Читать книгу Flight of the Forgotten - Mark A. Vance - Страница 16

The mystery of that terrible crash had been with me all my life of course, but up to this time I had never seriously thought about trying to uncover its secrets. That was about to change one dark, rainy night as I approached the Bradley International Airport in a rainstorm and high winds. Completely unknown to me at the time, the Bradley International Airport had been the recovery point for most of the heavy bombers of the U.S. Eighth Air Force when they returned from England after World War II. It was the original stateside destination for thousands of homesick, young airmen on their way home after the war, including the Jack B. Ketchum crew and my uncle Buster.

“I’m going to give it a shot of rain repellent.” I announced as the rain continued pounding heavily against the jet’s cockpit window. “What were the winds again?” I asked.

“300 degrees at 25 knots, gusting to 30.” my first officer replied.

“Okay, thanks.” I said as we joined the localizer for the ILS approach.

“Windshear advisories are in effect. An MD-80 just reported a 20 knot loss of airspeed at 300 feet.” my first officer warned.

“Got it … thanks.” I said, wrestling with the airplane as it pitched and rolled in the high winds. “Nothing like trying to dock the Queen Mary in a bathtub.” I grumbled.

“No kidding. I’m glad this is your leg.” my first officer joked as the airplane shuddered repeatedly and I worked the thrust levers to control the airspeed.

“Well, good evening, Captain Vance.” a familiar voice over my right shoulder suddenly proclaimed and I immediately flinched in response.

“What’s the matter?” my first officer asked, eyeing me curiously.

“Huh, oh nothing, nothing. I thought I heard a circuit breaker pop.”

“Oh, okay. 1,000 feet.” he announced as we continued the approach.

“I’ve been trying to tell you that it’s time, Mark … time for that seed we planted in you years ago to start growing.” Buster declared. “For the families. There’s too much pain. We need you to help them. And we need you to help us.”

“I don’t understand!” I blurted out loud.

“What’s the matter, Skipper?” my first officer asked.

“Uh, I don’t understand why we haven’t seen the lights yet.” I said, trying to recover from the outburst.

“Any minute now.” he encouraged.

“We need your help telling the families what happened.” Buster continued. “We were supposed to land here in 1945. The families need to know why we didn’t.”

“500 feet. Runway in sight.” my first officer reported.

“Got it.”

“They need to know the truth, Mark. We’ll help you find the truth.” my uncle continued as we neared the approach end of the runway and I kept nodding repeatedly. “It’s your destiny.” he insisted.

Easing the thrust levers to idle and arresting the descent rate, the big jet touched down and began decelerating as I applied reverse thrust and braking. Slowing to eighty knots, we exited on a high speed turnoff and were soon taxiing down the parallel taxiway.

“Piedmont 225, taxi to parking via Charlie and Echo!” the overhead speaker declared as I turned the jet down the Charlie taxiway and began the trek to the terminal area. It was still raining hard and visibility ahead was minimal.

“Well, look at that! It must be some kind of an air museum.” my first officer said in surprise, gesturing ahead in the dark. “Is that a B-24? You sure don’t see many of those around any more.”

Following his gesture, I could see the outline of several World War II aircraft ahead to the left, including a large four-engine World War II bomber with nine men lined up in front of it. “It sure looks like a B-24.” I said. “But who are those guys standing out there in the rain?”

“What guys?”

“In front of the B-24.”

“I don’t see anybody. You must have better eyes than I do, Skipper.” my first officer remarked.

“Right there!” I gestured, as he just looked at me, bewildered.

Riding the brakes, I taxied slowly past the air museum ramp, fascinated beyond words when the men in front of the B-24 suddenly offered a group salute. Only then did I notice that the wind and rain appeared to be having no effect on them and that they had an eerie glow about them as if bathed in dim light. Straining against the jet’s cockpit window as we taxied past, I didn’t recognize them at first, until I suddenly noticed Buster standing among them and remembered that picture hanging on my greatgrandmother’s wall from so long ago.