You cannot judge the Europa Team by normal standards of modernity, standards of propriety or with any other commonly used Earthly standards of measure. That’s because they weren’t Earthlings. At least in the common sense. Yes they hailed from Earth, born there, raised there but their destinies would make them Europans, a people eventually separate from Earth. Each had been recruited for unique backgrounds, capabilities, and personalities. By conventional Earth standards, some choices would make little sense. In fact, if they ever became public, several would probably be laughed at. Take Sarah, for instance.
All of five feet tall, slender of build, hair up in a pony tail, medium good looking, quiet, Sarah would hardly seem to fill the big shoes of a Stella-class starship Executive Officer. Men approaching her, and there were more than a few, would be struck by her almost aloof response, almost mumbly in some cases. It was usually a turn off. Some took it as rudeness or being stuck up but it was just Sarah. She didn’t like attention and was most happy when she had none. Most would picture her as a quiet receptionist in a doctor's office or perhaps a librarian. Yet considering her occupation, that impression couldn't have been more wrong.
She was an Airbus A400 fire drop pilot. The same crews you see skimming treetops, threading canyons, protecting homes, and sometimes saving trapped firefighters with only seconds to spare. In EG, this job had been attempted by autonomous drone aircraft including AI piloted C130 aircraft, but after several disastrous crashes, some even on top of Hot Shot crews, the initiative was abandoned and human pilots resumed the job. Jobs once lost opened up again. The Airbus had been acquired as a newer, medium haul tanker aircraft, more durable than other aging choices. The crews loved it.
Sarah had worked her way up the flying roster starting with refueling aircraft, mopping up bathrooms, stocking the snack bar, trapping rats in the hangar, running errands for the crews, and basically doing whatever it took until she was trusted to fly. On her own, without any help, she would also get all her ratings, all necessary to eventually land flying right seat on the basic airdrop crews. The air boss learned that little Sarah was more than a small girl that wanted to fly. She had a flip side that he liked.
It really only showed itself on the airdrop missions. In the alert facility Sarah would bury herself in her books, writing in her journal, reading, watching just a few shows, and studying terrain maps and attack routes for likely AORs (Areas of Responsibility). But in the aircraft Sarah could transform. She was calm but focused and the ACs would say even her countenance changed. And the hairier, more dangerous the mission the more Sarah seemed to like it. In three seasons she had logged over 27 low level Atlas drops. She never complained.
Eventually the crews gave her a callsign. "BASH." Fighter pilots would have appreciated that one. It fit her perfectly. Bashful from Snow White. Quiet. Reserved. Easy to overlook. Until it was time to drop into a canyon with mountains on both sides and smoke filling the windshield. Then everyone liked having Bash in the right seat. The aircraft commanders swore even her face changed during the runs. She was the first female pilot in their ranks to rate a callsign.
And yet when off the flight deck, Bash was true to her name, melting back to her quiet existence in the alert facility. Fire crews are notoriously hard on new crew members and expect a lot and give little respect in return. Most are ex-military, transport, or airline pilots with over 30,000 hours of flight experience, most all over the world. And that Bash had been accepted by these crusty crews, especially the experienced ACs, spoke to Sarah’s true character.
That would have been enough to get the Council’s attention. But it was the video that brought her into the limelight, something she would have never wanted. On a particularly rough drop mission in Trinity Alps, CA, "Uncanny Nanny," their Airbus A400 was making its 5th pass and it was badly needed. A ridge placed Hot Shot crew was at risk of getting trapped by sudden reversing upslope winds, caused by the fires below. The radios crackled out an urgent call, off their planned drop route. The Forward Air Controller contacted Nanny and asked if they could attack the unplanned steep slope with only one and very dangerous egress route. This had not been prebriefed. Even for the Atlas with its four Europrop TP400-D6 turbo props would be straining on this climb out. The FAC moved to the area to mark it, anticipating a “yes” answer from Uncanny Nanny.
The crusty AC, whom Bash loved flying with, accepted the reroute and made their way, to the steep slope. A hiker was filming the drop.
It was then Bash’s AC had a heart attack and died at the controls. The FE raced forward to get him off the controls. They were unable to get the AC out of the seat but at least got him off the controls. Bash took over.
So here the little 100 lb girl was at the controls of a life or death mission in the Trinity Alps with fire crews at risk of being burnt alive without a very specific, accurate retardant drop. Bash had some decisions to make.
Would she continue the mission or abort and get the AC ack to facility ASAP. She asked the FE for a pulse as she proceeded to target. He said he wasn’t sure but said probably none present.
Often as leaders you have imperfect information and absolutely no time to perfect it. That’s where our little Bash found herself. The FE looked at her for leadership.
She said “We’re going through with the drop, tell Lancer what has happened and we will return to base ASAP afterwards.” The FE nodded in approval and immediately set about giving her known terrain information for the run. He called the FAC, relaying the information and their intentions. Sarah’s alter ego was in charge and the FE was glad for it.
Sarah knew the area she didn’t know it like the AC and she was scared. She had studied the terrain map in the alert facility and remembered chair flying the climb rate she’d need to make this particular high slope drop. This information came back to her in the moment. The fire climbing upslope to the Hot Shot crews needed a particularly hard drop, no matter the aircraft no matter the conditions, no matter the crew experience. It was called a “sling” and planes had crashed doing it.
It involved flying directly to the steep slope in a shallow dive then turning at the last second, in a 45º bank making the crew blind to the slope, and releasing the full load of retardant on the slope…accurately. Then the pilot would apply engine full power and achieve max climb speed in the only slot canyon available for the Atlas’ escape. If she got it wrong they would crash either on the maneuver or climb out. If she missed the designated drop area it would be likely the fire crews would burn to death.
The hiker was filming in 4k the entire drop run. The A400 is seen flying directly to the slope above a raging wildfire, smoke wafting in most parts, updrafts seen moving the aircraft violently around. Nanny is seen to turn at the seemingly last second to the steep slope slinging the retardant in a maneuver that is still talked about today…with reverence. The red mist and spray lands to create a barrier of escape for the Hot Shots and the fire, for the moment, staggers. The turboprops of Nanny are heard to go to full power as the aircraft successfully threads the 500 ft slot canyon. At VX (max angle of climb), the four Hamilton Sundstrand props claw at the thin air.
The Forward Air Controller and the crews on cross slopes are silent, not sure they actually saw what they saw. It was standard procedure for radio silence on the primary airdrop frequency during tough drops, so as not to distract the crew from flying. But this went longer than normal. The silence lingered, it seemed like a long minute. The fact that the AC had died on the controls was also known. By even the hot shot crews using their discreet frequencies. So seeing this successful run against Level 5 updrafts, steep slopes, and a bind sling maneuver to save a trapped crew created awe. Never mind she had a dead crew member in the seat next to her.
Above the high peak Bash finally reduced the power and looked back at the FE. He was already there again focused on getting the AC out of the seat for CPR. There was not time for celebration. She came back to the moment and crackled on the radio:
“Nanny’s RTB, emergency aircraft, three souls on board, give me vector to nearest field.”
She had the information on her MFD but wisely put the FAC to work trying to get on the ground as soon as possible.
“Vector 255º, Hannibal Municipal airport, they know you’re coming, EMS will be waiting. ATC has cleared the airspace, you’re cleared to land on Runway 33” assured the FAC.
“And successful drop Bash, successful drop…good job.”
There was no hooping and hollering, no loud celebrations on the radio. There was no time for such nonsense; just a quiet respect felt on all frequencies. A crew was still struggling for it’s life to evacuate the ridgeline before the blaze regained momentum. But now, unless things went crazy, this drop gave them time, their most valuable commodity. Everybody watched Uncanny Nanny climb out of the slot canyon, red retardant still trailing the aircraft, the image etched upon their minds.
The Aircraft Commander had died. Later they determined it was exactly the moment he had slumped over on the controls, aortic hemorrhage. Outside the firefighting community there were questions about whether Copilot Sarah Hansen should have continued the mission. Inside the community there weren't any. Under fire, she’d made the right call.
Rare for any pilot especially a new one, Sarah attained a high level of respect both with the commander, all the flight crews, the maintainers, and especially the ground level fire fighters. She would be promoted to aircraft commander by the end of the season, only her 3rd.
A Hot Shot green command vehicle wore realistic freshly painted “Right Hand Girl” vehicle art, depicting Bash’s Atlas drop on both sides of the truck. The truck quickly became famous as did the drop. They got permission from command staff for the tribute. The drop had saved 17 firefighters on that slope that day. That truck was considered charmed and later escaped some harrowing blazes of its own. The crews kept its paint touched up, clean, and waxed, the other Hot Shot trucks looked like the belonged in a junk yard.
Meanwhile back on the alert facility Sarah felt awkward about attention. She shirked the interviews, just wanting to fade back into the crews. The video became famous anyways. She downplayed the whole event on base and even told people she was scared: classic Sarah. Finally she had some quiet time. In her off time she could be found by the alert hangar doing what she liked best: tending to her small garden plot. Spencer, her rescued boy cat, was always by her side. He looked on approvingly of her digging operation. It was a quiet afternoon. The tomatoes were coming in nicely.