Urgent Humanitarian Mission! [Archive] - Pier Glass Aviation Forums

Captain Geoff

12-02-2009, 12:05

In the radio tower of PANiC the crackling sound of a very familiar voice comes over the radio... "Anchorage tower, Piper N4086P 25NM South West, 5000 feet, inbound for landing requesting runway zero seven right."

The look of dismay that crosses over the controller's face upon hearing the voice was the same as that of someone standing on the beach watching a 100 foot tsunami rolling in. But just as quickly the look changes to a puzzled look. "A Piper? Now where did HE get that?"

Runways 07 were not the ideal runways today. Indeed there was a severe cross wind of about 30 degrees. But if that's what the captain wanted, at least it wouldn't interfere with the heavies. The Air Force was still cleaning up after their annual Red Flag event and the national guard parking area was littered with odd-ball country's planes displaying all sorts of different flags.

The Piper approach was perfect as usual, but the crabbing motion as it veered off heading to stay on course was pretty dramatic. Soon it was down on the ground and requesting taxi over to the National Guard area. The pilot said he had gotten it cleared and a quick call confirmed the plane was expected.

Captain Geoff stepped out of the little plane nestled among the behemoths of cargo flight. Sure enough, there it was. A C-17 with Greenland markings. The captain smiled to himself as he approached base ops, his hand already reaching for his military id.

Entering the ops building he noticed the tote board showing all the flights lined up for the next couple of days. Spain, England, Italy, Brazil, Japan.. ah there it was Greenland... C-17 cargo space - 60,000 pounds 100,000 available. Mmmm let's see that would be about 15,000 gallons of beer in kegs. That would do quite nicely.

Our good captain, always inventive, sidles up to the sergeant in charge and asks to see the duty officer. A moment later, Captain Walsh, USAFR, appears. A moment later the two are isolated in his office and quiet whispers and lots of vigorous head shaking take place. Finally the young Air Force Captain throws up his hands and makes a telephone call. Several minutes pass by and the door bursts open, a full bird Colonel appears with more salad than a salad, with shiny wings. The three men begin talking again in whispers, the staff peering furtive looks to try and figure what is going on.

The Colonel picks up the phone, makes a call, puts it down and makes another. And yet a third and fourth call. The colonel is seen instructing the captain and then all three shake hands.

The Colonel leaves, and the Captains are left together walking to the ops counter. The Captain wipes off LCOL Jeemies and enters CDR McLean. Some instructions to the sergeant and a ream of paper is printed out put in a oversized envelope and handed to our Captain Geoff. He then disappears and re-emerges in a military pilot's flight suit, gold wings perched on his chest. He sits behind the counter opens the envelope and studies the charts of Juneau Alaska. It's been a long time since he's flown one of the big boys, and his career is on the line.....:eek:

Captain Geoff

12-02-2009, 09:56

Suddenly, Captain Geoff reaches for a phone. da-dee-dee-dit-da-da-do-do-di-dit.
"Pier Glass Aviation, Wherever you want to go we'll fly you there".
"Hey Boss, this is Capn Geoff. I got us a C-17 with room for about 15,000 gallons of beer. Its a one way flight, but hey, beggars can't be choosers. I'll be in Juneau later today. Where do I pick up the beer?"

The Boss

12-02-2009, 04:12

Excellent! I'll give Alaskan Brewery a call and have them deliver the beer over to the Civil Air Patrol hangar on the west side of the airport -- it's the last big hangar on that end, and there's plenty of room out front. You'll see the sign.

Heh. The cadets are gonna like having a Globemaster out front... feel free to order them around to get things done, by the way, and if you're wearing what I suspect you're wearing, they'll owe you push ups if they neglect to salute you. :-D

Captain Geoff

12-03-2009, 11:42

Our intrepid captain climbs into the cockpit of the Globemaster III. APU start.... check Engine 2 start .... check. engine 3 start ...check. engine 1 start.... check. engine 4 start... check. Lights... check. Radios on.... ooops. Check the breaker. No good. Got a penny? Can't - military design. Ok, let's start the shutdown procedure....

And so the C-17 engines spool down and the disappointed Captain and crew disembark. Back at the operations center, Captain Geoff checks on the availability of a repair part. In stock. Excellent! It'll take another day to get the part and install and test it.

Guess the Greenies will have to wait one more day.....

Captain Geoff

12-03-2009, 06:09

Captain Geoff is awakened by a gentle tug on his shoulder.
"Planes ready, Commander"
"Roger", followed by a large yawn, His neck hurt a little, his right leg numb from the awkward position on the ready room couch he'd managed to steal. He was hungry too. Fortunately there were always donuts and coffee in the Ops center. Grabbing two nondescript flattened spheroids he puts on his flight jacket to ward off the cold.

The plane's engines were already running, the radio crackling with chatter even at the early hour of 0700. The sky was lit softly by a full moon. As the other crewmen settled in he called the tower. His clearance was all set, and he could begin his taxi whenever he was ready.

Gently pushing the throttles, the behemoth began rolling down the taxiway. What a wonderful sensation to be this high up. The 12 knot rolling speed felt like a crawl, so he cranked it up to 20 knots. No warnings from the tower. Interesting...

Cleared for take off before he got to the end of the taxiway, Captain Geoff pushes the throttles full forward as soon as the lumbering beast gets aligned. There are a few startled comments from the crew, the Commander ignores them, concentrating on the myriad displays.

Surprisingly, the aircraft reaches V1 quickly and climbs with much more agility than he had thought possible. That's what four humongous engines do. The climb to angels 27 proceeds very quickly and the plane levels off for the 45 minute flight to Juneau. Apparently the crew is impressed, as the normal cargo pilots that fly this plane are much more gentle on it.

The one thing that worries Captain Geoff is the landing. It's been a long time, and Air Force birds are not built as strong as Navy planes. He'll have to take it easy on the landing. But the flight continues on, the powerful engines pushing the plane at over 450 knots ground speed, and soon begins the descent into Juneau.

Clouds at 6-8,000 feet look like mountains but they are gossamer. The ILS at Juneau is an interesting setup, being not located on the runway, a sharp turn is necessary for the lineup. The Commander executes the turn perfectly, a little low but lines up sweetly centerline and touches down without a bounce right in the zone. If there had been wires there he'd have been a #3. Very nice indeed. The plane slows enough so that an early turnout is available and then the long taxi west to the parking spot.

Geoff shuts down the plane looks around at the deserted area. The crewmen go about their tasks to refuel the plane...

The Boss

12-03-2009, 08:15

Actually, there is no ILS approach to PAJN, because there's no straight-in available. What's there is an LDA. Most use GPS these days. :)

Welcome to Juneau. The Brewery has been sending trucks over all morning, and the cadets are standing by to assist in any way necessary.

Captain Geoff

12-03-2009, 08:30

Thank you. Yeah, what you said about ILS.

Ah, here come the cadets. Cadets and beer? Are the leaders insane???

Just where exactly, are we to deliver the goods?

just a second.... yeah Chief - go ahead and get the forklift going, the kegs will be far to heavy to lift and stack'em high.

That long?

OK.

Hey Boss, looks like this is going to take a couple of hours as these things have to be strapped in pretty good. Looks to be about a 4-5 hour flight depending on where they are going.

Guess I'll go visit the Cadets and stay out of the way of the crew of this bird.....

The Boss

12-03-2009, 09:39

These cadets are all underage, but they're good for all kinds of gopher work. It builds character. If there doesn't seem to be anything obvious for them to do, follow the age-old tradition of making something up. I mean, doesn't the Globemaster need a wax job? :-D

Godtåhb/Nuuk Airport, Greenland is the destination. They're expecting you and will meet the plane on the ramp. Apparently the situation is pretty ugly up there without sufficient beer to keep the populace content, so watch yourself.

Captain Geoff

12-04-2009, 11:29

OK, Boys and Girls, while we wait for the loading to finish up - let's examine this plane. Unlike the Navy, you'll notice that there is dirt everywhere - and this plane has been sitting for days. So grab a sponge and get this here landing gear nice and shiny.

How many of you are going into the Air Force? Mmmm, too bad. How many of you want to fly fighters? You do realize that the largest combat air force is owned by the Navy? Marines? Good pilots. Tend to stay low and slow.

Ah that wheel well is looking sharp. I'm sure the Greenies will appreciate your fine work. Ok look another semi is showing up with beer. Let me go and check on our status....

Rick

12-04-2009, 10:00

The light bulb above my rickety cot seemed especially piercing this time. I'd considered changing it out for a smaller one. Where could I find one around here?...

Sorry 'bout that. You awake?

Ah! Back to the reason I was cursing the light- I squinted at the battered but impressively complicated watch on my wrist. I'd worn it so long there was a permanent pale band of skin beneath. Huh? 3:10? I turned over and addressed the owner of the voice.

"I'm awake, Lyle. What is it?"

Got a message for you, Joe.

"Rick."

What?

"My name. It's Rick. Remember?"

Oh. Right. Gotcha!

Lyle, it seems, has somewhat of a problem with short-term recall. While I've seen him perform mechanical miracles and recite aircraft techincal data like scripture, he never remembers my name. Well, he remembers one name. Just not mine. While I might hold his attention in the odd conversation now and again, at the end of the day my name is always Joe. Why that name? Who is he? I dunno. So, I'm Joe. Better than Peggy calling me crapbag. Now the message. Hmm. Alaska Brewery? Okay. Tuborg Julebryg? I understand the concern. Greenland? NOT a short hop. Finding a plane big enough to do the job might be a little tricky. Needs to be a multi, that's for sure. Jet? Not an option. I don't have the connections that Cap'n Geoff has. And I just don't have any markers to call in for this kind of job. Well, let's just sweat that one as it comes. I'd better get in touch with the brewery to let them know I'm coming into Juneau. I just don't know with what. After throwing some gear together, I saw Lyle just out the door with his feet up near the stove. I slapped him on the shoulder in the universal sign for work to be done. "Lyle, I need a favor..."

Sure. Anything. Just name it, Joe.

(sigh)

Rick

12-05-2009, 09:15

That late afternoon and evening was a bust. I'd been in touch with the Alaska Brewery and everything was a go on their end. They seemed enthusiastic about such "huge" shipments that PGA was signing on for. Not quite sure what was meant, I stammered a reply and hung up. The next morning, I was up early and went into town, foraging for my usual lox sandwich and coffee. Lyle had left before dawn with another pair of mechanics, headed west to help a crew with a stranded plane. Back at the airport, I was in the FBO, chatting up anyone I knew for some, ANY information regarding some oversize hack I could get my hands on. Behind the counter, the telephone rang and the lone attendent answered. Waving the reciever in my direction, he called "Hey, PGA!" Turning, I asked who the caller asked for. "He wants to talk to Joe." Cracking a grin, he finished, "I can only assume it's for you." Shaking my head yet again in wonderment, I took the phone.

"Yes, Lyle?"

Ah, Joe! Glad I caught you! Are you busy?

"Yes. Yes I am, Lyle. What is it?"

You gotta come out to Gutierrez as soon as you can...

"What? With all this stuff to do, why do I need to go out to Sitka?"

Well, I came out here early this morning to help the other hangar guys with some work. Seems there's this plane that needed some diagnostics run and I thought I'd give you a call so you could come see it.

"Why? What's so special about this plane you worked on?"

Well, it's kinda big. So I thought...

"Big? How big? Big enough for us to use?"

Well yeah, I think. The guys working cargo on it thought we could work something out before it left again.

"Where? Leaving where?"

Greenland.

My gum fell out of my mouth. "You keep them there! There's a mail run leaving here in 15 munutes. If I can get on, I'll see you about an hour. Thanks, Lyle!"

Sure thing, Joe.

"Rick!"

Right.

Captain Geoff

12-06-2009, 08:06

With the landing gear well cleaned and polished we headed inside for some coco and beer. Scratch the beer. I'm flying. :-( The semis kept arriving laden with pallet after pallet of kegs. The forklifts were rushing back and forth straining with the load.

Watching out the ready room window I began to wonder if the plane could actually lift off, and just how was the loadmaster able to fit it all in. Jeeze, if I break this thing I'll die in a pool of beer. :eek: Not a bad way to go actually. :-)

I did a Q and A with the cadets. They seemed fascinated by a Navy pilot flying an Air Force plane. Well, I have to admit it's a pretty rare thing. Not unheard of, just unusual. The minutes turned into hours, lunch was called for and the diesel roar of trucks and lifts were silenced for an hour. And then the noise came back. Kind of reminded me of back in the Navy when I loaded up Marines on an LST. Seemed to take all day - indeed it did and then some..... :worry:

Captain Geoff

12-07-2009, 07:07

The C-17 wings drooped from all the avgas and the tires squatted under the heavy weight of 100,000 pounds of golden nectar and 60,000 pounds of gear, parts, and people.

Captain Geoff nervously looked at his watch as the time rapidly closed upon 1500 local. Amazingly the skies were almost clear in the rain forest. The radio crackled with the delighted voice of the tower: "Roger Beer Express 023, you are cleared to runway 8. Don't slosh" this was followed by loud laughing as the controller kept the mic keyed. In between chortles, the controller also finally got out the weather at the destination - Nuun in Greenland. Overcast with heavy clouds due in 4 hours.

The C-17 lumbered down the taxiway as the concrete gave audible groans. The cadets were loving it though. Unbeknownst to Capt Geoff they had put a sticker on the tail "Free Beer". By the time the C-17 reached the hold short line of runway 08, the whole airport had heard of the Beer Express and the giggles kept on coming. One would have thought the pilots had all gotten into the cargo.

The Controller cleared the beer express and ordered it to "rise like the head". Which further put pilots in to hysterical laughs. Even our intrepid captain managed a bit of a smile as he applied full throttle. The plane accelerated slowly and with flaps lowered 50% gained speed passing 150, 160, and the end of the runway came ever closer. In an instant they were past the point of no return, just a hundred yards from the end when Captain Geoff rotated the plane, speed climbed to 185 in a steep climb to avoid the mountains looming just ahead.

A left turn took the plane directly over the peak of the highest, but the aircraft was already at 4,000 feet well away from any danger.

the rest of the flight was boring and monotonous. Captain Geoff couldn't believe the speed they were making and with the autopilot on everyone relaxed as they sped across Canada at 40,000 feet.

Soon Air Traffic had them descending in a steep slope into Nuun following the ILS. Well aware that the precious cargo in the back could not withstand too much of a bump, Geoff flattened his trajectory trying for an Air Force landing. The wheels touched with a squeal and the plane came to a halt short enough to make the second last exit. Good brakes on this thing. There was no mistaking where to go next. The trucks, forklifts, and people milled about a spot where tower had the C-17 taxi to.

It might have been almost 1AM, but as the plane sidled up to the ramp, a swarm of men raced to the rear of the plane as the engines began to spool down. The loadmaster began opening the rear door and a mighty cheer arose from the crown. Most of them were wearing "Beer Hats". One fellow Bjorg was the foreman and the loadmaster conferred with him. Soon the forklifts were dashing back and forth unloading the precious cargo.

Captain Geoff was invited out to a local pub when the unloading was done, and well, being Captain Geoff, he could hardly refuse. He wondered fleetingly how Flash Gordon was doing, but was instantly distracted by the sight of a blonde bombshell. No two. No three. No the whole bar full of them. Ah, it's good to be the bearer of beer.

The Beer Express run #1 was completed. Geoff let the worry of how to get back until later in the morning. In the meantime he spied a Donkey Kong game in a corner.....

Rick

12-18-2009, 06:31

DISCLAIMER:

The scene that transpires below is without the benefit of subtitles. I as well mean to make perfectly clear that my butchering of the Danish language is certainly not meant as slander to the language itself, the Danish people nor those fortunate enough to have such noble ethnicity in their heritage.

I stood on the fringes of a group of mechanics and technicians in front of a small hangar toward the west end of the ramp of Rocky Gutierrez Airport. The activity was centered around a rather well-used Dash
7. A worn shade of (at one time) a handsome red covered the craft and was accented by the large logo running down the length of the lower fuselage, Gronlandsfly. I chuckled. I'd have never found this.
Only Lyle... While a larger plane would have been nice, I've never been one to shoo away providence. Something's better than nothing. While I was figuring how much could be loaded and delivered, it
suddenly occured to me that we might need actual permission to do this. Hmm. I turned to where he was standing. "Lyle? A word, please?"

Without turning, he held up a hand to me. Yeah, Joe. Just a minute. He then returned to a rather concetrated discussion that I couldn't understand with a tall blonde man. Let's see: comfortably worn
leather jacket, aviator sunglasses and a stubbly 3-day growth of beard. Uh-huh. In any language, a pilot. Now, in traveling, I've picked up a word here and a phrase there so that I could navigate just over
our borders grammatically. To a degree. I've tried ordering in restaurants and was shown the men's room. I've engaged in casual discussion in bars and was slapped for my trouble. Maybe rightfully so. :heheh:
But I didn't get was I was hearing AT ALL. And the fact that Lyle seemed to understand suddenly made me feel quite inadequate in this world...

"Lyle?"

Yeah?

"What's going on?"

Well, I thought I'd try to work out something with Jens here...oh, uh, Cap'n Joe this is...

"Rick..."

Right. Cap'n Rick, this is Jens Oberg. He's first officer of 1123. Jens extened his hand for the firm-gripped one up, one down salutation I've come to know as the Euroshake.

"Charmed. Look, Lyle- you speak...uh...?"

Danish? Sure.

"Oh. But how...?"

'Cause frankly, my Kalaallisut leaves something to be desired.

"Oh." Quite inadequate indeed. "So where are we with this?"

The situation was one that could benefit us both. We needed cargo transport to Nuuk. Jens, it seemed was in a pickle. The Dash was in Canada under contract for a long time (hence the outdated Gronlandsfly
logo.) It had developed communication problems after a stop in Yakutat on their way southeast. After that, it was going back to Greenland Air for retrofit. It is one of few that remains in complete cargo
configuration. To add to his troubles, Jens' captain was quite ill with some stomach malady. While well enough to travel, he wasn't able to fulfill his duties. Jens was anxious to get home and was
empowered to do so through any means (i.e. comical and not entirely believable) necessary. And when he found out exactly what we needed to transport, he was completely on board. He would be very well
thought of indeed, returning to Greenland with so precious a cargo. Much like Marc Antony bringing back the spoils of war to Caeser...carbonated in brown glass bottles. And for that reason, he felt
helping us out was not enough. He was willing to reciprocate as well. How much? Lyle, it seemed, had been wheeling and dealing...

"...so, not only is he going to allow us onboard with cargo all the way to Greenland, he wants to give us something in return?? Like...payment?"

Yeah. You know these Danes...

No, I didn't. "Well, like what kind of payment?"

I'm working on that. He turned to Jens. "Må vi har noget sild?" Ja! Nå til mig hus. "Hvor meget sild vil jer indrømme os?" Al jer savn. "Fantastiske!" Er den nok? Lyle glanced at me and gave a sly
wink. "Den er nok." They shook hands and Jens turned quickly back to the plane.

"That's it? We're going? You made the deal?"

Like you wouldn't believe. We're going to make out like bandits on this one!

Rick

12-18-2009, 09:18

How'd it go? I'll tell you. You've all been sooo patient...:sleep:

It was interesting. Trying to assist a pilot I've never flown with in an aircraft I've never flown in. Jens was translating procedure and execution and Lyle was translating Jens. With the flow of information I was processing, the flight to Juneau seemed literally a hop. While I felt I could be of help in the air, it was the Jens show on the ground. I got to experience some pretty skillful taxiing while handling radio contact. I'm sure some heads were turned as we followed directions to our assigned spot to take on cargo.

The crew sent to load us seemed a little disappointed. I overheard one mention to another that "at least it won't take so long to load this one up. Not like that whale the other day, huh?" I can only assume that once again, even unknown to me, I seem to suffer by comparison. No respect. The Rodney Dangerfield of the skies. Jens oversaw the entire operation, even stepping in to check and double-check the securing straps on the 3 pallets. Some 200 cases of the magical Tuborg Julebryg elixir. And we departed Juneau for all points east. Except Buffalo. I wouldn't go back there on a bet.

Being in a pressurized environment allowed for altitude seldom enjoyed by guys like me used to getting up, getting there and getting down for the sake of the next flight. But headwinds slowed us down. And the Dash 7 is no thoroughbred; especially with 3 tons of cargo onboard. The first leg took us out to Ft Simpson and a night's rest. I was a little let down that we were passing through in the wrong month to get in on the Beavertail Jamboree; you can't win them all. The next day I became well aquainted with the Dash as we picked up tailwinds this time and was able to make a stretch all the way out to Iqaluit. Busy place! After 4 hours aloft, we felt the need to hunker down for the night. I forget the name of the place we hunkered, but the food was vidunderlig! We enjoyed artic char in a saffron sauce with broiled caribou. Maybe we could hit this place again. The next day had the winds in our favor again. It took us out over the Baffin Sea and down into Nuuk as light faded (all the light there was, anyway. Kinda dark up there) The runway there was not half the length at PAJN. But with Jens' guidance, we stuck the landing and taxied smoothly off. I could get used to the idea of spoilers.

After shutdown, Jens became the local hero that he had hoped to be. He was greeted with enthusiasm and gusto (it's all about the beer here). Lyle and I helped the ill pilot out from the seats in the very back of the cargo area and left him in the care of some airport personnel. We then picked a quiet spot just inside the large grey metal terminal and waited to see how everything played out. Lyle spoke with a terminal attendant on contacting PGA to let them know where were. While I pondered aloud how we'd get back home, Lyle seemed elsewhere; anxious of something that I was unaware of. He stood eagerly as Jens strode into the room, all smiles at his newly found fame.

Nå til mig hus! Vi vil helligholde! He turned and walked out. Lyle nodded to me assuredly and we both followed him back out into the cold night air.

"Where're we going?"

We're going with him to his house, Joe.

I stopped. Darn it! Rick! We continued.

So, we're getting...what? Money? Gifts?

A gift. The best gift of all...so, what're you going to do with all of your herring?

The Boss

12-19-2009, 04:32

:rofl:

Nordbo

12-19-2009, 12:26

Outside the terminal building, a man stands tall, in a long camel wool coat and smoking a cigar. His eyes follow Rick and Lyle as they exit the terminal and follows them as they meet with Jens. He shakes off the ashes of the cigar and puts it out on a small leather pad before putting it away in his coat pocket and starts walking towards his car.

Nordbo

12-19-2009, 08:52

As Rick and Lyle leave Jens' house to go to a hotel, the car door of a small car opens nearby. A man in a camel wool coat steps out and whistles at them. Lyle turns his head and giggles in a slightly unmanly way - Herring and akvavit will do that to you.

The man asks in a New York accent: "Any of you pilots?"

Rick is slightly blurry, but at least recognizes the question.

Rick: "I am. Anywhere you ride, we'll fly... *hick*".

Man: "I am Augustus Flush. People call me Gus. I may have a job for you, if you are up for it."

Rick: "Shure... but I may need a little rest first."

Gus: "Ok. Where are you staying?"

Rick: "Hotel Hans Egede."

Gus: "Me, too. I'll meet you at breakfast and discuss it further with you. You guys need a ride?"

Lyle: "I'm drunk enough to try and flap my arms to fly."

Gus: "You come with me."

A couple of minutes later they are pulling into the parking lot of the hotel. The two who had a taste of the fountain of life stagger in and to their room.

The next morning Rick wakes up about 8:45 local time, his head feeling like Thor had taken his hammer to it. Lyle is bubbling still on the other bed. No need to get dressed, seeing as that would require getting undressed first. Rick walks out the door and makes his way to the dining hall. Only 3 people are in there. A chef's assistant, a slightly official looking man is sitting sipping his coffee with a speculating look on his face and a man who looks quite out of place, sitting and reading a newspaper. His body language is quite cocky. The man looks up from his paper and spots Rick. He waves Rick over. The face seems familiar, but Rick can't quite place it.

Gus: "How is the head?"

Rick: "Buzzier than a fly taped to a sander."

Gus chuckles.

Gus: "Are you still interested in a job?"

Rick: "Depends..."

Gus: "No, nothing that geriatric. I need someone to fly to Iceland for me and act as courier to a business partner for me."

Rick: "How much does it weigh?"

Gus: "Oh, it's only a suit case."

Rick: "Is it radioactive?"

Gus: "It's part of a business deal for some aluminium I purchased. It contains Zimbabwe dollars. I tried to pay him in Icelandic Kroner, but he refused to accept them. The problem is the inflation. He doesn't want to get stuck with worthless Kroner, so he asked for dollars, any kind would do. Since I had these."

Rick: "Why are you paying him cash?"

Gus: "Let's just say it's a deal that requires sun glasses and a fedora."

Rick: "Okay. What's the pay?"

Gus: "I figured 20000$ should cover it."

Rick: "That will barely pay for the fuel."

Gus: "What?! What are you flying? A Dash-7?!"

Rick: "Yes... My Hummer on floats is in for maintenance."

Gus: "Okay.... how much?"

Rick: "With insurance it will beeee.... 35000$ + a hotel room."

Gus sighs heavily.

Gus: "It's more than I expected. It'll be a cheap hotel room."

Rick: (smirking slightly) "Fine by me."

Gus: "I'll go get the brief case and the money for you."

Rick: "I'll meet you back here in 15 then."

Rick goes up to his room and finds Lyle awake.

Rick: "Lyle, can you call Jens and ask what the plans are for the Dash-7?"

Lyle: "4 day retrofit. Mostly the repaint, then it goes on the standard route."

Rick: "Standard route?"

Lyle: "Reykjavik-Torshavn on the Faroe Islands and then Copenhagen."

Rick: "How do you feel about a trip to Reykjavik?"

Captain Geoff

01-01-2010, 08:24

The B1900 was due for a retrofit of about every system. It sat, alone, on a side apron out of view of the rest of the field - and probably for good reason. The faded Icelandic Air logo was but a scrap of paint and there. The wheels were poor, only a couple of landings left in them. The prop edges were well worn - except for a replaced blade. The instrument pack was dated -probably original. The windshield was streaked with cuts from ice and wiper blades. Even PGA didn't field a plane like this - well at least when the inspectors were lurking about.

"Sign here"
"And here".
"What's this"
"Insurance"
"On the plane?"
"No, you"
"Oh".
"OK, then you are due at the Beech facility in a week. After that costs come out of your pocket."
"sure, fine, whatever".

The tanks were topped, the chocks removed, safety pins pulled. The plane started up just like any other B1900. "Maybe it won't be as bad as it looks".

"Pier Glass N2342 requesting VFR to CCE4"
"Roger 42, winds calm, taxi to rwy 05 cleared for immediate take off"
"42"

The taxiing went well and the plane turned onto the runway, engines screaming the plane lifted off and rotated, climbing rapidly. Suddenly a flock of birds at 2000 feet dead ahead and no time to maneuver. Suddenly a loud whack, bang , and blaring horn with lights turning on the main panel. Fire in #1, pull extinguisher.
"Nuuk this is 42 declaring emergency. Engine bird strike, fire out, only one engine, returning, request emergency assistance upon landing".

"Fly the plane, fly the plane. Where's the damned field?... ah there it is. Oh criminey flaps, gear ok. Crab, crab, must get left, good, straighten, land, on the ground"

The plane heads back to where it just left from - the number one engine silent, but rotating in the breeze. The plane comes to a stop, the door opens, pilot steps out and walks to #1.

Feathers in the intake, two blades bent at a god-awful angle. It's beginning to look bad, very bad.....

Captain Geoff

01-06-2010, 06:53

Fortunately, no serious damage is what the mechanic said. I don't trust him, he's shifty eyed. Won't look me in the eye.

Nonetheless I do a very thorough pre-flight. Starting the engine I had this feeling in the pit of my stomach something was not quite right, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Next stop CYIF, St Augustin - only 173 miles away. Full throttle up the runway and sure enough at V2 with no room to stop the right tire blew. Well, I wanted to be out of there, I'll let Augustin know when I arrive. This plane is out to kill me.

Somehow the mechanic had gotten into the autopilot and fixed it. After several harrowing minutes it finally seemed to be working. On course and headed in the right direction I arrived at flight altitude, and out of the muck of snow that was falling. I settled in for a boring flight, my only concern the blown tire.

Ten minutes later and suddenly an orange glow on the "disaster" panel and a loud horn blared at me. All navigation systems died - the inverter was gone. Wonderful. I wasn't going to make it to Augustin after all. The nearest airport, dead ahead was St. Anthony. Without navigation I was helpless above the clouds. I declared an emergency and descended to 500 feet so I could see the water and land and try to spot the airfield.

In what should have been abeam of the airport, suddenly another loud bang, number one died, number two starting racing like a howling banshee. I decided to put a little altitude between me and death and climbed to what I hoped was 3000 feet, plenty of altitude for a power out landing.....

Following is a time line re constructed from air traffic tapes at St. Anthony airport.

1350 Anthony tower, IC3487 declaring an emergency. Number one engine out, number two is racing, starboard tire is blown, climbing to 3000.

1351 87 roger, turn left heading 150. Emergency crews are on their way.

1353 Anthony tower, 87 I'm going to climb so I can slow my speed and deploy landing gear and flaps.

1354 roger 87 skies are cleared for your maneuver
1355 IC3487 climbed rapidly to 17,500 feet. It then began to descend rapidly....
1356 Anthony tower, 87, flaps and gear deployed. OH MY GOD, the plane is stalling. I'm gonna die. Tell my boss that the Grue finally got me.

1356 87, tower can you gain control?

1358 negative no rudder response, the ailerons are not responding either. Both engines are dead. I'm spinning. Time to eject....

at 1359 radar lost contact. The aircraft impacted ground approximately 5 miles west of the airfield. There were no fatalities or injuries on the ground. The plane was easily located by the large smoke plume. The plane bored a 12 foot hole into the ground upon impact, which has been determined to be a nose down contact. :bricks: The pilots' company Pier Glass Aviation located in San Jose, CA has been notified.

----------------------

For the record all this (except the ATC part) did happen to me in X-Plane using the B1900D. :terror: This is the first time I've experienced a complete lack of control and cascading failures. Hind sight being 20/20 I probably should have killed number two by cutting off the fuel and gliding in to a landing. The racing engine was destined to explode, but I thought there would be safety in altitude and with only about 2 minutes flight time left I thought the engine might hold it together. Alas it did not. Whew! :eek:

The Boss

01-07-2010, 02:31

The Boss stares at the terse message from St. Anthony's for several long minutes. Finally, she puts it down and picks up another page, this one a bill from the owner of the aircraft for what appears to be the cost of two brand-new Beech 1900s plus a claim for loss of business. Next in the pile is a bill from the mechanic for emotional distress relating to her pilot's mishandling the aircraft he had just repaired, resulting in it's complete destruction, and for the loss of the end wrench that had been hand-forged by his great-great-great grandfather and which was under the pilot's seat. Finally, there is a bill from a landowner for the costs of scraping up a Beech 1900 and filling in and landscaping the resultant hole, plus costs for psychotherapy for the herd of ponies who had apparently witnessed the event.

The Boss sits back and sighs. "You'd think they were Americans," she grumbles.

Kitty mrrrows inquiringly from her perch on top of the cabinet.

"No, Kitty, I don't think Geoff is lucky enough to have died in that crash. That means I'll have to fight these claims the hard way rather than counter-claiming for the cost of my pilot."

Kitty mrrrows either in agreement or approval, it's hard to say.

Captain Geoff

01-08-2010, 12:08

Beep...... Beep..... Beep.....
Whoosh......
Beep... Beep.... Beep.....

gurgle

"In local news, a commuter plane flying to St. Augustin apparently had a serious failure of not one but both of its engines and attempted an emergency landing here at St. Anthony's. In this live video you can see the smoke and debris of the plane as it impacted the ground. Local resident Angus McGonnegal told us 'Yep, I saw the whooole thang, eh. That there plane made a loud bang, and there was a puff of smoke looked jus liek a Krispy Cream donut came out of the plane. Then it climbed so rapidly I thought it was goin to da moon. Next thing it came down twirlin like a - a - a bellerina on them there steroids. It was quite a sight as parts of it came fluttering off on the way down. And, oooh my, the whomp it gave when it hit the ground, eh.' Local authorities and the FAA have begun an investigation into the cause of such a catastrophic failure in an airplane that has such a remarkable safety record.

In other news....."

Beep.... Beep.... Beep...
Whoosh
Beep... Beep... Beep....

The Boss

01-08-2010, 04:07

The Boss is cranky. The recent accident involving a PGA pilot in a non-PGA aircraft had generated impossible amounts of paperwork, which she generally tries to avoid like the plague. Unfortunately, rather like the plague, it can't always be avoided and is just as unpleasant when it turns up. Documentation of Cap'n Geoff's hours, training, certifications, accident record (spotless, of course), what in hell he was doing in Greenland, what in hell he was doing in this B1900, what brand of white shirt PGA issued to its pilots, etc. etc. ad nauseum, ad infinitum.

Then there is the issue of the missing pilot. No remains had been found in the crater, and numerous theories abounded to account for this fact, given they hadn't found any anywhere else, either. There was that comment on the tower tape about ejecting... of course, Geoff was a military pilot and ejecting would be second-nature, at least until he bumped into that detail about there being no ejection seats in your standard B1900. Then there was the comment about the Grue getting him... in fact, she had been questioned at length by a Canadian investigator over what Cap'n Geoff had meant by "the Grue" getting him. Said investigator had started out convinced it was a reference to some heretofore unknown organized crime syndicate, and would not accept the Boss's explanation that the Grue was a standard and long-running (cough) joke around the hangar. Apparently the guy was too young to have even heard of Zork. Bah. She would have invited him down to meet (meat?) a specimen of Gruesomicius ravenousi, but the mysterious and total disappearance of a Canadian investigator in her hangar would not make resolving this mess any easier.

Anyway, it wasn't dark enough for a Grue in the cockpit. So Geoff must be... somewhere. The only thing they'd found, she'd been told, was Geoff's Leatherhombre.

Maybe she should fly up there...

Captain Geoff

01-09-2010, 08:02

John and Belinda Gordon, a couple in their late fifties, early sixties, got out of their car near the trailhead. Both were dressed in cold weather attire, backpacks, water bottles, snow shoes, and ski poles. The sun had already risen just above the horizon and they both did stretches, warming up their bodies for the trek ahead.

It was not unusual for the couple to go out into the back woods and hike and they were both experts at it. With thick steam coming through their masks and scarves, the duet were soon on their way stomping through what was ostensibly a trail, used more by deer and moose than human.

Belinda had an elevation map that was barely useful in the summer and almost usable in the deep winter snow. But it gave highlights and she carefully monitored their progress on it. John, an avid photographer, snapped pictures of what little wildlife was about - a moose cow deep in the snow trying to nibble leaves buried beneath the pure white snow. Fox tracks indicated that there was a den near the trail at one point. A small stream crossed underneath their feet, gurgling under the ice.

The two kept together most of the time and they both sighted the bright orange lump in the snow ahead. Excitedly they clambered through the snow, their snow shoes allowing them to do so with only a little extra effort. When they reached the orange lump John bent down and brushed off a light accumulation of snow that had drifted over part of it. Revealed in faded letters was "PROPERTY US NAVY" and opposite to it was "COMHELSUPPRON FIVE" below which was "EVAC #2304598" and "EXPIRES 07 APR 2000".

The pair looked at each other with questioning eyes. Then they looked all around them at the tall, silent trees. In one of them, about 5 meters up was a parachute, it's straps open and empty, caught in the limbs and gently swaying. The pair searched around the tree but found nothing. They returned to the orange bag, and john took photos of it, the parachute and the surrounding area. John pointed back toward where they came, Belinda nodded, and without a word the two turned around and headed back whence they came.

They would talk back when they got to their car, where warmth allowed them to remove their layers cloth....

Captain Geoff

01-10-2010, 03:23

The sign read Pakuashipi Constable.

The small green Subaru Forester turned into the parking area in front of the small red and black brick building. The snow was piled high on the edges of the small parking lot. The Gordons got out of their car and entered the building. On the door was "Constable Benton Frasier, RCMP". Inside lying on the thin gray and stained carpet was a white wolf/husky crossbreed dog, it's thick fur looking particularly lush.

Seated behind a small counter was a youngish looking Mountie in traditional green uniform - not the bright red normally envisioned by tourists. He had been pecking at the keys of an old typewriter until the door open, but now that he had visitors, he got up quickly. He introduced himself to the couple and they to him. They showed him the pictures they had taken using the screen on the back of their camera. The constable took the cameras and attached it to his computer, downloaded the pictures and returned the camera to the couple. "Thank you kindly" he told them as they left the building.

The constable pecked at the old computers keys, and inkjet printer whirred, then he grabbed his coat, hat, mittens and the dog and proceeded into an official RCMP car, heading toward the airport. The main building was swarming with more people than the it had ever seen. There were RCMP officers, FAA investigators, NTSB officials, all going hither and yon in a rather raucous noise. Constable Frasier made a bee line to the officer in charge of the RCMP portion, Captain Neilson. The grizzled 35 year veteran stood quietly on the side of the cacaphony obviously trying to maintain his temper. He and Frasier had as quiet a conversation as was possible. Then Frasier left and the Captain went to the head of the NTSB, Mr. Black. with a small stack of photos.

Mr. Black flipped through the pictures and stopped at a rather curious one where there were clearly tracks visible in the snow not belonging to any animal in his knowledge base nor that of the RCMP officers who had seen them....

Captain Geoff

01-12-2010, 11:37

By the time Constable Frasier got to the scene of the orange bag, the sun was setting, as it always set early in the Great White North in winter. His faithful companion, began a whimpering noise deep in his throat, and Frasier, ever the one to understand the dog, was immediately concerned.

Frasier had been everywhere in Canada, chasing wanted men through frozen tundra and up into the mountains of the west. He even did time in Chicago serving as a liaison officer. So he was confident in his abilities as a peace officer and as a survivalist. But the feeling he got when the dog began whimpering meant only one thing. They had to get out of there and quickly. " I Know, I know Dief, we'll come back tomorrow".

Flashlight on, the pair trudged through the snow as quickly as possible well aware that someone or something was lurking in the shadows. Something horribly dangerous. The dog ran ahead and around a bend in the path, out of sight. Suddenly a loud yelp came from the area of the dog, and Frasier broke into a run, training the flashlight ahead, straining to find his dog.

The dog lay in the snow, blood dripping around it's hind quarters where a terrible gash could be seen through the thick white fur. Evil surrounded Frasier and he played the light all around attempting to find where the creature had gone. The tracks in the snow were definitely of a species he had never seen, but they were all confused and jumbled about, so tracing them would take hours, and the dog had not long to live. Gratefully, the dog passed out, the blood froze in it's tracks; at least the bleeding had stopped.

Benton picked up the dog and carried it across his shoulders. He resume his trudge back to his waiting police car, all the while playing the flashlight back and forth. If only he could get a glimpse of the thing that did this. The flashlight began to dim as neared his car. He managed to open the car and slip Dief into the backseat. The trip to the vet would be a cold one as he dared not raise the temperature too much and allow the blood to flow again....

Captain Geoff

01-12-2010, 10:54

Meanwhile, back at the airport the NTSB has been reassembling the aircraft from the mangled wreckage. Not all pieces have been recovered as yet, but...

"He Robbie - look at this. See these bolts? They didn't shear off. Look there's the cotter pin on it's lanyard. It looks like these bolts were deliberately unscrewed - everyone of them."

"Yeah, I follow, but how is that possible? I mean if the bolts were unscrewed before the pilot took off, the wings should have collapsed, um, probably at take off. D'ja see any nuts?"

"Nope not a one. I'm tellin' ya Robbie, this plane could not have flown in this condition."

"Well, you know I've been working on the tail section. It looks like the rivets were burst before the plane hit the ground. But all the damage is indicative of a ground hit, but the holes show no sign of tearing. So tell me how the plane was supposed to fly like that."

The two NTSB officials look at each other pondering the impossibility of what they were looking at. A plane that had flown that could not possibly have even gotten off the ground without a catastrophic failure. And what happened to the pilot? Search parties were out scouring the area during daylight with no luck, but now that night had fallen, it was considered too cold and difficult to continue. The search would continue in the morning.

The Boss

01-18-2010, 08:57

The Boss is cranky.

To be sure, she started out that way, and in fact starts out that way most days except in months that start with an R. However, some 13 hours of travel on British Airways with a 5-hour pause at the gigantic shopping mall that is LHR has refined her natural crankiness to a fine point.

Jet-lagged and with an aching back from too many hours spent sitting in the part of the plane with floating seat cushions, she is lodged outside of Copenhagen and preparing to meet with the Danish equivalent of the NTSB to answer some questions about the missing PGA pilot.

Captain Geoff

01-18-2010, 12:17

Beep... Beep... Beep...
Whoosh....

"He's been here for two days now. He opens his eyes staring out at the world, but nothing seems to register. Then he'll suddenly begin screaming. I'm not sure what he actually is trying to say but it sounds something like 'Gruel'. We tried to feed him some soup but it doesn't seem to help."

"Keep him on anti-psychotics for today. Tomorrow we'll start reducing the dosage. How's the rest of him doing?"

"He's healing nicely. The frostbite wasn't as severe as we first thought. Physically he should be back to normal in a day or two."

Suddenly....

"Grue!, The Grue is in the dash. Get it out, GET IT OUT! NO, NOT THE RUDDER. NO, NO, NO, <sob> GOD HELP ME"

Then silence except for quiet whimpering.

Beep. Beep.. Beep... Beep... Beep...

"What was that?"

"Well, it's certainly more than he's said before now. Maybe the worst is over?"

Captain Geoff

01-19-2010, 11:46

He was falling, falling, falling. The ground was rushing up toward him. 35 seconds of life he figured calmly as his heart raced into overdrive. As if he wasn't scared enough as it was. But the Grue couldn't get him now - it was still daylight.

The old parachute he had installed after he'd heard about them being used in sport aircraft seemed in good repair - from the outside. 20 seconds till death. And the snow covered earth began to reveal trees - lots of them. The Chute was designed for Navy pilots bailing out over the open sea, not really for the rough terrain below.

15 seconds. Find the handle that said pull. Fingers scrabbling - ah there it is. Pull mightily. The entire handle breaks off - what the heck. Suddenly there's tension on his armpits as the chute opens and slows the descent rate down to a crawl. There- there's an opening in the trees. Small, too small, but maybe I'll get lucky. Quick look around. Where am I? A road, less than half a mile. Good. Whump, crash, tear, crash. Ugghhh. That hurts!

Deathly silence. It's pitch black. No the eyes are shut, open them fool. Ah, that's better. Where am I? Trees. Ground is down. 10 feet maybe. Risky jump. No choice, Buckwheat. Snap, Snap. Ahhhh, crumple. Oh God that hurts. My foot.

First things first. Assess the situation. Won't last night. Road over there. Dump the pack. Get cold weather gear. Leave it all behind and go. The pain is numbing. The cold is beginning to burn fingers and toes. Must get to the road. Losing sensation. Even the cold is beginning to warm. Stumble. Surprise - no pain. Keep going. See the road. Must get to it. Warmth, warmth, warmth....

Beep.... Beep... Beep... whirrr...beep... beep... beep...

The Boss

01-23-2010, 08:52

The Boss has a headache.

Not just any headache. This is a world-class, level 5 pile-driver. Six solid hours of questioning by the Danish Accident Investigation Commission (whose Danish name sounds something appropriately like "Havoc-Wreaking Commission) later, she is seriously thinking about visiting a medeival dentist for some relaxation therapy.

It wasn't just the Havoc-Wreaking commission, either. American representatives of the NTSB and the military equivalent were also on-hand, as were several suits of unnamed affiliation. Questioning was intense, being driven by bureaucrats who have been assigned by bigger and better bureaucrats to assign blame, and to ensure it's assigned to someone who cannot blame them.

And, despite numerous attempts at explanation, including a quick download of Zork from Infocom (where it's available for free these days), they all clearly remained positive that "Grue" was a reference to some nefarious underground mob-type entity, and that she was intentionally obstructing their investigation into same.

Their questions about the nature, source, and functions of Geoff's Leatherhombre were particularly confusing. They kept wanting to know "what else" it would do. What else? What won't it do? She couldn't figure that one out at all.

She shakes her head and walks towards the train station. She completely fails to notice a white Volkswagon van with the word "SnoGru" stenciled on the side following her.

Rick

03-03-2010, 01:41

Nnnnn.....
mmmmph....
(sniff)
nnnnnn....nnn...NO!!

With that last exclamation, Lyle jerked nearly awake in his seat. I put a hand on his shoulder as I scanned the other passengers in our area, making sure there were no looks of alarm. I had him curled up in the window seat, coach class of a 737 out of Seattle bound for Wrangell. Seeing no reaction from anyone, I settled back with my thoughts and the rather disappointing (S)cotch in front of me, watching the ice cube melt...

"I need someone to fly to Iceland for me and act as courier to a business partner for me."

Mr. Flush, or Gus, was rather casual about the whole thing, I thought. I'm just not the sunglasses and fedora type. Really, the only covert thing I'd ever done was humming the theme from "Mission Implossible". That and trying not to let The Boss find out I had the keys to the beer...ah, fuel truck and a BUNCH of purloined yard gnomes. But a suitcase full of cash is another matter entirely. And Lyle was playing a more subdued role in this endeavour. To say I was upset about the whole herring thing is an understatement of almost biblical proportion. I could still taste it through the whisky. And I'm pretty sure we both smell like it too...

We met Gus back in the dining room over coffee. (Where had I seen this guy before?) More talk of the contact, time and place, and more coffee. From under the table he produced a briefcase and set it on the floor between us. Uh-huh. One of those metal cases; very cloak and dagger.

I nodded approvingly and turned to Lyle. "Nice. Aircraft aluminum, too."

Yeah, very nice...wait! Maybe...titanium?

"Oh, right! Those are great. Not very inconspicuous, though. I mean, we're in Europe after all."

Exactly! One look and it'll be all "Hey look at the Americans taking some money to some secret meeting" or whatever. Now, if it was me, I'd have gone with something else. You like Fendi?

"Now that's a briefcase with panash. I saw this movie, right? There was this guy. And he..."

Gentlemen! Gus was looking at his watch. Your plane should be ready. I suggest you depart?

And depart we did. A car met us outside the lobby and took us to the airport straight away. We were met by Jens. He looked a little pink-eyed from the night before. He was a little confused on why we were leaving again on the same aircraft we'd arrived on, but he wasn't going to question the permissions and clearances he had on a clipboard he held. Outside, just before we started up into the DASH-7, Jens turned and extended a small box he'd had under his arm. At his urging, I opened the lid. Next to a pair of small stemmed glasses was a green bottle that I'd become too familiar with as of late. I promised myself to enjoy it in moderation. In several months. Settling into the cockpit, we went throught the a/c checklist. Lyle, in pointing out to me that we only had one pair of sunglasses (mine) between us, took it upon himself to complete our mysterious milieu with a fedora. He actually found one in a shop somewhere. I said nothing about it being bright red with the words Grønland er for elskere! across the back...

Flight was routine and comfortable into Reykjavik. Wending our way into the terminal, we saw our contact sipping from a small cup in a coffee shop. We slid into the booth seat across from him. He looked up at me, then to the case and then to Lyle. With wide eyes he nervously looked around the terminal. After seeing the fedora, he probably expected a neon sign or a brass band. Without a word, he stood, straightened his suit and tie, picked up the briefcase and exited the shop.

"Hmm. That's it? I...expected more."

You know, I did too.

"Right, then. Lunch?"

Sure. Then we can go home, Joe?

(Sigh) "Yes, Lyle. Then we can go home."

Flight into Torshavn was a little over two hours and was interesting to see. We ended up at EKCH/Copenhagen later than expected. We opted out of the hotel room promised and connected for home that same night. 10 hours later found us at KORD. Another 22 minutes found us in line at Gold Coast Dogs where I introduced Lyle to the loaded Double Dog with extra peppers. We then boarded for Sea-Tac and after that, Wrangell. Lyle was asleep almost immediately. After letting the ice melt just enough, I drained the glass, turned off the overhead light and closed my eyes. Another noise from Lyle and I knew he was awake this time...

"You alright?"

Yeah. I was naked...

"What?!"

Eating...naked. I was eating all this herring, naked.

"I know. I have that dream all the time..."