Fatal Incident

by Jim Proebstle

  She slammed down the phone frustrated and depressed.

  CHAPTER 3

  Everyone in the Morgan family felt lucky to have a summer cottage on Cass Lake. Henry and Rose raised Bud and Nick on Cass Lake. Henry had been stationed there for years, where he worked as a switchman for the Great Northern Railroad. They moved to Staples, Minnesota, when he was promoted to the larger rail yard. The three-hour drive north on back roads was just one of the sacrifices made to stay connected to the area they loved most. The cabin showed some wear and tear, but Henry was able to make ends meet. The women occasionally complained of a mouse in the kitchen, and the men had a long to-do list, which was usually just an excuse to spend a family weekend at the cottage. The lakeside hill was dotted with hardwood trees that filtered the beautiful sunsets and was covered with buffalo grass from the cottage down to the sandy shoreline. At the water’s edge was an old, barnside boathouse with white vertical slats with green trim that needed repainting. It was storage to all sorts of summer items, including the twenty-five-horsepower Mercury engine and sixteen-foot wooden boat. The distinct smell of a two-cycle gas and oil mix for the engine permeated the inside. In front of the boathouse was a small hand-dug harbor the men had to dredge every year to keep the water’s access from clogging with weeds and sediment. But the great fishing and family memories were the payoff.

  “Thanks for holding off until Friday so we could fly together. I wasn’t looking forward to the drive,” Bud said over the engine noise. Bud and Nick were seated in tandem in the E-2 with Bud in the back at the stick. “I don’t think Helen and Martha minded driving together on Thursday at all. It gave ’em plenty of time to gab.” Bud knew the weekend would be special as he and Helen had an announcement to make, but he didn’t want to say anything just yet.

  “Chances to fly together don’t come as often as they used to,” Nick yelled with his head turned to the rear as much as he could. “This E-2’s the best investment we ever made. I don’t know what I was thinking the other day when I said Martha and I would fly up Thursday. Didn’t make sense since we own this baby together.”

  “It crossed my mind, too,” Bud said as he handled the controls. He loved flying as much as Nick, but he had few chances to log any hours. The two-hour flight was his alone, and he cherished every minute of it. The coup de grace was his textbook landing at the logging camp airstrip at Cass Lake.

  “Too bad you’re color-blind. The Northwest brass would love to get their hands on you.

  “Maybe.” Bud paused as he brought the plane to a spot where they could tie up. “But, I finally got that job offer from Goodyear Aircraft I’ve been talking about. I’m going to tell Mom and Dad this weekend.”

  “Then you’re going to take it?” Nick sensed Bud’s excitement.

  “Well, I don’t want to jump the gun, but it sure looks like a go.”

  “You’re finally going to get to build planes. That’s great! I sensed something was special about this weekend.” Nick beamed with pride as he patted Bud on the back as they headed toward the makeshift tower. There was a noticeable difference between the brothers’ movements as they walked across the airfield. Nick had an athletic gait while Bud’s steps were marked by a lively awkwardness.

  “It will be tough on Helen … not being around you guys and all. Akron’s a long ways away, but it’s a good career move and a really good offer. I’m looking forward to the challenge.”

  “I’m really happy for you.”

  “Just make sure that Mom and Dad hear it from us first is all I ask,” Bud stressed.

  “You got it.”

  As usual, the fresh walleye dinner with corn-on-the-cob was wonderful. Rose had even made her special marinated cucumber relish. The dining room table on the screened-in porch facing the lake allowed the mellow breeze to cast a spell over the early evening gathering.

  “Rose and I feel pretty lucky to have everyone here at one time. Most of our friends’ sons are off to war.” Henry wasn’t usually sentimental, but that night was different. “How long do you think it will stay this way?” He looked at Bud and Nick for a response.

  Helen and Nick were quiet, knowing that this was Bud’s chance to talk. “This seems like a perfect time for an announcement,” Bud said. “You may remember my comment last week about my air conditioning job being converted to war supplies and, while I could stay there, I don’t think it’s the best use of my education. What I really want is to be in aviation. To make a long story short, I’ve accepted a position as a senior designer at Goodyear Aircraft. It’s the job I’ve always wanted. It’s not building planes, but it is designing long-distance, trajectory guidance systems. We badly need them in order to improve our rockets for the war. And, since the job is in a critical industry, it carries a draft exempt status. I should get my letter from the War Manpower Commission anytime now.”

  Bud waited for everyone’s response, his mother’s in particular.

  Henry looked at her and said, “Well, Rose, what do you think about what our son said?”

  She pulled a crumpled lace handkerchief from her apron to blot the tears forming in the corner of her eyes. “I just don’t know what to say. We’ve been so afraid you would be drafted that I just can’t tell you how happy I am.”

  “The job is in Akron, Mom. That’s Ohio,” Bud said, emphasizing the distance. “We won’t be able to see you guys much.”

  “I don’t care if the job’s in Timbuktu. At least when we do see you, you’ll be in one piece,” Rose responded as she dabbed her tears with her handkerchief with one hand while squeezing Helen’s hand with the other.

  “Your mother and I are real proud of you. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

  “Martha and I were a little suspicious that something big was going to happen this weekend, so we brought a bottle of Morgan David Rose to celebrate,” Nick said standing up. “Martha, wipe your tears and get some wine glasses while I open this bottle,” he said lightheartedly. “This calls for a toast.”

  “We’re going to miss you and Bud, but I am very happy,” Martha said, throwing her arms around Helen’s neck while on her way to the kitchen. Martha and Helen had become extremely close in the past few years and knew the separation would be difficult.

  “I’ll miss you, too,” Helen said while using her apron to dab at the corners of her eyes.

  Since there were no wine glasses in the cottage, Martha brought six juice glasses of various sizes. Nick poured the wine and gave a toast. “To my big brother, the future of aviation is secure with you in the game. I can only hope that sometime soon Hitler’s boys will be runnin’ scared from the rockets you and Goodyear make. And to Helen, we will miss your lovely presence and look forward to the day when all of us will be back at the cottage again. To family.”

  “To family,” they all replied.

  The next morning the men got up around six to go fishing. Mist rose off the lake as the sun came up, and waves lapped at the dock and shore. The drone of another boat heading out could be heard in the distance. In the corner of the bay, mallards began to fly, no doubt startled by a beaver or large muskie beginning its day foraging. Henry, Nick, and Bud busied themselves gathering rods and tackle boxes. All that could be heard was the sounds of them getting ready: the gas tank and equipment being placed in the boat, the creaking of the boat in the water as they shifted into their positions, and the oars pushing away from the dock. The three of them had said nothing at all, quietly acknowledging the shift about to take place in their lives. Two grown sons fishing peacefully with their dad on a summer morning in 1943 was not what war was about, and they knew it.

  That evening after dinner, at Martha’s urging, she and Nick excused themselves from the group and went down to the boathouse where they could talk privately.

  “What’s on your mind?” Nick asked as they stared out over the lake.

  “I’m not comfortable with where things are headed for us.” Her directness caught Nick by surprise.

  “What do you mean?
”

  “Just let me talk. I haven’t been comfortable for some time. You’re gone a lot and around women who would gladly trade places with me. Honestly, I think I’m jealous. And I don’t know how to make myself trust you.”

  “What are you trying to say, Hot Shot, that I’ve done something for you not to trust me?” Nick was a little defensive because there were a few times he’d strayed before they were married. It wasn’t a behavior he was proud of—but he had been faithful since the wedding. “You know there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just the way the job is set up. I can’t control that.”

  “I saw the picture, Nick. They’re pretty, and you were smiling, maybe even happy. I can’t help but think that life back home isn’t very exciting for you. We don’t even do any of the fun things we used to do.”

  Nick had been holding back on an announcement of his own. He was waiting for the right time. The talk among the men at Northwest about the need for pilots had stirred his patriotism to contribute more directly to the war. As much as he didn’t want to spring his intentions on Martha, it had suddenly become the right time. “Martha, you know how I’ve talked about the Air Transport Command. Well, it’s happened. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I knew that Bud had a big announcement this weekend. I wanted to give him his moment. I was planning on telling you when we got back, but, now will have to do. I’m shipping out for training in Edmonton in three weeks. My primary duty will cover Alaska and the Northwest territories. I think I can get my grade up to captain soon with my training, and then I can call my own shots.”

  “Oh, Nick. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I wanted the time to be right, and I just signed up last Thursday. It means that I’ll be away for long stretches, and I know it may be hard on you … being alone and all.”

  “Is this what you want?”

  “It’s either this or combat. If I were single, I’d choose combat. But I’m not. We’ve got a future to think of. And there’s one more thing you will be happy about.”

  “What?”

  “The army doesn’t employ stewardesses.” She put her arms around his waist, silently accepting that this was Nick’s admission that she had a right to be concerned.

  “I guess the ATC is better than combat, but it’s still going to be hard,” Martha said, acknowledging that neither of the choices was her first pick. She wondered if they would ever get back to the blissful days of flying the skies together over Minnesota and Wisconsin. She held the embrace in a futile attempt for reassurance.

  Before leaving the next day, Nick announced his ATC decision to the family. Henry and Rose decided to stay on at the cottage for another week. It was a time for change, Henry thought, and he wanted to reflect. They had raised their boys to be independent, but he didn’t know what to think about planes and flying—his world was on the ground with railroads. But what he did understand was the excitement in his boys’ eyes. It was the same excitement that he had had with the railroad thirty years earlier. They were hooked.

  CHAPTER 4

  Edmonton, Alberta

  August 5, 1943

  My Dear Martha,

  Well, here I am about to embark on a new and different route. Tonight I fly to Fairbanks, tomorrow to Anchorage, and then immediately I start out along that long chain of barren, mountainous, volcanic islands that make up the Aleutians, stretching westward toward Siberia and Paramushiru Island, which is occupied by Japan. The fall is when the heavy mist, fog, rain, and winds come. I’ve heard of fog unbroken for 1,500 miles, which just seems to make me more anxious to see it. Truthfully, I believe most of these stories of tough weather up on “the top of the world” should be discounted some. Within the next two weeks I shall know. Maybe, I, too, (then being one of the few pilots actually flying the so-called toughest weather in the world) will come back with fantastic tales of daring and of marvelous exploits.

  Yours,

  Nick

  Nick was glad that the privilege of using the army officer’s club on base came along with his rank as an ATC co-pilot. The steel-frame building was nothing to look at from the outside, but inside it had everything a young military officer could want. The pool tables nestled in a bay room off the horseshoe bar area were always active. The walls were wood paneled in aged cedar, which added its rich caramel tone to the club’s ambience. Oversized photographs of Alaskan wilderness scenes, well-known bush pilots (such as Noel Wein, Ed Boffa, Al Palmeter and James “Andy” Anderson), and various aircraft decorated the walls. Among the photographs were impressive Alaskan game-hunting trophies: mounted heads of moose, elk, bear, and deer. The most appreciated wall, however, held the gorgeous collection of Alberto Vargas pinups. Vargas was a hero among military personnel for his poster art of scantily-clad females. The club was the place to meet some of the fellas and enjoy downtime. Up until now, however, Nick’s use of the club had been spotty. His rotating flights involving numerous locations and with captains whom he wouldn’t always see again had not allowed the contact to build any enduring friendships.

  “You want another one, Captain?” the bartender asked. Nick was going to fly in the morning and wondered whether a second beer would hurt. Tomorrow would be his first trip over the Valley of 10,000 Smokes out toward the Aleutian Islands. It was awful terrain. If the weather was good the flying would be “on top” from six to ten thousand feet. If it was bad, it would be really bad. The fog could become a nightmare, forcing the pilots to fly just above the surface of Bristol Bay and the Pacific Ocean. But it was the sudden unexpectedness of the weather conditions that made flying difficult for the pilots.

  “Probably not a good idea. I’ve got to work tomorrow morning,” he replied with a resigned tone. “It’s co-captain by the way.” He was just finishing a postcard to Martha bragging about the 98 he got in his preliminary test in navigation. Combined with the 96 and 98 in CAR and Radio, I think I’ve got a good chance to make captain soon.

  Just then a man about ten years his senior with captain stripes stepped toward the table and said, “I’m relieved to know that I won’t have to do all the flying myself tomorrow.” He extended his hand. “I’m Captain Marshall Smith. We’re going to be working together on the ‘Chain’ over the next few trips.”

  Nick was surprised that the captain knew who he was as they’d never met. Nick thought he would meet Captain Smith for the first time in the briefing room the next day. “Nice to meet you, Captain. How did you know who I was?”

  “I make it a habit of getting to know my co-pilots, particularly the young ones. Glad to see you turned down that second beer. Can I call you Nick?”

  “Sure. Would you like to sit down? Do I really look that young?”

  “Doesn’t make any difference since I know you were born in 1914. Makes you twenty-eight, I believe. Or is it twenty-nine? Either way, it’s still pretty young for a co-pilot nearing the rank of captain.”

  “I am impressed,” Nick responded as he stood to shake Marshall’s hand. “It is twenty-nine, by the way.” The captain’s grip exuded confidence, and his smile was friendly. “Where are you from anyway, Captain?”

  “A small town in southern Minnesota—Mankato.”

  “What a coincidence,” Nick said as his lips curled slowly. “But I have a strong suspicion that my being from the Gopher State as well is no surprise to you.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Nick. It’s just that I’ve seen young pilots pushed beyond their experience by the war. It makes me a little skittish, and I like to know who I’m about to saddle up with, that’s all. Tell me a little about yourself … you know, the stuff that’s not in your file.”

  They both laughed out loud.

  “Cass Lake is my original home. Not much of a place most of the year. It’s on the Leech Lake Indian Reservation; just a crossroad between Routes 371 and 2. It’s pretty much a railroad town good for shipping white pine to the mills. In July and August, the fancy people from the Twin Cities favor us with their presence while they vacation
on Star Island.”

  “How’d you get hooked on flying in a place like that?” Marshall asked with genuine curiosity.

  “When I was in grade school, my dad would take my brother and me over to the dirt landing strip used by the logging company. The whole idea of people flying was pretty thrilling to me. As luck would have it a plane was coming in one Sunday afternoon while we were there. I’ll never forget it. This guy named Ed Boffa stopped to refuel on his way to Alaska. As you probably know, a lot of the early Alaskan bush pilots flew over Minnesota on their way to and from the wilderness. Our logging camp was a favorite stopping place because of the good fishing on Cass Lake.”

  “Was this Ed Boffa the same guy who became famous as one of Alaska’s pioneer bush pilots?” Marshall asked pointing to the photograph on the wall.

  “One and the same,” Nick replied. “And on that day, he gave me and my brother a ride. We saw the forests and lakes from ‘up on top,’ as he called it. I can’t quite explain it, but being in the clouds and seeing the bald eagles soaring below us … well, quite frankly, neither of us have been the same since.”

  The captain smiled, knowing exactly what he was talking about. It wasn’t just because it was the newest thing going, although that added to the excitement. The complete sense of freedom up on top, charting your own course, was unparalleled. “I know the feeling, Nick. It happens to all of us. So, what happened to your brother?”

  “He’s an aeronautical engineer for Goodyear Aircraft in Ohio,” Nick responded with a great sense of pride even though he knew Bud would give his right arm to trade places with him. He knew he was flying for both of them.

  “That’s great! It must run in the family. By the way, 0600 comes pretty early. I’m going to call it a night.”