IXTHE THREATENING CRASH

IXTHE THREATENING CRASH

As time passed Jack continued to sit there in charge, frequently glancing over the side to see if there were any signs of the swirling beacons especially designed to assist air mail pilots on their way to some distant goal.

He had figured out that they must, sooner or later, come upon the line of such beacons and once found it would not be very difficult to continue following them during the balance of the night.

In the end he was greatly pleased to discover a faint light ahead—in about ten seconds he glimpsed it again and when this happened for the third time his last doubt was removed.

As he passed far above the revolving light he changed his course a little knowing the points of the compass the line of beacons followed, he must set out to follow them for unless he managed to do the right thing he could not possibly come across the next whirling glow.

Three, four of the friendly lights designated as “guide-posts of the air” he passed and all seemed going just as he would wish, when there came a sudden and unwelcome change.

Perk, sleeping just behind the pilot, felt something come in contact with his arm and he instinctively understood it was Jack giving him the prearranged nudge to let him know his rest period had expired and that it was up to him to take his turn at the controls.

“Huh! I get you, partner,” he mumbled, not yet thoroughly aroused, “watchman, how goes the night, eh Jack, old hoss?”

“Not so good,” the other told him.

“I swan now, if this ain’t a punk deal!” ventured Perk, in a tone of injured innocence, “when did this beat in on us, buddy?”

“It’s just plain unadulterated fog,” Jack told him in a matter-of-fact tone as though such a thing was to be expected in a night’s run where every possible type of country, from prairie to mountains, could be met up with and the contrary streams of air were favorable to heavy fogs.

Perk first of all took a single look over the side.

“Ginger pop! a reg’lar pea-soup that’s been dished up for us, it sure is, partner!” he exclaimed, the head phones still being in use so that talking was no trouble at all even though the racket all around was deafening.

“Some fog, that’s right Perk,” admitted the unmoved pilot “the one you’re mixed up with always does seem to be the worst ever.”

“How long we been kickin’ through this mess?” demanded Perk.

“Oh, something like half an hour more or less I figure,” said Jack.

“An’ it’s now jest three in the mornin’—meanin’ some two and a half more hours before the first peep o’ day.”

He leaned forward, the better to survey the altitude dial in order to learn how high Jack had been flying.

“Four thousand feet an’ more, eh?” Perk remarked, “I guess that might be fairly safe, unless there happened to be a stiff mountain range standin’ across our course. Want me to keep that right along, Boss?”

“For another half hour and then we’ve got to climb as far again—can’t take any chance in a mess like this—I’ve always got that Transcontinental Air Transport liner, theSan Franciscoin my mind when I strike into a heavy fog.”[3]

Perk made a queer sound with his lips as if to indicate that his feelings ran along the same groove. Indeed, many an air pilot has had that same terrible tragedy flash before him when plunging onward through an opaque wall of fog, unable to even see his own wingtips.

“I’m on partner,” said Perk as he took over the stick. “Meanin’ to get seven winks o’ sleep, ain’t you?”

“Not just now,” responded Jack, “truth is I’m not a bit sleepy so I’ll just take things easy and do some thinking while you run the ship.”

“Expected to meet up with some muck like this I guess, eh, partner?”

“Sure did Perk, only not quite so soon,” came the undisturbed reply. “It seems there’s been an unusual amount of dirty weather out this way lately and we’ve just slammed into this fog as a feeler. About four, start to head toward that higher ceiling—no particular hurry I’d say, according to the chart.”

“Okay Boss, I got you,” with which Perk relapsed in silence while the plane continued to speed along with its monotonous roar and hum.

If anything the fog was growing thicker, Perk made up his mind, although he really had nothing to afford any comparison since they were completely shut in as by a circular wall, not even a solitary star being in evidence and certainly not the faintest glimmer of a moving beacon down below where the unseen earth lay.

At such a time as this the air pilot finds himself depending wholly on the accuracy of his instruments, backed by his ability to read them without the slightest error. Perk was well up in all this and had no doubt of his judgment in carrying on. Flying blind is what these gallant sailors of the airways call such a condition, though the only recognition of the encompassing danger is a cutting down of their swift pace.

The consequent thrill that accompanies such a voyage through a sea of fog comes to every pilot; although in time they become so accustomed to the conditions that it fails to affect them as in the beginning. Should the bravest of men, though a beginner in aviation, ever experience such a wild night ride through space and heavy fog it would give him a sense of anticipation that could come through no other source, whether on sea or land.

Once, when there chanced to be a little change in the scant night breeze, Perk lifted his head as if to listen but before he could decide whether he had actually heard something or had been deceived by a strut snapping back, the feeble air again fell away and left him groping in ignorance, not wholly satisfied, yet unable to find anything on which to hang a conjecture.

“Rats! you must be away off your base Perk,” he told himself chidingly, “huh! not a ghost o’ a chance in ten thousand—yet it sure did sound like a ship in action. Must be hearin’ things again in the night.”

He had slackened the pace somewhat, thinking of that dreadful crash down amidst the lava beds of the wildest country in the whole Southwest, mind pictures that made him willing to consider safety first before speed. Perhaps it was fate that made Perk for once conquer that reckless spirit of his for there could be no telling what the consequences might have been otherwise.

Again he lifted his head and assumed the strained attitude that went with listening intently—the roar of their engine’s exhaust seemed to eclipse any other sound and as if seized with a sudden inspiration, Perk reached out and brought the silencer into play. This had an immediate effect—and then too it caused Jack to take notice, for he called out:

“What’s the big idea partner—trying things out are you?”

“Listen, Jack—don’t you hear it ahead there?” almost shrieked the one at the stick.

A few seconds passed during which Jack must have been straining his ears to the utmost. Then he gave a cry that bubbled forth in a mixture of incredulity and alarm—the only time on record that Perk could remember Jack showing such an unusual emotion.

“It’s a ship, Perk!” he shrilled.

“You bet it is!” echoed the other, dismay in his thick voice.

“Dead ahead of us too and bearing this way,” continued Jack as the portentous sounds grew louder with each passing second. Their own motor had been throttled down to a mere whisper and thus any other sound was due to be heard.

A few more dreadful seconds passed with that throbbing sound growing more and more threatening.

“Must be the east bound air mail!” Jack hastily exclaimed, “make a nose dive partner, and in a hurry too, for she’s right on us!”

[3]

September, 1929, this wonderful up-to-date giant air liner with eight persons aboard, became lost in a storm and fog and crashed headlong into a rocky cliff in the Black Rock Valley, some twenty-six miles from Gallup, New Mexico, exploded and burned with a total loss of ship, crew and five passengers. The tragedy of this once volcanic district sent a wave of horror throughout the entire country and proved a setback to the cause of aviation. Jack only voiced the feelings of nearly every pilot in saying what he did.

September, 1929, this wonderful up-to-date giant air liner with eight persons aboard, became lost in a storm and fog and crashed headlong into a rocky cliff in the Black Rock Valley, some twenty-six miles from Gallup, New Mexico, exploded and burned with a total loss of ship, crew and five passengers. The tragedy of this once volcanic district sent a wave of horror throughout the entire country and proved a setback to the cause of aviation. Jack only voiced the feelings of nearly every pilot in saying what he did.

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