Chapter 14 #2
Colton flashed a grin out the window. Pointer had a way of keeping things on an even keel, the mark of a good Bird Dog pilot. One who’d shepherded tankers through plenty of dicey conditions. Staying calm was the order of the day because panic spread like a virus.
Halfway through his turn toward the airfield, the engine cough became a sustained shudder. The RPM gauge dropped and held at seventy percent, indicating a reduction in reliable power.
The engine temperature climbed five degrees. Then ten. Then fifteen. The fire warning light for number two flickered on. Held for three seconds. Went dark.
Colton’s blood ran cold.
“Air Attack, One-Eight-Two, declaring an emergency. Number two engine has intermittent flames. Request priority landing.”
“One-Eight-Two, cleared for emergency approach. Equipment rolling.”
Colton eyed the airfield through the smoke, eight miles out. The tanker flew sluggishly, dragging to the right with the asymmetric power. He compensated with the rudder and fought the yoke like a man wrangling a bucking horse. Sweat dripped down his neck, soaking the collar of his flight suit.
The fire warning light flickered. On. Off. On.
“One-Eight-Two, what’s your fuel status?” Air Attack cut in.
“Sufficient. Dumping my load to reduce weight.” He hit the gate release, and the Phos-Chek streamed out. The sudden weight loss lurched the tanker upward. Lighter now, but the number two engine continued its ragged protest.
He flew the approach on one engine, the number two shut down and feathered, the fire warning light remaining dark after he cut the fuel supply. The airfield materialized through the smoke, the runway a gray ribbon flanked by emergency vehicles, their lights pulsing red and white.
Colton put the tanker down hard, harder than he’d have liked, the landing gear protesting with a bark of rubber on asphalt.
The aircraft rolled long, the brakes biting, as he brought her to a stop halfway down the runway.
Fire trucks bracketed him within seconds, foam cannons aimed at the number two nacelle.
No fire or smoke, thankfully. “Thanks, Bird Dog,” he radioed Pointer.
“Glad you set down safely. Hope it’s nothing major. See you tomorrow.” Pointer pulled away, since he was staging out of Butte.
Colton killed the remaining engine and stilled in the cockpit for a moment, his heart ricocheting around his chest. He blew out air and unstrapped, grabbed his thermos, then climbed down to the tarmac, glancing at the fire trucks as he walked around the nose to inspect the engine.
Harvey’s truck skidded to a stop before Colton could pop off the cowling. Harv climbed out with his tool bag, took one look at the sick engine, and shook his head.
“What the hell now, Davis? More sugar?”
“Who the fuck knows?” muttered Colton, waving to let the fire trucks know all was okay. For the time being, at least.
Colton set his thermos of coffee on the wing. Harvey had the cowling off in ten minutes, his hands moving through the engine compartment with the confidence of a surgeon. Colton stood behind him, arms folded, craning to see inside.
Harvey’s words dropped to a murmur. “Well, that’s interesting.”
“Interesting good or interesting bad?”
“Interesting like someone should go to prison.” Harvey poked around and extracted a cylindrical component, holding it up to the light. “This is your number two fuel filter. Except it isn’t.”
Colton examined it. The filter appeared normal at a glance. Proper dimensions, correct threading, even the manufacturer stamped on the housing. But when he turned it, loose debris rattled inside.
“It’s a counterfeit,” Harvey said, his face grim.
“See where the housing meets the element? That’s not a factory weld.
Someone built this to look genuine, but the internal element amounts to garbage.
Restricts fuel flow under high load. At idle or low power, she runs fine.
At full throttle and high altitude, the element collapses and starves the engine. The outside is just window dressing.”
“That’s why it only acts up on the drop runs.” The pieces clicked together, and Harvey’s revelation pissed Colton off to the max.
“Yep. During the approach, when you need every bit of power.” Harvey took the filter back, examining it. “This isn’t sugar. Look at this.” He held up the counterfeit filter. “Someone who knows aircraft systems built this. Someone who had access to our parts inventory to make the swap.”
The implication washed over Colton like ice water. Sugar contamination could be a disgruntled local. But a counterfeit fuel filter required knowledge of the aircraft’s maintenance schedule, entry to the parts locker, and enough mechanical expertise to build a component designed to fail at altitude.
“Who has permission to access the parts inventory system?” asked Colton.
“Me and the two contract mechanics. And anyone on the ground crews who’s volunteered to help with maintenance.
” Harvey rubbed his chin. “A kid from one of the fire crews has been hoverin’ around the hangar all season.
He offered to help with inspections, asking questions about how things work.
I figured he had an interest in aviation. Lots of ground guys do.”
“You remember his name?”
Harvey’s brow furrowed, working through his memory. “Zeb, I think. Yeah, Zeb Rader. Younger guy, medium build. His brother Ed flew helicopters. They lost their older brother, Tom, in a tanker crash a couple of years ago, down in Colorado.”
The name was vaguely familiar, since every pilot knew about other tanker crashes. “Think he has a bone to pick after losing his brother?” mused Colton.
“Dunno. You might want to check that out. I’m yankin’ every filter on this aircraft.” Harvey reached for his tool bag. “And I’m callin’ the NTSB woman in Helena who investigated the sugar contamination. She’ll want to see this.”
“Susan Marsh?”
“Yep. She told me to contact her if anything else turned up.” Harvey ducked under the cowling. “Someone’s trying to kill you, Davis. And they’re gettin’ better at it.”
Colton stared at the counterfeit filter in his hand. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t bad luck. It wasn’t faulty maintenance. Someone had deliberately tried to kill him.
“Son of a bitch!” He slammed his fist against the wing hard enough to make the aluminum shudder.
Harvey looked up from beneath the cowling, surprise flashing across his face. “Easy there, kid.”
Colton dragged a hand over his face and blew out a slow breath. “Sorry. This just got personal. Whoever’s doing this wants me dead.”
“Yeah.” Harvey held his gaze for a long moment. “I think you’re right.”
Colton turned the filter around in his hands, scrutinizing every detail. First the sugar. Now this. The saboteurs had refined their methods.
His phone buzzed with a text from Deanna: Are you okay? Heard it on the radio.
He typed back: Safe on the ground. Engine sabotaged again.
Her response came in seconds: Stay put, be there in a few.
Word traveled fast on the aviation frequency. Now Deanna bore the same worry he’d had every time she jumped since getting to know her: the cost of loving someone whose profession danced with death.
She couldn’t help him at six thousand feet.
Then again, he couldn’t help her either, when she was dropping out of the sky toward a fire.
Helplessness ran in both directions. On the ground, at least he could drop a line of slurry to slow the flames, to buy her precious seconds to escape.
Their fear was even, and something they each carried.
Colton pocketed the phone and turned to Harvey, who had both arms buried in the engine compartment, scrutinizing every component.
“Harvey.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let anyone near this aircraft until Marsh gets here. Nobody. Not ground crew, not mechanics, nobody.”
“Way ahead of you, kid.” Harvey’s voice was muffled from inside the cowling. “I’m not leavin’ her side.”
Colton trudged to the edge of the tarmac and sank onto a concrete barrier, staring into the smoke-choked sky.
Who was the son of a bitch behind all this?
Tires crunched gravel as an agency pickup skidded to a halt. Deanna jumped out before it fully stopped, wearing her yellows, soot on her face, eyes scanning him.
He stood to greet her. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
She crossed the distance and threw her arms around him with such force it nearly knocked him over.
“I stopped cutting line the second your voice came over air ops, all calm and controlled. One dead engine, and your voice never wavered, like you were ordering coffee.” Her breath hitched.
“I’ve worked air emergencies before, but I’ve never been terrified on the ground while the man I cared for fought his airplane to stay in the sky. ”
He drew back and took her hands in his. “Now you know how I feel when you jump.” He didn’t say it to be mean ... it was his truth. Caring deeply for someone whose job demanded risk came with the price of admission. And he’d chosen to pay.
“Harvey found a counterfeit fuel filter,” he told her. “Someone built it to fail at altitude.”
The color left her face. “That’s no prank. That’s attempted murder. Whoever’s doing this has access to the aircraft. They’re working from the inside.”
“Yeah, I filled Westlake in. He’s contacting the county cops. Look, I need a break from all this. Want to catch some dinner, Brooks?”
“Thought you’d never ask. Smelter Grill?”
“Yep. I’ll pick you up.” He glanced at his watch. “Is an hour enough time?”
“Sounds good. I’ll be ready,” she said. “Colton, I’m scared. This has to be stopped.”
“I know,” he said, his face grim. “We’ll find out who’s doing this.”
The smoke drifted overhead, the damaged tanker crouching behind them with its cowling open like a wound. Now the threat had gotten personal.
And it resided inside their own fire base.