Book IV

by Robert P McAuley

  The tail wheel showed the weight she carried looking as if it needed air, and when the aircraft turned into the wind, the low belly seemed to brush a slight rise in the turf.

  Amelia ran up her engines once again for the power check. When all seemed good-to-go, she released the brakes and the Lockheed slowly trundled forward. At about the halfway point in the takeoff, the tail came up off the ground and a puff of dust was seen trailing the aircraft as if something was being dragged along. Then the aircraft lifted off on its way to Howland Island over 2,500 miles distant. Unknown to the pilot and navigator, their radio antenna, which ran along the aircraft’s belly, was wrenched off by the small tuft of grass during the takeoff and now flapped in the breeze behind them.

  DATELINE: 10 A.M., JULY 2, 1937 PLACE: VISIONAIRE OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN

  Twenty-one hours into the trip, Bill and John sat in the cockpit smoking cigars and sipping coffee, when the radio squawked to life again.

  “Club to High Flight, time check: 10 a.m. your time. Miss E. should be taking off from Lae on her final leg. Over.”

  Bill answered by depressing the transmit button. “High Flight to Club. Roger that loud and clear, time check: 10 a.m. our time and Miss E. has lifted off from Lae. Over.”

  “Matt to High Flight. Roger again. Is all going fine up there? Over.”

  “High Flight here. All’s going as advertised. How’s it going on your end? Over.”

  “Matt here. The gentleman from tower wanted to know what type of aircraft we have. He thought it to be very quiet. Told him it’s an experimental, and after it’s revealed his airport would be on everyone’s lips. Went away a happy fellow. Damned white lie, of course, but the mission shall take priority. Over.”

  Both Bill and John laughed at this and Bill said, “High Flight back to you Matt. Way to go. We’ll keep you posted. Over and out.”

  John was napping in the rear when Bill nudged him awake. He looked up and saw Bill’s face filled with concern.

  “What’s up?” He asked, suddenly alert as he climbed out of the comfortable leather seat.

  “It’s her! It’s Amelia Earhart! She’s on the radio looking for a bearing to the Navy ship that’s supposed to guide her to Howland Island.”

  John shook his head as he got back in the pilot’s seat.

  “I know we expected to hear her,” Bill said, “but it just seems so eerie. You know what I mean?”

  John nodded in acknowledgment.

  Bill said in a low tone of voice, “Even though we expected it, it always brings a chill to hear someone from the past become someone you can hear and see in the flesh.”

  Static came from the radio and Bill held up his hand to stop further conversation as they listened.

  “US Coast Guard Cutter, USS Itasca to Lockheed NR16020 from Lae, New Guinea. We are transmitting a steady radio beam for you to home in on. We are stationed off Howland Island. Please acknowledge message.”

  Bill looked at John as he saw that his radio-directional device showed him on course for Howland Island, but from the opposite direction of Earhart. “Looks like the signal they’re sending out is pretty powerful.”

  Instinctively he tapped the radio receiver as though to clear it and hear Amelia’s acknowledgment.

  “She doesn’t acknowledge.”

  “No,” John answered, “the theory is that she can’t hear the Navy ship, Itasca. They think she lost her antenna, which is attached to the belly of her aircraft, when it took off from Lae, New Guinea. There’s an old film that shows the aircraft trailing a puff of dust as it went down the dry grass and dirt runway. The thought is that the belly antenna wire got snagged on a mound of dirt and weeds as she taxied out to take off. The antenna broke off before they took off and that’s what was being dragged behind the aircraft. She probably didn’t know it was gone for hours. ”

  “The antenna was for voice communications only?” asked Bill.

  “Yes,” answered John, “she and Fred Noonan didn’t know Morse code so they relied solely on voice communications. Losing the antenna meant they lost the only means they had of receiving radio transmissions from the Itasca.”

  There was silence for a while, then a transmission from the Itasca; “US Coast Guard Cutter, USS Itasca to Lockheed NR16020 from New Guinea. We are still transmitting a steady radio beam for you to home in on. We are cruising off Howland Island. Please acknowledge message. Over.”

  Still no answer.

  The Visionaire flew steady even as it began raining and the wind kicked up.

  John shook his head and with a smile said, “This aircraft is amazing. She seems to sense wind gusts and compensates for them instantly. I love her!”

  Once again the radio squawked and the cabin was filled with Amelia Earhart’s voice.

  “Lockheed NR16020 to any ship. Am at 2,000 feet and in rainsqualls. Heading is for Howland Island. Any ship near Howland, please send steady radio transmission on band 7,500 kilocycles. Over.”

  “How far are we from her, Bill?”

  “She’s not on our radar yet and it has a range of about 150 miles.”

  Once again the Coast Guard ship transmitted; “US Coast Guard Cutter, USS Itasca to Lockheed NR16020. Transmitting a steady radio beam for you as requested on band 7,500 kilocycles. We are steaming off Howland Island. Please acknowledge message.”

  Bill pointed to a small blip starting to show on the radar screen about 150 miles away, but bearing off course to the right. “There! There she is. She’s lost,” he said, “and can’t receive the homing beam.”

  Again the radio came to life. This time it was Earhart. “We must be on you, but we cannot see you. Gas is running low . . . been unable to reach you by radio . . . we are flying at 1,000 feet.”

  “In response to this message,” John said, “the Itasca started pouring out black smoke from its smokestack to give her a visual, but she never saw it. Now we have to intercept her to ensure that she doesn’t somehow contact the ship and make it back to the States.”

  Sixteen minutes later the radio transmitted Amelia Earhart’s voice again, “We are on the line position 157-337. We are running north and south. We are listening on 6,210 kilocycles.”

  John looked at Bill and said with a somber tone in his voice, “That’s the last message that was ever heard from her. Now we have to get her attention.”

  He applied more throttle and banked right to catch her. The Visionaire easily accelerated to 400 miles an hour, more than twice as fast as her Lockheed, and in a minute they had her in visual contact.

  Earhart couldn’t see them as they approached from behind and John turned to Bill and said, “Ready to get her attention?”

  Bill nodded and answered, “Yep! Let’s go, Johnny.”

  Bill throttled back the Visionaire as he was quickly overtaking the Lockheed and started flashing his wing lights.

  Inside the bouncing Lockheed aircraft, Earhart picked up the mike to send out another voice communication and said to Fred Noonan seated in the co-pilot’s seat, “It has to be the wind, Fred. It has us off course, but I’m not sure how much. And why don’t they answer us? Can’t they hear us?” She shook her head and glanced over at Noonan as he looked at his maps.

  She quickly glanced out and down to see wisps of fog and gray clouds flit by, and beneath them an angry, white-capped ocean. The rain beat steadily on the windshield and aluminum body giving a sound of someone continuously beating on a steel drum. She lifted the nose up a bit as she fingered the mike button.

  “Wait!” Noonan shouted as he pointed out the pilot’s side window, “Look! A plane. Way out here, a plane.”

  She quickly banked the Lockheed down and to the right, away from the other aircraft. “Was it a Japanese fighter?” she shouted.

  Noonan shook his head, “I . . . I . . . I don’t think so. It . . . it didn’t look like any type of aircraft that I know. It looked like . . . like a . . . I don’t know . . . sort of like a twin-engine Lockheed, but the engines seemed small, much smal
ler than usual. Look!” he said as he pointed out her window once more. “There it is again. They’re following us.”

  They both stared as she leveled off the Lockheed above the waves and watched as the strange aircraft did the same maneuver and ended up right next to them.

  “You’re right Fred, it doesn’t look like any Japanese aircraft I’ve ever seen,” she said, as she gingerly lifted the nose for the safer, higher altitude.

  The cabin light of the strange aircraft showed two men, the one in the co-pilot’s seat waving at them.

  “What do we do?” she asked, more to herself.

  Fred grasped a handhold as the aircraft bounced in the storm and answered, “I think they want us to follow them.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and transmitted.

  Inside the Visionaire, Bill and John heard, “Lockheed to twin-engine aircraft. Can you give me a heading to Howland Island? Over.”

  Bill held his headset up to the Visionaire’s window and pointed to it, as he shook his head no.

  “We’ve lost our communications somehow, Amelia,” Noonan responded. “They want us to follow them,” he said as the Visionaire slid in front of them and started a gentle climb away from the roiling ocean.

  Bill slid his aircraft to the side for a glimpse of her aircraft. “Is she following?”

  “Yep!” John said, “She’s following like there’s no tomorrow.”

  Bill set a course into the computer to Baker Island, fifty-six miles away from Howland Island.

  Amelia looked at her compass and said, “They’re going due south. Sure hope they know what they’re doing.”

  “At this point I hope that wherever they’re taking us is close by. We’re low on fuel,” answered the navigator as he folded his maps.

  She nodded as she retarded her throttles slightly. “I think they know that. They just slowed down and I can lean out the fuel to stretch it longer.” She ran her fingers through her short brown hair and looked concerned as she continued, “Boy, Fred. That’s a neat airplane, wonder who they are?”

  John pointed to the radar screen again and said, “That blip is the Itasca. They’re still sending messages to Amelia.”

  Bill asked, “What if she says she’s following an aircraft? What happens then?”

  John shrugged his shoulders and answered, “They’ll be perplexed because they don’t know of another aircraft in the area, and they don’t have radar to spot us. Besides, what can they say? And she can’t hear them anyway. Her antenna’s missing.” He shook his head. “No, she’s going to follow us wherever we take her, and,” he pointed to another blip on the screen, “that’s where we’re taking her. Baker Island. It’s a long, thin strip of grass with a few trees and a cliff at one end. Perfect landing place for our needs.”

  Fred Noonan watched as the strange aircraft did a slow right bank and started losing altitude. He watched Amelia duplicate every move it made. Suddenly the right engine coughed, sputtered and then smoothed out again. The fuel gauge showed almost empty.

  “Looks like they are setting up for a landing,” she said, as Bill lowered the Visionaire’s flaps to slow them even more.

  “Flaps down,” she said to herself as she lowered hers too.

  “There,” Noonan said, as he pointed to a spit of land that suddenly appeared out of the fog, “That’s Howland Island. We made it.”

  “Looks kind of small from here,” she answered, as the lead aircraft lowered its landing gear and started its final approach.

  Noonan tightened his seat belt and at the same time tried to get closer to the windshield. “Where are the facilities?” he asked, wiping the fogged window. “I don’t even see a runway. Do you?”

  Her knuckles went white as she tightened her grip on the control wheel as wind gusts threatened to take her off the course the strange aircraft had them on.

  “No, I don’t see a runway either, but they’re definitely on final and we’re low on gas so I’m committed to this landing.” She squinted in the failing light and continued, “Sure hope there’s enough space for two of us down there.” She glanced quickly at Noonan and said, “Give me gear down.”

  The Lockheed’s landing gear came down and locked for the landing.

  John held his aircraft for a touchdown right at the edge of the grassed area that he had picked as a landing field. Damn! Hope she’s as good as they say, he thought as he looked at the small landing area, because it’s going to be tight down there.

  The Visionaire leveled itself off without guidance from John and the computer pulled the nose up at the right time for a three-point landing. John looked at Bill and said, “This aircraft is foolproof! What a joy!” He let it taxi out to the end of the grass strip of land to give Amelia’s aircraft enough landing room. At the end of the strip, he applied the brakes and pulled off to the side to watch her do a perfect three-point landing.

  “Boy,” said John, “great landing, especially when she doesn’t have a computer to do it for her.”

  Amelia’s wheels hit the bumpy strip and she quickly pressed on the brakes. They squeaked in protest of the short section of grassy land and finally came to a stop not ten feet from the edge of the cliff.

  For a few minutes, both aircraft sat at the end of the grass runway with idling engines. Finally, John shut his engines off and Earhart followed suit.

  Bill turned to John as they got out of their seats and said, “Come on, John, let’s go meet history.”

  They opened the door, lowered the ladder on the left side of the aircraft and climbed down into the dark night filled with a wind driven rain.

  As they walked the few steps toward the Lockheed, its door also opened and out hopped Amelia Earhart followed by Fred Noonan.

  “Hello! I’m Amelia Earhart,” she said as she put a hand over her eyes to shield the rain. “What island is this?”

  Bill and John were smiling, as much to assure them of their good intentions, as being excited about meeting the famous aviatrix and her navigator.

  “Baker Island,” answered Bill, putting his collar up against the now heavier rain. “It’s Baker Island.”

  “Which way is Howland?”

  John pointed north and said, “A little more than fifty miles north of here.”

  He put his hand out and said, “I’m Bill Scott and this is John Brand.”

  Shaking hands all around, she answered, “I’m Amelia Earhart and this is . . . ”

  “Fred Noonan,” said John, “we know. In fact we know all about you and your trip.”

  “Yes,” she said, “it’s been in all the papers. So,” she said pointing to the aircraft, “are you Americans? And what type of aircraft is that? I don’t recognize it at all.”

  Noonan shook his head. “Me neither, and I think we’ve both seen most.”

  “It’s a Lockheed/Sukhoi Visionaire,” said Bill, “and it’s kind of an experimental aircraft, and yes, we’re Americans.”

  “Lockheed you say?” she countered. “Funny, mine’s a Lockheed and I was assured mine was the latest in aviation technology. What types of engines are they? They sure look to be on the small side.”

  John motioned to the aircraft and said, “Hey, why not talk inside and get out of the rain?”

  All nodded in unison and briskly walked to the aircraft. John hopped up first to give Amelia a hand. Noonan followed her and then Bill who pulled the stairs up and closed the door. The noise of the howling wind ceased immediately.

  “Wow!” whispered a visibly shocked Earhart as she took in the spacious and plush interior, leather seats, overhead lights and mahogany trim all around the aircraft.

  Fred Noonan just stood there speechless at first, and then said, “Wow is right. Where was this built? Lockheed?”

  Bill shook his head no. “Lockheed and Sukhoi, a Russian company they joined up with to build executive aircraft.”

  “And pretty good, too,” she said. “I’m getting one as soon as we get back. I can’t believe how quiet it is in here, especially with
that storm raging out there. Can I see the office?”

  Bill looked puzzled and John offered, “She means the cockpit. An old term from the . . . well, an old term.”

  Bill pointed to the cockpit and Amelia went forward through the small door.

  “Oh my gosh! How do you fly this thing? Half the instruments are missing.” She looked around and continued with eyes wide, “Where’s the carburetor heat switch, the magnetos, the fuel gauge, the altimeter, the . . . the . . . well, so many missing switches and gauges? How do you navigate? I don’t even see a compass.”

  John looked at Bill with an arched eyebrow.

  Bill nodded, “Go ahead, John.”

  John touched the flat glass screen and the computer became active. It showed a digital compass, speed indicator, power reserve and many other features. “We don’t have a carburetor, or fuel as you know it in this aircraft. The altimeter, as you can see, is in a digital format.” He pointed to the white numbers on the light blue screen. “The numbers; forty-seven, means that we are at forty-seven feet above sea level. That’s our altimeter. The screen is what we call a computer, and handles many functions that you do manually.”

  Once again Earhart and Noonan just stood there shocked. Finally, she said, “No fuel ‘as we know it’? Then what powers the aircraft?”

  “Well, actually, we have electric engines which are powered by sunlight.” Bill said.

  “Sunlight? But it’s getting dark. What happens then?” she asked.

  “There are storage batteries in the wings that hold a charge long enough to keep us going until daylight.”

  Noonan suddenly went on the defensive as he clenched his fists. “Where are you from? What do you want with us?”

  Earhart put her hand on his arm and said softly, “No, Fred, they saved us. I don’t think they mean us any harm.” She looked at Bill and asked, “Am I right, Mr. Scott?”

  “Please, call me Bill, and yes, of course, you’re right. We mean you no harm whatsoever.” He gently ushered them out of the cockpit into the interior. “Here, sit and relax. You two have had a long trip and could use some rest.”