Free Cloudburst by Ryne Pearson

Not every airport could service some of the newer jets. “What was the max flux in compression?”
    “Just four percent,” Buzz answered. “Passing one-two- thousand.”
    “Roger.” Hendrickson pressed the mike switch, opting for manual operation instead of ‘hot mike,’ which continuously transmitted everything said. Most crews did the same, except in busy times. The ground didn’t need to hear all that was said upstairs. “Athens approach—Four-Two-Two heavy passing one-two-thousand.”
    “ Roger, Four-Two-Two heavy. Maintain descent to four thousand. Enter pattern on eastern leg at six thousand. Maintain heading until coastal VOR intersect. ”
    “Roger, Athens. Descending to four thousand. Maintaining two-eight-zero to VOR intersect.”
    “Inbound, five-zero miles.” Buzz called out the distance to ‘wheels down.’
    Hendrickson acknowledged the announcement, smiling at the half-oval glow where earth met sky. Even glitches couldn’t dampen his spirit, nor the growing sense of nostalgia he was experiencing. The big, beautiful 747-400 could just as easily have been an old Lockheed Constellation, his first command in the Air Force. That moment flashed back in his mind. God! Had it been that long?
    “I hope three doesn’t drop anymore,” Buzz commented, his attention focused on the instruments.
    “If it does we’re going to have to have a spare feathered in.”
    “That, as they say, would be a bitch.” The sight of a spare engine attached to a perfectly good 747 was unnatural. The spare, slung beneath a wing like a normal, functioning engine, made the bird look lopsided and perform sluggishly. Buzz didn’t want to wish that upon any other pilot. He had previously been fortunate enough to crew on a big jet that had brought one into Karachi, Pakistan, and it had not been fun. “Specs say one to two constant is nominal. Three to uh…” The first officer scanned the specification and performance lap book for the 747’s power plants. “…three to six is acceptable.”
    “Yep. It fluxed to twelve that last time before they replaced it. We can call ahead and have one waiting at Heathrow tomorrow.”
    Buzz hated delays, but a delay in London was better than a delay in Athens. For all its supposed beauty, he hated the city. It was dirty everyplace he looked. “Sounds like a plan.”
    Hendrickson gave it a subtle nod, and Buzz called the ground maintenance station in Athens on the company frequency. They would notify Heathrow.
    The bustling British airport would be a welcome destination for the captain. His last stop before arriving home…for good. Thirty-two years in the air had been good to him. Never again, though, would he have to leave Anita. Yes, thirty-two years of good-byes had been difficult, but she had never, ever complained. She knew that her husband loved to fly, almost as a child would look wide-eyed at the big and pretty planes as they landed. He had wished as a child to fly someday, a wish that became reality in the Air Force. Anita remembered his excitement the day of his first solo in a Lockheed Constellation. Nothing could shut him up. He told her every detail of the two-hour flight, and most of it was Latin to her. His outward excitement had softened over the years, but not the inner rush.
    “Passing ten thousand,” Buzz announced. He could see the slight smile on the captain’s face and the reflection of the day’s last light in his dark aviator glasses.
    “Roger.” Hendrickson pressed the seat belt sign activator.
    “Three’s back up to nominal.”
    “Good. Maybe we won’t have to delay in England.”
    “Anxious to get home, Bart?”
    “I’m always anxious. This time I get to stay.”
    At-‘Adiyat, Libya
    It was a place shown only on the maps of some intelligence services, but it did exist, just south of Benghazi. There were buildings, some modern, but none larger than would be found elsewhere in the desert, and there was space. That was the need. Space for those who