Seeing the landing lights of the approaching DC6 through the control tower window, the controller announced in a matter-of-fact tone, “De wind es tree four zero at five zero knots. De peak gust es now sixty-three.”
“Holy cow, sixty-three knots of wind!” exclaimed Lars.
“Runway at two o’clock,” announced John, calling his captain’s attention to the fact that the runway could be seen by looking out the right side of the windshield.
The amount of wind correction it took to keep the airplane centered on the localizer quickly became apparent when they saw that the runway was not out in front of them, but well off to the side.
As the DC6 neared the runway, Charles had to continually make control inputs. Some of his control movements were large while others were small. But regardless of which was necessary, every deflection of the controls required brute strength. And when his right hand was not needed on the control yoke, he used it to gently manipulate the throttles. His main goal was to keep the airplane’s nose pointed where he wanted.
One hundred feet above the runway, worn out from the effort, Charles was finally forced to say, “John, back me up on the controls.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said John as he placed his right hand on the control yoke. He wouldn’t make any inputs himself, he would only use his muscle to help his captain control the airplane.
Moments before touchdown, Charles pushed the right rudder pedal to the floor to align the nose of the airplane with the runway centerline, and at the same time he lowered the left wing and slowly pulled the throttles back on the number three and four engines. The higher power setting on the two left engines would help swing the nose to the right, exactly how the experienced captain had planned it.
The wild turbulence-induced gyrations continued right up until the airplane’s wheels touched the frozen pavement. A few seconds after the main wheels contacted the runway, Charles pulled all four throttles to idle and then placed the four propellers into reverse pitch to help slow the DC6 down.
As the airplane rolled to a stop, still buffeted by the high winds, John said, “Nice landing, captain.”
Charles did not respond. No one had to tell him, he knew it was a good landing, but enjoyed the accolades nonetheless. The captain did allow himself a few seconds to feel good about his handling of the ship through adverse conditions. But the ego enhancing good feelings only lasted for a short while because he knew they still had a long road ahead of them, with plenty of opportunities for failure.
Sixteen
“Grandpa, what happened next? Did they make it out of Iceland OK?” asked Lucy.
“I’m getting to that,” said Bill. But before he continued, he took a moment from the story to say to his wife, “It’s a pretty sunset tonight, don’t you think?”
The four were sitting on the back porch watching the world go by. Jack sipped a grape soda, while Lucy studied her flight manual. There was a light breeze blowing through the trees, and the crickets sang softly. An old bullfrog could be heard croaking from a small pond nearby, and they could hear the purr of a lawnmower from somewhere off in the distance. Darkness was approaching, and Bill knew the person was likely rushing, hoping to finish the job while there was still ample light. It was a perfect moment in time, and Bill took a sip of his beer, taking it all in. He was in no rush for Lynn to respond.
Lynn looked up from her needlepoint and said, “Yes, it certainly is lovely.” Her words hung in the cool evening air for a moment before she asked, “How long before ‘626 is ready to fly?”
“I think we’re getting close. I’d say within a week,” said Bill.
“What’s next, Grandpa?” asked Jack.
“You mean you haven’t had enough? I figured it was all over after almost giving you a haircut and scaring the heck out of your sister.”
“Yeah,” Jack laughed.
“You might notice that I’m not laughing,” stated Lucy, glancing up briefly from her book.
“You’re right, Lucy. It’s not funny,” said Bill, flashing a wink at his grandson. “Next on the agenda are a series of engine run-ups and taxi tests. We need to make sure the engine won’t quit at an inopportune moment, and that all of the flight controls work properly.”
“Yeah, we’d better make sure the ailerons work right, just in case there’s a strong wind like your dad had up in Iceland,” said Jack.
“True, but I think it would be best if we wait for a calm day for our first flight,” said Bill.
“Grandpa, how do you know so much about Mr. Tacker’s last flight with Pan Am? Did your father tell you all of this?” asked Lucy.
“Yes, he told me quite a bit of it. The rest I got from other sources.”
“Other sources? Like who?” queried Lucy.
“Oh, a little birdie told me.”
“Come on, Grandpa,” said Jack.
“Well, a lot of what I know came from Liesel Tacker, Mr. Tacker’s wife,” said Bill.
“Why would she tell you anything, Grandpa?” asked Lucy.
“Oh, she didn’t tell me. I heard it second hand.”
“Huh?” asked Jack.
Bill looked at Lynn with a curious grin. He wanted his wife to do some talking.
Lynn looked up from her tedious work and locked eyes with her husband. The two exchanged a loving smile, while Lynn read her husband’s mind. “Please continue, dear,” she said. “You’re doing just fine.”
“All right. Well, all I can say is that I doubt Mr. Tacker knows this. In fact, I myself only learned about it a few years ago. But the truth of the matter is that your grandmother and Liesel Tacker were good friends.
Seventeen
Captain Pratt cautiously taxied his four engine Clipper across the ice-cold, windswept ramp and then shut down the engines. Even with the brakes set and the wheels chocked, the DC6 buffeted incessantly on account of the ferociously high winds.
It was clear to all those present in the cockpit that the ramp would be a dangerous place to work. Though none said it aloud, not a one wanted to leave the safety of the airplane to venture outdoors. The fact that ten minutes earlier they’d all secretly wished to be on the ground and away from the airplane never even entered their minds.
“G.R., I don’t imagine it will take long for these engines to cool, so I’d like you to repair that Dell clamp on the number four engine. When that’s finished, go ahead and do the preflight inspection,” ordered Charles. “Asa, I’d like you to accompany me inside. John, I’d like you to arrange for our clearance to London and then do a little P.R. work with our passengers. And Lars, please prepare the cockpit for departure, keeping in mind that we will be using cold weather procedures.”
“Aye, captain,” replied Lars.
G.R. grabbed his tool box and bundled up as best he could before going outside. He opened the left forward door only a crack and was instantly blown backwards by the wind. “I’m getting too damn old for this,” he said, as he struggled back toward the door. After a few deep breaths, G.R. burst outside into the blustery weather and then walked briskly down the airstairs. He looked around, but the pitiless Icelandic snow made it nearly impossible to locate the lead ramp worker. The moment he spotted the person in charge, he pointed his body in that direction and hastily trotted across the ramp.
Screaming to be heard over the howling wind, G.R. said, “I’m going to need a ladder brought to the number four engine. And let’s get this bird refueled as soon as possible.”
The bundled up rampie didn’t say a word. She simply nodded her head and then disappeared into the darkened night and blowing snow.
Already feeling chilled, G.R. slowly made his way to the number four engine, cursing as loud as he could with each step.
As Charles and Asa stood in the front entryway preparing to brave the frigid temperatures, Liesel walked over and asked, “Captain, may I have a word?”
“Absolutely, Liesel,” he said, motioning her to step into the galley where they would be alone. “What is it?” he asked.
“Charles, whatever happened between us will always remain a secret. But I want you to know that I’d consider it a personal favor if you would overlook some of Mr. Tacker’s past blunders. He has only a short time left until his probation period is over and I’d hate to see the mistakes of others mess that up.”
“That’s a tall request, Liesel,” said Charles.
“Is it, Charles? Really?” she asked while thinning her lips and squinting her eyes.
Charles knew he was stuck. He momentarily frowned from having been backed into a corner. He nodded his head and said, “Liesel, your discretion is very much appreciated. And because I consider you such a good friend, I will overlook his past mistakes. However, I must say, if he causes any more trouble my hands will be tied. It’s simply a matter of him or me.”
“I understand, captain. That’s all I can ask,” she replied.
Charles and Asa struggled to walk in a straight line toward the main office. They were forced to tilt their bodies into the wind as they walked so they wouldn’t get blown away. In order to remain oriented, they aimed themselves toward two particularly bright spotlights mounted on the wall near the Pan Am operations office. As bright as the lights were, it was still difficult to navigate the two hundred and fifty-foot walk because the blinding snow was actually blowing sideways. The two stopped briefly to allow Charles an opportunity to provide the ambulance crew with instructions.
“I want you men to enter and exit via the aft door only,” he ordered. “In addition, I don’t want you keeping that door open any longer than necessary because the cabin will cool much too rapidly.”
The driver nodded, quickly rolled up his window, and then drove off toward the aircraft.
The only good thing about working in such treacherous conditions, as G.R. saw it, was that he was working on warm engines. After shutdown the big radials cooled rapidly, and it wasn’t long before he was able to touch the cylinders without fear of getting burned. And though he stood only inches away, G.R. also noticed that the wind was generating so much noise as it rolled across the flat plains of southwest Iceland, he was prevented from hearing the familiar cracking sound made by the cylinders as they cooled.
As all aircraft mechanics and flight engineers know, there is nothing more miserable than working on an airplane in frigid temperatures with exposed hands. G.R. told himself to be extra careful and avoid dropping anything to the ground, which would undoubtedly increase his risk of exposure.
It was a challenge for the senior engineer to stand on a ladder in such high winds. At one point the ladder nearly blew out from beneath him, but a young ramp worker who saw what was happening came by and stood on the first rung, allowing G.R. to finish the job. Since he couldn’t wear gloves to complete such delicate work, the warm engine served to make his life a little easier while performing his assigned duty. But he was also fully aware that the engine compartment would soon become a freezer, so G.R. worked rapidly and methodically.
Satisfied with a job well-done, G.R. gave the engine a visual once-over and then re-secured the engine cowling before climbing down the ladder. With his feet planted firmly on the ground, in a somewhat sheltered area between the engines, G.R. put his mouth to his helper’s fur-lined hood and yelled, “Thank you very much! I don’t think I could have done it without you!”
The worker simply nodded, unwilling to bother with words.
G.R tried to see his assistant’s face, but the snow and wind made it impossible. But oddly, even though the two were standing in hurricane force winds, G.R.’s nose detected the scent of perfume. Instantly, his eyes brightened.
“Can we get some coffee?” he yelled.
The young girl nodded and waved for him to follow. Quite unexpectedly, and much to his pleasure, G.R.’s day was looking up. It felt good to be on the prowl.
The captain and Asa entered the office, rubbing their arms and bodies trying to shake off the cold. Charles noticed the supervisor was on the telephone and quickly concluded that there was no time like the present to give Asa the bad news.
“Asa,” said Charles in a deep and foreboding voice. “I’m afraid I have some horrible news.”
Asa didn’t respond. He simply looked at his captain with inquisitive eyes.
“We received a call from New York that your father has been killed in an automobile accident. I’m very sorry,” said Charles, trying desperately to look Asa in the eyes, but finding he could not.
“What are you talking about?” asked Asa.
“That’s all I know,” said Charles.
“This is a mistake. It has to be,” asserted Asa, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I doubt they would have called us on the radio if they weren’t certain,” said Charles. “Now, if there is anything you would like me to do…”
“You’re full of shit!” shouted Asa, cutting off his captain. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
Charles glared at his subordinate in stunned silence. He expected the young man to be overcome with grief and uncertainty, but he never expected anger. Charles was more than a little taken aback. Though he wanted to say something, no words would come out. All he could manage was to turn his two palms up as if he was asking a question without using words.
“I don’t need you to tell me lies! Especially you. You ought to be ashamed of yourself! No one says things like that to me and gets to keep their teeth. Go ahead, Chuckles, put ‘em up. Put up your dukes! I will not strike an unprepared man!” shouted Asa.
His copilot’s threatening words caught Charles completely off guard. The quiet young man, who so often was described as innocent and shy, had instantly morphed into a raving lunatic. “Asa, please,” stuttered Charles, who actually feared he would be struck if he so much as raised one hand.
“Put ‘em up, Chuckles! You aren’t walking out of here with those pearly whites of yours,” shouted Asa.
Charles did the safest, non-confrontational thing he could think of: he sat down on the closest chair and stared up into his copilot’s eyes with a blank expression.
“Get up!” cried Asa. “Come on, get up!”
“Asa, I am truly sorry for your loss. But please, I implore you, try and get a hold of yourself,” pleaded Charles.
Asa stood firm with his fists tight, his legs spread slightly and with a strange, distant madness in his eyes.
“Asa, based on your quite unexpected reaction, I think it might be best if you remained behind here in Iceland. I will inform the company that you are not in the proper state of mind to fly as part of our crew. You can then fly home on the next Pan Am flight,” said Charles.
Asa did not respond. He dropped his fists and ran outside into the cold, snow-whipped night.
*
John conversed on the radio with the ground controller, trying to obtain their air traffic clearance. The man he was speaking with had one of the worst accents John had ever encountered. Each time John asked him to repeat something, the aging controller would yell louder and louder over the radio, making it that much more difficult to understand what the man was trying to say. After a while, he decided to take a short break and allow the controller to gather his thoughts. He turned to the junior engineer and said, “Lars, looks like they’ve just finished refueling us. Don’t forget to dilute the oil.”
“OK, John. I have to do a couple of things before I can get to it,” said Lars.
John was asking the flight engineer to dilute the oil with some fuel in order to thin it out. Doing so would increase the probability of achieving four successful engine starts in the extremely cold air. Radial engines are notoriously fussy when it comes to starting in cold weather and often require extensive warm-up periods before applying takeoff power.
Liesel entered the cockpit and sat in the left seat. “Boy, this has been a long night,” she said. “How are you holding up, John?”
“Oh, I’m fine, Liesel,” said John with a faint smile. “I could be having the worst day of my life,
but if you were nearby it would still be heaven.”
Liesel reached over and rubbed John’s hand. “I bet you say that to all the stews.”
“No, only one,” said John. “And I mean it.”
“After your nap in London, why don’t we have dinner?” suggested Liesel.
“Nothing could please me more,” said John.
Having heard quite enough of Liesel and John’s lovey-dovey conversation, Lars darted out of the cockpit. He arrived in the cabin just in time to see them carting Sonny’s body away via the aft entry door. He scurried back, hoping to get one last glimpse of his tormenter, seeking to prove to himself that the man was in fact dead. Lars held the door for the ambulance personnel and stared deeply at Sonny’s face. There was no doubt in his mind: Sonny’s terrorizing days were over.
In a hurry to escape the cold, Lars quickly secured the door. As he did so, something he’d just observed struck him. For some reason, Sonny’s neck appeared crushed and misshapen. He wondered how a heart attack could cause such an injury.
Lars didn’t know what to think. His mind was abuzz with activity. Is it possible that Sonny was killed? And more importantly, if he was, will I be next? The implications of a murder on board were far reaching. Lars placed his right palm over his jaw and massaged it back and forth, wondering how and when the nightmare he currently found himself in would end.
*
Marie hadn’t moved a muscle for nearly an hour. She whimpered a little when she heard the ambulance crew cart Sonny’s body off the airplane, mainly out of fear that she would be discovered before she had a chance to get away. She held her breath, believing that if the plane left Iceland she would be home free.
Dirk didn’t know what to do. He held her hand and tried whispering to her, but he just couldn’t break through. He knew something must have happened to cause such a change in his wife’s personality. She had become a different person. The thought of losing his bride so early in their marriage frightened him. Dirk told himself that he owed it to both of them to figure out what it was. If he could get to the bottom of it, the air would be clear and they could move on with their lives.
Sojourners of the Sky Page 13