Sojourners of the Sky

by Clayton Taylor

  “You’re right,” said G.R.

  “You didn’t have to agree quite so quickly, G.R.”

  “It could even be this guy here,” suggested G.R., pointing to the man on the floor. “And if it is, who knows, maybe he is supposed to kill someone else. But we don’t have time to sort this out. Let’s just toss a blanket over him and get out of here.”

  “I think we should carry him to his seat,” said John.

  “Really, John? We’d need a platoon and two crane operators to move this guy. We have to get out of here. Trust me, he’ll be fine. In fact, he’ll probably wake up soon and then he can carry himself back to his seat.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be safe to simply leave him on the floor,” said John.

  “All right, let’s just push him back a little,” suggested G.R “If we wedge him in, then his body won’t be able to move around much.”

  “For goodness sake, G.R., this man is our passenger.”

  “I know, but let me ask you, John: Can you speak Icelandic?”

  John wasn’t exactly sure why, but for some reason G.R.’s words made sense. He knew time was of the essence. Keenly aware that the flight engineer had been around a lot longer than he had, John decided to go along with the plan, “OK, let’s get it done.”

  Without speaking, the two men crammed the massive-man’s limp body as far back against the aft bulkhead as possible. As G.R. began rolling out a blanket, the man woke up.

  “Hey, what are you guys doing?” muttered the confused passenger.

  G.R.’s eyes sprang wide open while John, also taken totally by surprise, jumped back nearly two feet.

  The dazed man slowly sat up and began rubbing his jaw. “If I catch the guy who did this, I’m going to kill him,” he said. Then after a brief moment to get his bearings, he looked up at John and asked, “What are you guys up to? You weren’t going to toss me off the airplane were you?”

  John looked at G.R., unsure of what to say.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, sir,” said G.R. “We’re getting ready to leave, and since we couldn’t wake you or lift you, we thought we’d secure you back here until you woke up. Thank goodness you’re awake,” added G.R., with a smile that appeared almost genuine.

  John was surprised at how quickly G.R. was able to think on his feet. While he heard the flight engineer speak, he nodded his head in agreement. Then, knowing if he remained any longer he would most likely say the wrong thing, John turned and hurried toward the cockpit.

  “Here, let me help you up, sir,” said G.R. as he grabbed the big man’s arm.

  “Who was that little runt who sucker-punched me?” asked the man, continuing to rub his chin.

  “That was Asa, one of the copilots. He had just been informed about his father’s death, and I guess he just sort of went off the deep end,” said G.R. with a shrug.

  “Well, I’ll still kill him if I see him. You’d better tell him to stay well-clear of my path,” stated the fuming passenger.

  “I don’t think that will be a problem,” said G.R. “I gotta go, we’re about to takeoff. Will you be all right?”

  “Yes, just go,” he answered.

  Walking smartly through the cabin, G.R. suddenly realized that he’d forgotten to conduct a preflight inspection. He debated in his mind for a moment about how best to handle it, before saying to himself in a very soft voice, “It got us in here; it’ll get us out.”

  It took nearly a minute for the huge man to get to his feet. Before returning to his seat, he glanced through the small window in the door. The horrendous weather scene that was only a few inches from his face, prompted him to say aloud, “It’s not fit for man nor beast out there.” Then, for only an instant, he thought he saw one of the pilots lying down in the snow. He briefly considered calling the flight engineer back or advising one of the stewardesses, but decided that he must have simply been seeing things. Still angry about the sucker-punch, he turned toward his seat and muttered aloud, “Dollars to donuts, those jokers were going to toss me out into the snow. Well, we’ll see about that!”

  *

  John practically leaped into his seat and said, “I’m ready to go, captain.”

  “Do we have our enroute clearance?” asked Charles.

  “Well, I certainly had to pull some teeth to get it, but I did finally manage to get something out of him,” said John, as he presented Charles with the handwritten copy of their clearance to London.

  The crew had the engines running in short order. John called the ground controller twice, but neither pilot could discern what he was saying. Both Charles and John decided that they’d heard just enough to conclude that they were cleared to taxi.

  It took a huge burst of power to get the DC6 moving since the tires, warm after the landing, had cooled and were slightly frozen to the ground. Once he had the airplane turned around, Charles began taxiing slowly toward the runway.

  It was nearly impossible to see due to the wind-driven snow smashing against the windshield. In addition, the captain found it difficult to control the airplane in the incredibly intense, gusting winds. Charles stopped the airplane a number of times during the taxi-out because he simply could not see the ground beneath him. He concentrated so intently on maintaining his position on the centerline of the taxiway, he didn’t have time to consider how challenging the takeoff would be.

  As the airplane inched along, the cockpit was unusually silent. The voiceless quiet was partly because each man was busy doing something, and partly because everyone felt horrible about their crewmate whom they were leaving behind. No one wanted to say anything out loud, but they were all concerned about young Asa.

  After what seemed like an eternity to the captain, the Clipper Seven Seas finally found the end of the runway. Needing a momentary respite, Charles reached down and silently set the parking brake. He could feel the wind slamming against the airplane with brute force, forcing his DC6 to rock incessantly. Charles knew the elements would be against him, and that he was once again about to be put to the test. Though he’d been fighting the weather throughout his career, he feared inside that one day the gods that controlled such things would finally get the best of him. He knew the wanderlust wind that was sometimes his friend, could quickly become his mortal enemy.

  The old salt sat quietly. He was not frightened. Charles merely wished to mentally prepare himself for any and all possibilities. In the off-chance they experienced an engine failure moments after lift-off, he knew he would only have one chance to do everything right; there would be no do-overs. The pounding wind would see to that.

  John was also aware of the potential for catastrophe. He told himself to be ready to do whatever it took. He too quickly ran an engine-out scenario silently through his mind.

  When Charles was ready, he turned to the rest of his crew and said, “Men, we are all saddened about Asa. I myself am deeply troubled about leaving a man behind. I debated it in my mind and ultimately decided that there was no point in putting our passenger’s lives, as well as our own lives, in danger to search for one crazed crew member. He was acting like a banshee. There was just no talking sense to him. I’ve informed the station manager and he has dispatched his people to search for him. If they find him, or if he finds his own way back, they will see to it that he gets on our next flight. All we can do is hope for the best. Our main concern has to be our passengers. Now, with that said, I need every one of you to be on your toes for this takeoff. This wind and dry snow tells me that icing will not be a problem, but aircraft control will be. John, keep both feet and both hands on the controls and stay with me. Lars, stay on top of things back there.”

  Lars and John acknowledged the order.

  “If you fellas are all set then…John, tell the tower we’re ready,” ordered Charles.

  When the tower controller spoke, it was with such a bad accent neither pilot understood what he was saying. John queried the controller three times for clarification, but each response from the man in the elevated glass-enclosed r
oom was louder, angrier and no less baffling than his previous transmission.

  “I heard him say ‘takeoff,’ but that’s all I understood,” noted John.

  “Try it one more time,” said Charles.

  The controller’s fourth comeback was so raucous, it was practically indecipherable.

  The cockpit crew could tell that the man was frustrated and angry at his inability to communicate his wishes. The unpleasant situation finally prompted Charles to say, “Ah, let’s just go. There’s nobody else out here, except for us crazy Pan Am pilots. I clearly heard him use the word ‘takeoff.’ He wouldn’t say that word unless we were in fact cleared to go.”

  The reason they didn’t understand the controller was because he was trying to use English words to say things that were not normally part of the air traffic control script. He was attempting to advise the crew that the Icelandic Police were demanding their flight remain on the ground, and that he would be unable to clear them for takeoff.

  Charles pushed the four throttles forward. The wind was of such intensity, they could not hear the roar of the engines. Charles, John and Lars each glanced at the engine instruments to assure themselves that the four big radials were still running.

  Though the flight crew’s ears were unable to differentiate the sound of the engines from the racket generated by the wicked wind, their eyes noticed right away that their airspeed was increasing at an incredible rate.

  The airplane accelerated down the runway like a gazelle, while the shifting wind continued to rock the airplane without let-up. And despite the fact that the DC6’s wheels were still firmly on the ground, the airplane bucked as though it were flying through very rough air.

  Charles pushed the right rudder pedal all the way to the floor, yet the airplane continued to track to the left and into the wind. He briefly considered reducing power on the two right engines to help straighten the unruly monster out, but thought better of it. Then, unaware that he was doing so, Charles slowly pushed the throttles for the two left engines all the way to the forward stops. His actions instantly drove the horsepower needles into the red.

  Pilots and flight engineers often feel a true affection for the airplane they are flying. This fondness, at least for flight engineers, causes these men to do whatever it takes to make certain no harm comes to the machine in their charge. This warm-heartedness will, on occasion, force them to act at their own peril. Such was the case when Lars, unwilling to allow the pilots to flog any more horses out of his straining engines, reached up and gently pulled the two left throttle levers back.

  The snow blew hard against the windshield, limiting their forward visibility to only a few feet. The weary captain, tired of battling the elements, focused much of his efforts on trying to follow the runway centerline stripes. It was a nearly impossible task, since most of them were buried in the snow. Thankfully, their ground run was the shortest any of them had ever seen.

  The moment Charles brought the nosewheel off the ground, the airplane abruptly swerved to the left. He quickly moved the flight controls to compensate, but his actions seemed to have a limited effect. Charles slammed all four throttle levers to the forward limit and held them there, momentarily surprised at how far he had to move them. He definitely heard his flight engineer gasp, but didn’t have time to discuss it. He placed his right hand on the control yoke and exclaimed to Lars, “Leave them alone!”

  Charles knew he had to escape the ground quickly in order to avoid the dangers lurking there. He pulled the control column deep into his lap, hoping his airplane would respect him more in the air than it had on the ground. The DC6 swung sharply left and then right. It was all Charles could do to keep the airplane from crashing into the runway edge lights.

  Both Charles and John held the right rudder pedal to the floor. John, who also had a set of four throttles on his side of the cockpit pedestal, slowly inched the throttle levers back.

  With his peripheral vision, Charles could see what his copilot was doing, but did not object. Pilots, he knew, were willing to sacrifice an airplane to keep everyone safe, but would only do so if necessary. He understood that his copilot was only doing what was expected of him--eliminating the excess power that he’d concluded was not needed.

  When the main wheels finally broke free of the Earth, the left wing dropped sharply, causing Lars to inhale sharply out of fear the wingtip would strike the ground.

  Charles immediately banked the aircraft to correct the situation, but the brutal wind exacerbated his control input, forcing the airplane to roll hard to the right. Suddenly, the airplane began pitching and rolling as if it had a mind of its own! The captain struggled unrelentingly to right his ship, but the DC6 would not hear of it. At one point, Charles mused to himself that he was just a passenger who was along for the ride. For safety’s sake, he told himself to wait a little longer than normal to call, “Gear up.”

  At two hundred feet in the air, the airplane rolled hard to the left. It took the strength of both pilots to roll the airplane upright, using both ailerons and rudder. For a moment, it looked like the beaten up DC6 wanted to surrender to the elements. Charles muttered under his breath, “Oh no you don’t, not today!”

  The turbulence was unrelenting. Both pilots struggled with the controls, knowing they were not in complete control. The combination of the wind speed and low temperature gave the DC6 an unheard of eight thousand feet per minute climb rate. In contrast, on a normal day with a full load the DC6 was lucky if it could climb one thousand feet per minute.

  The wind turned out to be a Godsend because it didn’t take long for the airplane to reach smoother air. The moment things calmed down, everyone on board breathed a sigh of relief.

  Charles banked the airplane toward England and continued to climb. Eventually, the airplane broke out on top of the clouds and into the moonlight. Once in the clear, the ride became silky smooth. Off to the south, Charles could see the ink-black water beneath the breaks in the shiny white clouds. He noticed some ground lights and realized right away that he was seeing Vestmannaeyjar, a small island off the southern coast of Iceland. Charles engaged the autopilot and said, “Whew, I’m glad that one is behind us.”

  “Nice job, captain. That was a handful,” said John.

  “It certainly was. Thank you for your help back there,” said Charles. Then a moment later, he added, “John, go ahead and switch over to Iceland Radio to confirm our clearance. I don’t feel like messing with Keflavik. I think I’ve had enough of them for one day.”

  “Aye, aye, captain,” replied John.

  “It looks pretty clear ahead, John, so I doubt we’ll have any trouble staying visual while you talk to them. But to be safe,” advised Charles, “I’m going to take us a little further to the south before turning on course. I want to be sure we’ll clear the mountains off to the east.”

  “Sounds good,” said John.

  With the tricky departure behind them, the flight crew began to relax. Each looked forward to climbing into a nice comfortable bed at their layover hotel and getting some much needed rest. In the back of their minds, they knew there would be at least a half-dozen prostitutes in the lobby awaiting their arrival. If nothing else, their presence often served to make the check-in process jovial and interesting. This night, however, none of the flight crew members, including G.R., looked forward to fighting off the always pretty, but sometimes aggressive women.

  Shortly after their clearance was confirmed, Charles slid his seat back and watched the coastline pass beneath them. He was ready for the night to be over.

  Knowing they were safely out over the water, John exhaled, pleased that he’d been there for his captain. He hoped he’d get another chance to prove himself before they landed in London.

  The guardedly relaxed copilot was busy tuning the radios when he heard Lars state in a slightly elevated tone, “Captain, the oil temp on engine number one is approaching red line.”

  “What?” asked Charles as he studied the gauge for himself.
>
  “It’s getting hot. I think we’re going to have to shut it down,” observed Lars.

  “Yes, perhaps,” said Charles.

  A few minutes passed, during which time Charles, John and Lars silently hoped the problem would go away. Once it became clear that there was no other choice, Charles said with a deep sigh, “OK, Lars, shut down and feather number one.”

  Lars pulled the mixture control to shut off the fuel to the number one engine. He then watched as the propeller RPM decreased, ready to push the feathering button if the propeller did not auto-feather. Once assured the prop did indeed feather itself, meaning the blades had streamlined themselves with the wind to reduce drag, Lars began securing the engine. He scanned the gauges as he worked and then exclaimed, “Captain, number two engine oil temp is now above red line and number three is rising rapidly! I think we’re going to have to shut them both down!”

  Eighteen

  “No, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Jack,” said Bill.

  “Grandpa, think about it,” argued Jack. “If things start breaking, it would be better if you had someone there to help out.”

  The time had arrived for their first flight in the Cessna. Young Jack hadn’t been able to sleep for two nights in anticipation. He’d sat up in bed, staring at the walls, practicing what he would say. He wasn’t sure his grandfather would buy-off on the idea of him tagging along.

  Bill didn’t think it was safe to have anyone on board with him in the event something went wrong, but his grandson was insistent. Bill smiled, knowing he’d flown airplanes all over the world and could certainly handle whatever a two seat trainer could dish out. His concerns about the handling characteristics of the feather-light airplane were put to rest after performing a few high speed taxi-runs. Bill had allowed the tiny Cessna to lift free of the ground a couple of times in order to test the controls. Two feet in the air was all it took to tell him what he needed to know.

  But, in spite of his new-found comfort level and reluctance to bring a copilot along, he saw an opportunity to teach his students about exercising judgment and managing risk. “Yes, OK, that makes sense,” said Bill, after a few moments of tossing it around in his mind. “You’re absolutely right, Jack. The key to success in this endeavor is safety.”