The Long Way Home (Revised Ed) Read online

  “They gave us just a quick peek. That A and N homer sounds interesting. Think we can get a good checkout on it between here and San Pedro?”

  “I think so. We should be able to get strong signals from the high powered broadcast stations pretty much all the way. Between KGO here locally, and KNX or KFI in the L.A. area we should have good DF coverage for the A and N homer signals.”

  “Well,” Ford grinned and the crow’s feet around his eyes seemed to crease a little more, “just pick one with some good music!” With that he turned and went forward to the cockpit.

  Across the aisle in the right seat First Officer Thomas N. White, Sr. looked up from the operations manual lying open in his lap. “Ready for pre-flight checks when you are, Skipper.”

  White had not been originally scheduled for this flight. Ford’s regularly scheduled First Officer, John Mack, had called in earlier to report that he would be unable to make the flight. Crew dispatch had to hurriedly locate another First Officer to take his place. When they discovered that Tom White was at Treasure Island attending a training class, they called him out of class, instructed him to go home, put on his uniform and report for duty as Ford’s First Officer in time for the 3 P.M. scheduled departure. John Mack would be scheduled the next day and take the Honolulu shuttle flight where he would catch up with Ford for the flight south to New Zealand.

  “Okay, Tom. Just let me get my manual out.”

  Ford reached for his thick black leather flight case, unsnapped the latch and withdrew the pre-flight checklist. Then he removed a flat, sealed envelope and carefully placed it in the inside breast pocket of his uniform jacket. As he did so, White glanced over and noticed that the envelope had large black cryptic letters stamped on it. “PLAN A – TOP SECRET – FOR CAPTAIN’S EYES ONLY”. Ford had been handed the envelope by the flight dispatcher in the operations office only a few minutes earlier.

  For the last couple of months Pan American’s top management had been working with Army and Navy brass to formulate a contingency plan in the possible eventuality of the outbreak of war between the United States and Japan. Pan Am’s fleet of large flying boats, providing as they would, essential aerial transport capacity in the Pacific, would present a tempting target for either capture or destruction by Japanese forces. Without knowing precisely where or when hostilities might begin, it was necessary to keep the plan flexible, up-to-date, and very top secret. Even so, it had become a source of common hangar flying talk among the flight crews that each flight leaving the mainland had, as a routine part of its pre-flight documentation, this flat, thin, legal-size envelope containing secret instructions as to what course of action to follow when – and the emphasis was on WHEN, not on if – the Japanese attacked.

  As each captain arrived at the dispatch office on Treasure Island he was handed one of the envelopes for which he had to sign off on a special log. It was then his responsibility to ensure the security of that document for the duration of his flight assignment, returning it unopened to Dispatch if nothing had happened to require revealing its contents.

  “Hmm,” White joked, “looks like we’re heading off into spy-in-the-sky country!”

  “Just never mind, Tom!” Ford brought him up short. “That envelope is nobody’s business...not even mine. I don’t know what’s in there and I don’t even want to know unless we get word to look at it. Take my advice: just forget you ever saw it!”

  White was momentarily taken aback by Ford’s stern response. Bob Ford was usually pretty easy-going. Something in his Captain’s tone told him that he had better not pursue the matter any further – not even in jest. “Okay,” he replied meekly. Then, after a pause to regain his composure, “Ready for checklist when you are, Skipper.”

  “Just as soon as we have a head count,” Ford replied. “Check that all stations are manned with the departure crew, confirm passenger loading complete and clear the dock area for cast off.”

  By now the rest of the crew had assumed their respective stations. Those First Officers who would man operating positions for departure settled into their locations and one by one checked in with the cockpit via the intercom.

  “Rothe ready at engineering.” First Engineering Officer Homans K. “Swede” Rothe called in from the engineer’s station.

  “Henricksen at navigation – course plotted and ready.” James G. Henricksen, Third Officer, checked in.

  “Hendrickson at radio. Radio ground checks completed.”

  Ford flipped his intercom to connect with the galley below the flight deck. “Barney, are you there?”

  “Here, Skipper,” the voice from the galley replied. Barney Sawicki would be Flight Steward for the trip, along with his assistant, Verne C. Edwards.

  “How’s the passenger loading coming?” Ford asked.

  “All passengers are aboard. The gangway has been rolled back to the dock and the main entry hatch is being secured now.”

  “Fine, Barney.”

  Ford turned and looked toward the rear of the flight deck where the remaining crew members had gathered. “Steers, Parrish,” he called, “man the bow compartment for cast off.”

  John D. Steers, Fourth Officer, and John B. Parrish, Second Engineering Officer, moved forward and down between the pilots’ seats through the bow hatchway. There, they would await the signal to throw off the bow lines that secured the ship to the dock. Ground service personnel in a small dinghy positioned themselves in the water just behind the aft line attached to the rear of the fuselage. Another dinghy pulled up alongside the bow, ready to hand up the line they would use to tow the flying boat to the startup buoy.

  Second Officer Roderick Norman Brown and Jack Poindexter were the only remaining crew members without an assigned duty for departure. They settled into the two seats at the rear of the flight deck.

  Satisfied that all was ready for cast-off, Ford glanced over at White. “Okay, Tom, let’s do it.”

  White peered through his windscreen toward the bow hatch and signaled Parrish and Steers to cast off the bow lines. When that was done the ground crew in the forward dinghy handed up the towing line and it was secured to the bow post. At the same time, the crew in the aft dinghy released the tail line. Now free of landside restraints, the Clipper was towed slowly forward to a buoy moored in the middle of the sheltered lagoon between Treasure Island and Yerba Buena Island. Once secured there, they were ready for engine start.

  Following the litany of pre-start, engine, and flight control check list items, Ford punched the starter button for the Number One engine.

  Suddenly the flight deck was filled with the high-pitched whine of the starter as it began to turn the engine. The big Hamilton Standard propeller started to revolve; slowly at first, then more rapidly as the engine picked up speed. After a few seconds the whine was replaced by the rough, coughing pulses of 14 cylinders coming to life. Grey-white puffs of smoke spewed from the exhaust stacks. The sound grew louder. The puffs of smoke dissipated. The pulses were replaced by a smoother, burr-like throb as the engine hit its stride. The exhaust stacks started their rhythmic thrumming.

  Quickly, the same engine-start procedures were applied to the Number Four engine. Again, the same whine of the starter, the same rumbling to life of 1,600 more horsepower as Number Four added its voice to the swelling sound that now pervaded the cabin. As the engine came up to speed, White signaled Parrish to throw off the bow line. NC18606 was now a free agent, moving under its own power.

  In quick succession, the port (left) inboard engine – Number Two – and the starboard (right) inboard engine – Number Three – added to the chorus of power.

  Ford scanned the engine instruments on the cockpit panel. “Engineer, confirm oil pressure on all engines. Check idle rpm, mixtures all rich.”

  First Engineer Rothe’s voice came through Ford’s headset over the now constant rumble of the engines. “Oil pressures check okay, rpm at idle, mixtures rich. Ready for run-up.”

  “Ready for run-up and mag check,” Ford repeat
ed.

  “Roger, Skipper,” Rothe responded. “Run-up rpm and manifold pressure coming up on Number Two.”

  Ford motioned to White. “Mag checks, Number Two.”

  As White called out the settings, Ford watched out of his side window for any external indications of abnormal operation. Swede Rothe concentrated on the engine instruments on the big panel in front of him. “Rpm drops normal, manifold pressure normal, cylinder head temperatures normal and generator output looks good.”

  “Okay, check Number Three.”

  In a similar manner each of the other engines’ ignitions, rpms, manifold pressures, and general readiness were checked.

  White switched from intercom to radio. “PAN AM DISPATCH, THIS IS CLIPPER 18606. READY TO TAXI TO THE TAKEOFF CHANNEL.”

  (It should be noted here that Pan American pilots never used the Clipper’s public relations name – i.e., Pacific Clipper – in official radio communications. The term Clipper plus the aircraft’s registration or trip number was always the official way to identify the aircraft in radio communications).

  “CLIPPER 18606, PAN AM DISPATCH. ROGER, TAXI TO THE EAST END OF THE BAY BRIDGE CHANNEL. WIND WEST 12, TEMPERATURE 56 DEGREES, ALTIMETER 29.82. THE CHANNEL TENDER REPORTS LIGHT CHOP. CHANNEL HAS BEEN SWEPT AND REPORTED CLEAR.”

  “ROGER, DISPATCH. STANDING BY FOR ATC CONFIRMATION,” White replied. At the same time he gave a thumbs-up to Ford.

  “ATC CLEARANCE REMAINS AS FILED IN THE DISPATCH OFFICE. DEPART AT YOUR DISCRETION AND CONTACT ATC WHEN AIRBORNE.”

  White clicked his microphone button twice in quick succession as a shorthand way of acknowledging the transmission by the dispatcher.

  Captain’s throttles and flight controls on the B-314

  The space between the pilots’ seats was used as the passageway from the flight deck to the bow compartment. Therefore, it was not possible to have a centrally located control pedestal. Each pilot had a small console located outboard of each seat containing a set of throttles. The Captain’s throttles were at his left hand while the First Officer’s throttles were at his right hand. Accordingly, Bob Ford reached down with his left hand and grasped the four throttle lever handles. Slowly he eased them forward. “Increase rpm to taxi speed, Swede,” he called over the intercom to the First Engineer.

  Slowly at first, then with gathering speed, NC18606 moved toward the Berkeley shoreline at the far end of the Bay Bridge. Down below, the passengers heard the rhythmic slap-slap of the water against the bottom of the hull and watched the occasional dash of spray blow over the leading edges of the sea wings. As the big ship reached the far end of the takeoff channel, Ford swung it around in a wide arc.

  “PAN AM DISPATCH, 06 READY FOR TAKEOFF.”

  “CLIPPER 06, ROGER, FINAL WIND CHECK, 240 DEGREES 11 KNOTS, CLEARED FOR TAKEOFF.”

  “Okay, Swede,” Ford called over the intercom, “wing flaps set for takeoff, set cowl flaps for takeoff, follow me through on throttles for full takeoff power.”

  “Roger, Skipper. Cowl flaps set. Applying full power –NOW!”

  The full-throated roar of the four engines filled the cabin as NC18606 moved forward into the takeoff run. The slap-slap of the water under the hull became a staccato drum beat. Spray whipped higher over the sea wings. After a few seconds the hull began to rise out of the water but was not quite free. Ford held the yoke steady as the airspeed indicator displayed the increasing speed: 40 knots... 50... 60... 70...

  At 70 knots Ford brought the yoke back gently. The Clipper nosed up. Passengers seated in the aft compartments might have thought they were about to submerge as the tail came close to the water and the spray hurtling back from the sea wings splattered the windows. At 75 knots Ford eased up a little on the yoke then immediately brought it back. This rocking motion was necessary to raise the ship “on the step” – that area of the hull which would be the last to break free from the clinging suction effect of the water now hurtling along underneath the ship. As the airspeed went to 80 knots the sound of the water abruptly ceased. The thrumming beat against the hull was replaced by a sudden smoothness as the great ship broke free and began climbing.

  “Flaps 10 degrees, throttle back to climb.” Ford called to Rothe. The full-throated roar subsided slightly as the engineer backed off from the full power setting and the ship was trimmed for climb.

  As soon as they reached 500 feet, Ford began a wide, sweeping turn to the right. At 1,000 feet he continued the turn until they were heading back toward the Berkeley side of the Bay. Finally, as they continued to climb, he set the ship on course toward San Pedro, some 350 miles to the south-southeast, and serving as the flying boat base for the Los Angeles metropolitan area.

  Figure B314 Takeoff (Pan American Airways photo).

  In Warm Springs, Georgia, following an urgent telephone call from Secretary of State, Cordell Hull, President Franklin D. Roosevelt cut short his vacation plans and boarded the Presidential train for a hurried return to Washington. (New York Times, Tuesday, December 2, 1941).

  Somewhere between Hitukappu Bay in the Kurile Islands and Lat 40°N, Long 170°W a Japanese task force consisting of six carriers, two battleships, three cruisers and several destroyers and tankers, under the command of Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, steamed steadily toward the rendezvous point from which they would head south towards Hawaii, maintaining strict radio silence.

  [1]

  CHAPTER II

  HONOLULU BOUND

  The flight to San Pedro took about an hour longer than usual. Jack Poindexter asked Ford to fly on several different headings to check out the accuracy of the new radio homing equipment. By the time they had completed all tests and were squared away to approach and land at San Pedro Harbor, it was already late afternoon. They landed routinely, tied up at the harbor buoy and were taken ashore. A bus for the passengers and a crew limo were waiting for them on the pier.

  “Thanks for the checkout on those new receivers.” Ford remarked to Poindexter as they rode to the hotel where the crew would be put up for the night.

  “Sure thing, Bob. Everything looks pretty well up to specs. You might want to keep a log for me while you’re out along the line. Just some notes maybe, on when and where you used it and how well it worked; especially for approach patterns.”

  “Be glad to. You heading right back to San Francisco tonight?”

  “Yeah. As soon as they drop you guys at the hotel. The limo driver said he’d give me a lift to Burbank to catch TWA to Oakland.”

  When they arrived at the hotel, while the crew was checking in, Poindexter went to a pay phone in the lobby. He placed a collect call to his wife in San Francisco.

  “Hi, honey, it’s me.”

  “Jack, where are you? You said to hold dinner, but it’s getting pretty late. Is anything wrong?”

  “No, hon, I’m still in L.A. The radio checkouts took longer than expected. I’m at the crew hotel now, but I’ll be getting a ride to Burbank. I should be able to get TWA out of there for Alameda. Ought to be home around eleven tonight.”

  “Eleven? So late!”

  “I’m sorry, honey, but that’s about the best I can do right now. Don’t worry. I’ll get a cab home from the airport. You won’t have to come get me.”

  “Okay, I guess. What about supper?”

  “I’ll pick up something at the airport restaurant. Don’t have to worry about holding that dinner for me.”

  “Okay, dear. Have a good flight.”

  “I will. Oh, and don’t wait up for me. It’ll probably be close to midnight by the time I get home. Love ya!”

  “Love you too, Jack.”

  Each paused for a moment. Then Jack Poindexter hung up. As he turned away from the telephone booth he glanced toward the front desk. Oscar Hendrickson was standing there, beckoning to him.

  “Yeah, Oscar, what’s up?” Poindexter asked as he strolled toward the desk.

  “Jack, we’ve got a problem here...,” Hendrickson paused.

  “Oh? What problem?”


  “Harry Strickland was supposed to have joined us here as Second Radio Officer, but they say he was taken to the hospital early this afternoon with what looks like a bad case of appendicitis. Haven’t been able to confirm it yet but, if it’s true, he’s going to be out of commission for a while. How do we handle it?”

  Poindexter thought a moment. The loss of the Second Radio Officer would mean that Hendrickson would have to man the radio desk full-time. That would mean at least 15 to 18 hours on continuous duty on the next flight leg scheduled for tomorrow. If anything happened to him while en route there would be no backup radio operator. Pan Am’s flight regulations were very specific and very strict: no flight could be cleared without double crew coverage for every position. There was only one answer: they had to find a replacement.

  “Well, Jack,” Hendrickson reasoned, “we can’t go without two radio officers. As far as I know there’s no other layover crew here in San Pedro. We could call San Francisco and have them try to find someone to send down. But that would be kind of ‘iffy’ considering how long it would take to get someone down here in time to leave with us tomorrow. I don’t see anything for it, except that you’ll have to come along.”