Lost In Time

by W M Wiltshire

  “First, let me make a call to the operations officer over at Luke Field to tell them to expect you and that you’ll most likely be using their runway to take off for Howland Island,” the commander said. “Good luck.”

  Paul walked back to the car, leaning down to talk to the driver through the open window. “John, if we’re not back here in an hour, we’ll be at Luke Field. Drive over and pick us up there,” Paul instructed.

  When the fueling was finished, Paul performed his pre-flight inspection. He took ten minutes to run-up the engines before he was satisfied that everything was okay. Then, he shut them down and came out of the cockpit. He walked around the airplane, checking the engine nacelles and landing gear for any signs of oil leaks. There were none. But the right oleo strut, which is an oil-and-air-filled shock absorber on the landing gear, caught his sharp eye. Whereas the right strut was extended four inches, the left one extended only two inches. Paul called a mechanic over and instructed him to let some air out of the right oleo air valve until it extended the same as the left one.

  “Okay, Daric, let’s go,” Paul said.

  “Yes,” Daric exclaimed excitedly, while pumping his fist. It was one thing to sit in the cockpit; it’s another to actually go flying in Amelia Earhart’s Electra, he thought.

  Daric and Paul made their way up the wing and into the cockpit. After starting the engines, Paul taxied to the far end of Wheeler Field for takeoff. Paul applied full power and the relatively light plane seemed to pop off the runway and spring into the air, a drastic difference from the heavily burdened airplane that had left Oakland. Once the Electra reached one-thousand feet, he retracted the landing gear and reduced the airspeed.

  Pearl Harbor was just ahead. Luke Field was on Ford Island, which was in the middle of Pearl Harbor. The field was shared equally between the Army Air Corps and the Navy Fleet Air Base. Paul pointed to the left to show Daric Diamond Head, off in the distance. Daric could also see the Aloha Tower and a cruise ship at the pier. He wondered whether it was the S.S. Malolo they had come across on.

  When they flew over Waikiki Beach, Daric strained to spot anyone at the Holmeses’ estate, but the trees obstructed a clear view of the grounds.

  63

  Amelia was sitting under a palm tree in the shade, enjoying the warmth and the light breeze drifting in off the ocean. The day had improved considerably since early morning and all evidence of the previous rain showers had vanished. She decided to get out and enjoy the day, because, she realized, over the next couple of weeks she’d find little time to do just that.

  A faint sound off in the distance caught her attention. She’d know that sound anywhere. Looking up from her notebook, she saw the glistening silhouette of the Electra as it made its way over to Luke Field. She watched for a few minutes, mesmerized by the sight, before returning to her notes.

  A reporter in Oakland had asked me if I was attempting to break any records. I told him that I didn’t want to push the engines on the crossing to Hawaii. As it turned out, I did break the old record, and I wasn’t even trying. The element of speed is far from upper-most in such a flight as this. It can’t be. Quite truly, I’m in no hurry. It was disappointing yesterday that repairs to the airplane prevented us from carrying on. But doubtless similar delays will occur later. My ambition is no time mark. There is no ‘record’ to shoot at. That will come for others later. We’ll see globe-girding flights whose brevity will take your breath away. As for this present venture, I just want to progress as safely and sanely as day-to-day conditions make possible, give myself and the Electra the experience of seeing what we can of this very interesting world at its waistline, and, with good fortune, get back with plane and pilot all ‘in one piece’.

  Dani spotted Amelia sitting on the lawn by the ocean and walked down to join her. She sat beside her, resting her back against the trunk of a palm tree. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes and took in a long deep breath of sea air. Amelia had been writing and, not wanting to disturb her thought process or the tranquility of the moment, Dani waited for Amelia to start the conversation.

  For a few peaceful moments, they both sat there in silence, overlooking the gentle swells on the ocean beyond.

  “It’s a very big ocean—so much water,” Amelia said with a little sigh which promptly dissipated into a reassuring chuckle.

  “Would you ever consider giving up your world flight?” Dani asked softly. Dani knew she couldn’t ask or say too much, but she wanted to know what Amelia thought.

  “Please don’t be concerned, Dani,” Amelia said endearingly. “It just seems that I must try this flight. I’ve weighed it all carefully. With it behind me, life will be fuller and richer. I can be content.”

  Amelia paused before continuing. “The more one does and sees and feels, the more one is able to do and the more genuine may be one’s appreciation of fundamental things like home, and love, and understanding companionship.”

  “It’s such a dangerous adventure.”

  “Adventure is worthwhile in itself,” Amelia responded excitedly.

  “After the pleasant accident of being the first woman to cross the Atlantic by air, I was launched into a life full of interest. Aviation offered such fun as crossing the continent in planes large and small, trying the whirling rotors of an autogyro, making record flights. With these activities came opportunities to know women everywhere who shared my conviction that there is so much women can do in the modern world and should be permitted to do irrespective of their sex. Probably my greatest satisfaction was to indicate by example, now and then, that women can sometimes do things themselves, if given the chance.”

  Amelia hesitantly pulled her gaze from the calming effect of the ocean and looked directly at Dani. “I don’t want to be another wave on the ocean. I want my life to have some meaning, some purpose. And when I believe I have fulfilled that purpose, and it’s time for me to go, I’d like best to go in my plane. Quickly.”

  Dani reflected for a moment. If she only knew the impact her life had or the role, she could have played as a crusader for women’s rights. She could have been a modern-day version of Joan of Arc. She was at least twenty years ahead of her time in promoting women’s rights. It’s a shame the movement didn’t make full use of her legend and her example. But I have no doubt that Amelia will eventually find the contentment she so desperately craves. Dani glanced over at Amelia, It’s as if, somehow, Amelia already knew she would, Dani thought.

  Wanting to lighten the mood, Dani said, “Since you’re staying, at least until after dinner, Mona is arranging a genuine Hawaiian luau, in your honour. She’s got the kitchen staff running in circles.”

  “She started talking about a Kalua Pua’a, which I understand means pig, and then she went on about grilled mahi mahi which is some kind of fish, and, of course, Poi. She said she had so much fun last night eating outside, she really wanted to do it again tonight, but have the more traditional luau,” Dani finished, with a cheery grin.

  “Well, let’s go see if we can help, shall we? Or at least try to save the kitchen staff.” Amelia chuckled as she got to her feet. She extended a hand to pull Dani to her feet and, then, the two of them walked arm in arm back up to the house and what they both knew was going to be an interesting evening.

  64

  Paul had taken Daric on a complete tour of the island of Oahu, all the while methodically checking the engine and flight instruments, listening intently for the beat of the propellers turning in unison.

  Now that he was satisfied with the performance of the airplane, Paul started to circle back over Pearl Harbor toward Ford Island. He couldn’t help but get caught up in Daric’s excitement; it was almost contagious. Daric had been grinning ever since taking off from Wheeler Field. So now Paul wanted to give his enthusiastic passenger a small thrill.

  “Have you ever flown an airplane before, Daric?” Paul yelled to be heard over the
engine noise. He was sure he knew the answer, but wanted to see Daric’s reaction.

  “Sure. I have over 350 hours logged. But I’ve never flown anything like this,” Daric replied, not daring to assume what was coming next, for fear of jinxing it.

  “You have control,” Paul said, as he turned control of the Electra over to Daric.

  Daric took the yolk and applied gentle pressure to the rudder pedals as he flew the Electra on a heading back toward Ford Island. Time travel may not be such a bad thing after all, he thought, cherishing this once-in-a-life-time experience.

  After Paul landed the Electra at Luke Field, he followed the Army guide truck, taxiing the airplane to the front of the final assembly hangar on the Army side of Luke Field before shutting down the engines.

  Paul and Daric clambered out of the cockpit and walked down the wing to be greeted by Lieutenant Arnold.

  “The propellers have never worked better. You did a fantastic job overhauling them,” Paul exclaimed ardently, after the introductions had been completed.

  “That’s great,” Lieutenant Arnold replied.

  “Do you think you could have someone check the Sperry autopilot?” Paul asked. “The rudder control kept drifting off course when we were flying here from Oakland.”

  “I’ll have an instrument mechanic check it for you. Is there anything else we can do?”

  Paul was walking around the airplane, followed closely by Daric. Both were looking for any potential problems, and it wasn’t long before Paul noticed the right landing gear oleo strut was again out of sync with the left one.

  “Hey, it’s been leaking,” Daric noted upon closer inspection.

  “Could you have someone replace the right valve core and pump the strut up to match the left one?” Paul asked the lieutenant.

  “I’ll get someone right on it.”

  “As far as fueling goes, I’d like the tanks filled directly from the Standard Oil Company truck, through a chamois-lined funnel to ensure we remove all contaminants that might be in the gas,” Paul directed. “Just wanting to be thorough,” he added. He didn’t want to come across as insulting, by implying there might be an inferior grade of fuel at the facility.

  “Understandable. If I was making this world flight, I’d want to use every precaution to ensure nothing could go wrong,” the lieutenant agreed.

  “Thank you.”

  65

  Amelia had been looking all over the house for Fred when she finally found him sleeping in a lounge out on the lanai. She had never thought to look there first because Fred hadn’t seemed to be the outdoor enthusiast-type of guy. She figured he’d have been slumped in a comfortable padded chair inside the house, out of the reach of any pesky biting insects and creepy crawly creatures.

  Amelia quietly pulled a chair up beside the lounge. Although she hated to wake the peacefully slumbering man, she had business that needed attending to. She reached over and gently shook Fred’s shoulder. He woke instantly and would have bolted upright if he hadn’t had a few too many glasses of spiked pineapple juice.

  Amelia noticed the reddened eyes and the unfocused glare, but chalked it up to Fred being rudely awakened and, therefore, dismissed it.

  “Fred, I spoke to G.P. and we would like you to continue the flight after Howland Island to Australia,” Amelia said.

  “You already have a navigator.”

  “I know, but you can compute a celestial fix faster and I’ve seen for myself how accurate you are. You had us heading directly at Diamond Head at the precise time you said we would. It was very impressive.”

  “What about Harry?” Fred asked cautiously. He was trying desperately to concentrate on the conversation when all he wanted to do was drift back into oblivion.

  “I’ll talk to him. He’ll be co-navigator and radio operator. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  “All right, but wouldn’t it be cheaper and faster, for me anyway, to go all the way rather than getting off in Australia and having to make my way back home from there?” Fred reasoned.

  “Miss Earhart, there’s a telephone call for you in the kitchen,” the serving staff interrupted.

  “I’ll be right there,” Amelia replied. “Fred, I’ll have to check with G.P. before I can make a final decision, but I’m sure it will be okay.”

  Leaning back in his lounge and closing his eyes, Fred muttered, “Let me know soon, because I’ll have to send a wire to my fiancée to tell her I’ll be a little late coming home.”

  Amelia shook her head woefully, thinking about Fred sleeping away this beautiful day when, in only a few hours, he could find himself wedged into the cramped rear cabin of the Electra for hours on end, with no opportunity to breathe in fresh air or to stretch out tired muscles.

  Not her, Amelia thought. She was going to soak in as much sunlight and fresh air as she could. Being stuck in the airplane for hours with two men, that plane’s atmosphere was going to be ripe before too long. She cringed just thinking about it as she made her way into the house to take the phone call.

  66

  The commander of Wheeler Field had returned to his office around 10:00 A.M., after grabbing a couple hours of sleep. It had been a long night, but he had a few things he had to deal with before he could call it a day.

  * * *

  Case was again dressed to pass as a reporter, thinking he could blend in with the others who would be here to catch Amelia’s morning departure. He instinctively knew from the morning’s weather that Earhart wouldn’t be leaving any time soon, so he was in no hurry to get to the field. When he finally arrived at the 75th Service Squadron hangar, it was empty. “Shit, this isn’t good,” Case muttered. “What happened to the Electra?”

  * * *

  A knock came at the commander’s door, which immediately opened. “Commander, you have a call from a Sergeant McGregor,” his aide said.

  “Who?” he barked. I don’t have time for this crap, he thought. All he wanted to do was finish up here and go back home, put his feet up and enjoy a tall shot of whiskey.

  “He said to tell you, that last night, you told him to find Corporal Griffin,” the aid answered awkwardly.

  “Fine, I’ll take it in here.” The commander dismissed his aide, who swiftly transferred the call into the office.

  The phone barely finished its first ring when it was snatched from its cradle. “Speak,” the commander bellowed.

  “Sir, we found Corporal Griffin,” replied the sergeant, his voice trembling slightly.

  “Well, bring him here, Sergeant.”

  “He’s dead, sir.”

  “What?”

  “We found him in the supply room in D Hangar, sir.”

  “I’ll be right there.” The commander shot out of his chair, driving it back against the wall. The door banged against the wall as he left his office.

  “Send two MPs over to D Hangar, immediately,” he ordered his aide as he stormed out of the building.

  * * *

  Case heard a door slam and caught a glimpse of the commander heading toward the hangar right next to the 75th Service Squadron hangar. He was quickly joined by two MPs, who struggled to match the commander’s determined gait.

  Case knew he was running out of time. He had to find out what had happened to the Electra and get off this field before all hell broke loose.

  Case was making his way back to his car when he ran into a fellow reporter who was also heading for the parking lot.

  “Hey!” Case yelled from a safe distance, not wanting to get too close. The fewer people who could identify him, the better. “Where’s Earhart’s plane? Did she leave already?”

  “No, just moved locations,” the reporter grumbled. “You’d think they’d have the common decency to tell a fella, save him the time of coming all the way out here, just to find out he’s at the wrong field. Damned incon
siderate, if you ask me.”

  “Where did they go?” Case asked impatiently, opening his car door.

  “Luke Field. Apparently it has a better runway,” the reporter said distractedly, as he dug into his deep, baggy pockets in search of his car keys. “At least now, they’re leaving tonight and not later this morning, so it gives us time to catch the ferry over to Ford Island. Hey, do you want to . . .”

  The reporter looked over and realized he was talking to no one. Case had already left Wheeler Field. “Well, that was rude. What is it with people today?” he muttered.

  * * *

  The commander had lost no time in getting to D Hangar. He entered, spotting a small group gathered outside the supply room.

  “Show me,” the commander ordered.

  Sergeant McGregor opened the supply room door and stood aside to let the commander enter. There in a heap on the floor was a man. His dog tags were the only means of identification as he was without his uniform. The commander bent down to examine the dog tags and, then, looked closely at the man’s pasty, stone-cold face.

  “That’s not Griffin,” the commander shouted. “That’s not the man I left in charge outside the squadron hangar last night. And where’s his uniform?”

  “Sir, we believe someone killed Griffin and took his uniform, for what we’re not sure,” the Sergeant supplied.

  “Lock down the field, NOW! And get me some answers!”

  67

  “Amelia, it’s Paul. I have good news and bad news. Which would you like first?” he asked from the other end of the phone line.