|
"What is our flight number?" he asked, as he was about to call the tower.
Ken didn't know.
I shrugged my shoulders. "We certainly aren't United 023 anymore," I said. "United Airlines may have ceased to exist. Just tell them the 747 is ready," I said to Ken, "They'll understand."
Harry nodded, and started to call.
"Wait," I demanded, "I've got it! Tell them 'Operation Noah' is ready and requesting clearance for takeoff!"
"Operation Noah?" Harry repeated. He made a face like a kid rejecting its porridge.
"I like it!" Ken came to my rescue. "It has a ring to it. Let's stick with that."
"Let's make it official," I added. I called the tower myself, and then switched the PA system on. "Friends, as your captain, let me welcome you to the first flight of Operation Noah. The flight that you are on marks the beginning of what will become the largest airlift in history. Some of you may have lost a great deal today, homes, friends, and family. What I personally have lost, cannot be measured. But I am alive, thank God, and so are you. To keep things that way, a thousand aircraft have been offered to Canada to evacuate every citizen of Vancouver and Victoria before the fallout reaches critical levels. This kind of commitment means only one thing, that the world is rooting for us, that we are held dear in the hearts of mankind at this hour." I turned the intercom off and leaned back.
"That was a fine speech," Harry approved, as we became airborne.
"A fine theory anyway," I added. "I needed to say something positive, something that would get myself out of the rut."
"Well, did it work?"
"Not quite, Harry. Not quite."
"Maybe in time, it will."
"Yes, maybe," I replied.
"Anyway, your speech was perfectly timed," said Ken as we came through the overcast. The passengers now came face to face with the mushroom clouds.
I left the flight deck to check on the passengers. As soon as I opened the door, it became obvious that Ken was mistaken about the seven hundred passengers he felt we could carry. We must have had far more than a thousand persons on board, many of them children. Every square-inch of floor space was occupied. People were standing in the aisles, in the galleys, wherever one could sit, crouch, or squat. Even the stairway was occupied. It was almost impossible to get down to the main cabins. The luggage racks, as far as I could tell, accommodated most of the children. I saw people climb over other people's seats to reach the toilets. Most people had someone sitting on their lap, and this in those cramped spaces. To my surprise, I noticed Jennie in the crowd holding a bag of diapers in her hand. She was helping a woman with three tiny babies. It felt good to see her somewhat happier again and occupied.
The mood, in general, was one of despair, confusion, anger, hope, and gratitude, all mixed into one. I saw an old man who could not remember why he was there. He called for his wife, but no one answered. Some people cried while they looked out the window. Some swore at the Russians. In the rear cabin, most remarkably, undisturbed by the commotion, a group of youngsters were playing a card game. Maybe they have the best idea, I thought.
The weather was perfect in Calgary. We encountered no storms, no crosswinds, and no overcast. It was a rare, perfect day! The landing was equally perfect, thank God. We seemed to be dangerously overloaded. I could hardly feel the wheels touch the runway, so gently did I get us down. While we taxied to the gate I stressed the need for a quick and orderly disembarking. The 'passengers' complied so well that the plane was empty before we had finished refueling. Five minutes later we were in the air again, going back.
Next Page
|| - page index -
|| - chapter index -
|| - Exit -
||
 |
Stories
about
Healing
from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche
|
|
|