My first approach is hasty; she builds up speed and although I find the runway, I'm hopelessly long. Cursing, I go around and report a missed approach to ATC.
I call Pickering again.
"Start some fires, light some candles; anything, dammit- I'm on fumes, here!!"
"Couple of the guys are on it, Boss, they're gonna try to rig some smudge-pots..."
The controller is vectoring me on what seems like a very out-of-the-way route for a missed approach. But there's high terrain around here... still, it's VMC; maybe I could just fly a regular pattern over the water... but I get my order to turn back to the field; good. Time for another try.
I miss again, this time touching down, but with no room to stop or even ground-loop it. There are no smudge-pots, not yet.I sigh heavily, shovel on the coal, and cancel IFR. Time to barnstorm it, and get this mama on the ground while the engines are still running.
Which they aren't for long... I'm still on downwind when the fuel runs out. No sloshing to be heard; she's dry. Should have carried more, dammit... and should have made sure there'd be lighting here, or started out in the dark to arrive in daylight. There's still hope, though... I ease her around, props feathered.
But as I start my final, I can see it's no use.
"We've got you in sight, Boss... you're low", someone says on the radio.
I have no answer. The water appears in the glare of the landing lights, but not the runway.
Full flaps.... slowed up good... this won't be too bad, as long as there are no rocks...
I'm close to shore, and the sea is calm. The runway, which runs almost right up to the beach at this end, is about 1/2 mile away.
I almost forget the gear entirely, pulling it up only after the wheels kiss the water. I try to hold the nose up as long as possible...it's about 3AM. 21 hours since Nauru. Fuel's run out right on schedule...
She suddenly settles with a slow-motion jolt, then noses over a little, then settles back. My headset seems to have fallen off, and I can hear water gurgling into the ship. My hands are still on the yoke. The engines are hissing... I run through my shutdown checklist. Someone's tapping on the copilot's side window: it's Pickering, in a canoe with one of the locals.
"Jesus-! Boss, you okay? The Cat's just coming around the point; they'll be here any minute."
"'Course I'm okay- and tell those bastards the minute they get here, they're to fish this thing out of the water. And put on some coffee. You do have coffee, don't you?"
Pickering looks startled. "Y-yeah, got a pot going already, in the shack..."
"Good".
I turn away. EQDC3 drifts a little, and gently bumps the canoe. I look back towards it. The Indonesian fellow grins at me, while Pickering starts talking into his handheld radio to the Catalina crew.
I see beautiful stars over his shoulder, and then there's the lights of the PBY to my left, settling onto the gently rolling sea. She looks beautiful, even in the darkness. Good old Briggs. And Cutter was right- this is a trip for a flying boat.
And what the hell was I thinking, chasing after that hallucinatory island, and trying to land there?
I'm an idiot.
An idiot who's just crossed the Pacific, the hard way, in a DC-3...well, now.
I'd smile, if I wasn't so embarassed and depressed...
Pickering and the boatman start paddling back to the beach.
I clamber over to the right-side window, stick my head out into the Spice Islands breeze,and shout after them:
"AND ONE MORE THING...!"
"WHAT IS IT?" Pickering hollers back, faintly. I can't even see them now.
"IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU!!"
Next: On to Singapore!!
Well, that's it for this bombardment... haven't started the next leg yet (could take a while to get EQDC3 dried out and shipshape
), so it'll be a while before my next installment... thanks for looking.
