Army Pilot No Fuel…not a good day for an attack helicopter pilot. Falling from the sky is not a pleasant experience.

Army Pilot No Fuel: Falling from the Sky

Captain Miller was having what you might call a “bad day.” He was strapped into his AH-64 Apache, ready for a routine training mission, or at least what he thought would be routine. But as he settled into the cockpit, sipping his lukewarm coffee and flipping through his mental checklist, he noticed something alarming: the fuel gauge was hanging limply on “E,” like a slacker in a drill sergeant’s presence.

“Uh, this can’t be right,” he muttered to himself. “I filled it up, didn’t I?” He scanned the cockpit for the magical button that would make the fuel magically appear, but, alas, there was no such button.

“Hey, Blackhawk, do you copy?” Miller radioed, hoping someone on the comms might shed some light on this fuel fiasco.

“Loud and clear, Apache. What’s up?” replied Sergeant Johnson, flying in the Blackhawk just above him, the smugness evident in his voice.

“Uh, I think I’m having a fuel issue,” Miller said, his heart racing faster than the rotors above.

“Fuel issue? As in you’re out of gas?” Johnson laughed, his chuckles echoing through the comms. “That’s a new one! Didn’t they teach you anything in flight school?”

“Shut up, Johnson! I filled it before takeoff!” Miller shot back, a little too defensively. He could almost hear Johnson’s grin through the radio.

As he wrestled with his mounting panic, he tried to keep it together. “Alright, just give me a minute,” he said, pretending he was about to fix this like he had everything under control. “Let me check the manuals.”

The manuals were as thick as a phone book and, quite frankly, probably just as useful in this situation. He flipped through the pages like he was searching for a hidden treasure, his eyes darting to the words “fuel system” and “emergency landing.” Each page only made him feel more claustrophobic and anxious.

As if sensing his rising stress, the cockpit’s instruments began to chirp ominously, a song he definitely didn’t want to hear. “Warning! Fuel level critically low!”

“Yeah, no kidding!” Miller grumbled to himself. “What do you want me to do? Wish for more fuel?”

Just then, the Blackhawk pilot’s voice crackled through the comms again, barely able to contain his laughter. “You better do something, Captain! Falling from the sky is not exactly a career highlight!”

Miller took a deep breath, mentally reminding himself of the fundamentals. “Okay, calm down. Just find a place to land. It’s just a little drop.” He thought about how great a controlled descent sounded—like a serene bungee jump without the cord.

“Apache, do you copy?” the Blackhawk asked, now sounding more concerned than amused.

“Yeah, I hear you,” Miller grumbled. “I’m just trying to figure out how to gracefully transition from the sky to the ground without becoming a crumpled mess.”

“Graceful?” Johnson scoffed. “Dude, you’re in a flying tank. Just point it at the ground and let gravity do the rest!”

Miller took a deep breath and decided to do what he could. He spotted a wide stretch of land that looked mostly clear, minus a few unfortunate cows that had just been grazing. “Alright, I’m going in!”

With his heart racing faster than a drill sergeant on caffeine, he began his descent, hoping that the cow population didn’t suffer from his pilot error. As he neared the ground, he could see the cows now staring at him, their big eyes wide with confusion.

“Look out, bovine buddies! I’m about to make an entrance!” he muttered, preparing for impact.

And with that, the Apache hit the ground with a thud, a triumphant but messy landing that sent the cows stampeding in every direction, mooing like they had just witnessed the world’s worst rodeo.

Miller exhaled, sitting there for a moment, letting the adrenaline settle. “Well, that wasn’t too bad,” he said to himself, looking around at the not-so-graceful mess he’d created.

“Apache, are you still alive?” Johnson asked, the laughter in his voice back again.

“Yeah, I’m here. Just having a little ‘fun’ with some cows.”

“Cows? Man, you really know how to pick a landing zone! Maybe next time, you can land in a burger joint!”

Miller chuckled, shaking his head. “Just wait until you run out of fuel, too. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

As the laughter continued over the radio, Miller realized he might not have come out of this with his dignity intact, but at least he had a story that would get him some well-deserved ribbing in the mess hall. Besides, who could complain about the day they took down a herd of cows with their helicopter?

“Hey, Johnson,” he said, settling back into the pilot seat. “Next time, I’ll make sure to bring extra fuel. And maybe a side of fries.”

The Frontlines

Great selection of military related shirts, mugs, and posters on The Frontlines shop, and check out all of our stuff that is on sale right now. The Frontlines Shop or my comic book here:

Amazon The Frontlines