by Jeff Kildow
Renaldo Giovanni had farmed this land on the northwest end of the runway for nearly forty-five years, like his father and grandfather before him. He raised a few pigs and cows, but made a pretty good living from his nut orchards and excellent vegetables. When the War Department came to him, they had attempted to buy his best orchards to build their silly airport on. He shrewdly had redirected them to the part of his property they eventually bought.
That ground is the poorest on the farm, he thought triumphantly, and they still paid me top dollar, the fools.
Not everything went his way, though, as one of the runways did encroach on some of his trees. They paid him extra to remove the trees for something they called an “overrun,” and told him he was never to make use of the land for any purpose.
Even though they paid his asking price, the demand to stay off of what he considered his own land rankled. Almost immediately, he had begun dumping the waste from the orchards, fields, and the butchering house into a small dry stream bed a couple of hundred yards off the end of the runway. Twice, he’d received stern letters from the Colonel on the base. Even a visit from the base Provost Marshall left him unimpressed.
This very morning, before sunup, he’d chugged out to the improvised dump on his green Oliver tractor with a trailer load of rotting vegetables and the offal from the six pigs he’d butchered. Even before he got back to the barn, the birds discovered it. Sea gulls, ever vigilant for just this sort of rotting foodstuff were there first. Only slightly later, the vultures arrived, along with a pair of golden eagles.
Chapter 21
8 May 1943
North East Approach to Millville Army Air Field
1017 Hours
And Then Birds
It had been a delight. The flight over the McDonnell farm was fun, the boy whooping when he recognized his mother, shouting as he saw familiar landmarks. He was very excited, all but jumping out of his seat. His father waved back from the seat of his tractor.
Joel missed Beryl’s house the first time, but that only brought out more neighbors to watch. The second pass was right over her street at 200 feet; he tipped the right wing down so she could see better, and she all but frantically waved at her mother and friends below. The crowd below waved as wildly back at them. Wagging the wings, Joel turned toward the school.
Many of the students and their parents were waiting on the school’s athletic field. Joel saw them at a distance, and flew over first with the left wing down, then a second time with the right wing down. Many waved handkerchiefs at them. A final pass with Joel wagging the wings in salute, and they turned back toward the base.
“We have plenty of fuel and there’s time, so let’s fly over to the shore,” Joel said. He began a gentle climb to about 8,000 feet.
“It’s a lot cooler up high, so you’ll all want your jackets,” he reminded them.
Elmer was searching the scene below with a battered pair of binoculars, while Beryl snapped pictures with her mother’s Kodak Brownie camera, carefully winding it between pictures. In fifteen minutes, they crossed the shoreline, and watched the mesmerizing lines of white surf marching onto the sand.
Through it all, Susan continued watching Joel almost as much as the scenery.
He is very good at this, always looking at the instruments and watching for other airplanes, she decided, that’s very reassuring. He’s so confident in the way he handles the airplane. You’d hardly know you were in an airplane, except for the noise. I’m so lucky my very first plane ride was with him.
Reluctantly, Joel said, “Well, I’m afraid it’s time for us to head back.” Susan put her hand on his right arm and thanked him. He smiled broadly, then radioed for approach instructions. He was directed to land to the southeast on the same runway they’d taken off from. Both the children and their teacher watched very closely as he slowed the aircraft, then lowered the flaps and landing gear. They looked out the left side as the Army base passed by on the downwind leg of the approach, and then he banked left into the short cross wind leg.
Just as they turned onto final approach, a great mass of birds rushed up from Giovanni’s illegal dump. Whether it was the planes’ shadow, or the noise of the engines that startled them, the birds leapt off the ground by the hundreds.
1019 Hours
Impact
Joel saw the first bird a split second before it hit the left engine, then there were many. Bang! Bang, bang! The airplane shook with their impacts. A large, dark bird caromed into the left windshield, shattering both panels, splattering blood and feathers. He felt a hard impact on his face, and sharp pains on his left cheek and nose, and almost immediately, blood running down. A split second later, a second large bird hit the windshield in nearly the same place, and Joel was splattered again with broken Plexiglas, blood, feathers and entrails. Behind him, the girl screamed, and Susan said, “Oh, my!” The boy let out a decidedly adult expletive.
Joel’s hands were full. He couldn’t see out of his left eye. The left engine had nearly stopped and backfired as yet another bird slammed into it. The airplane slewed wildly to the left. The girl screamed again.
Joel’s hands flew around the controls, as he slammed the right engine to full power, pulled the feathering control for the left propeller, and corrected for the dead engine. He yanked on the landing gear handle, retracting the wheels, and pulled up the flaps. A glance at the instrument panel: no fire lights, thank God.
He yelled into the mic, “Army 6761, bird strike, bird strike! Going around!” The aircraft begin to slowly climb as the remaining engine roared frantically.
“Army 6761, are you declaring an emergency?” the tower queried.
“Roger, 6761 is declaring emergency. We had a bad bird strike. Number one engine is dead; the windshield is shattered and partly blocked. We’re going to do a 180 and land down wind.”
The tower acknowledged.
“Call out the emergency vehicles, including ambulance,” Joel ordered.
Students flying nearby were directed to climb away from the airfield to give the wounded C-45 a wide berth. The silver aircraft slowly climbed to a thousand feet while Joel gingerly checked to make sure they could safely turn. Then, he turned them gently to the right, keeping the dead engine on the outside of the turn. The prop on it was still slowly rotating; apparently, it hadn’t fully feathered; that increased the drag a lot. It took all of the rudder he could use to keep the plane straight.
Joel felt Susan’s hand firmly on his arm, breaking his concentration; she was handing him a hanky.
“Put this on your nose,” she told him. He did.
Joel glanced over his shoulder at Beryl, who was white-faced and beginning to cry. When she saw his bloody face, her eyes widened even more in fear.
“Are we going to crash?” she asked in a small voice he could barely hear.
Joel winked at her with his good right eye.
“Nope; what do you see there on the right wing?”
“The other motor,” she said weakly.
“That’s right, sweetheart, that big, beautiful engine is going to get us home just fine!” She looked a little relieved, and wiped away her tears.
“Now, listen, all of you,” Joel shouted over the roaring engine; “when we land, there is a chance, just a chance, that the left landing gear might collapse. If it does, we’ll tip over to that side and slide on the wingtip. That’s OK, we can handle that. As soon as we come to a stop – wait ‘till we stop! I want you, Elmer, to run down the aisle and open the door – make sure there’s no fire, then run as fast as you can away from the plane. If there is a fire, yell at us, and come back up here, and we’ll get out the cockpit windows. Understand?” The boy nodded vigorously.
“Beryl, you be right behind him. Susan, help either of them if they need it. Everybody understand? Tighten your seatbelts as I showed you.”
They nodded numbly and did as he said. The aircraft finished its turn, and they were facing down the runway they’d just flown over.
&nb
sp; “6761, on final; get those fire trucks out there!”
Susan was frightened, but still marveled at his calm, his professionalism.
Even in this strange emergency, he knows exactly what to do! He doesn’t seem frightened at all. What marvelous self-control. Oh, God, please watch over us.
Joel was sweating, knuckles white on the control wheel, and praying hard himself, for the first time in a long time. The wind through the broken windshield was frigidly cold.
Oh Lord, please don’t let me hurt these innocent little kids; please help me get this thing safe on the ground!
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to fly the airplane and stay ahead of it, blinking away the blood in his left eye. Susan’s handkerchief was shoved unceremoniously up his left nostril; it still bled. He could feel the heat of his blood down his shirt front. What windshield was left on his side was mostly obscured by all the blood and the cracks in the Plexiglas. The very cold breeze blowing on his face through the jagged holes was making his right eye water. To see the runway clearly, he awkwardly skidded the airplane to look out the windshield on Susan’s side. Behind him, Beryl audibly gasped. He lowered the landing gear again, and noted with relief the two green bars on the instrument panel: both down and locked. He kept the power up on the engine as he lowered the flaps, then slowly retarded the throttle and they began sinking toward the runway.
“Hold on tight!” he shouted.
He counted one, two, three, as they crossed the runway threshold, and then pulled the power back some more. He was going to do a wheel landing rather than a three point landing, to maintain control as long as possible. Some sage had opined that if you have to crash, the smartest thing to do is to fly the airplane as far into the crash as possible. Joel planned to do exactly that.
The tires squawked lightly as they touched down, one of the best landings he’d ever done in this plane. He held the tail up as long as possible, and then it sank when they were too slow. Gently, he tried the brakes, unsure if the ones on the left side would work – if it didn’t, they’d swerve to the right. They held, and he began braking hard, the brakes squealing, the tires smoking. He eased up just as they stopped, to prevent a nose over.
“Now, Elmer!” he shouted, as he shut down the engine. The kid was out of his seat in a flash, and raced down the short aisle. In seconds, he’d opened the door.
“No fire!” he shouted over his shoulder in a high pitched voice, then disappeared. Beryl didn’t need a second invitation; she was right behind him. Susan was a bit slower, but still moved very quickly, glancing back at him in concern. Joel slammed off the master caution switch, turning off all aircraft power, and dived after her.
1021 Hours
On the Ground
Joel didn’t notice the two newspaper men snapping photos as he stepped out of the airplane, unaware that his face and jacket were covered with blood and worse. He saw Susan and the children huddled on the side of the runway, crying.
Thank you, Lord! I’ve gotta see what happened.
He headed toward the nose of the airplane. Tendrils of stinking, acrid smoke were rising out of the left engine, the scorched feathers of some unidentifiable bird still burning on the hot cylinders. Several push rod covers were bent, spark plug wires were torn loose, and oil was dripping everywhere, smoking as it hit the hot exhaust manifold. Several pieces of the cast iron cylinder fins were broken off, and the cowling was heavily dented in several places. One prop blade had clearly taken a hit too. When he looked at the windshield, his knees went weak.
“Dear God! Did we hit an entire flock?”
Not only were both panes of the Plexiglas windshield on the left side shattered, but the aluminum nose cone was dented in. Most of the front of the airplane was covered with drying blood, feathers, and entrails.
An ambulance attendant pulled on his arm, “Probably seagulls, sir, or maybe a golden eagle. There’s been a pair hanging out at that dump at the end of the runway. Please sit on this gurney and tip your head back.”
Hesitating to look at the aircraft again, Joel saw that even the leading edge of the left wing was dented. Bloody feathers were sticking out of a very bent pitot tube.
All around him, the firemen were inspecting the aircraft, looking for fires or fuel leaks, but he was oblivious.
“Sir, you’ve been injured. Please let me take a look at your face.” The ambulance attendant was insistent this time.
For the first time, Joel was suddenly aware of the sharp pains in his face and the blood still running down.
“Yeah, you better do that,” he said, feeling light headed. He sat heavily on the gurney, and then lay down. His world was swirling.
As he was rolled toward the waiting ambulance, Colonel Watkins drove up.
“Dear God, man! What happened? Are you OK, Major?” His face was contorted with concern.
Joel wretched away from the pain of the medic cleaning his wounds.
“Sir, – birds – that – dump – old man Giovanni – bent your ship, sir.” He was losing consciousness; he’d lost a lot of blood.
The medic forced his face back to where he could work on it. He pulled out the hanky and stuffed cotton up Joel’s nostril; it hurt badly. Blood gushed out, and the medic swabbed it with cotton sponges.
“Don’t worry about the airplane, Major! Are your passengers all right? Did anyone else get hurt?”
“Don’t think – not hurt—” the last words were mumbled.
“Yes, you are, Major! We’re heading to the Dispensary, now. Please excuse us, Colonel, but this man needs a doctor.”
“By all means! God speed, Major!” Lieutenant Colonel Watkins exclaimed, moving out of the medic’s way. Distantly, Joel felt the gurney being loaded into the ambulance; he passed out as the ambulance driver put the car in gear.
Chapter 22
8 May 1943
Millville Army Air Field
Base Dispensary, Building 71
1102 Hours
Diagnosis
The doctor, a gray-haired Lieutenant Colonel, finished bandaging the stitches he’d just put in place.
“You’re going to have quite a shiner, Major, maybe two! That maxilla bone in your left cheek is at least cracked, probably broken, and so is your nose.” He touched his own face just under his eye to show what he meant.
“The nose I’ve already fixed, while you were out. Not much I can do about the maxilla bone; you’re fortunate that it isn’t depressed; it’ll just have to heal. We had to give you a blood transfusion, you’d lost so much. Don’t be surprised if your face swells up a lot and you have trouble seeing out of your left eye. You’ve got ten stitches where I opened up that wound. They should come out in ten days or so. There will be a scar. I also put several stitches in that cut on your shoulder. You’ll have bruising from the impact of the birds and from what I’ve been doing. The lacerations across your forehead look a lot worse than they really are; you might get a hairline scar from them, they’re minor.”
He continued working and said, “You have lots of small cuts on the rest of your face; I pulled out several little pieces of Plexiglas. It’s possible there may be more. The remaining cuts are just lacerations, which may or may not leave a scar. I’m going to keep you overnight for observation. If we decide you’re going to be OK tomorrow, we’ll change the dressings on the wounds and send you on your way. I do want you to see the ophthalmologist; you may have a scratch on your left cornea. We’ll have to keep a close eye on all of it for infection, since I found feather parts inside your cheek. I used a lot of iodine on your face, so you’ll see that too.”
“Now.” He stepped back and looked sternly at Joel over his glasses.
“Keep that bandage over your nose. And do not remove the packing. Take some APCs for the pain; if it’s not enough, tell the orderly and I’ll fix you up with something. By the way, you’re grounded until we’re sure your eye isn’t involved, and the wounds have begun to heal; I’d guess at least two weeks. I’ll notify your boss.
”
“Thanks, doctor.” It sounded flat and harsh. “No, I mean that – didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, sir!”
“No offense taken, Major. Now get some rest. And don’t worry, the incident report can wait ‘till tomorrow, do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” Joel responded. An attendant took him to a room where he slept for twelve hours.
Late the next morning when he looked in the mirror, Joel realized the doctor hadn’t been kidding. Besides two black eyes, the entire area around his left eye, in fact, most of the left side of his face, was bruised a rich purple-blue. Even with all the bandages, it was obvious his entire face was swollen. Where it wasn’t bruised, it was a sickly yellow from all the iodine. There were scratches all over his face, like he’d been attacked by an angry cat. The eye was badly bloodshot, and more than half closed.
“Ya shoulda seen the other guy!” he cracked to his image. It hurt to smile.
He was shocked when the orderly told him a beautiful blonde woman had come to check on him, and had prayed over him as he slept. It had to have been Susan, but how did she ever get into an Army hospital? To his great relief, the ophthalmologist told him, “Major, there is a small scratch on your cornea, but it isn’t serious.” The man put some stinging drops in his eye and said, “You’ll have to wear a patch over the eye for about a week or ten days.”
A final check up by the doctor on duty got him released. With several new bandages covering most of the left side of his face, and pain pills in hand, Joel had the driver take him to the squadron area. He couldn’t avoid the incident report any longer. He was just completing it in long hand to be typed later, when his sergeant knocked at his door.
“Sir, Colonel Watkins sends his regards, and requests that you join him and the base JAG officer at Colonel Watkins’ office at 1300 hours this afternoon, if you’re feeling up to it. Colonel Randolph will be there as well. Shall I tell him you’ll be there?”