The Last Flight

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

  Bril unbuckled his seat belt so he could talk to Mildred directly without interrupting the pilots over the intercom. He leaned forward and pulled the headset away from her ear. Speaking loudly over the drone of the engine, he explained the emergency and their intention of landing to assist another helicopter with the rescue. She seemed confused, then irritated as she motioned toward her injured husband. He assured her the situation was under control. She frowned and shook her head, wondering what else could go wrong.

  Shultz banked the helicopter on a downwind course for landing, bleeding off altitude and allowing more time to observe the area. The clearing was narrow and rutted with old tire tracks, only used by single-engine bush planes a few times a year. The width was barely big enough for the fifty-four-foot diameter rotor blades, but it would suffice as long as the helicopter didn’t slide more than a few feet to either side. Near the far end, the strip opened into a large turnout, twice as wide and big enough for the other two helicopters to land.

  “We’ll be okay. It’ll be tight though.” Shultz glanced over at Ferguson, who had his head turned, looking out the side window. “Any of the gravel bars look like a better option?”

  Ferguson turned back to face the cockpit. “Too many obstructions. Looks like the landing strip will have to do.”

  “Then the strip it is. I’ll extend the downwind leg to set up a better approach angle. Watch the torque on final.”

  Ferguson acknowledged with a hand signal as he pressed the intercom button. “Bril? How is everyone doing back there? Everything secure?”

  “Roger, sir. Passengers and gear are secure.” He sat on the edge of the crew seat with his seat belt unfastened but remained attached by the safety harness so he could slide the cargo door open on approach.

  “Coming around on final,” announced Shultz.

  The helicopter lost speed in the turn as the wind shifted from the tail to the nose. Shultz anticipated the change. Even though the helicopter was moving slower across the ground, the headwind provided more lift, allowing less power for the approach. He adjusted the controls perfectly, feeling the wind, raising the nose so the helicopter rode the same wave of speed and angle all the way to the ground.

  At fifty feet, Bril stood and pulled open the cargo door. A rush of air hit him in the face as he leaned outside. The tail easily missed the trees by a several feet.

  “Tail is clear.” He pushed himself back into the seat and buckled in.

  Mildred stared in fright and frustration as the helicopter approached the ground, certain she was going to crash all over again. She grasped her husband’s hand and said a silent prayer. Her husband smiled back with a content, medicated expression.

  Shultz applied power to cushion the tail wheel as it touched the ground. The tire bounced slightly over the rough surface. He raised the nose, reducing power and slowing the helicopter’s momentum. As the speed decreased, the nose gradually fell forward, placing the main wheels firmly on the ground.

  The helicopter continued rolling until clear of the surrounding trees. Shultz applied light brake pressure until they came to a stop at the end of the airstrip. The area was filled with clumps of low brush, broken by the weight of other aircraft. Skid marks and ruts were clearly visible where airplanes had parked and turned around to unload cargo.

  Shultz grinned at his copilot. “Set the brakes.”

  Ferguson had watched the power during touchdown, but exceeding the torque limit was never in doubt. Shultz made the approach look easy. He pulled the brake handle and returned the grin. “Brakes are locked. Damn nice job.”

  “Ditto, sir.” Bril was back to his usual form as he climbed out the cargo door. “Piece of cake, right?”

  “Better to be lucky than good,” Shultz stated. “Would have been a lot worse if we landed on the riverbed.”

  Nothing else was said. They all knew luck had nothing to do with it.

  Outside the helicopter, Bril positioned himself near the front with the fire extinguisher. He stretched his legs and stood staring at the mountains as they went through the shutdown procedure.

  Mildred turned and faced forward. She leaned in toward the pilots. After being hoisted off the ground, falsely assured of her safety then subjected to another in-flight emergency, she didn’t appear happy to be stuck in the middle of nowhere.

  “I knew I was right to be concerned about this helicopter business. Two crashes in one day would have been a little much, don’t you think? Do all your rescues go this badly?”

  Ferguson’s dark eyebrows arched slightly from the criticism. His hands turned up in a sign of surrender. He held a blank stare, reluctant to address her question. This one he left for the pilot-in-command.

  Shultz grimaced. He wasn’t sure if she was serious or not. Usually the crew chief and medic handled interactions with the passengers. “No, ma’am. Not usually. I apologize for the inconvenience. I’m sure …”

  “The inconvenience?” she interrupted. Her tone immediately provided any doubt Shultz had about her comment. “Not having the option of coffee or soda is an inconvenience, young man. Being on the edge of a nervous breakdown, twice in the same day, because the aircraft I’m flying in suddenly decide they don’t like being in the air, now that’s something else entirely.”

  All Shultz could do was apologize and try to reassure her help was on the way. Dealing with civilians, especially an irate woman was something he was unfamiliar with. All of a sudden, an ass chewing from his chain of command didn’t seem too bad. Even though he was a senior warrant officer and an experienced pilot, his status meant nothing to the traumatized woman in the back and probably her patient-husband as well.

  “I’m sorry about the situation. I really am.” He turned so he could look directly at her. “Right now, there are other helicopters on the way. One is going to try to get the rest of the survivors off the mountain. Another can transport you and your husband to the hospital. You’ve both been through a lot and we appreciate your cooperation. Are you both all right?”

  Mildred stared back into his eyes for a moment. They projected a surprising calmness that eased her anxiety. Her desire to verbally lash out at someone subsided. She nodded okay.

  “You can unbuckle your seat belt now and move around if you like, Mildred. Is your husband conscious? Would you like anything?”

  She kneeled beside the litter and ran her hand lightly over her husband’s brow. His eyes opened slightly in response. “Yes, he’s conscious. He’s not in any pain. The medication your medic gave him is still working.”

  She leaned forward and kissed her husband on the cheek. Their hands were locked together. He managed a weak smile.

  Once the rotors stopped turning, Shultz kept the helicopter running on auxiliary power so they could use the radios and keep the heater on. Ferguson remained in the cockpit while he exited to look at the damaged engine.

  Bril was on the engine deck with the upper cowling open as he approached. The young crew chief shook his head in doubt. They both removed their helmets to talk.

  “Can you tell what happened?” There was no apparent damage Shultz could see.

  “No, sir. Everything looks fine on the outside. All the lines and control fittings are tight. No oil or fuel on the deck.” Bril bent over the engine, running his fingers and eyes over each section.

  He jerked his hand away in pain. “Son of a bitch, that’s hot!” He should have known better. The engine had malfunctioned for a reason even if the damage wasn’t obvious.

  “The forward section is hotter than normal.” Bril blew on his fingers. “My guess is one of the components failed. A bearing or a pinion gear probably overheated, which caused the oil temperature to rise. Once the part failed, the turbine ate itself and lost power. No way to tell for sure until the engine is taken apart.”

  “Sounds reasonable.” Shultz rested his arm on the open cowling. “We’ll be here awhile then. Maintenance won’t be happy about needing to replace the engine.”

  “I guess they ca
n get in line behind everyone else. Shit. I’ll be as busy as any of them, sir.”

  “We all will. Close the cowlings. Right now we need to focus on getting the rest of the survivors off the mountain.”

  A mile away and fifteen hundred feet higher, Connor watched as the Black Hawk turned into the small landing strip. He lost sight of the silhouette below the trees but could see dust billowing skyward from the rotor wash. Once the cloud dissipated, he saw the helicopter coasting to a stop. One figure was outside almost immediately.

  Connor diverted his attention to the other helicopter. “Eight-three-zero, this is nine-two-seven. How far out are you?”

  The voice of the copilot, Lieutenant Hovan, sounded concerned. “We just passed the foothills near Dinosaur Ridge. We’re over the East Fork now at four thousand. Do not have you in sight.”

  Lieutenant Hovan was under orders to bring Connor back and suspected the senior warrant officer taking the helicopter involved more than he was told. Captain Hiroldi was evasive about Connor’s intent, only stating he wanted Connor and the helicopter back without delay. Consenting to a rescue attempt was not something he wanted to be involved with.

  “You should be about three miles away.” Connor searched for a dark speck of movement against the sky. “I’m also at four thousand and directly over the river.”

  His back felt better once he was clear of the constant pounding from the turbulent winds. The muscles still ached, but the spasms had eased, relieving the sharper pain. He was able to stretch by extending his legs on top of the control pedals.

  Thompson’s voice broke over the radio. “I’ve got you in sight. We’re at your ten o’clock position.”

  Connor placed his feet back on the pedals. He scanned the horizon. “I don’t have a visual on you.”

  His eyes couldn’t distinguish objects at a distance as well as they once could. On the second scan of the horizon, his eyes caught a speck of movement. “I have you now. Follow me down. Evac one-one-four is already on the ground.”

  Connor waited for an answer before calling Shultz. “Evac one-one-four, you still on the radio?”

  “Go ahead, nine-two-seven.” Ferguson motioned out the window at Shultz there was a call on the radio.

  “Is your medic monitoring the emergency frequency? I want to talk to him before we land.”

  “Affirmative, nine-two-seven. He’s using his survival radio.” Ferguson watched Shultz climb into the pilot’s seat while he continued talking.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Sergeant Steiner. He’s using Medic One as his call sign.”

  Connor switched to his other radio’s emergency frequency. “Medic One, Army nine-two-seven.”

  Background static muffled the response. “This is Medic One. Go ahead, nine-two-seven.”

  “Medic One, I can hardly read you. Do you need any additional equipment from your helicopter? I should be there in the next thirty minutes, over.”

  “Standby, nine-two-seven.” There was a break in the transmission before he continued. “Negative on the equipment. But I could use some extra help moving the survivors. One of the injured is a very large man. Two of the other injured are critical, but stable for now. Bring Bril, the crew chief, if you can. We’ll be ready.”

  “I copy, Medic One. Any change in the weather?” Connor could tell the conditions were worsening by the minute but asked anyway.

  “Ceiling is still dropping, nine-two-seven. Suggest you don’t delay, over.” No sarcasm was intended. The statement was an honest assessment.

  If there was any anxiety on the part of the medic, Connor didn’t hear any in his voice. Either the medic was one cool operator or he wasn’t aware of the danger the weather posed for all of them. Connor hoped the former was true. “Roger, Medic One.”

  He relayed the medic’s request while turning on final approach. He flared and touched down off their right side a few seconds later. By the time he rolled the throttle to idle after the two-minute cool down, Thompson was landing nearby.

  A flurry of dust and leaves spread out from the helicopter’s rotor wash and quickly subsided. Thompson was flying and Lieutenant Hovan sat with a stern expression, visible below the visor of his helmet.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Connor checked the fuel quantity on the instrument panel. The amount was insufficient to rescue the survivors and make the flight back to base. His helicopter could carry more passengers with the reduced weight, but they would need to be transferred at some point to a second helicopter. The time involved and the chance of the weather limiting a return made a second option necessary. Since Thompson’s helicopter carried more fuel, he decided they would use his.

  When he looked up from the cockpit, Lieutenant Hovan was hurrying toward him. He was all of Connor’s height with wide shoulders and thick muscles. His Nomex flight suit bounced from the weight of items in his pockets as he ran. His square jaw was clenched, and he didn’t appear to be in a good mood.

  Connor wasn’t sure what the lieutenant wanted. He assumed Hovan would try to take charge of the situation. Connor had neither the time nor patience to put up with his arrogance.

  Al Thompson had done most of the talking over the radio while Hovan listened in annoyance. As a lieutenant who outranked the young warrant officer, he wanted to be more involved in the decision process, whether he was a copilot or not. He was already under orders to find Connor and bring him and the helicopter home. How, exactly, he wasn’t sure. The ongoing rescue mission only made his dilemma worse. Now he was having second thoughts about whether he should even go along with the rescue at all.

  Connor’s company commander had been informed of his terminal cancer by the flight surgeon, shortly after the helicopter was stolen. Hovan and Thompson were told a short time later. The commander was obviously worried about Connor’s true intention but held off on sharing his concern Connor might be looking for a more dramatic end to his illness.

  Even though Hovan lacked experience in a command position, he was smart enough to realize the rescue trumped his previous order. He wanted to clarify the situation with his commander, but now they were out of radio range and unable to notify anyone of their intention. Delaying the rescue or stopping Connor’s involvement might be the best course of action, yet he was hesitant about what to do.

  His expression said enough as he climbed into the copilot seat of Connor’s helicopter and plugged into the intercom. He was unhappy with the predicament he found himself in. The outcome of the rescue could well depend on his decision.

  “Mister Connor, I hope you know what you’re doing because I’m having serious doubts. What were you thinking taking the helicopter without authorization? You’ve put my ass in a real jam here. Now you want me to go along with a dangerous rescue plan?”

  Connor didn’t turn from Hovan’s intense stare. He wasn’t sure if the words were an attempt at intimidation or an expression of frustration. The lieutenant’s demeanor was easily overcome by Connor’s confidence.

  “I’m sure you know about my cancer by now. The reality of impending death has a way of making a man do things in a hurry. I took the helicopter so I could have a last flight on my own terms, nothing more. If I went through proper channels, the request would be denied or permitted with so many conditions I would be lucky to sit in the back seat on a trip around the traffic pattern.”

  He paused to see if Hovan accepted the explanation. Although the details were accurate, his intent was not.

  “As for the rescue, we’re their only hope. I can get the survivors off the mountain, but I need help.”

  The lieutenant blinked and looked away toward the shrouded peaks. “You’re sure you can do this?”

  “As sure as I can be. Nothing is ever a sure thing.”

  Hovan studied Connor’s expression before exhaling noticeably. “All right, I guess there’s nothing I can do to stop you. Even if I order you to fly back to base, you would probably ignore me. Either way I’m probably getting my butt chewed.” />
  Connor realized he had underestimated the lieutenant. Some officers, especially West Point graduates, often demonstrated an air of superiority around subordinates. The process of junior officers becoming good leaders usually required a series of mistakes and delicate manipulation of their egos before they learned to trust more experienced soldiers in their charge. Hovan was already ahead of many of his peers by accepting that fact.

  Connor automatically reverted to the role of mentor without being aware of the change. “Being in a position of command is never easy, Lieutenant. We all have to make choices; they’re just harder when someone else’s life is at stake. For whatever reason, this rescue was placed in our laps. Don’t worry about an ass chewing. You’re making the right decision.”

  Hovan nodded. He shifted in the seat and glanced at his watch. “Does the medevac crew know about your theft of the helicopter?”

  “No, sir. I didn’t mention it. They probably suspect something, but I’m not offering up any information.”

  “Good, keep quiet for now. You can answer to Captain Hiroldi later.”

  Connor finished the shutdown as the blades coasted to a stop. Hovan stepped from the cockpit and was already on the way back to the other helicopter. Bril headed in the same direction, joining him halfway there.

  Shultz stood and leaned against his own helicopter, watching Connor intently. He waited until the pilot’s door swung open before approaching.

  Connor left his headset on the seat. He managed to mask the pain as he exited, but his slow movements and bent torso gave away his obvious discomfort. He leaned against the fuselage and forced himself into an upright position. The constricted muscles resisted, protesting in annoyance. The nerves flared for a few seconds before the pain ebbed, the movement helping stretch and loosen the tension.