we’re going to take, plus enough to manhandle the food and whatever else we’re going to draw from the Quartermaster Depot,” McCoy said.
[SIX]
After the H-19s were pushed outside the hangar, Major McCoy managed with some difficulty to climb into the cockpit of one, and then—with some assistance from Major Donald—to strap himself into the copilot’s seat.
Donald then handed him a headset and a microphone, and showed him how to press the microphone button to talk, and the switch that allowed selection of TRANSMIT and INTERCOM.
“Got it?” Donald’s voice came through the earphones.
McCoy checked to make sure the switch was set on INTERCOM and then pressed the microphone button.
“Got it,” he said.
Donald put his face to the open cockpit window.
“Wind it up, Schneider,” he called to the other H-19.
A moment later, there came the whine of the engine cranking, a cloud of blue smoke, and a lot of vibration.
For the first time, McCoy realized that he and Donald were practically sitting on the engine.
The rotor blades began to turn very slowly, and then ever faster, over them. And produced more vibration.
He looked around Donald at the other helicopter and saw Zimmerman, who looked as uncomfortable as he felt, sitting beside Captain Schneider.
Donald checked a baffling array of instruments on the control panel and exercised the controls. McCoy had no idea what Donald was doing.
After about a minute, Donald’s voice came over the earphones.
“Army 4003, a flight of two H-19 helicopters, on the tarmac in front of the hangar across from base ops. Request takeoff permission for a low-level flight on a departure heading of 250 degrees.”
“4003, where are you going?”
"K-14, Inchon. We will not exceed 1,000 feet en route.”
“4003, understand departure heading 250 degrees, destination Inchon, flight level under 1,000. Be advised that there are multiengine aircraft in the pattern making an approach to runway 27. The altimeter is two niner niner. The winds are negligible. K-14 clears 4003 for immediate take-off on a departure heading of 250 degrees. Advise when clear of the field.”
“Roger, K-14. Army 4003 lifting off at this time.”
Donald did something to the controls. The sound of the engine changed. There was more vibration. The tail of the helicopter seemed to rise, and then they were moving very slowly across the tarmac, just a few feet off the ground. The helicopter turned at the edge of the hangar, seemed to both accelerate and rise a few more feet off the ground.
Then, when it had passed over the airport boundary, it turned and climbed to about 500 feet.
Jesus Christ, Major Kenneth R. McCoy thought, you can see just about everything from up here! This noisy goddamn machine is really going to be useful!
[SEVEN]
HANEDA AIRFIELD TOKYO, JAPAN 0905 30 SEPTEMBER 1950
Captain Paul R. Jernigan, who would command Trans-Global Airways Flight 908—City of Los Angeles—Lockheed Constellation Service from Tokyo to San Francisco with fuel stops at Wake Island and Honolulu, had no idea at all that he would be carrying Fleming Pickering until he looked out the window and saw him approaching the aircraft.
He pushed himself out of the seat, told his copilot and the flight engineer that “Jesus Christ, Pickering himself is getting on!” and then left the cockpit so that he could personally welcome aboard the man who owned the airline.
“Welcome aboard, sir,” he said. “My name is Jernigan.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Pickering said, offering his hand. “This is another kind of captain, George Hart. My name is Pickering.”
“Yes, sir. I know. It’s a pleasure to have you aboard, gentlemen.”
The senior stewardess who had been counting heads in the rear of the airplane saw the captain standing by the door and came quickly forward and saw who it was.
“We heard you were coming with us, Commodore,” she said. “Welcome aboard. We have you in 1A, the window seat, and 1B.”
Never thought to tell me, huh, you airhead! Captain Jernigan thought rather unkindly. He had been known to comment that if he had his choice between flying B-17s over Berlin, which he had done, or flying Connies with six stewardesses aboard, as he was doing now, he would take Berlin anytime.
“Thank you,” Pickering said, and found his seat.
“You want the window, George?” he asked.
“Up to you, boss. I don’t care either way.”
Pickering slid into the window seat.
“Once we’re in the air, please feel free to come to the cockpit, Commodore,” Captain Jernigan said. He had picked up on the title,