Pre-Start Checklist
1. Cabin Door – CLOSED
2. Controls – FREE
3. Landing Gear SW – DOWN
4. Parking Brake – ON
5. Bat. & Gen. SWS – ON
6. Gear Safe Light – CHECK
7. Fuel Quantity – CHECK
8. Fuel Selectors – MAIN
9. Crossed – OFF
10. Anti-Ice Fluid – CHECKED
11. Trim – SET > T/O
12. Flap Switch – NEUTRAL
13. Throttles – 1/8 OPEN
14. Mixtures – RICH
15. Props – HIGH
16. Manifold Heat – COLD
17. Oil Shutters – HOT
18. Oil Shutoff Valves – OPEN
19. Circuit Breakers – CHECKED
20. Electrical Switches – OFF
21. Alt. Static Source – NORMAL
22. Oil Bypass Valves – AS REQUIRED
23. Warning Lights – CHECKED
Start Checklist
1. Fuel Boost Pumps – ON
2. Magnetos – OFF
3. Engine Sel. SW – RT or LT
4. Starter (2 Revs) – ENGAGE
5. Magnetos – ON
6. Ignition Boost SW – ON
7. Primer – AS REQUIRED (SAME PROC. FOR OTHER ENGINE)
8. Fuel Boost Pumps – OFF
9. Warm Up Engines – 1000–RPM
After-Starting Engines
1. Oil Pressure – UP
2. Fuel Boost Pumps – OFF
3. Lights – AS REQUIRED
4. Radios – ON
5. Tailwheel – UNLOCKED
6. Parking Brake – UNLOCKED
Run-Up
1. Temps. & Press. – GREEN ARC
2. Props (rpm) -EXERCISE
3. Manifold Heat – CHECK
4. Vacuum – CHECK
5. Volt/Ammeters – CHECK
6. Mags. (rpm)- CHECK
Before Take-Off
1. Controls – FREE
2. Mixture – RICH
3. Props. – HIGH RPM
4. Friction Locks – SET
5. Oil Shutters – AS REQUIRED
6. Manifold Heat – COLD
7. Flaps – UP
8. Fuel Selector – MAIN TANKS
9. Oil By-Pass – CLOSED
10. Trim – SET
11. D.G.’s – SET
12. Instrument – CHECK
13. Navs. – CHECK / SET
Take-Off
1. Time – RECORD
2. Fuel Boost Pumps – ON
3. Landing Lights – ON
4. Inverter – ON
5. Transponder – ALT
6. Tail Wheel – LOCKED
7. D.G.’s – R.W. – HEADING
8. Pitot Heat – AS REQUIRED
9. Throttles – 36.& RPM
10. Oil Pressure – GREEN ARC
11. Oil Temperature – GREEN ARC
Climb
1. Gear – UP
2. Flaps – UP
3. Manifold Pressure – 32”
4. Prop. RPM – RPM
5. Fuel Boost Pumps – OFF – PX CK
6. Landing Lights – OFF
7. Airspeed – 120/MPH
8. Flight Plan – OPEN
Cruise
1. Manifold Pressure – 28”
2. Prop. RPM – RPM
3. Mixture – Lean
4. Oil Shutters – F.
5. Manifold Heat – AS REQUIRED
6. Fuel Quantity – Manage
Approach / Descent Checklist
1. Customs Code – OBTAIN
2. Fuel Selectors – MAIN TANKS
3. Mixtures – ENRICHEN
4. Manifold Pressure – 26”
5. Manifold Heat – AS REQUIRED
6. Altimeters – SET
7. Navs. – SET
8. Flight Plan – CLOSED
Before Landing Checklist
1. Fuel Boost Pumps – ON
2. Landing Lights – ON
3. Props. – RPM
4. Landing Gear – DOWN/GREEN
5. Manifold Heat – OFF
6. Heater – CYCLE
7. Brakes – CHECK
8. Flaps – AS NEEDED
After Landing Checklist
1. Fuel Boost Pumps – OFF
2. Landing Lights – OFF
3. Inverter – OFF
4. Transponder – STBY
5. Props. – HIGH RPM
6. Oil Shutters – F.
7. Flaps – UP
8. Pitot Heat -OFF
9. Taxi Lights – AS REQUIRED
10. Time – RECORD
Shutdown Checklist
1. Parking Brake – SET
2. Radios – OFF
3. Mixtures – IDLE CUT-OFF
4. Magnetoes – OFF
5. Battery/Gen SW’s – OFF
6. Tailwheel – LOCK
7. Controls – LOCK
8. Tie-downs – (3 POINTS)
9. Chocks – ALL WHEELS
Airspeeds – Miles-per-Hour
Vne 257
Vyse 122
Vmc 86
Vno 205
Vyxe 110
Vle 160
Vy 135
Vlo 160
Vx 119
Va 153
Vfe 120
Vso 75
Vs 80
Max TO Wt: 10,100
Max Lnd Wt: 9,800
“Hanley, what does Vne 257 mean?” Jumma asked.
“The number, 257, is miles-per-hour. The Vne means never exceed airspeed. After 257 miles per hour, the wings may fall off,” Hanley explained.
“Then we should not go 257 miles per hour,” Jumma observed.
“Don’t worry, we won’t. Let’s start with the simpler stuff, okay? Even though the first thing is closing the cabin doors, we’ll wait until we’re set to roll and then we’ll close them,” Hanley said.
“Set to roll?” Jumma asked.
“Just an expression. When the plane begins to move, I say it’s rolling. Now, we’ll wait to secure the door due to the heat. So, let’s start down the list and I’ll show you how we check everything. Experienced pilots check each and every item. That’s how they become experienced. It’s a pilot’s joke, Jumma.” Seeing the blank expression on the young man’s face, Hanley said, “Overlooking a problem may kill you. New experiences tend to elude the dead. Never mind. Let’s get started.” Hanley took them through the checklist, letting Jumma ask questions as they went. Hanley thought he noticed Jumma seemed less tense as they worked their way through the list.
Reaching over to flip switches as he checked through the systems, Hanley said, “When we were inspecting the plane, you watched as I swung the propellers. I was checking for any problems with the hydraulics. Some people believe in swinging the props more often than I do, but my experience has shown a problem of that nature will show itself quickly. I brought oil with me, several cases that I stored at the mission. These engines use oil, but most of that occurs turning the engines over, starting them. Unless there is a leak. Radial aircraft engines are great, they run for hundreds of hours without a problem. The starting procedure is not that complicated. Some pilots think it is, but a little experience, again, shows it isn’t hard at all. I usually prime the engines eight times, throttles opened until you hear a click in the gear system, turn on the fire suppression to the engine you’re starting, hit the starter, wait for a half dozen rotations and hit the magneto switch and it will kick over. I always start the right engine first, it’s farthest away and I can listen for problems without the roar of the engine in my ear.” Jumma’s eyes never left Hanley’s face as he described the ritual for starting the Beech’s engines.
When Hanley started the right engine, the entire plane shuddered, the vibration familiar to Hanley as it ran though his body. The noise was overpowering. A friend of Hanley’s once described it as like riding down a road bracketed by ten Harley Davidson motorcycles. J
umma grabbed the steering yoke as if afraid he would be ejected from the plane. Patting the young African on the shoulder, Hanley gave him a thumb’s up signal, getting a faint smile in return.
The entire procedure, from initial inspection to starting both engines took almost an hour. As Jumma gained knowledge and experience, Hanley thought it might shorten the time needed to prepare the plane and depart. One item worried Hanley. The Beech was a tail dragger with a tailwheel that was locked for takeoff. The airstrip, with its graveled surface would be challenging.
Hanley took a headset from behind Jumma’s seat, plugged it into a receptacle in the control panel and put it on. He retrieved a second set from behind the seat and gave it to Jumma, watched as he put it on and helped him adjust it to fit, then showed him how to turn the unit on and adjust the volume. Pointing to a small red button on the steering yoke, Hanley demonstrated how Jumma could talk by pressing the button and listen when it was released.
“Okay, Jumma, we’re about to begin our departure. I will taxi out and line the plane up with the landing strip, lock the tailwheel and power up. The plane will roll forward slowly, but only for a moment and then surge forward, pushing you back, against the seat. It will take most all of the airstrip to get off the ground. Don’t be alarmed if it appears we’re running out of room, we’ll make it.” Jumma’s smile faded even more.
Setting the Friction Locks, Hanley pulled the throttle back, the reverse of most planes whose throttles are pushed forward. The big plane began to move, the pulse of the large engines rhythmic and impressive, a force that pushed everything around it back, the wind generated by the triple blades causing the grass and the brush to bow before their power. Noticing Jumma’s arms straightening as the big plane gained speed, Hanley glanced over to see Jumma pressed into the seat by the thrust of the plane’s momentum. Hanley thought he saw both fear and wonder on the young African’s face.
The shuddering smoothed out slightly as the tail of the plane rose, the pilot and his young co-pilot now seeing the airstrip passing beneath them in a blur. Hanley pulled back on the yoke and the plane’s nose came up, the first loss of contact just detectable. The end of the runway was approaching fast, then the Beech was airborne, the sway of the plane loose of the ground, a minor shift as the Beech cleared the bush below, sliding sideways, slipping into the wind.
Pressing the red button as he was shown, Jumma said, “We have fled our mother earth into God our father’s hands. I hope he does not drop us.”
As the plane gained altitude, Hanley watched the gauges, searching for any indication of problems. “You don’t have any Canadian geese around here, do you?” he asked.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one,” Jumma answered.
Turning southeast, Hanley pointed the plane in the direction of the mission. “Jumma, if you watch out the window, you will soon see the mission beneath us. I will circle overhead so you will get a good look. Then we’ll be on our way to Ethiopia,” he said. Jumma did not appear to have heard Hanley, staring out the window at the earth falling away beneath them. Then he nodded twice and gave Hanley a thumb’s up, never taking his eyes off the scenery below. After another minute, Jumma pressed the small red button and said thank you, his eyes still fixed on what was passing below them.
The mission soon came up in the distance, looking small and isolated, grouped together along a light gray squiggle of road appearing out of nowhere, returning to the same. Hanley kept the plane at one thousand feet, knowing there were no altitude restrictions in southern Sudan. As they passed over the mission, Hanley dipped the wings of the Beech, circled the mission once, then, setting course almost due east, began the journey to Ethiopia. He heard the click of the headset being keyed and Jumma’s voice saying, “The mission buildings looked like papers scattered along the road. I could see the people, like tiny bugs crawling among the papers. If people look like bugs to me, what do they look like to God?”
“Dust, I imagine,” Hanley said.
The start of the flight to the Jimma University’s hospital in Jimma, Ethiopia, was uneventful, the day clear, the air smooth, little turbulence to bother Jumma on his first flight. Hanley’s first trip was to gather supplies and meet the people he would be dealing with in Jimma. “I’m afraid I’ll say Jumma and not Jimma when I’m there,” Hanley said, smiling.
“Just say JU and they will understand you mean Jimma University,” Jumma said.
“Would you like to attend JU?” Hanley asked.
“Maybe, I don’t know,” Jumma answered.
Southern Sudan turned somewhat greener as they moved eastward, part of the East Sudanian Savanna, a large dry wooded area. The As Sudd, a swamp during the rainy season, was dry. This was not what Hanley had expected. In preparing for his journey, he spent most of his time researching the political environment, not the ecological. He thought of all of Sudan as being more of a desert, which the northern half certainly was. The terrain turned even greener as they moved eastward.
The Beech felt good, the heaviness of the vibrations and noise balanced by the lightness of the plane lifted and carried through the air. There were few clouds, but much haze below, the earth beneath them masked by it, the greens and browns fading as they rose to altitude. The flight would be approximately two hours.
Once trimmed, the Beech was a remarkably stable plane, requiring, in good weather, little adjustment during a short flight. Hanley would be contacting the Jimma airport within the hour, maybe a bit longer. The flight was going well so far, Hanley thought.
***
They were scheduled to depart for Mapuordit just after 3:00 p.m. Hanley waited in the small private aviation terminal to escape the African heat. Jumma sat nearby, leafing through the C-45’s flight manual, turning each page slowly.
The heat was on everything, an invisible coating of high temperature. The tarmac in the African sun felt like he imagined a hot stove top might feel through his boots. Sitting inside the terminal gave little relief. A copy of the International Herald Tribune, discarded by someone, a passenger or pilot, maybe an American, allowed him to catch up on world events. Reading the headlines, Hanley felt a small amount of panic, a tightening in his chest, as he again realized how removed from his family he was. As he read, he occasionally looked out across the airfield, the image of distance hills and trees altered by the shimmer of the boiling air.
The events in the newspaper were of the normal kind; a multimillionaire became the world’s first space tourist, a war criminal surrendered to the police, a spacecraft was still heading to Mars. It was the same self-absorbed bullshit that covered the front of every newspaper everywhere. He looked back to the distant hills, the low slopes all a uniform dingy plum color, the deeply burnt grass and shrubs darkened a grey by the dirty air, dust swept up to form a constant veil through which Africa was seen. From Egypt to Botswana and South Africa, he knew the view would be the same; sitting in any airport, he would see this continent through a dusty lens, the distance as obscured as its future. Africa was appealing and grim at the same time.
***
The airfield at Akot was forty minutes out. Hanley would start the routine, try raising the mission at Mapuordit, never easy, but necessary. The need for vehicles at the Mission meant he could not leave one at the airstrip, resulting in a wait for a ride back to the compound, sitting in the heat somewhere; in the plane was out of the question, even though it provided the most security. There wasn’t that much danger, the shifting presence of the militia and rebels always an uncertainty. Knowing where they were was never an easy task, information was slow and came through the flow of refugees from the northwest. The mission experienced little in the way of direct contact, the one instance, the killing of the young girl near the clinic, the major exception, and it was major. Seeing the girl, her head destroyed by what was probably a stray bullet, sickened him, frightened him more than he could have anticipated. He wasn’t prepared for it, but how could he be? Had he been to Viet Nam, then maybe he would have been
ready. Kokomo had not prepared him for much, but this instance was understandable. Still, the disappointment lingered, the question he now had was would he be prepared for the next time.
***
“Well, how is my new aviator?” Sister Marie Claire asked Jumma as he walked past the mission chapel, carrying his notebook and an old backpack, one of his few personal possessions. Just having completed her evening prayer, the nun was waiting by the chapel entrance for one of the mission nurses, her evening’s dinner companion. She knew Jumma had just returned from Ethiopia with the American. “Did you enjoy your first flight?”
Stopping, Jumma looked at the nun, looked around as if afraid he would be heard and said, “Yes, in a way. Sister, when we were flying, when we were leaving the ground, Mr Martin did not look where we were going. And sometimes he would not steer the plane, would not even hold the steering wheel. If I am to fly with him, I would like him to be a more serious flyer. Maybe he thinks God is protecting him. But how does he know if God is protecting me?” the young man asked.
The worry in Jumma’s face was genuine. The nun saw this and, for a second, controlled her reaction, then tilted her head back and laughed. The laughter surprised the young man for a second, then a smile spread across his dark face. Taking his face in both her hands, she said, “I will talk with the reckless American tomorrow. This is not America, Jumma, is it? He had better watch where he goes in Sudan.”
“Yes, I think that would be better,” Jumma said.
12
The rash, now two days old, stretched from his ankle almost to his knee. With his pant leg pulled up, Hanley examined, then scratched the area lightly, making it itch worse than it had before. “You should have a doctor look at that,” Dr Dzyak said.
Sitting on the small porch near his room, Hanley watched as people moved about the compound, the Saturday evening air cooling quickly, white smoke curling above the fires around the mission, the smell of dinner lingering, children crying or murmuring as they played. The laughter of children in Sudan was different, Hanley thought; it had a subdued tone to it, still laughter, but not as free, not as freely given as the children in Indiana. He thought he heard Jumma’s voice nearby. He had not seen Jumma since early in the afternoon, when he and another young man took the Range Rover to Juba for bottled water. After dinner, Hanley and the older Slovakian doctor, Dr Dzyak, sat on the little box porch and drank Hanley’s whiskey from dirty glasses, smudged with prints after being twirled in their dust-covered fingers for almost an hour. Hanley was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol, the ringing in his ears now more pronounced, his neck muscles more relaxed, an odd combination, Hanley thought.
Sometimes the Darkness Page 11