Darko's Game by Enrique Rivera

Author:Enrique Rivera
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Enrique Rivera

Chapter 5

There was no wind and Vic didn’t want to take off in the direction of the hill that threatened him during landing. One short taxi run to the opposite end of the runway was in order. Takeoff before dawn from a runway he did not know, except for one landing, was not the time to take chances with a hill. If he took off in the direction of the ocean, he’d have to consume however little fuel it took to taxi the plane to the other end of the strip. Such a minor amount of fuel did not figure in anybody’s flight plan calculations, but it did in Vic’s precarious situation. On the other hand, saving those drops of fuel would require that he take off towards the hill. He chose to burn the extra fuel and risk ditching in the ocean if the fuel he had didn’t take him far enough. It was a better prospect than possibly smacking into the hill at the end—barely visible in the darkness.

He skipped any procedure that did not involve starting the engine and taxiing straight to the end of the runway. Slowing down to make a U-turn, Vic shoved the throttle forward before completing the turn, held the yoke back, and steered as well as he could, seeing only what the landing light revealed with its beam angled down, at the runway—it was a landing light, after all, not a takeoff light.

The plane was eager to fly, loaded only with one pilot, a few maps, some water, and a few gallons of gas. Some gas and some fumes. It will have to do.

Reaching one thousand feet, Vic adjusted the fuel flow. He wanted to save as much fuel as the engine would let him without complaining. The six-cylinder metal contraption under the cowling could be his life-saver or his anchor, depending on how much fuel was in the tanks, and how good he was at the controls.

Heading southeast, he’d see the lights of Guaymas before long, and by then it should be close to dawn. Climbing through three thousand feet, Vic began to question whether climbing had been a good idea at all. Maybe he should have stayed low, and saved the gas burned in the climb. On the other hand, the higher he climbed, the leaner he could make the mixture, thereby saving fuel. There was a break-even point somewhere, one that he didn’t calculate. By the time all the doubts had bounced from every side and corner of his mind, the plane was a few hundred feet over three thousand. Good enough. If that doesn’t work, I should be able to make up the difference swimming.

He was tired but not sleepy. He had to pay attention. Pilots made stupid, deadly mistakes when they were tired. He checked and double-checked everything, even the most trivial details—belts, tight; drinking water, within reach; papers, in his pocket; money, in the other pocket; floatation vest, somewhere in the plane—screw it.

As he approached the coast, the dim lights were visible behind a veil of fog.

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