Chapter 3: Flight Tested

Eli stood on the tarmac of Merrill Field Airport, sweat trickling down his neck despite the cool Alaskan morning. The day had come—his final solo check flight. One hour in the sky. One hour to prove everything he had worked for.

Ms. Halvorsen handed him the clipboard. “Standard pre-flight checklist. You know the drill.”

He nodded, heart hammering. He moved through the pre-flight inspection like it was choreography: checking control surfaces, inspecting tires, testing the fuel for contaminants. It was a Cessna 172 Skyhawk—older, worn, but dependable, like an old friend.

Eli climbed into the left seat, strapped in, and slipped on his headset. “Merrill Ground, Student Pilot Morgan ready to taxi, runway seven.”

As he taxied to the threshold, the familiar nerves set in. But this time, there was something different—a calmness under the pressure. A quiet voice inside whispering, You belong here.

Cleared for takeoff, Eli rolled onto the runway. The engine roared. The plane gained speed. Then—rotation. The tires lifted from the ground, and the world fell away beneath him.

This time, Eli was truly alone.

The sky was brilliant blue. Patches of white clouds floated like lazy spectators. Below him, the world sprawled out—forests, mountains, glistening lakes. It felt sacred.

He turned east, climbing to 3,500 feet, heading toward the Knik Glacier. Every minute, he checked his instruments: airspeed, heading, altitude. He practiced gentle banks, climbs, and descents. Then came simulated engine-out procedures. He picked emergency landing spots in his head—gravel bars by the river, flat stretches of tundra.

He’d trained for this. Over and over.

As he turned toward home, heading west into a light crosswind, turbulence began to rock the plane. Nothing major—but enough to force his hands to tighten on the yoke. He adjusted trim, corrected his heading, and stayed calm.

Ten minutes from Merrill, Eli radioed in.

“Merrill Tower, this is Skyhawk Three-Eight-One-Niner. Student solo on final approach, full stop landing.”

“Three-Eight-One-Niner, you are clear to land, runway seven. Wind two-one-zero at ten, gusting twelve.”

Eli took a breath. You’ve done this a hundred times.

The descent was smooth. As he reached 300 feet, the wind shifted slightly. The nose dipped too low. He adjusted, increased throttle slightly, corrected his glide path. The runway loomed ahead, like a promise.

Flare…

The wheels kissed the asphalt, bouncing once—then settling.

Touchdown.

He taxied off the runway, heart pounding, grin splitting his face.

“Nice work,” Ms. Halvorsen said through the headset, watching from the tower. “You just passed your final check.”

Back at the hangar, she handed him a certificate.

Eli Morgan — Private Pilot. FAA Certified.

He held it like it might fly away. “I can’t believe it.”

“You earned it,” she said. “No one gave you this. You climbed every rung of the ladder.”

That night, a celebration was held in the student dorms. Cheap pizza, off-key karaoke, and a dozen young pilots high on adrenaline and ambition. Eli sat quietly for a moment by the window, watching planes blink across the horizon.

Then a call came.

Walter.

“You did it, didn’t you?” the old man asked.

Eli smiled. “I did.”

“I’m proud of you, kid. But this isn’t the top. It’s just the wings you need to keep climbing.”

Eli knew it too. Becoming a private pilot wasn’t the end. It was the beginning of the real journey.

In the following months, Eli applied to aviation colleges across the U.S. His acceptance came from Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University in Arizona—one of the most prestigious aviation schools in the world.

Ray drove him to the airport for his flight out of Fairhaven. As they stood by the gate, Ray handed Eli a small package. Inside was a model Cessna, carved from driftwood.

“For your desk,” Ray said. “To remind you where you started.”

Eli hugged him, eyes wet. “I won’t forget.”

Four Years Later

Captain Eli Morgan adjusted his tie in the mirror of a Delta Airlines crew lounge. Twenty-three years old. Fully licensed commercial pilot. Hours logged: over 1,500. Today, he was co-piloting his first official domestic passenger flight—from Seattle to Denver.

The cabin buzzed with passengers, the flight attendants greeting them with smiles. As Eli entered the cockpit, his captain—a silver-haired veteran—nodded.

“Ready, rookie?”

Eli sat down, flipped switches like second nature, and smiled. “Born ready.”

As the engines powered up and the plane began to taxi, Eli looked out the window. Clouds gathered on the horizon, but he felt no fear.

This was his sky now.