Lost In Time

by W M Wiltshire

  Amelia finished writing in the book and returned it to Helen. She gently squeezed Helen’s shoulder, then turned and made her way down the apron toward the Electra.

  Helen watched for a few moments as her hero walked away, seemingly swallowed up by the crowd of spectators and reporters. Only then did she look down at the book in her hands. She carefully opened the cover and read the inscription:

  You haven’t seen a tree until you’ve seen its shadow from the sky.

  Remember to have fun, Helen.

  Your friend, Amelia.

  Helen looked up, staring in the direction where Amelia had disappeared. A tiny tear trickling down her soft cheeks glistened in the late afternoon sunlight.

  By the time Amelia reached the airplane, Harry and Fred were already in the rear cabin compartment. Paul was in the cockpit’s co-pilot seat. Everyone was waiting for her.

  The rain had finally stopped. For the first time in over four days, the sun had finally broken through the clouds.

  This is it, Amelia thought, as she performed the final walkabout of her aircraft: the pre-flight inspection. She knew Paul, as her co-pilot, would have meticulously completed the inspection for her, but she wanted to be thorough. Besides, it was an ingrained habit.

  The sunlight reflected off the all-metal, silver skin of the Electra. The leading edge of the wings was painted a deep red, with a matching swatch across the middle of the twin tail fins and rudder. This tail configuration would later become a Lockheed trademark.

  Etched in bold black letters across the upper part of the right wing and the undercarriage of the left wing was the plane’s registration number: NR16020. Amelia ran her hand along the trailing-edge of the wing flaps. It was almost as if it were a lover’s caress.

  The engines had the low-drag NACA engine cowlings and had two-bladed controllable-pitch propellers. Amelia checked to make sure that there were no obstructions and that the pitot tubes were clear. The pitot tubes operated a system of pressure-sensitive instruments, including the aircraft’s airspeed, altitude, and vertical speed indicators.

  After checking the landing gear, which was a conventional tail-dragger arrangement, Amelia made her way back to the rear cabin door. G.P. was waiting patiently there for her. She gave him a quick hug and said shyly, “See ya,” as she entered the airplane.

  Fred was sitting at the navigator’s table, across from the cabin door. He had a shamrock pinned on his jacket to commemorate Saint Patrick’s Day and his Irish heritage. Harry was sitting against the opposite wall, strapped in and ready to go.

  Amelia made her way along the top of the fuselage tanks to the cockpit. She carefully swung herself around and came off the top of the tanks into the left pilot’s seat.

  “The 4:00 P.M. weather report says the wind is out of the southwest at fourteen miles an hour and the current temperature is forty-eight degrees Fahrenheit,” Paul said, relating the latest conditions. “We’ll have more than enough room for takeoff with that headwind.”

  Amelia settled into the pilot’s seat. While she checked the instruments to ensure they were properly set, Paul continued with his briefing.

  “I oversaw the fueling of the Electra. We have nine-hundred-forty-seven gallons on board. And Bill just reported that the Sikorsky Clipper took off at 4:21 P.M.,” Paul concluded. “So, that means we are cleared to go, whenever you’re ready.”

  “I guess we’re all set, then,” Amelia said confidently. “Let’s do it.”

  Paul yelled out his open window, “Clear!” And they started the engines.

  The crowd of over three-thousand, who had come to witness history and had been gathering since early morning, erupted into an ecstatic cheer. Amelia grinned and tossed them a wave out her window, acknowledging their enthusiasm and encouragement.

  Amelia received the all-clear signal. “Here we go,” she yelled, struggling to be heard over the roar of the engines. Fred and Harry both gave her a thumbs-up, which she returned.

  Amelia gradually advanced the throttles just enough to get the Electra moving. She slowly taxied the Electra along the apron over to the northeast corner of the field. When the airplane came to the end of the marked runway, she lined up facing southwest, keeping the flags to her left. Paul and Amelia ran the final check on the engines, propellers, controls, trim tabs, gas selector and flaps. Paul reset the directional gyro compass to match the wet compass. They were finally ready to go.

  Paul advanced the throttles evenly as Amelia released the brakes. The plane began rolling down the runway, accelerating as it went. The engines roared louder and louder as they continued to beat in perfect unison.

  The plane’s wheels plowed through the numerous puddles that dotted the runway, the spray streaking across the fuselage. The Electra gracefully slipped the surly bonds of Earth and was finally airborne. As the plane slowly gained altitude, the landing gear was retracted backwards into the engine nacelles. The Electra was designed so that, after retraction, the bottoms of the wheels remain exposed in case a wheels-up emergency landing was necessary.

  G.P. beamed with pride, as he stood and watched Amelia’s perfect takeoff in such wet and muddy conditions. He looked down at his stopwatch. It had taken exactly twenty-five seconds from when the plane started moving down the runway until it had got off the ground. Looking at the runway flag markers, he also realized it had used only 1,897 feet of runway.

  Back at Bill Miller’s office, G.P. sent a message to the Coast Guard in San Francisco. It read:

  ‘MISS EARHART OFFICIAL TAKEOFF FROM OAKLAND AIRPORT FOR HONOLULU IS FOUR THIRTY SEVEN AND A HALF P.M. PACIFIC TIME’.

  50

  Amelia started a gradual right turn over the bay toward San Francisco. Once she leveled the wings, she checked the engine instruments. The plane was climbing sluggishly, and she wanted to make sure Paul had set the power correctly. Once they cleared the towers of the west span of the San Francisco Bay Bridge, Amelia gently banked the airplane to the left. Heading westward, they flew over the Golden Gate Bridge, whose burnt-orange color glistened in late afternoon sunlight. Then she headed toward the expansive blue of the Pacific Ocean.

  As they were heading out to sea, Amelia took a moment to reflect. It was finally here; the adventure had begun. It had taken over a year to plan and was the costliest adventure she had ever attempted. Over the next few days and weeks, there would be challenges she would have to face and overcome. She was determined to take them on, one by one. She knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and she was ready for it.

  It wasn’t long before they had caught up to the Sikorsky Clipper, silhouetted against a towering bank of sun-flecked cumulus clouds. The Electra, with its greater speed, gradually overtook the Clipper at 5:40 P.M. Soon it was just a speck in the sky behind them. Amelia reflected for a moment and pulled out her notebook to record her thoughts. It was the first time I had ever seen another plane at sea. Unusual as such an occurrence is today, before long it doubtless will be as commonplace as passing transports on our continental highways.

  Harry got on the radio to Pan American Airways in Alameda and reported, “All’s well.” He received a reply by Morse code. It was 6:04 P.M. He scribbled the message on a piece of paper and passed it up to the cockpit using an improvised bamboo fishing pole. His note read: winds out of the northwest at thirty-five miles an hour, squalls in the area, visibility ten miles. They were two-hundred-fifty miles out of San Francisco.

  Shortly after Harry had passed Pan American’s information to Amelia, the right engine began to cough and run rough due to ice forming in the carburetor. Paul adjusted both mixture controls to “rich”. At the same time, he opened the carburetor heat valves, which directed heated air into the carburetor. The heat would melt the ice and prevent any further accumulation. Gradually, the engines stabilized.

  Amelia was thankful that they had left when they had since it had provided them with a few
hours of daylight. With the sky now darkening, she climbed above the cloud layer to 8,000 feet. Paul adjusted the mixture controls and set the engines to climb power.

  When the plane reached 8,000 feet, Amelia leveled off and waited until the airspeed indicators were showing one-hundred-thirty miles an hour. At this altitude, the air was less dense, resulting in a true airspeed of approximately one-hundred-fifty miles an hour.

  51

  The railings along the starboard side of the Promenade Deck were lined three deep with passengers as the S.S. Malolo sailed into the Honolulu harbor, past the Aloha Tower, which stood as a sentinel across the pier. The sun was slowly sinking into the turquoise sea, as the ship pulled into Pier 8. Hula dancers, musicians and what appeared to be most of the local residents crowded the pier, all on hand to welcome the new visitors to their beautiful island.

  Dani and Daric hadn’t seen Rick Barak Case since watching him make a hasty exit from the Smoking Room three days ago. He had simply vanished, which suited Dani just fine. She wanted nothing to do with him. Daric, however, had a very different view. He wanted to know what Case was up to and he wouldn’t mind getting in a little payback, either.

  As Dani and Daric disembarked with Terry, their hosts met them: Chris and Mona Holmes. “Welcome to Honolulu,” Mona said, as she placed a lei over each head and a kiss on their cheeks.

  Chris and Mona Holmes couldn’t have been more opposite. He was tall, with a slender build and sun-baked skin; she was short and rotund with an alabaster complexion.

  “Thank you for having us,” Terry said, as she accepted the second lei from Chris.

  “We just received a telegram from G.P. saying Amelia left Oakland at 4:37 P.M. this afternoon and they are expected to land here just after dawn tomorrow,” Chris said excitedly.

  “I would have thought they’d have been here already,” Daric responded, sounding a bit puzzled.

  “Bad weather caused a delay in the flight. Pan American was grounded, too. They couldn’t get away until today,” Chris said.

  “Well, it’s going to be a short night and a very early morning; so, let’s get back to the house and get you all settled,” Mona offered.

  With the visitors following close behind, Chris and Mona made their way to their car: a deep burgundy 1936 Packard Super Eight 1404 convertible. It looked like a car Al Capone would drive. The car was designed as a whole; the body, hood, fenders and running boards were all integrated into a smoothly executed design. It was regarded as one of the most attractive bodies of the era. The Super Eight had a sloped grille with chrome vertical bars that gave the vehicle a unique look. The grille, not only attractive, served as thermostatically controlled shutters that could be opened or closed based on engine heat. A Delco-Remy ignition system fired the eight-cylinder engine under the hood, providing one-hundred-fifty horsepower.

  Daric could only stare in awe at the exquisite automobile in front of him. “What a beauty,” he murmured.

  “Come on,” Dani said, pulling him out of his stupor.

  They drove to Waikiki, where the estate of Christian R. Holmes, heir to the Fleischmann Yeast fortune, was situated on Kalakaua Avenue at Queen Surf. The estate sat on three acres of majestic beachfront property. A mountain range loomed close behind the estate, creating a stunning backdrop. A unique lava rock wall surrounded the property on three sides with an iron-gated entranceway. It was hard to see through all the foliage and the wall along the perimeter. The estate featured a large main house, a separate guesthouse, orchards, a caretaker’s house, a secluded, semi-private beach, and a man-made tidal pool framed by a stone wall which was once a turtle pond.

  Chris pulled the Packard up to the front door where they were greeted by the housekeeping staff. “John, can you show Daric and Dani to the guesthouse?” Chris instructed.

  “After you’ve had a chance to freshen up, come back to the house and we’ll have dinner, before we call it an early night,” Mona offered. “Come on, Terry, I’ll show you to your room.”

  John escorted Daric and Dani to the guesthouse which was located in the southwest corner of the property overlooking the ocean. It quickly became clear that John wasn’t much of a conversationalist. The resulting silence suited Daric just fine since he was still nursing a doozy of a headache. It also suited Dani, who was too busy taking in her surroundings and enjoying the tranquility of the moment.

  As he watched John walking beside him, Daric couldn’t help being reminded of the character Lurch from the Addams Family: tall, stone-faced, square-jawed, quiet, and very daunting. John was also the Holmeses’ personal chauffeur, bodyguard, and staff manager.

  On arriving at the guesthouse, John opened the front door, walked through and deposited the luggage in the two bedrooms. He returned to the living room area to instruct the Holmeses’ guests.

  “There’s fresh pineapple juice in the refrigerator; please help yourself. Mrs. Holmes will be serving dinner in the main dining room. Enter the house through the front door and turn left at the first room you come to that is the main dining room. Dinner will be served promptly at 8:30. Please be on time,” John said as he showed himself out the door to continue with his other duties.

  The guesthouse, like the main house, was a Spanish colonial revival-style design. It featured stucco walls, a low-pitched, clay tile roof, and an oceanfront lanai. It had a large main room with a high ceiling. Its two guest bedrooms and two full bathrooms would accommodate four guests. The main room contained a small kitchen which was elevated from the rest of the room.

  “Let’s do like the man said. We don’t want to be late for dinner. Besides, I want to call it an early night. I want to be at the airport before dawn to meet Amelia’s plane. I need to tell Paul about our friend Rick Barak Case,” Daric said determinedly.

  52: Thursday, March 18, 1937

  During the night, Fred took continuous star sightings to fix their position. Meanwhile, up front in the confines of a noisy cockpit, Amelia was continually checking the flight and engine instruments, diligently switching the complicated fuel tank system, and meticulously keeping the plane in trim. The Sperry autopilot, which was basically flying the airplane, also needed her constant attention, as the rudder gyro seemed to drift off the desired heading faster than it should.

  Although most of her time and energy was devoted to the many details associated with flying the airplane, Amelia found a few moments during the flight to scribble some thoughts in her notebook. It would be a challenge, she thought, to decipher her notes later, because the mild turbulence was making a mockery of her penmanship; nonetheless she persevered.

  Even though I have three other people with me on this flight, at times it feels as though I am alone, dancing among the clouds with only my thoughts to keep me company. I have never felt so free and liberated as I do when I am flying. The only limitations I have up here are those that I place upon myself.

  At midnight, Harry sent their position over the radio and reported, “All’s well”. This time Pan American in Alameda didn’t hear him, but for the first time Pan American on Oahu heard the garbled message. Harry quickly scribbled a note and passed the message forward to Amelia in the cockpit. It noted that they were ahead of their dead-reckoned time and were now making one-hundred-eighty miles an hour.

  Amelia had still been writing in her notebook when she received Harry’s message. She thought for a moment and then wrote: I truly hope Harry knows what he’s talking about. Putting her notes away for the moment, she referred to Kelly Johnson’s power and fuel-burning charts.

  It was sometime after 2:00 A.M. when Amelia applied power to climb to their final cruise altitude of 10,000 feet in accordance with the Kelly’s charts. His power and fuel-burn calculations were working well so far. It took only a few minutes to level off after the climb, set the trim and adjust the mixture.

  The engines coughed again from carburetor icing. Paul enriched the mi
xture and turned on the carburetor heat. It only took a few moments before the engines settled again.

  When Paul finished adjusting the mixture, he and Amelia heard a sound resulting from the propellers turning out of unison. She quickly adjusted the propeller controls to bring the pulsating sound to a stop. But the right propeller didn’t respond. She tried to adjust the left propeller and bring it into synchronization with the right one. The sound stopped, but now both propellers were running at 1,600 rpm.

  Amelia looked at Paul. They understood the gravity of the situation. If the left engine failed with the right propeller stuck at its current rpm setting, the right engine alone would not provide enough power to get them to Honolulu. They could be in big trouble.

  At 2:07 A.M. PST, Fred plotted his next celestial fix on his chart. After making some measurements and calculations, he consulted with Harry, who concurred with Fred’s calculations. Harry made his way forward on top of the plywood covered the fuselage fuel tanks.

  “Amelia,” Harry shouted, “we’re still ahead of our dead-reckoned flight time. We have to slow down or we’ll arrive in Honolulu before daylight.”

  “I’ve never run into the problem of flying too fast before. The tailwind must be stronger than we thought,” Amelia yelled.

  With the right propeller stuck, Amelia wanted to get to her destination as quickly as possible, but she knew that trying to land the airplane in its current condition before sunrise would only compound the problem. So, she adjusted her airspeed, making sure she wasn’t going so slowly that there could be a danger of stalling the airplane.

  After flying for roughly eleven hours, Paul informed Amelia, “I need to stretch.” He climbed out of his seat and up onto the fuel tanks. He crawled back into the cabin to work the cramped muscles in his legs and to confer with Harry and Fred.

  Now that Paul had mentioned it, Amelia realized she was feeling a little stiff, too, and decided a change in position would help. She eased herself out of her seat and slid over into the right-hand seat. After checking the flight and engine instruments again, she settled back to enjoy this short time in the cockpit alone. It reminded her of her previous crossing in 1935.