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And one beam of light is falling
From a single crazy eye
And it sweeps the inside sky
From east to right
Flaming heart burning out
The Meat Puppets
The atmosphere inside the cockpit was becoming apprehensive, the red glow from the instrument panel was the only illumination, outside it was completely black and if it wasn't for the increasing patter of rain on the perspex windshield and the ominous bursts of lightning on the horizon, the cocoon like environment inside the plane would have felt safe and re-assuring. As it was, it was time to make decisions, I had two increasingly nervous student pilots in the small Cessna with me, we were headed straight for what seemed to be an un-interrupted line of thunderstorms which, given more sophisticated equipment, we probably could have threaded our way through. A kick in the balls from Tank Girl will feel like a tickle compared to the hammering the occupants of a small plane will get should they venture into Mother Nature's fiercest tantrum. Thunderstorms take no prisoners, venture into the wrong one and it'll rip the wings off the mightiest airplane, spit it out and hurl you to your doom in some lonely, anonymous corn field.
It would have been about two years ago now, I was working as a flight instructor in Southern Louisiana and we were returning from Birmingham AL. to our home airport, St. John Parish airport about 30 miles west of New Orleans. The trip had proved very useful so far, Lennen one of my students had to go there on business, so we decided to turn the trip into a cross country navigation exercise, Lennen had flown the leg to Birmingham, Dennis, my other student was flying the return leg. I had been pleased with their performances in the frenetic airspace around Birmingham, the only problem came on the way up when, after a couple of hours in the air, Dennis's bladder threatened to explode like a water balloon dropped from thirty floors.
So now we were somewhere over southern Mississippi with what seemed like an impenetrable line of thunderheads in front us, I asked the others what they would do if they were on their own, they both agreed they'd be looking for somewhere to land and wait the weather out. So be it, I told them to find a suitable airport. Charts were produced and Lennen gave Dennis a heading to fly. Before too long we were on final approach to a small airport near Columbia MS. in deepest darkest Mississippi. Dennis made a good landing and we secured the plane.
It was there the real fun started. We walked across the ramp towards the terminal building to look for some bods but the whole place was shut up tight. We made the decision to stay the night here and head back in the morning, hoping the shit would clear by then. We found a phone and as Dennis tried to call a cab (a rare commodity in these backwaters) I heard this mad zinging noise zoom over my head What the...!? Dennis hung the phone up and looked around, then PPZZZING! PPZZZING! Goddamn! he said Those are bullets man! We stood there for a second and then Dennis legged it around the side of the building with us not far behind. We peeked out from behind the building and could see a search light roving around in our general direction followed by a couple of more gunshots. Gulp! here we were in deepest darkest Mississippi being shot at by blood thirsty rednecks with no teeth. At this point I had convinced myself that we had flown into our very own version of Deliverance. While the other two debated what to do I babbled on about making a run for the plane and getting the fuck out of there. However, the shots had stopped and the spotlight had gone out. While I rattled on about the rednecks moving around to outflank us, Dennis crawled back to the phone and crouched on the ground reaching up to dial 911. When he came back I was now positive the bastards were moving in on us, their infra red scopes were probably trained in on us and there were bullets in the breach with our names scratched on them; we would be slaughtered like dogs on this stinking night in Mississippi Burningville.
My hysteria peaked and then subsided when a cop car showed up within a few minutes. You boys awlraight?, what in hell's been goin' on? As we told our story a Game Warden (animal cop) showed up, he told us to cool it, these guys were probably shooting at deer which are known to hang around by the airport. We pointed to where the shots had come from and he went off for a look, coming back after a few minutes with a load of empty rifle shells in his hand. I began to realise how poor old Bambi must have felt.
Sheriff Buford T. Justice gave us a lift to a motel and sent the Game Warden after the shooters. If getting shot at wasn't enough we had landed in one of the many dry counties in Mississippi, so a desperate search for some alcohol to settle our (my) jangled nerves ensued. When we did find some I was babbling about never setting foot in Mississippi again and generally making a big meal out of the whole affair. In the sanctuary of the motel room the thin alcoholic haze calmed me down and the others called their families to let them know where they were. Next day we skulked back to the airport and got the hell out of there. As the ground dropped away from us I looked around furtively, scanning the terrain for muzzle flashes, hopefully the Dukes of Hazzard were at home munchin' on biscuits and gravy and not waiting in the bushes with some home brew missile launcher.
On reflection Dennis and Lennen had stayed pretty cool throughout the whole thing, they seemed more relieved that we hadn't pressed on into the stormy night sky, shit, they'd rather have dodged bullets than dodge thunderstorms!! For all her vices, I for one would rather have had it out with old Ma Nature than do battle with moonshine crazed rednecks who may or may not have been shooting at deer, but then again I'm not that fond of corn fields either.
The Levithan.
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