When he got the wheels on the ground, he heard himself expel the air in his lungs.
Did I really hold my breathfrom the moment the god damned engine quit until now?
He braked the Steannan, turned off the dirt runway, and stopped.
“Get out of there, Mr. Ford,” he said to his student. He waited until Ensign Ford clambered out of the forward cockpit and onto the wing. Then he climbed out of the aft cockpit onto the ground, walked fifteen yards from the aircraft, unaware of the chilling effect the wind was having on his sweat-soaked flight suit. Without warning, he was sick to his stomach.
For a moment, he thought he was actually going to faint, but that passed, and he was then faced with shame and humiliation. Not only had he almost killed his student, but Mr. Ford was now standing there, looking at his IP’s instantaneous change from near God to literally scared sick, nauseated, and nauseating human being.
Ed became aware of the peculiar roar a Continental R670 engine makes when it is throttled back. He looked up and saw Dick Canidy’s plane about to land.
“What happened, sir?” Mr. Ford asked, having found his courage.
“The engine stopped, Mr. Ford,” Ed Bitter said. “I would have thought you would have noticed.”
He had put his student into his place with the sarcastic superiority expected of instructor pilots. Doing so shamed him.
Canidy landed, taxied up beside him, and shut down his engine.
“What happened9” he asked, and then he saw the sweat-soaked flight suit and repeated the question, this time with concern in his voice.
“The engine quit ” Bitter said. “Just as I started the roll.”
“Jesus!” Canidy said.
“I thought I was going into the trees,” Bitter confessed. “But when I got it right side up, it cut in again.”
“Fuel starvation,” Canidy diagnosed confidently. He walked to Bitter’s Stearman and climbed on the wing. The main fuel tank of the Stearman was located in the center of the upper wing, with the fuel line running down the wing strut to the engine.
“Christ ‘ ” Canidy called from the wing. “Fuel’s pouring out of here. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on fire.” : Bitter forced himself to climb up on the wing. He saw for him self what had happened. The brass fitting attaching the fuel line to the fuel tank had either been improperly tightened or had vibrated loose since the last time someone had looked at it. In level flight, the suction of the manifold had been sufficient, aided by gravity, to provide fuel to the engine. And spillage had been instantly vaporized by the slipstream.
Inverted, however, that hadn’t worked. Not enough gas had reached the engine to keep it running. And now, as Dick Canidy said, the fuel was really pouring out of the fuel tank.
“I don’t suppose you have a wrench, do you?” Canidy asked. Bitter shook his head no.
“I can’t tighten it very much with my fingers,” Canidy said. “It’ll really soak the fuselage.”
“I’ll walk up to The Lodge,” Bitter said. “They’re certain to have tools there.”
“That Gone With the Wind mansion?” Canidy asked.
“Yeah,” Bitter said. “And I’ll call in and tell them what’s happened.”
Canidy jumped off the wing and called to the two student pilots. “Either of you guys got a wrench?” he asked. “We’ve got a loose fuel line connector. Or a pair of pliers?”
They shook their heads, and then remembered to reply militarily. “No, sir. Sorry, sir,” they said, almost in unison.
“Stay away from the airplanes,” Canidy ordered. “And no smoking. Mr. Bitter and I are going to find a wrench and a telephone. I can’t imagine it happening out here in the boondocks, but keep anybody who shows up away from the airplanes.”
“I think it would be better if you stayed here, Dick,” Bitter said.
Canidy looked at him a moment, then raised his eyebrows and smiled.
“”Reserve officers,”‘ he began to quote, serving on active duty, will exercise all the-“‘
“Suit yourself,” Bitter cut him off. “It’s about a mile from here to The Lodge, if you insist on going’s , “I wouldn’t miss Tara for the world,” Canidy said.