Joyce Cooper Kramer, a pretty blonde in her forties, sat in her kitchen. To keep them from shaking, she had one hand clamped firmly on the phone, the other to the edge of the kitchen table. Her stomach was in a terrible knot and her mind was numbed with disbelief, but this was no time to be weak or frightened. Rex and Jay needed her. She took a deep breath to steady her voice and then replied to Fleming, “I believe the airplane does have an auto-pilot, but I don't know where it is or how it works.”
“Is there anyone who would know?” Fleming asked.
“Call Brock Axley at Jessup Aviation, Boeing Field. He's Rex's mechanic. He knows that airplane.”
“Brock Axley. Got it.”
“But another thing.”
“Yes?”
“The boy's father, my brother Jacob, is there at Jessup right now. He has a Skylane like Rex's. Please be sure he knows about this.”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Kramer.”
“I'm going to drive down to Jessup right now. If anything develops,
anything,
here's my mobile phone number. . . .”
“Ready to copy.”
Joyce gave Josie Fleming her mobile phone number, hung up, and was out the door within one minute.
Jay had no idea he was in the clouds, which way he was going, or whether he was turning. He was beginning to wonder what had happened to Chuck. He hadn't heard from him in several minutes, but it seemed much longer. His life depended on a steady flow of words from his seeing-eye pilot. The silence was disheartening.
“Chuck? Are you there?”
“Jay,” came Chuck's voice, “here's a lady from the Boeing Tower. Her name's Barbara and she's going to help you.”
Barbara Maxwell was still watching the Skylane on radar as well as the brave little Piper Cub falling far behind. “Jay, this is Barbara. Can you hear me all right?”
“Yes ma'am.”
Parker and the others were listening intently and exchanged concerned looks as they heard Jay's voice. This
was
just a kid!
“I'm watching you right now on radar. You're in a left turn, and that's good for right now. We want you to turn around. But your turn looks a little too steep. Can you give it a touch of right aileron?”
Jay answered, “Okay.”
Parker and Maxwell watched the screen intently.
“Still too steep. He's starting to drop,” said Maxwell. She spoke to Jay, “A little more right, Jay.”
They waited to see if the motion of that little blip would change. The left turn seemed a little shallower, but they couldn't be sure.
Beads of sweat were forming on Maxwell's brow.
“He's still dropping. He's down to two thousand five hundred.”
“He's going to meet those mountains,” Parker muttered. He called Chuck, “Eight Eight Niner, any contact?”
They could hear the fear in Chuck's voice as he replied, “Negative, he's still in the clouds.”
Lila Cooper, thirteen, sat in the cockpit of a miniature P-51 Mustang and nervously gripped the control stick, imagining what it must be like to do a barrel-roll while sitting in that tight little space. The mini-Mustang was parked in a hangar at Jessup Aviation, its long nose jutting proudly and its big yellow propeller still and quiet. That being the case, Lila didn't mind trying out the pilot's seat and eyeing the instruments. Her slender frame fit the cockpit just fine, but if this plane was going to fly, she didn't want to be in it when it did. It was so small it was almost a toy.
“She'll do about two hundred ten knots,” Brock Axley announced proudly, adjusting his billed cap on his frizzy gray head. “Fully aerobatic, with long-range tanks. I have taken her over to the Experimental Aircraft Fly-in twice.” He and Lila's father, Dr. Jacob Cooper, were walking around the little airplane, admiring it from every angle. They'd lifted the cowling to study the engine, admired the flashy paint job, and talked the usual “hangar talk” about climb performance, stall speed, useful load and fuel endurance, and what little tricks the airplane could do.
Hmm, she thought.
Almost
a toy? No, it really
was
a toy. For two big kids standing in that hangar right now: the slightly chubby mechanic with the frizzy gray hair and her tall, handsome father. She smiled to herself.
“Yeah, nothing but fun,” Brock said, patting the airplane on the nose as if it were a pup. “Next week we're going to tryâ”
The door to the office burst open and Nancy from the office stuck her head in. “Brock! Pick up line two, there's an emergency!”
Brock's mood immediately switched to serious.
“Excuse me.” He started toward the office.
“You too, Dr. Cooper!” Nancy shouted. “It's Rex and Jay! They're in trouble!”
Lila scrambled out of the cockpit, her heart racing.
Brock pointed to an extension phone on the wall of the hangar. “Take that one, Jake! I'll grab it in the office. Line Two.”
Each man grabbed up a telephone and got the news at the same time. As Lila ran to her father's side, she could see the color drain from his face. “Where are they now?” he asked the person on the other end. “And no response from Rex?” He listened to the answer, then asked through the phone, “Brock, what about that autopilot?”
Lila could hear Brock's voice from the office, explaining something into the telephone.
Then Dr. Cooper said, “I know that airplane. I own a Cessna just like that Skylane! Jay's flown it. Brock has one here.”
In the office, Brock agreed, “Yeah, practically the same model. I've serviced 'em both!”
Dr. Cooper listened a moment, scribbling some radio frequencies on his hand, then said, “We're on our way!” and hung up.
“Dad, what is it?” Lila cried.
Dr. Cooper's eyes were steely and intense. “That was the control tower. Jay and your uncle Rex have met some difficulty.” Then he touched her shoulder and told her the situation as gently as he could.
She almost choked on the words, “What are we going to do?”
“Brock and I are going up in his 182 to chase Jay down and help him. The two airplanes are alike, with the same controls, the same performance speeds and power settings. We'll tell Jay how to make his airplane do whatever ours is doing and, I hope, bring him in.”
“I've got to go with you!”
Nancy shouted again, “Dr. Cooper, it's your sister! She's calling from her car! She's on her way here.”
Dr. Cooper grabbed the phone again. “Joyce. Yes, we just heard. We're taking off in Brock's 182 right now. Lila's here with me. All right.” He spoke to Lila. “She's gotten permission to go to the tower. She'll be coming by to pick you up on her way.” He handed her the phone. “She's going to need you. We'll be in touch by radio.”
Brock hollered at one of his crew, “Barney, c'mon, let's roll out that Skylane, we've got an emergency!”
As Dr. Cooper ran out to help roll out the airplane, he called to Lila over his shoulder, “Pray for us.”
Lila nodded to her father as she spoke into the telephone. “Hello? Aunt Joyce?”
Chuck had been crisscrossing and circling a mile from the cloud that had swallowed up the Skylane, trying to see any sign of it and listening to the radio communications between Jay and Barbara Maxwell.
“Okay,” came Jay's voice. “I've given it a little more power.”
“Give it a touch of right aileron,” said Barbara. “We want to make this turn nice and easy.”
In the tower, Maxwell and Parker gazed steadfastly at the radar screen.
“Come on, pal, you can do it,” said Parker.
Maxwell nodded happily. “Yes, the turn looks good and the altitude is holding . . . now he's climbing a little . . . two thousand eight hundred feet and still climbing.”
Parker spoke to Chuck, “Eight Eight Niner, be looking, the Skylane should be coming out of those clouds at ten o'clock at two thousand eight hundred.”
Chuck pressed up against the window of the Cub, his eyes sweeping the sky for any sign of The Yank. He could see the cloud, and below its fringes the first gradual slopes of the Cascade foothills, but so far. . . .
There it was, appearing like a tiny white angel out of heaven!
“YES!” Chuck yelled, then radioed, “I have the Skylane!”
“Okay,” said the tower, “he's all yours again.”
Ben Parker allowed himself a quick little smile as he gave Barbara Maxwell a thumbs-up. She eased back in her chair and rubbed her face with her hands.
“Okay, Eight Eight Niner,” said Parker, “use one radio to talk to Mr. Jay Cooper and one radio to listen to us. We have information on the autopilot.”
He signaled Josie Fleming, who spoke through her headset as she referred to some scribbled notes at her desk. “Eight Eight Niner, the Skylane has an autopilot, single axis only. It's located at the bottom center of the panel, just above the power quadrant. . . .”
Chuck listened and passed the information on to Jay. “Jay, your airplane has an autopilot. It won't do all the flying, but it'll keep the wings level for you, and that's half the battle right now. You know where the throttle is, right? Those four knobs in a row?”
Jay felt for the four knobs. By now they were easy to find by touch. “Okay, now what?”
“Just above those knobs there's a squarish box with a knob in the middle and two little flat switches on either side of that.”
Jay groped for it with his left hand. “Yeah . . . I think I found it.”
“Touch right, Jay, you're turning again.”
Jay carefully repeated that little procedure for the umpteenth time.
Chuck continued, “That knob should pull out about a quarter of an inch. See if it does.”
Jay found the knob and gave it a tug. It came out with a click. “Yeah, I've pulled it out.”
“Great. That was the wing leveler. Now, that little flat switch on the left side should turn it on. Flip it up.”
Jay found the switch and flipped it upward with
a click.
He was startled when the yoke in his hands twisted with a jerk. He held it tight and it seemed to squirm under his grip.
“Jay?”
“Something's . . . the yoke is wiggling.”
Chuck flopped back in his seat and grinned toward heaven. “It's the autopilot, Jay! You did it!”
“Am I turning?” Jay asked, with a tense voice.
Chuck watched as the Skylane flew past him and he turned to follow. “No, you're just fine, flying straight and level. Good job!”
In the control tower, Parker and his crew heard it all and breathed one little sigh of reliefâtemporary relief. They still had to get that plane safely on the ground.
Josie Fleming was on the telephone, talking to Joyce. “That's right, just ring the buzzer at the big glass door. Someone will be down to let you in.” She reported to Ben Parker, “The pilot's wife and niece are on their way here.”
“Good,” said Parker. “They need to be here, whatever happens.”
Within minutes, Skylane 359ZMâpronounced Three Five Niner Zulu Mikeâtook to the air with Brock Axley in the left seat as pilot and Dr. Cooper in the right seat.
“Boeing Tower,” Brock radioed, “Skylane Niner Zulu Mike with you, climbing through fifteen hundred.”
Ben Parker replied, “Roger, Niner Zulu Mike, radar contact. Eight Yankee Tango is now westbound at three thousand and climbing slowly. You are cleared into Class Bravo airspace. Fly heading one three five to intercept. Advise when you have traffic.” The “Class Bravo” airspace was normally restricted to commercial airline traffic flying in and out of Seattle-Tacoma International. For now, the two Skylanes and the little Piper Cub had that airspace all to themselves.
“Niner Zulu Mike,” came the reply from Brock Axley.
Next Parker added, “Also, be advised that Eight Yankee Tango is now on single axis autopilot.”
Brock exchanged a glance with Dr. Cooper as he radioed back, “Thanks. That's good news.”
“Roger that.”
Dr. Cooper searched the sky through binoculars.
“Don't see him yet.”
Brock was somber. “This is going to be a tough one, Jake. I don't know of anyone who's ever flown a plane blind, much less landed it.”
Dr. Cooper lowered the binoculars and continued to look ahead as he grappled with that very question. “Well . . . there's always a first time.”
“Jakeâ”
Dr. Cooper looked at his friend. “There's hope, Brock. Jay's flown our plane several times. He knows how to maneuver and how to land.”
“Yeah, but blind? Jake, even an instrument pilot has to have eyes to read his instruments. There's no way Jay can tell what that airplane is doing.”
Dr. Cooper thought for only a moment and then replied, “Well, he's still alive and The Yank is still flying. With God's help, we'll just have to be Jay's eyes, that's all.”
“Okay, it's stable, on autopilot, so we've got a little time to work on the problem,” said Ben Parker. “Josie, what's the fuel situation?”
Fleming was working out numbers on her calculator and tapping keys on her computer. “The flight plan says Eight Yankee Tango left with three hours of fuel in the tanks. Kramer opened the flight plan at twelve thirty p.m., and it's nowâ” she looked at the clock on the wall “two in the afternoon.”
Parker nodded. He called Brock and Dr. Cooper through his headset. “Niner Zulu Mike, we figure Eight Yankee Tango has about one and a half hours of fuel left. Do you have the plane in sight?”
Aboard Niner Zulu Mike, Dr. Cooper gazed through his binoculars and replied, “Yeah, we've got him, westbound at our altitude. We should be able to come alongside in just a few minutes.”
“Okay, contact him on the Auburn frequency but monitor our frequency so we can get through to you. And by the way, make sure the boy can't hear us talking to each other. We'll be discussing some pretty heavy topics.”