Flight of the Forgotten. Mark A. Vance
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the matter?” my first officer asked, eyeing me curiously.
“Huh, oh nothing, nothing. I thought I heard a circuit breaker pop.”
“Oh, okay. 1,000 feet.” he announced as we continued the approach.
“I’ve been trying to tell you that it’s time, Mark … time for that seed we planted in you years ago to start growing.” Buster declared. “For the families. There’s too much pain. We need you to help them. And we need you to help us.”
“I don’t understand!” I blurted out loud.
“What’s the matter, Skipper?” my first officer asked.
“Uh, I don’t understand why we haven’t seen the lights yet.” I said, trying to recover from the outburst.
“Any minute now.” he encouraged.
“We need your help telling the families what happened.” Buster continued. “We were supposed to land here in 1945. The families need to know why we didn’t.”
“500 feet. Runway in sight.” my first officer reported.
“Got it.”
“They need to know the truth, Mark. We’ll help you find the truth.” my uncle continued as we neared the approach end of the runway and I kept nodding repeatedly. “It’s your destiny.” he insisted.
Easing the thrust levers to idle and arresting the descent rate, the big jet touched down and began decelerating as I applied reverse thrust and braking. Slowing to eighty knots, we exited on a high speed turnoff and were soon taxiing down the parallel taxiway.
“Piedmont 225, taxi to parking via Charlie and Echo!” the overhead speaker declared as I turned the jet down the Charlie taxiway and began the trek to the terminal area. It was still raining hard and visibility ahead was minimal.
“Well, look at that! It must be some kind of an air museum.” my first officer said in surprise, gesturing ahead in the dark. “Is that a B-24? You sure don’t see many of those around any more.”
Following his gesture, I could see the outline of several World War II aircraft ahead to the left, including a large four-engine World War II bomber with nine men lined up in front of it. “It sure looks like a B-24.” I said. “But who are those guys standing out there in the rain?”
“What guys?”
“In front of the B-24.”
“I don’t see anybody. You must have better eyes than I do, Skipper.” my first officer remarked.
“Right there!” I gestured, as he just looked at me, bewildered.
Riding the brakes, I taxied slowly past the air museum ramp, fascinated beyond words when the men in front of the B-24 suddenly offered a group salute. Only then did I notice that the wind and rain appeared to be having no effect on them and that they had an eerie glow about them as if bathed in dim light. Straining against the jet’s cockpit window as we taxied past, I didn’t recognize them at first, until I suddenly noticed Buster standing among them and remembered that picture hanging on my greatgrandmother’s wall from so long ago.
Chapter Two: A Conspiracy of Silence
October 20, 1988, Houston, Texas
Needless to say, my ghostly encounter with the Ketchum crew, although unsettling, was also quite moving. The mystery of their crash had been with me since my earliest recollection and now everything, including the Ketchum crew themselves, was ready for a full-fledged investigation to begin. I would need my family for that, most of whom were unaware of my timeless connection to Buster. In their eyes Buster was someone killed years before I was born and a man I had never known. This was going to take some doing.
Shortly after my encounter at the Bradley Airport, I decided to ask my mother for guidance. She had, after all, given me life, and I knew if anyone would believe me, my mother would. She was also one of the few people who had known Buster for most of his life, too, and happened to be familiar with family matters relating to his loss. When I asked to talk to her as soon as possible about something really important, she immediately agreed, no doubt assuming it involved much more earthly matters. Hours later, as the two of us settled into my office for our discussion, she was immediately captivated by the plaques on the wall signifying my graduation from various aircraft training schools.
“This is really something, Mark. Your grandma would have been so proud.” she said. “It’s a shame she didn’t live long enough to see you become an airline pilot.”
“She knows, Mom. She knows.” I replied, eyeing her intently as we made small talk for several moments. Then, after some thought, I decided to share with her the secret agreement I had made with her mother many years before about not flying in outer space and always being especially careful in an airplane.
“She really worried a lot about you.” my mother replied. “Because of her brother, I suppose.”
“Buster?”
“He was always one of her favorites.”
“What really happened to Buster, Mom?” I asked eagerly, anxious for some kind of an explanation.
“No one knows. He was just gone.”
“Did our family ever get any kind of a report?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” I echoed in amazement as she just shook her head and looked at me curiously. “There should have been something, some kind of a report.” I insisted. “There had to be some kind of explanation for the crash.”
“We were never told anything. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes. I’m going to try and find the reason for the crash.”
“What?”
“I’m going to try and find out what happened to Buster’s airplane, Mom.” I repeated.
“Well, that would be nice, I suppose.” my mother said, stunned. “But, do you think it’s still possible after all these years?”
“I don’t know, Mom. It was a military crash. The military loves paperwork. There must be a report hanging around somewhere if I can just find it.” I replied.
“Well, if you can somehow find it, Uncle Clarence would probably like to know what happened to his brother. He’s never been the same since Buster died. Maybe if you find that report, you could sit down and explain it to him. I think it might mean an awful lot to him. Where do you think you’ll start your search?” she asked.
“I have a few ideas, but I’m actually counting on Buster himself to guide me.” I said cautiously, glancing for a moment at the other side of the room.
“What on earth are you talking about?” she asked.
“Buster.” I repeated. “He asked me to do this.”
“He asked you? How did he do that?”
“He’s with me all the time, Mom, ever since I was a kid, especially now that I’m flying.”
“With you?”
“I’ve seen and talked to him for as long as I can remember. He asked me to find out what happened to his crew and to tell all their families.” I declared.
“Are you saying he’s not dead?” she asked in shocked disbelief.
“No, Mom. Buster’s dead, but his spirit is with me all the time. He and his crew have been waiting for me to develop so I could eventually help them with this.”
“Help them?” she echoed.
“Help them tell their families what