by Max Hennessy
‘This isn’t a rat race,’ Dicken growled. ‘It’s another slaughter.’
There was an across-the-nation radio hook-up and everybody in the hotel had crowded into the lounge where the air was full of cigarette smoke.
‘There goes the first!’ The announcer’s voice rose excitedly.
‘The flag’s gone down and away goes Si Izzard’s Voyager. He’s away, heading bravely for the good old broad Pacific. Now it’s the turn of Roy Lewis’ Esperanza. He has another naval flier as his navigator. There he goes – heading down the field, picking up speed, he’s going to unstick at any moment – hey!’
As the commentary stopped in a shout of surprise, the whole room leaned forward, their faces tense for news of an accident.
‘He groundlooped!’ The announcer’s voice was shrill. ‘He groundlooped, folks! He groundlooped! Just as he was about to leave the ground, he whirled round and came to a dead stop! From here, it looks as though he might have touched a wing. Maybe his undercarriage collapsed. I can see the ambulance and the fire engine heading down there, but – wait a minute! – yeah, there they are! I can see Roy himself climbing out with his navigator. They’re okay. No harm done, except to the ship.’
As it went on, the tension increased. The next machine off, a Knevett monoplane, veered from the runway and had to be towed back to the end of the line of waiting machines for a fresh start. Then the Lampert Omega, as expected, made a beautiful take-off, half an hour after the first machine.
‘There goes the favourite,’ the announcer crowed. ‘He sure looks fine. He’s climbing away now at speed and looks set for a fast passage. Now here comes the Thurston, Muriel of Milo. She’s named after Muriel Nugent, the pretty stenographer from Milo, Michigan. She’s not much more than twenty-one years old but she’s mad about flying. Her pilot’s Art Gaydon, a guy of twenty-four who walks with a limp, the souvenir of a crash. Rooney Savage’s the navigator. And there goes the Flying Stenographer! But, wait a minute, the Thurston’s backfiring badly! They’re turning round and coming back for another go! I guess it’s spark plugs!’
Another Knevett, a French-built Lafosse, a Kelly biplane and a Mirac Messenger followed, pursued by the Knevett which had veered from the runway. This time the Knevett groundlooped and smashed a wing. Muriel of Milo left for a second time and the commentator breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief.
‘Well, there you are, folks,’ he said. ‘We’ve now got eight of the entries actually in the air and making for Hawaii. That’s a whole lot better than last year. They’re being followed at the moment by a crowd of escort and camera planes, but I guess they’ll soon be on their way back.’
The commentary went on for a little longer but it was desultory now that the machines had left and someone rose and switched off the set.
‘I guess that’s that,’ Harmer said. ‘My money’s on the Omega.’
The following day, the radio messages, punctuated by crackling, were being relayed from Honolulu.
‘There’s a crowd of thirty thousand here at Wheeler Field,’ the metallic voice said. ‘All ready to welcome the winners. Among them are the Governor and Ryan Dufee himself and there’s to be a monster civic celebration in the city when the machines arrive.’
It was clear nothing was happening and the commentator was being pushed to provide something to say. Music started, light music that turned to jazz, then it was abruptly interrupted.
‘Here it is!’ The metallic voice was high and loud with excitement. ‘Here’s the first one! Everybody’s cheering! It’s only a speck in the sky but I guess it’s the first!’
There were a few tense minutes until the machine was identified. ‘It looks like the Omega! I think it is! No, it isn’t! Now, that’s a surprise. I thank it’s either the Voyager or the Knevett. I can’t make it out. They’ve both got the same engine and the same two undercarriage struts up to the wing root. Wait a minute, I can see the name! It’s the Voyager! It’s Si Izzard in the Voyager! Si Izzard is the winner, folks!’
A few dollar bills changed hands as bets were settled and there was a lot of relieved laughter that the machines had made it. Two hours later, news came that the Knevett had landed to claim the second prize, followed soon afterwards by the Mirac Messenger.
‘Where the hell’s the Omega?’ Harmer demanded. ‘She ought to be there by now.’
When no more machines had landed several hours later, it was clear that a depressed feeling of defeat had come over the commentators.
Later in the morning the news was flashed that the French Lafosse had landed in the sea three hundred miles out with a faulty fuel feed, but that her crew had managed to put her down close to a freighter on its way to San Francisco which had picked up not only the crew but the aeroplane as well. The delay in learning what had happened was because the freighter’s radio had been out of action and they had had to wait until they had spoken to another ship with a radio which had passed the message to the shore. Then an hour later news came in that the Kelly had landed on the Mexican island of Guadalupe.
‘But that’s almost due south!’ Harmer said. ‘How the hell did she get there? Their compass must have been acting up.’
It helped to relieve the tension a little but by this time the commentators were finding it difficult to unearth something new to say and the information that yet another machine had failed to make it wasn’t quite the same as that the other missing machines had arrived. In Honolulu aching eyes were still watching the sky but it was already obvious that the Omega and the Muriel of Milo were beyond the limit of their fuel. As it became obvious that there would be no more landings, it was possible even over the radio to sense the exuberance draining out of the festivities that had been planned.
By the following day, despite its statement to the contrary, the United States Navy had mounted an air-sea search and, as if more money could retrieve the situation, Dufee had offered another ten thousand dollars for the rescue of the crews of the missing planes. Other interested tycoons put up more sums.
Izzard, the pilot of the winning Voyager, his machine refuelled and serviced, took off again to fly back to the mainland, promising to search for the lost aeroplanes en route. Several hours later a flash message on the radio announced that the plane was in trouble and soon after that it went off the air while only six hundred miles from the coast.
There were no crowds round the hotel radio by this time. Everyone was going sheepishly about their business and all the exuberance had faded. Harmer’s face was flushed and his eyes were red, and Dicken suspected he’d been drinking. Like Zoë, he had not changed his plans and it seemed to Dicken that, like so many long-distance fliers, he was impelled along his path less by the wish to go than by the feeling that the great newspaper reading and radio listening public would regard him as cowardly if he didn’t follow through with his plans.
That night there was a soft scratching at Dicken’s door. ‘It’s me. Zoë. Can I come in?’
As he opened the door, Zoë slipped into his bed. As he took her in his arms, he heard her whisper, ‘Dicky Boy, all those poor people! Eleven of them! All dead! It’s worse than last year.’
Dicken said nothing for a while. ‘It’s all so bloody pointless,’ he said eventually. ‘We know people are brave. Why go on proving it?’
She was silent for a while, curled up in his arms.
‘Zo,’ he said. ‘Don’t go on this trip of yours. You’ll never make it.’
‘Casey thinks we will.’
‘I’ve been flying a long time, Zo,’ he said. ‘Longer than you. Longer than Casey. I don’t think you will.’
She sat up in bed. ‘Christ,’ she said bitterly, her whole mood changing. ‘You’re bloody encouraging! Why not?’
‘That machine of yours doesn’t look right. It’s out of date.’
‘You’re bloody sure, aren’t you?’ She was angry with him now.
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
She was silent for a moment and when she spoke again her voice was shaky. ‘We’ve got to go, Dicky Boy,’ she said.
‘Why, for God’s sake?’
‘Because we’ve said we’re going. Casey says there’ll be a reaction against ocean racing now and it’s our last chance.’
There was truth in what she said. The newspapers had once again performed a volte face.
‘Before this, half the cities in the US were wanting long-distance flights to end on their airfields,’ Zoë went on in a small voice. ‘Now they’re backing down. San Francisco, Boston. Philadelphia. Cleveland. Tokyo have agreed to hold on because we’ve announced we’re coming, but they’re not so keen as they were.’ She sighed. ‘It’s been a hell of a two years.’
‘People have been looking at flying with their emotions,’ Dicken agreed. ‘They’ve not been thinking about it.’
There was a long silence then Zoë’s voice came again. This time it seemed almost like an attempt to regain lost confidence.
‘Casey knows what he’s doing,’ she whispered. ‘He’s built other planes.’
‘As big as this one? Why not let him fly it up to Vancouver without you? If it behaves well, then that’s that. If it doesn’t he’ll soon find out.’
For a moment she stared at him. ‘What’s it to you, anyway?’ she asked miserably. ‘You’ve nothing to thank me for, the way I’ve behaved to you. Why are you trying so goddam hard to look after me now?’
Some time during the following day Dicken heard that, although the Baltimore Bantam had been placed in position ready for an early take-off the following morning, Zoë had said she wasn’t feeling well and that Harmer had signed on a co-pilot.
‘He’s a guy from across the field,’ she explained. ‘He’s got a good record.’
Dicken agreed to be present at the take-off to see how the great machine behaved.
‘And if the goddam thing flies to Vancouver without trouble, I don’t want to hear another goddam word,’ Zoë said.
When the taxi picked Dicken up it was raining, the water sliding through the beams of the headlights, straight and silvery and shining. Mist hung in the air and the hiss of the tyres was surprisingly loud.
As Zoë climbed in beside him she sat huddled in one corner of the seat, silent and pale, the collar of her coat turned up, her face turned away from Dicken. By the time they reached the airfield, the rain had stopped and Harmer was waiting by the empty hangar.
‘She’s out at the edge of the field,’ he said. ‘I’ve decided to dispense with the rear undercarriage.’
It was clear that Dicken’s doubts and the disasters of the Dufee Derby had worried him and he went on hurriedly, almost as if he hoped to prevent Dicken making any comment.
‘It’s clearing fast,’ he said. ‘There’s a good forecast and it hasn’t been raining long enough to make the ground heavy.’
Zoë was looking at him anxiously. ‘It’ll slow the take-off, Case,’ she said. ‘Getting rid of the rear undercarriage.’
Harmer gave an irritated gesture, as if he were nervous. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve decided to go for a ramp instead, like Byrd did. It’ll give her the same fast start as the rear undercart. None of that slow build-up of speed as she rolls and nothing to damage the tail like Fonck’s rear undercart did. Byrd used one when he flew the Atlantic. She’ll be tethered at the top with a rope.’
They climbed into the big roadster and Harmer drove them along the side of the field. The Baltimore Bantam had been pushed to the top of an inclined ramp which had been built of earth and sandbags and covered with planks to prevent the wheels sinking into it. A heavy double rope, knotted in several places, ran back from the undercarriage and the tail-skid and was secured to two or three iron girders which had been driven at an angle into the ground beyond the end of the ramp.
As she climbed from the car Zoë gave it a worried look.
‘It helped Byrd,’ Harmer insisted. ‘He used a ramp of snow for his take-off for the North Pole, too. One of the ground crew’ll cut the rope at a signal from me when the engines are warm and beginning to pull.’
‘Unless it breaks first under the strain,’ Zoë said in a tight voice. ‘Byrd’s did.’
‘It’s all right,’ Harmer said again, his voice urgent. ‘We’ve also had the runway smoothed and lengthened. We don’t want another disaster like Fonck’s.’
‘Is she fuelled up?’ Zoë asked.
‘Before she was brought out of the hangar. No chance of water in the gas.’ Harmer peered at Zoë. ‘How’re you feeling?’
‘I’m okay. I’ll join you by train.’
He leaned closer and Dicken heard him whisper. ‘You’re sure it’s not that goddam husband of yours?’
The word that the Bantam was leaving had spread and there was a small crowd of spectators. The press moved forward as the preparations were completed and the flash guns popped and filled the air with smoke as Harmer stood alongside the machine with his new co-pilot, one arm round Zoë.
Surrounded by the mist, Dicken felt the ground with the toe of his shoe. It was soggier than Harmer seemed to think.
About him was the chatter of the spectators. They weren’t all aviation enthusiasts by any means and he guessed a lot of them were there in the hope of something more spectacular than a mere take-off.
Harmer was shrugging himself into a leather coat now and winding a red woollen scarf round his neck.
‘I gave him the scarf,’ Zoë said abruptly, almost defiantly, as though she were challenging Dicken to question her relationship with the Canadian.
Pulling on his helmet, Harmer turned towards the door of the machine. As he did so, Zoë slipped forward and kissed him full on the mouth. As he grabbed at her, the camera guns popped again.
‘For luck,’ Zoë said as she rejoined Dicken. ‘That’s all. For luck.’
He didn’t say anything and watched as Harmer moved through the cabin of the machine to reappear in the cockpit and begin to move the rudders and elevators.
‘She’ll do it easy,’ Zoë said.
As the propellers were swung the engines started with a crackling roar and a few scattered leaves, chaff and grass clippings whirled away. Moving to one side, Dicken noticed that Zoë was holding a clenched fist to her mouth and guessed that she was as well aware as he was of the doubts that hedged the big machine.
For a while, Harmer let the engines tick over and they could see his head and that of the co-pilot in the cockpit. Then, as the throttles were opened, the machine began to shake and quiver under the thrust of the powerful engines. The wing tips were trembling under the intense vibration as Harmer leaned out of the window to make sure the mechanic was standing by the rope with his axe. The mechanic waved back and lifted the axe above his head. But, as he did so, before he could use it, before Harmer could give him the signal, there was a gasp from the crowd. There was a twang as the rope snapped so that the big machine hurtled forward, lumbering noisily over the planks that floored the ramp, its speed building up at once.
Harmer had been looking backwards at the mechanic as the rope went and he was unprepared for the unexpected start. The rudder was not central so that the machine went down the ramp at an angle. As it reached the level ground at the bottom, it seemed to leap into the air and the knot on the trailing end of the broken rope caught against one of the planks that floored the ramp. Dicken saw the plank lift and bang against the tail of the machine. As it was wrenched out of position by the aeroplane’s forward movement, other planks leapt up, clattering against the elevators.
The crowd, which had become silent as the preparations for the start had begun, began to shout. The metallic howl of the engines was echoing from the airfield buildings as the machine gathered speed but the unexpected st
art had sent it off in the wrong direction and, as Harmer pulled it back on course, it began to swing. The rope with its heavy knots was still trailing behind, slapping up and down between the undersurfaces of the elevators and the soggy ground from which it was tossing up stones and clods of earth. As the machine rumbled over a shallow rise the wings swung again and Harmer tried to wrench the machine straight. As he did so, a small cry escaped Zoë and, glancing at her, Dicken saw she still had her fist against her mouth, her eyes wide and horrified.
As Harmer hauled the machine back on to course once more, it swung heavily the other way, then began to swerve even more wildly. The wheels left the grass and there was a gasp from the crowd – ‘He’s away!’ – but the wheels slammed down again with a spattering of muddy water. Then, quite clearly, where the knotted rope was hammering at the tail, Dicken saw something fall away and he realised the rudder wasn’t functioning but seemed to be jammed towards starboard.
The machine began to yaw, lurching awkwardly like some runaway juggernaut under the shifting weight of its huge cargo of fuel. The tail was still rumbling along the ground and it was possible now to see that the tail-skid had been damaged and that the rudder was hanging crookedly on its hinges.
‘For God’s sake,’ Zoë gasped. ‘Close the throttles! Close the goddam throttles!’
But the big machine was still careering across the field, its wheels still firmly on the earth, trailing a cloud of mist from the rain-wet grass. It was clear that Harmer would never get it off now and Dicken saw fragments fly into the air from the damaged elevators. Then the rudder, which Harmer was trying to use to correct the yaw, swung hard over as if he had been frantically kicking at it and it had suddenly come free. As it slammed over, the machine went into a tremendous turn, still moving at speed, until it was heading back almost on its tracks.
The crowd began to scatter in a panic, screaming and shouting and falling over the barriers that had surrounded the enclosure where they had been standing. Two cars started to move in a hurry, crashed and locked together, their radiators steaming. But the trailing rope, which until a moment before had been behind the machine, was now facing the wrong way and it jammed under one of the wheels so that it locked and the machine swung again until it was thundering in the direction of the old wooden hangar where it had been housed.
