The Last Flight

by Liefer, Gregory P. ; Liefer, G P;

  “Not anymore,” Connor said with a choking voice. “My career is over. My personal life was over a long time ago. I’m not taking the chance I’ll never fly again.”

  Mayo hesitated before responding. He could see the determination etched in his friend’s face. The set jaw and rigid stare defined Connor’s resolve.

  “That’s your excuse? Bullshit! Shut the helicopter down and let’s talk this over. There’s plenty of time to speak with the commander and get his approval. He’ll understand.”

  Connor shook his head solemnly. There was no way he was changing his mind. Unwilling to explain his true intentions, he offered a partial explanation.

  “No way. I’m off flight status, permanently grounded. My pilot days are over. The commander will never let me fly by myself or even be at the controls with another pilot. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you won’t change my mind. Taking the helicopter is the best option. I’m doing this on my terms.” Connor pulled the door closed and nodded a final farewell.

  Mayo stepped back. There was nothing he could do, short of trying to drag his friend out of the helicopter by force. He reluctantly moved away, convincing himself to trust Connor and hope he came back safely. In his gut, he knew differently.

  As the helicopter lifted, Mayo turned. He shielded his eyes from the rotor wash, watching as the helicopter floated in a smooth motion over the tarmac, disappearing around the hangar. He stood there for some time, even after the sound of the engine faded across the airfield.

  Connor was irritated at Mayo even though he was trying to help. Why couldn’t he have stayed in the hangar? The confrontation only made the situation worse. He hovered at a moderate pace toward the takeoff pad, putting his emotions aside. In the air he didn’t need any distractions. His plan would be carried through to the end.

  “Wainwright ground, Army …,” Connor paused while checking the placard with the aircraft number on the instrument panel. “Nine-two-seven, east side of hangar three for south departure.”

  Almost immediately, a voice with a slight southern twang responded. “Roger, nine-two-seven. Taxi into position on pad three and hold for a zero-six-zero departure. Winds are one-two-five at five knots, altimeter three-zero-one-two. Contact tower when ready for departure, over.”

  Connor did as instructed, anticipating the change in wind direction as he hovered over the pad and aligned the helicopter in the direction of takeoff.

  “Tower, nine-two-seven is in position on pad three, right crosswind departure to the south.”

  A different, lower voice responded this time. “Roger, nine-two-seven. Right crosswind departure is approved. Call exiting the surface area.”

  Connor adjusted the flight controls for a steep climb away from the helipad. After passing through a hundred feet, he banked right on a southerly heading, maintaining a steady climb. At twelve hundred feet he pushed the nose forward to gain airspeed and reduced power, smoothly leveling the helicopter at the desired altitude. Directly ahead and approximately fifty miles away, the high mountains of the Alaska Range were visible as a wall of chiseled peaks stretching across the horizon.

  Connor crossed the Tanana River south of Fort Wainwright, surprised no one had attempted to call him on the radio with instructions to return to the airfield. His surprise was short lived, however, for no sooner had the thought occurred, then the FM radio barked through his headset.

  “Nine-two-seven, Operations, over?” There was a slight pause before the voice continued, becoming more excited each time. “Nine-two-seven, Operations, over? Nine-two-seven, this is Operations, please respond, over?”

  Connor recognized Sergeant Jackson’s voice but chose to ignore him. Answering would only lead to more questions he was in no mood to answer. Captain Hiroldi or Lieutenant Hovan probably directed Jackson to attempt contact, which was confirmed a moment later when Lieutenant Hovan’s voice chimed in.

  “Nine-two-seven, this is Lieutenant Hovan. You are instructed to return to the hangar immediately. Do you copy, over? Nine-two-seven, do you copy, over? Mister Connor, bring the helicopter back to the hangar, now. That’s an order! Mister Connor, this is …”

  The lieutenant wasn’t used to someone ignoring his instructions. His voice increased a few decibels in frustration after each sentence. Connor selected another frequency on the FM radio, cutting off Hovan as he spoke.

  There was no benefit in responding or listening any further to the radio. Explaining himself would only inflame the situation. Not answering the calls might buy more time. He was about to change the frequencies on the other radios when the control tower operator broke in over the UHF. Apparently, the tower personnel had become aware of the unauthorized flight.

  “Nine-two-seven, Wainwright Tower, over? Nine-two-seven, Wainwright Tower, you are requested to return to the airfield immediately. Nine-two-seven, Wainwright Tower, do you copy, over?”

  Instead of turning the dial, Connor tried a different tactic. “Wainwright Tower, this is nine-two-seven, you’re coming in broken and unreadable. I’m clear to the south. Have a nice day.” He selected a civilian frequency the military had no control over, hopeful the radio would remain silent.

  There was no turning back. Connor had no intention of changing his plan. He was pleased with the decision, although the subterfuge stayed fresh in his mind. The lying had bothered him at first. Now he found the deceit easier to push aside. His desperate course of action would be carried through to the end.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ferguson put on his flight helmet and survival vest before strapping himself into the left cockpit seat. Bril stood outside the door, slightly to the front and side with his helmet visor down, and plugged into the intercom system by an external cord. He held a small fire extinguisher at the ready. Less than three minutes had passed since leaving the operations office.

  “Clear!” Ferguson yelled. He waited for confirmation from Bril before switching on the APU.

  A sound of rushing air briefly filtered through the cockpit, followed by a high-pitched whine as the small engine came to life, powering the helicopter’s electrical and hydraulic systems. The four-bladed rotor system remained motionless, requiring power from the main engines before being engaged.

  Army regulations required two pilots in the cockpit for all engine starts and flight operations. Because of a separate power control for each engine, the UH-60 was considered an advanced aircraft. One pilot was easily capable of starting both, but in case of an emergency, safety dictated two pilots be in the cockpit to handle independent switches and controls.

  Ferguson went through the checklist just short of starting the engines. He then turned on the radios and informed operations he was standing by.

  Bril remained outside, waiting for the other members of the crew. Sergeant Steiner soon approached with his jacket tucked tightly under his arm. He reached the sliding cargo door and grabbed a second fire extinguisher, positioning himself on the side opposite Bril where he could watch the starboard engine. Shultz exited the hangar a moment later carrying a sheet of paper in his hand. He hurried at a fast walk, moving around the nose to the side of the cockpit.

  Medevac helicopters were configured differently than other UH-60 Black Hawks. Because of the specialized mission, each helicopter was only fitted with two seats in the passenger/cargo area behind the cockpit, one for the medic and the other for the crew chief. Both seats faced the rear, aligned with the gunner windows. The bulk of the rear area contained a large, rotating carousel, capable of holding up to six litter patients, three on each side.

  In flight, the carousel was turned sideways between the sliding doors, allowing more space for the medic to monitor the patients. On the ground, the carousel could be rotated forty-five degrees, allowing easier loading and unloading through the cargo doors.

  Although the UH-60 had a larger capacity and roomier interior than the older UH-1 helicopter, space was still tight. With the carousel installed, there was barely enough room for mounting a res
cue hoist inside the right cargo door. The remaining space was filled with medical equipment and survival gear.

  “Evac one-one-four, Flight Operations, over?” Sergeant Donovan’s voice crackled over the radio.

  Ferguson immediately keyed the transmit switch on his cyclic control. “Go ahead, Ops.”

  “I have the RCC on the phone with additional information if you’re ready to copy?”

  Grabbing a pencil out of the shoulder pocket of his flight suit, Ferguson opened the trifold flaps of his kneeboard to a blank note page. “Ready, go ahead.”

  Shuffling papers could be heard in the background as Donovan continued. “A satellite picked up another set of coordinates further south than the previous two. The location is still on the glacier feeding into the East Fork of the Little Delta River. A triangulated position using the three coordinates is as follows …”

  Opening the cockpit door, Shultz grabbed his helmet and gloves from the seat and slipped them on before donning his nylon mesh survival vest hanging on the armor plating. He noticed Ferguson writing on his kneeboard and plugged into the intercom, remaining silent while positioning himself in the seat.

  Sergeant Donovan’s voice could be heard passing a series of latitude and longitude numbers over the radio. The message ended as Schultz finished strapping himself in.

  “We have a better location on the ELT signal,” Ferguson explained after confirming Shultz was plugged in. “The RCC triangulated a fix further south. I entered the coordinates in the GPS. The engines are set for start if you’re ready?”

  “I’m ready,” Shultz replied, verifying the medic and crew chief were in position with fire extinguishers on opposite sides of the helicopter. “I have the controls, you start the engines.”

  “Roger, number one clear?”

  “One is clear!” Bril yelled back, signaling with a raised arm.

  Ferguson pushed the start button for the left engine on the overhead console, keeping his hand close to the power control lever. He monitored the clock and system gauges on the instrument panel as the start sequence was initiated.

  “Blades are turning,” announced Shultz.

  Repeating the same start procedure on the number two engine, Ferguson carefully watched the engine gauges for a malfunction, only diverting his eyes when both engines indicated a normal start.

  Bril and Steiner moved along opposite sides of the fuselage, checking inside the engine cowlings for fire or leaks before repositioning inside.

  Ferguson pushed the engine power control levers forward until they were at full RPM. The noise from the powerful engines increased dramatically, shaking the airframe and hangar windows as the sound reverberated off the tarmac.

  “Everyone secure?” Shultz asked, directing the question at no one in particular but expecting a response from each of them. When each verified they were safely buckled in, he called the control tower for takeoff clearance.

  “Wainwright Tower, Evac one-one-four is on the north side of hangar six. Request present position, two-four-zero departure over the taxiway. Left crosswind to the south.”

  Shultz didn’t wait for a reply and handed the controls off to Ferguson, motioning for him to bring the helicopter to a hover. Aircraft with Evac call signs had priority as long as the departure didn’t conflict with traffic. The controllers were accustomed to medevac helicopters departing without a flight plan, so not having one on file wasn’t a concern.

  The tower responded indifferently. “Evac one-one-four, cleared as requested. You have a slight tailwind. Winds are out of the southeast at five knots. Altimeter is three-zero-one-two. No other traffic reported in the area. You’re cleared to change frequencies at your convenience. Have a safe flight.”

  Shultz thanked the controller while cocking his head to look at the instrument panel. All engine and system indications were normal. Ferguson held the helicopter at a stabilized hover, waiting for confirmation.

  “Takeoff check is good. Let’s rock and roll.”

  “Clear on the right—clear on the left,” the voices of Steiner and Bril announced in sequence over the intercom.

  “On the go.” Ferguson pulled the collective higher, increasing power in a steep climb, simultaneously applying forward cyclic to lower the nose and increase speed over the taxiway. He smiled, glad to be flying again.

  Fourteen minutes after receiving the first call from the RCC in Anchorage, Evac 114 passed the Tanana River on a course for the Alaska Range. The crew settled in as the helicopter cruised comfortably at 130 knots, holding a level altitude two thousand feet above the ground.

  Shultz called in a flight plan to the local Flight Service Station before briefing the crew on the latest weather and ELT coordinates.

  “All right guys, this is what we know, which isn’t much. The RCC plotted three fixes off an ELT signal deep in the Alaska Range. The terrain is probably distorting the signal, so the location could be off by a few miles. Once we get closer, we should be able to pick up the signal on our radio and hone in on the source. If not, we’ll have to conduct a visual search.

  “At this point, we don’t know if a real emergency exists. Could be a signal triggered by accident or plane crash. We have a twenty-five-minute flight each way, leaving a good two and a half hours of blade time on station. By then, the weather conditions might force us out of the area anyway. If need be, the backup crew can be called in to relieve us.”

  “Sir?” asked Bril. “Has there been a confirmed ELT signal in the area from other aircraft?”

  Shultz answered. “Nothing yet. A plane would have to be at a high altitude or within a few miles of the source. Otherwise, the terrain masks the transmission. And some bush planes don’t have the right type of radio to monitor the emergency frequency.”

  Steiner wasn’t thinking about a search mission as much as he was about possible survivors. His training as an emergency medical technician allowed him to handle almost any emergency. During his five years as a flight medic, he had treated a multitude of injuries, from vehicle accidents, plane crashes, gun shots, bomb detonations, drug overdoses and even a shark attack. The injuries covered a full spectrum from abrasions and broken bones to heart attacks and severed limbs. He never lost a patient and wasn’t sure if their survival was from luck, skill, or acts of God.

  The GPS mounted above the instrument panel showed a steady course toward the mountains. Ferguson kept a firm, yet gentle grasp on the controls, adding only subtle corrections every few minutes. He maintained a straight track over the ground, keeping a fixed reference point in the distance and periodically glancing inside at the GPS and directional indicator. Both engines were operating smoothly, carrying the helicopter easily through the autumn air.

  Shultz verified the external tanks were transferring fuel and the burn rate was normal. A VFR sectional chart was open on his lap as he plotted the coordinates, confirming the previous triangulation. Although he trusted his own and Sergeant Donovan’s ability to read a map, human error was always a possibility, and he wanted to double check the locations for accuracy.

  He studied the chart in more detail. The mountains surrounding the glacier were at a minimum of five thousand feet in elevation, with some of the peaks rising above seven thousand.

  Tracking the distress signal direct to the location was the easiest method but not always an option in the mountains. If the source couldn’t be verified from the coordinates, a systematic search would be required. Flying a grid pattern required an altitude high enough above the ground to maximize coverage, but low enough to spot wreckage or visual signals from survivors. The rugged terrain dictated constant variations in the helicopter’s flight path, making the process even more difficult and time consuming.

  The silhouette of an aircraft was the most obvious indicator of the crash location. Smoke or a reflection from a signaling mirror was the next noticeable sign. Otherwise, a glint of metal, strange shape, disturbed area on the ground or unusual contrast of colors was the only means of finding potential wre
ckage.

  Shultz was pleased with his decision on not adding extra fuel. Even though the UH-60 was an advanced helicopter, the engines still had limitations. Landing at high elevations required additional power, and hovering required even more. The increased power demand limited the maximum gross weight and altitude the helicopter could operate. The careful balance between available fuel and usable weight was always a calculated risk.

  The Black Hawk helicopter had audio alarms and a visual display of segment lights for alerting the crew of a malfunction. Rows of gauges provided indications for the engines and transmission, and other instruments showed navigation and flight information, all organized on the instrument panel and center console for easy viewing. Shultz and Ferguson scanned the systems periodically as a matter of routine, ensuring everything was operating correctly.

  Something caught Shultz’s eye. The temperature gauge for the number two engine was higher than the other engine. The vertical display bar was within normal range, but the disparity between the two seemed higher than before. He watched the temperature for a few minutes, finally convincing himself there was no noticeable change.

  Shultz adjusted his radio selector to call operations as the helicopter approached the foothills of the Alaska Range. Communication would be limited in the mountains, and he wanted an update on any new information while they could still make contact. Once inside the towering terrain, they would be isolated and alone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A gust of wind cut through the baggage compartment door, rustling Kwapich’s clothes and almost knocking the faded hat from his head. He pulled the sides snug around his thinning hair and struggled with the remaining luggage inside the small enclosure. The girls had left the larger bags they were unable to move. He positioned them near the door and then stacked the two empty kennels atop each other in the corner, freeing space around the pallet loaded with four canvas mail sacks.