Water Bomber

Water Bomber

Gilead Smutz fought his controls. He had gone into a glide the minute his engine quit. He’d dumped his load of water as soon as it sputtered its last.

He emerged from the thick smoke to look frantically for a place to do a belly land. There was nothing for it, thick woods were the only choice. He braced himself. As he plowed through, the wings broke off and he went nose-first into the dirt.

Gilead woke up with an aching head, but all in one piece.

“I smell gas. Time to get out of here!” he muttered as he unbelted and tried to open the door. It was jammed. Crawling to the other side, he tried that door.

After a massive effort, he managed, and he crawled out into the crushed undergrowth. When he woke again, he went back into the plane, turned on the beacon and then grabbed his portable short wave.

“Gilead, to Base Camp, come in,” he said. Nothing but static. But always a stubborn soul, he kept trying. Finally, he heard:

“Gilead, where are you with that water?”

The skilled pilot gave the situation.

“Better hike out fast! It’s coming your way!” came the answer.

Gilead knew there was no time to lose, he cleaned out all possible supplies and started tramping out. He was barely out of sight of the disabled plane, when he heard an explosion.

“That was close!” he gasped. His head was throbbing, and he could feel blood running down it. He stumbled into a stream thereafter and washed his head. He knew he had to keep going.

“Gilead is that you?” said a familiar voice. The face of the guy who had helped him gas up his water bomber swam into view. The pilot fell into his arms.