Twenty-Six Minutes Plus Two

By Eugene W. Carr

Lets start with a proposition:

What are the chances of your being able to back up and rerun an event that has just happened to you? Let us just suppose for a moment that you could do just that and, in the process, make one small change to what had happened. Would you relive the experience a second time, or even a third?

That is the premise of the stories you are about to read. An event, with potential dire consequences, is experienced by youin real time. For good or bad, if you had the opportunity to repeat it, making one small change, would you choose to do so? Would you do it again?

Take the challenge of a relifetime, and see what could happen, if you dare.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781503510210

Eugene W. Carr

Eugene Carr is an acclaimed storyteller. He takes you where you may not really want to go. In Twenty-Six Minutes, you will be on the edge of your seat as he takes you on the ride of a life. This story can only be told by someone who has been there. Mr. Carr holds a commercial pilot certificate and has an instrument rating. Other stories that he has told delve into the realm of the fantastic, worlds that are familiar, but you can’t get there from here. Raised in the Chicago area, he has spent his life traveling across our country and around the world. He now winters in Arizona with his wife.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Eugene W. Carr.

Cover Illustration by Joel Ray Pellerin

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014919305

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5035-1019-7

                Softcover         978-1-5035-1020-3

                eBook              978-1-5035-1021-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 01/20/2015

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CONTENTS

Preface

Twenty-six Minutes

Immediate

Future

Broken Cord

Past

Immediate

Future

Umbilical

In The Beginning

Past

Immediate

Future

New Beginning

A Very Merry Christmas

Time To Fly

Time Flies

In The End

Possible Discussion Points

To my wife Joyce and daughters Candy and Penny.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

E NDEAVORS OF ANY sort are seldom the expression of a single mind. So it is with this and its related works. I could express my gratitude to so many people who have participated in this creation that is yours to read. I will recognize, however, at this time, the three who have been the most significant to me: First is my wife, Joyce, who has listened to the stories that I have verbalized over the years before putting them to paper. Second, my friend John Ericksen, who has acted as a sounding board for my ideas, questioning my directions and absorbing more than anyone should of my ramblings. Third, and certainly not last, is Patricia Lewis, the person relegated to do the editing of my thoughts and words. This work would have been impossible without her patience, understanding, and ability to see through the ramblings of a teller of tales and produce a readable s tory.

PREFACE

W HAT ARE THE chances of your being able to backup and rerun an event that has just happened to you; whether you liked the original outcome or not? Of course, you would say the chance is zero.

However, let us just suppose for a moment that you could do just that, and in the process make one small change to what had happened. Would you relive the experience a second time, or even a third?

Come with me for the trip of a re-lifetime, on a late summer’s day in the year 1981, and see for yourself just how that might turn out. The following three stories will give you the chance to experience just such an event. I wish you well.

Eugene W. Carr

TWENTY-SIX MINUTES

Contrails! Fantasy trips to exotic places! They crisscross a Colorado-blue sky! Precise movements, choreographed through invisible cords, by a faceless director, to a transient dancer!

~~~~

This is a story of a short passing of two souls in time and space—twenty-six minutes, real time.

IMMEDIATE

A IRCRAFT CALLING FOR help; do you have an emergency? said Jim Hinton, hearing a panic-stricken voice in his earph ones.

Raising his hand and signaling for aid, he called, Bob! I think I have an emergency here. I need assistance.

~~~~

Enter the world of the air traffic controller. Shadow dark is the best description of the subdued illumination encountered in this room, located within in a large building in Longmont, Colorado. The room is sixty feet wide, seventy-five long, and thirty feet high. Three rows of back-to-back consoles divide the room with wide aisles running between them.

A few of the consoles are empty. Close observation shows that they are ready and active if needed on a moment’s notice. Each console, four feet wide, has an oversized circular video screen, the top angled back slightly, surrounded by a myriad of switches and dials for ease of access and viewing.

Exceptionally focused, but highly stressed controllers share each console with an assistant; they sit comfortably, but always alert, while continuously scanning the screen. A pale glow from each screen highlights the structural features of their faces while their eyes intently and quickly view the moving symbols, constantly shifting from one to another.

Medflight 1-1-0. Contact Denver Center, 126.5.

Like fireflies, the symbols appear at a point around the edge of the screen and then disappear after moving to a point along the opposite edge, only to flicker onto some other console’s screen. Some disappear in their transits, expiring as if into a hole in the screen’s center. Others appear, born from that same hole, to travel in their times to an outer edge. In this room there is no past; there is no future; there is only the immediate.

United 3-2-7 Heavy. Denver Center. Altimeter setting 29.79. Descend and maintain flight level 3-0-0.

To the casual observer, the room is reminiscent of a twilight zone one would expect to see in the latest science-fiction movie, but not just from the darkened illumination and eerie glow of the screens. The observer soon realizes that the view one sees on each of the screens, a surreal world of light and dark, is an exact representation of the real world outside, and the aircraft, represented by the symbols, can’t just stop in case of trouble, letting everyone get out and run to safety. In this room, there is no do over.

~~~~

Bob Sampson hurried over to Jim’s console, Stan Ling in tow. Bob pointed to a vacant console while saying, Stan, take that one and setup to take over Center from Jim. Let me know when you are ready. Allen, leave Jim and take those strips and help him.

Allen, following the instructions without question, moved to Stan’s console.

Plugging into Jim’s console, Bob said, What do you have? Bob, about ten years older than Jim, showed a common tendency of people in these types of jobs: a growing girth around the waist. There was little time for exercise amid the shortage of qualified personnel and the high stresses that went with the job.

Tick. Plea-s-e, h-e-l-p m-e! Tick.

Jim made a mental note that the aircraft’s mic was creating a static sound at the beginning and ending of each transmission; he would have to listen very carefully.

Tick. My father! Something’s wrong with my father! Please help me! Tick.

Aircraft, in distress, is your father the pilot?

Denver Center. United 7-5-1. Flight Level 3-2-0.

United 7-5-1. Denver Center. Altimeter setting 29.79.

Tick. Yes-s-s. Tick.

Is the airplane flying level, now?

Tick. Mos-t-ly. Tick.

Continental 1-2-0-4, contact Denver Center, 132.85.

Continental 1-2-0-4. 132.85. G’day.

Mostly? Interesting word. The thought quickly passed through Jim’s short-term memory. Then he made a note in his long-term memory. I will have to come back to that in a minute.

Bob turned and looked sternly at Stan, checking his progress. Hurry up! He can’t do both: handle her and the traffic. Stan was much like Jim in age, stature, and intensity; he knew his job well.

Almost there.

Okay. Ready, now. 371.85, Stan responded, turning and nodding an affirmative to Jim.

Jim immediately clicked his mic, saying, Aircraft in distress, what I’m going to say next doesn’t apply to you, and you are not to do anything. Do you understand?

Tick. Yes. Tick.

"Stay with me!

"All aircraft this frequency, contact Denver Center, 3-7-1 point 8-5. I repeat! All aircraft this frequency, contact Denver Center, 3-7-1 point 8-5.

Are you still with me?

Tick. Yes. Tick.

Good. She seems calmer now, Jim thought. He turned and smiled at Bob.

What is your father doing now?

Tick. He’s just sitting here. His head is moving back and forth, but his eyes are closed. Tick.

Did he say or do anything before he got sick?

Tick. We were talking. He reached for a button and said something about pilot. Tick.

Did he say the word autopilot?

Tick. I think that was the word. Tick.

Thank God for little favors, Jim murmured, again turning to look at Bob. To himself he thought, it is only wing leveling, but every bit helps. Are you sitting in the right seat, next to your farther?

Tick. Yes. Tick.

What is your name? My name is Jim, he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

Tick. Hi. Kim. My name’s Kim. Tick.

Kim. I like that name. A thought momentarily flashed through his consciousness; that’s my daughter’s name.

Kim. Look at the instrument panel in front of you. Tell me if you see a box that’s about six inches wide and an inch thick. It will have five small knobs on it. Above four of those knobs are some numbers, one number above each knob. Do you see it?

Tick. Yes. Tick.

Good. I want you to turn each knob, one at a time, until the number 7-7-0-0 shows above them, and then press the small button on the left of the knobs.

For Jim and Bob, there were a few seconds of no breathing. Then they saw one of the numbers on the screen become a bright white 7700. The aircraft he was talking to now became strikingly apparent. Jim could see not only where it was, but also where it was going, how fast it was going there, and how high it was in the air.

Stan could see the bright 7700 on his screen as well. His job now, in addition to controlling the movements of destination bound aircraft, became one of directing all aircraft under his control away from the symbol designated 7700, regardless of where it may move to on his screen.

Feeling assured that he now had some control over a dire situation; Jim felt his breathing start again. The symbol representing the aircraft was slowly turning to the left and losing altitude. He now understood what she meant by mostly.

Kim. Is your father’s left hand touching the control wheel?

Tick. Yes. Tick.

Kim. As carefully, as you are able, reach across your father and remove his hand from the wheel. Place it in his lap.

Tick. Okay. I’ve done that. Tick.

Bob bent close to Jim as they watched the moving symbol on the screen. It had stopped its left turn and the altitude had stabilized; however, it was now flying in the direction of the higher mountains to the west.

Jim, Bob said, pointing to the screen, you have to turn her around.

Kim, how old are you?

Tick. I just turned thirteen. Tick.

Jim’s mind flashed again. That’s the same age as my Kimberly.

Have you flown with your father often?

Tick. Yes. I love to fly with him. Tick.

Has he ever let you fly the plane?

Tick. Sometimes, when we’re up in the air, he lets me fly it. I’ve never taken off or landed though. Tick.

Good. I want you to place your right hand on the wheel in front of you, very lightly. Be careful that you don’t push or pull on it. Turn it just a little and slowly, to the right.

Jim and Bob watched as the symbol slowly started to turn clockwise. Good. Now hold the wheel in that position until I tell you to stop. Okay?

Tick. Okay. Tick.

As they continued to watch the screen, Jim reached to set the mode for the symbol representing the aircraft to have a short line extending in front of it, showing where the aircraft would travel to in the next two minutes—if it remained on the course that the symbol indicated. Ever so slowly, the line turned away from its path toward the mountains and pointed in the direction of Denver.

Jim then said, Stop, now. Move the wheel back to the center. Do you see the city of Denver ahead of you?

Tick. Yes. What do you want me to do now? Tick.

Remove your hand from the wheel, and take a deep breath. Try to relax for a minute. I have to talk to someone, but I’ll be back with you in a minute.

Tick. I’m scared. My hands are shaking. Tick.

I’m scared too, Kim. However, we have to help your father. Can you help me do that?

Tick. Yes. Please. Help my dad. Tick.

Kim, I’ll be here. I’m not going away, but I have to talk to someone. Just for a minute. Okay?

Tick. Okay. Tick.

Okay, she’s stable for now, Jim said, turning to Bob, meaning both the aircraft and the girl. "We need to get her down as soon as possible and get her father medical care. Arapahoe is to her right, but there is a lot of corporate traffic in