The Real Larry

This has gone long enough.  Larry playing the suave sophisticated author sitting in a leather chair in a study surrounded by shelves of books, maybe smoking a pipe.  I could just tell you about the real Larry, but perhaps a story will better illustrate the Larry that I know.

It starts in the middle of the night, about eight or nine years ago.  He and I are partners sitting in a little kitchen area, me doing as I’m supposed to be doing, which was attentively staring at a red “Bat” phone with my hand hovering over the receiver, eagerly awaiting the call from Commissioner Gordon for help in Gotham City.

Larry, on the other hand, is demonstrating his customary inability to cope with inactivity, and has a personal project of his spread out all over the table, rendering it unusable for anything else, like maybe eating.

The “Bat” phone does ring.  It’s not Commissioner Gordon but dispatch requesting air support for the Haines City Police Department.  Not Gotham City, but kind of close.  Seems some local officers went in pursuit of two people in a stolen car and they opened fire on the officers with unknown type and caliber firearms.

Like the Top Flight Crew that we actually were for a string of years, we bolted for the door and in as short a time as you can get the turbine lit on a jet helicopter and a few essential systems online, we were screaming through the black Florida sky.

Always a day late and a dollar short, before we could arrive, the bad guys had wrecked the car and after backing the pursuing cops off with gunfire, had escaped on foot.

Shortly after arriving on scene, Larry located one of the suspects using a thermal imager running through an orange grove, feeling safe in the protection of the darkness and probably making plans for later that night when he got back to town.  Quietly directing ground units into position, the suspect turned a corner in the rows of orange trees and almost ran right into a police car and into the awaiting arms of some officers who probably weren’t in  the most sunny of dispositions.  The capture was text book and would have made a great training tape.  That one was not the reason that I told this story.

With that one in custody, Larry located the other one, also with the thermal imager as it was a black night.  This one though, was in a large marshy swampy part of Lake Lowery making remarkably good time away from the ground troops in waist to chest deep water and muck with sawgrass higher than his head.  An assessment of the situation determined that it would take hours to get a ground or marine asset to this area, and we didn’t have that much fuel.  Rather than let this armed violent person get away Larry said “Get me down there!”

Being obligated to comply, I set the helicopter up to do a low, slow pass over the guy while checking for helicopter snags (poles, cables, lines, dead trees, etc).  Then I would roll into a sharp left descending turn and roll out into a hover just five feet over the target.  Did I mention that Larry and I often have a problem communicating with one another?  As I made my low pass, intently scanning for obstacles and danger, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and the helicopter lurched violently as Larry bailed out.

I watched in horror as Larry fell,,,, and fell,,,, and fell,,, and splashed down right next to the bad guy like a Mercury space capsule splashing down in the Atlantic, only without the chute.  Rolling into my planned maneuver, I kept my eyes riveted on the point of splashdown as I came to a complete stop.  After what seemed like a long time and much to the surprise of the bad guy as well as myself, Larry popped up from the black water and muck and grabbed the guy by the throat, and the fight was on.

Alone in the helicopter, I helplessly took on the roll of a three quarter million dollar street light, illuminating the bizarre scene below. It only lasted a few minutes.  I don’t think Larry actually won the fight, I think the guy just decided that Larry was soooooooo insane that nothing good could come from further resistance, and allowed Larry to drag him the quarter mile to shore to the awaiting officers bristling with questions as well as weapons.

“Air 1, did you misplace a flight officer?  I think we may have one down here!”

Are you beginning to get a clear picture of what kind of nut Larry is?  The above narrative is a prelude to telling you that I landed and picked him up dripping and smelling like a sewer and flew him back to the airbase.  As we walked back into the ready room there, still spread out all over the table in about ten pieces, was Larry’s gun in the process of being cleaned.

Filed Under: Nat's slip

Tags: author • flying • law enforcement • Nat