The Last Flight

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

  “Hello, Gil.” Shultz approached Connor with a stern expression. “Sorry to get you involved in this …” He paused when he saw Connor grimace. “You okay?”

  He reached to help support him, but Connor waved his hand away. “I’m all right. I tweaked my back getting out of the helicopter.” He grimaced again but managed to stand upright. “Good to see you, Joe.”

  Shultz was concerned about Connor’s condition. He looked weak and in pain. He’d never seen him this way before. “Good to see you, too. You sure you’re up for this?”

  The intense gleam in Connor’s eyes was all the answer he needed. “Yeah, I am. I’m taking Thompson with me. He can spell me on the controls if I need a break.”

  Shultz studied his face for a sign of uncertainty. There wasn’t any. “Bril, my crew chief, is already onboard. You ready?”

  Connor nodded and slowly pushed himself away from the helicopter. “Your crew chief okay with flying with me?”

  They started walking. “Specialist Bril doesn’t have a problem. He’s always looking for an adventure. He did ask me what kind of pilot you are though and if you knew what you were doing.”

  “And what did you tell him?”

  “The truth.” Shultz suppressed a grin. “I told him you’re a hard-headed bastard and a below average pilot with minimal experience. And even less skill.”

  Connor shook his head. He would have laughed if not for the dull ache piercing his body with each forced step. “Careful, you’re going to inflate my ego.”

  The expression on Shultz’s face became serious. “I told him I trusted you with my life. And he could do the same.”

  There was a moment’s silence. They exchanged a look of respect before Shultz changed the subject. “Watch the winds up there. I’ll stay on the radio with you and keep an eye on the weather. If the clouds start closing in between here and the ridge, I’ll let you know.”

  Connor nodded. “I figure ten minutes en route and another ten or fifteen on the ridge, depending on how long we take to load the survivors. Some will have to be left at the crash site. I can’t take them all in one trip. There won’t be time for a second.”

  “I know. Let Sergeant Steiner decide who goes and who stays. The survivors have blankets and food we dropped off earlier, and the wreckage should provide enough shelter. I know you don’t want to leave anyone. Either do I, but there isn’t another choice with the weather closing in.”

  He was about to tell Connor to be careful and not take unnecessary risks, then caught himself. What the hell. If anyone was aware of the risks, Connor was. The last thing he was going to do was lecture him on what being a good pilot was all about. Connor had given him the lecture years ago.

  “I’ve got two survivors in my helicopter. One is in serious condition with two fractured legs. If the other medevac doesn’t reach us in time, I’d like to get them out of here. Is the lieutenant signed off as a pilot-in-command in the Huey?”

  Connor hadn’t thought about Shultz’s passengers. “No, not yet. He’s capable though. I’ll talk to him. He can fly nine-two-seven back. I’m guessing you’re not current in UH-1s?”

  “Not even close. The last time I flew one was years ago. I can go along as a copilot and keep him out of trouble.”

  They reached the idling helicopter where Thompson sat at the controls. Hovan met them outside the arc of the spinning blades. He spoke in a loud voice so Connor could hear him over the sound of the engine. “You’re all set. The crew chief is aboard. You sure you don’t want me to go along.”

  “We’ll be fine, Lieutenant. Thompson and the crew chief can help load the injured. Your extra weight would only be a hindrance. That’s why I’m taking Thompson instead of you. He’s a good forty pounds lighter.”

  What he didn’t mention was his preference for Thompson because of his better flying skills. Hovan was okay but less experienced. Thompson had more flight hours and a better feel for the aircraft. Connor had flown with him enough to trust his ability and knew he was capable of handling a tight situation. In many ways, Thompson reminded him of himself early in his career.

  Hovan seemed satisfied with the answer. “Okay, makes sense.” He stared at Connor’s parked helicopter where the skids rested between clumps of willow bushes, the blades left untied. “What about nine-two-seven?”

  “There’s enough fuel for a return to Fort Wainwright. I know you’re not signed off yet, but you can fly back. I’m designating you a pilot-in-command. The paperwork can be done later. Joe is your witness if anyone questions the flight. He’ll go along if the other medevac doesn’t arrive to take his passengers.”

  Lieutenant Hovan seemed skeptical. “I don’t know. The commander might not buy the explanation.”

  There was no time to argue the point. “The decision is yours, Lieutenant. I’ve got to go. The weather isn’t going to wait.” Connor displayed an air of confidence. Silently he wondered if any of this was a good idea.

  Before Connor could step away, Shultz grabbed his arm. He hurriedly removed the flight jacket he was wearing. “Take this. It’s too small to wear, but roll the material and use it behind your back for support.”

  There was no argument. Connor was grateful and nodded in thanks. He turned and approached the waiting helicopter as fast as his aching body would allow.

  Climbing into the left seat was just as difficult as the other side. He placed one foot on the toe of the skid and stepped into the cockpit with the opposite leg, pulling himself in by grasping the doorframe and seat. The simple movement taxed his tender muscles. Once in position, he bent forward, placing Shultz’s folded jacket against his lower back. The pressure eased some of the pain.

  Being in the copilot’s seat was routine for Connor. He was comfortable flying from either seat. Instructor pilots usually flew on the left side and often preferred the position, although some instrumentation wasn’t as visible.

  Thompson increased the throttle to a hundred percent and waited while Connor fastened his shoulder harness. There was no headset, and he was forced to wear the flight helmet left by Lieutenant Hovan. The size was almost a perfect fit, and he pulled the straps tight.

  “You ready?” Thompson was apprehensive but trusted Connor.

  “I’m ready.” Connor’s voice sounded strained as the projection of pain become more obvious. He checked the engine instruments as they lifted off.

  “Head for the center of the valley and follow the drainage south into the mountains,” Connor added. “I’ll mark coordinates on the GPS as we go. I want a good track to fly out of there if the weather goes to shit.”

  They shifted their eyes to the weather closing in on the mountains. Stronger winds were already buffeting the helicopter. Thompson glanced at Connor, hoping he knew what the hell he was doing.

  “Pull in max power and climb to seven thousand,” Connor directed. “The crash site is about fifteen miles ahead.”

  Thompson did as instructed, increasing power against the strength of the head wind blowing through the valley. He noted the time. They spent eight minutes on the ground. Not a lot, but enough to make a difference. The clouds already appeared lower on the slopes, masking the top third of the higher peaks. Another layer was forming below, covering the valleys with a patchwork of broken stratus. The weather was spreading faster than he realized.

  Connor began glancing around the interior of the cockpit, verifying radio settings. All were on the correct frequencies. He made a quick radio check with Shultz’s helicopter and let the medic know they were on the way.

  Looking behind into the cargo area, he noticed the seats were still in place, arranged in a standard load configuration. Five were mounted across the rear bulkhead, facing forward. Two more were in each corner, facing the doors, and two additional seats were situated directly behind the cockpit, facing rearward.

  Although suitable for carrying a load of soldiers, the configuration limited the space for carrying multiple litter patients.

  “Specialist Bril, is it?�
� Connor eyed the back of the crew chief’s helmet.

  “Yes, sir.” He turned to face the cockpit.

  “I’m Mister Connor, Bril. You up for this?”

  His voice was emphatic in reply. “Yes, sir. I’m glad I can help.”

  “We’re glad to have you. You have any experience in UH-1s?”

  “No, sir, I don’t. From what I can tell, the interior is pretty much laid out like the Black Hawk’s, only smaller. The doors and exits are about the same. Mister Thompson gave me a briefing when I first hopped in.”

  Connor pointed to the folding seats. “I need you to fold the back row of five seats against the bulkhead so we have more room for the injured passengers. Pull up on the circular brackets on the bottom of the legs. They’ll come loose and you can fold the whole assembly up and out of the way.”

  The task only took a minute for Bril to accomplish. The seats were identical to those on the UH-60. “Done, sir.”

  Connor waited until he strapped himself back into the seat. “When we come in for landing, I need your head outside watching the tail rotor. Do the same thing you do in the Black Hawk, except you’ll be looking out the left side instead of the right. Watch for any obstructions. The landing area is real tight. I’ll be positioning the tail between several outcroppings of rock. You need to give me directions so the tail remains clear.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “You want the controls, Gil?” The question was asked out of courtesy. Thompson preferred to fly as much as he could. In this case though, he was more than happy to relinquish them to Connor.

  “Not yet.” Connor fully extended his legs over the control pedals instead, allowing the tension in his muscles a brief respite. Now that they were airborne, he was not as concerned about showing his discomfort.

  Thompson noticed Connor’s uneasiness. He was aware of the cancer and the demand the disease must be placing on his body. Surely he would call off the rescue mission if he felt incapable of handling the aircraft. Even though his body might be weakened, his judgment wouldn’t be impaired. Or would it? Could he really trust Connor’s decisions?

  A moment of uncertainty flashed through Thompson. He quickly dismissed the feeling when Connor’s calm voice interrupted his thoughts. “The crash site is on the east side of the glacier, on a narrow ridge butting out from the mountain. Seven thousand feet will give us enough altitude for the approach as long as the weather holds. I’ll take the controls about a mile out.”

  When they were in position over the center of the valley, Connor pressed the waypoint button on the GPS to lock in the position. The green box rested on top of the instrument console so either pilot could access the information. He usually didn’t like using the device. He was old school and still preferred using a map, plotting the time and distance manually. In his opinion, the GPS caused basic navigational skills to lapse.

  When the GPS technology was first implemented in Army helicopters, Connor noticed younger pilots became overly reliant on the device and couldn’t follow a regular map across the airfield, much less on a cross-country mission. They were completely dependent on the GPS system for basic navigation. As far as he was concerned, any mechanical device could and probably would eventually fail, usually in a critical situation. A pilot needed a backup plan, especially in combat or adverse weather. He ensured every pilot he flew with knew how to use the GPS and a map equally well.

  As they continued south, Connor noted the course they were tracking and the ground speed. The wind was blowing almost directly off the nose, so by correlating the ground speed on the GPS with the airspeed indication, he could determine the wind velocity and time back to the waypoint. The GPS computed the time automatically, but he was not going to rely on the device alone. He wrote his own calculations on a piece of paper taken from Thompson’s kneeboard. The procedure would be repeated where the valley changed course with the glacier.

  There was no comment from the young warrant officer. He was well trained and knew exactly what Connor was doing. The procedure had been instilled in his flight planning from the first time they flew together. Always give yourself another option. Think ahead and plan for the worst.

  The turn in the valley was still ahead. Connor set the paper aside and retrieved the operator’s manual from a metal box mounted on the rear of the center console. Opening the book with familiarity, he carefully studied a performance chart, confirming some mental calculations. Satisfied, he closed the pages and placed the manual back in the metal tray.

  The pain in his back intensified. He adjusted the folded jacket against his spine, shifting into a straighter posture. He felt better as he briefed Thompson and Bril on what he knew of the crash site.

  “Our power will be limited. Even with reduced fuel we can’t carry all the survivors. There are sixteen civilians and four of us, including Steiner. I figure eight or nine passengers is all we can carry, depending on their weight. We’ll load as many as we can until we’re maxed out on power. Any questions?”

  Bril was the first to answer. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and the weather will hold for another trip.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Thompson added. From the cockpit he could tell the clouds above the glacier were not going to cooperate. “It’s a shame we can’t carry them all.”

  As the helicopter flew further into the sharply cut mountains, the overcast could be seen angling lower over the glacier. The clouds encompassed the valley in a solid blanket, leaving no way out except the same way they came in.

  Increased turbulence buffeted the helicopter, shaking the airframe and jostling their stomachs with intense and unpredictable rhythm. Shoulder harnesses and seat belts were pulled tighter in response.

  Connor set another waypoint in the GPS as they turned, taking a second to write down their course track as he had done before. The gusts were increasing over the glacier, fluctuating the airspeed as much as thirty knots. Nearer the slopes the vertical drafts would be even stronger and more violent.

  A light drizzle began speckling the windshield. A quick glance at the outside temperature showed they were in a range where icing could occur. Both pilots understood the implication, but just as quickly the rain stopped. If the precipitation returned, icing could be a serious problem.

  The Huey only had limited de-icing capability, a simple device for directing hot air onto the engine inlets. Unlike the more advanced Black Hawk, no de-icing was available on the main rotor and tail rotor blades. The potential for icing was a serious concern. Ice could add weight and cause a loss of lift-disastrous for any aircraft.

  Two miles from the ridge the cloud vapor touched the top of the spinning rotor blades. The weather was closing in with each passing minute. There was less than a hundred feet of clearance between the base of the clouds and the crash site, providing less time than Connor hoped for. Ten minutes at the most, then the weather would be on them.

  Connor moved his aching torso, placing his hands and feet in position on the flight controls.

  “I’ve got the controls. Time to earn our pay, gentlemen.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The rhythmic beat of the rotors resonated through the mountain air as the helicopter disappeared from sight toward the glacier. The sound became fainter and fainter until the noise was only a whisper, finally changing to a soft, intermittent echo before fading completely.

  Shultz and Hovan watched the helicopter lift and turn southward, following the departure silently with their eyes. They waited until the silhouette was a tiny speck, cocking their heads to follow the last perceptible din with their ears. When it, too, was gone, all that remained was the rustle of wind through the trees and the drone of the Black Hawk’s APU in the background.

  There was nothing left to do but wait. Shultz looked at the lieutenant, who he had met only once before, and wondered what was going through his mind. Did his thoughts really matter? The events were already in motion and there was little either of them could do.

  “Well, Lieutenant Hovan, wha
t say we get into the helicopter out of the wind? We can monitor the radios until the other rescue helicopter arrives.”

  “What about your passengers? The weather could close in before they get here.”

  Shultz studied the sky. “I think we’ll be fine for a while, judging by the base of the clouds. The passengers can wait a bit. We still have the Huey if the weather deteriorates faster than expected.”

  “I thought you were worried about the passenger with the broken legs?”

  Shultz pushed at a clump of dirt with his foot before looking at Hovan. “I am, but Connor could use our help. I’d like to stay here and keep in radio contact until we know he’s back off the ridge.”

  Hovan seemed relieved. “I guess so. I’ll tie down the blades on nine-two-seven. Like you said, we can use the helicopter to fly out of here if we need to.”

  They strolled together, keeping an easy pace over the rutted ground. “How well do you know Mister Connor?”

  Shultz looked hard at the lieutenant. He wasn’t sure how to respond. The question was simple enough. He just wasn’t entirely sure of the answer. Even though he had known Connor for at least fifteen years, he considered him more a teacher than a close friend. The experiences he gained flying with him were invaluable. Stories about him from other pilots, long since retired, were legendary. In that regard he knew him very well. Connor’s personal life was different. In that aspect Shultz didn’t know much at all.

  They stopped at the left cargo door. Hovan grabbed the tie-down strap from under the seat before Shultz responded. “I’ve known him since I was in flight school. We’ve flown and worked together several times over the years. Most of what I learned about being a good pilot came from him. He’s the best pilot I’ve ever flown with, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Hovan pondered the answer. “I haven’t flown with him myself, but I heard similar things from Thompson. I guess I was just looking for confirmation.”

  Maybe, thought Shultz. He suspected there was more to the question. Did the lieutenant doubt Connor’s intentions? But why would he, unless Hovan knew something important he wasn’t sharing? Then again, Connor did seem different somehow. Exactly how, he wasn’t sure.