Sojourners of the Sky (12 page)

Fifteen

A
sa returned to a different cockpit than the one he’d left. The mood was far more somber. With nowhere else to sit, Asa sat in Ed’s seat and asked, “What’s going on, fellas?”

Lars, the only other crew member not preoccupied, turned and whispered, “John found a dead man in one of the lavs. Charles is on the line with New York right now trying to figure out what they want us to do. And I’m guessing John is probably blaming himself for the guy’s death. I heard Charles mention something to that effect.”

“Gee, a guy takes a leak and suddenly the whole world falls apart,” said Asa jokingly.

Lars displayed a dour expression when he considered the truth behind Asa’s words. He knew Asa’s own world was about to fall apart and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

When Ed returned to the cockpit he had the dead man’s wallet in his hand. It was bulging with money. Looking at the wallet’s ID card, Ed announced, “The guy’s name is Albert Viscelli of Providence, Rhode Island.”

Hearing the news, Lars practically fell off his stool, calling out uncontrollably in a high-pitched voice, “Who?”

Surprised by the engineer’s reaction, Ed looked at him and said, “The guys name is Viscelli. Here, look at his ID card. Do you know him or something?”

Lars stared at the wallet with bulging eyes. He knew right away that he was likely responsible for Sonny’s demise. He had no idea that forcing a propeller to run away for a couple of minutes could scare someone to death. On one hand he was relieved that Sonny was off his back, but on the other hand he silently hoped no one would figure it out. He liked John Tacker, but had no intention of stirring a potential hornet’s nest, knowing full well that nothing good would come of it. He sat back in his seat in silence. He momentarily considered the fact that Sonny’s death might have just as easily been caused by something else. Then, after further consideration, the initial shock Lars had felt turned to fear once he realized that he was the most likely suspect. It was only a matter of time before they figured it out. Deep in thought, Lars didn’t realize that Ed was staring at him and awaiting a response.

“Well? Do you know him?” asked Ed a second time.

“I think we may have crossed paths,” replied Lars, determined to say as little as possible. He knew if he said the wrong thing, it could come back and bite him.

With an expression that suggested Lars hadn’t told him everything there was to tell, Ed handed the wallet to Charles.

Before the captain read the information over the radio, he said, “OK, men, look alive.” A moment later, after realizing just how foolish his ill-chosen words must have sounded, he corrected himself. “Uh, um, no pun intended there. I meant no disrespect. Now, uh, Ed, I need you to calculate our current position and then run a plot line to Keflavik, Iceland. I have a feeling we’re going to have to execute a diversion there. Lars, as soon as you have the information from Ed, I want you to plan a best speed and power setting to our new destination. Make sure you keep an eye on the fuel. I don’t want to land in Iceland with less than two hours of fuel. Have you got that, men?” Then, without waiting for or expecting a response, Charles shifted his attention to John. “John, get the latest Iceland weather. We’re probably too far north to raise weather ship Bravo, so try Iceland radio on HF. Pay particular attention to the wind. The weather can get mighty sporty up there this time of year. I’m also going to need you to be at your best. I’m going to trust that you will keep an eye on everything that goes on around here. Double check Ed’s work, keep an eye on Lars and his fuel numbers, and especially keep an eye on me. It’s late, we’re all tired and we are bound to make mistakes. This is your opportunity to shine.”

John nodded an affirmative, wondering if it was already too late--if the people back in New York were already typing up his letter of termination.

“Clipper Seven Seas, do you copy New York?”

“We have you three by two, New York. Go ahead,” responded Charles.

“Dispatch advises that you should divert to Keflavik,” stated the operator. “They will alert the station regarding your unexpected arrival. Plan minimum ground time, over.”

“Roger, New York, understand divert to Keflavik, B…I...K…F. I say again, diverting Bravo, India, Kilo, Foxtrot, over,” said Charles. Then he turned and announced loudly, “OK, men, we’re off to Iceland. Let’s stay on our toes.”

G.R. entered the cockpit just in time to hear Charles announce that they would be diverting. “Did I hear someone say we’re going to Iceland? Oh, goody. The Icelandic women are some of the most beautiful women in the world. What did I do to deserve this?” asked G.R. with a huge smile.

Everyone in the cockpit snickered under their breath, including Charles.

“Control your libido, G.R. I was told to expect minimum ground time,” announced Charles.

“Charles, all I need is a few minutes. I can see it now: A frozen young nymph, beautiful beyond compare, shivering on a windswept ramp; with G.R. there to provide whatever warmth is necessary,” proclaimed the feisty engineer.

His last comment brought an outburst of laughter from everyone within earshot. It was a welcome respite for Charles who knew the worst was yet to come. He pushed the flight attendant call button, summoning Kelly to the cockpit.

“Kelly, what’s the situation back there?” asked Charles, the moment he sensed her presence in the cockpit.

“Mr. Viscelli is lying on the floor in the aft cabin with a blanket over him,” said Kelly. “Some of the first class passengers are a little shaken up, but I think they will be all right. The older woman that passed out seems fine. We gave her a glass of water and she’s sitting comfortably in her seat. Sue is with her now. We’ve asked, but the only doctor we have on board is a veterinarian.”

“What old woman?” asked Charles, shooting a sharp glance at his copilot. “I didn’t know about that. All I was told was that a man had passed away in one of the aft lavs. Why wasn’t I informed?”

John wanted to say to his captain that he didn’t have a chance to tell him, but decided silence was his best option. He looked at Charles and Kelly with concern in his eyes, but remained quiet and emotionally absent.

“An older woman saw the man’s body and fainted,” said Kelly.

Charles threw his arms up in frustration before crying-out, “This flight is going to hell in a hand basket! I simply cannot have this! I cannot!”

Everyone remained silent, unsure of where Charles’s emotions would go next.

“Are there any other dead or unconscious passengers back there? Are we on fire? Did a wing fall off and you people just forgot to mention it?” exclaimed Charles, clearly annoyed and feeling a bit overwhelmed. “People are dropping like flies around here! First there was a call from New York…”

“Captain!” shouted Ed, cutting Charles off before he said something Ed knew the man would later regret.

Charles, startled by the interruption, looked with surprise at his navigator and asked, “What!?”

“Captain, didn’t you want to tell Kelly about our diversion plans?” asked Ed. “I don’t think she would be much interested in the call from company operations. And I’ll have those numbers for you in a second.”

It took a few moments before Charles realized that he’d almost informed one of his crew members about a death in his family with anger in his voice. He instantly felt ashamed for his lack of self control. “Ed, yes, thank you for getting me back on course there,” he said. Then, turning back toward the purser he added, “Kelly, we are going to land in Iceland to deplane our deceased passenger. As you know, we cannot declare a passenger deceased, only a medical doctor can do that. Technically, the man is still alive and we are diverting with the intention of getting him some medical attention. Is that clear?”

“Yes, captain,” responded Kelly.

“Please inform the passengers regarding our plans. We should only be on the ground for a short while. I’m estimating that we’ll land in London approximately three hours after our scheduled arrival time.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

Charles looked at John with squinting eyes and sneered, “How’s the weather in KEF?”

“Sorry, Charles, I’ll call them right now,” said John.

For the next twenty minutes everyone busily performed their assigned tasks. And while his crew did as they’d been ordered, Charles called Gander to inform them about the change in destination.

The moment Ed finished calculating their heading for Keflavik he handed the information, along with the estimated winds aloft, to Lars so that the flight engineer could make his computations. It took Lars a few minutes to plug Ed’s numbers into the various graphs and tables located in the aircraft performance manual.

While the others worked, G.R. lay comfortably on the upper bunk with his eyes open. He knew things would go smoother if he took over for Lars, but for a myriad of reasons he decided to let the junior engineer handle it. Nonetheless, he told himself to stay awake just in case his underling fouled things up.

“It is as you might have expected in Keflavik, Charles,” announced John.

“What do you have, John?”

“KEF weather is visual. Right now they have one thousand overcast with three miles visibility in blowing snow. The temperature is zero centigrade and the wind is out of the northwest. The latest observation indicates: three-five zero degrees at forty knots, with gusts to eighty knots,” said John. Then, after studying the weather for another few seconds, he added, “It looks rough.”

“Whew! That’s some wind,” observed Charles. “Like I said, it’s not unusual to see that kind of wind during the winter and early spring up there.”

“At least it’s practically down the runway,” noted John, referring to the fact that with the wind blowing down the runway, his captain wouldn’t have to fight a ferocious crosswind.

“Yes, that will help. Good thing the terrain around the airport is relatively flat,” said Charles. “I landed at the smaller airport once, the one just outside the city, and they were reporting high winds just like this. There are some mountains north of Reykjavik, out beyond the bay, and they gave me some of the worst turbulence I’ve ever experienced. I don’t imagine that will be a problem tonight. I suspect icing might be a concern for us though.”

“How far is KEF from downtown?” asked Lars, without looking up from the chart he was studying.

“Oh, I’d say around thirty miles or so. It takes a while by car; I know that,” replied Charles.

“Here you go, captain,” said Lars, handing him a slip of paper with their new heading and estimated time of arrival. “I calculated our fuel numbers using twelve hundred horsepower because I figured you wanted to get there fast.”

“Very good, Lars,” said Charles as he reset the heading bug on the autopilot.

The captain waited until the airplane was well clear of their previously assigned track before initiating a gradual descent to 15,500 feet. Safety dictated that they change altitudes in order to remain at least five hundred feet above or below any aircraft that might be in close proximity. Once they’d cleared all the tracks, Charles planned to descend to twelve thousand feet.

The flight to Keflavik seemed to take forever. The winds, which had been blowing against the side of the airplane, became headwinds once they’d made the turn toward Iceland. And with the winds such as they were, their speed over the ground dropped significantly. Lars had anticipated that, but nonetheless continued checking and rechecking his numbers as the airplane plodded along toward their new destination in the icy North Atlantic.

At sixty-two degrees north latitude, John switched the number one radio over to Iceland radio. But before contacting them, he turned up his speaker volume and announced to the other cockpit crew members, “OK, fellas, I’m about to call Iceland and I’d like everyone to lend an ear. For some reason their language completely confounds me, and their accent is at times indecipherable. I’ll need everyone’s help.”

Charles smiled in agreement, knowing that he too sometimes had trouble with the Icelandic, as well as some of the Asian accents. “If that ain’t the truth,” he noted softly.

John glanced at his captain and said, “I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

“Perhaps we’ll luck out and get an American,” offered Charles.

“Really? I didn’t know there were Americans up here,” replied John. “I’ve never been to Iceland. The only time I’ve talked to these guys was when I was in their airspace.”

“At some point during World War II the Brits left Iceland. Since then, their air traffic control system has been operated by the Americans. But from what I was told, the Icelandic government wants to run things now. I suppose I understand that. I mean, after all, it is their homeland. Anyway, for the past two years they’ve been slowly training the locals to take over. You must have been drawing the communication’s short straw whenever you’ve been up here,” said Charles.

“I suppose so,” said John. Then after a few deep breaths he keyed his microphone. “Iceland radio, Iceland radio, Clipper forty-two on four three seven seven, position.”

“Clipper forty-two, Iceland, go ahead,” responded the controller with a Minnesota-sounding accent.