THE MISADVENTURES OF JETHRO P. SUGGINS, SSGT, USAF

Episode 2

(Wherein our hero feeds the hungry)

The door should have been locked. It was always locked, except today. The shift supervisor had called in sick and temporary help forgot to lock the door. That's how Henry and Edgar got out. In no time, they were miles away. It's not that they were really dangerously crazy. They had been committed to the mental institution at Northern State because of "unusual neurotic behavior." But now they were free and while enjoying this breath of liberty, they came to a high fence. It had a sign nearby that read, "U.S. Government Installation - Keep Out - Security Line Badge Required - Violators Will Be Prosecuted - By Order of the Commander."

Henry and Edgar had learned long ago to ignore signs. They seldom knew what the fancy words on the signs meant anyway. With a deftness that would have made Rambo proud, they were up and over the fence. The U.S. Air Force Security Police or S.P.'s would have normally spotted them right away, but an accident at the opposite end of the flightline had most of the security units busy.

It was 1:30 AM and Henry and Edgar were getting to stay up much later than usual. Even though the steady wind was January cold, all the lights and sights and sounds of a big Air Force airport, at night, were fascinating to them. It was during all this that they happened to wander out of the darkness into the artificial light of a monstrous C-141 that was boarding passengers, bound for sunny Hawaii. The airport bus, loaded with travelers, had just arrived and they were beginning to climb the steps that lead into the big jet. An airport security escort was having an argument with the crew chief over how many seats had been installed in the aircraft, that usually carried mostly cargo.

It was during this discussion that our two fugitives joined the end of the passenger line, unnoticed. As the stowaways got on board the security escort blurted out to the crew chief, "You're two seats short. These passengers at the end of the line have no place to sit."

The crew chief, Sgt Taylor, was by now looking very bewildered. He was newly assigned to his current job and unsure of his ability. "I don't see how, but I guess I miscounted. Won't take but a minute to put in two more seats. Come on Airman Evans, give me a hand."

While the seats were installed, Henry and Edgar praised the special treatment they were receiving. "We haven't ever had anybody wait on us like this before!" beamed Edgar.

"Yeah, and this is sure a whopper of an airplane. Are you this kind to everyone?" asked Henry to the crew chief.

"We do our best to serve our passengers sir." bragged Sgt Taylor, feeling suddenly important. "Here you go, your seat is all prepared. Sit down and make yourself comfortable."

"Thanks!" Henry and Edgar said in unison.

Meanwhile, at the opposite end of the flightline, Jethro P. Suggins was smack dab in the middle of an engine change. It had been a few weeks since he accidently blew away a flight crew that had walked behind his aircraft's jet wash exhaust. He'd finally talked his way out of that one, at least to his superiors, and he was trying to keep a low profile. I don't need the spotlight on me for a long while, he thought and I mean to keep it that way.

Suddenly the voice of the shift chief, MSgt Salazar, rang out, "Hey J.P., dispatch just called. We got a #3 engine bleed valve stuck on the passenger ramp, J-7, aircraft #0018. It's due for engine start any minute. Take the truck and get your buns over there, pronto!"

"Now Sarge, why doesn't the dadburn launch truck cover that? That's his territory! Besides, you know that when they say "engine bleed valve" stuck that it can't be a jet engine problem, especially when the engine isn't even running yet! That's the pylon bleed valve, the one that let's air to the engine and that's A.R.U.'s job!" shouted J.P. (A.R.U. was Aircraft Repair Unit, which were those jobs attached as crew chief specialist tasks.) "Not only that, but I gotta get this engine changed!"

"Look, Suggins, launch truck is already covering another red ball. (Red ball was the name for emergency.) Dispatch wants you there in case it isn't A.R.U.'s problem and the rest of the crew here can take care of the engine change till you get back. Now quit jawing before you get my backside in a sling," Salazar scolded.

Complaining and muttering all the way, SSgt J.P. Suggins climbed down off the yellow B-4 scissors ladder stand, that extended up to the jet engine on the wing. With his toolbox in hand, he headed for the truck. Trouble with this man's Air Force, he thought, was that there was never enough mechanics to cover all the jobs. We're always so short handed that we gotta play these silly games. How does the saying go? Never time to do it right, but always time to do it over.

Stretching the flightline speed limit a little and watching out for S.P.s who were known to dish out speeding tickets, J.P. headed for aircraft #0018. In short order he arrived, parked the truck and fought thru the crowd of passengers, mechanics (properly called technicians, to make them feel more important), and flightcrew to get to the aircraft discrepancy logbook forms, located in the aircraft flight deck (kind of like a huge cockpit). The forms always had to be checked first to discover the exact nature of the write-up or discrepancy and to make sure no other specialists would be endangered by his working in areas adjacent to them. Finding the write-up to be as told him by his shift chief, he headed for the #3 engine, only to be met by the crew chief, coming up the stairs of the flight deck.

"Hey Suggins!" said the frazzled Sgt Taylor. "You can probably rest easy. I think the #3 pylon bleed valve is the problem, but dispatch wants you to stand by till launch, in case the problem changes. Why don't you stay inside with the passengers, where it's warm?"

"I won't argue with that," said Suggins. "It's colder than my wife's feet on a winter day out there!" J.P. tried to get as comfortable as possible near a heater vent when he noticed he was being watched by one of the passengers.

"Did I hear the sound of a south Georgia accent just now?" Edgar commented.

"Why, tarnation, if this don't beat all! Edgar Peabody! What in the world are you a doin" here? I ain't heard nothin' bout you since your Daddy ran off with the preacher's wife!" said a very surprised Suggins. J.P. loved people, expecially old friends from back home. He had always thought that Edgar, however, and in fact, Edgar's whole family, was kind of strange, something about inbreeding, but he tried to be a friend to everyone.

"I knowed it was you J.P.! Meet my pal Henry. He and I are headed for Hawaii, with all these folks, on this fine aereoplane!" spoke Edgar jubilantly. "I only got one regret, though. I'm starving! When do they feed us around here?"

J.P. gave a smile to Henry, who weakly smiled back, acting as though he was very sleepy. All this excitement had come way past his bedtime. "If you're hungry, why don't you eat from your flight lunch?" asked J.P. Some of the passengers were already snacking from the loaf of bread size, white boxes that the crew chief had distributed.

"We didn't get no flight lunch." Edgar said innocently.

"What! You're a manifested passenger on a Military Airlift Command flight and you have no flight lunch?" scoffed Suggins. "Why that's pure horse feathers! I'll be right back!" In a flash, our hero was out the door and down the ramp. He went to ask the crew chief why two passengers had no flight lunches but he quickly saw that Sgt Taylor was super busy getting the pylon bleed valve replaced, so he yelled that he was running to the flight kitchen to get a couple lunches and he drove off in a flurry.

The smell of other passengers snacking on food made Edgar even more hungry. He knew Suggins had gone for two lunches, even though Henry was dozing. If Henry wasn't hungry, Edgar was ready to eat both the meals. He knew J.P. would be back soon, so in the mean time, he decided to wander around the aircraft and investigate, to take his mind off eating, just till Suggins returned. His little walk brought him up the ladder to the flight deck where passengers were not permitted. At first, the flight crew member didn't notice Edgar right behind him, in all the commotion of preparing for flight. "What's this switch for?" Edgar said as he cranked the APU (Auxiliary Power Unit) fuel start and ignition switch to the "on" position.

"Hey, what are you doing?" shouted the flight engineer. "you're not allowed in here! The APU was a standby miniature jet engine that was used as a power backup, should external power from a ground cart, not be available. The engineer quickly turned the APU switch back off.

"Do you you could have killed someone just then?" said the engineer. APU exhaust could badly burn someone walking by. The APU exhaust area has to be checked to make sure no one is in the vicinity before it can be properly started. What are you doing up here anyway?" Edgar didn't like to be scolded. That's how they treated him at Northern State.

Edgar said nothing but reached for the switch again. The engineer immediately grabbed Edgar's arm and a struggle ensued. The burly engineer was finally forced to push Edgar, who was screaming and kicking by now, to the floor. The noise brought attention and two more crew members helped hold Edgar down, while the S.P.s were called. Security was just putting hancuffs on Edgar as Suggins arrived with two flight lunches.

"You know this man Suggins?" said the security policeman.

"Yeah, sure." answered J.P., beginning to feel embarrassed. "He's from my hometown. What's he done?"

"We just discovered that this guy and his friend over there are not even on the flight manifest." He then explained to Suggins what Edgar had done in the flight deck. "You'd better come with us to the security confinement area, J.P. and explain yourself."

For the next hour, Suggins attempted to free himself from all guilt in the matter, telling his side of the story. Finally, J.P. was released to the custody of his boss, MSgt Salazar.

"What are you doing with two flight lunches, Suggins?" asked Salazar. You must be awfully hungry."

"Actually, I've lost my appetite," said J.P., too emotionally drained to explain.