Sojourners of the Sky

by Clayton Taylor

  Twenty Three

  “The weather is a bit iffy down there,” said John. “You may be right about having to hold.”

  “What is it?” asked Charles.

  “It’s three hundred overcast with three quarters of a mile visibility in fog. They are using the ILS to runway two-eight right.”

  “Right now our fuel is good. If things go sour we can head for Edinburgh, Scotland,” noted Charles.

  The radar controller working Heathrow north arrivals was extremely busy, barking out orders in a no-nonsense manner to all the aircraft in his charge. His cockney accent was thick, but he made no apologies. The long-on-experience radar expert preferred not to have the aircraft under his control enter holding patterns, believing that stacking the airplanes up often created more work than was necessary. Instead, the impudent, heavy-set controller vectored his airplanes in a seemingly haphazard way. Though his way of doing things frequently caused him to talk a great deal more than a controller should, often resulting in a clogged-up frequency, no one could argue with his results.

  “Clipper forty-two, proceed now direct to the Biggin Hill beacon; descend and maintain three thousand. You can expect radar vectors for the ILS runway two-eight right,” snapped the controller.

  Flight forty-two did as instructed. The cockpit became a beehive of activity as each of the pilots studied their approach charts for Heathrow’s runway two-eight right, while the flight engineer made certain that all of the on board systems were made ready for landing. Both pilots did their best to keep one ear on the radio while listening to Lars read the checklists.

  Lars felt rushed. Trying to read checklists while double-checking everyone’s work left the junior engineer feeling a bit overwhelmed. Had he been more experienced, he would have known how to slow everything down to a more comfortable pace--one more suited to his abilities. But Lars didn’t do that, and as a result he failed to follow-up on one very important checklist item.

  The controller seemed to speak in one long uninterrupted sentence, barely allowing the pilots time enough to reply. Both John and Charles responded to the flight engineer’s checklist challenges, but were primarily listening for the controller to call out their flight number. With all that was going on, it would be nearly impossible for the pilots to listen to everything that came out of the controller’s mouth. However, a momentary silence on the frequency caused every pilot in every cockpit to stop what they were doing to see if the last transmission was meant for them. Charles held his breath, believing the last instruction was for someone else. He was wrong.

  “Clipper forty-two, I’m sure you chaps are quite tired after having been up all night flying across the ocean. But I jolly-well need you to listen to your radio because I’m getting a tad busy down here, and I do hate repeating myself. Now, be a good fellow and turn left to a heading of zero-niner zero,” sniped the controller.

  “Zero-niner zero,” said John.

  Both pilots were embarrassed by the controller’s admonishment and silently vowed not to let it happen again.

  The controller vectored flight forty-two onto a forty-five degree intercept angle to join the final approach course for runway two-eight right. It wasn’t long before the localizer needle sprang to life.

  “Localizer’s alive,” stated John.

  Charles noted the needle’s movement and then turned the aircraft to align with the imaginary extended centerline of the runway. He then reduced the power on all four engines. As the airplane slowed, whenever the airspeed dipped below a predetermined number, the captain ordered Lars to extend the flaps to the next higher setting.

  When the Pan Am DC6 was a few miles east of the outer marker, the point at which the pilots would begin their final descent for the runway, the controller advised Clipper flight forty-two to contact the tower when they were over the beacon, adding, “I believe those chaps in the tower are busy today, too, so please listen up. Cheerio.”

  John looked at Charles. “I don’t think I’ve ever been reprimanded twice by the same controller.”

  “I know I haven’t,” said Charles with a smirk. He knew some of the Heathrow controllers often drank at a pub near the crew hotel. He promised himself to find out who the man was and then buy him a few beers later that evening.

  “I’m not seeing any movement on the glideslope needle,” announced John.

  The horizontal needle that would provide vertical guidance to the runway, located on the same instrument as the localizer, seemed stuck at the top of the scale. Charles tapped the glass on the face of the instrument, but it had no effect. “He turned us on to final a little far out, perhaps it’s still above us,” suggested Charles.

  It made sense so John did not respond.

  When the aircraft was five miles from the runway the blue outer marker light on their instrument panel flashed, letting the pilots know that they were over the beacon and five miles from the runway. John immediately called the tower to inform them of their position.

  The busy tower controller was juggling more than a dozen flights. Since it was so foggy, he couldn’t see any of the airplanes lined up for landing. Instead, he would use his internal clock to calculate how long it would take the DC6 to fly to the runway and use the time in between to clear other airplanes for takeoff.

  The tower controller issued a landing clearance to Clipper forty-two and then waited impatiently for an acknowledgment. Once received, he quickly moved on to another flight.

  The glideslope needle remained motionless. Charles double checked his altimeter against the approach chart in front of him to confirm that they were at the correct altitude. “There are no red flags so it must be working,” said Charles.

  Mistakenly believing that the airplane was now too high, Charles initiated a descent without the electronic guidance in hopes of capturing it on the way down. “I’ll hold a thousand feet per minute descent until we snag it,” said Charles.

  “I’m not sure that will be enough,” replied John.

  “Gear down,” commanded Charles. “Flaps full.”

  “Gear down,” said John.

  Charles pulled the power to idle and increased the descent rate to fifteen hundred feet per minute. He then tapped the glass on the face of the fussy instrument again, but the glideslope needle refused to move.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on with this thing,” said Charles. “I’ll hold this descent rate until we get to six hundred feet. That’s the minimums for this approach if the glideslope is out of service.”

  “Sounds good,” said John.

  The cockpit was eerily quiet as the airplane descended rapidly toward the ground. The airplane was immersed in a soup of dark, gray clouds that seemed to get thicker and darker as they descended. A light drizzle spattered against the windshield.

  Charles did a quick scan of the panel, making sure the flaps and landing gear were set properly. He then quickly glanced at the outside air temperature gauge to reassure himself that ice was not going to be a problem. Satisfied his airplane was ready to land, Charles refocused all of his concentration on the instruments in front of him. The frozen glideslope needle continued to be a distraction however, causing him to focus far too much of his attention on the useless instrument.

  John’s job was to continually scan the instruments to make sure the captain was doing everything as expected. If all appeared satisfactory, he was then supposed to look outside and scan for the runway.

  There was a light wind blowing, gently pushing the DC6 off course. Charles’s eagle eye caught the slight movement of the localizer needle and he quickly turned the aircraft to compensate.

  *

  Growing impatient about the fact that he could not see Clipper forty-two’s landing lights where he expected to see them, the man in the tower pushed a button and queried the radar controller. “I don’t have a tally on forty-two,” he barked.

  The controller, sitting in a dark room many floors beneath the tower, replied curtly, “Two out.”

  The tower cont
roller had other things to do. He muttered under his breath, “Come on, then,” before turning his attention to another airplane on the parallel runway.

  *

  Clipper forty-two was approaching one thousand feet when John looked up and muttered, “I, uh, uh…” Then, “Captain!”

  Initially, Charles looked at his copilot wondering what was wrong. When he saw the expression on John’s face, he quickly turned and peered through the windshield in front of him. The entire window was filled with the side of a large brick building! And even more frightening, the roof of the structure was quite a bit above them! Through his peripheral vision, he could see the roofs of houses off to his left that seemed close enough to touch. Charles was momentarily stunned. He turned and saw a TV antenna whiz past his window! The extreme sight caused his eyelids to flicker. He knew he wasn’t dreaming, but neither could he believe that any of it was real.

  The brick wall raced toward them. The building was so close, Charles could actually see the different colors of the stones and discern the various shades of mortar that the mason had used. He knew if he pulled back with all his might, the airplane would never clear the top of the massive structure.

  Acting purely out of a sense of survival, Charles banked the airplane hard to the left. He held his breath, hoping the port-side wingtip would not strike one of the homes. With the airplane in a nearly ninety degree bank, Charles hauled back on the yoke. He prayed his actions would force the airplane to clear the mighty stone structure ahead. The startled captain would not allow himself to think about the chimneys or antennas that were zipping past his left window. He would deal with those obstacles later.

  The DC6 could not remain airborne for very long in a ninety degree bank. If the situation was not corrected promptly, the airplane would soon stall and then drop like a stone! Charles counted to three under his breath, hoping three seconds would be enough time to clear the building. It was, and they did…by mere inches.

  Charles could feel the DC6 shuddering in protest, warning him that a stall was imminent. He banked to the right and pushed the nose down. He glared through the windshield, trying desperately to assess the situation. Man-made obstructions surrounded them. Barriers to their safety were everywhere! There seemed to be no way out!

  All the color ran from John’s face, watching in horror as their right wingtip nearly punctured the glass of a large window on the side of an office building. He looked and saw people staring back at him. The terrified copilot closed his eyes, seeing the explosion in his mind. He briefly wondered if any of the faces he’d glimpsed were those of people he may have met; acquaintances from his past.

  Charles looked from side to side, seeking a path to safety, but all he could see were hundreds of red roofs, barely ten feet beneath the airplane. Charles slammed the throttles forward and banked further to the right. “Do you see the airport?” he cried.

  “No, nothing!” replied John, as he chided himself to subdue his fear. He shifted his eyes and glued them to the windshield.

  Charles stole a glimpse at his compass, seeking guidance to the runway, but the instrument panel was a blur! Too many things were happening!

  The entire cockpit crew heard a loud “clunk” and knew immediately that their landing gear had struck something. What it was, they did not know.

  “What the hell!” screamed Charles.

  “Oh, no!” cried Lars, more frightened than he ever could have imagined.

  G.R. sought to brace himself in the lower bunk, while Ed swiveled his chair around to face the rear of the aircraft. Believing a crash was imminent, the experienced airman figured his only hope for survival was to allow his chair to absorb the sudden deceleration.

  Out of the corner of his eye, John caught a glimpse of the runway lights. “To the right. Bank hard right!” he exclaimed.

  Charles looked first and then turned. He momentarily caught sight of the runway through the fog and drizzle-soaked windshield. He turned further to the right, but banked too hard and had to immediately correct back.

  “Too far, turn left!” shouted John. “Watch your altitude. We’re too low!”

  Charles did not hear any of his copilot’s words; he was totally consumed with survival.

  The airplane skimmed the roofs of two automobiles as Charles struggled to line his DC6 up with the centerline of the runway. The airplane was so low, Charles had to actually pull the nose up and climb a little to get to the runway.

  “Looks good. You can back off on the power now,” said John.

  “I’ve got it,” replied Charles.

  Flight forty-two hit the runway hard. The moment the main wheels touched the ground, Charles swiftly pulled the propellers into reverse to help the fast moving DC6 slow down. He then called out, “Help me on the brakes, John! She’s too fast!”

  “I’m with you!” shouted the copilot.

  When the airplane finally slowed to a safe speed, Charles turned off the runway and set the parking brake. Both pilots could hear the controller screaming something over the radio, but it was only registering in their brains as noise, nothing coherent.

  After a very long minute, Charles looked around the cockpit. He then silently glared at his altimeter in disbelief, noting that it indicated nine hundred and eighty feet below sea level. Heathrow airport is eighty feet above sea level. Charles knew instantly that John had set their altimeters incorrectly. The airplane had actually been flying one thousand feet below the altitude their altimeters indicated. Earlier, when Charles watched his altimeter descend below fifteen hundred feet, the aircraft was actually at five hundred feet above the ground. A chill went up his spine. He wanted to scream his head off about his copilot’s display of complete incompetence, but told himself to keep his emotions in check. There would be a time for venting, but it was not yet. In a raspy, almost inaudible tone, Charles said, “John, call the ground controller. Tell him we are ready to taxi to our parking area.”

  John hadn’t yet realized his error in mis-setting the altimeters. As far as he knew, the captain screwed up. He mistakenly believed that Charles had descended too rapidly and then inadvertently went below authorized landing minimums. He decided he wouldn’t say anything about it, even though Charles’s incompetence nearly killed them all. Because his captain had been so forgiving earlier in the flight, John decided that he’d let the whole thing slide.

  Charles taxied the DC6 to the main terminal in silence. There was much each of the five men wanted to say: apologies, excuses, blame, explanations, but none were voiced. They all knew their lives had come within seconds of being snuffed out.

  Once they were safely stopped in the parking area, Charles set the parking brake and ordered Lars to shut down the engines.

  All five cockpit crew members then sat it utter silence for nearly ten minutes, contemplating what might have been.

  Twenty Four

  “Grandma, how did you and Mrs. Tacker become friends? I mean, without Mr. Tacker knowing?” queried Lucy.

  The two women were sitting alone in the kitchen. It was a quiet afternoon, and while Bill and Jack were hiking on the mountain behind the house, Lucy and her grandmother passed the time discussing whatever subject popped into either of their heads.

  “It certainly didn’t happen overnight, I can tell you that,” said Lynn. “It started out with the two of us waving when we were both outside hanging the wash. I knew how the men felt about each other, and so did she, so at first we chose our words carefully. Then, over time, our relationship blossomed.”

  “And Mr. Tacker never knew?” asked Lucy.

  “Men aren’t always as smart as they want us women to believe,” said Lynn. “Liesel Tacker was in a tough position and she needed someone…”

  *

  The weeks following John Tacker’s final Pan Am flight were difficult indeed. He knew he would have never made it through all of the interrogations and written statements had it not been for the love of his life. Allowing his mind to contemplate a life with Liesel gave him an
escape from the constant questions, the condescension they heaped upon him and, ultimately, the pity. Through it all, however, John remained stalwart, refusing to place blame where he was convinced that it so rightfully belonged. Even though the evidence against him was conclusive, John would not back down. He truly believed that he was being held accountable for someone else’s error. And in some odd way, that conviction gave John a feeling of righteousness. It was as if he was the bigger man for accepting responsibility so that other, lesser humans could continue on as they had previously.

  Though one part of John’s life was hell on earth, his connection with Liesel was a welcome reprieve. In all likelihood, the turbulence that he was forced to endure was at least partly responsible for the pace of the young couple’s relationship. It moved fast. Some might even say that it progressed too fast. They’d only been dating for a few weeks when Liesel began to speak openly of marriage. John was in love, but at the same time somewhat perplexed. He couldn’t understand why such an incredibly warm, loving and beautiful woman, who could have easily had any man of her choosing, would give him the time of day, let alone speak decidedly about tying the knot.

  The day his letter of termination arrived in the mail, John proposed to Liesel. Her acceptance took some of the sting away, but certainly not all.

  The two wasted no time in planning their small wedding. After the ceremony, the honeymooners traveled by car to Niagara Falls, New York to spend a few days on a vacation from the world.

  A few weeks after their return, Liesel announced she was pregnant. The truth of the matter was that Liesel suspected she was pregnant even before she and John began dating. They’d been intimate only once, during the three days in London while the flight crew awaited transportation back to New York to discuss the happenings onboard flight forty-two with Pan American management. She had very much wanted him to know the truth, but John became so excited when he heard the news, she simply could not bring herself to say the words. Liesel knew who the father was, and that knowledge made the truth all that much more painful. She loved John and simply could not bear to see him hurt anymore. It became a nagging secret that she forced herself to carry inside for many years.