My Name Was Five

by Heinz Kohler

  But I wasn’t overly worried. If all went as planned, I would reach Key West at sunset time, four hours before the front arrived. Above me right then, way up high, I only saw cirrus–patches of thin, white featherlike clouds moving in narrow bands and composed, no doubt, of ice crystals, some of which trailed down a great vertical extent in pretty wisps, called “mare’s tails.”

  By then I was established on Victor 267, passing Melbourne to my left and then Vero Beach and looking at Lake Okeechobee right in front. Crossing the center of the giant lake, I reached the Pahokee VOR (frequency 115.4 and code PHK) on its southern coast. Steering 157 degrees towards Miami, I looked in vain for West Palm Beach to my left–it was hidden under coastal clouds–but I could soon see the airports of Fort Lauderdale and then Opa Locka and, finally, Miami International. A right turn to 248 degrees put me on Victor 157, the final leg to Key West. Crossing Everglades National Park, I could see the Florida Bay and Key Largo to my left, but by the time I had intercepted the 037 degree radial of the Key West VOR (frequency 113.5 and code EYW) and had steered the inbound course of 217 degrees for a while, I could see nothing but clouds underneath and more clouds way above. Rainbow colors shimmered all around me as I flew in a cavernous hall in between two layers of clouds; it was a beautiful scene to behold. All was calm; the front was still far away. Below me, I knew, was the Gulf of Mexico and I would soon be on the ground. Someone must have been reading my mind.

  “November Eight Eight One Two Juliet, Miami Center, descend to maintain Four Thousand, contact Navy Key West Approach Control on One Two Four Point Four Five,” someone said.

  “One Two Juliet out of Eight for Four Thousand,” I replied and was soon enveloped in clouds.

  According to my stopwatch, I was about 25 miles northeast of Key West; it was time to make my way through the landing checklist. Just then I got the news I had been waiting for.

  “November Eight Eight One Two Juliet, Navy Key West Approach Control, radar contact. Key West International altimeter setting Two Niner Point Niner Two; Runway Two Seven in use, weather estimated Five Hundred scattered, One Thousand Five Hundred broken, Three Thousand overcast, visibility greater than Six, surface wind Three Hundred degrees at One Five, gusting to Two Zero; cleared NDB approach.”

  “One Two Juliet, cleared NDB approach,” I replied and tuned my Automatic Direction Finder to 332 kilohertz, the frequency of Fish Hook, Key West’s Non-Directional Beacon. I listened to the code:

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit .

  I was receiving FIS and changed my course towards the radio beacon. It occurred to me that I was then using the same technique that American bombers had used to find Berlin during the war.

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  Stray thoughts came to me as I was scanning my instrument panel: The non-directional radio beacon would give erroneous bearing information if there was lightning or precipitation nearby, but that wasn’t the case yet. And it was subject to annoying interference from distant radio stations at night, but the sun was still above the horizon, somewhere down there below the clouds. The carbon monoxide detector looked fine; I wasn’t being poisoned by an invisible gas. And the tachometer held steady in the green at 23.5, indicating 2,350 engine revolutions per minute, well below the do-not-exceed red line, and the little tachometer window told me that the airplane had flown a total of 3,041.7 hours since its birth at the Piper plant in Vero Beach. It was almost like a homecoming….

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  And then the ADF needle reversed itself! I was over the beacon at 4,000 feet. As the approach chart indicated, I turned outbound to 251 degrees and started my descent.

  “Navy Key West Approach Control,” I said,” November Eight Eight One Two Juliet outbound at Fish Hook, descending to maintain One Thousand Five Hundred.”

  “One Two Juliet, roger,” someone replied.

  I broke out of the clouds at 3,000 feet, just as predicted, and saw the broken layer below me, even glimpses of water sparkling in the evening sun. And then, suddenly, it happened: A large flock of giant birds surrounded the plane; they had come out of nowhere, it seemed, and disappeared just as fast, but I had seen who they were. I had encountered a group of pelicans at 1,800 feet!

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  Following the chart, I made my procedure turn at 1,500 feet, flying outbound 296 degrees in the middle of the broken layer of clouds, made a left turn to 116 degrees, and made my call.

  “Navy Key West Approach,” I said,” November Eight Eight One Two Juliet, procedure turn inbound, maintaining One Point Five.”

  “One Two Juliet, roger, Navy Key West Approach, contact Tower now on One One Eight Point Two.”

  By then I was established on the 071 degree course back to the Fish Hook beacon and, therefore, authorized to continue the descent. My heart was still pounding about those pelicans. They could have done me in.

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  “Key West Tower, November Eight Eight One Two Juliet, inbound NDB approach, out of One Point Five, descending to maintain Niner Hundred,” I said.

  “One Two Juliet, roger, Key West Tower,” came the reply, “enter left downwind Two Seven; wind Three Hundred degrees at Twenty-One, gusting to Three Zero. Caution: Birds in the vicinity of the airport.”

  “One Two Juliet,” I said calmly, but I didn’t like what I had heard. For one thing, the surface wind was steadily increasing, that Gulf of Mexico warm front was clearly coming my way. For another, what was I supposed to do about those birds? Besides flying with blazing lights to scare them away, there was nothing I could do.

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  As scheduled, I reached the beacon at 900 feet, now clear of the broken clouds, and I had the airport in sight, only partially hidden by a few scattered clouds between me and the ground.

  “Key West Tower,” I said, “November Eight Eight One Two Juliet at Fish Hook entering left downwind Two Seven.”

  “One Two Juliet, Key West Tower, report abeam the tower.”

  I finished my checklist. Fuel selector on fullest tank; bring back the yoke to slow the plane to 80 mph, trim the elevator to hold that speed; full flaps extended; fuel pump ON; carburetor heat ON. The ADF was still talking to me, ready for the unlikely event of a missed approach.

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  I stared at the chart. Runway length 4,801 feet, it said, field elevation 3 feet. I descended to 800 feet, the pattern altitude.

  “Key West Tower,” I said, “November Eight Eight One Two Juliet abeam the tower.”

  “One Two Juliet, Key West Tower, in sight, extend your downwind, three aircraft on final.”

  Flying east above the south shore, I watched the tower slip under my left wing, then the terminal building and the runway threshold with the big 27 painted on it, and I saw a first plane touch down. Ahead of me, once again, was the sea, now filled with white waves rolling before the wind, glittering in the final rays of the sun and, from my perspective, dotted with dozens of little cotton ball clouds at 500 feet. I saw the second plane slip under my wing, way down to the left, a mile out from the threshold, and then the third about a mile behind it.

  “One Two Juliet, cleared to land,” someone said.

  Reducing power, I turned left (and north) and flew right through one of those cotton balls at 500 feet. I turned left again (and now west) to line up with the runway then almost 2 miles away, and emerged below the lowest cloud to be instantly blinded by the fiery disk of the sun sitting right in front of me on the horizon line. I closed my eyes to escape the sun and BANG!

  The airplane shook and trembled; for a moment, the instruments became an unreadable blur and a hurricane filled the cabin with a deafening roar. I saw a gaping hole in the windshield to my right and I saw black feathers on my lap and long pieces of Plexiglas pointing towards me like swords. “Be careful, Hansel,” Aunt Martel had said. And we stumbled and tripped over so
ft yielding bodies with torn clothes, trying not to step on faces, blinking away a flood of tears…And around the corner, just next to the U-Bahn sign, there lay a figure, all doubled up, in a pool of liquid that was still feeding small bluish phosphorous flames. I saw a wedding ring glimmer on a charred hand.

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  And then I saw it: Once again, I hadn’t been flying with blazing lights to scare off the birds. My landing light was off; so were my two strobes, on the belly and at the top of the tail, allegedly brighter than the sun and supposedly designed to scare birds into an instant dive. What was the matter with me? “Keep the lights off!” my mother used to say. And the Street Warden told everyone in no uncertain terms to black out all windows at night, lest we give aid to the enemy. “We will have patrols in the street,” he said to my father, “and I assure you: If we see the slightest bit of light coming from your window, we will shoot into that window without warning!”

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  Entire sections of the city turned into a sea of flames, over a kilometer high. “The fires blazed so intensely,” Mrs. Wagner said, “those phosphorous flames suck all the oxygen from places nearby and you’d be stupid to go near them. And worse! About an hour after the all-clear, a huge wind came up, pushing 1,000 degree flames around like a hurricane.”

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  “Key West Tower, November Eight Eight One Two Juliet,” I said in the calm voice we had been trained to use, “two mile final, at Four Hundred, bird strike in windshield area.”

  “One Two Juliet, roger, wind Three Hundred degrees at Twenty-One, gusting to Three Zero, the runway is yours,” was the equally calm response.

  That sun in my eyes was driving me crazy!

  Someone pointed a bright light at my face. Then the front door slammed shut and I heard an army of heavy boots make their way down the stairs to the third floor, somewhat more quietly down to the second, and then I lost count.

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  And the lace curtains in my bedroom had rows of evil faces grinning at me. My mother said I only imagined them, but I knew better. A stream of dark figures flowed along the center of the street, with hundreds of torches held high and an eerie sound of drums. I went to get my mother, but she was angry. She put me back to bed, locked the balcony door, closed the curtains, and told me to keep things that way no matter what. The grinning faces came back again. This time, they had red, fiery eyes.

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  I was one mile out, still at 400 feet, turning left a bit to recapture the runway centerline, and I saw a flock of sea gulls ahead, perhaps ten of them, slightly below the aircraft, which climbed over them, and then another group silhouetted against the horizon, this time there were dozens at my altitude, and then there were hundreds. I couldn’t help it: I kept looking at the birds; they were so beautiful, I felt as if I was one of them. But then the aircraft shuddered and something went BANG! BANG! BANG!

  I saw houses in flames and helmeted firemen and soldiers in SS uniforms and Hitler Youths, all of them busily hauling corpses to the middle of the street, stacking them up, two, three, and four layers at a time, many of them charred beyond recognition, some reduced to half their normal size like some of the mummies I had seen in the Egypt exhibit near our school, others looking almost untouched, but overcome, perhaps, by carbon monoxide in some closed cellar nearby, but rapidly stiffening even then and beckoning us for help with claw-like hands….

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  And suddenly my yoke was stuck, I could not roll the plane back to the right, I could not move the plane’s nose up or down, but–lucky me–full right rudder did the trick. The airplane was again flying straight. It would be insane to make a go-around, I thought, no way will I go UP and circle the airport for another try when two of my flight controls are jammed. And then the engine just quit! There was silence; the propeller was wind milling in front of my nose. I raced through the emergency checklist in three seconds flat, but to no avail. In a fraction of a second, I knew I would never make it to the airport. I opened the cabin door and stuck the fat pillow in it, so the door wouldn’t jam and I wouldn’t get trapped. And I heard a voice; it must have been mine:

  “Key West Tower, Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, November Eight Eight One Two Juliet, negative aileron control, negative elevator control, engine failure, ditching short of runway Two Seven.”

  Then I turned off the Master Switch and killed the smallest chance for a spark. I don’t remember what happened next.

  Someone had a flashlight and we watched its little circle of light move to the ceiling, catching clouds of tiny particles in its beam, examining the iron plates, still holding, probing the columns of steel, still standing, their red paint turned white from all the dust. There was a loud crack of wood splintering, then the thunder of more walls collapsing, taking another part of our house down with a roar, and stacking another pile of masonry on top of us. The air seemed acrid, even smoky– I had forgotten the gas mask, I suddenly thought–I felt a gritty mess on my teeth, my nose turning raw. Panic rose within me, choking me at the throat. And a paralyzing thought flashed through my mind: What if they use the flamethrower to kill the maggots and the rats and the flies, as they often did before digging out the dead, when we aren’t dead yet?

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  The ravens were still cursing as the grave digger flung the dirt into the open graves. I thought of the promised resurrection of the flesh, but my mind gave me images of beetles and maggots doing their work, leaving nothing but belt buckles and bones and buttons of uniforms, carrying tiny inscriptions, “God With Us.” Just then, right on schedule, the church bells pealed above us, sending a large flock of pigeons aloft into sky, their wings resonating like the voice of God.

  Dit dit dah dit dit dit dit dit dit.

  And they pointed a pistol at Jutta. Three of them dragged her out of sight, but I could hear them yell and her cry. One soldier decided to rest the barrel of his rifle at the center of my forehead. I felt the cold metal and I saw him grin and stare at me, without mercy, with those fiery eyes of hate. I felt my heart in the middle of my throat, beating away the last seconds of my life… Time stood still. I felt a colony of ants meandering across my feet. I heard crows fretting and shrieking in the branches of pine trees above, complaining about us who had disturbed their lives.

  I crawled out of the plane and waded to the shore. The water felt so warm. And there were seagulls circling overhead. They were my favorite birds.

  Appendix: NTSB Accident Report

  National Transportation Safety Board

  14 CFR Part 91: General Aviation

  Accident occurred May 23, 1991 at KEY WEST, FL

  Probable Cause Approval Date: 7/17/1992

  Aircraft: PA 28-180, registration: N8812J

  Injuries: 1 Minor

  Following an instrument flight from Norfolk, VA, the pilot-in-command executed an NDB approach to Key West International. While in a left descending turn from base to final, and while passing through 400 feet mean sea level at an indicated airspeed of 80 knots, the pilot reported a bird strike in the windshield area, followed by debris in the cockpit. A succession of loud noises shortly thereafter suggested additional bird strikes elsewhere and was followed by instant loss of elevator and aileron control and subsequent total engine failure. The pilot had to apply full right rudder to keep the airplane from turning left and to stay aligned with the runway centerline.

  The pilot declared an emergency on a 1-mile final and, rather than risk putting an out-of-control aircraft onto the airport grounds, elected to ditch it in the ocean ¼ mile short, and slightly left, of the runway 27 threshold. The aircraft touched down in a flat attitude, nosed over, and came to rest in an inverted position near a rock island. The pilot sustained minor injuries, consistent with the windshield shattering, and walked to shore.

  Aircra
ft: According to the FAA inspector at the scene, the aircraft sustained substantial damage. He found the aircraft inverted in shallow waters with the nose approximately 70 degrees below the horizon and buried in sand up to the accessory case which is located on the rear of the engine. The engine had separated from the firewall. The engine cowling was located 10 feet from the engine. A quarter of the windshield was recovered; a bird was found on the rear seat and retained for identification. The cabin door was found about 40 feet in front of the fuselage; neither the handle nor the lock plunger was in the “locked” position.

  The nose and main landing gears were broken. The vertical stabilizer and bottom of the fuselage were found buckled, as was the firewall near the nose landing gear. Both propeller blades were twisted and bent in the opposite direction of rotation. There was spar damage to the right wing and a foot of the right aileron was missing. There was a dent in the left wing’s leading edge and another in the left horizontal stabilizer. Sea gulls were found entangled between the left wing and the left aileron, locking it into the up position; additional sea gulls were jammed between the vertical stabilizer and the elevator. The wing flaps were undamaged and in the landing position. The fuel selector was positioned to the fullest tank and a post-crash examination of the tanks revealed adequate, uncontaminated fuel aboard.

  Inspection of the engine after recovery revealed that a seagull had been drawn into the carburetor air box and was blocking the air intake to the carburetor. In addition, numerous feathers had become trapped between the needle and seat assembly in the carburetor, cutting off the flow of fuel to the cylinders. Finally, the butterfly valve in the carburetor heat box had broken off, slid back into the carburetor opening, and blocked the airflow. Any one of these events would explain the complete loss of power experienced by the pilot.