Flying Naked - An American Pilot in the Amazon Jungle

Colombia

Guys jumped on the list at first. It became a contest to see who would be the first to find one of Walt's dream items. Mannie, our fanatically clean Academy grad, won that competition when he found an old cayuca floating in Lago Gatún and brought it in to the squadron. One down, only twenty-five to go. But that only encouraged us more. Even the mechanics over in Hangar 2 got involved when they heard about the treasure hunt, serious guys like Harry and Vince who normally occupied themselves with side-job business pursuits but who could always be counted on for an adventure.

It wasn't all fun and games, though. Work intervened as taskings came down from the Wing to support the DEA in Colombia and Peru. I got a few of those flights and because of some of the destinations I always took a mechanic with me.

Vince was aboard for example when we landed at Cartagena. We were glad he was, since on short final we sucked a pigeon down the #1 engine and knocked it out. It was poor timing. We were there to pick up people who really wanted to leave the country.

Somehow most of the pigeon got through the propeller and went down the intake when we were about thirty feet off the ground on our approach. The engine stalled. Mick was on the controls at the time. He cursed but we knew he stayed calm because his raspy Boston accent didn't get any thicker. He simply jammed in rudder and called, "Don't touch anything – weah landing."

On the runway we shut down the left engine and taxied to an out of the way hangar at the west end of the field. There six gringos waited in the shade of an awning. Two wore jackets and ties, the others were dressed down. There were also two Colombians looking very Miami Vice-ish in pale suits and mirror-sunglasses, a Colombian policeman, and two local soldiers hanging out behind the crowd with automatic rifles cradled in their arms. The subject of all their attention stood squeezed in the middle. Colombian, medium-height, unshaven, undistinguished. His clothes were dirty and he looked like he hadn't slept in a while. He barely looked up as we taxied in. So close did the others stand around him it was hard to make out the handcuffs on his wrists.

Bird, our loadmaster, was responsible for everything in the back of the plane. He jumped from his seat and lowered the ramp to the outside. Vince was on the move as soon as I set the brakes. He dropped the crew entrance door and jumped out with a step ladder to take a look at the engine. There was no evidence of a fire but a foreboding rattle as the engine spun down suggested the bird knocked some compressor blades loose. If that happened the engine was done. Without an intact compressor, airflow to the combustion chamber is irregular and it's impossible to control the heat generated there. Worse, there's no telling where the missing blades have gone. Into the engine, most likely, where they would cause worse damage. It was amazing that a pigeon could bring down a million-dollar motor but it could and did.

"Toast," Vince said to me quietly as he came down the ladder. The #2 engine was still running. Mick still sat in the co-pilot's seat.

"Beautiful."

I expected nothing less. Our casual out-and-back sortie was in reality a rendition that many people back home were following. It was supposed to be a milk run but a stupid accident now threatened to bring the flight to a grinding halt.

Four of the agents, with their prisoner, hurried onto the plane. One of them poked his head back out the door, wondering at our delay. Vince turned so his back was to the man.

"What's their backup plan?" he whispered.

I thought about that. Even if they had a backup means of getting the prisoner out of Colombia, we were their first option. They would press us to do something. Our passengers never cared why we couldn't do the mission. All they knew was that we couldn't. Lt Col Rasmussen tried to counter that pressure by issuing a standing order never to do anything we felt unsafe about regardless of the rank of the passenger in back. But other factors were at work. Our egos, for example. When I got in a plane I wanted to do the mission whatever it was. So did Vince and so did Mick and so did every guy in the squadron.