Letters From the Grave
event. The restaurant was so poor that sport pilots tended to avoid their field. Except for the rental fees from CHI and a couple other small businesses, the field probably wouldn’t exist. The CHI office (air operations center) kept radio contact with all of its aircraft, but it was not controlling aircraft on the field per se.
It was dark and rainy before dawn when Jake entered the Ops Center. Stormy weather blocked the sun. “Howdy, BJ!”
“Hey, Jake. You look well-rested after some time off.”
He poured a cup of coffee, “Rested indeed, my friend. How’d you hold this cripple together while I was gone?” There were never any managers or owners in the office this early. He and BJ were the only ones there usually, except for the other pilots that came and went after checking the flight schedule.
BJ said, “Well, you look good. Must be something about having Callie living with you.”
“No doubt, you’re right, BJ.” Sipping his coffee, “She’s made my life completely different – in a good way.”
“I hate to admit it, but I envy you that. Did you say she was a relative?”
“No, not quite. She’s the daughter of an Army buddy. You remember. I told you all about Bobby Lowe and how his girlfriend might be pregnant. He was killed in South America when we flew together. He never knew about her, for sure, and I didn’t go see his girlfriend when I came back. I always used the Army as an excuse to myself, moving me around the country almost every year.”
BJ smiled, “Yeah, you told me the stories about you and Bobby. The Army moved us pilots around continuously. So, you probably had a good excuse.”
“No. It was a bad excuse, a shitty excuse. I shoulda’ gone to see her right after I got back, but I was young and stupid, so never did. After I retired, I got old and was still stupid. It’s only about five hours to drive to Abilene. I should’ve gone to see her. Now I can’t because she’s dead.”
“Sorry to hear, pal. You’re right.”
Jake grinned. “Yeah, well at least I can do something good for once and give Bobby’s girl a new start. She’s had it kinda rough.”
The dialogue tapered off and Jake looked at the board. “Good. I still got 407AK as my bird.”
“Yeah, management wants to keep you in the new stuff to keep it safe.”
“It’s okay with me, that ship cruises at one-forty, and I never worry about weight. So, what’s the weather? It looks crappy, and I didn’t read the paper this morning.”
BJ looked askance, “You’re slipping. Normally, I have to ask you.”
“Yeah. I’m sleeping too well now.”
BJ smiled knowingly, “All right. We got a low pressure cell over the Gulf. Thunderstorms after about eleven o’clock. But even when it’s clear, the wind is over 15 with gusts to 50. Not that you’re going swimming, but the water’s in gale state, so try to stay above the spray.”
“So, where am I going this morning?”
“You gotta get out to 1GC. With the storm, they want to get all unnecessary folks off and have stopped drilling operations for a few days ‘till this thing blows over.”
“Oh great, almost a hundred miles out in muck.”
“Well, that’s the price of flying the biggest, fastest, fanciest bird we got.”
“Yeah, well. I’ll try to use autopilot going out, just to save my shoulders.”
“Pussy. What did we ever do without autopilot?” BJ chuckled. He normally envied Jake’s active status, but this wasn’t one of those days.
“We would have been grounded in weather like this.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll put in a complaint for you.”
“All right, buddy. I’ll get to work.”
Jake left the Ops Center with the log book and ignition keys. 407AK had gone into the shop for annual maintenance and inspection before Jake’s time off. This would be her first flight it two weeks.
He followed his standard walk-around check even though the aircraft had not flown. Everything looked good, so he sat in the pilot’s seat and began the elaborate start-up routine. This newer Bell 407 helicopter had all-solid-state gyro technology, so the normal instrument spin-up wasn’t the same as the Long Rangers he occasionally still flew. He had the latest navigation and communications gear. This was really a fun ship with enormous power and speed. The company had really gone all out with 407AK.
He toggled the Comm 1 radio, “CHI Ops Center this is helo 407AK departing. Over.”
“All clear 407AK, vector one six zero degrees on departure, watch your wind and maintain radio check-in every five minutes. Over.”
“One six zero on departure. Out.”
On the flight out, Jake stayed around 1500 feet over land. Buffeting and swirling air made the distance above ground a safety factor, even if it was difficult to see landmarks below. Once over the Gulf, all visible references disappeared. The dark grey ocean was covered in whitecaps, giving him some perspective on height. He reduced to five hundred feet altitude over the ocean. On a clear day, he would have risen to three thousand feet and used familiar derricks for visual waypoints, but there was less than a mile visibility today.
The flight controls felt good, and he set course about fifteen degrees east of the straight line to 1GC to compensate for wind drift. Further corrections would be made once his navigation computer had more time to sense the drift. It was a lousy day to fly, but he really liked the security in 407AK. No other aircraft would fly today from CHI due to the weather. Sometimes Jake wished he wasn’t the most senior pilot and could stay at base with a warm coffee cup all day.
Platform 1GC was a newer floating design, specially designed for deep water nearer the center of the Gulf. In storms, the drilling operations were suspended because it was more unstable than platforms sitting on the seafloor. Huge anchor chains held it in place, but it struggled against the tethers whenever the weather became gale force or above. It was also a prudent safety measure to remove crew in a storm since there was always a chance, however minute, that the chains could break and the platform could tip or drift away. It had happened before.
Jake radioed in, as instructed, but, after half an hour, he lost line-of-sight radio connection because he was flying so low. He was about fifty miles out to sea and could only hear static when attempting to check in.
Back at CHI station, BJ understood why Jake could not be raised on radio. He worried about Jake all alone over the ocean with no radio contact. Pilots were lost in this kind of weather more than any other reason, and Jake was going farther out than the average ferry ride. His friend was the best pilot at CHI, probably the best on the Gulf Coast, but he still worried. If anyone would know when to turn back, it was Jake.
Ten minutes later, Jake had not seen a single derrick, even with hundreds along his flight path. The weather was just too restrictive. He could feel his arms and back tensing with frequent attitude and directional corrections, but the newer helicopter had great power assist. His GPS was working well, and he was about thirty miles from the platform. Then it happened.
The helicopter jerked wildly, and a loud metal-shearing sound and “bang” erupted. Instinctively, he dropped the nose and reduced power. Then a second loud bang happened, and the tail tried to oscillate. His rudder control was gone. He centered the controls and adjusted main rotor pitch to gain as much forward speed as possible. He was auto-rotating, trying to avoid spinning. The helicopter was now a rapidly sinking leaf in the wind. He toggled the radio, “Mayday, Mayday, this is helicopter 407AK on course to platform 1GC about eighty miles out, lost tail rotor, ditching in the sea...Mayday, Mayday.” It was his only emergency call, as he returned his full attention to controlling the aircraft. He was going to crash. He knew it. He was in survival mode.
His radio call was not heard. There were no other aircraft in the area due to the weather, and he was blocked from transmissions to the mainland. He was going down. The descent seemed to take several minutes, but was only seconds at
this altitude. Jake tightened his belts and prepared to inflate the skid floats once he hit the surface. Surface waves would be a big problem and he made sure all window vents were closed and the doors latched securely. It would only be luck if the helo landed without breaking apart. In calm conditions with more altitude and less damage to the helicopter, an autorotation was a well-practiced safety maneuver. Jake had done hundreds of auto-rotations practicing without power or tail rotor. The tail rotor provided directional control and kept the hull from spinning around the main rotor shaft due to engine torque. He knew the tail rotor was gone. In auto-rotation, the only safe landing was straight ahead with the nose down to gain speed and lift over the free-spinning rotor. He was too low to execute safely.
He kept both sticks pressed forward, pointing at the surface at over one hundred knots per hour. At about fifty feet, he pulled back, increasing the angle of attack, leveling and slowing the aircraft. It hit the water going about thirty knots. Initially, he skimmed through one wave top but was pointed directly into the next swell. The helicopter crashed violently with the nose pointed straight down. The entire cockpit was instantly engulfed before partially righting itself. He only saw the black abyss below through the windshield.
It took a few seconds for the helicopter to level on the surface, but it really wasn’t level in the stormy sea. Almost as