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I Was Born To Fly

Written By: Spudz

There were perks to the job, and drawbacks as well. You had to learn to balance the good with the bad and roll with the punches. The hours could be long and erratic. The pay was good at least, but only achieved through tireless work and many, many sacrifices. Was it worth it in the end? Most would say yes. Others, well...

Captain Richard Thames, or Rick as he preferred, checked his watch in the back of the shuttle van. He was running a few minutes late today, but not bad enough to cause alarm yet. His destination lay a few blocks away and today's driver had a single-minded determination to violate every traffic law in existence. He'd still get there with plenty of time to spare.

The German shepherd had to brace himself in the back as the lumbering van took a particularly violent turn onto an adjacent street, giving rise to a slight squeal of the tires and the honking of a car horn. He tried his damnedest not to bounce about like a pinball in the back seat; today's driver seemed hell-bent on making the trip quite the hazardous one. I have plenty of time, so long as I don't get killed on the way.

Another jerky turn of the wheel and the van shuddered to a halt. Rick was the only passenger aboard, and he found the silence that ensued awkward as he picked his way forward to the door. The driver--a paunchy middle-aged malamute--wasn't holding out his hand. He might as well have been for the look he gave over his shoulder.

It wasn't the driver's fault that Rick had left the hotel late; a coffee mishap had been the culprit today. Hell, the malamute had even shaved a few minutes off the commute, at the expense of nearly killing the both of them..

Rick took a moment to fish a few ones out of his wallet. "Thanks for the ride." Thanks for scaring the shit out of me, he didn't add. All he got in reply was a curt nod and snort from the impatient driver.

The shepherd's dress shoes met the stark reality of winter as he plopped down into several inches of unplowed snow--hardly enough to warrant notice or care from the locals. Nothing less than several feet of the damn stuff would grind this city to a halt. Rick couldn't claim to be so immune; the fresh powder proved high enough to sully the bottom hem of his dress pants and further sour his mood.

He barely had time to haul his roller suitcase out of the van and shut the side door before the vehicle sped away, sliding about on the wintery slush of the road. With that harrowing adventure now behind him, the shepherd straightened his uniform and turned his attention to the nearby entrance. So begins another day.

Ted Stevens Anchorage International Airport, named after a senator of all things, would be the beginning point of his shift today. A flight to Seattle was first, followed by another hop to Salt Lake City quickly thereafter. He had done the route numerous times. Same departure time, same gate, same aircraft, same passengers, same monotonous routine.

A wave of warm air washed over the dog when he entered the terminal, replacing the harsh chill of Alaskan winter with the even warmth of climate control. His pilot uniform--crisply pressed and folded like always--immediately commanded attention from the passengers checking in for their flights at the nearby counter.

Rick tried his best not to meet their curious glances. Passengers rarely approached him when he stepped foot on airport property. Nonetheless he had no intention of giving anyone the inclination he wanted to strike up a chat.

As far as the flying public was concerned, he did not have bad days; he couldn't afford to when so many lives rested on the shoulder stripes of his uniform. The passengers never needed to know that he'd had a hard time rolling out of his hotel bed this morning, or that he'd almost called in sick after struggling to get dressed, or that even now the German shepherd contemplated turning around and walking right back out the door to give up on the day altogether. His better judgment only just won out on that battle.

Setting his expression, Rick quickly passed the check-in area by without a second glance. After a short walk he ducked down a nondescript hallway and pushed his way through a secure door. On the other side, the din of anxious energy and frantic passengers faded away into a barely perceptible hum. He drew a heavy sigh and leaned against the door; a pilot lounge always offered an escape from the rigors of air travel, and today he took much more solace in its existence than usual.

The accommodations hardly counted as luxurious; a few couches, an older TV tuned to a twenty-four hour news station, a kitchenette, and a handful of workstations for paperwork and such. Spartan, but a damn sight better than what the general passengers had to put up with for airport creature comforts.

The lounge was, as he had expected, empty. This time of year Delta only had a few daily flights out of Anchorage, and most of those were early in the morning or disgustingly late at night. Flight 2436 counted itself as the one exception, with a departure at 15:50 local time.

Rick watched the TV's news broadcast with disinterest for a few moments, until a clatter of activity announced the presence of someone in the kitchenette out of his sight. The dog's ears deflated at the realization his copilot had already arrived. The last person I want to talk with right now.

He turned his back on the kitchen and angled his roller bag up to one of the workstations, thumbing on the power button as he took possession of the utilitarian metal seat. After a few prompts and entered passwords, he began panning through his flight information for the day. An entry soon caught his attention.

"Called in sick?" the shepherd muttered, reading the message twice. Wasn't expecting that. Apparently his usual copilot, a brash coyote by the name of Manny, had not flown up on the inbound flight yesterday due to illness.

That changes things. Rick chewed on his lip and stole a glance to the still out of sight kitchenette. He'd just thought the yote had been the source of the ruckus.

Rick got along well enough with Manny, but it did get irritating at times when the coyote would start yammering on about his fighter pilot days driving F-15s down Saddam's throat. Rick, as a captive audience in the confines of the cockpit, had no choice but to listen to all the jock-talk with something approaching feigned interest. It didn't make it any easier when Manny talked down his nose at the shepherd like some sort of inferior specimen; because no one could call themselves a real pilot if they hadn't rammed a Sidewinder up a MiG's asshole.

But at the same time, with Manny and all his coyote ego no longer slated to join Rick in the cockpit, that meant the shepherd had to work with another pilot now.

He rubbed his ears with an irritated groan. Not today. Any day but today. He knew the job demanded, above anything else, proper communication between pilots; he couldn't get around that fact since, well, you needed to talk with each other to fly a plane. He would have to be cheery enough to keep the cockpit atmosphere professional, as much as he loathed the idea right now. Social decorum had a way of grating on his nerves at the worst of times.

A heavy sigh worked its way out of the German shepherd's long muzzle as he returned to the workstation display to pore through weather reports and route information. The various data readouts and charts occupied his attention until a coffee cup suddenly appeared at his side. Only then did he realize someone had joined him.

The white fur of the hand holding the offered cup terminated at the crisp fold of a pilot uniform, which his gaze followed up toward the smiling face of a Border collie. "If you frown at that screen long enough, it just might frown back," she teased, motioning with her eyes to the workstation. Her abrupt appearance left him at a momentarily loss. "How 'bout a nice cup of hot chocolate? You seem like someone that could use some cheering up."

He looked to the Styrofoam cup and then back to her. "I... uh. Thanks." He took the offered drink and held it awkwardly in his hand.

"You're supposed to drink it, silly. It's nothing special. That instant crap they keep stocked in the kitchen. But it's better than nothing. Always cheers me up."

The collie seemed to be waiting for him to take a sip, and so he did gingerly and grimaced as the scolding hot liquid singed his tongue.

She made an apologetic face. "Sorry 'bout that. I probably should've let it cool a bit."

Rick waved a hand dismissively, choking out a response. "No... no, it's alright. I appreciate the gesture."

"My bad." She shrugged helplessly. "I can't claim to be the best in the kitchen. Even instant hot chocolate can get the best of me, I guess." She took possession of a seat next to him, spinning it around so she could fold her arms on top of the backrest. "Something else that could cheer ya up, perhaps?"

Rick studied the cup in his hand, considered taking another sip, and then set it aside. "Do I really look that glum?"

"To be blunt, you have quite the cloud hanging over your ears." The collie pointed to the ceiling and he actually looked up expecting something to be there. When he looked back to her dumbly she blinked and then extended a hand. "Sorry, name's Ellis," she added.

He stared at her offered hand a moment too long before realizing he was supposed to shake it. "Uh, Richard... erm, Rick. I guess I'm not off to a great start today."

"Happens to the best of us. Can't help it if ya wake up on the wrong side of the bed once in a while, eh?" She rested her muzzle on top of her clasped hands in a manner that annoyed him. "Since there's two of us here in uniform, and there's only one flight for the next couple hours, I'd say I'm your copilot today."

"I suppose so." Only now did he really take in her appearance. She was not much younger than him; probably a year or so over thirty from his half-interested guess. Her cream and white fur flowed from folded ears to bushy tail in a wandering manner that seemed at odds with the crisp, concise folds of her dark uniform. "Have you flown this route before?"

"Just switched over two weeks ago. I'm usually on the one a.m. hop with Clark. But I understand your copilot called in sick, so here I am. Guess they're dead-heading a replacement for me on the next bird." She craned her neck to take in the display of the workstation, which currently showed a satellite image of their route. Thick cloud cover obscured a good portion of the terrain. "How's the weather lookin'?"

"Not particularly good," Rick admitted after following her gaze, glad for the distraction the screen offered. "Strong front pushing into the Seattle area. A lot of nasty weather up and down the coast. Reported high level turbulence from previous flights; whole lot of ugly."

She chewed on a claw thoughtfully. "Should make things interesting."

"That's one way of putting it."

"Sometimes ya need something to mix it up. A little adventure, eh?"

Rick rubbed his ears again. "I'm not exactly keen on adventure. And I'm sure the passengers won't be either. We're not exactly in that sort of business."

"Oh? We certainly aren't." She cocked her head with an ear unfolding. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy the adventure when it does happen."

"But the passengers..." he spoke with a frown.

"Will manage. It'll be a bumpy ride, but we'll get them where they're going for the holidays. And on time. I'm sure the two of us are up to the task."

He hesitated, and then nodded. His reply lacked the energy he thought it would have. "Of course."

She seemed like she wanted to say something more. But the Border collie didn't. Instead she took possession of the adjoining workstation and logged in. The silence built at length for several long awkward minutes until Rick had to say something.

"I suppose I should finish this," the shepherd spoke up, grabbing the Styrofoam cup with his mostly untouched hot chocolate. He drained the piping hot contents in one long swig and made an effort of not showing the resulting discomfort. He threw the empty cup into the nearby trashcan. "Thanks."

Ellis's tail wagged through the hole in the back of her seat. "You're welcome." She checked her phone for the time. "Getting on close to departure, it looks like. Time for the briefing, eh?"

He nodded, feeling a little better since he'd stepped foot in the pilot lounge. Maybe something in the hot chocolate. "It would seem so."

A quarter hour later both pilots removed themselves from their respective chairs. Procuring his hat from the nearby counter, Rick watched as Ellis donned hers by carefully fitting her two floppy ears through the purpose cut holes in the brim. "Sometimes I wish these things behaved better," she huffed, taking a moment to straighten her uniform out.

Rick let a slight smile touch the corner of his muzzle as he mirrored her action with far less difficulty, sliding his hat effortlessly over his pointy ears. "These aren't always of benefit. Like having two radar antennas pinned to my head."

"I think they look good on ya, though." She shook her head when he gave her a funny look and grabbed her roller bag, extending the handle with a quick expert jerk of the hand. "Shall we? Gotta get a move on."

Not sure how else to respond, Rick followed her lead out into the general passenger area of the terminal with a raised eyebrow and his own bag in tow. He quickly caught up to Ellis and fell in step as they worked their way into the flow of people heading for the gate.

The two pilots walked together in the midst of the passengers, exuding the cool confidence synonymous with their profession. Many of these same people would soon be crammed into the back of the very aircraft he'd be flying, and training had taught the shepherd that you always carried yourself with the best air to show that their lives were in the best of hands. Many of them didn't pay him or Ellis any mind, though. All they probably cared about was the plane taking off on time and reaching its destination mostly in one piece. Bunch of cattle herding from one point to another with no care for anyone but themselves.

At the end of the terminal their gate loomed, manned by a single gate agent. The chipper husky gave the two approaching pilots a beaming smile. "Good afternoon! Plane's on time and everything seems to be shipshape."

Rick didn't know the agent's name, but Ellis apparently did. "Thanks, Linda. Look after the passengers for us. They must be ready to get home for the holidays."

The husky's smile only grew, something that he had thought impossible. Her southern accent grated. "Of course, dear! You know I will."

As was the typical routine the pilots exchanged paperwork with the agent, which took the form of a massive ream of paper that a dot matrix printer had spit out. The damn system, which had been installed into the gate sign, dated back several decades. But it worked and was cheap compared to other printing methods, so the airline had no reason to replace it. Of course, that meant that Rick had to stop and take a moment to fold the long continuous run of paper over on top of itself repeatedly so he could actually scan through it. And to add to his frustration today's report seemed much longer and far less manageable than he liked. The shepherd eventually settled for stuffing the crumbled wad into his pilot bag unceremoniously.

After some more pleasantries were exchanged between Ellis and Linda, the agent scanned Rick's badge with a terrible joke that made him inwardly cringe. How can someone be so cheerful? He soon found himself trekking down the jetway toward his waiting aircraft with Ellis a step behind, glad to put all that behind him.

Flight 2436 would be a Boeing 757-200 today, Rick's current aircraft qualification. He could also fly a 767 with his training, given that both aircraft used the same cockpit design and instruments. But of course that amounted to nothing more than a pipe dream considering the German shepherd's low ranking in pilot seniority. Countless old farts stood in the way; he probably had no hope of advancing before the 767 saw retirement from the fleet. And so I'm stuck flying old, obsolete 757s on the verge of being put out to pasture. Rick scuffed as the weather-worn fuselage panned into view at the end of the jetbridge. Just like today's aircraft.

Taking a step onto the plane felt like taking a step back in time; the cabin had a very dated appearance. Some effort had been made to modernize the interior back before all the airlines had filed for bankruptcy in the early 2000s. But any further improvements clearly had not been deemed cost effective by Delta. Given that fact, and the spate of recent orders the airline had placed for newer aircraft, he could safely assume this particular bird would see retirement in the very near future.

"She's seen better years," Ellis remarked as both pilots made their way forward, carefully maneuvering suitcases down the narrow aisle.

"No doubt," the shepherd replied simply. It seemed wrong for the airline to use such dated equipment on longer hauls like this flight. Probably can get away with it because there are so few flights to the lower forty-eight this time of year. No competition.

Ellis was clearly more upbeat about the aircraft's condition. "It's amazing how old some of these birds are. The airline does a good job of maintaining 'em. Those DC-9s they were keeping around until a few years ago were as old as me and you."

Rick stopped, forcing the collie to do the same behind him in the aisle. He looked back with a wan smile. "Let's hope they decide not to retire us anytime soon."

Her ears lay back. "Why would they?"

"They're downsizing the seven-five fleet, aren't they? What's to stop them from downsizing the seven-five pilots? They've done it before."

"Not now; the airline's growing. They'll make sure pilots are transferred to other types. They'd be crazy to lay off experienced crew when there's room to grow the fleet." She fixed him with a reproachful look, made more pointed by her uniform and pilot cap. "There's no sense thinking like that."

He shook his head, annoyed at himself for even broaching the subject. "You're right. I'm just being my pessimistic self."

"Well, stop that."

He shrugged. "Sorry."

The cockpit was no less modern in design, a clash of the new and the old. As Rick finished stowing his luggage and turned his attention to adjusting the pilot seat to his dimensions, Ellis made to leave. "I'll see to things outside," she said, before disappearing at his nod of understanding. It fell to her to inspect the plane's exterior for damage--typical procedure before any flight.

Her absence left the shepherd alone in the solitude of the cockpit. He took a moment to soak it all in; the gentle hum of the avionics, the strange musky smell of old aircraft, the vast arrangement of instruments and dials spread out before him in chaotic order. All the control surfaces were worn with age, the paint peeled off from years of constant use. He reached up to pat a hand on the headrest of his seat. No matter how shitty a day might start out, the dog always found some comfort here: his office in the sky.

He had already begun the preflight checks when Ellis returned. She glided into her seat at his side with graceful ease and took a moment to adjust the height and distance so her feet could reach the rudder pedals. "Everything's good out there. Main tires are lookin' a bit worn. They probably don't have many more cycles left on 'em." She picked up a bundle of paperwork and thumbed through several pages. "Ah, bird's due for C-Check maintenance in a few days. I guess the airline wants to keep her around a while longer yet. Tires should hold out until then."

"Sounds about right," Rick replied, half listening to her, half concentrating on his checks. He punched some numbers into a calculator to crunch the figures for takeoff weight and double checked the results with a frown. After a moment he sighed and started over.

The preflight proceeded without incident, and soon the first class passengers started filing aboard to take their seats. Rick tuned out the muffled clamor of activity aft as he picked up his headset and dialed into the weather frequency. Everything appeared relatively calm in Anchorage: scattered clouds with a light breeze off the water. Just another calm, cold day in the last frontier.

As he looked outside the cockpit window, the sun sat perfectly framed just a hair's breadth above the mountains. He could never get used to what little daylight there was in the winter up here. Even with the flight departing at 4pm, night would already have a firm grip on the wintery landscape.

"So, where ya based at?"

Ellis's question had caught the shepherd by surprise. It took him a pregnant pause to reply. "Ah, erm, Atlanta. Although I'm working on a transfer to Salt Lake."

"I'm based out of Salt Lake." She turned toward him in her seat, causing that one floppy ear to unfold again. "Surprised you're out of Atlanta. How'd ya end up on this route? You gotta commute to your flights don't ya?"

Rick felt his posture deflate. "Yes. Not something I'm fond of. I ended up here, well, because that's how the dice fell."

"And any luck on the reassignment?"

He flipped to the next page on a checklist and studied the text with disinterest. "Nothing yet. Not expecting anything for a while. They're typically slow to accommodate."

"I hope they come through for ya. That's a long way to commute. How'd ya manage?"

"Hotels sometimes. Sometimes just catch a few hours in the pilot lounge. It depends on the schedule." He wanted to put the topic behind him. The cockpit voice recorder was capturing their conversation and he didn't like the idea of badmouthing the company when it could possibly come back to bite him.

Ellis didn't seem to notice his unease. "I can't believe the airline gets away with that sort of thing. It's not fair to you."

"Just part of the job. At this point I'm willing to believe that mantra and keep going day by day."

She studied him for an uncomfortably long time. "That's... that sounds awful. Is Atlanta nice at least? I know most pilots are based outta there."

"It's an unremarkable city. Just a place to live."

"But there's gotta be something interesting to do? Local attractions? What hobbies are ya into?"

He looked out the forward cockpit window; a small pup gazed back at him from the terminal window with his nose pressed up against the glass. "Hobbies? Nothing really worth mentioning."

"Aw come on. Everyone has hobbies. There must be something ya do in your spare time?"

Her pointed glare got him to relent. "Ok, I suppose I work on cars."

"A gearhead, huh?" She sat back, folding her arms. "Suits you. My father was into cars too. We used to work on his old '69 Shelby all the time. Thing was a work of art."

That got Rick's attention. "Really?"

"Was good to spend time with him. Learned a thing or two about cars as well." She moved her hand back and forth to mimic cutting a series of lazy S-turns. "Was the best when we could take her for a spin down a nice windy road after a long day wrenching under the hood. Feel every subtle curve as we cruised at something approaching crazy speeds. The local police weren't too fond of us. No better car to get pulled over in though."

"A '69 Shelby; I'd love to own one of those."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Now that's the most animated I've seen ya so far. You really are a car guy."

He gave her a helpless look. "I guess I am. Do you still find time to work with your father?"

"Oh, no." She looked away for the briefest instant. "He passed away a few years ago. Lung cancer."

"Oh." Rick's ears splayed all the way back, unsettling his headset. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I made peace with his passing long ago. It's part of life. We had many great memories together, more than a lifetime's worth. I'm just glad we could be there for each other through it all."

One of the stewardesses chose that moment to poke her head into the cockpit, interrupting the pilots. "We all set up here?" the fox asked in typical flight attendant enthusiasm. They're either super joyful or just glum lumps on a log. Never anything in-between. Rick didn't know her by name.

"Looks like it, Renee," Ellis replied, putting on a smile that gave the fox a run for her money. "All the passengers aboard?"

"Last straggler just made his way on. Looks like we can get out of here 'head a schedule."

"That'd be a nice change, eh? I believe we're ready to button her up, right Rick?" The shepherd merely nodded his response. "Alright then, let's get this show on the road. Got some people that need to get home for the holidays."

"You know it," the fox agreed, jolly as can be, and removed herself from the cockpit. But she reappeared a moment later with an afterthought. "Did either of you want a refreshment for the trip?"

Rick looked to the Border collie, who shrugged. "Would a water be out of the question?"

"Of course not, hon." She looked to him. "And the captain?"

He thought it over. It wasn't typical of him to pillage the food cart like this. But she had asked. "I suppose a Diet Coke would be ok?"

"Coming right up."

Once said drinks were procured and stowed off to the side for later the stewardess bid them a safe trip and pulled the cockpit door closed. Rick reached behind to lock the securing bar in place, sealing the pilots off from the rest of the aircraft. "You'd think I was the pilot subbing in on this flight," he gruffed in their newfound isolation. "Don't know anyone's name, and here you are putting me to shame."

Ellis gave him a sympathetic look. "Have you flown with Renee before?"

He thought about it and sighed. "I honestly don't know."

"And Linda at the gate desk?" He shook his head. "Well don't feel bad about it. I always go outta my way to ask. Nothing wrong with not being good with names."

"Heh, I should still know. It's not like we have hundreds of flights coming in and out of here. No excuse on my part." The gentle hum of the cockpit instruments took over at length until he set his expression. "We should begin the Before Engine Start Checklist." He picked up the checklist in question and clipped it onto the control yoke clipboard.

"Ri... right. Before Engine Start Checklist," she echoed, showing a bit of annoyance at the sudden shift back to the job. A few page turns brought her back in sync. "Ready here."

The start of the checklist signified the beginning of the Sterile Cockpit phase of flight. Until the aircraft leveled off at a steady cruise altitude, only essential conversation pertinent to the flight could take place. Rick was glad for the reprieve it offered. He scrolled his index finger up the page to rest on the first item on the list. "Charts and Flight Plans."

Ellis reached down to check her flight bag for the hardcopy material in question. Personal tablets stored most chart data these days, but that didn't mean the hefty paper equivalents could be entirely done away with. "Onboard."

They cycled through the entire list with mechanical precision; by now such procedures were rooted in memory. Aft, the stewardess closed the aircraft door and the jetbridge disconnected to move away from the fuselage. Rick toggled exterior collision lighting and cross-checked his instruments. Moments later they received departure clearance from air traffic control.

The German shepherd looked over to Ellis. "Your voice."

"My voice," she confirmed. The collie dialed in to the ground frequency and waited, listening to the chatter that ensued. Several cargo flights were currently taxiing about, providing a backdrop of quick choppy conversation.

Rick didn't pay the radio traffic any mind and switched over to the ground crew channel. Down below outside the aircraft, a husky sat patiently at the pushback tug controls with a headset donned, strumming his hands on the steering wheel. The click of the pilot coming on the channel stirred him from his daydreaming. "Afternoon, cap. Ready to go?"

Rick clicked his mic. "Good afternoon. We're requesting clearance to push now." Ellis was busy doing just that on the ground frequency, and after a moment she gave him a thumbs up from the copilot seat. "We can push now."

There was a moment's pause as the husky presumably motioned to the wing walkers to take their stations on either side of the aircraft for safety measures. "You got a 747 park'n her fat ass right behind. Gonna be a moment 'til she's clear. A little icy as well. We'll do our best."

The quarter hour it took for the aircraft to be pushed back and subsequently deiced was equal parts uneventful and dull. Only after the deice trucks finished swarming the 757 and moved off to assail their next victim did the ground crew give permission for engine start up.

"Starting One," Rick called out. He threw a series of switches to initiate the sequence.

A dull rumble slowly built in volume, accompanying the steadily increasing readouts for Engine One as bleed air from the APU spun the turbine up to speed. Another thrown switch on the center console introduced fuel, and in a matter of moments the instrument panel read idle.

They didn't have far to go to reach the active runway, so a one engine taxi to save fuel couldn't be justified. "Starting Two."

The ground crew soon retreated back to the gate with one last communication to enjoy the warmer weather. Taxi clearance was granted thereafter.

"I have the aircraft," Rick announced. He would be flying this leg of their journey to Seattle, while Ellis would take over for the hop to Salt Lake. It was typical to rotate duties as such.

"Your aircraft," the collie confirmed.

With a subtle input of the throttles, Rick released the brakes and eased the Boeing out toward the active runway. He soon slotted in behind two hulking 747s as number three for departure.

"Lotta seven-fours today," Ellis observed, craning her neck to peer out the side window.

"No doubt." No fewer than five of the massive planes currently roamed the airport currently, with quite a few more parked on the nearby tarmac. All of them were cargo birds, mostly Asian liveries stopping over for a crew change and fuel before proceeding on to destinations in the continental U.S. or beyond. For its modest size, Anchorage International airport crammed in a healthy number of heavy flights on any given day.

The lumbering beast in front of Rick's plane slowly plodded its way up onto Runway 32, landing lights casting a fan of illumination across the rubber-scarred concrete. The subsequent roar of four Pratt & Whitney turbofans spooling to angry life rocked the smaller 757 as its larger sister rolled into a takeoff. Both pilots watched through the side window as the massive plane gracefully rotated up into the sky in defiance of gravity, destined for parts unknown.

They had completed the Before Takeoff Checklist, and the aircraft was configured for takeoff. Rick had already made his announcement aft to prepare for departure. All that remained was clearance from the tower.

"Delta 2436, taxi position and hold." the disembodied voice instructed.

Ellis keyed her mic. "Position and hold, 2436."

The shepherd advanced the throttles, while she toggled exterior strobes and landing lights to mark their position on the active. The runway lights slowly lined up before him; the aircraft ended up perfectly centerline, poised to follow her bigger sibling into the heavens.

"Delta 2436, winds three-one-five at five, cleared for takeoff. Caution wake turbulence."

The collie keyed her mic again. "Cleared for takeoff, Delta 2436." She looked over to Rick. "Ready to go?"

He nodded, and placed a hand on the throttle quadrant. "Takeoff." He pushed the levers forward to a point, letting the engines spool slightly. A quick scan of the instruments verified all was good; Ellis watched closely as well to ensure no abnormalities were missed. After a brief hesitation, he followed through the rest of the way. "Takeoff power set."

The acceleration pushed him back in his seat. Quick small inputs on the rudder pedals kept the plane straight against the slight crosswind.

Ellis watched the instruments. "Eighty knots... V1... rotate."

At her callout, Rick pulled back on the yoke. The plane responded smartly, picking the nose off the runway at his command; the rumble of the forward landing gear died away. He kept the input steady as the wings took on the weight of the aircraft and the sky increasingly filled their view out the forward windows.

They soared into the heavens with all the graceful elegance of an eagle taking flight, riding on the power of two roaring Rolls-Royce RB211 turbofan engines.

"Positive rate," the collie called out.

He kept his focus on flying the plane. "Gear up." She reached out to retract the landing gear at his command.

"Delta 2436, contact Departure on one-three-five-point-eight," the tower controller called out.

"One-three-five-eight, g'day," Ellis responded. She reached up to dial in the new frequency and contacted the departure controller for the start of their climb.

"Flaps five," Rick called out. He was banking to the east now, following the distant 747 in front of them that was now no more than a series of strobe flashes in the lengthening darkness of sunset. The cloud cover had thickened noticeably. Soon the distant plane disappeared into the obscuring fluff.

The lights of Anchorage faded away as they punched a hole into the cloud cover a minute later. The shepherd zeroed the flaps and toggled the autopilot at that point to let the plane take over flying. Neither pilot would touch the controls now until they were on final approach to Seattle. As routine a departure as could be asked; just another day on the job.

"This is the best part," Ellis spoke, mostly to herself. As she watched intently, the thick vapor slowly began to peel away. And then all at once they burst forth into clear twilight sky with the clouds below zipping by impossibly fast.

The sun sat perfectly framed in the forward window, nestled atop the cloud deck as if held in a downy cradle. Brilliant hues of red and gold painted the sky, gradually fading into the darkness creeping up from behind their point of view. They raced now to stay ahead of the night, a race that would eventually be lost.

Rick settled deeper into his seat with a lengthy breath. There was a lot of reported turbulence up ahead of them. He didn't know how long this smooth air would last, but he would make the most of it while he could and relax.

On the other side of the cockpit, Ellis keyed her mic to reply to another ATC instruction and changed the frequency to the regional center that would guide them down to Seattle. When she was done verbally shaking hands with the new controller she sat back in her seat, removing her headset from one floppy ear. "That's some view."

Rick grunted his agreement. It was a view indeed, but one he had seen countless times.

His response didn't sit well with her. She turned in her seat and looked to him, ear unfolding yet again. "Not exactly a vote of confidence."

"It's quite a sight, don't get me wrong."

She went quiet for some time. "Do you mind if I ask you something? I don't mean to pry."

He looked between her and the instruments, hoping for something to offer a distraction. Of course the aircraft didn't need them right now; it had everything under control. He gave a reluctant nod, knowing she did, in fact, mean to do just that.

"I..." she was clearly uneasy. "I just wanted to make sure everything's alright. I know it's not my place. This is the first time we've flown as a team. But I feel like something's troubling you."

He made an effort to give her a reassuring smile and came up well short. "I apologize." The cockpit voice recorder's presence nagged him. "Just an off day, nothing more."

Her expression said she didn't buy it. "A pretty bad one at that. Maybe, talk about it? I'm all ears. Well, I can't hold 'em upright but I can listen all the same." A call came in from the controller to ascend to their assigned cruise altitude and the collie took a moment to answer. Rick adjusted the autopilot accordingly and ended up facing her expectant look. "Tell me what troubles ya," she added in a gentle voice, not letting the topic go.

The sun had started its retreat below the clouds, giving the surrounding vapor a surreal glow. "It's just..." The voice recorder whirled on in his head like an annoying buzz. "I'd rather not talk about it here."

"Why? Because we're being recorded? That's nothing to worry about. Talk to me. I hate to see a fellow pilot bent out of shape like this."

He started at that. The shepherd's hand moved to rub anxiously across the handle of the yoke where years of use had worn away the paint. "It's nothing. I'm a commercial pilot working for a reputable airline, making my share of money and living a comfortable life. This is my dream job. I'm perfectly happy."

"Are you?" The question was spoken so softly that he almost didn't hear it over the rush of air across the fuselage.

"I..." Her eyes seemed to look right into him. She could see right through his halfhearted words. "I shouldn't have said anything."

She set her expression in a motherly way. "But you did, and for good reason. Come on. Talk to me."

"I'd rather not."

"I'm not going anywhere." She leaned over toward him more, and he thought that she would fall out of her seat. "You might as well. I'm not one to give up so easily. You know how my species is."

He sighed and dropped his gaze to the control yoke. He didn't realize he'd been gripping the worn handles fretfully. "I'm not." The words left his muzzle before he even realized what he had said. "I'm... not happy."

"Why?"

The question jolted him. "I don't, I don't know."

She reached over to place a gentle hand on his shoulder, covering the stripes of his uniform. Her touch surprised him. "There must be something. Is this job really what you wanted to do with your life?"

"Of course, ever since I was a young pup. I love to fly. It's a passion I'll never get over."

"But you're not happy working this profession?"

"Well, no... maybe?" He averted his gaze out the side window. The words came fast and heated. "I honestly don't know what I should feel. I want to be happy. This is my dream job. I should be happy. I get to travel to interesting places. I get to do what I love for a living. And yet it's not what I thought it would be." He sighed. "Why am I telling you this?"

"Ya shouldn't be bothered by that. It's healthy to talk about something like this with others. Get it off your chest."

He pursed his lips. No sense holding back now. "Do you know what it's like to strive for a goal all your life and finally reach it, only to find that it's not what you expected? What you wanted after all?"

"I cannot say for certain," she managed. After a moment she regarded him anew. "Tell me about it; how you ended up here. Where did it all begin?"

No one had ever asked him that before. It took a long pause to think his reply over. "It started when I was eight. Was flying with the family to see the grandparents. The pilots, they let me sit in the cockpit, in the captain's chair. It was a DC-9, new for the time, with all the antiquated gauges and instruments. I was mesmerized by it all. I don't know why, but from that point forward, I was fascinated with flight. It's hard to explain, but I knew then that I would earn my place in that seat one day."

She smiled now. "A true origin story for a pilot. Even now you so vividly remember."

"I do cherish it. My parents would talk about how they saw that young naïve pup's eyes light up when he sat down in that special seat and grabbed the yoke with two tiny hands. I was doomed from then on."

"I can picture it clearly," Ellis laughed. "Must've been quite the precocious scamp. So how'd ya go from there?"

"I carried that goal to college, and enrolled in an avionics program. Got a little scholarship help. Mostly had to work part time to get myself through those first years. Was even a janitor at the local airport for a time."

"That's not what I was expecting."

He smiled a self-deprecating smile. "I was determined to make it through. A private college and expensive tuition. If that meant cleaning toilets and mopping floors to get by, I was prepared. Took my lumps then to be better off down the road. Eventually got a job at the college flight school and worked my way into flight training. A lot of luck saw me through it all."

"I had no idea."

He decided to turn the tables. "Can I ask how you made it through your training?"

Now it was Ellis's turn to falter. "I had it easy by comparison. I paid my way through. Bought my ticket."

The way she nearly spat her response perked Rick's ears. "Nothing wrong with that."

"When you talk to the military folks, it is."

The shepherd rolled his eyes. "I know that feeling. Don't worry, I'm not free of that either. It can get tiresome."

She snorted. "I guess a civvy is a civvy to them. If you're not strapping a jet engine between your legs and comparing penis sizes after blowing another poor bastard out of the sky, or landing on a postage stamp, you're simply inferior."

Her mocking tone provoked a chuckle from him. "Let me guess, you flew with Manny?"

"How'd you know?"

He shrugged. "Lucky guess."

"That man has a serious chip on his shoulder. Not saying he's representative of all the military folks, just a bad example."

"No kidding. You actually replaced him on this flight. I'm grateful for that."

She started fiddling with a previously unnoticed bracelet on her wrist. "He asked me about my background and I told him. He has a way of subtle condescending words that stab at you like a dagger."

"Yes, but I can give you something to fight back with," Rick offered. "It's not always rosy in the service."

She perked up in the copilot seat. "Oh?"

"Just ask him about his callsign. He's pretty well known for it around the airline, as much as he doesn't realize it." Again the shepherd was aware of the voice recorder. But they were no longer under the Sterile Cockpit rule. What was said would be recorded over in due course. He double checked to make sure he wasn't accidentally broadcasting to ATC or the passengers. "Was flying as part of a training mission. Story goes that he had to radio his flight lead for an expedited return to Elmendorf. Turns out the burrito from the night before hadn't sat well with the yote. He ended up crapping himself and had to deal with that for nearly two hours in that cramped F-15 cockpit."

"You're kidding!"

"Supposedly they had quite the time cleaning that mess up afterward. His colleagues never let him live that down. Why his callsign was Runs. Course he never talks about that."

"No he didn't." She had a decidedly evil glint in her eyes. "I asked him what it was and he skirted right around the question. Now I know."

"I never brought it up. But you're welcome to use that."

"Thanks, I do appreciate it. I'll probably just hold on to that for myself. Will make dealing with that conversation all the easier from here on."

He smiled, and she did too. "That's a nice bracelet you got there." He motioned to the ornate jewelry that she was still idly twisting with a finger. "What does it say on the face there?"

Her ears twitched as she froze, seemingly unaware she had been fiddling with the jewelry. After a moment she turned it over on her wrist so he could see the wording on the polished silver face. "'Born to fly'. It was given to me by my father. It's a poem that he taught me when I was a pup. I don't fly without wearing it."

He noticed how she gripped the bracelet tight as she spoke. "Your father sounded like a good man."

"He was." Her gaze became distant and the bracelet twirled in her fingers again. Her voice took on a melodic quality. "Flight is freedom in its purest form, to dance with the clouds which follow a storm; to roll and glide, to wheel and spin, to feel the joy that swells within; to leave the earth with its troubles and fly, and know the warmth of a clear spring sky; then back to earth at the end of a day, released from the tensions which melted away. Should my end come while I am in flight, whether brightest day or darkest night; spare me your pity and shrug off the pain, secure in the knowledge that I'd do it again; for each of us is created to die, and within me I know, I was born to fly."

Only the rush of air could be heard in the cockpit. Rick looked out the window, watching as the faint outlines of puffy clouds slowly drifted by above and below. The sun was still sliding its way beneath the horizon; the hues of color in the sky had grown darker and more vivid. "Wow," the shepherd breathed.

Ellis smiled at him. "I know, right?"

"Quite powerful words."

"Whenever I get down I just think of that poem, and it brightens my spirits in a weird way. That and knowing that I get to come to work and fly every day. This is the best job. I feel so lucky to do this for a living." She took a moment to scan the instruments and then leaned back in her seat again. "Sometimes all it takes is a gentle reminder to see what I truly have."

A reminder; something so simple. Here he was, at the command of a beautiful aircraft, working his way across the skies like only a privileged few had the honor of doing. He loved his job. He wouldn't want to do anything else, be anywhere else, besides in a cockpit with a control yoke in his hands. "You're right. Sometimes I lose track of what I really have."

She leaned over and patted him on the thigh. "That's the spirit."

He smiled again--he'd been doing a lot of that today--and turned his attention back to the artificial horizon on his flight management display. "Let's request thirty eight hundred. I want to try and get above the chop before we hit it."

"Coming right up," the collie nodded. She got on the frequency to ask the regional controller.

Rick was left to his thoughts. It was true what he had said; he was not satisfied with himself. But it wasn't the job, he realized. He'd never really given it much thought before. But now... something about this collie had made him think.

When Ellis gained permission and dialed in the new altitude into the autopilot, he found himself once again regarding her cheerful countenance. "I suppose I know why," The shepherd offered.

She cocked her head in typical canine curiosity. "Why?"

"Why I said what I said earlier. About not being happy." He drew a heavy breath, watching the smile disappear from her muzzle. Already spilled my guts. "It's what I've had to give up."

Her folded ears fell back. "You mean your personal life? Family? Relationships?" He nodded. "I see." She drew back and chewed on her lip. "Are you married? Kids?"

"No. Never was. Just my parents and brother as family. Brother works in Florida as a mechanical engineer. Parents are retired in Tennessee. I... don't talk to them much."

"Why not?"

He shook his head, not wanting to answer. She pressed him with a look. "I don't know. We just fell out of touch. I call the parents every once in a while. We spend the holidays together every few years."

"That counts for something. I try to visit my mother every few months or so. It's good to keep family close."

"It's my fault. I need to do a better job of staying in contact."

"What's stopping you?" Her question was sincere.

"Me. I'm stopping myself." He rubbed his hands restlessly on his thighs. "I should do better. I should've long ago. I'm not getting any younger. None of my family is."

"Life is too short," she agreed. "What about relationships?"

He shook his head again. "I haven't had one in a good while. A few abortive tries when I was younger, but nothing that got really serious. I just gave up after a while."

The way she grew quiet for a time made him uncomfortable. "I'll bet that's what has ya down. Ya don't got yourself a girl, anyone that you can come home to after a long trip. Am I right?"

"A girl?"

"Ya know, a wife? A girlfriend, silly dog. Everybody needs a significant other. No wonder you're so down."

"It's not so easy when I'm always flying across the country." He held up a hand to forestall what he knew she would say. "I know most pilots still manage relationships and marriages just fine. But for me... I don't know. I could never get it to work out with all the travel. It wasn't worth trying after a time."

"What's stopping you?" she asked again, meeting his gaze emphatically.

"I just told you."

"No. What's stopping ya?" At his helpless shrug, she leveled a finger at him. "Ya already said it."

"Me?"

She nodded slowly and deliberately. "Ya betcha. There's only one hurdle, and it's your willingness to try. I know it's harsh, but it's the truth."

He opened his muzzle, only to shut it again. How could he argue with what he knew was right?

"It's a pretty easy thing to fix," she went on. "Ya just gotta try."

Again he tried to turn the tables. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm no shining example. Haven't had a relationship in a year or so." His raised eyebrow made her scuff. "Don't give me that look. I am trying at least. Was married when I was fresh out of the academy and the early days in the regional airline helped me figure out that wouldn't work. I was too hasty and too quick to jump in."

"Maybe it's really not so easy," Rick remarked. He shied away when she glared daggers at him. "I can't say that without trying though," he hastily added.

"Promise me you'll try."

He held up a hand, deciding that, maybe, there was something to what she was saying. "I promise that I will do better to seek a relationship."

"Good. It'll do ya a world of good to find someone. There's plenty of fish in the sea that can tolerate damaged goods like us."

"Damaged goods?" He recoiled as if struck, doing his best to look hurt. "That's being too generous."

They both had a chuckle at that. He actually felt a sense of relief; something about finally being candid with someone. It was strangely refreshing. However, before they could continue the conversation, the plane reminded the two pilots that they had a job to do.

A sudden jolt shuddered through the fuselage, catching their attention. Another jolt, this one slightly more pronounced. "I guess we've already reached the bumpy portion of this flight," Rick sighed. He reached over to thumb the seatbelt sign for the passengers aft and picked up the cabin phone. An audible chime announced the open mic back aft. "Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. It appears we will be running into a bit of rough air here soon. I've turned the seatbelt sign on as a precaution. I apologize for the inconvenience. We'll see if we can find some smoother flying for you." He replaced the phone and sat back.

"Reports were saying we'd find smoother air around thirty eight," Ellis spoke as she grabbed her personal tablet and started scrolling through weather report information. "It's probably rougher below and we're at our maximum ceiling. I don't think this will be possible."

The turbulence continued building in intensity and out of habit the shepherd pulled down his shoulder straps to fasten himself in. "No, probably not. This will be a rough one. Can you brief the cabin crew for me? I want to leave the decision of cabin service to them if possible."

The Border collie followed his example of strapping in, and then picked up the cabin phone. "Sure thing. We'll talk about our sorry social lives later, eh?"

The bumpiness grew even worse. It was starting to get a tad alarming, beyond what pilots typically considered normal turbulence. With Ellis talking to the crew, Rick toggled the mic to ATC. "Anchorage Center, Delta 2436. We're getting bumped around pretty good here. Is there some smoother air below us?"

It took a moment for the controller to respond. "2436, negative. Reports from other aircraft have the smoothest air at thirty eight and above."

This is a bit much. The plane was getting thrown around pretty good now. He had to try and hunt for better air. "Can we request thirty six, Delta 2436?"

Another long pause. "Delta 2436, descend and maintain flight level three-six-zero."

"Three-six-zero, 2436." He dialed in the new flight level and felt the nose dip. The changes in altitude would not help fuel economy, but he had no choice. On the other side of the cockpit Ellis replaced the phone.

"Cabin's suspending service," she spoke, a little concern creeping into her voice. "This is pretty gnarly."

"Worst I've experienced in a long time," Rick agreed. A particularly strong gust pushed the aircraft down sharply; the shepherd's stomach briefly dropped out. "I'm sure the passengers appreciated that one. I hope thirty six is smoother."

Another thud shook the aircraft. Rick's ears perked; that wasn't turbulence. He exchanged looks with Ellis. She had realized the same thing. "What was that?" she asked, eyes darting to the instruments. Neither pilot would have time to guess.

Chaos.

A loud report punched through the aircraft like a gunshot. The control yoke slammed hard to the left; shrill alarms bombarded the cockpit.

Rick lunged for the controls and wrestled the yoke back level. It fought him, resisting. The plane was banking. The aircraft shook unmercifully.

"I have the aircraft!" he yelled over all the alarms. But he didn't. They were still banking. The artificial horizon on his screen made his fur stand on end. He tried to counter steer, grunting with the effort.

"You got it?" Ellis shouted, her eyes wide. The shaking was horrendous. It felt like the plane was tearing itself apart.

"No! She's fighting me." The alarms registered in his head now. Several. The autopilot had disconnected. The master caution was blaring. Bank angle warning. The Engine 1 Fire alarm bell drowned everything else out. "QRF!"

Ellis already had the Quick Reference Handbook in hand.

"Engine Fire!"

"Engine Fire!" she acknowledged and began frantically flipping through pages.

He had mostly stopped the hard bank to the left. But they were still descending and turning. The shepherd held the yoke hard over to the right. His fur bristled. It was all he could do to keep the plane barely under control.

Ellis saw his struggle and started the procedure on her own. "Engine Fire Checklist! A/T ARM Switch off!" She flipped the switch in question. "Thrust lever idle! Fuel Control Switch Engine 1 cutoff! Engine 1 Fire Switch pull!"

The collie reached over and pulled out the large red handle for Engine 1. The alarm continued to blare.

The plane had banked back toward Anchorage by now and Rick could not stop the turn. He kept the controls hard over and let Ellis work. The fire was the gravest issue.

She hurriedly read through the list. "If engine fire warning light stays illuminated, rotate Engine Fire Switch 1 to the stop and hold for one second."

"Do it," was Rick's strained command.

She did, twisting the large handle to the stop. Aft of the cockpit, one of the plane's two fire extinguishers fired into the left engine. Both pilots waited in bated silence. Thirty seconds elapsed; the alarm did not cease.

"Fire the second bottle," the shepherd commanded. He was surprised how level his voice was.

She turned the lever again and the second bottle, the last bottle, fired into the engine. The alarm continued to blare in defiance of their efforts.

Rick cursed under his breath. He knew there was nothing else in the QRF to combat an engine fire. They'd cut off the fuel and tried to starve the fire of oxygen; neither effort had done anything. They had to get on the ground, fast. The closest airport was Anchorage where they had come from--the only place with proper fire equipment in range and a suitably long runway. "Get on the phone with the crew and see if they can see the fire."

He had no time for niceties and Ellis knew it. She picked up the phone and immediately rang aft.

The controls were resisting Rick's efforts; the whole aircraft continued to shake violently. He idled the one good engine trying to slow their bank and reduce the alarming speed they were building up.

In that moment he keyed his mic, still holding the aircraft as level as he could. "Anchorage, Delta 2436 is declaring an emergency. We have an engine fire that will not extinguish, need direct vectors to Anchorage."

His transmission caught the controller off guard. "Delta 2436, say again last?"

Fuck'n hell! The German shepherd repeated his transmission, the strain and irritation clear in his voice.

Now he had the controller's undivided attention. "Delta 2436, turn right heading three-zero-zero. Clear direct Anchorage."

Rick wrestled to keep the aircraft under control; the plane only wanted to go left. He managed to key his mic again. "Negative. We need... we need to keep coming left. I can't maintain altitude. We're out of twenty seven hundred at this time."

The voice on the other end hesitated. "Delta 2436... roger, continue left turn. Advise intentions when able."

"We're going to," he bit back a curse as the plane's bank started to worsen and kept his finger on the transmit button. "We're going to try for Anchorage." Slowing the aircraft down wasn't helping. He applied more thrust on the good engine and felt the wings come back closer to level. The automated bank angle warning continued to bark ominously. "We're... we need to keep descending here."

"Affirm, equipment is rolling for you at Anchorage."

Ellis got off the cabin phone. Her face had gone pale beneath the fur. "Crew is reporting a fire out the Number 1," she spoke, only just keeping her voice level. "Uncontained engine failure. The cowling is shredded. There's damage to the wing and control surfaces. No fuselage punctures evident." She reached up and silenced the alarms. The dash remained horribly alight with warnings and error messages.

Rick drew a mental picture in his head. An uncontained engine failure was very rare. Commercial aircraft had so many safety precautions built into the engine design to prevent shrapnel piercing through the cowling into the fuselage and wing. "I can't bring her level. Slowing only worsens the bank. Not getting much vertical authority either. The elevator must be damaged from debris."

She chewed on her lip. "Can you hang on to her?" Her hands hovered near the control yoke on her side, ready at a moment's notice to assist.

"We need to get this down. Your voice."

"My voice," the collie confirmed. She keyed her mic. "Anchorage, Delta 2436. We have an active fire on the Number 1 engine that will not go out. Uncontained engine failure. Wing and control surfaces damaged. We need clearance to descend as quickly as we can."

The controller's voice came back deceptively calm. "You have clearance to descend at your discretion. When able, provide souls onboard and fuel remaining."

She did some hectic calculations and keyed her mic again. "One hundred ninety-eight souls onboard. Five hours of fuel."

Rick started to get a feel for the plane's behavior. He only had so long to figure things out with a fire actively burning aft, just beneath countless gallons of aviation fuel. He couldn't stop the plane from steadily bleeding altitude. This was something right out of a worst-case training scenario. And those didn't always end well.

Smoke began to seep into the cockpit. Both pilots donned their oxygen masks reflexively, the shepherd with strained effort as he held the yoke with one hand. It was then that Rick made a rash decision. "I'm going to deploy the speed brake," he spoke into the mask.

"Are you sure?" Ellis's expression above her bulky breathing apparatus told how unsure she was about the idea.

"We need to get down. This fire is going to consume us. I need to get bank authority back."

After a long moment she nodded reluctantly.

He reached down, hand grasping the speed brake lever. This was a huge gamble, a hunch on his part. But they couldn't keep flying about in a circle. The fire would surely kill them.

Whatever hesitation he felt was squashed as he eased the lever forward the first incremental notch. His breath caught.

The shaking immediately worsened. However, the bank angle decreased noticeably. Holy shit!

The wings gradually leveled off, until the plane started banking slightly in the opposite direction. It was not how the aircraft was supposed to behave. He didn't care. He suddenly had the control he so desperately needed. But they were descending even faster now.

Ellis let out a heavy breath in her mask. "Jesus, Rick. Nicely done."

"We're not out of the woods yet. Call Anchorage. I want to go in on 25L. Longest runway there." It was against the pattern. But he wanted a straight in approach. They could not afford to circle around.

She nodded and contacted ATC through the mic in her mask. The added information of smoke in the cockpit and her muffled words in the breathing apparatus conveyed the severity of the situation.

The shepherd hesitantly increased the speed brakes another notch, deploying the spoiling flaps on the upper wing surfaces a little more. He had to bleed a lot of airspeed, as well as altitude. The plane cooperated, for now.

He was acutely aware of the still burning fire, eating through what was left of the engine nacelle and wing pylon. Any moment now a control wire could be burned through or a fuel tank ruptured. It would be all over in the blink of an eye.

He shook his head and kept his focus on flying what was left of his aircraft. God, what about the people in the back? "Are the passengers ok?"

"The flight attendants will tend to them," Ellis spoke bluntly. "Keep flying the plane. You're doing great."

In the lengthening darkness the lights of Anchorage were only just visible in the cockpit window, seemingly a whole other world away. The path ahead was daunting, he knew. He had to avoid the mountains, and shoot the landing approach perfectly, all in a mortally wounded and burning aircraft. All the elements conspired against the hapless pilots. Just keep flying the plane. Just keep flying the fucking plane.

They were slow enough now. He turned to the collie. "Let's try flaps fifteen. Need to," the sweat on his finger pads almost made him lose his grip on the yoke, "get configured for landing."

She obliged and cautiously, with a grimace twisted on her expression, pulled the handle to the proper setting.

The aircraft immediately banked hard left, sending the pilots reeling in their seatbelt harnesses.

A startled yelp escaped Rick's muzzle as he immediately lunged for and retracted the flaps to zero again. The bank angle warning blared again as he fought the Boeing back to level flight. "Christ! No flaps!"

He was panting. Ellis was as well. Her eyes had a haunted look as she gripped the yoke instinctively. After a moment she came back to herself and let go. "God above, let's not do that again."

"We're gonna... have to land without flaps. Give me the calculations."

Ellis did, quickly referencing manuals and crunching the numbers. She arrived at an airspeed and runway distance far too fast and long. They would run out of pavement before they could safely stop. They had no choice in the matter though. Rick had to commit. It was the only chance of survival.

"Brief the crew. Voice is mine."

She picked up the phone and dialed aft while Rick switched frequencies to the tower at Anchorage. "Delta 2436, with you."

The controller was already briefed. "Delta 2436, radar contact established. All runways available for landing."

He didn't have time for formalities. "We're taking 25L."

"Understand, 25L. Equipment is standing by."

The plane was getting harder to fly as he slowed. More alarms were cropping up on the instruments. Vital systems started failing one by one.

"The smoke's getting worse back there," Ellis advised after replacing the phone. She kept her voice professional. "Crew's preparing the cabin. Advised evacuation on the right side once we're down."

"Ok," was his curt reply. The chances of them landing safely were slim to none; they both new it. The approach was too steep, and they were coming in too fast. He had no choice and added another notch on the speed brake to the crippled aircraft's protest.

The fuselage shook with terrible force. The wing dipped again. He applied more rudder with a labored growl, throwing the aircraft into a side-slip. The runway was only just coming into view fifteen miles away.

The tower's rattled voice came unexpectedly. "Delta, 2436, you're trailing fire behind your left wing. Stop as quickly as you can and evacuate when able."

Ellis took over with a terse reply. "2436."

Both pilots performed their roles by the book. Rick flew the plane. The collie continued to work checklists to the very last, acknowledging alarms as they appeared on the console. Her hands still hovered near the yoke all the while.

"Do you have any ideas?" Rick managed between pants. The constant struggle started to take its toll.

She shook her head. "Not really." Like Rick, she knew the truth; they had no hope of saving this aircraft. They were going to crash.

The runway bobbed and weaved in the cockpit window as the crippled bird fought its way ever closer to its doom. His vision tunneled in on the small strip of lights in the distance. They'd gotten this far. "Landing gear down."

Ellis put her hand on the gear lever and stopped. She looked to him, her eyes full of concern above the brim of her oxygen mask. "Here goes nothing," she breathed. This could be the moment when their luck ran out.

The handle was pulled, and the thump of the gear coming out of the fuselage, a sound they both had heard countless times, made the pilots jump in their seats. The aircraft's flight did not change noticeably; a minor miracle in itself.

Rick watched Ellis out of the corner of his eye as she, in turn, watched the landing gear indicator lights. The way her gaze fell told him everything he needed to know. "Two greens. The left main is not lit."

He cursed under his breath. As if the situation wasn't grim enough. "We have no choice."

The shepherd kept the nose pointed down toward that impossibly small strip of asphalt, hoping, above all else, for divine intervention. In that moment he did something he had not done in a long time: he prayed.

The cockpit grew silent, save for Rick's labored grunts to control his bird. He stole a glance over to Ellis, meeting her gaze for the briefest of moments.

"Hold on to her," she breathed. "You got this."

Closer and closer the airport loomed. He could see the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles lining either side of his target runway now. The ground personnel were ready. It was all up to him. The aircraft just needed to hold together a little longer.

An altitude callout by a mechanical voice took him by surprise. They were at a thousand feet, coming down at a much steeper angle than the prescribed glideslope. The smoke grew dangerously thick, obscuring his view. Come on! Just put her down!

Another computerized voice warned of the bad approach; he ignored it.

The threshold of the runway passed beneath him. He pulled back on the yoke, throwing the crippled 757 into a steep flare. The fuselage groaned with the strain of fatiguing metal.

The violence of the maneuver gave way to a bone jarring crunch; the main wheels slammed down onto the runway with brutal force, bringing the controlled crash to a head.

"Fuck!" He wasn't sure if it was him or Ellis who had shouted.

The tires burst immediately as the rest of the aircraft's weight, laden with a full flight's worth of fuel, smashed down onto the runway. Everything shook with an ungodly force. For that terrifying moment, Rick thought he was dead.

All control was lost; he was helpless, just another passenger. The left landing gear collapsed. The sickening sound of metal grinding against asphalt resonated through the airframe.

He applied full brakes, not knowing the effort was useless. The runway centerline veered away, replaced with the thick snowy embankment of the airport perimeter. Both pilots held on for dear life.

The aircraft bogged down, the remnants of the landing gear and shredded engine cowling digging grooves in the packed snow. The fuselage gave one last death shudder.

And then everything stopped.

Rick's shaking hands came off the control yoke. They were down. He could breathe again. The aircraft had held together.

But they were not out of danger.

An ominous orange glow painted the surrounding trees and buildings, peeling back the darkness. Fire; the aircraft was on fire! "Ellis you with me still!"

"Yes," came her unsteady reply.

He ripped the phone out of its holder and mashed the cabin announcement button. "This is the captain, evacuate. Evacuate. Evacuate!" He threw the phone aside without replacing it in the holder. "Evacuation checklist!"

Ellis already had the page open on the QRH. "Parking brake."

"Set."

"Cabin Altitude Mode Select."

"Man."

They blew through the brief checklist in record time. Rick wasted no time unfastening his belt restraints in turn. "Let's move!"

He nearly tore down the cockpit door, emerging out into the galley just aft. The cabin was filling with choking smoke, but empty. Only Renee remained. He realized the fox was yelling at him, but he looked past her. Flames raged outside the cabin windows down the aisle.

The galley fuselage door stood open with the inflatable slide deployed. "Go damnit!" the flight attendant screamed. She shoved him to the slide, and he found himself suddenly barreling down into knee deep snow.

He landed awkwardly. There was a twinge of pain, but he ignored it. Ellis landed right behind him. She didn't stop once she hit the bottom and grabbed him by the arm. "Come on! We gotta get away from the plane!"

He got to his feet and ran, following the shadowy horde of people that was doing the same in front of him. Not until he was well clear of the carnage did he stop and look back. The sight took his breath away.

A raging inferno consumed the 757, undaunted by the fire trucks desperately spraying foam cannons. Wicked flames licked at the fuselage, wrapping around the wings and engine nacelles. The fire had already breached the interior cabin--a scene straight out of Dante's Inferno.

He stared, muzzle agape, and watched as his aircraft succumbed to its fiery death. And then a chill raced down his spine. Are there passengers still trapped inside? He had no idea.

A hand appeared on his shoulder, accompanied by Ellis's solemn expression. Neither pilot said anything. Behind them the flight attendants rounded up the surviving passengers in the darkness for a hasty head count.

It felt like hours had gone by when Renee rejoined them. The fox nearly fell into the hug she gave him, holding on tight. "They all made it! Everyone's safe and accounted for."

He was surprised by the hug, and even more floored by her words. "The passengers?"

"Yes, a couple bruises and bumps. But they all made it out! I can't believe it." She pulled back from him. "You both did wonderfully!"

When he looked back to the flaming wreck, the aircraft fuselage had broken into two pieces, collapsing down onto the snow engulfed in flames. The fire crews were beginning to get the upper hand but the plane was a complete loss.

The passengers inundated him then. They swarmed around the two pilots, hugging and crying their jubilation. The shepherd endured it all with a shell-shocked numbness. He didn't know what to do, what to say. It became a whirlwind of chaos that blended together in a swirl all around him.

At some point, the emergency personnel managed to separate him from the passengers. There was a stint spent in the back of an ambulance, and then an uncomfortable stay at the pilot lounge where the day had first started. He went where he was told and did what they asked. He didn't know what else to do. An airport van eventually shuttled him away from all the chaos to the local Holiday Inn.

Some hours later Rick found himself sitting on the edge of a hotel bed, staring at the low volume TV. The talking head for the twenty four hour news channel was droning on about the accident, all while various pictures and diagrams of the airport and aircraft wreck floated above her head. The mainstream media had only now just started catching on to the crash, but with Anchorage being so out of the way they were slow to get the details right.

Half a twelve pack of Angry Orchard sat on the nearby counter. The remaining empty bottles were strewn about on the bed and floor around the shepherd. He wasn't normally one to drink, and he found the hard cider's taste less than appealing. But something had compelled him to walk down to the corner convenience store and buy it, so here he sat with half an empty bottle in hand.

A strenuous run in the hotel exercise room had not tired him out, and a long shower standing under the hot water had only been a temporary respite. He had none of his own clothing to wear; the hotel staff had managed to find him a pair of shorts and an undershirt while his uniform was cleaned. He didn't know where the clothing had come from and hadn't cared to ask.

It was only now that everything had finally started to slow down.

A swig of his drink briefly washed his thoughts away. A new graphic on the television showed a grainy cellphone video that one of the passengers had taken during the crash landing. From the shaky perspective, he could hardly make out the engine nacelle through all the raging flames. The wing had clearly sustained heavy shrapnel damage as well, further supporting the assessment of an uncontained engine failure. He couldn't believe the aircraft had flown for as long as it had.

It had all happened so fast, like some sort of surreal dream.

The shepherd watched the clip loop several times while the reporter rambled on, until a soft knock perked his ears. When he wandered over and opened the door, he found Ellis standing in the hallway with a case of Amberbock in hand. The Border collie wore what appeared to be similarly loaned clothing like his own.

She motioned with a jerk of the muzzle to the alcohol in hand. "I'm sorry to bother. I was just... I guess I was bored. Did you want to share a few beers?"

"Great minds think alike," Rick replied, holding up his own drink. After a moment of indecision he stepped aside. "Sure. I wouldn't mind a little company."

She smiled and ducked into the room's darkness. "What have you been up to? You weren't trying to sleep were you?"

"Oh, no. Never bothered with the lights." He flicked on a lamp and let its light paint the room and her hazel fur. She had showered as well; a light flowery scent touched his nose at her passing.

Ellis set the beer down on the dresser and removed a bottle. The twist-off cap yielded with a satisfying hiss. "Angry Orchard? I didn't take you for a cider guy."

He looked at the bottle in his hand, and then drained the contents in a long pull. "I don't think I am." He almost added the empty to the growing pile on the floor then thought better of it and placed the bottle in the cheap plastic trashcan. "First thing I picked up when I went to the store 'round the corner. I couldn't tell you why."

She shrugged, dug a beer out of her case and handed it to him. "Something else then?"

"Thanks. My father's a big Amberbock guy. What are the odds?"

"He has good taste. My go-to." At his quizzical look she smiled with a cant of the head. "Guess ya didn't figure me a beer person. S'ok, most miss the mark on that one." She took a swig and sighed, and for just a moment he caught a weariness in her expression that had previously escaped notice. "Thanks for letting me stay. I guess I needed someone to talk to. This all... it's been a little too much to handle."

Rick mirrored her sigh. "Tell me about it." He also followed her lead with a pull on his beer as he took a seat at the foot of the king sized bed.

"They're already talking about it on the news too?" She had caught sight of the TV and was now studying it with a frown. They were getting their mileage out of engine cell phone clip. "Jesus, look at that thing burn. What happened to cause that?"

_Good question._He really had no idea. "Obviously uncontained engine failure was the result. The damage to the ailerons and wing surface is bad."

"It started with the turbulence." She was scrutinizing the screen carefully from a foot away. "Soon as we hit those first big bumps, things went to hell."

Rick sat back on the bed, contemplating another pull of his beer. "Yes, they did. Something went wrong in the engine. The plane was due for a C-Check wasn't it?" He had remembered what she had said earlier.

"End of the week. Ya think it was a fatigue crack in a turbine blade?"

"Whatever it was caused some of the internals to jettison straight up through the cowling into the wing. We're lucky nothing came into the fuselage."

"No kidding," Ellis agreed. "I guess we'll find out eventually. NTSB is probably on their way up as we speak. I'm not looking forward to meeting with them tomorrow."

That made Rick think. His actions were about to be put front and center in an investigation that wouldn't stop until all causes of the accident were uncovered. Had he made the right decisions? Had he reacted to the situation properly? The cockpit voice recorder alone was going to receive extra scrutiny, something he was not the least bit happy about given their conversations in the cockpit. He couldn't do anything about it though. "I'm not either. They're going to pick us apart and analyze us bit by bit. They won't stop until they find something that we did wrong."

She joined him on the edge of the bed. "They probably will. It's their job after all. We did things by the book though, as much as we could. This wasn't a typical emergency. The aircraft was on fire, and all the fire protection systems failed. What more could we have done besides get her down as quick as possible?"

"I don't know. But we'll probably find out." He scooted back on the bed until he could sit up against the stack of pillows he'd previously arranged against the headboard. The beer in his hand got another generous swig. "I went outside the established procedures and started winging it. They'll latch on to that and figure out how my actions made the situation worse."

"You're too hard on yourself. Ya pulled off what only a handful of pilots can only dream of accomplishing. Should be dead and we're not. That's the only thing that matters, eh?"

Rick watched the TV for a long pause. The news anchor had dragged some sort of accident specialist on and was grilling him with rhetorically stupid questions. "It wasn't just me in that cockpit, you know. You played as much a part in getting us back on the ground as I did."

"I wasn't the one flying the plane," Ellis countered, leveling her beer at him.

"That's a weak excuse and you know it. Flying is always a two man job."

She rolled her eyes. "Not giving yourself enough credit. The media will, just like Sullunberger."

"You won't see me going on any news networks." He scowled at her funny look. "I don't need any of that. Right or wrong, was doing my job; nothing more." He threw an accusing finger out toward the talking heads on the screen. "They can wring their hands all they want trying to get me on TV. I'll have no part in that circus."

Ellis shook her head. "Good luck. They'll be out for blood. No way to hide."

"I can certainly try. They'll come after you when I prove a lost cause."

"God no. I don't want any of that attention any more than ya do."

"We make quite the pair, don't we?" He toasted the words with another sip of the Amberbock and watched her do the same.

The collie actually drained her entire bottle and set it aside. To his subsequent surprise she crawled up onto the bed and laid herself against his side. His arm inexplicably ended up draped over her shoulders. "I guess we do."

The shepherd's indecision led to inaction. She was wonderfully warm snuggled up at his side. For a long moment he lay there, not knowing what to say. She seemed content to let the silence lengthen as well.

The news network kept on going without missing a beat. It was nearly four a.m. on the east coast, but that wasn't stopping them from reporting every little tidbit of information they could get their hands on.

Rick thought about the beer still in his hand and set it on the nightstand. He wasn't interested in drinking anymore. On his other shoulder Ellis snuggled a little more into him with a soft sigh. He didn't want to move--having her at his side took the edge off like the alcohol never could.

"Someone was looking out for us tonight," she spoke after a time. "I thought for sure we wouldn't make it back to the airport. It happened so suddenly. It always did in the simulators too, but this was different."

Rick nodded slowly. "It was. Just like that." His hand balled into a fist and unfurled like an explosion. "Something so routine becomes a fight for your life. I don't think I truly respected how quickly things could go wrong until now. Easy to react when I was in the simulator. No risk of death if I got something wrong then."

"My heart stopped when the yoke slammed hard over," the collie spoke at his side. "Before I knew it you were fighting us back level and I had the QRH in my lap. The training definitely did its thing."

He closed his eyes. "The whole thing still feels like a dream. Hard to imagine we made it out. I'll count my lucky stars that we're still in one piece."

"Do you think it was an oil fire?"

"If I were to guess, I'd say so. The failure is remarkably similar to that Qantas A380 incident a few years back. Probably some sort of fatigue that caused it. I just hope it wasn't something we did to cause this."

She shook her head. "No way. We followed all the checklists to the letter. All the gauges read nominally right up to the point of failure. Everything looked fine when I checked the engine on the walkaround. Nothing more could've been done."

"I know. Just sucks not being able to see it coming."

Ellis poked him lightly on the muzzle. "Well, for not being able to see it coming, ya managed well enough."

He was going to retort about her still heaping all the praise on him when the TV drew his attention again.

The broadcast had changed to a local affiliate in Anchorage. The husky holding the mic was standing in the airport terminal while a slew of disheveled people milled about behind her. She motioned to the crowd around her. "Moments ago I spoke with a few passengers here at Ted Stevens International who made it off that harrowing flight. Here are some of their reactions."

The image changed to a recorded clip of a middle-aged greyhound clutching a pup against her leg. The woman's voice held a frayed edge as she tried to speak. "I'm just thankful that we made it off that plane. I thank God. I... thank the pilots and crew for making sure we were safe."

The shot cut to an older, clearly shaken, coonhound.. "That plane was burning something good. I thought I was a goner. Those pilots, they pulled off a true miracle. True heroes."

A young coyote followed. "We're all lucky to be alive," she spoke in a quiet voice. "When I saw that fire outside the window... I can't believe we made it. The pilots saved all of us."

After a few more words from the local reporter, the broadcast switched back to the talking heads in the studio. Rick stopped listening.

All of their words had resonated with him. They had reminded him what was really important.

Ellis rubbed a hand across his broad chest. "See, you did wonderfully."

"We did wonderfully," he corrected. He breathed deeply as she started gently grazing her claws through his shirt. "I never did say thank you." He met the brilliant sapphire of her eyes. "I don't know where I would've ended up today without you."

She simply smiled, and leaned up to lick the shepherd on the side of his muzzle, catching him by surprise.

Her roving fingers found their way beneath the bottom hem of his shirt, working upward through the soft tan fur of his stomach. He froze, watching as she slowly rolled up the shirt to reveal a finely toned physique kept in check through countless trips to hotel exercise rooms. "Ellis?"

The Border collie ignored him and kept on. She rolled herself over to straddle the reeling shepherd and forced him to lift his arms up so she could remove his shirt and toss it haphazardly to the floor.

He obeyed dazedly, not sure what else to do. Her wandering hands cut grooves against the lay of his fur. Her warm breath wafted invitingly over his nose. He tried again. "Ellis?"

She growled this time, and nipped at one of his pointy ears. Her vehemence kept him pinned against the stack of pillows. He managed to place a hand on her shoulder. "Ellis. I don't know."

The collie stopped. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know if we should. I'm not really comfortable with this." He hadn't been prepared for her boldness.

She pressed a finger to the tip of his muzzle. "Just let it happen. I need this. We both do."

He averted his eyes. "I don't know. It's been a long time since I've..."

"Same for me." She had a hungry fire in her eyes. "Just sit back."

The collie slowly slid down his body, tracing those lovely fingers through his fur as she went. She circled his navel, making him flinch at the tickly sensation. Her toothy grin only grew wider.

She slowly pulled the shepherd's shorts down his legs, watching him all the while. The apparel quickly joined his shirt on the floor.

Her muzzle nestled against the bulge that adorned his boxers, which were not technically his. "Oh, my," she admired. The collie gingerly pulled back the elastic, freeing his ample sheath and furry orbs from the underclothing. "I guess it's true what they say about shepherds. Such a big boy."

She tore the boxers clean in half with a deliberate swipe of a claw. He managed to frown. "Those weren't mine."

"We'll buy replacements," she growled. She gave his sheath a long lick and he shuddered. Another sent an electric surge up his spine. "There we are." A bit of pink poked forth from the furry covering and the collie wasted no time wrapping her tongue around him, lapping and sucking.

A hand pulled gently on his sheath, coaxing more of the shepherd out for her hungry maw to devour. His hips tensed, teeth gritting to her every sensual caress. The beginnings of his knot popped free.

Satisfied, Ellis sat back to admire her prize. "Big. You're a gifted pup."

All Rick could do was look at her sheepishly through a haze of roiling emotions. He couldn't find words.

"It's my turn to be in charge," the collie grinned. Her attention shifted downward.

An enraptured moan escaped the German shepherd's muzzle; he wasn't prepared for the succulent warmth that bound itself around his length. She went down on him as best she could, dragging her broad canine tongue across every inch he had to offer. Holy, god!

He was overwhelmed, barely able to contain the impulsive desire to thrust into her muzzle. She watched him with predatory eyes, her head bobbing slowly, rhythmically. If she was inexperienced, he never would've known it. There was something about the way she worked over his cock with urgent passion, hearing every luscious slurp and suck of her maw around him; it drove him wild.

He panted, body tensing more and more with every passing moment. She fondled his heavy balls, massaging each gently. Her long tongue found its way to the underside of his swelling knot, curling across his weakest point.

Rick's hands reached out to hold her head, encouraging her onward. He was a disheveled mess, eyes half-lidded. His heart raced in his chest. His hips rocked in tune to her increasing eagerness, thrusting upward to meet her downward bob.

Her floppy ears perked at the pitiful whine that escaped his muzzle. "Good God, Ellis!" he managed between heady pants.

She grunted, going even deeper down on his throbbing cock. His knot was swollen now, forcing her to part her maw more. Her fingers wrapped around his base as she worked him ever closer to release. His sizeable length was too much for her to take.

"Ellis... close," he hissed.

Her response found itself muffled by the sizeable dogmeat buried in her muzzle. She pumped him anew, hands grinding against his knot and fondling his balls. The collie was on a mission.

Rick's lips peeled back, a low growl rumbling in his throat. His body twisted itself tighter and tighter, threatening to explode at any moment.

His hands released Ellis and seized the bed sheets in a death grip. The shepherd's ears pinned, his teeth bearing as his climax spilled over in an overwhelming torrent. A thick rope of cum painted the collie's maw, and then another. His cock jerked with each powerful spurt.

She drank it all, hand pumping the base of his knot readily. He drained his balls in a long and powerful release unlike anything he had experienced before. It felt as if his whole body had come aflame.

A near minute went by with the shepherd frozen in a state of pure bliss, until at last his climax tapered off and he collapsed onto the bed sheets an exhausted dog.

Ellis sat back, a little dazed herself. She curled her tongue across her whiskers, cleaning off a bit of his seed. "You were pent up," she remarked with a look of approval. "I've never done that before."

Rick was beside himself. "I've... never either." His knotted length still twitched, shooting a few weak jets of cum onto his stomach. She leaned down and began licking his matted fur. He watched her with exhausted fascination, savoring the feel of her caring affection.

He bit back a heady moan when she turned her attention to his throbbing erection, gently lapping at every inch of heated flesh--the perfect ebb to a wonderful release. Without thinking he reached up and stroked the soft fur between the collie's floppy ears and was rewarded with a happy wag of her tail. His own heavy tail thumped against the bed sheets, pinned by her body. "Where did that come from?" he stammered.

Ellis paused and looked up at him with the most innocent eyes. "I don't know. I just. I just wanted to go for it. I hope I wasn't too brash."

Rick's ears folded just a little. "No. No, of course not. That was amazing. Unexpected." He looked down at his swollen knot. "I like unexpected."

He reached out for her, and slowly wrapped his arms around her slender waist. She didn't resist and let herself be drawn down toward him. Her wonderfully soft fur brushed against his cock to the shepherd's shudder of delight.

Their noses touched. He knew what he wanted to say, what he wanted to do. But he couldn't get the words out. "Ellis..."

"I know. Let me help." Her hands reached up and took his, guiding him down. He found the bottom of her shirt and lifted at the collie's gentle guidance.

The T-shirt was too big for her; it came up over her floppy ears easily, exposing the soft white fur of her smooth stomach. He felt his muzzle fall open and didn't bother to close it as all the Border collie's sensual curves were slowly revealed to his mesmerized eyes. She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

Ellis gave him a coy look as he absently tossed her shirt to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her supple chest. "Rick, you're making me blush."

He panted with a sudden bout of nervousness. It had been so long since those few awkward nights as a teenager. It was all his for the taking and he couldn't muster the courage to make the next move.

"Silly dog." Her hands moved from her chest and grasped his. "Start here." She placed his hands on the collie's hips. "Work your way into it."

Rick drew a breath, steadying his nerves. He couldn't be as gung-ho as she had been, nowhere near it. But he damn well wasn't going to let this opportunity slip through his grasp.

His fingers started trekking north, leaving behind the coarse fabric of her shorts as he reached the voluptuously soft fur of her sides. He traced the edge where her cream color yielded to the stark white of her front. She arched her back as he reached her first ticklish rib.

His fingers wavered, contemplating a detour. Her soft whine of need perked his pointy ears.

The shepherd licked his lips and gently cupped Ellis's generous breasts to her sharp breath.

"Oh, Rick. Yes just like that."

She was a beautiful collie, the perfect embodiment of the female form. He lightly massaged her perfect orbs, reveling in how she thrust her chest against his wandering fingers. His thumb pads teased the bare flesh of her nipples into hardness; his claws cut light grooves through her fur. She was all his.

He took a chance and sat up a little more, drawing her closer with a hand around her back. She gasped as his cold nose pressed itself against her pert nipple. The shepherd's broad tongue was quick to follow, drawn agonizingly slow across the bare flesh.

Ellis gritted her teeth, squirming in his lap as he teased her. He alternated between each heavenly breast, loving every hitching breath she managed in response. But he knew she wanted more; he wanted more.

She uttered a yelp of surprise as he suddenly pulled her down and rolled her onto her back to take his place against the stack of pillows. The tables had turned as she looked up at him straddling her waist. "Geez, Rick. Taking command are we?"

His ears splayed as he shrugged demurely. "Sorry."

The collie rolled her eyes, and reached up to pull his head down. His eyes went wide as his canted muzzle met hers in a fiery kiss.

Their tongues joined through parted maws. She wrestled with him for dominance and he fought back.

He felt his body stir anew, every nerve ending tingling, every muscle melting into her embrace. When he pulled away they both fought for breath. She smiled goofily up at him with her tongue lolled in fitful pants.

The shepherd was surprised at his sureness as he began kissing his way down her body. Her chest rose and fell quickly as he worked his way down her cleavage and stomach. He lingered a moment to tickle her navel as she had done to him. Her playful giggling at his action brought a smile to his muzzle.

The button of her shorts offered little resistance to his determination; the zipper fared no better. She lifted her hips as he purposely slid the clothing down her slender legs, pausing only long enough to undo the tail button.

Her underwear gave him a brief pause--skimpy and cute; a hot playful pink. He admired the sight of her shapely form until a gentle but firm hand came to rest between his perked ears. "Do it, Rick. I can't wait any longer."

The way she nearly whined that last bit spurred him into action. Inch by tantalizing inch, he peeled the undergarment down her legs with a confidence previously unknown to him, until a casual flick of the wrist added the skimpy underwear to the growing pile on the floor.

Her flowery scent blotted everything else out. She lay sprawled before Rick, nude in all the Border collie's glorious splendor. His for the taking.

His rock hard, knotted cock throbbed readily between his legs, already raring to go again. He growled playful above her, making a show of licking his chops. If she could go down on me without a moment's hesitation, then I can too.

Ellis looked up, confusion clear in her expression, as he sat back on the bed and pulled her legs up toward him. He slung her feet over his shoulders, curving the collie against him so that his prize was mere inches from his waiting muzzle. In that moment her bushy tail brushed against his throbbing length, driving him wild.

Rick inhaled deeply, drawing in her arousal mixed with the floral scent of shampoo. Her eyes were locked on his as she looked up from the bed sheets, both ears unfolded in an irresistibly cute way.

With hungry determination and no hesitation, the German shepherd parted his muzzle and dragged his broad tongue across the collie's hot and ready cunt in one deliberate lick. Her enraptured moan came like sweet music to his ears as he zeroed in on where her thick white fur gave way to slick bare flesh.

He savored her taste as she wriggled and twitched in his grasp, legs flexing against his shoulders while the shepherd bathed her slit in a relentless assault of licks. His firm grasp on her hips pinned the collie in place, ensuring she couldn't escape. Not that she wanted to.

He grew bolder; the shepherd's tongue parted her folds to push into her tight pussy, sending Ellis's vocalizations to a new height. He went down on the collie with all the gusto he had, loving her every reaction as he ate her out.

His nose teased her clit, and after a moment he turned his attack on the sensitive nub, sending her hips shooting skyward. She was like putty in his grasp. He experimented, licking and thrusting randomly, learning what drove her wild. He watched her eyes become distant. Her hands reached out to grip the sheets, holding on for dear life.

Rick played with the base of her tail, massaging right in that one sensitive spot. His other hand reached out to hold hers. He could feel her body growing tighter, winding itself up.

"God, Rick, don't stop!" she exclaimed, hardly aware of anything but the shepherd eating her out.

He had her at his mercy. Her hand gripped his forcefully as the steady slurping and sucking of his efforts grew wetter and wetter. Her hips twitched with every new lick that worked its way deeper into the reeling dog beneath him. The collie's lips peeled back in a strained snarl. She was poised on the precarious edge. "Rick!"

He opened his muzzle and shot his tongue deep into her, curling and lapping like a dog possessed.

The sudden assault sent Ellis reeling. She cried out, legs coming together around his head to force him deeper still. Her cunt clamped down around him as a powerful climax seized her.

Her release flooded his maw; he drank it all in, savoring the unique taste with a steady wag of his tail. He held the writhing Border collie and kept his tongue buried within her, drawing out her release for a long sensual minute as he reveled in the shared experience.

Her body soon went slack. He pulled away and smiled to himself at the disheveled dog before him. Her head flopped back and she simply stared at the headboard in a vacant breathless stupor. He wasn't quite done with her yet, though, and leaned down to clean up the mess he'd made, bathing her fur and slit in slow, gentle licks. I can't believe I just did that.

When she looked up to him with his muzzle still buried between her spread legs, he felt her tail thump a few times against his thigh. "My God. You're full of surprises."

He pulled back, and carefully removed her legs from his shoulders so he could lie at her side. "Was a first for me."

Ellis hadn't quite recovered yet. "Surely not?"

"It's the truth. I guess I watch too much porn."

The collie laughed. "I wasn't expecting that answer." She gently scratched the underside of his long muzzle. "Was wonderful. And we're not done yet." He followed her gaze down to his still throbbing erection. The knot had mostly deflated, but he was still excruciatingly hard; her arousal continued playing havoc with his senses. "How do you like it?"

"What do you mean?"

She gripped the base of his length and made him tremble with a playful tug. "I mean, what position do you enjoy, silly dog. Tell me what you want. I'm all yours."

He was too stunned to say anything at first, his earlier confidence suddenly lost again. "Uh... I don't know. I don't have a condom. Never expected a night like this."

"It's ok. I'm on the pill." A playful poke on his nose. "What do you prefer?"

At her knowing smirk, he stammered the first thing that came to mind. "Doggystyle?"

Said smirk grew wider. "I like the way you think." She got up and spun about, presenting her haunches to him. The Border collie's tail flagged to the side as she looked back, licking her lips seductively. "Come and get it. I want to feel that knot inside me!"

The sight of her presented pussy beneath a raised tail, only moments ago at the mercy of his muzzle, brought a flutter to his chest. Her wanting eyes removed any remaining indecision he might've had.

The shepherd moved to her, scooting on his knees. His spread fingers scored grooves through her plush fur as he wrapped his arms around her waist. An involuntary growl welled in his throat as he rubbed his tapered cock against her haunches. She spread her legs further with a soft whimper at that, imploring him to take what his instincts desperately sought.

A shift of the hips brought his tapered tip to nestle perfectly against her cunt. He held himself there, drawing several deep breaths.

"Rick! Take me!" Ellis whined.

He did, rocking his hips forward. His ears splayed all the way back and a moan escaped his muzzle as the dog's length parted her lips with deliberate slowness. Her floppy ears did the same; the collie tilted her head back and whined with teeth clenched, consumed by the overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely.

Tight succulent warmth draped itself around him, drawing him ever deeper. His hips ground up against her rear and he held himself there, relishing the unbelievable feel of his entire cock buried to the hilt in the beautiful dog before him.

"Oh, yes, Rick." she groaned. "Goddamn, you're so fuck'n big. Fuck me like you mean it!"

He growled his response and withdrew more forcefully. A pang of emptiness overtook him when he paused, only his tapered tip still nestled within her. The next thrust was more forceful, hilting himself in the reeling collie bitch. It felt so right. He couldn't believe what he had been missing out on.

His hips pumped into Ellis with purpose, plunging the shepherd's cock ever deeper into her. She cried out with each thrust, tilting her head back as her body rocked with the rhythmic power of his effort.

His balls slapped against her haunches, just waiting to unleash a load of his potent seed into the bitch. He altered his angle, leaning down and grasping her breasts in his hands. His thrusts became harder, more forceful. He drove himself into her with vigor as he lifted her arms off the bed, spreading his legs for more purchase.

His hands kneaded her perfect mounds, teasing her rock hard nipples. He held her almost upright on the bed, pumping his cock up into the collie to her ever increasing cries of pleasure.

The muffled thud of his hips slamming into her was enthralling to his ears. Her accompanying expletives of rapture drove him on. The whole bed shook, the headboard smacking against the wall ever quicker. Their combined scents infused the room, filling his nose and sending his senses reeling.

He relinquished his hold on her breasts, letting Ellis drop down onto all fours. His knot was swelling again, threatening to tie them. His instincts told him what had to be done and he obeyed, pounding against her rear in deep forceful strokes anew.

His bulge slipped in and out of her in lewd pops. She looked back at him through half lidded eyes. "Do it. Knot me!"

He growled possessively and _thrust_forward, popping the bulge of his cock into her tight pussy one last time; a moment's resistance gave way to the satisfying feel of his length locking within her. There was but one inevitable conclusion.

He slammed into the collie now with rapid, short surges, his knot holding him firmly against her. That wonderful warmth around his cock seemed to grow ever hotter. He gripped her waist and never relented, feeling that familiar tension welling up in his loins.

Ellis was whining loudly beneath him. Her eyes were closed, her hands gripping the bed.

The collie suddenly buried her muzzle in the sheets and howled. Her whole body shook as an intense climax wrapped her up in its embrace.

Her sex clenched powerfully around his knotted length, compelling him to join her in the throes of release. He couldn't fight it off any longer.

Rick gritted his teeth and gave a last desperate pump of his hips. Everything unwound in that instant as he felt himself go over the edge--the shepherd's balls tightened and his cock jerked, shooting a thick rope of cum into the collie bitch beneath him. He snarled like he had never done before, holding himself against her. His tapered tip shot jet after jet of his seed, filling her seemingly without end.

Her climax milked him ruthlessly. He gave her everything he had, humping weakly against Ellis to prolong the blissful moment as long as he could.

It was everything he had hoped it would be and more. Much more!

Some minutes later the high began to ebb. Rick sucked in a long breath and let it out with pure satisfaction. He let his panting take over as exhaustion washed over him.

Ellis collapsed underneath him. By some luck, he managed to guide them both down onto their sides on the bed with the shepherd wrapped around her from behind. His cock continued to shoot weak spurts of cum into the collie all the while, adding to the copious amount that already filled her. They wouldn't be going anywhere for a while.

She was a panting wreck. He licked her ear consolingly while she tried to gather herself. Neither of them had need to say anything.

Only in the blissful silence that followed did the television make its presence known again.

Rick had forgotten all about the news broadcast. At that moment, a picture of Ellis and one of himself were being displayed while the talking heads babbled on. She seemed to take notice at the same time as the shepherd. "They figured out who we are," she chuckled weakly.

"Was only a matter of time." He started stroking a finger across the ridge of her ear. "I don't care about them anymore."

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Neither do I." They watched the broadcast at length, until she spoke again. "I was wondering. Would you, perhaps, like to... I don't know. Would you like to stay at my place, perhaps? In Salt Lake. I have a spare bedroom. You wouldn't have to, you know, commute from Atlanta. I'm sorry if it seems too forward. I was gonna ask after you told me earlier. Seemed like... the right thing."

He knew what she really was asking and smiled. "Salt Lake, huh? It's a nice place to call home. I'd appreciate that, I think. I would certainly enjoy the company."

"It's a deal." Her tail thumped against the bed and was joined by his.

He recalled back to the conversation they'd had in the cockpit earlier. "I suppose that poem of yours has a new meaning to me now."

She looked up at him and then smiled. "Should my end come while I am in flight, whether brightest day or darkest night; spare me your pity and shrug off the pain, secure in the knowledge that I'd do it again; for each of us is created to die, and within me I know..."

"I was born to fly," he finished for her. "I'll have to learn that. It's definitely worth remembering, especially now."

"I'll make sure to teach it to you," was the collie's smiling reply.

***************

Captain Richard Thames, or Rick as he liked to be called, checked his watch in the back of the shuttle van; he was running a few minutes late today; nothing to cause alarm, at least not yet. His destination lay a few blocks away and today's driver had a single-minded determination to violate every traffic law in existence. He'd still get there with plenty of time to spare.

The German shepherd braced himself in the back as the lumbering van took a particularly violent turn onto an adjacent street, giving rise to a slight squeal of the tires and the honking of a car horn. As reckless a drive as it's ever been.

Another jerky turn of the wheel, and the shuttle shuddered to a halt. Thankful for arriving in one piece, Rick fished out a few ones from his wallet and handed them off to the driver as he exited. The snow outside was fairly deep for early spring when he plopped down into it. It came up to his pant legs, but he didn't care.

A second set of dress shoes joined his. Ellis took a moment to straighten her hat and favored him with a smile. "Not exactly what you'd expect for March weather."

He grinned. "For Alaska, it is."

Both pilots made their way to the terminal carrying their respective roller bags. When there was clean sidewalk beneath him he dropped his bag down and extended the handle. In true pilot form, Ellis mirrored his action. "Ya ready for a nice day of flying?" the collie asked with a tip of her hat.

"Of course. And I'm cooking tonight when we get home."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Are ya now?"

"You bet. Have those two steaks sitting in the fridge, remember? You'll be amazed what I got in store for us tonight."

"I look forward to dinner then. And what comes after." She added the last bit with a wink.

He simply grinned in response, gesturing with an outstretched hand to the automatic door nearby. "After you, ma'am. Still got two flights ahead of us."

"Such a gentlemen," she teased.

Rick followed the collie's swaying tail and roller bag through the door into the terminal space, his casual grin never faltering. He couldn't wait to get home.