Cargo Pilot Quotes

At least I want to get up early one more morning, before sunrise. Before the birds, even. I want to throw cold water on my face and be at my work table when the sky lightens and smoke begins to rise from the chimneys of the other houses. I want to see the waves break on this rocky beach, not just hear them break as I did in my sleep. I want to see again the ships that pass through the Strait from every seafaring country in the world - old, dirty freighters just barely moving along, and the swift new cargo vessels painted every color under the sun that cut the water as they pass. I want to keep an eye out for them. And for the little boat that plies the water between the ships and the pilot station near the lighthouse. I want to see them take a man off the ship and put another one up on board. I want to spend the day watching this happen and reach my own conclusions. I hate to seem greedy - I have so much to be thankful for already. But I want to get up early one more morning, at least. And go to my place with some coffee and wait. Just wait, to see what's going to happen.

We got there without being spotted. I pulled her in, then shut the door, pressing my back to it and exhaling like an epileptic pilot who'd just landed a cargo plane full of dynamite.

Excellent," said Cinder, standing up and brushing off her hands. "I was beginning to worry we wouldn't have a pilot for when it's time to take Kai back to Earth. Now I just have to worry about not having a competent one." Thorne leaned against the crate Cress was organizing. She froze, but when she dared to peer up through her lashes, his attention was on the other side of the cargo bay. "Oh, Cinder, I've missed seeing your face when you make sarcastic comments in an attempt to hide your true feelings about me." "Please." Rolling her eyes, Cinder started organizing the guns against the wall. "See that eye roll? It translates to 'How am I possibly keeping my hands off you, Captain?" "Yeah, keeping them from strangling you." Kai folded his arms, grinning. "How come no one told me I had such steep competition?" Cinder glared. "Don't encourage him.

But the aircraft a year ago had been different. It was not a squat, fat-bellied cargo plane but a needle-nosed single-pilot jet.

Of course, Apollo was the god who carried the fiery sun across the sky in a chariot. But beyond that, how would you carry fire? Carefully, that's how, with lots of planning and at considerable risk. It is a delicate cargo, as valuable as moon rocks, and the carrier must always be on his toes lest it spill. I carried the fire for six years, and now I would like to tell you about it, simply and directly as a test pilot must, for the trip deserves the telling.

Freighter pilot Hal Spacejock has a life to die for: His very own cargo ship, a witty and intelligent flight computer ... and a debt so big it makes the GFC look like a rounding error. Hal's an upright sort of guy, and he won't take jobs from gun runners, drug smugglers or politicians. On the other hand, the finance company's brutal enforcer is on his doorstep, and Hal has barely twenty-four hours to pay him off. Miss the deadline and he - and his ship - will go under. Way, way, under.

As I became older, I was given many masks to wear. I could be a laborer laying railroad tracks across the continent, with long hair in a queue to be pulled by pranksters; a gardener trimming the shrubs while secretly planting a bomb; a saboteur before the day of infamy at Pearl Harbor, signaling the Imperial Fleet; a kamikaze pilot donning his headband somberly, screaming 'Banzai' on my way to my death; a peasant with a broad-brimmed straw hat in a rice paddy on the other side of the world, stooped over to toil in the water; an obedient servant in the parlor, a houseboy too dignified for my own good; a washerman in the basement laundry, removing stains using an ancient secret; a tyrant intent on imposing my despotism on the democratic world, opposed by the free and the brave; a party cadre alongside many others, all of us clad in coordinated Mao jackets; a sniper camouflaged in the trees of the jungle, training my gunsights on G.I. Joe; a child running with a body burning from napalm, captured in an unforgettable photo; an enemy shot in the head or slaughtered by the villageful; one of the grooms in a mass wedding of couples, having met my mate the day before through our cult leader; an orphan in the last airlift out of a collapsed capital, ready to be adopted into the good life; a black belt martial artist breaking cinderblocks with his head, in an advertisement for Ginsu brand knives with the slogan 'but wait--there's more' as the commercial segued to show another free gift; a chef serving up dog stew, a trick on the unsuspecting diner; a bad driver swerving into the next lane, exactly as could be expected; a horny exchange student here for a year, eager to date the blonde cheerleader; a tourist visiting, clicking away with his camera, posing my family in front of the monuments and statues; a ping pong champion, wearing white tube socks pulled up too high and batting the ball with a wicked spin; a violin prodigy impressing the audience at Carnegie Hall, before taking a polite bow; a teen computer scientist, ready to make millions on an initial public offering before the company stock crashes; a gangster in sunglasses and a tight suit, embroiled in a turf war with the Sicilian mob; an urban greengrocer selling lunch by the pound, rudely returning change over the counter to the black patrons; a businessman with a briefcase of cash bribing a congressman, a corrupting influence on the electoral process; a salaryman on my way to work, crammed into the commuter train and loyal to the company; a shady doctor, trained in a foreign tradition with anatomical diagrams of the human body mapping the flow of life energy through a multitude of colored points; a calculus graduate student with thick glasses and a bad haircut, serving as a teaching assistant with an incomprehensible accent, scribbling on the chalkboard; an automobile enthusiast who customizes an imported car with a supercharged engine and Japanese decals in the rear window, cruising the boulevard looking for a drag race; a illegal alien crowded into the cargo hold of a smuggler's ship, defying death only to crowd into a New York City tenement and work as a slave in a sweatshop. My mother and my girl cousins were Madame Butterfly from the mail order bride catalog, dying in their service to the masculinity of the West, and the dragon lady in a kimono, taking vengeance for her sisters. They became the television newscaster, look-alikes with their flawlessly permed hair. Through these indelible images, I grew up. But when I looked in the mirror, I could not believe my own reflection because it was not like what I saw around me. Over the years, the world opened up. It has become a dizzying kaleidoscope of cultural fragments, arranged and rearranged without plan or order.

busy with people getting off the boat, is it? It’s all one-way.’ Bee reached up to take the glass of whiskey Paddy was holding out to her. ‘I’ll be back,’ she said, but in her mind she was asking herself when. Captain Bob had secured a job as a captain, meeting the cargo ships and piloting them down the Mersey into the port of Liverpool, from where they had waited, out on the bar. He had already travelled to Liverpool and found them a house close to the docks. ‘It has a kitchen,’ he’d said to Bee. ‘The range is still there, but it was damaged in the war, and there’s a new gas cooker fitted next to it.’ Bee’s mouth had dropped. ‘A gas cooker? I have no idea how to use one of those. I’ll be sticking to the fire.’ Bob had just smiled at her indulgently. He understood why the traffic from Dublin was one-way. Bee would soon discover how quickly women who left the west coast of Ireland adapted from the life their ancestors had lived for hundreds of years to all the mod cons England and America had to offer. ‘Mammy!’ Ciaran shouted from the door. Bob and Bee swivelled round in their chairs as Ciaran came in, followed by Michael, who was carrying Finnbar in his arms and had Mary Kate at his side, holding his hand. ‘God love you, come here,’ said Bee to Mary Kate, who ran over to her and allowed her to pull her up onto her knee. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ Captain Bob and Michael exchanged

Never Doubt His Plan A cargo helicopter flying over Alaska had some engine trouble. The pilot did excellent work to get the aircraft down, but electrics had been damaged, meaning he couldn't radio for help. He knew a search party would be looking for him, but there was such a vast area to cover. Being from a family of deep faith, he started to pray for God to send the rescuers in the right direction. Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse. One day while out getting freshwater, there was an electrical fire in the helicopter. He stood at a safe distance and watched it going up in flames. Then the gas tank exploded. He fell to his knees as it did. Watching his pride and joy go up in smoke felt like pouring salt on his wounds. He cried out to God, "I give up, I ask you to help me, and this happens. A few hours later he heard a distance sound, he perked up, he couldn't see anything, but it kept getting closer. Next thing he saw a helicopter in the distance, it was the coast guard coming to rescue him. When they landed, he ran over and gave them a big hug—asking how in the world did they find him. It turned out the smoke from the wreckage had travelled over 300 miles with the wind. The rescue team had followed the smoke. Sometimes what looks like a disappointment is God positioning us for a new level. If your helicopter is on fire today, so to speak, instead of being bitter, complaining, being upset. Have a new perspective, trust in God's plan. It may not make sense now. Being stranded is tough; being in the pits of life will feel uncomfortable. The setbacks, the closed doors can be discouraging, but you have to remind yourself. It's not working against you; it's working for you. Now you only see in part, but one day you will see in full.

It emerged that Douglas engineers had known the design was vulnerable to a catastrophic failure, and indeed, two years earlier, a near disaster had ensued on a flight over Windsor, Ontario, which also lost a cargo door. The pilot had been able to land the plane in that case. Instead of fixing the issue immediately, McDonnell Douglas had convinced the FAA to let it add a support plate over time to the doors—a “gentlemen’s agreement” revealed in the congressional hearings. Records at Douglas showed that the support plate had been added to the Turkish Airlines plane, when it had not. Three company inspectors had signed off on the nonexistent fix.

Radia Hosni alikuwa na bahati kuliko watu wote duniani. Frederik Mogens alipofika katika helikopta na kukuta Murphy na Yehuda wakihangaika kuutafuta mwili wa Radia, hakushangazwa na walichomwambia. Kwa sababu alijua nini kilitokea. Radia alikutwa akipumua kwa mbali. Hivyo, Debbie na marubani walimchukua na kumpeleka Mexico City haraka ilivyowezekana. Black Hawk waliyokuwa wakiishangaa ilikuwa ya DEA. Lakini si ile waliyokwenda nayo Oaxaca. Ilikuwa nyingine ya DEA, iliyotumwa na Randall Ortega kuwachukua Vijana wa Tume na kuwapeleka Mexico City haraka ilivyowezekana. Black Hawk waliyokwenda nayo Oaxaca ndiyo iliyomchukua Radia na Debbie na kuwapeleka Altamirano (hospitali ya tume) mjini Mexico City. Mogens angekwenda pia na akina Debbie; lakini alibaki kwa ajili ya kumlinda El Tigre, na mizigo yake, na baadhi ya makamanda wake wachache. El Tigre angeweza kutoroka kama angebaki na polisi peke yao, na Mogens hakutaka kufanya makosa.

Sometimes, just to see what was happening, my father would drive to the airport…. Before my birth, during the “Roaring 20’s” Newark Airport was the first major airport to serve the greater New York area. It was opened for traffic on October 1, 1928, on 68 acres of reclaimed marshland adjacent to the Passaic River. The Port Authority of New York and New Jersey later took it over from the Army Air Corps and in 1948 started a major expansion and improvement program. Driving by and seeing activity from the road, we drove to where Eastern Airlines had a shiny new DC-3 on display, and as luck would have it, it was open to the public. It was an exciting moment when I boarded this aircraft and discovered that it was first constructed in 1934, the same year I was born. An example of modern technology, it was the first modern airliner and the forerunner of commercial aviation. The DC-3 was used during World War II, when the military version was identified as the C-47. After the war it continued as the primary carrier keeping Berlin open during the Berlin Airlift. On June 24, 1948 the Soviets prevented access to Berlin to the Western Allies’. Two days after the Soviet (Russians) announcement of the blockade, the United States Air Force airlifted the first cargo into Berlin. The American nicknamed the effort, "Operation Vittles," while British pilots dubbed the operation "Plain Fare." In July 1948, the operation was renamed the Combined Airlift Taskforce. Normal daily food requirements for Berlin were 2,000 tons with coal, for heating homes, being the number one commodity and two -thirds of all the tonnage flown in. The airlift ended on May 12, 1949 when the Soviets realized that the blockade wasn’t effective against the “Allied Resolve” and reopened the roads into Berlin.

top of the pinnacle came the pilot, who plotted the ship’s route; the master, who supervised the precious cargo;

IT WAS ALMOST December, and Jonas was beginning to be frightened. No. Wrong word, Jonas thought. Frightened meant that deep, sickening feeling of something terrible about to happen. Frightened was the way he had felt a year ago when an unidentified aircraft had overflown the community twice. He had seen it both times. Squinting toward the sky, he had seen the sleek jet, almost a blur at its high speed, go past, and a second later heard the blast of sound that followed. Then one more time, a moment later, from the opposite direction, the same plane. At first, he had been only fascinated. He had never seen aircraft so close, for it was against the rules for Pilots to fly over the community. Occasionally, when supplies were delivered by cargo planes to the landing field across the river, the children rode their bicycles to the riverbank and watched, intrigued, the unloading and then the takeoff directed to the west, always away from the community. But the aircraft a year ago had been different. It was not a squat, fat-bellied cargo plane but a needle-nosed single-pilot jet. Jonas, looking around anxiously, had seen others—adults as well as children—stop what they were doing and wait, confused, for an explanation of the frightening event. Then all of the citizens had been ordered to go into the nearest building and stay there. IMMEDIATELY, the rasping voice through the speakers had said. LEAVE YOUR BICYCLES WHERE THEY ARE. Instantly, obediently, Jonas had dropped his bike on its side on the path behind his family’s dwelling. He had run indoors and stayed there, alone. His parents were both at work, and his little sister, Lily, was at the Childcare Center where she spent her after-school hours. Looking through the front window, he had seen no people: none of the busy afternoon crew of Street Cleaners, Landscape Workers, and Food Delivery people who usually populated the community at that time of day. He saw only the abandoned bikes here and there on their sides; an upturned wheel on one was still revolving slowly. He had been frightened then. The sense of his own community silent, waiting, had made his stomach churn. He had trembled. But it had been nothing. Within minutes the speakers had crackled again, and the voice, reassuring now and less urgent, had explained that a Pilot-in-Training had misread his navigational instructions and made a wrong turn. Desperately the Pilot had been trying to make his way back before his error was noticed. NEEDLESS TO SAY, HE WILL BE RELEASED, the voice had said, followed by silence. There was an ironic tone to that final message, as if the Speaker found it amusing; and Jonas had smiled a little, though he knew what a grim statement it had been. For a contributing citizen to be released from the community was a final decision, a terrible punishment, an overwhelming statement of failure.

cargo to all my contracts, so 90 percent of my experience with transports and bot pilots was after Dr. Mensah bought me and I’d left Port FreeCommerce. At least Eletra hadn’t lied about the lack of SecUnits aboard; there was no HubSystem in place and they were using their own brand of proprietary

Leaving West Africa was bitter sweet. I had made friends the most of which I would never see again. I was seen as an adult in Liberia and for the first time in my life I was accepted as a grown-up. In fact I was given responsibilities I could never have expected had I remained in the United States. As the captain of a coastal vessel I had the same duties as the captain of any ship, large or small and the decisions I made affected the lives of everyone aboard. Although I never gave it much thought the value of the ship and cargo was worth millions of dollars and I was entrusted with it and the lives of the crew and the occasional passengers that sailed with me. When I embarked on this venture I was under the legal age of 21 and signed for everything “under protest.” The skillsets needed to be the captain of a small ship are the same as those needed on a larger vessel only there were less people to do them. Navigation was the same and ship handling without tugboats or thrusters was even more difficult. I did my own piloting, calculated the center of gravity and figured out fuel, water and cargo placement without even the use of a calculator. Computers, GPS, Depth finder, Loran and Radar were thing not yet available for most ships. Since you don’t miss what you never had, life was good and I did what I had to do. Fortunately for the most part everything worked out well. I remember that when I returned to New York and rode in a subway car thinking “Wow, none of these people know that I just returned from West Africa where I was a harbor pilot and the captain of a ship.” The thought that I had accomplished so much at my young age seemed important to me and I thought that it was something they might want to know. The thought that flashed through my mind next brought me back down to earth. “No one would give a shit!” I was back in New York City and would soon be back out to sea….