A Time for Patriots Read Free

smile.
    â€œYou mean the diaper, Dad! I’m not wearing a diaper!”
    â€œThe astronauts wear them, and you want to be a Space Defense Force astronaut, right?”
    â€œWhen I have to do a four-hour space walk, then I’ll wear it,” Jeremy said.
    â€œAll right, all right,” Kara said with growing impatience. “If you make a skid mark in your pants, let’s hope your grandparents don’t see it. Pick up your stuff and let’s go.”
    It took another few minutes for Jeremy to collect his stuff. While he waited, Frank took his iPhone out of his pocket and punched up an app that downloaded NexRad radar images. He immediately saw the line of thunderstorms that had been forecast, and noted they were farther north than anticipated.
    â€œHow’s it look?” Kara asked.
    â€œMean and nasty—we’ll definitely have to deviate around them to the north,” her husband replied. He was suddenly very anxious to get going, so he skipped his intended bathroom visit. “C’mon, guys, we need to go,” he urged his family. Soon they were on their way to the plane, the boy’s hands filled with stray colored pencils.
    Outside they were greeted with brilliant sunshine, a welcome change to the past two days of booming thunderstorms and swirling winds. Frank noted that the wind was from the southwest and breezy on occasion, which would mean a slight crosswind takeoff, but nothing he couldn’t handle. In minutes, he started the Cessna 182 Skylane’s engine, received his IFR clearance and taxi clearance from Elko Ground Control, and was soon on his way, splashing through a few large puddles, taxiing a little bit faster than he normally did in order to get airborne as quickly as possible.
    There was no one else in the pattern or on the taxiways. Frank did a hurried run-up check of the magnetos, then hustled through the rest of the checklist. “Everyone ready to go?” he asked over the intercom.
    â€œReady, Dad!” Jeremy replied enthusiastically.
    â€œI’m ready,” Kara replied, turning and checking to be sure her son’s seat belt was tight.
    â€œHere we go.” He pressed the microphone button: “Elko Tower, Cessna Two-Eight-Three-Four Lima, number one, runway two-three, ready to go,” he radioed.
    â€œCessna Two-Eight-Three-Four Lima, Elko Tower, runway two-three, cleared for takeoff.”
    â€œThree-Four Lima, cleared for takeoff, runway two-three.” Frank taxied onto Runway 23, and instead of locking the brakes, running the engine up to full power, and then releasing the brakes, he kept on rolling, then applied full power as he turned onto the runway centerline. The engine smoothly roared to full power, and the four-seat Cessna responded as spritely as ever, accelerating quickly . . .
    . . . except there was a sharp banging sound on the left side of the plane, from the direction of the left main gear tire, getting louder and louder as he accelerated. “What the . . . something’s wrong,” Frank muttered, and he jerked the throttle lever to idle.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Kara asked, the concern evident in her voice. “What’s going on, Frank?”
    â€œWhy are we stopping, Dad?” Jeremy asked.
    â€œSterile cockpit, guys, remember—no talking until level-off except for an emergency,” Frank said. He pressed the mike button: “Elko Tower, Three-Four Lima is aborting the takeoff, possible flat tire.”
    â€œRoger, Three-Four Lima,” the tower controller said. “Cancel takeoff clearance, turn right at the next taxiway, and contact Ground.”
    â€œThree-Four Lima, wilco.”
    â€œHey, Dad?”
    â€œI said no talking, Jeremy.”
    â€œBut, Dad . . . ?”
    â€œThis better be important, Jeremy!”
    â€œI think it’s your seat belt, Dad. Something’s hanging out of the plane.” The pilot looked out his