Flight Lt. Samrat Singh Shekawat is burdened by the sins of his past. Flight Lt. Tanvi Sharma has seen him at his worst and still loves him. Samrat has a hunch about what she feels though they remain friends. She doesn't want to confess as she doesn...
The airbase looms around the corner, the officers' haven on the ground, beneath the endless skies. Tanvi's been driving for forty minutes. Samrat reminisces about his test flight of the Shakti aircraft while seated in the jeep's backseat. It's truly a miracle he made it back.
He took off, prepared for the unfavourable weather that awaited him. Shakti was lightweight, with fluid controls. Flying an aircraft is a sublime experience for any pilot. That was why he volunteered. It was also his outrageous sense of duty, backed by the guilt of all his misdeeds. Tanvi wouldn't understand, it was all part of his atonement.
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Harjot ma'am was pleased that he volunteered. Also displeased, the others didn't. It was an honour to receive her immediate praise. He was sure, alongside that, he earned more scorn from the engineering girls who glared at him.
All that aside, flying over the desert amid the sandstorm was a nightmare. Way worse than what he was prepared for. Reality is worse than fiction. His communication with the ATC was cut off not long after his takeoff. He flew over the horizon for many minutes amidst the poor visibility, in search of a ragged plateau to land his jet on.
He located one whose coordinates were far from sector 53. The winds were raging, a whopping 150 knots, the turbulence turning the landing into a challenge, which he would admit, he only enjoyed. He considered returning to the airbase but couldn't. Not with the poor visibility.
Landing on the plateau was one step accomplished. Another difficult step awaited - withstanding the hot temperatures of the desert. He kept himself hydrated, tried not to think negative, took care of his mind and body in those detrimental conditions as a soldier should. He didn't obviously carry a gallon of water. Whatever was available to him, he split it - half to drink, half spilled over his body to cool himself.
After a while, he tried flying at a higher altitude to evade the storm, but it didn't work. The afternoon sun reached its zenith. Finding the next pit stop was another nightmare. This time, he didn't dare to fly again. He had to save fuel. Just flying around to find a path back to the base and avoid the storm would cost him his fuel and his chances of survival.
What were his chances of survival, anyway? He was already dehydrated and exhausted. Alone with still no communication with the ATC, he gave himself a mental boost of confidence. He got this!
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