Wilbur Sees It DifferentlyChapter 7
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Wilbur Sees It DifferentlyChapter 1 free porn video
"I hope I can sell some of this stuff; this big plane is costing me more than I had figured on. If it wasn't for that tournament, I wouldn't even be going to such a small town," Dad said.
"Why are we hauling so much ammunition?" I asked.
"You know how people who are not used to firing automatic weapons are about ammunition," he answered.
I handed him another case of 9mm ammo and thought 'If this business wasn't so profitable, no one could afford to do it'.
My dad, Wilbur Adams, was a class 3 firearms dealer who did business with police agencies throughout the country. He specialized in suppressed submachine guns and pistols. He also produced a select fire part for Glock pistols.
We were going to a small town in eastern Oklahoma. All of the police departments in two counties had gotten together for a demonstration of select fire carbines, and suppressed weapons.
We were also going to go to a Cowboy Action Shooting tournament which was just about 100 air miles from our potential sale. Dad loved that stuff. It was fun, but I much preferred modern weapons.
I was Wilbur Adams, Jr., Burr for short. I had finally gotten old enough (15) for dad to let me go with him to help step and fetch. I also got to shoot a bunch. Dad loved letting me shoot the middle out of the targets to show that anyone could shoot these weapons with practice.
Dad would say, "Burr, if I had your eye, I would never lose at a tournament."
I was a good shot, and quick.
We finished loading up the plane. This "beaver" had a large cargo capacity for a single engine plane.
We had clothes for work and those old west type clothes for the Tournament, plus a bunch of camping gear. We hadn't sprung for all the old west camping stuff, yet. So we had a nice tent, camp stove and lantern plus various other camping stuff. We normally stayed at a tournament for Friday night and Saturday night, so we had food and toiletries and a bunch of soap and shampoo. Shooting that black powder stuff is really dirty.
We took off from the Jackson airport, and were looking for a pleasant flight with good weather all the way.
Just as we were crossing into Oklahoma we got notified of a fast moving line of thunder showers. "Burr, you come up here and help me, in case this causes trouble," Dad said.
I got into the second seat, and tried to get acclimated to what was happening with the instruments. Dad had been teaching me to fly.
We saw the storms and were trying to fly between them. I had never seen lightning popping like this. Dad said, "Damn, Burr, this is the worst lightning I have ever seen."
We both saw a strange green glow straight ahead. There was nothing we could do but fly straight through it. The instruments went ape, and the motor quit like it had been switched off.
We broke out of the clouds behind the storm and could see a flat place near a stream where Dad thought he could land this thing. I looked around and didn't see any sign of habitation. There were no fences, no buildings, and no livestock.
"Tighten up your seatbelt, Burr; this plane won't restart, so we are going to have to shoot an emergency landing. It could be rough, so hang on," Dad told me.
We came around to bleed off some speed and set the plane down easily in the pasture. It was as rough as a cob. We were bouncing around. As we neared the stream we hit something hard, and I got hit in the head and went out.
When I came to, we were stopped. The plane was lower than it should be so I figured that the landing gear had collapsed. Dad was out cold. I looked at him and saw where a tree limb had penetrated the skin of the plane and speared Dad through the ribs and into his chest. He was dead.
I started crying. After a while, I was cried out. I looked around in the plane to see what kind of shape we were in. Everything was in pretty good shape. If it wasn't for the damned tree limb we would be fine. I saw what hit me in the head; a pistol case had come loose, flown forward and clocked me.
I knew that I should stay with the wreckage to wait for rescue. So I unpacked the camping gear and set up the tent in a nice place near the stream. There was no fuel smell so I assumed the wing tanks were in tact. I was not worried about a fire, so I got out only what I would need for a short term survival situation. I took some food and cooking utensils over to the tent and made the camp as comfortable as possible.
I felt like I should be armed, so I got out a modified Glock 19 and a Fobus paddle holster and extra magazine pouch. I also got out a suppressed Heckler & Koch UMP carbine in .40 Smith and Wesson caliber and loaded up the magazines. I put these inside the tent door.
I thought about what I should do with Dad. I decided to leave him where he was since I expected rescue the next day at the latest. We were out in the middle of the bald open prairie after all.
I went back into the plane and tried the radio. There was nothing but static on the two-way or the am-fm. 'We must really be in the middle of nowhere, ' I thought. Then I thought, 'The antenna must be on the ground so the reception is going to be poor.'
I opened a can of soup and warmed it up on the stove. After I washed up from supper, I decided to go to sleep. I was really tired.
I got up the next morning and after I took care of my morning business, I fixed some bacon and eggs. I cleaned up from breakfast and decided I needed to dig a latrine to make sure I didn't have a problem with "mines".
Dad had a couple of short handled shovels that he always took to the tournaments, so I set about digging a latrine. I made use of it shortly after I finished digging it. I had a package of toilet paper so I was in good shape for a while yet.
Two more days passed, still not rescued. I needed to so something with Dad. I moved a short distance away from the plane and dug a grave for him. It took all day to dig it. I took everything out of his pockets and took his shoes and belt off. We wore the same size shoe. I could wear most of his clothes. They were not the right size, but they were close enough. The clothes he was wearing were ruined anyway. I buried him and prayed over the grave and marked it with a cross made of tree branches lashed together with a short cord.
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