SPECIAL DELIVERY

December 26th, 2003 was not a good day to travel from Logan, Utah to Fountain, Colorado. There was a terrible winter storm dropping large, fluffy flakes. Visibility was very poor, the road conditions were worse than frightful and worse yet, the storm was heading east and would follow us the whole trip. Nevertheless, our son Dan and his wife Stephanie had to get back home before his leave time ran out.

Dan was an officer in the Air Force, stationed in Colorado and his wife was large with their first child. I had been elected to help them make the trip by following them in our vehicle and by carrying some of their belongings. My biggest fear, even scarier than breaking down in the storm, was that Steph would have the baby before we got there and before we could get to a hospital that could help her. Her due date was the early part of February of 2004 and she had contemplated not coming along, but instead, flying home.

Nevertheless, after consulting with her doctor, she decided she would be fine. My wife, Jean, a registered nurse, with a BSN in nursing, had given me careful instructions on how to deliver a baby in an automobile and also had handed me an emergency first aid book to help me remember the most important details of the procedure.

We began our white knuckled excursion and I had some bad forebodings about our likelihood of getting to their home without some serious problems. Dan could see thru the snow, better than I could and drove faster than I felt was safe, but I had to keep up, for fear of losing him thru the fog and blizzard. We had cell phones to communicate and when we stopped for gasoline Dan would say things like, "Ah Dad, it's not so bad." Steph would comment, "Was it bad? Guess I didn't notice, I was sleeping."

Later, on several occasions, the visibility was so lousy, that on a three lane highway, all three lanes heading roughly east, we could not tell where the lanes were. Snow plows had not yet reached many of the highways that we traveled and it was particularly treacherous thru Vail, Colorado. I pictured our vehicles going off the edge of a cliff, but God protected us despite my misgivings.

When we finally reached Peterson Air Force Base, (AFB) outside of Fountain, late at night, I heaved a sigh. All three of us stayed in temporary billets at Peterson. After a short sleep night, morning broke and we headed for fast food at a local drive-in on base and then went to wash the cars that were covered with road grime. About half way thru the hand washing car wash, Steph let out a yell. I figured she was joking, since she was usually so quiet and uncomplaining.

I turned to look at her and she said to her husband, "I think my water just broke." I thought...well that's OK, we're not on the highway in the middle of a blizzard anymore. My emergency procedure medical book tells me that the average woman gives birth between six to eight hours after her water breaks. I told this to Steph and her reply was a high pitched, frantic scream, "I'm not average, my mom delivered all of us within 20 minutes of her water breaking! I feel like this baby wants to come NOW!!

We finished washing the cars immediately and Dan began frantically looking thru a Peterson AFB phone book for a map. Steph began some rather loud moans and buried her head in Dan's shoulder. She was pre-registered at Fort Carson Army Hospital. None of us had any idea how far away Fort Carson was or where the hospital was located on the post. Dan suddenly tossed me the phone book and said, "Dad, find the number for Fort Carson Hospital!!"

I began frantically looking but with no success and finally, Dan blurted out..."Nevermind, I'll call the Peterson 911!" We had parked near the front gate of this tiny AFB and we were suddenly met by one huge Air Force Fire Truck, an Air Force Ambulance and an Air Force Security Police Pickup Truck, all for one little baby!

The medics examined her and said, "She's right, the baby is almost here! Follow us in the ambulance!" Steph was with the medics, Dan parked their car and joined Steph and I followed the ambulance as we rushed down the highway with the sirens. On the way, we passed a sign that pointed to Fort Carson, the other way. I thought, are they lost? Where are they taking us? They had called ahead to a local civilian hospital that was authorized for emergency situations. Within ten minutes we were there and Dan motioned for me to go find a parking place while he went with Steph.

By the time I got the car parked and found labor and delivery, the baby had already been born. She had their child in record time! If her water had broke just a day earlier...I shudder at the thought. Keagan Ray, as of this writing, (Feb 2007) is a little over three years old, healthy and strong. His Dad, who also speaks French, communicates with him in that language. His mother speaks to him in English. He is growing up bilingual. Thank God for His mercies in allowing this special delivery to come forth in safety.

WHAT BUILDING IS THAT?


It was in August of 1967. I had just finished J-57 jet engine training school at Clovis AFB in New Mexico. My fellow Airman Second Class companion and I were on our way to Vietnam.
He had attended the same school as I and the U.S. Air Force was paying for our tickets on a five day bus ride to McChord AFB in Washington State, about 40 miles south of Seattle.

The bus stopped at every little town that had a bus station, along the way. There was no place to shower or change our clothes and under military instructions, we were obligated to wear our uniforms for the entire trip. It was a long, boring ride and we slept in our bus seats when we got tired.

When we got into southern Utah, coming up thru Blanding, most of the country side looked bleak and dry. I had grown up all over the world, but spent much of my youth in southern California. The scenery was starkly disimilar. I vowed that I would never live in Utah. Little did I know of what future awaited me.

By the time we got to the outskirts of Salt Lake City, the traffic and people had increased significantly. When we pulled up to the Trailways Bus Station, we had to change buses and had about an hour layover. My companion and I looked across the street and said, almost in unison, "What building is that?" My Roman Catholic background told me that since there was no cross on the top of the structure, it had nothing to do with religion, but instead must be some sort of museum. We had the extra time, so we decided to walk across the street, to what I know now is Temple Square, and look around.

I had heard of Brigham Young and the pioneers, I had heard that he was a Mormon leader and had many wives, but more than that, I did not know. We gazed at the statues, we eyed the paintings, we wondered at the architecture, but we had no idea of what we were looking at. To me, it was kind of religious and yet I did not see one crucifix or statue of the Virgin Mary. It was not until we saw the Christus, that we realized that this was a Christian Church.

As we exited down the steps from there, we spied two young men in suits with name tags. One of them asked us, "So what did you think of the display upstairs?" We both commented that it was very beautiful and unlike anything we had ever seen before. My companion confessed no religious preference, whatever, in his background. "Would you like to sign our guest book so that if you have any questions later, we can answer them for you?" one of the missionaries said.
"No thanks, it's signing things that got us into the military on our way to Vietnam."

Our bus, by then, was about to leave, so we returned to the bus station, finally arrived at McChord AFB and departed for Vietnam a couple days later. I would probably never even remembered the episode had it not been for what happened later in summer of 1970. By then, I had survived Vietnam and was stationed at McChord. My brother had been discharged from the Marines and we were living in the Gateway Apartments, just outside McChord's main gate. We had met many females and my brother was dating seriously. We also lived next door to several single gals and they would drop by from time to time.

On one evening, my brother's girlfriend, Sharon, said she knew of a girl that would be just right for me and asked if I would like to meet her. I said that I would and after awhile this new girl, Jean, said she was a Mormon. I was surprised. "Just what do Mormons believe?" I said. She took out a little 13 Articles of Faith bookmark and guess what picture was on the opposite side of the wording? That's right. That special building that I had seen on my way thru Utah. The Salt Lake Temple.

Jean became my wife. I was baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in October of 1973 and we were sealed in the Logan Temple in 1974. In 1986 we moved to Utah and have lived here ever since. We have five children and lots of grandchildren and the Church and my God and my family are all rolled into one. I am extremely grateful for my membership in the Church. I do not believe that it was by accident that I saw Temple Square in 1967 or met my future wife afterwards, for those events have changed my life.

IT CAUGHT US BY SURPRISE

In March of 2000, we were working at a small hospital in the tiny town of Milford, Utah. My wife, Jean, was a nurse there and I worked as a hospital orderly, to be near her. Our five kids were finally raised and on their own. I had retired from the Air Force and we decided to explore southern Utah and combine new surroundings with our vocations.

A routine day began at 7AM as we walked across the street from our apartment, to the little country hospital. As we sat at shift turnover and began to listen to assignments, I started to feel dizzy, sweating profusely. The room felt like it was spinning. All of this came on suddenly, when just moments before, I felt perfectly normal.

The shift supervisor was speaking but I knew that if I didn't get some help right away, I would faint. I stumbled toward the nurse's station and I could see that the nurse behind the desk gave me a horrified look. "Bill...what is wrong?" she said. "Why are you sweating so?"

She immediately stopped what she was doing. I could barely speak. She thought I was having a heart attack and called for help to get me on a bed in the emergency room. I was really embarrassed to be taking her away from her work but now I was having trouble standing. If this would have happened at home, I would have never made it to the front door.

Brain fog began to set in with waves of nausea and sudden sharp, knife jab pains in my left side. I could see my good friend and doctor over me. He was asking me questions. "When did you eat last? What did you eat? Where is the pain?" More questions...now three nurses over me...one starting an IV...my wife inserting a urinary catheter...a blood sample being taken. The usual routine of our quaint facility was thrown off kilter...all to take care of me? I felt, as if, instead of being a help to all these professionals, I had suddenly become a burden. I wanted to get better instantly, so that they could carry on and help real patients, but it took all my strength to even lift my head up.

How could this be? I almost never got sick. I had gone from feeling fine, to feeling I would die, within seconds. I could see a morphine drip starting...I began to moan with awful, horrendous, gut wrenching pain...pain like I had never felt before. Someone was screaming, "Get the ambulance ready!! We need to take him to the Cedar City Hospital!" Mitch, the nurse anesthetist was suddenly in the ambulance with me saying..."Stay with me Bill...Talk to me....Stay awake!!" Fog...Fog...my blood pressure was dropping. We had played a board game at Mitch and his wife Larita's house, just days before. They had three terrific young kids. Mitch began administering medicine to bring up my blood pressure. The siren of the ambulance was wailing. Mitch was talking to my wife in hushed tones, about getting my blood pressure up. More sirens wailing...wailing...wailing.

It seemed only like moments later that we had traveled the 50 miles to Cedar City and there were two male LDS nurses, pronouncing a priesthood blessing, before I went into a coma. I was in and out of consciousness and heard something about he's got acute hemorrhagic pancreatitis and then it was black. I am told that days passed. Jean, stood over me saying something that has forever been burned in my memory. "William, don't you die on me!" I remember seeing my sister, Cheryl, our son, Scott, my brother, Bob, my brother-in-law, Jim and seeing again Jean...always Jean. I am so thankful they all took the trouble to be there. Some of them had traveled hundreds of miles. They were all talking about probate court and life insurance and someone said, "don't worry, he can't hear us, he's unconscious."

The worst of it was the nasal gastric or NG tube, that they used to empty my stomach. Medical care is generally very invasive and anytime you stick a long plastic tube, the size of your little finger up you nose and down to your stomach, it just can't be fun. This was done on at least two occasions while I was on seven liters of oxygen. Depending on the illness, the average patient may have one to three liters but seven is a bit much. I felt as though I was always on the verge of fainting for lack of air. Respiratory therapists visited me several times a day. Third spacing, or swelling, caused my testicles to enlarge to the size of grapefruit. Health care workers, not knowing this would say, "Come on Mr. Ray, let's sit up at the edge of the bed. They would then grab my arms and pull. My testicles would slid under me and the pain was unbelievable. Scott would prevent it from ever happening again.

My catheter was always in the way, being dropped or pulled or sticking on something. Bladder infections and bleeding from the entry site were common. After I was no longer NPO or nothing by mouth, I was put on liquids. Pictures taken of my insides were taken at least monthly in what is called a CT scan. This required I take this terrible tasting medicine that would color my insides and make for a better picture. I had to drink at least a litre of the stuff and then be hauled down to the CT room, on the other side of the hospital, with all my tubes and oxygen and feeders attached. They would lay me down flat in a chamber and feelings of claustrophobia were enormous. Scott helped me do all this without one word of complaint, on his part.

Days went by and I realized that Scott, living in Washington State, had stayed behind, took leave from the U.S Navy, left his wife & family and began to wait on me, totally. He would sleep in a broken down chair by my bed, tell the nurses when my liquid food (TPN - $600.00 a shot) was empty, make sure I got my medicine, bathe me, change me, wait on me, bug the nurses and staff if something was not right. Intravenous (IVs ) were extremely hard to start because of all the swelling in my body and on one occasion, three nurses gave me over 50 sticks in both arms before they got the IV to start. I was later told that 95% of the patients with my condition never survive. One, because they do not get treatment in time and two, they require so much care that the average hospital has not enough staff to meet their needs.

Jean was constantly popping in and out to help, but after using her emergency leave time, she had to return to work in Milford. The miracle of my survival hinged on blessings from God, and the work and sacrifice of others. I have often thought..."Why was I allowed to survive? I am nobody special. I have been told, since then, that the sick are often kept alive by the righteous prayers of others. What made Scott so unbelievably loyal to me? I know of nothing I did to merit such treatment...and yet it was so and I am forever grateful.

After about a month, the worst of my condition had past and I began to mend. Third spacing of my body tissue had swelled me like a balloon but then I had lost about 60 pounds and was temporarily diabetic until, what was left of my pancreas, healed. Mistakes were made. Technicians shut off oxygen by mistake, thinking they had turned it up. I could only whisper at that point, having lost my voice thru the ordeal and tried to tell them of their mistake but was not heard. Scott, realizing what had happened, corrected the mistake and saved me from death by suffocation.

Finally, Scott was able to return to his family only to make a surprise return visit that same year in August, when I developed a pseudo cyst and ulcer and required an operation. Once again, Scott and his mother pulled me from the jaws of death. About one half of the year 2000, I was in to hospital. Now, seven years later, I take medication to control pancreatitis and must watch my diet for fat content. The average person has a triglyceride level in his blood of about 110 to 150. When the disease actually hit me in that Milford hospital, my triglycerides were over 2000. They could actually see the oil floating on top of my blood when they took that initial blood work.

In 1981 I had been warned, after a routine blood sample, that my triglycerides were a little high and that I should watch my fat intake to less than 50 grams of fat per day. My nurse wife had made doctor's appointments for me, on several occasions, for routine blood work, but I had canceled the appointments. After all, I didn't like needles. Brilliant. I figured, when I started to feel bad, I would back off on my fat intake...big mistake. I later discovered that my brothers have the same condition but were controlling it with medicine.

Today, my job is to chase about the house doing errands. Scott is a very successful naval officer with many achievements and a lovely, growing family. Jean works at a local hospital near our home. I can't thank them enough for what they did for me.

God Answers Prayers

It was mid January of 1989 in Cache Valley Utah. Snow was everywhere as is customary that time of year. Our view from the bedroom window of the valley floor was breathtaking. The Wellsville Mountains majestically rose from the west, the sun gleaming at their peaks. From the top of a hill, in the center of the valley, stood the Logan Temple, a focal point I never tired of looking at. Trees, streets and homes were shrouded in a comforter of white, but my soul was somber.

It was a weekday and I should have been at work but I hardly had energy to stand. Worst case of the flu I've ever had, I thought. Food had no appeal and even water was difficult to keep down. My bed, that seldom got much attention, from a busy father of five, had instead become my prison. Nightmares, fever and cold chills had me feeling very low. Rarely was I ever sick and certainly never ill enough to be confined to bed. What was wrong with me? I've got to get better, my family is depending on me. What if I get fired for missing too much time at work? I'd already missed three days. Surely I didn't need to see a doctor, did I? These thoughts passed through my mind again and again and in the delerium of the fever, I could think of little else.

A sound of a door closing downstairs took me from my feverish circle of feelings and I was aware that Suzy, our teenaged, high school daughter was home from school. She was our eldest and full of empathy.

"Dad," she said. Are you still up there?"
"Hi Suz," I said. The best I could manage was a loud whisper.
"Aren't you feeling any better?" she asked, coming up the stairs.
"Just dandy," I muttered, feeling green and weak.
"Oh, Dad, where's Mom? Have you been here all alone?" Her voice sounded overly concerned for a girl who should have been thinking about homework, boys and her own car, not necessarily in that order.

"Mom finally decided to get a new battery for the car. She got tired of waiting for me to do the job and having to jump start the car in the meantime." My tongue felt thick. I always took care of our autos and letting her chase around for another battery made me feel as if I were shirking my husbandly duties, but I had little choice.

"Daddy, I'm so worried. You just don't get sick like this. Shouldn't we call the home teachers and have them give you a blessing or something? When we're sick, you always administer to us. Who's going to administer to you?"

"You're sweet, belly button," I moaned. "But don't worry, I just have a little touch of the flu. I'll probably be on the porch with a shotgun to keep your boyfriends away, before long." The room began to go into a high speed spin.

"This isn't right, Daddy. If you won't get someone to help you, then I guess I'll have to pray for you myself," she said flatly.

I was too drained to argue. She knelt down beside me and held her hand in mine. This was a girl who, a few days before, had not wanted me to hug her, because she didn't feel like being squeezed by her Dad. A girl who couldn't understand why she had to earn her own money to buy a car. A girl who didn't like being "bugged" about her grades at school. A girl who couldn't understand why she had to be in by midnight when "everyone else" got to stay out as late as they wanted.

This same girl was now crying, holding my hand and pouring out her whole soul to God. Even in my agony, I marveled at what was happening. Never had I heard her pray with such depth of conviction. I had never dreamed that my wife and I had penetrated Suzy's emotional barricades enough to have any effect. Somehow, however, all the church meetings and family home evenings and family prayers had gotten through and there she was, believe it or not, praying for me, with astonishing zeal.

Did it take illness to help me understand the real size of my daughter's testimony. She prayed fervently that I would be healed and watched over. She pleaded with Father in Heaven as she would to a respected friend. Her words were neither trite nor superficial, but planted with the deep roots of faith. The words she spoke were not fancy, but altogether genuine and struck me so that I almost expected an audible answer, or to see an angel or feel an instant healing. This was not the case though and my fever and dizziness raged on. She finished her prayer, kissed me and we visited until I heard my wife, Jean, downstairs.

"Hi, love. Are you feeling any better," Jean asked, "or about the same?"
"The same," I weakly answered.
"Oh, ...No!! You've got appendicitis," Jean abruptly called up the stairs.
"What...that's ridiculous, my side doesn't hurt a bit." Once again, my vast medical experience was shining through.

"It's so strange!!" Jean said. "I was staring into the mirror and suddenly the thought came into my mind and I absolutely KNEW what was causing you pain!! I'll get my medical book and look up the symptoms and show you."

She can't be serious, I thought. I just need a little more rest, then maybe the room will stop spinning. Jean quickly came bounding up the stairs and sat beside me.

"I need you to get out of bed and stand up on the floor, not on the rug, in your bare feet," she instructed. "Then I want you to stand on your tip toes and drop to your heels. My medical book says if this sends a shooting pain to your right side, there's a good chance you've got appendicitis."

Complaining and arguing all the way, I finally did as I was told and dropped to my heels. The new pain I felt through my right side, almost caused me to black out.

"I knew it!" Jean said. "Kids, help me get your father downstairs and to the car! We're heading to the hospital!"

"That's impossible. I can't leave the house. I haven't shaved or bathed. I'm a mess. I can't go out in public like this." Once again I was making a lot of sense and so my words were ignored. Scott, our 15 year old son, grabbed one side of me and Suzy the other and off to the car we went. The air was January cold and a blanket was speedily wrapped around me. I had not the energy to sit up in the car and only was able to remain upright because of the auto safety belt. At the outside of the emergency room, my family put me into a wheel chair and pushed me toward the reception desk. I felt so embarrassed and silly but was too drained to protest.

The emergency room staff discovered that my white blood cell count was very high and that my appendix was close to rupturing. Two members of our bishopric gave me a blessing and then in a flurry, I was wisked off to the operating room. It was the sixth appendectomy done that day and not exactly an unusual operation. The procedure was routine and after a few days, it was life as normal, with nothing to show for wear except a pencil line scar.

I know God answers prayers, even for Dad's that are stubborn and think they know for themselves. The doctor told me that, without professional treatment, I might not have lived till morning. Did Suzy know that? How did Jean suddenly know what the problem was? Coincidence? I don't think so. God answers prayers.

THE MISADVENTURES OF JETHRO P. SUGGINS, SSGT, USAF

Episode 3 - (Wherein our hero gets his wings)

J.P. was depressed. Since his chewing out last month from the
Propulsion Branch boss, for missing an appointment every supervisor in the outfit was after him. It didn't matter that he was innocent and that it
was the only appointment he'd missed since he could remember. To make
things worse, he'd been having a fight with his wife, Jean, for the last
two days. He wanted a second car. She wanted new livingroom furniture.
When Jethro left for grave shift duty that night, she had not even said
goodbye. They weren't speaking. Fine, he thought. No support at home
or at work.

Two nights previous Suggins had been removing a 200 hundred pound
constant speed drive (CSD) and generator with the help of little Airman
Henderson. J.P. had most of the weight and had slipped on some oil
before he could get it set down. The sudden lunge had given him a
pulled muscle or hernia or something and now his insides hurt from the
bottom of his chest to his naval. As a result, he figured he was dying
too, so what was there to be happy about?

It was with this attitude that he approached C-141 aircraft, 0006,
at the end of Charley ramp, adjacent to the active runway. It was a
partly cloudy April night. Stars peeked out from around mist and fog
and the smell of jet fuel or JP-4 was in the air. Every few minutes an
aircraft took off and the roar made normal conversation impossible.
Two engines had been changed on this bird and a 30 minute run would
be required to insure that there were no malfunctions. In short order,
J.P., Jim Coleman, Airman Henderson and Jay Eseltine had completed the
walk around, pre-run inspection and then gone thru the checklist for the
flight station switches. The massive C-141 Starlifter was half a
football field long and represented millions of the taxpayers dollars.
Brakes were set, rotating, red beacon lights on top & bottom of the
fuselage were energized and the tower was notified of and gave approval
for the aircraft run.

Soon Suggins was in the pilots seat, Coleman in the co-pilots seat,
Henderson on the flight engineers panel and Eseltine on the long ground
cord, in full view of any, outside of aircraft, dangers. Small, blue,
ground lights, about the size of grapefruit, bordered the taxiway in
about 20 ft intervals, while the active runway lights were red. Engines
were started and finally the inboards were brought to 3/4 power and left
there to test, by monitoring gages. Nothing much could be done, except
stare at the panel of lights, side, front and above. The multi colored
panel presented an eerie picture, like sitting in a running car at night
with ten times as many gages surrounding you, all lit up and drawing
your attention. Suggins should have been thinking of what was on the
gages, but instead he was still stewing about his problems. Let Coleman
look at the gages, he thought. He's got a duplicate set of them on his
side of the panel. Sometimes I wonder what's the use of it all he
thought. Why should I work so hard when the odds are against me?

Maybe I should just go out in a flash, he pondered, still in his
self defeating mood. Then maybe someone would notice. And then it hit
him. This aircraft run is just the answer. With the Air Force down on
me, Jean wanting to fight and me probably dying of some internal
bleeding problem, what's the use of going on? I've always wanted to fly
one of these things, but never had the guts to do it. I've flown it
lots of times in the aircraft simulator. Real life couldn't be that
much harder. Wasn't now the perfect time, since my life was about over
anyway? It would be so easy. All I have to do is tap the upper part of
the rudder pedals and off come the brakes and the aircraft would roll
toward the active runway and I'd be gone. Trouble is, Coleman is on the
right with the other half of the dual controls and he would reset the
brakes if I tried it, he reasoned. Perhaps if I send him away on some
silly diversion, by the time he returned it would be too late.
"Hey, Coleman!" J.P. barked. "How 'bout going back to the cargo
hold and checking the main reservoir pressure. My hydraulic gage
fluctuates every few minutes."

"Well, what do you know, he talks! I thought you were asleep or
dead. You've been brooding since you came on shift." Jim knew that
Suggins had not been himself. "My hydraulic gages have shown normal
readings, but keep your cap on, I need to stretch my legs anyway." Jim
started the 50 foot walk toward the cargo area and unplugged his
headset.

As soon as he was off the air, J.P. called to Eseltine on the long
cord. "Jay! Unplug and stand aside! Got an emergency! Going to power
with all four! Are you clear?"

Eseltine could hear the excitement in his voice, but knew better
that to ask questions in an emergency. "Unplugging and clear!"
Suggins watched Eseltine get out of the way and then slapped all
four engines to full power as he released the brakes. The aircraft
jumped like a racehorse released from the starting gates and
immediately ran over the large, wooden blocks in front of the tires.
The monstrous lunge of the aircraft threw Coleman to the cargo
floor and since he was not strapped in, he had trouble even standing,
let alone walking. "What the blazes is going on!" He attempted to make
it back to the flight station, but all he could do was grab the cargo
hold.

Adrenaline raced in J.P. & Eseltine stared. Henderson yelled.
The Starlifter screamed and screamed down the red light runway. It was
then that J.P. realized he'd forgotten one small point. He was taking
off directly into an aircraft that was landing. They were in an
accidental game of chicken and someone had to veer off or they would
meet head on.

There was no time for Suggins to back off. It would have to be the
other guy. The only way he could initially get away with this is by the
element of surprise. When the opposing aircraft finally realized what
was happening, he advanced throttles and pulled up, just above Suggins.
The roar of his passing shook J.P. and his captives and Suggins
continued down the runway at breakneck speed. Not quite like the
simulator, he thought. At the critical field length, our new pilot
pulled back on the yoke and to his elation the big bird lifted up and
flew. It banked and hesitated slightly so he moved the yoke to
compensate and brought up the landing gear. The ground quickly
disappeared below.
The whole incident had happened so fast that the "crew" on board
didn't know what to say at first. J.P. climbed to about 10,000 feet and
realized he'd forgotten one other small point. No one was a navigator
on board, he had no flight plan and had no idea where he was going.
We'll just do like the simulator he thought. I'll fly around the base
in a huge circle and engage the automatic pilot so that I can think of
what to do next. He leveled off, put the aircraft in the auto mode and
watched as the massive plane began to do big loops in the night sky.

Coleman finally made his way back to the flight deck when the
aircraft stabalized. He collapsed in the co-pilots seat, stared at
Suggins, who was grinning, and said, "Have you lost your mind? The Air
Force will fry you! You know I used to be part of a flight crew before
I cross trained into jets, but even I wouldn't attempt such a stunt!
Taking off is easy, but landing requires alot of skill and experience.
You and I are only engine run qualified, not even aircraft taxi
qualified. How do you expect to land this thing? Our only hope is to
get some instruction from the ground. I'll try to raise them on the
radio."

"We're gonna die! I know it! We're gonna die!" Quiet, little
Airman Henderson on the engineers panel had suddenly become a raving
maniac. "The emergency parachutes! It's our only answer! I've got to
find them!" Henderson stumbled back to the cargo area.
Suggins watched him go and said, "He's overreacting a tad, don't
you think?"

"Overreacting! What do you want him to do? Sit idly by and watch
us crash this thing?" The radio suddenly crackled before he could
respond.

"Aircraft 0006, this is McChord Tower."
"Roger, McChord Tower, go ahead," said Suggins, trying to remain
calm.

"Suggins, I can tell it's you. This is an old friend, formerly
SSgt Young, now Lieutenant Young. I was in the area and they asked me
to talk you down since we know each other." Young formerly was in jets
with J.P. but had gone to flight school to become a pilot.

"Hey, good to hear from you Young. Guess I got myself into a real
jam this time."

"I'll say. The Air Force has been authorized to shoot you down,
should you go over water. The only thing that saved you is that you are
over a populated area and they don't want to risk harming innocents.
Just follow my guidlelines and everything will be cool. I'm being told
what to tell you, since our conversation is being monitored by others.
You're even on the news. Cameras are pointed toward you and alot of
people want you safely on the ground. So far no ones been hurt and we
want to keep it that way. Uh Oh. Someone just leaped from the rear of
your aircraft."

It was then that Suggins noticed that the cargo pedal door open
light had illuminated. Henderson had bailed out, hopefully with his
parachute. J.P, closed the pedal door. "Do you see a chute opening,
Young?"

"Negative. He went straight down into a secluded, wooded area.
Maybe he couldn't get the chute to work. They're tricky if you don't
know how to use them. I could have briefed him if he felt that was the
only way out." Young's voice trailed off, obviously saddened.
"He told us he was going to look for the chutes but I never guessed
he'd jump without talking to us about it." For the first time, Suggins
began to regret having taken off and suddenly it wasn't fun anymore.
"Henderson was pretty shook up but I never thought he was that
desperate," Coleman said. "Not only that, but we've got another
problem. #2 engine is beginning to overtemp. It's one of the new ones
we just installed. Looks like some sort of internal failure. If we
don't shut it down soon, we're going to have a fire on our hands!"
Panic began to fill Jim's voice.

Flying a four-engine aircraft in perfect working order was hard
enough. Flying a crippled aircraft was even difficult for the most
experienced pilot. If #2 engine had to be shut down, so would #3
engine, since symmetrical or equal power must be maintained from each
wing.

"Temperature, continuing to rise dramatically! We got no choice
Suggins!" Coleman shutdown the inboard engines. The noise level began
to drop off along with the altitude.

We gotta get you down, NOW!" Young's peaceful tone was gone. "I
was going to give you a step by step procedure but there's no time for
that. Take the aircraft off autopilot and head toward the red runway
lights. Emergency vehicles are already there. I'll talk you thru it,
but remember you will get only ONE chance! Do it right the first time!"
Suggins began to sweat, despite the coolness of the flight cabin.
The Starlifter was rapidly losing altitude. Coleman assisted and
offered advice where he could but basically J.P. had to follow
instructions carefully or they would die. On final approach, the
landing gear was extended and it was all Suggins could do to keep the
aircraft level. He had done this all before in the flight simulator,
which he considered a big toy, but he had never done it with two of the
four engines shutdown. As he neared the ground, the Starlifter
shuddered from lack of power and the wind drag created by the extended
landing gear. Patches of fog drifted in and out of the red lights and
the air field was partly obscured, making visibility less than ideal.
He could see the flashing of the emergency vehicles below. Closer and
closer he approached on his do or die mission, pushing out fatalistic
thoughts from his mind, concentrating intently on the words of Young.

"Steady, steady. Doing fine. Right on glidepath. Only about
1,000 yards to go. 900...800... Bring up the nose a little. That's it.
700...600 Drifting off slightly, put it back. Good. 500...400...Bring
up the nose. Too much down attitude. Bring it up!
Suggins pulled on the yoke, but the power from the two surviving
engines was so weak that it wouldn't respond. He was tense, his
knuckles were white and he felt as if he were staring into the face of
death.

"200 yards! Pull up the nose, J.P! You're too steep! More
throttle! Pull on the yoke! 100 yards!"

Suggins pulled with all his might, Coleman on the opposite side,
pulling too, but it was to no avail. When the crippled aircraft hit the
ground, the nose wheel strut immediately sheared, causing the front of
the aircraft to drag in a shower of sparks, against the concrete. This
gave the C-141 no nosewheel steering and it veered off the runway, into
the grass at about 200 MPH. As the nose dug into the turf, the T-tail
of the Starlifter, raised up and over the nose, landing with tremendous
force upside down, the aircraft on its back and broken into pieces. It
skidded in circles for several hundred yards, ruptured the fuel tanks
and caught fire in a terrific explosion, finally coming to rest.

Suggins was disoriented, dizzy from being spun around. He pulled
wildly at his safety straps, trying to get free. Coleman was bleeding
profusely, the main flight station bulkhead having crushed his head and
torso. Red fire warning lights were flashing and beeping and the din
was so sickening that he had to shut it off. He pressed the off button.
No response. He tried again. Still the lights flashed. What was
wrong? Suddenly he was being shaken.

"Suggins! Suggins! I got all four engine fire warning lights
beeping and flashing on test and you're still sleeping!" Coleman kept
shaking. "First you were staring at the instrument panel and then you
were gone. What does it take to wake you up anyway?"

"Turn off those lights and kill that sound!" J.P. was shouting.
Coleman pressed the off button and the warning test ended. "J.P.
blinked and then stared. "Coleman, you're alive! Oh, I'm so sorry, I
didn't mean for you to get hurt. Henderson! You didn't jump! Oh,
thank God, but stay away from that cargo door!

"Suggins, I think you've got a short between the headsets. You're
not making a whole lot of sense here." Coleman looked genuinely
concerned. "Look, don't you remember? Just before you drifted off,
Henderson and I were talking to you about how easy it would be to tap
the top of the rudder pedals and release the brakes, then we could..."

"If either of you touch those rudder pedals, I'll break both your
legs!" Suggins was speaking in his most serious fashion. Henderson and
Coleman didn't say much to J.P. the rest of the night. The engine run
was completed and they kept to themselves. You just didn't mess with
J.P. when he got depressed.