The choice.

 In the mid 70’s, I was a young Naval Officer, stationed on the island of Sicily. On one particular weekend I decided to go to Rota, Spain to see a friend. Air transport was a Navy DC-6 aircraft.

Stopping en route in Palma De Mallorca, a small island in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, we boarded five passengers. A woman with two children, both looked to be under four and two young enlisted men. I was the sixth passenger.

As we were waiting to go, I felt that the aircraft had been sitting on the ramp longer than normal. Something wasn’t right. I was curious.

 I headed for the door at back of the plane. When there, I noticed a dark haired man on the tarmac below running towards me, waving his arms. He pointed to the left wing of the aircraft. The wing was on fire.

 Knowing the fuel stored in that wing was extremely flammable, I instinctively started down the ladder. I stopped my descent.

There were five people still on board who most likely had no idea what was happening. I had to make a choice. I headed back up the ladder. Reentering the cabin I walked quickly to the front of the passenger compartment. Getting the attention of the two enlisted men, I said, “There is a fire onboard. Time to go, Gents”.  They did not hesitate.

 “We have to go now”, I said to the mother. A quick look outside showed the fire was growing in intensity. The plane could literally blow up any minute. I watched as the mother struggled to gather up her children. I stepped in, grabbed both children, moved the mother in front of me  and started for the door. When we got there, the man who had been waving his arms was standing directly below. I sent the mother down first. “Your children are right behind you”, I said gently .

 “Now, the children”, I shouted. I held the first child out, arms fully extended, the “waving arms” man was waiting twenty feet below. I let go. I did the same with the second child.

The “waving arms” man gently caught them both.

 All of the passengers were out. The flight crew was coming down the aisle, blood covering the forehead of the captain where he struck his head leaving the flight deck. Fear was replacing whatever had been driving me to that point. It was time for me to go. I headed down the ladder. At the bottom, I ran.

 On the tarmac, a safe distance from the plane, I found myself standing next to the “waving arms” man who had done so much. We shook hands. He left. The flight crew scrambled from the plane as I watched the mother and two children being shuffled away. The two enlisted men were long gone.

 It was over. We were safe. We were all safe.