Words and Numbers
8 December 2001
Saturday    
0630H

     Is there salvation in a group of words? How do we rule our life finding our luck in a combination of numbers? Being an average reader, I have sought consolation in printed words on books and magazines while occasionally taking a bet on the national lottery. Partly believing what I read and taking for granted the details while I managed to dislodge boredom out of my head, everything seemed to be working out well. For the most part, I often failed to verify the results on the evening lottery draw unknowing if I had been a millionaire who disposed off my lottery ticket without much thought have I lost my right to the jackpot. Everything had been taken as an end in itself and I seemed to have lost my taste to expect for life’s remaining surprises. Except for moments where my close encounters with words and numbers give me an access to remembering an experience in my life without much trying.  It has less implication on semantics and numerology but it brings a spell of difference opening a portal through time allowing me to get in touch with my past. Then I gain that fresh attitude to face the present however embarrassing the course of the story gets. 

The Flight Order
     It was a piece  of  short bond paper cut in half bearing printed words and numbers from the computer printer which gives me directions on my course of actions for the day, and it reads:

                                      Flight Orders
                                      Number: 2001-265                                         December 2, 2001

                                      PILOTS & CREW            : PSINSP MARTIN VA
                                                                          PSINSP MACAWILI RC
                                                                          PO2 Flores DWE
                                      USER                           : SILG and Party
                                      MISSION SYMBOL         : S-5
                                      DESCRIPTION              : To ferry SILG and Party
                                      ITINERARY                  : DAP - Balatan, Camarines Sur – DAP
                                      DATE/TIME                  : 020600H Dec ’01 (Sun)
                                      A/C TYPE& TAIL NR      :  AS 350BA Ecureuil, RP-2043
                                      REMARKS                    : To ferry SILG and Party to Balatan, Camarines 
                                                                           Sur.  

     After that follows obedience to the order and the reader who discovers his name on the list of words and numbers begins to prepare for the tasking being defined under the cloak of the word “mission”. Mission is a word which reminds me of my elementary at San Jose Academy in the mid ‘70s where the Assumption Nuns instilled upon us the importance of World Mission Sunday. There would be weekly collections at school for the whole month of October. It was a trying time for me to persuade my aunts and relatives at home to place some coins inside a small brown envelope the size of a pay envelope. A timid, meek, 7 year old was yet unprepared for solicitations. Two decades hence I haven’t have foretold a future to be associated with the same word on a different perspective. There’s that same uneasiness of a 2nd grader in me, the familiarity on how I may measure up to the requirements of the day’s mission. My sole consolation though is that I may never have to confine my thinking on filling up any kind of envelope other than the flight envelope. My definition of the word “mission” has been changed by the years and was well defined by my 5 years in the service. The letter “S” as defined by The Flight Missions Classification Symbol Chart inside Operations associates its use to refer to special operations (purely non-uniformed men) and the no. 5 opposite it, under the heading “special operations” reads its worded equivalent to mean “ferry of government VIPs”. I was given the idea on who will be those I will have to share a cramped seat and in what place I will be at the middle of the day. Well of course, I had my luck to be listed on the flight order with the Unit’s best, seasoned pilots. I have the initial assurance that I will not be left behind if I had blinked out of timing to see what happened at a fraction of a second while a wad of paper notes had been passed from one hand to the other. The December breeze hums blessings and I may never have to hang one unwashed sock at the aircraft’s window to have a cut from the government’s Departmental budget. Opening the chopper’s door for the SILG, and sharing a seat at altitude seemed like a blessing in itself.

Early Wakings
    I woke up at the alarm on my cell a quarter to 0500H in the morning with the cravings for closing my eyes and be left at the clutches of the cold December on my folding bed inside Maintenance. Aside from the day being a Sunday, I had my mind protesting for the early waking still reminiscing to be caught in a dream. I could still feel my reflexes giving way for a tantrum. That reminds me how I would react being awakened early from sleep by my mother to get on the jeepney to school at 5 o’clock in the morning when I was 7. The school was at San Jose, the provincial capital of Antique some 30 kilometers away from Patnoñgon, my hometown. The memory of my childhood was just a sleep away and has left its traces in the cool December mornings. A knock on the door and the duty Sergeant of the Guard (SG) came in to remind of the flight at 0600H. I was thus obliged to collect my sleeping gears and rush up to take a bath against the cold. Drying up myself after a bath and donning my flying suit, I was fresh and ready for the catch of the day’s “worms” that was due for an early bird. I took my service firearm and placed it inside the toolbox left at the cargo hold of the aircraft. I opened the side cargo hatch and checked the presence of the fuel pump which I’ve placed the past evening. I only need to summarize a supposed to be pre-flight inspection having done the post flight inspection on the same aircraft the passed 2 days. There was no flight the other day so that I just need a little dusting exercise to get rid of dust accumulation on the windshield and windows. Removing the tie downs and connecting the battery, I checked the fuel level and ascertained the tank was 100% full. Should we meet fuel shortage at our destination, the fuel pump was stowed inside the aircraft for the gas up. It isn't a far possibility that the PD in the area was having a hard time to make 3-4 Drums of Jet A-1 available in our immediate need for gas-up upon landing, however isolated our destination  maybe. I checked the transmission and found out that the engine and hydraulic oils are within minimum levels. I closed the engine cowling and set the locks in place. Setting the clock on the instrument panel to synchronize with the time on my Timex wristwatch and everything was set to go. I left the chopper and headed inside the Radio Room at Operations to withdraw a handheld radio and a spare battery. Chancing upon the weather forecast for the day from PAG-ASA which had just been spewed out by the fax machine, I was lured by the words which read:

                                                    24-HOUR PUBLIC WEATHER FORECAST

                                  ISSUED    AT : 4:30 AM TODAY 02 DECEMBER 2001
                                  VALID BEGINNING : 5:00 AM TODAY UNTIL 5:00 AM TOMORROW 

                                  SYNOPSIS:   INTERTROPICAL   CONVERGENCE    ZONE   (ITCZ)    ACROSS    MINDANAO INCLUDING PALAWAN. TAIL-END OF 
                                                    COLD FRONT  AFFECTING THE EASTERN SECTION OF SOUTHERN LUZON.

                                  FORECAST:   EASTERN   SECTION   OF   SOUTHERN   LUZON, VISAYAS   AND  MINDANAO INCLUDING PALAWAN WILL EXPERIENCE                                                                                 
                                                     MOSTLY CLOUDY SKIES WITH SCATTERED RAINSHOWERS AND ISOLATED THUNDERSTORMS.  THE REST OF THE COUNTRY
                                                     WILL  BE PARTLY CLOUDY TO AT TIMES CLOUDY SKIES WITH ISOLATED RAINSHOWERS. LIGHT  AND  MODERATE  WINDS                                                                 
                                                     BLOWING  FROM  THE  NORTHEAST AND EAST  WILL  PREVAIL THROUGHOUT THE ARCHIPELAGO AND THE COASTAL                                                                           
                                                     WATERS WILL BE  SLIGHT  TO MODERATE.

      The rest are localized forecast on key cities and provinces which I didn’t finished reading owing to the advancing hour. I went outside and asked the assistance of my detailed colleague on guard duty in towing the chopper to the helipad. It’s absolute nightmare waking people from sleep on a cold, December, Sunday morning. The next thing I knew, I was holding the tail skid as the towing wheels were set in place and there were only three of us pushing tin with an average empty weight of 1,500 kgs. all the way to the flightline. I approximated the length of the aircraft in reference to the marked helipad beside the taxiway. A glimpse at the wind sock on the nearby hangar gave me direction on where to point the chopper’s skid against the wind. The hydraulic towing wheels from both skids were released and the tinned thing was left seated on the helipad. Once it was rendered lifeless and suddenly it appeared to breathe with a life of her own. The single turbine was not running but the three bladed main rotor sways with the weight of its tips against the morning breeze. The morning sky was covered by thin layer of clouds which correspond to the forecast. With everything in place, it seemed just like another ordinary day. 

Time Lapse
  “Blades!”, the voice of the pilot echoed on my ears.”Clear blades!”, my reply came out simultaneously. The ground power-equipped tow tug roared into life followed by the hissing sound of the turbine on starting. The main rotors took a steady whirr and it looked like I had been caught up in an ever repeating episode of my life. Well, I have watched Ground Hog Day and felt how it was to live in monotony trying to make out some difference. Yet no matter how I tried to be stern with details to save an aspect of every experience in memory, I’m left lost at the variation of the same occurrence. I boarded the aircraft and closed the cabin door clearing everything for the pilot. Noting our time of departure on my watch as we hovered for the take off, it was just 0550H in the morning. We landed at Camp Crame at around 0600H, right on schedule. Anything but ordinary, I have lived well my early jobs with nothing personal. I boarded off the aircraft when the skids settled on the grass in front of the grandstand. I have evolved from wearing a worn out guard’s uniform opening and closing doors at malls with a “good morning” and “thank you” to customers. How could I get so frantic boarding a helicopter but doing the same opening and closing of never ending doors of life? It’s amusing how could one get so discontented of a present set up aspiring for another that has yet to come(or never to arrive). I made routine checks with a peek at the engine cowl opening and found the surface beneath the fuel and oil lines spick and span. I sat by the skid protrusion and settled my combat boots on the grass to relax. The Man arrived late evening the other day on a flight aboard the unit’s twin-engined Cessna 421 from Ormoc on my knowing. So that I made to kid about the possibility that the passenger we had been waiting was still snoring in bed. PSI Macawili, the co-pilot knows my boredom about the day whenever I opened about jokes that are too good to be true. We had greeted each day of our lives meeting each other’s bored faces first hour of the day in the locker room inside the hangar. And we’ll both exchange words about another day in our ironic “paradise” where everything doesn’t change but our ageing, worried faces. It’s our noted 2nd time on the mission ever since we shared a medevac flight to Corregidor Island in May and it feels nice to be together on a flight mission once more, there’s a little variation about joking our individual discontents on a different ground. Just a few seconds that I brought out the matter for the conversation, a gray Honda Accord parked in front of the chopper escorted by a dark blue Toyota Revo. Our passenger arrived against my worst expectations. . . .
 
Zero Visibility
     It wasn't actually a good day for me having been disturbed from sleep early in the morning in the interest of a passenger. But you have to perform the job all in the day's work not allowing your emotions getting in the way. “Good morning sir”, well I’ve said those words a thousand times before and those words simply complements the opening and closing of  the door.  The 5’7” frame of a man in his mid 40’s sporting a checkered polo barong climbed the left side cabin door of the chopper and took his seat. I fumbled to put on the seatbelt and did the same to his aide and photographer. Clearing the tail rotor for the engine start, I got on my seat beside the Secretary and closed the final door behind me as the turbine reawakened for the high pitched hum. I made a thumbs up sign to the pilot and we hovered for take-off watching the Camp Crame grounds slid past behind. We hovered at 500 ft. heading above Pasig and watched the Sunday activities at the churches that we passed below unfolding. Turning right on our course at the coast of Laguna de Bay a kilometer from the shore, we passed the coastal areas of Imus and Gen. Trias as thin rainshowers poured. The rain was advancing in density as we reached the borderline separating Cavite and Laguna. Worse, a cloud cover blinded us along our flightpath at 1,000 ft. in reaching Los Baños. Have I taken my informal farewell in mind to exit from my boring life before I took the flight? I couldn’t fully remember, but I have no regrets to leave a bunch of laundry and a few unpaid debts for the world to settle. 150 thousand from Armed Forces and Police Savings and Loans Association, Inc. (AFPSLAI) and another 150 thousand from the Air Materiel Wing Savings and Loans Association, Inc.(AMWSLAI) notwithstanding, my biological death isn’t such a complete loss exempting me from my life’s accountabilities, just in case. The Man was a man of few words who doesn’t wish to utter a word in flight. A complete contrast to the strong willed person I have seen talk in TV with the typical lines, “The PNP and other concerned government agencies are doing their share and we have the issue under control.” But here he is talking to me in the midst of a cloud formation on an average tone of uncertainty owing to the zero visibility that engulfed the flying tin can we’re strapped in. May bagyo ba?, Secretary Jose D. Lina asked, closing his mouth to my left ear. It was a kind of brotherly conversation inherent for two human beings in a life and death situation, Wala naman po sir, low pressure lang. Then the silence between us seemed to have been lifted with added cooling effect inside the cabin. We kept advancing through a blanket of pure white in the last 5 minutes with slight rainshowers splashing by the windshield. Worse comes to worst, I’m anticipating a thud at a fraction of a second before an explosion to kingdom come, then presumably, a lighter sense of being, an ultimate freedom from too much politics in the flesh. I saw the Man keeping himself busy reading a gospel book at the title page of a chapter which reads, “The Key to Righteousness”, and I was  relieved of my initial worries. Dying beside a righteous one is the next thing to a peaceful death. I could still sense the G-force gluing my back on the cushioned seat as the pilot gets an even grip to pull the collective, speeding our climb at 2,000 ft. The cloud cover thinned out to reveal the rising sun at our altitude and we found a hole out of the white mess finding our course somewhere at San Pablo, Laguna. We made a descent and leveled in sight of an expanse of open land area marked by towering coconut trees and a number of rectangular buildings reminding me of a concentration of poultry farms. There were still occasional rain showers at every distance of the way that found its entry through the gaping bleed air opening beside the pilot, getting me cold out of hunger and my numbing butt against the seat. Boredom and the urge to sleep advanced to swallow my thinking. We reached the tip of the land mass we’re passing through and flown above Sariaya, Quezon. We headed above Lucena and crossed the calm sea near Pagbilao Island maintaining 800 ft. altitude a distance from the coastline. It was my 2nd flight above water having been reminded of our flight to Corregidor Island at the middle of May, 2001. The exhilaration brought by the experience was spellbinding which activated my wakefulness. At 0725H, the average morning light as reflected against the calm waters with the view of the coastline was a marvel in the eyes. Hand paddled fishermen’s boats were scattered a distance from the other with a crew on each back taking the day’s catch. The sea floor reflected by crystal, blue-green waters show corals and white sand, with occasional school of fishes playing against the tide. There was absolute serenity in view, something pristine, primitive, and uncorrupted. Whatever corruption maybe in sight at that very moment of time and tide were contained on a flying tin can skimming above the pure one, with six personalities on board, we have corruption contained within. But who could better tell who indicates the most? We were 6 flesh bound souls from the National Capital who have reacted to the issues of criminality and disorder in whole or in part. We have heard and had been subjected to the progress of public unrest reacting to the issues of everyday at the rising costs of living. With robberies and killings gracing the pages of tabloids, with government authorities tolerating bribes and abusing key positions to earn commissions in business dealings, we were the civilized representation of corruption. We may not have a direct hand with its proliferation but we have an indirect link with sheer acts of oversight. Then here we are, like ambassadors of goodwill, charting our course against the weather trying to find our way to a less corrupted place. It’s ironic to pretend we were bringing hope in the eyes of local folks awaiting our arrival. How could we pretend to bring salvation at our destination where we haven’t done a bit to make a better place out of our point of origin? I’m just a flight crew aboard and I could merely confine my opinion for the thinking.

Paradise Lost
     We had been cruising above seawater for 30 minutes, many times I observed the pilots taking out and putting back the navigation map at the side pocket pouch of their seats corroborating our route. For sometime, I almost thought they have lost the reference point unknowing where we were heading. Right in the middle of nowhere, you couldn’t exchange a moment’s excitement for disorientation. With the scope of the open sea and a stretch of uncharted land from shore, a rescue would be a reverie. Sitting pretty on the ground, with anxiety building up out of an empty pocket, a combination of numbers could give hope with a bet in the lottery. In moments of danger, numbers define your limitations. There’s safety at the continuous hum of a single turbine with the restless flapping of the rotors rotating at an average 380 Revolutions Per Minute (RPM).  With 540 liters of fuel inside the fuel tank and a 3 hour range, we barely had an hour and 20 mins left.  But wait, have I stowed in the LPU? Then I realized late the sum of all my fears, we’re fresh sardines in a motorized tin can awaiting a smooth landing on dry ground or a drift down a salty abyss. The landing skid of the helicopter isn’t equipped with a flotation gear in the exigency of an engine failure. Then consider this, there wasn’t a single lifejacket on board. The Life Preserver Units (LPU) was hanging loosely on the storage back at the hangar. I kept my personal guilt of bearing laxity on my safety list when I caught the familiar conical profile of a mountain range on the left side of the windshield. I lately learned it was Mt. Isarog, a prominent landmark that showed our way 10 minutes to our landing site. Balatan  is a word which doesn’t ring much attention to me. How it earned a name on the map was a blessing which had kept its mountains covered, its rivers clear and its people hospitable. Our arrival at the area was a local folk’s dream, something close to the Battleship Enterprise crashlanding on an uncharted planet. We coasted and patterned our descent at the local dock where few fishermen’s boats were anchored.  It was a small fisherman’s village, the houses far apart each other in contrast to a concentration of squatter’s shanties sprouting at every untended space all over the Metropolis. I was expecting our landing on a cemented ground of a town plaza until I saw a patch of clear, grassy field with a makeshift helipad marked by a big letter “H”. We lost airspeed, hovered for a landing and settled on the ground. I opened up the cabin door for the Secretary to get off while noting the time on my wristwatch at 0750H. The smell of the fresh grass was a relief from the rigors of self-reflection on a confined space at the span of an hour and 40 minutes. Bands played, firecrackers exploded. The guest of honor found his way escorted by local officials with the accompaniment of trumpets and xylophones played by sexy majorettes. I made a 360˚visual of the aircraft and checked the fuel gauge indicating we have used half of our fuel load. I installed the cockpit cover and secured the doors and windows. I took the keys inside my flying suit pocket and left the chopper meeting the local tanods  in uniform rolling 3 drums of Jet A-1 fuel. I assisted in rolling 2 drums within safe distance of the helicopter and left the aircraft at the lookout of SAF troopers in brown fatigue uniform. The pilots waved at me to join them for breakfast. We nestled on a shed near a house within visual range of the aircraft and ate a packed meal. We have just emptied the contents of the styropack inside our stomach when a guide called for us to join at the dining table inside the municipal hall as per instruction from the RD. Just by then, without much expectation for a hearty meal, we were again figured for another fill. We passed a blanket of uniformed Police and Army personnel mixed with the local folks and sexy majorettes with the typical white colored uniform showing bare  legs above the knee. I haven’t felt such a feeling of being out of place exemplarily dressed in flying suit with everybody looking until then. It was a typical odd feeling close to what Spock  may have felt wearing the Star Trek uniform walking in downtown Manhattan. The municipal building was an average sized 2-storey edifice that was halfway finished lacking the furnishings. It justifies the state of an uncorrupted town whose limited income keeps its environment and people well within tolerable ends. We brushed shoulders with the local folks squeezing through the crowd in finding our way to the dining room inside the building. Entering the room at the far end of the hallway, we saw the Secretary seated on the center table beside the RD who used to be our GD. The latter waved for us to find our place on the vacant seats. We found 3 empty seats and seated side by side each other. It was my first recorded cross-country flight to join an unexpected festivity 170 nm from our point of origin. Pork mechado, menudo, adobo and everything possible out of a pig menu were layed out on a long table before the local officials and guests who have already done eating. I was perspiring inside the crowded room devoid of the ventilation with the late morning sun heating my back against the open window. With all the available cholesterol-rich, greasy delicasies, I was having the hard time to satisfy my appetite with the rest of the guests watching.

There’s the Rub
     Lateral Entry  are 2 words which gives me a dose of embarrassment unlike any other words in the English Dictionary. It opens up a window in my past that brought the RD and me together. I could still recall in detail how I was dressed in the traditional blue GOA uniform, all 9 of us aspirants for the rank of Police Inspector in a quota for 4 Aircraft Maintenance Officers (AMO) way back in ‘99. We were facing a final deliberation board inside a disclosed room at NHQ, Camp Crame made up of the top brass of the service, the RD among them. There was a question and answer portion regarding personal and aviation related subjects where all of us were being graded. Each of us was facing a desktop microphone where each has the turn to speak up. To speak, one has to turn the button on and have it off afterwards. My only memory of the RD was a gesture of concern to turn off the microphone after I have spoken, a member of the board boasted about disqualifying anybody who forgot to turn off the microphone.  Whatever transpired at that undertaking however was suggestive of the TV Gameshow on Channel 13 “The Weakest Link”. I’ve underestimated the scope of the saying that goes, “It’s not what you know but whom you know”. As for me, it was a sad fate to have succumbed into the truth of the saying. We finished eating and the flash in my memory extinguished itself. We stood up with a word to the RD for our return at the chopper for the gas up. Still, it was amusing to survive in a future time and meet people that remind you of disasters and tragedies.  We returned at the chopper when the sun has climbed above the horizon at the top of its rays heating up the curious folks milling around the aircraft. Mostly boys and girls at the tender age of curiosity, they have gathered around the chopper and touched the fuselage, whatever part they could get a hold on and leave fingerprints. I have done less effort to scold them for they are noted recidivists. Taking them within safe distance, I took the gas pump inside the cargo hatch and prepared for the gas up. I cleaned the top of the drum and took an open wrench inside the toolbox teamed up with a screw driver that opened the drum’s lid. PSI Macawili assisted in the installation of the gas pump tubing and we took our turns holding the end of the hose by the tank opening and operating the pump while PSI Martin was standing watch. We had transferred the contents of a drum in time to accomplish the task before lunch. I was left behind the aircraft to stand watch for the rest of the morning sitting by the grasses with the SAF troopers at the shade of the tail boom. We watched the local photographer feasting to take photographs with the majorettes using the chopper as a backdrop. I was reminded of my first sight of a helicopter when I was 8. I used to be in grade 2 when I managed to go to town with my late mother taking her office as the Local Government Officer (LGO) under the former DLGCD. It was the eve of the town fiesta at Patnoñgon so with the current solons of  the time as guests, I chanced upon the landing of the former Ambassador Roberto S. Benedicto’s chopper in the middle of the Central Elementary School’s plaza. It was a Bell 206 Jetranger as I could make out from my memory. And it was the first time that I have drawn a helicopter out of curiosity as I was lured to smuggle an intermediate pad and pen way back at my mother’s office and sketch the thing resting on the grass. Barely 2 decades hence, I may have been short of winning a political seat to win a lift in a government aircraft but I still had my seat owing to my assignment. My mother would have been amused seeing me share a seat with the Secretary while I’m working in her old Department.

Back to the Future
     We took off at 1215H after taking our lunch at the area. The town Mayor along with the PD and RD escorted the Secretary a distance away from the helicopter and I made to stand beside the aircraft for the closing of the door. There were the final words from the Secretary as he was seated on his seat aboard the aircraft being interviewed by this radio announcer from a local radio station that had me waiting for sometime. Then he made the final wave of goodbye prompting me to face the farewell party to render a fine salute to the local folks and the RD. There was something about the hospitality and the story that I owe them. I closed the door behind me after I’ve cleared the aircraft for engine start. 170nm from graceland, the igniter(spark plug) have not missed a crank. Seated beside the Secretary, I watched the ground recede from view as the main rotors spin clockwise into a blur. I waved to the SAF troopers on the grandstand for the security accorded not forcing me to the extent of pulling my issued .38 cal. special out of the toolbox. We made a bank and did a pass in front of the municipal hall where I realized the crowd and the festivity shrinking into the like of a tea party. We made our way back by the coastline in the light of the afternoon sun filtered by the occasional wisps of low level clouds that matched our altitude at 800 ft. I have observed the “rainbow effect phenomena” as we cruised within a cloud formation that appeared close like a fine mist. The misty wisps of low level clouds acted as giant lens that caused the reflection, refraction and diffraction of the sun rays that accounted for the visual effect. I took shots of that episode in my camera hopeful that the lens caught the details of a pot of gold at the end of the bow to give light to that age old myth. The coastline, the islands, the floating clouds, the blue sea reflecting the shadow of the flying tin we’re in were natural wonders that kept my focus. If you had been there you never intend to miss a blink. Slight rain showers caught us as we were heading by the mainland off Lucena. There was that cloud cover soaking the tip of Mt. Banahaw reminiscent of a backdrop scene in Highlander where you will see how the earth meets sky while the immortals walk the earth. Then everything was just a rewind that brought us back to civilization. We landed at Camp Crame at 1355H in the afternoon and we left the Secretary reunited with his waiting security. Our flight back at station was a relief and I made to empty my camera with the last images along our pattern for landing. The hangar was a serene place to be on a Sunday afternoon as we touched the ground. I entered Operations and pressed no. 13 on the keypad of the fax phone at radio room and was connected to Petron for the gas-up. I fulfilled the refueling for the day at the arrival of the gas truck. The fuel level reached the maximum capacity of the aircraft’s fuel tank and I watched as the dials of the gas metering device froze to 397 liters while I eased my hold on the fuel nozzle press against the chopper’s tank opening. I realized those were the last number combinations that concluded my luck as I closed the tank lid. We towed the helicopter back at the hangar at the mid afternoon. There and then, the post flight inspection seemed the hardest thing to do. Thanks to my buddy in the flight detail who did the hard work for me. All the while, have I told about how I got a violet paper thing inside my pocket? With a share for my colleague and a cut for the day’s duty, the pilots have sworn about my luck that didn’t ended the day empty. 

Of Words and Numbers
     Maybe God do take some bargain making wishes come true but short of the exact specifications. Maybe I’m running out of time failing to find my luck in the life game of words and numbers. I still had my old rank ever since I’ve joined that game show or rather, panel interview I mean. I have contained my chagrin when I’ve watched the new officers arrive at the Unit sporting up their Anahaw leaves by the shoulder. Well, as if I didn’t know what transpired behind closed doors. I was back with my colleagues pushing tin. In the unit, officers vindicate themselves from pushing and towing aircrafts to the flight line. They stand there at the corner of the hangar on there own initiative to keep themselves busy, or making orders that would keep somebody busy. Unless you’re a pilot, you have a wholesome time to enjoy every flight schedules. But sometimes the airworthiness of aircrafts deny that.  As for me, I had as many flights as I did months after that “game show”. Following a full time designation as a helicopter crew/mechanic, I had been reunited with my dreams. A crew/mechanic’s job was a non-officer’s task so there’s the balance when I see officers staring bored and jealous when I took my flight schedules at the break of dawn and when I arrive late from the day’s flight mission. Last but not the least; nobody would expect me writing if I didn’t enjoy it the least. There’s indeed salvation in a group of words and my fate had brought me into it. Perhaps I could live a lifetime taking a bet on the National Lottery and never find the luck to take my winnings. But there’s always a good story to collect behind it, Mary Higgins Clark proved it. On the other hand, there’s every day’s flight and what has yet to be written. Could you imagine the cost of chartering a helicopter just to get a feel of the experience and tell something about it? Once in my life, I could simply be amused for having been cheated and there was that familiar line which seemed to provide some sense of fairness.  “According to statistics you are not the weakest link but as it was decided by the votes, you are the weakest link. Goodbye.”

                                                                                                                                                          E N D

Acronyms used in the story:

DAP : Domestic Airport
A/C : Aircraft
PD  : Provincial Director,PNP
RD  : Regional Director, PNP
GD  : Group Director, National Support Unit of PNP as Aviation Security Group
PAGASA :Philippine atmospheric geophysical and Astronomical Services Administration
LPU : Life Preserver Unit, a counterpart of lifejackets in ships
GOA : General Officer's Attire, refers to blue uniform of the PNP
DLGCD : Department of Local Government and Community Development, now DILG
SAF : Special Action Force, a national support unit of the PNP    NHQ, National Headquarters   

EARTH TREK/12/17/01
2246H  PNP AU

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