”—or loose—rivets, checking all the nuts and bolts.
The first jump team exited the building and headed toward the plane, geared up like soldiers going to battle. Jed, Kate, CJ, Hannah, and Reuben.
Gilly bent down to check the tires, moved the plane forward, then back, looking for oil in the oleo struts. Then she moved the flight controls, making sure the yoke worked in tandem.
She looked over and saw Reuben helping load the gear into the back of the plane. He didn’t look at her, and the swill of regret lined her throat.
He’d just been watching her back. Why did she have to be so defensive?
Well, he didn’t know what it felt like to always feel like you didn’t measure up. That if you let down your guard, life would sneak up on you, devour you.
She checked the prop, making sure she didn’t move it—yes, the magneto was off, but you never knew. And she’d seen a pilot nearly killed when he’d started the plane by accidentally moving his prop.
No dripping oil and the fuel looked good. She checked the level with a dipstick, just to confirm, then checked the vents.
Finally, she grabbed ammonia and a rag and climbed up on the outside of the plane to clean the windshield.
Leave the problems on the ground.Advice from her teacher, the one who’d told her she didn’t have to jump from planes to be a part of the team. Dwayne would be delighted to see her today, not only a jumper pilot but also flying tankers.
Well, formerly flying tankers. But at least contributing.
Not letting her failures completely derail her.
She saw their spotter for today’s run, Cliff O’Dell, come out of HQ. An older man and former jumper out of Missoula, he knew exactly where to send the jumpers to make sure they didn’t land in the middle of a fire.
By the time she finished cleaning the windshield, the team had already climbed in, strapped themselves into the seats positioned along the walls. The gear boxes were strapped down in the middle.
Cliff climbed in beside her in the copilot seat.
“Last run of the season,” he said and picked up the pre-takeoff checklist.
“Hopefully. Parking brake.”
“Set.”
“Fire T-handles.”
“In.”
“Emergency fuel switches.”
“Off.”
She tuned out the chatter in the back as she read through the list.
Finally, “Everyone buckled up?”
She glanced back for a second. Kate shot her a thumbs-up. Nodded at her.
No, she might not be a smokejumper, but she kept them safe and alive, at least until they left her plane.
Gilly turned the beacon light on, tested the brakes, glanced at the circuit breakers, and confirmed the transponder was on. Then she turned the mixture on rich, moved the carb heat to cold, flicked on the master switch, pumped the primer, locked it, and inserted the key.
“Clear prop!” She touched the brakes, put her hand on the throttle, and turned the engine over. It fired to life, and she taxied out to the strip.
“We have a blue-skied day, with few clouds and a bump-free ride to the jump site,” she said over the intercom. “Strap in and enjoy the ride.”
She trimmed the tabs for takeoff, set the flaps up, the carburetor heater back to the full position, then checked her heading.