Artificial Horizon - A César Fernando Basa x Reader story

XLIV - Artificial Horizon

An instrument that displays the degree of pitch or bank of an aircraft relative to the horizon.

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César

"I think," Captain Jesús Villamor, the squadron commander of this celebrated Sixth Pursuit Squadron of ours, started out of the blue late that night of the eleventh.

With the remaining people in our squad who remained here in Batangas, almost halved when some others were in Manila, we've just finished our dinner and somehow found peace in moments as this for some late-night games over cards or talks watching the open sky right next to the runway of this provincial airfield—just a few meters away from the hangars that sheltered the remaining six Peashooters we have brought along with us from Zablan earlier today, and from the barracks itself.

"I have always been a dreamer," he added as he almost absent-mindedly watched Lieutenant Carmelo Ortiz shuffling the deck of cards after the early finish of the previous game a minute or two ago. "Paniguradong hindi lang ako. Kaya nga tayong lahat ay nagpiloto."

No one from the group—roughly twenty airmen and more or less forty or fifty mechanics are gathered right now—had replied back. Even though there's only about ten of us in the current table of a game, the others who are also playing their own rounds, stop and grow silent at that, except for the small shuffle of cards thrown and arranged.

It hadn't been always this quiet. A week ago, Batangas Airfield is full of the entire squadron—about almost half a thousand—everyone in high spirits, roaring with their friendly bets, rousing everyone to the entertainment of drinks and laughter. Now, even the series of card games had been too quiet for everyone's liking, but no one is also in the mood of trying to lighten the mood.

"Ganoon ba 'yon, kapitan?" Lieutenant Federico Reyes inquired after taking a puff of his smoke, seated on the nearby other table. "Na masyadong malalawak ang mga imahinisyon natin kaya natin pinili mag-piloto?"

"Hindi ba?" Capt. Villamor counters as Carmelo starts to distribute the cards for another round.

I slightly raise a hand, halting Carmelo from handing me a series of cards my own, as I push myself up from my seat that seems to cause all others to turn at my direction, waiting for me to definitely say something as an excuse. It never become as awkward as this most of the time, but with everyone being the way we all are right now... "Kukuha lamang ako ng maiinom. At mag-uunat-unat lang din saglit."

"Basta 'wag lang alak, 'oy," reminds Capt. Villamor back at me. "Ayaw kong magpaliwanag sa mapapangasawa mo na alak na ang dumadaloy sa katawan mo kaysa dugo."

I smile sheepishly. "Naiintindihan ko, kapitan."

With that, as I leave the rest of the group, heading on to where I am really after for some drinking water, I heard Capt. Villamor once addressing the issue back at Federico regarding his earlier statement. However, it seems like I've been quite too far away already to hear whatever contradiction Federico or the others will be having.

But it seems like something to reflect on as well. In a sense, I will actually agree with his words—that pilots are dreamers. For most people, the sky is the limit; but for us, it is limitless. There are too many possibilities being up in the air, and I think that it is that curiosity of mine that actually lead me to this path.

After all, for the past two years that I've trained and received my wings, I've been always asked. My first interrogators had been my own parents, certainly surprised of my sudden intention to be a pilot myself when I am starting my last year as a chemistry student at that time. I think, they never predicted that I'll turn my back to chemistry—of course, no one thought of that plot twist in my life—but I guess, I'll only be fooling myself if I'll be lying that the sky never fascinated me as a kid.