“I’ll play co-pilot on this one. Lieutenant Bosko, if you’d be so kind to move.” As detachment commander, he had the authority to move crewmembers around.
“You’re the boss,” Warren said. He hit the brakes and stopped on the taxiway until they two men switched places. Bosko gave Warren a warning look and disappeared into the cargo compartment.
Flanders checked in from the cargo compartment. “Lieutenant Bosko is strapped in. We’re good to go in the rear.” Warren released the brakes and nudged the inboard throttles up, taxiing on two and three. He played with the four throttles, varying the rpm and power as they taxied out. The long-bladed props responded with a definite beat; Dah-da, dah-da-da-da-da-da. The Hercules was humming the Colonel Bogey March.
“Strangle that,” Hardy ordered. He was on a roll. “And I was not impressed with Sergeant Flanders’s passenger briefing. I seriously doubt that our passengers are fully cognizant of all relevant safety procedures.” Hardy prided himself on his clear diction that sounded like a formal report.
“They’re ready for the test,” Flanders replied over the intercom, adding a belated “sir”.
Hale shot Warren a wry grin. They waited while Hardy ran through the checklist. “Before take-off checklist complete,” he finally said.
“Let’s go,” Warren said. Hardy just looked at him. “Call for take-off clearance,” Warren added.
The tower cleared then to taxi into position on runway 02 Right and to hold. Cam Ranh Bay was located on the northern end of the peninsula that formed the bay and the parallel runways cut across the narrowest part, separating the main base from the mainland. They were taking off to the north, with the bay and the mainland on their left, the base on their right, and the beach and open water straight ahead. Then, “Roscoe Two-One, cleared for take-off.” Warren advanced the throttles and the props dug into the air. Without a cargo, the Hercules accelerated quickly, touching eighty knots just after passing the thousand-foot marker. Warren held it on the ground as the weight came off the nose gear.
“Lift-off,” Hardy called.
Warren still held it on the ground, gaining speed before pulling back on the yoke, lifting the nose up sharply. “Gear up,” he called.
Hardy’s left hand reached for the gear handle on the instrument panel and flicked the handle to the up position. “Small arms fire!” the tower radioed. “Departure end of the runway! Mainland side!” Warren didn’t hesitate and he wracked the big bird into a hard right turn, turning away from the mainland and cutting across the main base, heading for open water. He looked across the cockpit and out the windows on Hardy’s right side. Certain they were clear of the ground and accelerating, he steepened the bank, dropping the right wing even lower and hardening up the turn, away from the threat.
“Roll out!” Hardy shouted.
Warren held the turn for another three seconds before rolling out, now ninety degrees from the runway heading. He headed for open water and safety. “Flaps up,” he called. “Okay troops, check for battle damage.” Warren called for the checklist and they cleaned up the airplane, still climbing over open water. Warren ran a controllability check and breathed in relief as the big bird responded normally.
Flanders was back on the intercom, “Okay in the rear.”
“All systems good,” Hale, the flight engineer, said.
Warren relaxed and turned on course, heading to the north, still over water. “All things considered, let’s stay offshore as long as possible.”
“Exactly what type of take-off was that?” Hardy demanded.
“A safe one, Colonel.”
“I don’t need any smart-ass replies,” Hardy shot back.
“We can talk about it on the ground,” Warren said. “Navigator, ETA for NKP.”
Santos had the numbers. “One-hour fifty-minutes en route time. ETA, 1050 local time.” He couldn’t help himself. “Hey,
“You’re the boss,” Warren said. He hit the brakes and stopped on the taxiway until they two men switched places. Bosko gave Warren a warning look and disappeared into the cargo compartment.
Flanders checked in from the cargo compartment. “Lieutenant Bosko is strapped in. We’re good to go in the rear.” Warren released the brakes and nudged the inboard throttles up, taxiing on two and three. He played with the four throttles, varying the rpm and power as they taxied out. The long-bladed props responded with a definite beat; Dah-da, dah-da-da-da-da-da. The Hercules was humming the Colonel Bogey March.
“Strangle that,” Hardy ordered. He was on a roll. “And I was not impressed with Sergeant Flanders’s passenger briefing. I seriously doubt that our passengers are fully cognizant of all relevant safety procedures.” Hardy prided himself on his clear diction that sounded like a formal report.
“They’re ready for the test,” Flanders replied over the intercom, adding a belated “sir”.
Hale shot Warren a wry grin. They waited while Hardy ran through the checklist. “Before take-off checklist complete,” he finally said.
“Let’s go,” Warren said. Hardy just looked at him. “Call for take-off clearance,” Warren added.
The tower cleared then to taxi into position on runway 02 Right and to hold. Cam Ranh Bay was located on the northern end of the peninsula that formed the bay and the parallel runways cut across the narrowest part, separating the main base from the mainland. They were taking off to the north, with the bay and the mainland on their left, the base on their right, and the beach and open water straight ahead. Then, “Roscoe Two-One, cleared for take-off.” Warren advanced the throttles and the props dug into the air. Without a cargo, the Hercules accelerated quickly, touching eighty knots just after passing the thousand-foot marker. Warren held it on the ground as the weight came off the nose gear.
“Lift-off,” Hardy called.
Warren still held it on the ground, gaining speed before pulling back on the yoke, lifting the nose up sharply. “Gear up,” he called.
Hardy’s left hand reached for the gear handle on the instrument panel and flicked the handle to the up position. “Small arms fire!” the tower radioed. “Departure end of the runway! Mainland side!” Warren didn’t hesitate and he wracked the big bird into a hard right turn, turning away from the mainland and cutting across the main base, heading for open water. He looked across the cockpit and out the windows on Hardy’s right side. Certain they were clear of the ground and accelerating, he steepened the bank, dropping the right wing even lower and hardening up the turn, away from the threat.
“Roll out!” Hardy shouted.
Warren held the turn for another three seconds before rolling out, now ninety degrees from the runway heading. He headed for open water and safety. “Flaps up,” he called. “Okay troops, check for battle damage.” Warren called for the checklist and they cleaned up the airplane, still climbing over open water. Warren ran a controllability check and breathed in relief as the big bird responded normally.
Flanders was back on the intercom, “Okay in the rear.”
“All systems good,” Hale, the flight engineer, said.
Warren relaxed and turned on course, heading to the north, still over water. “All things considered, let’s stay offshore as long as possible.”
“Exactly what type of take-off was that?” Hardy demanded.
“A safe one, Colonel.”
“I don’t need any smart-ass replies,” Hardy shot back.
“We can talk about it on the ground,” Warren said. “Navigator, ETA for NKP.”
Santos had the numbers. “One-hour fifty-minutes en route time. ETA, 1050 local time.” He couldn’t help himself. “Hey,
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