Jungle Heat (A new novel by)

As I continue my "ramble" through retirement, tring new adventures, a novel seems possible...here are the opening lines.

The sweltering heat hung over the airport like a wet blanket. Heat waves shimmered off the runway, giving the jungle on the other side a surrealist image of trees melting into the ground.

He stood on the ramp next to the old dilapidated hangar, the popping of the tin roof, from expansion caused by the noon day sun, the only sound interrupting the silence. He wondered how he had sunken so low to have this desolate end of the world assignment as his only flying job.

Where had it all gone wrong?

Steve Wright had certainly not always been “right”, more often “wrong” in his choice of booze, women and jobs. Demon rum had started the downward spiral to this God forsaken airport in the wilds of central Africa.

Steve’s mind drifted back to a time when all seemed like his life was charmed, he had a beautiful wife, a great job flying for an airline and his reputation as a pilot was spotless. He was known for his prowess and called “Stick”. “Steve’s the best stick we have” they would say, alluding to the yoke that controls the pitch and roll of the aircraft and reverts back to the days when airplanes had a “stick” between the pilot’s legs to control flight.

To fly with Steve was almost poetry, a soft touch on each control deftly moving the control for the desired effect. From take-off to landing his flights soared, as if on eagles’ wings, through the sky.