RUNNING IN A SWAMP
By
Ron Fox
Tampico runs were considered prime duty because the
trip was a short one. Pilots had plenty of fuel for a
round trip and didn’t require any at their destination
in order to get home.
When Lefty was assigned his first Beech 18 mission
after only a couple of months on the border, he was
ecstatic. Most pilots had to put in more time for an
operator to have confidence in their ability to bring
back an empty airplane. But Lefty had impressed the
captains he had flown with in the DC-3 and they all had
recommended him for captain in the Beech. They all
agreed he was a natural tail dragger pilot and was cool
under pressure. He should have no trouble handling
missions solo.
His first trip as captain was to be an easy one.
He was to arrive at the strip south of Tampico at ten
p.m. with a load of TV’s for Mr. C. Julian, one of Mr.
C’s sons and a reliable ground crew leader, would have a
long drive from Vera Cruz in order to meet him. This
was about as far north as Mr. C’s operation went, and
only that far to feed his warehouses in that city.
The weather was perfect for a night flight. There
were no clouds at all in the sky and the visibility was
unlimited. Lefty could see the beautiful lights of Tampico
from over a hundred miles away. As he pointed his plane
towards the darkness just south of the bright lights and
descended through five thousand feet, he grabbed the FM
radio microphone off the panel and spoke softly into it.
“Julian, this is Blue Star One.”
“Blue Star One, this is Julian. How are you doing,
my friend?,” Julian replied in his comfortable voice.
Julian had a way of imparting a sense of calm upon
nervous pilots and he knew this was Lefty’s first solo
mission.
“I’m doing OK, Julian,” Lefty answered and
immediately choked on the words because he had invoked
the code word for trouble. This word was to be used by
Julian if the strip was unsafe for landing for any
reason. Upon hearing Julian utter this word, an in-
coming pilot was to turn his airplane around and head
for home after telling Julian he could not land due to a
mechanical problem.
“That’s niiiice, Lefty,” Julian responded, drawing out
his words and inflecting them with condescendence for
Lefty’s use of their emergency code word. Julian knew Lefty
had not meant to use this word and was only speaking
strangely to let him know it without so many words.
Julian told Lefty to land to the north and that the
wind was from that direction and all was quiet.
The strip was located only a few miles from the
city lights, but it was separated from the city by a
swamp. There were few roads through this area so the
chance of capture was remote.
After a sweeping turn to line up with the runway,
Lefty could clearly see the lines of smudge pots flickering
down the edges of the strip. He came in flat, at just
over a stall airspeed and touched the wheels down just
beyond the row of pots which marked the south edge of
the strip. It was a perfect landing and he had no
trouble stopping the airplane with plenty of room to
spare.
Confident there was no chance of being jumped at
this remote location, he shut off his engines after
turning the airplane around. In the Beech, this was
usually the pilot’s prerogative and the decision was
usually based upon his sense of security and confidence
in his ability to start his engines quickly.
Without a crew hatch, Lefty had to wait for the
airplane to be almost completely unloaded before he
could get out to stretch his legs and speak to Julian.
It was not always advisable to spend too much time on
the ground, but Lefty was enjoying himself and wanted to
greet Julian in person.
Climbing out of the cargo door, Lefty stepped on the
ground with his hand out to shake Julian’s. The wind
was picking up quite a bit and was beginning to make
conversation somewhat difficult due to its rustling
through the nearby trees. It was this wind which had
masked the noise of the army truck which was
approaching the strip with it’s headlights off. It was
also this wind which had made it difficult for the
ground crew and Lefty to hear the words of the army officer
who was yelling at them to surrender.
When the army officer and his squad of armed
soldiers moved closer in order to be heard, they had to
squeeze together on a narrow path through an opening in
some heavy brush. It was at this moment that they were
noticed by some of those in Julian’s ground crew who
immediately took off for the brush in the opposite
direction at the other side of the strip. Hearing the
army officer and seeing some of his men run at the same
time, Julian yelled for everyone to run and everyone
took off like rabbits. Lefty was running as fast as he
could beside Julian and they both jumped headlong into
the brush at the edge of the strip without looking back.
Since the soldiers were practically single-file coming
through the opening in the brush, they were not able to
get off any shots and everyone in the crew escaped.
Within about five seconds, the strip was empty except
for the soldiers who were still filing onto the strip,
about eight in all.
Julian and Lefty had become separated from the rest of
the escaping crew and didn’t dare call out to anyone for
fear of giving away their position. Without a moon it
was very dark. They kept stumbling through the thick
brush heading in a northwest direction towards town, the
edge of which was only about six miles away. Julian was
familiar enough with this part of the country to know
that a swamp separated them from town and that they
would have a rough journey in the darkness. Well away
from the strip, Julian told Lefty of his plan to make his
way into town and to call for pick up by one of his
contacts there. For a short while, Lefty followed him
until the going got rough. Lefty hated swamps and soon
told Julian he was going to go back to the strip and try
to get the airplane out.
Julian patiently explained to him how the army
would take the contraband and then post guards over the
plane and that it would be impossible for him to get
near the plane, much less start it up and takeoff.
“I’ll take my chances back at the strip,” Lefty told
him. “I can’t stand this wet muck we’re flopping around
in and we have miles to go before we make it to town.
No way, man. I’m going back.”
“Be careful, Lefty. The soldiers will be there.”
Julian extended his hand to him, shook it and turned
around leaving Lefty behind without another word.
There was no moon, but the stars were brilliant and
it was not too difficult for Lefty to determine the
direction the strip lay in. Julian and him had only
walked about a half hour or so from the strip, so Lefty
took his time making his way back. Movement through the
swampy was difficult at best and, the closer he got to
the strip, the slower he went, trying not to make any
noise.
He had landed close to ten o’clock. It had taken
almost ten minutes to unload him and they had been
running and walking for about a half hour. With another
half hour or so to make it back to the strip, it was not
yet midnight when he arrived within sight of the strip’s
location. It was difficult to see much of the strip at
any one time because he was approaching it from the
bush. He dared not make his way to the road north of
the strip for fear of running into the soldiers. Most
likely, if they were still at the strip, they would be
close to their trucks on the road.
Crawling on his hands and knees and slithering on
his stomach, he got close enough to the edge of the
strip to see his plane in the starlight. The wind was
still blowing at a pretty good clip and, except for the
noise of the wind, it was very quiet. He heard no
talking nor any trucks moving. The tall grass and brush
which grew thick at the opening of the strip to the road
made seeing the road difficult. The small part of the
road he could see was empty of trucks and he saw no
soldiers walking around.
Lefty decided to sit where he was for awhile, hidden
at the edge of the strip, to see if there was anyone
moving around. He remembered Julian’s parting remarks
about the soldiers being there guarding the plane, but
he didn’t see anyone. He didn’t know the truck which
brought the soldiers in had taken the contraband out.
He also didn’t know that a half-dozen soldiers were
sleeping just on the other side of the opening to the
strip.
The soldiers had tamped down an area of tall grass
on the other side of the opening in order to be
comfortable. There was no tall grass on the strip side
of the opening so they were not in direct sight of the
airplane. They must have figured anyone would be crazy
to try and start the plane, making all that noise with
armed guards so close by. They were right, Lefty was
crazy.
Lefty waited almost a half hour before moving towards
the plane. He came up the edge of the strip keeping low
in the brush until he was within ten feet of the plane.
The plane was about forty feet from the opening to the
road, pointing south. Very stealthily, he crept onto
the strip and made his was slowly to the cargo door
which was still open. Once inside, he turned around and
quietly closed the door, turning the latch so it
wouldn’t click shut.
Moving quickly now, he made his way up to the
cockpit and sat down in the left seat. He quickly
reviewed his starting procedures, setting levers and
switches in advance to prepare the engines for the
fastest start possible. He set both throttles wide
open. He closed both mixture levers to cutoff because
the engines were still warm. He turned on both
magnetos. His plan was to start the right engine first,
allowing it to go to full power immediately while
holding the right brake just enough to keep the plane
from veering off the strip to the left, but allowing it
to move forward down the strip while cranking the left
engine. When the left engine started at full power, he
would be off. It would be a downwind takeoff with a
stiff wind at his back, but he was empty and therefore
light. He certainly couldn’t go to the south end of the
strip, turn around and try to take off to the north.
Going over each step of his plan one more time, he
was ready. He punched the right started switch. The
high- pitched whine of the starter had never been so
loud. Neither had the whoosh of the cylinders made so
much noise as the valves opened allowing the compressed
air to escape before the engine started.
Whine, whoosh, whine, whoosh, whine whoosh! “Shit,
that’s loud!,” Lefty said out loud just as the engine
coughed to life and then began to roar. The soldiers
agreed. Caught off guard, they jumped up from a dead
sleep and fumbled around for their weapons and bumped
into each other as they made their way to the opening to
the strip.
When the right engine fired up, it immediately went
to full power. When Lefty released the brake the airplane
lurched to the left and he had to stomp on the brake
again to keep the plane from running off the strip. He
found it difficult to concentrate on starting the left
engine with the airplane lurching to the left, so he
held the right brake as he started the left engine. It
was fortunate that when he stomped on the right brake,
the airplane lurched back to the right before stopping.
This placed the tail directly in line with the soldiers
who were taking aim at him and showered them with a big
cloud of dust and dirt, spoiling their aim.
Lefty was not aware of the bullets tearing through the
cabin of his plane because of all the noise his right
engine was making. The first inkling he had of being
shot at was when a bullet zipped past his head and went
through the instrument panel in front of him with a loud
twack. Another bullet hit the lighting panel over his
head and showered him with sparks. The sparks made him
duck, but he didn’t take his hand off the starter. When
the left engine caught and began to roar, he released
the brakes and began lurching first one way then
another, down the strip. The left prop added its dirt
and dust to the cloud enveloping the soldiers, further
spoiling their aim, but bullets were now flying all
around him. A couple came through the left side window
and continued through the windscreen, their deformed
shape making large ugly holes with cracks emanating from
them. The left handle of the right yoke was severed
with a shower of plastic shards which stung the side of
Lefty’s face. Another bullet passed through the instrument
panel, shattering his altimeter with a puff of smoke and
more sparks.
Crouching low in the cockpit, Lefty continued down the
strip, determined to take off. His felt a stab of panic
when he looked at his airspeed indicator and saw it
reading zero, but then realized it wasn’t working. He
just barreled down to the end of the strip and hauled
back on the yoke and pulled the airplane into the air.
He was flying!
The airplane was filled with smoke from burning
electrical wires. Pieces of the instrument panel and
shattered glass was all over him and the front seats.
Wires from the overhead lighting panel were hanging down
and tangling in his hair. The smell of gasoline filled
the cabin. Looking down to the floor, he saw a quarter-
inch of liquid vibrating from the shaking of the
airplane. It was gas! Any spark could set the vapors
off if they reached enough volatility. A bullet must
have put a hole in his nose fuel tank.
Raising the landing gear handle, there was no
response from the landing gear. Seeing the hydraulic
gauges showing zero, Lefty realized he had no hydraulic
pressure or fluid left in the system. Than meant he
would have no flaps for landing and no brakes for
stopping when he reached home, if he reached home.
He had only partial lighting of his instrument
panel and half the instruments were not working. At
least his landing gear was down. It would create a lot
of drag, slowing his return to Brownsville down a lot,
but he thought he had enough fuel to make it. Lucky
this was a Tampico run and not one to Vera Cruz.
Lefty began turning off all non-essential electrical
equipment. He wanted to reduce the chance of sparks
setting off that gasoline which was getting deeper at
his feet. The holes in his windscreen and side windows
gave the plane plenty of ventilation and probably saved
his life. The gasoline fumes were prevented from
forming the correct fuel/air ratio which could easily
have been ignited. There was not much electrical stuff
needed for flight and he certainly had no one to talk to
on the radios, at least not yet.
Taking stock of the condition of his plane, he
began to feel better. There was no fire and the engines
were running well. He had lost the engine gauges for
the right engine, but the gauges for the left engine
showed good oil pressure and cylinder head temperature.
He leaned out the left engine using the gauges and then
placed the right mixture lever close to the left one.
He hadn’t had a cigarette for over three hours and,
although he wanted one, he didn’t think twice about it.
He settle down into a low-power cruise back to
Brownsville, hugging the coast in case he had to put her
down on the beach. For almost two hours he listened to
the steady drone of his engines, marveling at the
condition of the inside of his plane. It was a wreck.
Approaching the Brownsville International Airport,
he thought about turning on only one radio, afraid of
sparks. The airport tower was closed anyway so he
really didn’t have to talk to anyone. He decided not to
turn it on. He had penetrated the ADIZ, (Air Defense
Identification Zone), without radio contact and he
expected fighters to intercept him at any moment. They
never did. He worried that he had not notified U.S.
Customs through Mcallen Radio to expect him back in
Brownsville for his inbound inspection. That was the
least of his worries. One of his engines had started to
run rough and he quickly looked at the one remaining set
of engine gauges, the one for the left engine. Sure
enough, it was getting hot and the oil pressure was way
down into the red. Either a bullet had clipped an oil
supply line, the reservoir or the case somewhere, or
something else was hit causing the high temperature. He
had no choice but to shut it down and feather the prop
so its wind-milling would not drag him down. After
quickly performing the procedures for an engine
shutdown, he realized he was down to one engine and had
no idea of its health without any engine gauges.
Lefty increased the power to his right engine to
compensate for the lost power on his left and trimmed
out the yaw caused by thrust on only one side of the
airplane. He could see the Brownsville airport just
ahead and he prayed he could hold the airplane together
for just another few minutes. It was lucky the airplane
was empty, because with his landing gear down creating a
lot of drag, his right engine was having trouble keeping
the airplane going.
He didn’t dare try any turns now, so he just
pointed the airplane at the airport and continued his
descent, hoping to be able to line up with a runway, any
runway, without having to turn very much. He was lucky
to be able to line up with runway three-six, coming in
flat due to lack of flaps.
Upon touchdown, the airplane began shuddering
violently. Both of his main landing wheel tires were
flat. In another second, his right landing gear
collapsed and the plane’s right wing hit the runway with
a loud shriek. His remaining engine stopped abruptly
when the prop hit the runway and the growl of the engine
was replaced immediately by loud banging and metal-
scraping noises.
Veering off the runway to his right, the airplane
made two three-sixty whifferdills while sliding along
the ground, tearing up big chunks of ground and grass
and sending them flying in all directions. Pieces of
the airplane were ejected off of the spinning plane and
likewise thrown.
When the airplane came to a stop, Lefty was amazed
that he was not injured at all. He quickly turned off
all electrical power and shut off the fuel selectors and
jumped out of the airplane.
Lefty walked across the field and stopped at the
closest hangar at a pay-phone and called Gus at home.
Gus called Larry and me and we all met at our hangar to
get a tug to see if we could get the airplane off the
field. We couldn’t. We called the FAA in San Antonio
and reported the crash. We also called the emergency
tower number and reported the same. We called Customs
and told them one of our aircraft needed an inbound
inspection. They were not happy. Within a few minutes,
people began arriving at the scene.
The after-hours crash crew took a cherry-picker out
on the field and lifted the Beech onto a flat-bed truck
and hauled it back to the hangar. Customs arrived and
began writing out citations for Lefty’s illegal entry.
After everyone had left just a couple of hours later,
Gus broke out a bottle in the hangar and we all passed
it around as Lefty told us his story.
By dawn’s early light, curious on-lookers were
beginning to congregate around the airplane so we went
outside to the ramp to look at it. We counted 47 bullet
holes. Most of them were concentrated on the roof and
many of them had entered the cockpit area. There were
holes in the wings, the tail and the engine nacelles.
It was riddled with big holes. These soldiers were
firing big-bore weapons and they were determined to
bring the airplane down. Lefty was just as determined to
get away. How he made it, we didn’t know. Why he tried
it, we didn’t know either. He said he just wanted to
get home.
Copyright 1998, BUSHPILOT, all rights reserved.