“Change that heading from north-northeast and swing around and head us northwest!” Sarge demanded.
“Sarge, have you lost it? That will take us directly into the path of that on-coming thunderstorm. We’ve got to miss it!” Tinker said looking over her right shoulder at Sarge.
“No, that’s the point – we must run directly into that behemoth! We will use the updraft from that big hellacious thunderhead as lift! If our engine can't do it maybe that monstrosity of a storm will!” Sarge said excitedly.
“Okay, Sarge but I think its suicide!”
“Your probably right Tinker but this Dehavilland is a heck of a plane – I think it can take the beating that giant hellion is going to lay on us, what do you think?’
Tinker retorted, “Sarge I said I could fly this thing, but this is not going to be flying when we hit that devilish fiend – it’s going to be one of the biggest rollercoaster rides any of us have ever been on. I just hope we live long enough to tell someone about it.” With this harangue, she moaned with pain as she pushed the rudder control pedal with her snake bitten sore leg but she got its heading changed from north-northeast to northwest – aiming straight into the teeth of Mother Nature’s howling, noisome, lightning enveloped prodigious dragon.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE ‘KNIGHT’ JOUSTS WITH THE MONSTER
Once Tinker had made the course corrections the big Dehavilland U-6A Beaver’s fate was sealed, one way or another. The north-northeast route had no sooner been changed to northwest than the air in the cabin took on that fresh spring rain’s delicious smell. ‘Nothing like it smells as good’, thought Sarge. ‘Oh yes’, he almost forgot. ‘Fresh coffee and fresh baked bread are right up there too’.
The monster storm was approaching swiftly.
The storm itself was moving at a speed of 40 to 50 miles per hour toward the north-northeast and the Dehavilland was clipping along at 120 mph moving toward the northwest so the two entities, one man-made the other a work of the Creator, were quickly about to get snuggled up close and personal.
In a matter of minutes the roar of the mighty radial engine changed pitch and sound. They were beginning to run into the outflow boundaries of the storm. The rain was increasing in volume and the lightning was becoming more intense. Tinker had the windshield wipers going full force but it was no use, they might as well not be working. The rain was so hard nothing was visible outside except the constant lightning flashes.
The plane was beginning to pitch and yawl; updrafts were beginning to affect its flight path. Tinker was still at the controls but the storm had taken on a personality all its own. IT was controlling the flight of the Dehavilland. Tinker was doing her best just to hold on to the yoke but she wasn’t being too successful.
The Dehavilland was flying itself – the pilot was God’s own hand in the form of that predacious beast lurking, breathing rain, wind and lightning right outside their windows.
* * * * *
Sarge returned to the cockpit and wrestled himself into the co-pilots seat. He turned to talk to Tinker who, with this storm, had about all she could handle and, right now, a conversation wasn’t part of it!
He returned instead and spoke with Little ‘S’ and Spook. “Guys, these monsoon thunderstorms don’t produce tornados but I believe all thunderstorms must have similar characteristics. At home in Alabama when a huge storm develops in Mississippi and moves eastward a wall cloud forms and a tornado, if one develops, is at the extreme lower right end of the storm. That’s where the storm creates the most tremendous updraft of air. Let’s assume this one, that we are about to fly directly into, performs exactly the same. We don’t need to fly into its center we need to aim toward its southern edge, the edge that is closest to us right now. There is where we will get the lift we need! What do ya’ll think?”
“Pop, I don’t know, I missed tornado day at school, but we’ve got to try something – this is better than I’ve got! Go for it.”
“I’ll agree Big ‘S’. I've never seen a tornado but if it doesn’t work we’re toast anyway, I’m with you too.”
Back he went to the cockpit – he understood Tinker's predicament but he had to speak to her out of necessity. Yelling loudly and leaning over close to her ear he said, “Tinker set your course directly toward that monster’s southern edge, not the center. I believe we’ll get the lift we need there.”
“Tinker started to respond but hesitated she had to push, pull, jerk or whatever else she could do to keep the plane in an upright position, “Sarge, you’ve come up with some hair-brained ideas before – but you have never been wrong – I trust what you think is right. Anyhow, the altimeter shows we are below 6000 feet and I only have a little over 20 inches manifold pressure left so it doesn’t really matter. If your wrong we’re going down anyway. At least with your idea we’ve got a chance.”
Sarge told Tinker to look out her port window and aim the Dehavilland toward the area of the thunderstorm where it appeared the lightning began. The more intense the lightning the closer it is to the center, we need to be at the edge.
Sarge got up and returned to Little ‘S’ and Spook. Water was seeping into the cabin like a sieve from all the bullet holes. It was dripping from the ceiling and was swishing back and forth an inch deep on the floor.
“What about all this water?’ Little ‘S’ yelled as loud as he could at Sarge.
“I would think there are things, important things, on an airplane that shouldn’t get wet! Why don’t we just parachute out now?”
“Hell, Son if my plan doesn’t work, a little water is going to be the least of your worries.
We’re at 6000 feet right now and going down. The wind outside is hurricane force. The rain is being driven sideways. Lightning looks like a Fourth of July picnic celebration and you think we could parachute into this?
Special Forces troopers may be good Son but damn we’re not THAT good! But without realizing it, you have brought up one problem - the water on the floor… it’s making us too heavy!
Give me one of the M16s… I wonder if something important is under this floor?” Without waiting for an answer Sarge switched the M-16 to full-automatic and shot the hell out of the ‘Knight’s’ deck… dozens of bullet holes began appearing everywhere in the floor, but it solved Sarge’s problem… the water started draining out. “Now you don’t have to worry about gettin’ your feet wet, Son!”
“Damn…Little ‘S’ is he crazy...? Damn…!!! Sorry for the language Little ‘S’ I was so scared I lost control of my mouth.”
“Yeah, I think he is crazy too. I just hope I still have all my toes!! Said Little ‘S’ resisting the temptation to look down at his feet.
* * * * *
Tinker yelled and yelled at the top of her lungs. The wind blowing through all those bullets holes, the crashes of thunder and the constant roar of that radial engine caused conversation of any kind to be almost impossible.
“Sarge! Get back up here!” she waved with her right arm trying to get his attention. Sarge saw her signal and returned to the cockpit.
Bending over near her right ear he yelled, “WHAT DO YOU NEED?”
Tinker yelled, “Sarge, we’ve got to get out of this turbulence, it’s going to rip the wings off! We can’t keep flying into this hellish thing!”
Sarge yelled back, “Hang in there Tinker... hang in there for just a little while longer!” He turned and was about to make his way back to the guys when Tinker yelled at him again. He turned and saw Tinker pointing to the instrument panel. He walked closer and bent over to see what she was so excited about – it was the altimeter – it was…. it was…. going…. UP!
The reading was already over 6000 feet. He stood mesmerized by the changing numbers, 6500…. 6600…. they were ascending at a rapid pace! ‘Could this diabolical horrendous updraft actually get us enough altitude to clear those mountains?’ thought Sarge. He looked again… 7000…. 7100…. ‘If we could just get to 8000 I believe we can
make it, higher would be better, but 8000 will be okay.’
The storm outside raged on – inside the cabin nothing but the sound of the crashing of thunder, the roar of the wind the engine noise and the mumblings of prayers could be heard. The plane would be flying level one moment the next it would be on its side almost vertical, then flip to the other side. This continued for, what the passengers thought, hours. In fact, they were not to far from the truth – it was a long time.
Sarge had long since moved back to the co-pilot’s seat and kept his eye glued to the altimeter. The storm had performed its part marvelously in spite of all the derogatory names Sarge had called it over the past few hours.
The altimeter indicated they were at 8600 feet, well above the mountain range, and the storm was abating. In fact, they had ridden the storm's updraft over the mountains and its remnants of smaller and less frequent lightning flashes could be seen toward the north-northeast. The storm had moved on and had left them in its wake. The sky above was beginning to clear and blue could be seen between the breaks in the clouds.
* * * * *
Sarge looked out his starboard window and tried to see if he could visually see any kind of topographical feature that he could identify on his map.
He had to determine their exact position!
Based on his dead reckoning of the storms path and its speed he guessed they were somewhere east of Turin, how far was anyone’s guess!
Wait! Wait! There below that’s a lake and a small river flowing out of it toward the southeast, and over there north of this one is another similar lake with a smaller river that intersects with the first one. ‘Where’s my map?’ he said to himself. Finding it folded in one of his pant pockets he unfolded it quickly and started surveying the area east of Turin, looking for the two matching lakes. Within seconds he had the features identified on his map – he knew exactly where they were!
They were approximately 60 miles due east of Turin!
Motioning Little ‘S’ and Spook to the cockpit he explained, over the noise, to the three of them what he knew. He told them if they jumped now they could spend the night where they landed and get a fresh start at first light tomorrow – Monday morning. Sarge further said, “If we can average four miles per hour walking we can leave Monday morning and get in around 40 miles – make camp, begin early Tuesday and in about 5 hours we should be close to Turin. That will give us all afternoon Tuesday and Wednesday morning to find the bus station. What do y’all think?”
Little ‘S’ spoke up, “Pop, I don’t believe Tinker can make four miles per hour on her sore leg for an entire day. I know you think you are indestructible but with your shoulder, you can’t either. We will need to let both of you rest along the way and we will have to assist Tinker as she walks. I believe the timetable is too close!”
“You’re right, Son”, responded Sarge. “Sorry Tinker forgot about your leg. All right, what about this – Tinker that storms got us flying north-northeast right now, what if you got us back around to a northwest heading, that would let us close the distance to Turin and then just before we jump change the flight direction back in the opposite direction. We want the crash site to be heading away from our line of travel.”
“Sure Sarge but whatever we do we need to be doing it now! I can’t keep this broken bird flapping its wings for more than another hour or so. Remember we don't have that updraft to help us anymore.” Tinker responded.
* * * * *
“Okay – now that’s the plan. Tinker turn her northwest and let’s get them ‘chutes on and get ready. Little ‘S’ while we are still flying north-northwest take one of the ‘chutes and toss it overboard, but make sure its not the one with the APR (Automatic Parachute Release), it has the name Sentinel-Sentry nametag on it. That ones mine, instructed Sarge."
“What, are you nuts, Pop? What do you mean ‘throw one out’?”
“Son, look, count – you can count can’t you? There are only four of us and we have five parachutes. The ‘Captain’, sorry to say, won’t be using his, but when the wreckage is found we do not want them to find any ‘chutes.
If they find one they will probably figure there could have been more ‘chutes on board and someone, us, used them. This way, they will find, what’s left, if anything, of the ‘Captain’ and no more ‘chutes and figure no one got out.
Right now (Sarge reaching inside his shirt) take off your dog tags and throw them on the floor.” As he spoke to Little ‘S’ he tossed his down. Little ‘S’ followed suit. “With the ‘Captain’s’ body blown to ‘hell in a hand basket’ they will just assume all the little scraps of blood, meat and bone belong to me and you, Son.
Me and you will have died in the crash and were blown to bits.
Tinker you and Spook are home free, they don’t even know about you guys, thank goodness!”
“We need to get the ‘Captain’s’ body from the back and buckle him into the pilots seat. Son will you and Spook go bring ‘Captain’ Knight back up front.”
Little ‘S’ and Spook made their way to the rear of the aircraft and excitedly yelled, “Sarge...! Sarge…! Come back here NOW!”
Sarge arriving at the ‘body’ quickly noticed something strange… the Captain’s’ arm was moving - he was alive - and he was trying to say something. Sarge knelt down and put his ear close to the ‘Captain’s’ mouth and listened intently to his words. “Sarge…”. He said gasping for air. “You’re a good friend….”. Panting hard, “do me two favors?”
“Anything that’s within my power, my friend, what do you want me to do?”
“Take my wedding ring off my finger put it to my lips for a kiss and return it to my wife – tell her I love her. Have her say to little Hugh Junior, when he’s older - we call him John after his middle name Jonathan, ‘Daddy loves you’. To my oldest son Trey, “Be brave. You’re the men of the house now. Daddy has always been proud of you. Grow up big and strong,” struggling to talk, “carry me back to the cock pit… I will ride ‘Knight’ my Silver Charger as far as I can in a direction away from you all.”
“Hugo, no, you don’t have the strength.”
“Just get me up there, I’ll give you some time, please!”
Tinker getting up from the pilot’s seat let Spook and Little ‘S’ put the ‘Captain’ in his rightful place behind his controls. They picked his arms up and let him grasp the yoke. “One more favor – can you get the picture of my family from my shirt pocket and place it on the windshield overhead?” They quickly obliged. Barely audible he said, “Good luck and goodbye my friends, Godspeed!”
Tinker meeting with the rest in the back strapped on her parachute and they showed her where the ripcord handle was located. “Son,” said Sarge, “get that ‘chute with the Automatic Parachute Release (APR) it should be marked F-1A and have the Sentinel-Sentry name on it somewhere. It’s set with a barometrically operated mechanically fired automatic release. With my bad shoulder I won’t be able to pull the ripcord. Son, set the automatic release to open at 1500 feet AGL (above ground level). I can’t stay in the air too long because I won’t be able to pull on the risers to guide where I land. I’m just going to trust in the good Lord that he’ll plop me down somewhere soft!”
Sarge further stated, “Right now we’re flying north-northwest at 120 mph. That means every minute we get 2 miles closer to Turin. I say fly north-northwest about 15 more minutes – then Tinker help the ‘Captain’ turn her back to north-northeast but do not engage the autopilot – let him fly wherever he wants. At least we should be about 30 miles closer to Turin – we can’t take a chance on getting much closer.
Fifteen minutes slowly passed – Tinker moved back into the co-pilots seat and pulled the Dehavilland’s nose around to the north-northeast and made sure the autopilot was disengaged.
She got up leaned over and gave the ‘Captain’ a gentle kiss on his right cheek. Standing back upright a gentle tear could be seen slipping out the corner of her beautiful almond shaped eyes. Tearful
ly she said good-bye and returned to join the others at the exit door Little ‘S’ had already opened.
Sarge took one last look around the inside of the cabin and hollered, “So long Hugo!” Patting Tinker on the shoulder he yelled, “remember count to four and pull - ‘GO”. She hesitated for a second - Spook right behind her gave her a big push, out the door they went. Little ‘S’ was behind Spook. Stepping to the door he turned and yelled to his Dad, “What was the name of that damn Indian?” Sarge grinning was last to exit.
Stepping out into the 120 mph slipstream all he could hear, even over the engine noise, was Tinkers blood curdling scream as she plunged down toward the ground far below.
Tinker never counted. Count hell, when that blast of wind hit her as Spook shoved her out the door, she couldn’t ever remember her name - she had barely cleared the aircraft door when she reached for her ripcord handle and pulled it.
The drag chute deployed immediately pulling out her main ‘chute – she felt the opening shock and suddenly she was hanging underneath the big canopy floating on the cool breeze. She looked up and saw this beautiful silk (actually nylon) parachute blossomed out above her head. Over her left shoulder she could count two more. Counting herself that’s three. No! No! There has to be four! Where is Spook! It can’t be, no, not now, not after all we have been through. We’ve come too far!
Fortunately and unknown to Tinker Spook was floating directly above her. So close in fact his feet were actually brushing the top of her canopy. He followed her so closely out the door that their ‘chutes opened almost simultaneously. He was safe, she just wasn’t aware of it yet – but soon her gloom would turn to joy again, once they safely landed on the ground.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SURIN REACHED, FINALLY!
They landed safely in a large grassy meadow – rolled up their parachutes and hurried to the cover of some trees that bordered their landing zone. Scanning 360 degrees around the horizon Sarge could see no signs of any inhabitants in the area.