The Last Flight

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

  Out the bottom corner of the windshield, Shultz could see Steiner and the men carrying a second litter patient from the wreckage. He debated his options for the tenth time in as many minutes.

  Emergency procedures stipulated an immediate reduction in power to get the engine temperature back to normal or shutting down the engine before serious damage occurred. Either option meant aborting the mission and abandoning the survivors.

  He didn’t care about the repercussions of violating regulations. Keeping his crew and the survivors safe was the only consideration. If the engine was fine and sending information through a faulty gauge, the risk was no greater than before. If the temperature was accurate, the risk could be fatal. He knew what he should do, but the choice wasn’t what he wanted to do.

  “Be ready on the cable shear switch,” Shultz instructed. He glanced sideways to ensure Ferguson moved his hand near the covered switch on the center console. A second switch on the hoist control box could be used by Bril if the primary failed.

  “The temperature is still climbing,” announced Ferguson. He watched the gauge intently.

  Shultz seemed to ignore the comment. “Is the patient in the basket yet?”

  “Almost, sir. Another minute.”

  Judgment finally got the better of Shultz. This is insane. What the hell am I thinking? “Bring the basket up, Bril. Right now.”

  Bril could see Steiner and the others only a few feet from the cable. There was a moment’s hesitation before he responded. The hoist began winching in the slack just as Steiner kneeled and lowered his end of the litter on the basket. Bril immediately stopped the hoist.

  “The litter’s on the basket. I can’t bring the cable up until the patient’s secure.”

  Shultz was about to have Ferguson advise Steiner they needed to abort when Connor’s voice broadcast over the FM radio.

  “Evac one-one-four, nine-two-seven has you in sight. I’ll do a slow pass overhead. I want a good look at the area.”

  “Acknowledge him and tell Steiner to abort,” Shultz Instructed. “Bril, bring in the basket when they’re clear.”

  “Roger, nine-two-seven,” Ferguson stated. He attempted contacting Steiner, without success. The emergency radio was inside his vest pocket and couldn’t be heard below the roar of the helicopter’s engines.

  On the ground, Steiner moved quickly and had the patient secured in the basket in under a minute. He failed to notice Bril’s attempts at getting his attention.

  “The patient is secure. I’m bringing the basket up.”

  Christ! Thought Shultz. They were committed now. “As quickly as you can Bril.”

  “The weight’s off the ground. Five feet …”

  A bearing in the number two engine finally failed under the heavy demands of the mission. The bearing should have been replaced during a previous engine inspection, but evidence of excessive abrasion was missed by an inexperienced, overworked mechanic and a supervisor distracted by an ongoing divorce.

  The Teflon coating around the bearing, already worn down during a hundred previous flight hours, was too thin to be effective. The exposed metal became hot, increasing the temperature of the lubricating oil, causing the caution light to illuminate. Eventually, the bearing became hot enough, the core split into multiple pieces. Metal ground against metal, squealing in protest. The engine lost power, the turbine stopped turning, and the helicopter was left with only half its capability.

  Steiner and the others were almost back to the wreckage when a change occurred in the sound of the helicopter engines. The men accompanying him didn’t notice or couldn’t comprehend the significance. Steiner did. He turned around in alarm.

  A variation in engine noise was barely recognizable in the cockpit. An immediate change in the engine instruments was. The number two engine’s power, or torque, decreased rapidly. The other engine automatically compensated. In a split second the functioning engine reached maximum power, attempting to maintain the high demand of continued flight. The attempt was unsuccessful. A warning horn blared over the intercom and warning lights flashed on the instrument panel.

  There was minimal time to react. Shultz quickly focused on the instruments, confirming the loss of power as he sensed the helicopter descending. The predicament was exactly what he hoped would never occur.

  The patient was twenty feet above the ground when the helicopter’s engine failed. Bril felt the change and immediately reversed the hoist. In an instant, he realized the load was falling with the helicopter and moving too fast. He tried bringing the basket up again.

  “Where’s the load?” Ferguson demanded. His thumb flipped up the protective cover on the cable shear switch. He didn’t want to cut loose until the patient was on the ground.

  Bril answered immediately. His quick reaction and the helicopter’s own descent had set the basket back on the ridge with only minimal force.

  “Cable’s on the ground. Hit the shear switch!” He moved his finger on the control box at the same time, ready to duplicate the action if the cockpit switch failed.

  A pressure cartridge in the hoist assembly activated instantly, shearing the cable cleanly as soon as Ferguson toggled the switch. He moved the knob three times in rapid succession, but once was enough.

  “Cables free! Go! Go!” Bril yelled. He watched the ground getting closer by the second. Thirty feet of altitude was already gone.

  The length of cable was still falling when he was thrown sideways. Only his safety harness and his arm instinctively grabbing the doorway kept him from being tossed outside.

  Steiner stared, transfixed by the movement of the helicopter. He watched as the loss of power caused the heavy machine to spasm, then catch itself and hang in midair before falling. The basket remained suspended below, at the mercy of the thin metal cable as the assembly lurched and began swinging, falling with equal speed.

  Incredibly, the basket slowed just before impact and slid onto the hard ground with barely a bump. Steiner was dumbfounded, certain the patient would be killed by the fall. A second later the cable sheared and snaked wildly in the wind as the frayed end fell earthward. The hook, still attached to the harness on the basket, bounced off the side of the frame and landed sideways. The rest of the cable landed nearby, barely missing the patient.

  The event seemed to occur in slow motion even though the entire incident took only seconds. The rescue basket lay safely upright on the ground as the helicopter disappeared over the side of the ridge. Steiner hesitated and then ran toward the immobile patient still strapped safely inside.

  Mildred had been leaning over her husband, checking his air splints when the engine lost power. Startled by the loud warning signal and abrupt movement, she fell back in her seat. The hurried commands from the crew and sudden yaw of the helicopter terrified her. All she could do was stare and hold on tight.

  Shultz pushed in right cyclic as soon as the cable sheared, simultaneously kicking in more right pedal to swing away from the ridge. The helicopter slid over the outer edge of the mountain and turned sharply, dropping nose down and accelerating into the expanse above the glacier. The tail boom missed the rocks by only a few feet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “On my command, shutdown the number two engine!” Shultz’s voice was forceful, edged with only a hint of anxiety and sounding more assured than he felt.

  Ferguson grabbed the engine power control lever on the overhead console. His voice became more excited. “Number two engine identified.”

  A quick glance by Shultz confirmed the position. “Pull the power control lever and shut off the fuel.”

  Ferguson did as instructed. The procedure was routine after reacting to dozens of similar emergencies in flight simulators. But the tension he felt certainly was not. His adrenaline increased faster as they descended toward the crevice-scarred glacier below.

  Shultz maintained the helicopter’s airspeed at forty knots to maximize lift. Keeping the torque at the top of the normal range, he used the slow airspeed
and available altitude for a controlled descent to the valley floor.

  With one operational engine, the helicopter only had sufficient power to maneuver and land at a lower altitude. The thought of flying back to the airfield was dismissed. He was uncertain of the extent of damage and the distance was too great a risk. Getting the helicopter on the ground was the immediate priority.

  Shultz adjusted the helicopter’s attitude for a more gradual descent. The rate was hopefully enough to distance themselves from the jagged glacial ice field and rough mounds of deposited moraine. The maneuver also provided the crew with more time to evaluate their predicament and to coordinate a rescue attempt with the other helicopter.

  After his initial flash of panic at the thought of being thrown clear of the helicopter, Bril managed to swing the boom inside and close the sliding door. He breathed in deeply before taking his seat, nodding to Mildred, who was as wide-eyed as an owl. He motioned for her to fasten her seat belt and forced a smile in an act of reassurance. From her expression, she would most likely be driving a car from now on.

  “We’re okay back here. Thought I was a goner for a second.” Bril was going to comment on needing a clean pair of underwear when he realized the pilots were busy enough without listening to his inane comment. Instead, he began thinking of the survivors left on the ridge.

  Shultz began looking for a level place to land. Even though the immediate danger had passed, he remained tense. His legs were cramped from the strain of hovering over the ridge and sweat had soaked through his undergarments into his flight suit.

  He couldn’t help but second-guess his decision to stay over the ridge. His stubbornness had almost cost them their lives. Hindsight aside, self-evaluation could often be the harshest critic. Shultz knew the loss of the engine and near fatal crash were because of his own poor judgment. He also knew chastising himself was only going to make the situation worse. With their Black Hawk out of commission, Connor and the old, outdated Huey were the only option remaining.

  Almost on cue, the radio barked an acknowledgment. “Evac one-one-four? Joe, how you doing? Everything all right?”

  Connor was less than a quarter mile away when he saw the medevac helicopter dive away from the ridge. From the abrupt maneuver and sight of the rescue basket and cable lying on the ground, he realized they must have lost power. There was nothing he could do but watch. Only when he was certain they were out of danger did he break radio silence.

  “I’ve got the radio,” Shultz told Ferguson. He wanted to talk to Connor himself.

  “We’re doing okay, Gil. The number two engine crapped out. No power at all. We had to cut the hoist and break off. We still have single engine power, but the output isn’t enough to keep us flying safely much longer. We’re coming down slow. Still plenty of altitude to find a landing spot. You get a look at the crash site?”

  There was a delay before he answered. “Yeah, I did. I think I might be able to get in there. I need some help though. A couple more sets of eyes would be useful.”

  “I hope you’re right. I didn’t see a suitable place on the ridge I’d want to try, especially in this weather. But you’ve got a smaller helicopter.”

  Connor ignored the comment. “I’m staying up high to talk to eight-three-zero. There’s a small airstrip on the east side of the river, about five miles ahead of you. The dirt runway is just inside the tree line, about a hundred yards south of where the larger drainage joins the next valley. The ground is nice and level and small bush planes sometimes use the site during hunting season. Can you make it?”

  Shultz stared ahead at the location Connor described. “I think so. What have you got in mind?”

  “Eight-three-zero and I will meet you on the ground. I’ll brief you there.”

  Ferguson looked at Shultz with obvious skepticism. “You think he can really land on the ridge?”

  Shultz didn’t answer at first. His face reflected a blank expression before frowning with concern. “Maybe. There was a time I wouldn’t have doubted him.”

  “And now?” Ferguson asked.

  Shultz thought for a moment, keeping his eyes focused outside. “I don’t know. He’s older now, not exactly at the top of his game. Only he knows if he’s still as good as he used to be.”

  In a moment of reflection, Shultz recalled past stories other pilots told of Connor’s exploits in Vietnam. Following the war, his reputation grew even more. Somehow Connor managed to build an impressive legacy, even with his personal life in shambles. Most of his career was ancient history now, forgotten or overlooked by a new generation of pilots. To most of them he was a relic of another era, an old horse past his usefulness who should’ve been put to pasture years ago.

  In the past, Shultz would never have questioned Connor’s ability. Now, he wasn’t sure. He still had doubts, but he kept them to himself. He wondered if the combination of man and machine, in this case Connor and an equally outdated helicopter, were good enough to accomplish what needed to be done.

  The soon to be retired UH-1 Huey helicopters were underpowered, under-equipped, and over-extended for the demands of modern aviation. At the high altitude necessary for a successful rescue, Connor’s Huey would be at the limit of its capability. Factoring in the dangerous wind conditions, the idea of trying seemed unrealistic. The unknown was the ability of the pilot at the controls. Was Connor’s skill in the air still sharp, or diminished by age? Much like the machine he was flying, no one could argue he was well past his prime. Any attempt at rescue could be a recipe for disaster.

  Shultz couldn’t stop Connor from trying. Allowing members of his crew and the survivors to participate in the same risky attempt was a different story. If the risk was too extreme or the chance of success too small, he could insist they wait and not place their lives in greater jeopardy. Silence or unwillingness to object to Connor’s attempt could reflect directly back on Shultz.

  Shultz pondered his options, finally deciding the chance was worth taking. He would support Connor as much as he could, for now. He didn’t dwell on the consequences of failure but instead on the hope of achievement. Some of the survivors would surely die if they were left at the crash site. An attempt at getting them off the ridge seemed just as risky as leaving them there on their own.

  “You’ve got control of the radios. Advise Steiner what’s going on.” Shultz relinquished the communications back to Ferguson. “I’m sure he’s wondering what happened. Tell him Connor will attempt a landing on the ridge and to have the survivors ready.”

  Ferguson did as instructed. He reached Steiner on the second attempt, explaining the situation as simply as possible. Steiner took the news in stride, as he always did, equally prepared to remain for days, if need be, or leave on a moment’s notice. His priority was the safety of the survivors, nothing more, nothing less. Ferguson was amazed at his calm demeanor.

  The ridge first appeared unsuitable for landing when Connor flew over. The rough ground was too uneven, full of obstructions and far too small. On his second pass over the site, however, he saw a possible location.

  An opening in the rocks near the forward side of the wreckage, several yards ahead of the port wing, appeared large enough. The space was just wide enough to position the skids on the ground without the rotor blades hitting the surrounding obstructions.

  The uneven surface was another concern. The intended landing area sloped back and to the side, allowing little margin for error. Only the main fuselage of the helicopter would fit. The entire tail boom, half the length of the helicopter, would have to hang over the ridge with the wind quartering at a sharp angle. The positioning was risky, maybe too risky, but Connor was willing to try.

  With the weather worsening every minute, Connor contemplated landing on the ridge by himself. The recurring pain told him to reconsider. His physical discomfort and the need for another set of eyes to help align the helicopter between the rocks was enough for a temporary delay.

  The turbulence continued pounding the helicopter, hamm
ering the already strained muscles along Connor’s spine as he flew north. The pain was intense. Age and disease were collecting their debt. The distractions were requiring all his willpower to maintain control.

  Masking the tortured beating he was enduring became harder and harder when talking on the radio. Limited time remained before his body collapsed from the repeated stress. He needed a break from flying, and fast.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Lower in the valley, away from the higher slopes, there was less turbulence pounding the helicopter. The winds were more predictable, maintaining a consistent direction and velocity. The funneled air currents and vertical bursts of wind lost intensity as they spread over the flatter terrain of the valley, allowing a smoother descent into the river basin where Shultz intended to land.

  “I think I see the landing area ahead at one o’clock, about a half mile.” Ferguson pointed at a spot in the distance. “Looks like plenty of gravel bars in the area we can land on, too.”

  Shultz looked where he pointed. The dirt airstrip was visible as a narrow cut in the sparse timber on the east side of the drainage. At either end the runway widened into low growth spruce and willow bushes. “I see the opening. We still have plenty of altitude. No need to rush the approach.”

  A quick glance at the radar altimeter confirmed they were still fifteen hundred feet above the valley floor. As they continued their descent, both pilots realized Connor’s recommendation was probably the correct one. The dry riverbed they initially intended to land on was unsuitable. Gravel washouts, uprooted trees, and windblown mounds of sand had transformed the terrain into an uneven landscape. Some areas were still adequate for landing a helicopter under normal power, but they didn’t have that option. The one operational engine provided insufficient power for a standard approach. A long, relatively level surface was needed, allowing a faster touchdown speed.

  Bril remained silent during most of the descent, content to let the pilots handle the emergency. He kept switching his gaze from the lights on the instrument panel to the rising ground. Only after they were safely away from the glacier did he glance at Mildred. Visibly upset after the helicopter lost power, she seemed less distraught with each passing minute.