Armageddon - Leon Uris

Hilde bowed her head and swallowed hard.

“You’re a big girl, Hilde. If you want love, you’re going to build it on tears, room by room.”

A contribution to the perfection of the Airlift was for the craft to radio ahead to its home base and give in code information on whether his ship needed maintenance or carried cargo.

Those planes needing minor repairs or carrying cargo from Berlin reported it ahead; the information was relayed to the various centers to have everything in readiness as the plane touched down.

Scott’s plane was Number One. It would go to Hardstand Number One. A loading master had the chart of the plane and had a trailer loaded with cargo, Trailer Number One.

When each plane cut engines in the matching hardstand number the matching trailer pulled up to continue the cycle flawlessly. The mobile planeside briefings brought in the latest weather data and flight-plan changes.

Number Seventeen reported an oil leak, was pulled out of the bloc, and a new craft took the number.

The control centers charted each bit of loading and maintenance information, engine hours, cargoes, air-traffic bloc times, and fed the data back to the control center at Headquarters in Wiesbaden.

Turn-around time for the bloc was to be forty-nine minutes. Scott grabbed a ride to his office with the Production Control jeep.

He asked the operator for the Loveless number.

“Colonel Loveless residence.”

“Hi ... it’s me.”

“Hi, me.”

Scott heaved a sigh. “Ja oder nein?”

“Ja.”

“You ... you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Listen, I got to run. I’ll call you soon as I get back from Berlin. We take off in the morning.”

“I’ll wait to hear from you.”

Scott returned to Big Easy One beaming. He clapped his hands together to beat off the cold. Nick handed him the trip sheet. He pinched Nick’s cheek. “You’re a nice Greek boy, Nick Papas, a nice, nice boy.”

“What’s it? What’s it?”

“Tell Lieutenant Kitchek he’s a nice Polish boy and to check out this nice bird.”

“The way you’re flying you might reach Berlin ahead of the bloc.”

Nick grumbled off. He knew what had happened. Scott was going on leave tomorrow. Ten will get you fifty, Hilde was going with him. It was going to be like Cindy all over again. He wanted Hilde to have held out. The bastard always won.

“Before you get too happy,” Stan said, “that low in the North Sea has deepened. Berlin is full of weather. It’s a cinch we’ll have to land by GCA.”

“Good,” Scott beamed, “I need the practice.”

Stan looked to Nick as if to say ... is he crazy?

“Fly this bird,” Scott said when they passed Fulda.

He needed to think. He stretched in a makeshift bunk. The long-eluded victory was almost his. Scott chastised himself for not confronting her with this decision earlier. What the hell, the longer the wait, the sweeter the victory!

He decided to play it smooth and wait until she gave all the signs. He had never wanted a woman as much as he wanted Hilde. And dammit, she never meant to let him go all the while!

Thirty-five minutes past Fulda, Nick shook him from his reverie. He returned to his seat.

“How’s the weather?”

“Ceiling in Berlin is five hundred feet, visibility a half mile.”

Scott grunted. It was getting close to minimums. The altimeter showed the plane losing altitude. Scott glanced out of the left window and saw the thin white line forming over the black boots, a sight that always quickened the pulse of a pilot.

“Watch the ice, Stan,” he said, easing the yoke back to bring the plane to proper altitude.

While wetting down the props and concentrating on the instruments, they had no way of knowing a fuel line in the engine was breaking from metal fatigue and would drip raw gas onto the hot cylinders.

“Tempelhof Airways, this is Big Easy One forty minutes east of Fulda at six thousand feet. Center-line check.”

“Big Easy One, this is Tempelhof Airways. We have you under radar control. You are on center line. Report at each thousand-foot level. You are cleared to descend to four thousand.”

“Roger.”

The fuel line ripped open.

“Big Easy One this is Tempelhof. Ceiling three hundred feet, visibility one half mile. Winds fifteen knots from the northwest, braking action poor. Turn over to Jigsaw at forty-five.”

Jigsaw! The code name for ground-controlled approach. A chain reaction of tension was set off down the entire bloc.

They were all flying blind. Teams of specialists in the electronic shacks on the side of the runways would soon guide their flight by ethereal voices.

As turbulence shook Big Easy One the hot exhaust ignited the trailing fuel.

“Christ!”

A streak of fire poured from the number-three engine down the side of the plane the instant the fire-warning light came alive.

“Oh shit,” Nick said.

Scott reached over Stan, pulled the fire wall shut-off valve, and looked at his watch to let thirty agonizing seconds pass.

“This is Big Easy One. Emergency. Engine on fire.”

Scott pulled the CO 2extinguisher handle discharging white foam to battle the flaming engine, set down the landing gears to ventilate the wheel housing. The fire smothered to stillness.

Scott’s trained hand closed the cowl flaps and retarded the throttle on the smoking engine. He nodded to Stan, who pushed the feathering button and snapped off the booster pump. The giant prop slowly turned right-angled to the air flow and came to a halt

“Tank.”

“Off.”

Scott flipped the ignition switch. Stan looked out of the window.

“I think we’ve got it.”

Scott looked over his shoulder at Nick. The unlit cigar had been chewed in half. He flipped a book of matches back. “Go on, light it.”

“All heart, you’re all heart.”

“This is Big Easy One calling Tempelhof Airways. Fire under control, number-three engine feathered.”

The bloc behind Scott held rigid discipline. A struggle was now on to bring in the wounded bird.

“This is Tempelhof calling Big Easy One. Contact Jigsaw on Charlie Channel.”

Stan switched to the emergency channel and established contact with GCA.

“This is Jigsaw. What are your intentions?”

With the immediate emergency under control Scott wanted to try for Gatow or Tegel, where the landing would be easier than the steep glide over the cemetery.

“This is Big Easy One calling Jigsaw. Can you give me permission to land at Gatow or Tegel?”

“Stand by.”

Gatow had an emergency. A plane had blown a tire and the runway was out of use. Tegel had fallen below minimums and was shut down.

“Big Easy One this is Jigsaw. Cannot comply with your request. Both fields out of operation. Can you turn around and go back to the zone, over?”

Stan and Nick kept quiet. The few seconds to decision did not allow the luxury of discussion or prolonged procrastination. Scott did not know for certain what had caused the fire and therefore not certain it would not erupt again. There was nothing left to fight it with. He had ten tons of cargo on three engines and an icing condition.

“Let’s get this mother down,” he said to his crew over the intercom. They nodded in agreement.

“This is Big Easy One calling Jigsaw. We want to make an immediate landing at Tempelhof.”

Stan and Nick were already going through the emergency procedures, leaving Scott free to concentrate on the instruments. Nick looked outside. Nothing could be seen.

They listened as Tempelhof Radar diverted the rest of the bloc into the Center corridor and back to Rhein/Main.

“This is Jigsaw calling Big Easy One. We have you positive. What is your altitude?”