The Long Way Home (Revised Ed)
Page 8
The Washers were not the only ones rudely awakened by the roar of the engines as NC18602 came in low over the town and circled to land in the harbor. Folger Athearn, the station manager, along with everyone else in the sleepy community, had responded in one way or another to the sudden wake-up call. When it was quickly determined that it was not a Japanese air raid, most of them ran down to the harbor dock to greet the unexpected arrival.
Bob Ford stepped down from his cockpit seat, stretched and moved to the middle of the flight deck while the docking crew warped the Boeing alongside the ramp and set the gangway in place. “Listen up, everyone,” he addressed the crew as they secured their respective operating positions. “Everyone stays either on the ship or just on the dock. I’m going up to operations to confer with the station manager, but I want the rest of you to stick close here. We’re getting out of here as fast as we can so we can get to Gladstone with some daylight left. Swede, get those tanks topped and check those engines very carefully. From here on out it’s a poker game for sure.”
The operations office was crowded with company personnel and their families, all wondering what this sudden, unannounced arrival meant. Folger Athearn emerged from his office, followed by Bob Ford. He raised his arms and waved to get everyone’s attention. “Quiet, people! Captain Ford has something to say... Quiet please!”
A hush came over the office as Bob Ford came forward. “As all of you are probably aware, there’s no way we can make the return flight to Honolulu. I have orders from the Company to take NC02 westbound and try to get it to New York..”
A murmur of surprise and questioning ran through the assembled crowd. Ford waved for silence again.
“But we can’t take all of you that far. Mechanics Bud Washer and Ralph Hitchcock will be coming with us to help maintain our engines and report to new assignments at Bahrain. All other employees and families will fly with us as far as Gladstone, Australia. From there you will be taken by train or bus to Sydney and loaded on a passenger liner that will take you home to the States.”
“You mean we’re evacuating everyone?”
“Yes... All personnel and their families.”
“When do we leave?”
“In one hour.”
A loud buzz of response again arose in the crowded office. “One hour! Hell, we can’t get our belongings together that quick! Can’t we have more time?”
“I’m afraid not,” Ford explained, “We have to reach Gladstone before dark. As for your belongings, with a full load of fuel and the spare engine parts on board, the additional weight of passengers and luggage will have to be kept to a minimum. Only one suitcase for each employee and family member. Everything else gets left behind!”
The prospect of leaving all of their accumulated belongings behind except for one suitcase apiece sent a loud murmur of protest through the crowd. But they all quickly realized that their options were very limited. With a few more words from the station manager, they were sent home to pack and told to report to the operations office within the deadline.
Meanwhile, there was one more piece of unfinished loading that had to be taken care of. In addition to the spare engine parts loaded on at Auckland, Pan American had ordered that another engine, still stored in its shipping crate as part of the spare parts inventory of the Noumea base, was to be taken on board and flown to Karachi, India. There, it was to be off-loaded and made part of the spare parts inventory of a newly opened Allied military airbase. Swede Rothe and John Parrish supervised the loading of this bulky, heavy package. It was not an easy task. They opened the navigator’s hatch on top of the fuselage. This led to the cargo compartment directly behind the flight deck. A dockside crane gingerly lifted the crated engine and it was lowered carefully into the cargo area. It cleared the sides of the opening by inches. Then it was tied down securely with tie-down ropes along with a spare drum of engine oil.
When the engine loading was completed, all the employees and their families came aboard. With all fuel tanks topped, NC18602 was now at a gross weight far higher than the limits calculated by Boeing’s design engineers. Ford knew that climb out after takeoff would be slow and shallow. He taxied the ship to the extreme eastern end of the harbor and pointed its bow westward toward the open sea. Once again throttles went forward, engines roared, spray whipped over the sea wings and, after what seemed like an eternity but was only a few seconds over the maximum allowable time at full power, the Clipper lifted off the water. The journey into the unknown had begun.
Johnny Mack looked down at the dark blue sea as they approached the Australian coast. It looks the same here as it does approaching Hawaii, he thought. Soon the dark blue turned to a lighter blue and finally the color turned to brilliant aquamarine as they crossed the Great Barrier Reef and approached Heron Island. Gladstone lay just beyond.
“Johnny,” Ford call to him, “Let’s circle that channel between the mainland and that large island just north of the harbor. It looks like the most likely place to set down. Get on down to about 500 feet and we’ll drag it both ways for wind check and debris.”
Mack nodded. “Okay, Skipper,” and he backed off his throttles.
The Boeing settled into a shallow descent. They flew over the town, circled north and let down to 500 feet to inspect the landing area. When they had satisfied themselves that the area was clear, Ford lined up on a final approach that was as close into the wind as possible. He came into the final landing attitude and eased down for the moment of contact. Touchdown was so smooth that, had it not been for the sound of the water slapping against the hull, the passengers might have thought they were still airborne.
Taxiing back toward the town’s dock area, Ford searched for a suitable anchorage. Suddenly he spotted a lone motor launch coming toward them. The one occupant was waving a large white flag.
“Looks like he’s waving us in. Should we follow him?” Johnny Mack asked.
“Might as well... But watch for shallows. I don’t want this ship hung up on a sandbar or reef.”
They followed the launch in toward an area where there was a low floating dock. The launch circled in toward the dock, then came back toward them and stopped at a small buoy just offshore. He apparently wanted them to tie up there.
“Shut down Two and Three,” Ford called to Swede Rothe. “Steers, Parrish, man the bow hatch and stand by to snag that buoy.”
With the inboard engines shut down, Ford jockeyed the flying boat toward the buoy. John Steers, in the bow hatch, reached out with his boat hook, snagged the line and dropped it over the bow post.
“All engines off!” Ford called. “Switches off.”
As soon as all stations were secured, Ford went below to the main lounge. He opened the hatch and stepped out on the sea wing as the motor launch approached.
“Ahoy! Are you Captain Ford?” the figure in the boat called.
“Yes. Can you tow us into the dock?”
“Yes, I think so. Just let me get a line on your tail hook. My men on the dock can warp you in,” he said, waving to a small group of people standing on the floating pier. Very shortly NC18602 was tied up to the dock and a makeshift gangway of broad planks spanned the short distance between the sea wing and the dock. Ford was first off and strode over to greet the man from the motor launch as he tied up and came ashore.
“I didn’t expect anyone to know me by name,” he said as he extended his hand.
“Jeff Willoughby at yer service, mate.” The young man in the khaki shorts and shirt introduced himself. “We got a message from your embassy in Canberra just last night. Said to expect you blokes and a few of your company people. Understand they’re to be transported to Sydney to catch a steamer for San Francisco.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Ford nodded. “I’m glad to see that at least some communications are working. Do you have transportation available for them?”
“Yes, sir. They can stay the night in town and then we’ll get ‘em boarded on the train first thing in the morning.”
“Blimey, Captain, I dunno about 100 octane. We can check around town, but I couldn’t say as how they have any of that in these parts,” Willoughby replied.
“If it’s okay with you, I’ll send a couple of my crew members into town to check it out. Meanwhile if you’d give my passengers a hand at unloading, I’m sure they’d appreciate it.”
Willoughby agreed and immediately signaled for some of the men standing on the dock to assist the passengers. Soon the passengers were all on board the busses. Meanwhile Ford went back to the ship and briefed the crew and the mechanics from Auckland and Noumea who were still on board.
“Johnny, you and Swede go into town and check around to see if you can locate any aviation fuel. The rest of us will bunk down right here aboard ship. We want to get an early start out of here in the morning.”
After a fruitless search, Rothe and Mack reported back, ”Sorry to report, Captain,” Rothe said, “but there’s not a drop of 100 octane to be had. It’s either take a chance on using auto gas or try to make it to Darwin on what we have left in the tanks right now.”
“How was our fuel level when we shut down?”
“Both main tanks are down one third each. The sea wing tanks about the same. I figure we should be okay to continue on to Darwin if we don’t tangle with too much headwind.”
“Then Darwin it is,” Ford decided. “Just hope they have the 100 octane there.”
There was just one more thing to take care of, Ford remembered, as they returned to the ship. How would they pay for the fuel, food, and other services they would require from here on? With no Pan American bases to support them, Ford knew that they would be paying their own way at every stop. And they had very little money. Most of their personal funds had been spent on food and lodging at Auckland during the long wait for instructions. No one had anticipated, when they left San Francisco, that they would have to be on their own for such a long time. Something had to be arranged, or they might find themselves stranded somewhere with no way to get home.
“Jeff,” Ford turned to Jeff Willoughby as they stood on the dock, “did that message from the embassy say anything about how we were to arrange payment for our gas and other services from here on out?”
“Can’t say as how it did, Captain. Only that you’d be authorized to buy what you needed. Just keep a record of all expenses and they’d take care of it at the far end.”
“That may be easy for them to say. We spent most of our cash just for lodging and food while waiting in Auckland. We’re all just about flat broke. Is there any way we can get a cash advance... say, sign for it here, keep all receipts and the Company will take care of it later?”
Willoughby thought on the matter for some moments. Then, “Well, Captain, I’m not sure but what the higher-ups might take a mite unkindly to me opening the company safe on such short notice, but I think I could manage to find a bit of cash for you. Come on with me up to the office and we’ll have a look-see.”
Willoughby managed to come up with five hundred dollars in United States currency.
“That’s mighty generous of you, Jeff,” Ford said, as he took the cash. “We’ll be sure to keep all receipts and I’ll make sure that Pan Am accounting gets this back to you pronto after we get to New York.”
Ford shook Jeff Willoughby’s hand. “Thanks for all your help.”
“Just you blokes get that big flyin’ machine back safe and yourselves safe with it. Maybe we’ll see you again some time.”
“Count on it!”
Ford and his crew bunked down on the Boeing to grab what sleep they could before the early morning departure into more unknown territory.
Clipper Names & Aircraft Specifications
CHAPTER VIII
THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON
The next morning Ford inspected all the passenger compartments to be sure that all the spare parts were securely tied down. Forward, in the galley, Barney Sawicki and Verne Edwards were busy stowing what food and supplies they had been able to find in the town. Barney looked up and greeted Ford as he came forward. “It won’t be the gourmet fare we carried out of San Francisco, but I guess it’ll stick to your ribs well enough until we get to a Company base.”
“Fine, Barn,” Ford grinned. “Just so it’ll keep the hungries away,” as he turned and strode up the stairwell to the flight deck.
Rod Brown and Jim Henricksen were huddled together over the navigator’s table, studying the makeshift charts and geography books that were going to serve as their only navigational references. Jack Poindexter was seated at the radio desk; but there was not much that he had to do. They would be flying in total radio silence, so there was no need to ground check the transmitters. He idly tuned the receivers to see if he could pick up any broadcast of war news, but reception was noisy and he could not find a clear signal anywhere. Swede Rothe and John Parrish were carefully calculating their expected fuel consumption. With the tanks only two-thirds full, they would have to find the most effective mixture, r.p.m., and manifold pressure settings that would assure them of sufficient range to make it to Darwin. With no place to land a flying boat in this continent of scrub land, desert, mountains, and rain forest, it was going to be an all-or-nothing flight: one long leg of about eleven hours.
“Rod,” Bob Ford came up the stairwell and called to Rod Brown, “I’ve got a little project for you.”
Brown turned from the chart table. “Oh, what’s that?”
“Take this envelope. It’s got five hundred cash that Jeff Willoughby dug up for us. Put it in the safe under the navigator’s table. I want you to keep accounts of where and how we spend it. Make some kind of file for all our receipts. We’ll need detailed documentation on what we spend it on, where, and how much. We’ll turn it in to accounting when we get home.”
Brown took the envelope containing the cash and turned it over in his hands. “You sure this is going to be enough?”
“It’s going to have to be enough. At least until we can reach the Company base at Leopoldville. Just be sure to keep complete records. Accounting can get might fussy about audit trails before they’ll pay up.”
Brown opened the safe and placed the envelope inside. Then he carefully closed and locked it.
“Okay, listen up everyone.” Ford addressed the assembled crew, “From here on out we might as well be exploring the dark side of the moon. I expect we’ll be doing more ‘seat of the pants’ flying than any of us has ever done before. So let’s run a tight watch on the flight deck, get your duty rotations in order and stay alert. We’ll be observing complete radio silence and any night flying will be done with all navigation lights off. Jack,” and here he turned toward Jack Poindexter at the radio desk, “I know this will probably be a very boring radio watch, but just monitor the receivers for any bit of info you might be able to pick up.”
“Aye, Skipper,” Poindexter agreed, “it’ll be a chance thing if we pick up anything. We don’t have frequency charts for this part of the world. But I’ll tune across the different bands. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a good international short wave broadcast.”
“Let’s hope so. Anyone have any questions? If not, let’s fly!”
Once again the familiar litany of pre-flight checks, engine starts, and instrument checks dominated the atmosphere of the flight deck as the four Wright engines came alive. The triple vertical stabilizers of the tail assembly trembled as NC18602 strained at the mooring lines. In short order those lines were released and the big boat moved away from the floating dock and into the channel. After a quick check for floating debris, Ford turned into the wind and pushed the throttles to full takeoff power. The Clipper surged forward and in a few seconds it was riding the step, ready to fly.
At exactly 6 A.M. Bob Ford eased the yoke back. The Clipper broke free and started a long slow climbing turn to the northwest. As they reached 1
,000 feet, the sun, rising off their starboard aft quarter, cast long shadows across the land. In a few minutes the coastline was lost to view. As they approached the Great Dividing Range all signs of lakes or rivers disappeared. The Boeing was now a seabird without a place to land. Bob Ford and Johnny Mack stared out of their respective side windows, each silently contemplating the suddenly hostile environment below.
Soon a light rain began falling out of tall cumulus buildups, powered by the heat of the sun as it rose toward its noontime high point. The flat bases of the clouds began to fill in the clear spaces where they could navigate by landmarks. Ford ordered a descent to just below those bases. The ride became a continuous jostling, interspersed with the staccato beat of rain against the fuselage. Taking their heading from the makeshift charts rigged from the old geography books from the Auckland Library, they threaded their way between and beneath the buildups, all the while keeping a hopeful watch for any signs of suitable water landing areas. There were none. Their ears strained for any sign of hesitation in the constant throb of the engines. But they were singing their song of power in complete unison and the pointers on the engine instruments appeared to be painted on their settings. In this way they proceeded into and over the vast ‘terra incognita’ that was Western Queensland and the Northern Territory of Australia.
After almost eleven hours they could see the horizon ahead opening onto a narrow coastal plain and, beyond that, the welcome sight of water.
“That should be Van Diemen Gulf ahead of us,” Rod Brown pointed out. “Darwin should off to the west. Pick up the coast and follow it to the left.”