The cluster of birds appeared out of nowhere, grew huge in the Plexiglas and smashed through the windscreen at 200 knots like feathered cannonballs. The pain in Lieutenant John Wright Royal’s body was incredible and instantaneous. He lost consciousness.
Texas wind swirled around the cockpit of the T-37 jet trainer, battering him with papers and loose objects. He could sense acceleration; G forces squashed him against the side of the cockpit. His left eyelid finally responded. All he could see was the ground spiraling beneath him. Odd.
Where’s the sky? Oh, my God! We’re in a dive! He groped for the control stick. Pain surged through his shoulder and right arm. Wings level, pull! Get the nose up! The ground hurtled towards him, airspeed increasing. “Throttles idle. Speed brake, speed brake!” he shouted into his mask. The pain in his shoulder screamed. He used both hands and pulled harder on the stick. The nose of the jet tracked upwards. God, this plane is heavy. He leveled off just before stalling the aircraft.
Royal was woozy, slow, like he had lost fifty IQ points. Air flooded into the cockpit like shrieking banshees.
What happened? Royal counted five, no, six fist-sized holes in the windscreen. His instructor, Captain Swinkels, seated alongside him, slumped against the opposite side of the cockpit, helmet and upper body splattered with feathers and what must be bird guts. His visors were smashed in, blood everywhere. Dead? Can’t tell, but he sure looks bad.
Royal fought to keep the airplane level. Outside, the horizon stretched as far as he could see. A beautiful summer day, clear and serene. Inside, chaos. A fire hose of high-speed air rocked Swinkels and stabbed Royal in the shoulder like a steel rod.
Now what? My first ride in this damn aircraft! What do I know about flying a jet? His heart raced. Every movement sent shards of pain lancing through his body and the noise was horrendous. He longed to close his one good eye and slip back into the cocoon of blackness. So easy…
He jerked upright. Wake up, Johnny boy!
He took stock: he was a student pilot flying a wounded airplane that he had never been in before, his right shoulder was on fire, a possible concussion threatened to drag him back into darkness, something was wrong with one eye. Plus an unconscious instructor who may or may not be dead.
Great! Just great.
Okay, Johnny, by the numbers: Maintain aircraft control; analyze the situation; take proper action. First thing: slow this baby down. He eased the throttles back a bit.
The roar of the wind dropped with the decrease in speed. Better.
He checked his instruments. He guessed they were all normal and in the green. Fuel still okay. For the time being.
“Oh yeah, transponder.” He groped around to find the dial and put in 7700, the code for emergencies. Dialing the proper numbers in the transponder cost him four hundred feet of altitude. “Johnny, you gotta do better than that!”
“Where are we?” He tried to scan the horizon to pick out something familiar. “There’s Wichita Falls…there’s Lake Wichita. I know where that’s supposed to be.” His eye traced to the northwest to the flat areas where Sheppard Air Force Base sprawled across the Texas landscape. He dipped a wing. He could make out the runways.
Altimeter check: five thousand feet. More or less level.
He took a deep breath to calm his jumpy nerves before making his first radio call. “Bull Two Four on Guard. I need a frequency.”
“Aircraft on Guard, contact Sheppard Approach on channel eight.”
He switched the frequency. “Approach, this is Bull Two Four. I’m declaring an emergency.”
“Bull Two Four, state your emergency.”
“Approach, we took a bird strike. My instructor is unconscious.”
“Bull Two Four, Stand by.”
Stand by? What do they think this is, a simulator? I need help now!
After what seemed an eternity, the radio crackled into life. “Bull Two Four, this is Colonel Tritten. How are you doing, Lieutenant?”
Colonel Tritten? What’s the Wing Commander doing here? “Sir, I’ve had better days.”
“Confirm that your instructor is not responsive.”
“He’s not moving. I can’t tell how badly he’s hurt.”
Another pause.
“Bull Two Four, Approach will vector you to the bail out area. Then you will eject. That’s an order, Lieutenant. Do you understand?”
Royal’s head snapped back in surprise and he gasped in pain. His heart raced. Leave the Captain? What if he’s not dead?
“Bull Two Four, I’ve ejected myself. It’s not that bad. Trust your equipment, son. It will save you. We don’t want to lose you, too.”
He thinks I’m scared. Well, he’s right! Royal laughed. What he’s trying to do is give me an excuse for abandoning the Captain. He’s covering my butt for me. Royal glanced over at Swinkels’ inert form.
Maybe he’s right. I’ve never landed anything heavier than a Cessna. Who am I kidding? I’m no Chuck Yeager.
The summer rough, choppy air forced him to focus on flying. It was like driving on a road dimpled with potholes. He knew about uplift from his glider days at the Academy. Somehow the familiarity made him feel better.
The radio spoke again. “Lieutenant Royal, I say again, you will fly to the bail out area and eject.”
I can’t leave this guy. He’s my instructor, for Christ’s sake.
Royal punched the mic button. “Negative, sir, I am now pilot-in-command and I’m bringing the Captain home. I have the runway in sight. Going to RSU frequency. Bull Two Four Out.”
“Maintain aircraft control, maintain aircraft control,” he chanted. “Jesus, I sound like a robot.” He chuckled, then turned serious. “Okay, Johnny boy, let’s get this beauty on the ground.” He gauged his rate of descent, cross-checked his altitude and slowed down.
He called to the T-37 Runway Supervisory Unit that would direct his landing approach. “Cooter, this is Bull Two Four, about five miles northwest, three thousand feet descending. Request emergency straight-in approach.”
“Bull Two Four, Cooter. You are cleared for a straight-in approach, runway One Five left. I’ll read you the checklist. Do one item at a time. But fly the airplane first and foremost. Got that, Lieutenant? Acknowledge.”
“Wilco.” Great! I’ll need all the help I can get!
“Bull Two Four, there will be a small pond on your left at two miles. Put your gear down there. We have you in sight. Just keep flying the airplane.”
What pond? Where? Okay, there it is. Gear down. The aircraft wallowed and he felt the gear extending. Three green lights. Best news of the day. “Trim, Johnny, trim.” He added power. “Airspeed, Johnny! Airspeed, attitude. Airspeed, attitude.” The leather palms of his flying gloves were all greasy, whether from sweat or bird guts, who knew.
“Cooter, Bull Two Four, three green.”
“Copy, Bull Two Four. Go full flaps and start down. Pick up your aim point.”
Flaps! Of course! Where’s the flap lever? Yeah, got it!
“You’re looking good, Bull Two Four. Maintain your aim point, Lieutenant. Keep her coming down. Get that cross check going. Watch your speed. Looking good. That’s it. Keep her coming down.”
The concrete runway stretched out in front. All he had to do was to set the plane down, keep it on the runway, and stop. The runway numbers flashed underneath. Power idle! He banged down hard, bounced. Hold the attitude, Johnny! The plane bounced again. Stayed down.
Brakes! The plane abruptly swerved left. John overcorrected right, then swerved left again. Finally he stopped the plane and shut down the engines.
Outside, pandemonium exploded as emergency crews rushed at him from all directions. Inside, blessed quiet.
He smiled as he closed his eyes and let himself slip back into unconsciousness.
It had been one hell of a ride.