Leland Shanle - PROJECT SEVEN ALPHA: AMERICAN AIRLINES IN BURMA 1942

Project Seven Alpha

Revised Proofs

Lamorna Publishing Services

September 2008

First published in Great Britain in 2008 by

Pen & Sword Aviation

an imprint of

Pen & Sword Books Ltd

47 Church Street

Barnsley

South Yorkshire

S70 2AS

Copyright Leland Shanle, 2008

ISBN 978 18441 5826 3

The right of Leland Shanle to be identified as Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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To the Seven Alpha men of
American Airlines

This book is dedicated to all the men and women of aviation, past, present and future; the airline trail blazers of the twenties and thirties, my grandfather William among them; the aviators who flew through the war torn skies over the past 100 years, my uncles Bob, Bill and Larry among them; and the fallen aviators, my uncle Larry among them. To the aviators catapulting from carriers, circling for hours on a tanker track, hovering over a hostile mountain peak; or shooting a localizer approach to a mountain-encircled airport, after flying all night; and of course, to the men and women on the ground who keep them in the air. The past and present is meaningless without a future; to the next generation of aviators, my children among them.

But mostly, this book is dedicated to my family, whom I literally dragged around the world in my pursuit of aviation: Leland, David, Kaitlyn, William and especially Laura, the love of my life.

The Hawaiian sun had begun to set over the Pacific, casting long shadows across Honolulu International Airport. An American Airlines captain sat in the cockpit of his DC-10 Luxury Liner and watched as the sun started its journey below the horizon. On any other day in his life, this would have been a non-event. Not that he hadnt enjoyed, even reveled in the many passings of the sun he had witnessed. Sometimes he thought he could remember each one individually. He had always marveled how magical it was that a twice-daily event could hold such mystery, such diversity, as it unfolded so many times and in so many ways, right in front of him.

He had seen most of his sunrises and sunsets from the cockpits of aircraft. He had watched many from the ground, but to him, to truly experience a rise or set of the sun, you had to be in the air. You had to be a part of it. This sunset, he mused, was not only an announcement to the world that the day was done; it was a very private message to him that the biggest part of his life his professional life was coming to an end.

The best part of his life had been his family, but to say that flying had not been the most consuming part of his life would not be honest. When the sun rose again he would be sixty years old, the FAAs mandatory retirement age. Sixty! thought the captain. How can that be? My mind, my essence is unchanged how can I be sixty?

He would watch the sun set, then rise, one more time as a professional line pilot, a wide body captain for American Airlines. Hed still have his old Stearman biplane, the plane hed learned to fly at the age of seventeen; it would be fun to putt around in it, but it would never be the same. No, like the day he had retired from the reserves as a naval aviator, this chapter in his life would be complete tomorrow when he landed in Dallas.

He contemplated all this as he watched a seagull effortlessly floating on the updraft created by the heat coming off the concrete tarmac. His meditative state was broken by the entry of the first officer and flight engineer into the cockpit. He turned and looked at the young flight engineer. He looked fifteen but was actually nineteen. I feel like him, not some sixty year old man, the captain thought.

He smiled, watching the FE slump into his seat. The younger man reached into his kit bag and instead of pulling out a manual or checklist, produced a small headset and what appeared to be a tape recorder. The FE slipped on the headphones and began to tap his fingers on his panel. The captain was smiling and watching the youngster when he noticed in his periphery that the first officer was holding something out to him.

The FO was 41 years old, handsome, of average height with blond hair and blue eyes. He wore his hair in military style, close-cropped, with a hint of grey around the temples. This was a milestone flight for him as well; it would be his last as a first officer. He would go to upgrade training for captain after this flight.

The captain turned and took what he assumed was the aircraft logbook. He slipped on his reading glasses, a humiliation to which he had succumbed ten years earlier. It was not the log book.

Whats this? he asked the FO.

Captain, your lovely bride thought you might like this, responded the FO.

On his lap sat a black leather scrapbook, stamped with the gold wings of a naval aviator and the silver wings of an American Airlines captain. Under the wings, in silver letters, also stamped into the leather, were the words, An Aviators Life. The captain quickly scanned a few pages of photos showing the aircraft and people he had known intimately; they always seemed to be intertwined. He stopped on an 8 10 of a motley-looking bunch standing in front of a DC-3, after an obviously hard night of drinking and carousing. Tears welled in his eyes.

Suddenly, the FO craned his head around and snapped to the FE: What the hell is that noise, Wrench?

The captain quickly wiped his eyes as he smirked to himself. Wrench was either an affectionate or derogatory term for flight engineer, depending on the inflection when delivered. It stemmed from the days when FEs were also mechanics. The FO was too young to have flown with a true wrench; they were all long gone. FEs in general would be gone soon too, as the industry moved back to two-man crews. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same how true in the airlines.

The noise that seemed to truly disturb the first officer was a combination of the FE singing and the overshoot from the headset.

What is that? the FO demanded again.

What? responded the FE as he slid off the headset.

That noise, countered the FO, pointing at the headset.

Its Pulling Mussels from a Shell by The Squeeze, retorted the FE with righteous indignation.

Its what? said the FO, shaking his head.

The captain slid out of his seat and patted the FE on the shoulder.

Dont pay much attention to the first officer, he said. His father said the same thing about rock and roll.

Hey thats not fair, protested the FO.

Oh, yes it is, my young first officer, because Im the captain and I say so.

The Captain winked at the FE as he moved toward the cockpit door.

Ill get the exterior pre-flight inspection tonight, Mr Engineer.

Cool thanks, Gramps, the FE said, smiling smugly at the FO while returning the headset to its previous position.