Manhattan II Project

Chapter 1

Matthew Walthers was driving his White Freightliner over the exact same route he had traveled many times over the last ten years, delivering fruits and vegetables to small, independent, family-owned grocery stores in remote towns and villages throughout the Ozark mountain area along the Missouri-Arkansas border. He loved the serenity, particularly during the wee hours of the morning when he seldom saw another vehicle for hours at a time. He was sensing rather than hearing the sounds of nature - the cicada's constant hum, the frog's occasional croak, and the owl's haunting hoot-above the dull throb of his diesel engine. Those sounds were nearly audible as he coasted along gently sloping downgrades. Man and machine were one, each in tune with the other, as he methodically shifted gears, exacting optimum performance from his rig, maneuvering through the S-turns, alternately traveling up and down the steep, winding, narrow mountain roads.

Occasionally, during the loneliest hours, he would catch himself looking for an excuse to change to daytime duty as his wife constantly demanded, but those moments were few and far between. He swept those thoughts out of his mind long before returning home, giving his wife little insight into ideas that could change his life so drastically. He knew if he ever made such a change, he would greatly miss the stillness of the night on his route. He was far from the roaring freeways, where he knew his nerves would be shattered by the incessant chatter on the CB radio most truckers wouldn't be without. Besides, as he often reminded his wife, how would the small grocery markets get their fresh produce if he didn't provide this invaluable service. He knew several other truckers who would give their right arm to get their hands on his route, but he wouldn't let on to his wife that the possibility even existed, though in all probability she was fully aware of it.

It was still several hours before dawn as he began to gather speed for the longest and steepest uphill grade along his route, aptly named Deadman's Hill by the natives. The roar of the engine increased significantly as he floored the accelerator, increasing his speed from fifty-five to seventy miles per hour. He would be barely crawling by the time he reached the top, but this momentum gave him a boost for the initial climb and maybe would allow him to make up a little time. He was only a couple of minutes late, but he prided himself on making deliveries with clock-setting regularity. He couldn't even hear his own words, as he talked to himself above the deafening roar of the engine, but his keen sixth sense eerily warned him of some unknown imminent danger. Too late, he heard the screeching tires, then watched in horror as the flickering headlights of an oncoming vehicle hurtled toward him at a high rate of speed.

The vehicle careened completely out of control veering directly into his lane. The small sports car's left front tire had blown moments earlier with explosive suddenness, throwing the car across the centerline directly into the oncoming path of Matthew's truck. The driver struggled desperately, but couldn't regain control before the terrific impact that sent the little sports car rolling end-over-end into a grove of trees like a lopsided bowling ball flung into a pocket of tenpins. The small trees shattered into toothpicks, allowing the Alfa Romeo to tumble into the deep ravine far below.

Except for Matthew's vivid memory of that moment of terror - a trail of nuts, bolts, glass, and a few small pieces of twisted chrome trim - it was as if the accident had not occurred. The truck had only a few scratches on the bumper and a small dent in the fender, but the Alfa was reduced to a small pile of rubble unrecognizable in its present form, well hidden in the dense foliage of the ravine far below. The young woman who had been driving the Alfa had been thrown from the car, skidded across the pavement and smashed like a rag doll into the embankment along the side of the roadway.

For the first time, Matthew thanked God in the simplest and only way he knew how that he had installed a CB radio earlier that year. He immediately radioed for help, but due to the remote location and the limited range of his radio, the ambulance and paramedics did not arrive for almost an hour. Matthew stood by helplessly; apparently, it didn't matter, as it seemed there was nothing anyone could do. The paramedics, in an attempt to calm him, told him that most likely the young lady would not even survive the trip to the hospital; all they could do was make her as comfortable as possible.

Dana Higgins had been a tomboy since early childhood. As soon as she was old enough to be aware of herself and develop her personality, she instinctively knew her parents treated her differently than most other kids her age were treated by their parents. She fought a constant battle - was in and out of scrapes with her classmates, trying hard to act the part of the son she knew her father had so desperately wanted. She was the epitome of an Air Force brat, and after every frequent family move, she would soon be known throughout the neighborhood as the community terror. No matter what she did, or how hard she tried, she failed miserably, as her father continued his subconscious rejection of her that began the moment the doctor came out of the delivery room into the waiting room and announced, Congratulations, you have a beautiful baby girl!

Dana had the uncanny feeling that she had been there and could distinctly remember hearing her father's words of disappointment and dismay, No! Doctor, you've got to be kidding, ours is a boy!

She all too often heard her mother's bitter complaints while describing her daughter's difficult birth, and the drastic change in her father's behavior in the ensuing months. When we were first married, he was so kind and considerate, but do you think he would lift a finger to help me take care of you? For the longest time, he wouldn't even touch you. It was extremely distasteful for him, like you were dirty or something. Before you were conceived, he had some crazy idea that if we would follow the advice of one of those quack doctors who wrote a book on the subject, we could choose the sex of our baby. He had every confidence in that doctor, and was so sure it was foolproof that he fell completely apart when the procedure didn't work. He just couldn't accept it and I'm only sorry he took it all out on you.

Dana's aggressive behavior became obsessive as she grew though her teen years, often pushing herself to the limit, always trying to gain her father's approval, on and off the athletic field. She was a natural athlete, holding her own even on the football field, until her male teammates began to overwhelm her with their physical size and strength. She knew, she could have played any profession sport she desired, if only she had a man's strength.

She grew tall and graceful, but dressed sloppily, hiding her natural beauty, seldom daring to allow anyone to notice. During her high school years, she concentrated full-time on basketball, but they would not let her compete with the boys. After high school, she easily earned a scholarship at the University of Arkansas, where she quickly became a member of the starting lineup on the women's basketball team as a freshman.

As the years passed, she became more successful and gained a greater confidence in her own abilities. She gradually lost the compelling need to seek her father's approval in her activities, and completely shut him out of her life. In her heart, he just no longer existed. She continued acting out her frustrations and hostilities, living wantonly, wildly, irresponsibly.

She had few moments of tranquility, but was actually enjoying the quiet night drive through the Ozark Mountains on her return trip to the University of Arkansas campus after spending the weekend with friends in Missouri. She loved to push her pride and joy, a little Alfa Romeo that her grandmother had given her, to the limit, challenging the sharp turns and steep hills on these roads that she usually found completely free of other traffic.

While braking for the first curve a few hundred feet below the summit of Deadman's Hill, her foot suddenly went all the way to the floor with a thump. She panicked for a moment as the car seemed to accelerate into the curve. She soon discovered she could maintain control, but found herself committed to a high-speed run all the way to the bottom. She downshifted, slowing the vehicle slightly, and valiantly fought the wheel for several minutes, which seemed to her like hours - each successive curve providing a greater challenge with the increased speed. She gradually gained confidence in her ability, and intuitively knew she could reach the bottom safely. But her tire blew, throwing the Alfa into the path of Matthew's truck.

Now those years of disciplined basketball practice and physical conditioning gave her the stamina and strength she desperately needed to survive the long night and the ambulance ride to the nearest hospital, although the promise of life was frighteningly slim. He condition was listed as critical, with a long list of injuries that included a broken neck, broken ribs, broken pelvis, partial paralysis, and severe facial lacerations.

At 0430 hours, the flight line at Langley Air Force Base, Virginia was exceptionally quiet since the jet engine maintenance personnel had learned long ago all engine runs had to be accomplished during daytime hours. It was either that or face the wrath of the general staff of Tactical Air Command headquarters, whose homes were within a short distance of the flight line.

Dana's father, Air Force Lieutenant General Mike Higgins, Vice Commander of Tactical Airlift Command, was generally engrossed in his work, putting in long hours, always evading any involvement in the life of his daughter. The hours that weren't consumed by his military duties were spent in Washington, where he served the board of directors of the ArkTex Petroleum Corporation as a private consultant. He wasn't even aware Dana had been awarded an athletic scholarship, nor was he interested in any aspect of her personal life. He was vaguely aware of her childish antics, which he considered juvenile, and never understood her refusal to act more like a lady. He couldn't help himself judging her wild and incorrigible, based on the fact she loved to drive fast and recklessly. His only information was based on the inordinate number of speeding tickets she had received, and several letters and messages from the college dean, none of which he had answered.

Dana's mother died two years earlier, also in an auto accident, having been struck by a drunken driver, leaving Dana on her own. Her mother's family owned the controlling interest in ArkTex, and were what Mike frequently referred to as the filthy rich. The family had disowned Dana's mother when she married Mike, then a young Air Force officer, against the wishes of her father. But since her mother's death, Dana enjoyed more and more acceptance and heir status from her grandparents, and was showered with gifts, that had included the sports car that had been her most prized possession.

General Higgins often remained awake, brooding late into the night about his wife's death, and, with an odd twinge of disappointment, his daughter's unladylike conduct, which he would recall in connection with feelings of inadequacy as a parent, and his earlier rejection of her as a child. He couldn't recall how many times, during the past two years while she was away at school, he received letters or phone calls from the school authorities describing her misconduct and pleading for help. Most of time he ignored those occurrences, hoping they would go away before she was expelled. To be honest, he didn't care, except he knew he didn't want her back home living with him. He didn't know it, but she would have been expelled months earlier except for her exceptional performance on the basketball court. More than once he would have disowned her and kicked her out on her own, except for the money that came for her from his wife's family, which provided for her schooling plus liberal expense money. He wasn't exactly short of funds, but his assets were tied up, and he was sinking every penny of his visible assets back into his private business in Washington.

Early in the morning as he lay sleepless, the phone rang. He answered in his usual surly voice, General Higgins.

General Higgins, this is Colonel White, Hospital Commander at Little Rock. I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. Your daughter has been involved in a near-fatal auto accident.

What happened? He was instantly wide awake, his tone of voice apprehensive.

Apparently, late last night, she was driving alone at a high rate of speed on a narrow mountain road, crossed the centerline, and crashed head-on into a truck.

Is there any evidence of drinking or drugs? For the moment he was more concerned about how this incident would affect his career and his chances of promotion in the next cycle, than the condition of his daughter.

I don't think so, we found nothing to indicate drugs or alcohol.

How bad is it?

It's pretty grim, she's critical; I'd say her chances of survival are slim to none. She hasn't come out of a coma yet, and I'm sorry to say we just don't know the extent of her injuries yet.

Oh, my God! Where is she? I'll get on a plane right away, and come out there. Is she in the Little Rock base hospital?

I wouldn't advise that! Colonel White quickly replied. That was all they needed on top of everything else. We are putting her on an Air Evac aircraft as soon as feasible if we can get her stable, and fly her to Walter Reed.

All right, thanks, I'll make arrangements to meet the plane at Andrews. Terrible regrets began to assail him as the memories of his treatment of her twisted and turned inside him.

Chapter 2

At precisely 0430 hours, Air Force Major Brad Anderson gradually woke to the incessant buzzing of his bedside electronic telephone. He let it buzz a couple more times, hoping the sound would go away, thinking, It almost always rings about five minutes after I fall into a deep sleep, or just after I meet the most beautiful woman in the world in the middle of my best dream ever. This particular morning, neither was the case; he had gone to bed early the previous evening and slept soundly through most of the night. His mind was instantly alert in the stillness of the morning, and fully aware of his responsibilities.

Overcoming a strong desire to lie still and go back to sleep; he rolled over, and answered with his usual crisp Major Anderson.

The feminine voice at the other end was strictly military, but her tone gave him the impression it had been a long night, and she could hardly wait for the day shift to relieve her, as she repeated the message she would give many times that morning, Good morning; this is Sergeant Walters at the Command Post alerting you for your six one one mission.

Thanks, I'll be there.

The only answer was the click signifying Sergeant Walters accomplished her duty, and she assumed Major Anderson would show up at 0530 to brief his crew for the 611 Air Evacuation mission.

He couldn't remember how many times he'd been through this routine, but it had been the pattern of his life the five years since being assigned to the 11th Aeromedical Airlift Squadron at Scott Air Force Base, Illinois. He was one of the few experienced instructor pilots assigned to the unit, on his way to accumulating 3,000 hours of flying time in the C-9A Nightingale. He had flown several other types of aircraft earlier in his Air Force career during the latter months of the Vietnam war and in several subsequent assignments. His current assignment was considered by many to be the best in the Air Force, and he was definitely making the most of it. But he had been here too long, and he was feeling stagnation, boredom, and restlessness that, as he saw it, could only be cured by taking on new challenges and responsibilities- in short, a change of assignment.

Brad had dark, curly hair, and a wavy forelock that wouldn't quite stay where he wanted it. His strong, dimpled chin, and finely chiseled Roman nose, gave him a ruggedly handsome look. He had broad shoulders and a slim waist, and carried his 180 pounds on a six foot two frame. He pictured himself as a daring and adventuresome sort who would be more at home at Edwards Air Force Base flight testing the Air Force's newest fighter aircraft than driving an airborne ambulance. Yet, he wanted more out of life than he would experience as a typical fighter pilot being nagged by the feeling that he had never accomplished anything worthwhile except train for war. He experienced enough of the hell associated with war while flying F-4 Phantoms over North Vietnam, and he certainly wasn't interested in flying in a G suit the rest of his career. At least, in his present job, he could see the results of his efforts in the eyes of grateful patients and their next of kin.

As he showered and shaved, he reminisced back to 1972 and the decision he had made after returning from Vietnam. Those months had been difficult because of the wasted years, and daily brushes with death-all for naught. He was convinced that the U.S. Government had failed him and the other Vietnam veterans who had fought for a cause they believed in and lost. Bureaucratic blunders and political payoffs were apparent, he thought, even to the casual observer, but like most American fighting men, he clung to the patriotic notion that, right or wrong, they had fought for the American way of life in Vietnam. He blamed President Lyndon Johnson for getting America into the war for personal political advantage, and accused President Richard Nixon with getting America out for similar reasons. It didn't matter how history recorded the Vietnam war; it had changed his life, and for the first time, he started thinking that an Air Force career might not be for him; he seriously considered resigning his commission, to actively pursue a professional airline pilot career. He contacted several airlines, spent months on the fence, then finally made his decision to stay with the Air Force because he believed the airlines only offered what seemed a life of glamour, but after a few months, no real challenges. But this morning as he thought about it, he could see he was basically doing the same thing-probably at less than half the salary-and all the challenges were gone.

It was definitely time for a change, and he resolved to make an appointment with his career adviser at MAC (Military Airlift Command) headquarters to request a new assignment as soon as practical after returning from the flight. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he really did love the Air Force way of life, and would be at a loss without it, since the Air Force was the center of his life. He had never married; he simply couldn't find a woman willing to play second fiddle to his Air Force way of life, or one he could place first. In those months of struggle after returning from Vietnam, he briefly became engaged to a young woman he had known since high school, until a brief TDY (temporary duty) assignment interfered, and she apparently couldn't wait for his return. This event was the turning point in his decision to stay with the Air Force, and thinking back, he now realized that it takes a special woman to be a real Air Force wife, and those special qualities were what he had sought in a wife but never found. He figured he would be single for quite some time, for he had met very few women who could meet that test, and he didn't think he would ever bring himself to completely trust another woman.

He prided himself on maintaining a good physical fitness program, and at age thirty-six could still outperform many of the younger pilots in the squadron in most sports and physical activities. One of his regrets over such an early alert was it would deny him his usual morning run before reporting to work. He glanced at the clock and realized he had better quit stalling and get off to work before he was late, even though the traffic would be extremely light this early in the morning and he didn't have far to drive.

The squadron briefing room was little more than an extra-wide entryway into the conference room where the two squadrons (pilots and medical crews) received their commanders' calls and fulfilled other squadron functions. The briefing room was crudely set up with just enough wooden writing-arm chairs circling the room to accommodate the crew members during the pre-mission briefings. It was the type of room that always looked as though a cyclone had just gone through it, no matter how often it was straightened up. When additional crew members were scheduled for a mission, they often had to stand during briefings, or crowd additional chairs in from the conference room. Brad liked to arrive a few minutes early to greet the rest of the crew as they came in, and to allow time to check flight-crew information files for manual revisions, or crew briefing items of interest. There was always some minor change in policy or procedure, which he most often regarded as no improvement, or a reversion to an earlier method they used two years earlier.

As soon as the last member of the crew arrived, he began his required briefing, Good morning, I'm Major Brad Anderson, aircraft commander for the six one one mission. Our copilot will be Second Lieutenant Jon Murray, who is on his first mission today; our Medical Crew Director is Captain Ann James. . . . Brad continued introducing the rest of the seven crew members, as he went through his checklist.

We have an urgent patient on a direct flight from Little Rock to Andrews. The duty officer in the command post said they came close to calling the urgent crew out earlier this morning, but the doctors couldn't stabilize the patient's condition. Ann, what have you got on her?

Captain Ann James was a petite blonde, a bundle of energy who always managed to keep the medical crew happy in most mission situations, and Brad enjoyed flying with her. She now offered the information she had received from the nurse on duty in the Patient Airlift Center. The patient's a twenty-year-old college student, an Air Force brat; who just happens to be the daughter of General Higgins, Vice Commander of Tactical Airlift Command. She's in bad shape, critical, and in my opinion shouldn't be moved. I talked with the intensive care nurse on duty at Little Rock; she probably won't survive the flight. She was involved in an auto-truck accident late last night or early this morning somewhere in the Ozark Mountains, and had to wait a couple of hours for proper medical care. We'll have her on a Stryker frame in traction due to a broken neck, so you better make this a very smooth flight.

Thanks Ann, we'll do our best. I know what you're saying, but they told me there would be absolutely no chance for her survival if we don't get her to Walter Reed. This way she has at least a slim chance. We already have the altitude restriction in the flight plan, and I think it best if we don't release seats for any space-available passengers on that leg. I'm sure General Higgins will meet the airplane at Andrews, so be prepared.

The rest of the briefing was routine; most of the crew had flown together before, except for the copilot, who was on his first operational mission, and one of the medical technicians, who had just joined the squadron after spending three years flying with their sister squadron in Europe.

The 11th Aeromedical Airlift Squadron, along with the 57th Aeromedical Evacuation Squadron, both part of the 375th Aeromedical Airlift Wing at Scott Air Force Base, Illinois, was currently flying the C-9A Nightingale, a special Air Force version of the McDonnell Douglas DC-9-30, modified for transporting patients between military hospitals throughout the United States. Normally there would be six or seven aircraft flying routine missions in almost every area of the country every day of the week, plus an airplane on standby alert for critically injured patients that needed to be airborne within an hour's notice.

In Brad's opinion, the C9 was a beautiful, sleek bird, well-designed and suited for this particular mission, a real pleasure to fly. It didn't have the responsiveness of the fighters he had flown in Vietnam, but it was still a challenge to make every flight as smooth and comfortable as possible for the patients. This was far different from the other types of Air Force flying he had been involved with because of the humanitarian aspect that was a part of every flight. Some of the patients, particularly brave children with little chance of survival, would be etched in Brad's memory forever. The Air Force motto, We take care of our own epitomized the spirit of the air evac mission. Air Force members and dependents knew that in their time of need the Air Force would, if necessary, send an aircraft thousands of miles for them alone, to insure they would be transported to receive the best in medical care that was available.

For Brad, today's flight was just another routine mission, but the preflight procedures went faster and smoother than usual. Maybe it was just his imagination, or the ground crew's awareness of the critical nature of the patient and her requirements for special Stryker frame equipment, but they certainly were efficient. The weather forecast called for fair skies, with only a few isolated thunderstorms between Little Rock and Washington, D.C., which the forecaster said could be easily avoided. There were no clear air turbulence reports, and Andrews Air Force Base was calling for only a few scattered clouds with very light winds. It sounded like a pretty easy day for Major Anderson and his crew.

But the Air Force almost always operates according to Murphy's Law- If anything can go wrong, it will. This morning was no exception. Brad engaged the starter on the left engine and checked for the N2 compressor rotation, and there was none. He quickly confirmed no hydraulic or oil pressure, and released the starter switch. He sighed, muttering to himself as he switched his radio to the command post frequency and called for maintenance. In short order maintenance confirmed Brad's suspicion; the starter shaft was sheared, and the starter had to be changed. Operations and maintenance had their usual heated discussion as to which would be faster- changing airplanes, or changing the starter. However based on the maintenance line chief's promise to replace the starter in less than thirty minutes, plus the problems associated with moving the special equipment, Captain Roberts in the command post decided they would change the starter.

The flight was cleared for takeoff just ten minutes late, well within the fifteen-minute pad scheduled into every Air Evac flight, and this mission was logged as another successful on-time takeoff for the 375th Aeromedical Airlift Wing. Brad thought it funny, if not a little unfair when other Military Airlift units with larger, more complex aircraft were rated in the same category. Because of the extremely reliable C9 flown by the 375th, they were always the leaders in that vital statistic shown daily to the Commander-in-chief of the Military Airlift Command, and so very important in the life of every wing commander.

Lieutenant Jon Murray, the copilot, was a newcomer to the 11th Aeromedical Airlift Squadron; he had completed his local training and check ride in the aircraft just the week before, and Brad was giving him his initial line training. He had completed his undergraduate pilot training as number one in his class, and already had a reputation for having a pretty high opinion of himself as a hot Nightingale pilot. He looked like the typical young, carefree pilot, with the standard-issue metal-framed sunglasses that he wore everywhere he went, except at night, when he could no longer hide his nearsightedness behind dark lenses.

Jon flew the first leg of the mission under Brad's watchful eye, flying exceptionally well during most of the flight, considering that it was his first operational mission. He misjudged the distance from the runway, and was late slowing down, and configuring the aircraft for landing. As a result, he found himself several miles behind the aircraft on the approach into Little Rock. But because of the good weather conditions and the long runway, the recovery and landing, though not as smooth as desired, were acceptable. Brad thought to himself, After a few more legs like that, his cocky attitude will be gone, and he'll develop into a fine young pilot. Every time he thought of the young pilots who checked out as aircraft commanders in the C9 with minimum flying time, he marveled at how quickly they matured and gained the critical experience required. Air Force pilots, at least with the C9, checked out as aircraft commanders in months, compared with the typical airline pilot checking out as captain in a similar number of years.

Brad's job, as he saw it, was to make sure every flight was a learning experience for the young copilots he flew with, and today's mission was no exception. In every phase of flight possible he included his copilot in the decision-making process. Brad would sometimes let copilots think they were making all the decisions, only making suggestions or corrections when absolutely necessary for the safety of the passengers and patients.

The next leg, from Little Rock to Andrews Air Force Base, was different; Brad would be flying from the left seat, insuring that the flight was as smooth and comfortable as possible, as it might make the difference between life or death for Dana Higgins. The Stryker frame was a specially designed piece of equipment to carry patients suffering from neck and spinal injuries on a rigid platform, even applying traction when required. For this equipment to prevent further injury and paralysis, smooth flying and the avoidance of turbulence were essential.

Chapter 3

The flight mechanic refueled the aircraft with Jon monitoring the fuel quantities from the cockpit; Brad checked with the weather forecaster while Ann called the hospital. They each finished their tasks, and were back at the aircraft with Ann reporting, They're on their way! more than an hour before the ambulance arrived at the flight line. The hospital intensive care unit medical team encountered numerous last-minute problems getting Dana Higgins stabilized for flight. They wrote her off as a lost cause several times, but she surprised them with her resurgence. Apparently, her strong physical conditioning program now paid off, keeping her still among the living, although barely so.

When the ambulance finally pulled up to the aircraft, it was still touch-and-go, and additional time passed before Dana could be moved onto the aircraft. Brad overheard one of the doctors, in frustration, say, She's not going to live long enough to get to Andrews, and another replied, It doesn't matter; she won't make it anyway. Once she's in the air, she's their problem. Even if by some miracle she lives, she will never be more than a vegetable. I'm getting no response from below the neck.

Brad felt a huge, painful knot grow deep in the pit of his stomach; he could no longer watch or listen to the medical preparations. Shaking his head regretfully, he went back to the cockpit and sat in lonely silence until Ann came up to tell him they were ready. Brad, we'd better get her to Andrews fast or she won't make it! She spoke with a strained tone.

Starting engines check, Brad called to his copilot.

Seat belt sign- on. Parking brake! Jon began reading the checklist, only moving to the next item when Brad responded.

Set.

Anti-Collision light- on. Air-conditioning supply switches- off, Ram air- off, APU air- on, Fuel pumps- on, Crossfeed- off, Pitot heat, Captain, Pneumatic pressure!

Checked.

Ignition!

Ground start.

Start clearance- Cleared to start! Jon stated as he checked with the flight mechanic outside watching the engines.

Brad held the No. 2 engine starter switch on, watching the drop in pneumatic air pressure indicating the engine start valve had opened, as the N2 compressor began to rotate. He made a quick check on the hydraulic pressure, oil pressure, and watched for the slight movement of the N1 compressor, before he opened the fuel control valve at 20 percent N2 r.p.m. The fuel began to flow, followed by an increase on the exhaust-gas temperature gauge indicating ignition, and the engine rapidly accelerated to idle. At 35 percent N2 r.p.m., he released the starter and made sure the start valve closed. He followed the same procedure for the No. 1 engine, allowing Jon to monitor the No. 2 engine until it stabilized. He breathed a sigh of relief as the No.1 engine began rotating, and the exhaust gas temperature began to climb into the normal operating range. It's good this time, I guess the crew chief did a good job back at Scott this morning.

Engine instruments, Jon began to read the checklist.

Checked.

Engine anti-ice, fuel heat- off, APU air- off, Starting engines check complete!

Before taxi check.

External power!

Removed.

Cross tie check!

Brad checked both engines' generators, making sure that either generator would carry the load if necessary, and responded, Checked.

Air-conditioning supply switches- auto, Yaw damper- on, Pneumatic crossfeeds- closed, Hydraulic supply and pumps- on and checked. Seat belts and shoulder harnesses fastened, Doors- closed, Lights- out!

Brad hesitated a couple of minutes until the flight mechanic had a chance to get back on board the aircraft and install the girt bar for the emergency evacuation slide. He scanned the banks of warning lights, and watched as the door warning lights extinguished, indicating all doors were closed, and responded, Checked.

Gear pins!

Stowed.

APU- off, Before taxi check- complete.

Let's get clearance to taxi, Brad suggested a little impatiently, noticing that Jon was still trying to catch up with the airplane.

Jon had to check a second time to make sure he had the proper ground control frequency set in the radio before he keyed the mike, Little Rock Ground, Air Evac six one one, request taxi.

Air Evac six one one, cleared to runway two one, winds are one eight zero at eight, altimeter three zero two two.

Brad flipped the nose-gear taxi light on and off, signaling the ground marshaller he was ready, and gradually brought the throttle forward just far enough to get the aircraft moving slowly forward. Taxi today would be slower than normal, avoiding rough spots on the taxiway, but he couldn't forget Ann's profound concerns about the girl's survival, and taxied as fast as he dared. He noted the proper action on the yaw damper indicator, as he made his first turns, and called, Taxi check.

Jon set the flaps to the 15-degree position, moved the yoke through full travel in all directions, looked for the elevator power-on light, and began reading the checklist, Slats- extended, Flaps- 15, Brakes- checked!

Checked, Brad noted Jon paid no attention to the hydraulic pressures during his check, but he would take the time to make sure he learned that after the flight.

Flight instruments, and altimeters- three zero two two, checked!

Three zero two two, checked.

Crew Briefing!

This will be a normal rolling 15-degree takeoff with a V1 speed of 116 knots, Rotation will be at 125, and V2 is 135. If an engine failure occurs, or the master warning light comes on before V1, and you notice it first, state what you see, and reject. There is plenty of runway here, so there is no need for a panic stop. After V1, any serious problem will be treated as an airborne emergency with single engine cleanup at 800 feet above the ground. The Nav radios are tuned to Little Rock, and set up for J6 the first airway to Bowling Green, and our initial departure is left turn heading one three zero for radar vectors to intercept the airway. We will be climbing initially to 5,000 feet. Any questions?

None.

Good. We should have a pretty smooth climb up to our final altitude of 19,000 feet, and you can request a vector direct to Andrews once we get established in the climb.

Nav switching and RMI's- set!

Set.

Rat EPR indicator- checked. Airspeed markers- one thirty five!

One thirty-five, set.

Trim!

Brad checked the indicator in the green band, and that Jon had set it properly before he replied, Set.

`Flight controls- checked. Taxi check completed.

Before takeoff check!

Yaw damper- on, Antiskid- armed, Air-conditioning auto shutoff- arm, APU- off, Airfoil ice protection- off, Pneumatic crossfeeds- closed, Annunciator panel lights- checked.

As he approached the end of the runway, Brad began to think of the flight ahead, wondering whether the thunderstorms would allow them to have a smooth flight at 19,000 feet. At Little Rock, his updated weather forecast called for considerably more storm activity enroute. He didn't like it, but was limited to 19,000 feet where the aircraft pressurization system could maintain sea-level pressure because of the severe head injuries suffered by Dana. We'll just wait and see, he thought, maybe we will have to fly a bit farther north to get around all the weather.

Air Evac six one one, cleared for takeoff! The tower controller already coordinated for their immediate and a priority departure without waiting for their request.

Roger, cleared for takeoff, replied Jon. Strobe, external lights--on!

On.

IFF- set. Before takeoff check complete.

Brad let the aircraft roll onto the runway centerline as he gradually brought the throttles forward toward the takeoff power setting. This is life, he thought as the aircraft began to build up speed.

Power set- eighty knots- go- rotate, were the calls from Jon.

He eased the nose up, feeling exhilaration and relief; they were back in their element as the C9 gracefully left the ground and began a shallow climb. Gear up- flaps up- climb power- slats retract- After take off climb check! These commands were given almost automatically and effortlessly, as he turned the aircraft to climb on their initial assigned heading.

Air Evac six one one, contact departure.

Roger, good day. Jon fumbled with the frequency selector, managing to get the proper frequency after a couple tries, Little Rock Departure, Air Evac six one one passing one thousand five hundred climbing to five thousand.

Radar contact! Climb and maintain one one thousand.

Roger, climbing to one one thousand.

Jon, I'm turning off the 'no smoking' sign, but I think I'll leave the 'fasten seat belt' signs on a little longer. Why don't you check with Ann and see how our patient is getting along?

Air Evac six one one, contact Memphis Center on one thirty-five point five for higher.

Roger, one three five five. Brad took over the radio, and switched frequencies, Memphis Center, Air Evac six one one passing seven two for one one thousand.

Roger, Air Evac six one one, turn left zero eight five, and climb to flight level one nine zero. When receiving Andrews, cleared direct.

Roger, Air Evac six one one, turning left to zero eight five and climbing to flight level one nine zero. Memphis are you painting any weather returns ahead?

Just a few isolated thunderstorms, but they should be about forty miles south of your direct route.

That's great. Any reports of turbulence?

None recently. However, we don't have many aircraft at that altitude. We had some reports earlier with light-to-moderate chop, but only near the weather cells.

"Sounds great! Thanks, but keep me posted; we have