Sojourners of the Sky (18 page)

Nineteen

W
hen he heard one of the propellers go out of sync, Mark Small told himself to remain calm--that the pilots knew what they were doing. The turbulence was gone so there was nothing to worry about. He closed his eyes and sat back, but his ears remained as focused as ever.

*

Charles studied the gauges and was stunned by what he saw. “Shut down and feather number two, Lars, but hold off on three,” he ordered, with a very slight hint of fear in his voice. He was well-aware that the number three engine was also going to have to be shutdown, and very soon. But Charles also knew that the number three engine was a main supplier of electricity and hydraulic pressure for the aircraft and preferred to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. He studied the number four engine gauges intently. He sighed, grateful that its oil temperature was holding firmly in the green.

As Lars worked, he said, “Captain, we have to shut down number three now.”

“Hold on there, young man, we’re almost out of engines,” said Charles, his voice tight. He scanned the panel while racking his brain, trying desperately to understand how three engines could all suffer the same malady at the same time. It was not a coincidence.

“John,” ordered Charles, “take the airplane. Start a gentle turn back toward the coast and hold altitude for as long as possible. Don’t let it stall. When you get slow, descend at the best glide speed.”

“Charles, there is no way you’re going to get this thing on the runway at KEF; not with three engines out. Hell, I don’t think we’ll even be able to make the coast from here at this weight. And even if we could make KEF, the moment we descend into the turbulence this airplane will become uncontrollable!”

“I know, John. I want you to get us close enough to ditch,” said Charles somberly.

*

When Mark looked out the window and saw that both propellers on the left wing were no longer turning and that the noise and vibration in the cabin had been cut in half, he screamed, “Oh my word, all the engines are failing! They must have forgotten to get gas. Our engines are running out of gas! Oh my, I can’t swim! I can’t swim!”

Sue Gruber quickly ran to Mark’s side and said in a soothing voice, “Please, Mr. Small, we aren’t going to land in the water. I’m sure the pilots have everything well in hand. Look, we still have two good engines.”

As the words left the stewardess’s lips, the number three engine fell silent. And a very brief moment later, the number three propeller feathered itself and stopped dead. With only the number four engine turning far out on the right wing, the stillness in the cabin became deafening. A handful of heartbeats later, the interior lights went out. The entire cabin of the DC6 was plunged suddenly into a blackness as dark as the ocean below!

Pushing Sue aside, Mark yelled, “Oh my, oh my!” He put his hands over his face and rocked back and forth, completely overcome with terror. He tried to think of automobile engines, but there wasn’t a piston or a crankshaft to be found.

With his eyes locked shut, Mark could see his own face peering out the small square window next to his seat. It was almost as if he was suspended in the clouds outside of the airplane, watching the action from a safe distance. He felt pity for all those on board, including himself. He looked on as the stricken airplane plunged vertically into the icy sea. He tried to imagine how it would feel when the frigid, salty water smashed against his body. He could almost taste the salt from the ocean on his lips. The horrifying images forced him to flinch. He flung his eyes open as wide as they would go, but all Mark could see was his own death approaching rapidly.

*

John quickly dialed in the emergency frequency on his number two radio. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, Clipper forty-two is fifty-seven miles south of the Keflavik VOR descending out of ten thousand feet. We have a triple engine failure and we are descending toward the coast on the kilo echo foxtrot, one six zero radial, over,” said John in a calm, professional voice.

“Watch your speed, John,” ordered the Captain. “Don’t try to stretch the glide.”

“Sorry, Charles, I got distracted when I tuned the radio,” said John, as he repositioned his flashlight to focus the beam on his airspeed indicator in the otherwise dark cockpit.

“Turn about thirty degrees to the left. We might be able to make a small island off the coast,” said Charles.

“OK, Charles. I’ll keep the bank shallow, but you’ll have to help me find it when we get below the clouds,” said John.

“Lars, you keep working on securing the engines while I start the ditching checklist,” said Charles.

“Roger,” replied Lars while his hands skimmed over the various panels, resetting switches he could only see in his memory.

With flashlight in hand, Charles calmly and deliberately read through the ditching checklist. Working together with his flight engineer, they activated or deactivated various systems and onboard equipment. While he worked, the experienced captain continued to rack his brain for answers.

“John, try about a two-ninety heading. When you get below the clouds, I’ll take over. We need to preserve battery power, so I’ve turned everything off that we don’t need. If we don’t see the island, when we get down to two hundred feet go ahead and turn on the landing lights. We’ll make our assessment of the sea at that time. That should give us a little maneuvering room,” stated the captain. Then after a brief pause, he added in a much louder voice, “You men refresh your minds and remember your duties. We won’t have a second chance.”

Both Lars and John mumbled their replies.

They all knew that if they somehow managed to survive a ditching in the North Atlantic, they would not last very long in the water. It was imperative that each crew member allow their training to take over so as to keep panic at bay while trying to get everyone into a raft. Every second would count.

When he didn’t get a response from the rest of his cockpit crew, Charles turned to face the black void behind him. He shined his flashlight and realized right away that Ed and G.R. were gone!

*

G.R., who had been sitting on the bunk, jumped up when he heard the number three propeller go into feather. Without being told, he and Ed immediately proceeded to the cabin to prepare everyone for a ditching. They were in the darkened cabin for only a minute when G.R. paused. Something inside told him to stop what he was doing and think--to use his head.

*

John held the best glide speed with as much precision as possible. He would not allow himself to think about death. He knew it was possible, but like most pilots, John refused to believe that his demise was imminent. And if it was, he resolved in his mind to fight the Angel of Death until he could fight no more. He looked down at the white caps, shimmering like diamonds in the moonlight. It all looked so incredibly cold.

*

G.R. closed his eyes to the darkness and quickly ran something through his mind. A moment later, he turned and ran back to the cockpit. Before opening the door, G.R. turned and yelled into the darkness, “Hold off a second, Ed!”

*

“John, did you dilute the oil?” asked Charles.

John turned to Lars and asked, “Did you, Lars?” Knowing he’d reminded the flight engineer to do that very thing.

Lars, though busy flipping switches and turning knobs, while desperately trying to recall each step of the emergency checklist, looked up with a dazed expression and said, “Uh, no. I guess I forgot.”

G.R. stumbled into the shadowy cockpit with his flashlight off, hoping to preserve the night vision of both pilots. When he reached the captain’s side, he felt for the switches on the overhead panel with his hand and exclaimed, “That’s it!”

Moving as rapidly as possible, the senior engineer repositioned the engine oil cooling door switches. He moved them out of the auto position and placed them in manual. He then ran the cooling doors to the fully closed position.

“What are you doing, G.R?” asked Charles.

“It dawned on me that we don’t normally operate on the ground in such frigid outside air temperatures. Since we always leave the oil cooling doors in the auto position and dilute the oil when it’s cold outside, we never have a problem. That’s if the oil gets diluted,” he said. “OK, Lars, go ahead and crank number one.”

As Lars worked, G.R. continued, “I figured the only way that three engines could have high oil temps at the same time is if the oil coolers were being bypassed. Since the sensor is downstream of the cooler, it makes sense that all of the oil is congealed there.”

“But wouldn’t you open the doors to cool the oil since the temperature is so high?” asked John. “Closing them seems counterintuitive.”

Lars managed to get the number one engine restarted and proceeded to start the other two without being told.

“No, a bunch of oil has congealed in the cooling radiators, leaving only a very limited amount of warm oil to circulate via the bypass. It doesn’t take long at takeoff and climb power to get the oil really hot. When I close the cooling doors, the combination of lack of cooling flow and hot engine oil will drop the temperatures rapidly--just watch,” he said. “Hot oil is now being forced into the radiator and mixing with the thick gooey stuff. Meanwhile, the frigid outside air is being blocked, thereby preventing the oil from cooling too fast.”

“How come number four didn’t suffer the same affliction?” asked Charles.

“Maybe because you ran that one on the ground for a while to get some heat, or perhaps it’s because you just live right, captain,” replied G.R.

In a very short time, the oil temperatures on the three engines dropped to the bottom of the green arc. Not long afterward, Lars had all four engines purring like a kitten. The crew then worked together resetting the various systems and radios. As they worked, the atmosphere in the cockpit remained nearly as thick as the oil in the engines.

Lars wanted to apologize to his colleagues right away. He was also hoping that John wouldn’t be forced to absorb the blame for yet another error. But after debating it in his mind, Lars wisely decided to wait until a more appropriate moment to seek forgiveness.

Once the Clipper was back on course and climbing, each man silently returned to his regular duties. With the crisis behind them, the cockpit tension and soundless fear slowly and cautiously ebbed away.

“Charles,” said John, “I just finished speaking with operations in Keflavik. I’ve informed them that we are now on course and that everything has returned to normal. And get this: right before I signed off, the ops agent told me they found Asa. It looks like he may have some frostbite, but otherwise he’s OK. He’s on his way to the hospital now.”

“Now that’s definitely some good news,” said Charles, slapping his right knee with his right palm.

Full-blown relief instantly exploded in the cockpit, as everyone who’d heard John’s words smiled, hooted and cheered.

When the merriment died down, John, sounding a bit more somber added, “That’s not all, Charles. I guess that fellow in the control tower called and gave our ops manager an earful. He was angry that we took off without a clearance, after telling us repeatedly that the police were on their way to question you about our dead passenger.”

“What? Why are the police involved? What would I have to tell them?” asked Charles.

John shot G.R. a quick glance before saying, “I don’t know.”

“Well, I for one am not going to worry about it. We did what we were supposed to. And as far as the guy in the tower, tell him to speak English next time,” said Charles. Then after a couple of minutes, during which time the captain tried to convince himself that he was right, he added, “John, you have the airplane. Level us off at fifteen thousand feet. I’m going to get things squared away with Iceland Radio myself, and then I’ll go back and speak to our passengers.”

“OK, captain,” said John.

“And Lars, I think you, me and G.R. need to have a few words later about what your forgetfulness nearly caused,” said Charles.

Lars didn’t say a word. He simply nodded with a facial expression that was full of anger, regret and renewed fear.

*

Marie was relieved that the whole Sonny thing was behind her. With him gone forever, she could finally move on. The thought of killing another human being disgusted her beyond belief, but she found some solace in the knowledge that she did what she had to in order to survive. She told herself to never think or speak of it again. Marie locked the memory away. As far as she was concerned, her somewhat sordid past and what happened on board the airplane all died with Sonny.

“Honey,” said Dirk. “I’ve been trying to figure out why you suddenly started acting funny. And after thinking it over, it seems to me that it started right after you went back to the ladies room. I remember that the guy who was sitting across from us went back a short while after you did. Something must have happened while you were both back there at the same time, but I don’t know what. I mean, the guy died and then you started acting funny. Was it the turbulence or the engine problem? Did he speak to you or frighten you? Did you hear anything while you were back there?”