Don't Mean a Thing

Chapter 2-2

THE REST OF THE WEEK flew by. I was flat out trying to catch up with Rachael. She’d had an extra week of on-the-job training than me, so I took every opportunity I could to gain experience with the everyday tasks that would become the bread and butter of being Air Movements Crew. We were all part of the same team and supported each other, but there was an unspoken rivalry to perform well to improve your chance of being nominated for deployments and short trips.

I was rapt that I got to drive the aircraft loader for a real job before Rachael did. It was about five times larger than the forklift and could carry five pallets on a platform the size of a semi-trailer.

She’d been busy gawking at the new rotation of Marines disembarking the plane and volunteered to check them in. They were certainly eye candy, those rows of muscular men in uniform, but I didn’t want to get mixed up with the US Marines. It could only lead to heartache. They were only here for a six-month rotation and then would be sent back to America. Long-distance relationships don’t work unless one person was prepared to move, and I had no intention of giving up my new found military career for anyone, no matter how handsome.

Dealing with massive aircraft each day was way more exciting than refolding towels and straightening shelf displays. I couldn’t believe I’d wasted so much time in retail when there were opportunities like this out there.

I climbed into the cabin and turned on the air craft loader. The muted sounds of a cluttering diesel engine penetrated the black plastic earmuffs I wore to protect my hearing. I drove out across the tarmac. I felt nervous enough parallel parking Bertie, but the thought of aligning this machine within millimetres of a billion-dollar aircraft was making my heart pound.

The sun beat down, sending beads of perspiration trickling down the side of my neck. As I got closer to the plane, I watched the man in the doorway, adjusting my steering in response to his hand signals.

A bit to the right. A bit to the left. Right a little. More right. Stop. Back up and approach again. Left. More left.

It took three attempts to get the loader within range. Once finally in position, I locked the brakes on and pushed the lever to raise the platform I was sitting on and adjusted the angle until I received the signal to stop. I double-checked that I’d activated the mechanical brakes at the back of the platform to stop the pallets from rolling right past me and smashing on the ground. After triple checking my stabiliser brakes, I tugged at my seatbelt to check it was secure, then wound down the window and peeked over the edge. The oily scent of hydraulic fluid wafted up.

The sight of the ground several metres below didn’t worry me. I wasn’t afraid of heights, just of falling. Lookouts were okay, as long as there was a railing, but there was no way I could stand on the top rung of a step ladder to change a light bulb.

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