Chapter 18
There are many wondrous sights to behold in this world, but to Pitt nothing, not even a thirty-story rocket blasting into outer space or a needle-nosed supersonic transport streaking across the sky at twice — the speed of sound could ever look half as incredibly beautiful as that old Ford trimotor, the famed Tin Goose, pitching and rolling awkwardly in the fitful wind, curtained by the black folds of giant menacing clouds. Braced against the increasing gale, he watched intently as the ancient aircraft, graceful in its ugliness, circled Andursson's farm once before the pilot eased back on the throttles, skimmed less than ten feet over a fence and set it down in the meadow where the wide-set landing wheels rolled to a complete stop in less than two hundred feet from touchdown.
Pitt turned to Andursson. 'Well, good-by, Golfur.
Thank you for all you've done for me… for all of US.
Golfur Andursson shook Pitts hand. 'It is I who thank you, Major.
For the honor and opportunity to help my fellow brother. God go with you.'
Pitt couldn't run, his cracked ribs wouldn't permit that, but he covered the distance to the trimotor in less than thirty seconds. Just as he reached the right side of the fuselage, the door flew open and a strong arm reached down and pulled him into the cramped, narrow cabin.
'Are you Major Pitt?'
Pitt looked into the face of a great bull of a man, tan-faced, with long blond sideburns. 'Yes, I'm Pitt.'
'Welcome back to the roaring twenties, Major.
This is a helluva idea, using this old flying fossil for a rescue mission.' He held out his hand. 'I'm Captain Ben Hull.'
Pitt took the massive paw and said, 'Best we move out if we expect to beat the snow.'
'Right you are,' Hull boomed briskly. 'No sense in getting ticketed for overparking.' If Hull was mildly shocked at Pitts damaged face or his strange-looking clothes, he concealed it well. 'We ranthis trip without a copilot, a reserved seat in your name, Major. Figured you'd want front row balcony to lead us to the wreck.'
'Before I signed off, I asked Admiral Sandecker for a couple of items-'
'Got news for you, Major. That old sea dog carries a big mean stick. Seems he pulled every plug to get them on board before we took off.' He pulled a package from his parka and raised an inquiring eyebrow.
'Beats the hell out of me why you'd want a bottle of Russian vodka and a box of cigars at a moment like
'It's for a couple of friends,' Pitt said, sniffing. He turned and made his way past ten men ranged in various relaxed positions along the floor of the cabin-large, quiet, purposeful-looking men dressed in arctic weather gear. They were men who were ed in scuba diving, parachute jumping, survival, and nearly every phase of emergency medicine except surgery. A wave of confidence surged through Pitt just from observing them.
Ducking his head to clear the low cockpit door, Pitt moved into the cramped confines and eased his sore body into the worn and cracked leather bucket seat, sitting vacant on the copilot's side. As soon as he was safely strapped in, he turned and found himself staring into the grinning face of Sergeant Sam Cashman.
'Howdy, Major.' Cashman's eyes widened. 'God Amighty, who stomped on your face?'
'Tell you over a drink sometime.' Pitt glanced at the instrument panel, quickly familiarizing himself with the old-fashioned gauges. 'I'm a bit surprised to see-'
'To see a sergeant flyin' this mission instead of a genuine flight officer,' Cashman bed. 'You got no choice, Major. Ahim the only one on the whole island who's checked out on this old bus. Ain't she a winner?
She'll take off and land on a dollar bill and give you change.'
'Okay, Sergeant. You're in command. Now let's swing this bird into the wind and get her up. Bear due, west along the river until I tell you to cut south.'
Cashman merely nodded. Deftly he jockeyed the Tin Goose on a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn until it faced into the wind at the far side of the meadow. Then he shoved the three throttles forward and sent the lumbering old airliner bouncing and shuddering on its way, ever closer to the fence on the opposite end of the field, no more than three hundred feet away.
As they lurched past the front of Golfur Andursson's little house with the plane's tail wheel still glued to the ground, Pitt began to have a vague idea of what Charles Lindbergh's thoughts must have been when he urged his heavily laden Spirit of St. Louis off the muddy runway of Roosevelt Field back in 1927. It seemed impossible to Pitt that any aircraft short of a helicopter or light two-seater could leave the earth in so small a space. He shot a fast look at Cashman and saw only icy calmness and total relaxation. Cashman was indifferently whistling a tune, but Pitt couldn't quite make out the melody above the roar of the trio of two-hundredhorsepower engines.
There was no doubt, Pitt reflected. Cashman certainly displayed the image of a man who knew how to handle a plane, especially this one.
With two-thirds of the meadow gone, Cashman eased the control column forward and lifted the tail wheel and then pulled back, floating the plane a few feet above the turf. Then to Pitts horror, Cashman suddenly dropped the trimotor back hard on the ground no more than fifty feet in front of the fence. Pitts horror turned to amazement as Cashman jerked the controls back against his chest and literally bounced the old Tin Goose over the fence and threw it into the air.
'Where in hell did you learn that little trick?' Pitt said, exhaling a great sigh of relief. It was then he recognized the tune Cashman was whistling as the theme from the old movie, 'Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines.'
'Used to be a crop duster in Oklahoma,' Cashman replied.
'How did you wind up as a mechanic in the Air Force?'
'One day the junker ah was flyin' developed a nasty cough. Plowed up a farmer's pasture and butchered his champion beef sire years before its time. Everybody in the county was out to sue me. Ah was flat broke so ah split the scene and enlisted.'
Pitt couldn't help smiling as he peered through the windshield at the river two hundred feet below. From that height he could easily spot the sloping ridge where Andursson had found him. He saw something now he didn't expect to find. Almost imperceptibly, he became aware of a long even line against the landscape that trailed off toward the south. He pushed open the little side window and looked again. It was there all right: the dark shade of green against the lighter tinted tundra.
His footprints, where they had sunk into the soft vegetation, had left a path that was easy to follow as the white line down the center of a highway.
Pitt caught Cashman's eye and motioned earthward. 'To the south. Follow that dark trail to the south.'
Cashman banked the plane and stared for a moment out the side window. Then he cocked his head in acknowledgment and turned the nose of the trimotor southward. Fifteen minutes later he could only wonder at the unerring trail Pitt had made during his trek to the river. Except for a few occasional deviations around rough or uneven ground, the man-made mark on the earth was almost as straight as a plumb line. Fifteen minutes, that was all the old antique needed to cover the same distance that had taken Pitt several hours.
'I have it now,' Pit shouted. 'There, that cracklike depression where my path ends.'
'Where do you want me to set her down, Major?'
'Parallel to the ran of the ravine. There's a flat area running about five hundred feet east and west.'
The sky was darkening by the moment-darkening with the mist of falling snow. Even as Cashman made his landing approach, the first flakes began dotting the windshield, streaking to the edges of the glass before being blown into the sky by the airstream.
Pitts race had been won, but only by the barest of margines.
Cashman made a safe landing, a smooth landing considering the rugged terrain and the difficult wind conditions. He timed his run so that the cabin door of the trimotor ended up within ten yards of the steep drop- off.
The wheels had hardly rolled to a halt when Pitt leaped from the plane and was stumbling, sliding to the bottom of the ravine. Behind him, Hull's men began methodically unloading supplies and arranging them on the dampening ground. Two of the paramedics uncoiled ropes and threw them down the slopes in preparation of bringing up the survivors.
