The Decoy and the Dove
by
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Chapter 62--TAKEOFF
Amelia started one engine of the 12A, then the other. The sound was smooth. All flight controls and instruments worked properly. Releasing the brakes, she taxied to the end of the runway. At the end of the runway, she turned and set her brakes.
Amelia glanced at her watch. 00:10 GMT. Five minutes more. Just enough time for her and Fred to check the engines one more time. When they finished, there was two minutes to takeoff.
Amelia studied the runway. It seemed long enough, and there was a short ascent ending in a small cliff above the water of the gulf. She took a deep breath, unfroze her feelings, and made herself move.
Releasing the brakes, she throttled the plane. The heavy plane moved forward and gathered speed, a flying gas can.
"Sweet Electra, you can do it," she coaxed.
Feeling the tail lighten, Amelia pulled back the yoke. She held the tail on the ground and kept the plane straight until speed picked up enough for the rudders to work. Before reaching the mid-field marker, the tail came up straight across and all engines ran smooth.
More speed was needed. At the point of no return, speed was still too slow, but fast enough for Mantz’s ground effect trick. She felt the plane lift slightly, but they were not airborne. They had arrived at the cliff. The wheels rode up the upturn, landing gear struts fully compressed, and the plane was thrown into the air.
Feeling the struts unload, Amelia pushed the yoke forward and hit the switches to retract the wheels. The plane nosed down to the ocean in a frantic dive.
After the plane catapulted off the cliff, her ground crew saw them vanish from sight. With fear in their hearts, they all rushed to the end of the runway to see what happened.
The 12A leveled off a few feet above the water. They were so low, the spray from the sea churned up by the propellers, seemed to be grabbing to catch them in their clutches. The air between the low wings of the plane and the surface of the ocean was trapped, forming a cushion preventing further falling, much like the effect of the ground. When they finally reached flying speed, Amelia pulled the yoke back and they saw the plane regain its strength. Bright blue waters beneath them fell away.
Fred released his tight grip on the fuel dump valve. His head felt light, he must have been holding his breath. During the takeoff, his mind had been whirling with possible catastrophes, and if so, how he should be prepared to react, to save both their lives. He grinned with relief. "That was close!" he shouted over the roar of the engines. "Right on time, too."
Fred got out of his seat, patted her on the shoulder, and spoke in her ear, telling her what course to set and altitude to climb to and other pertinent information.
Amelia announced her flight on her designated secret radio frequency. Richard Black on Howland Island had several radio stations situated to relay information to him, should he not receive it, and to make sure the flyers received their information as well.
Black advised Amelia by code that the decoys were airborne also. There was no problem with the communications. "Both of you are to be complimented for such a timely departure. Be sure to tell Fred Noonan." Both of you meant both planes.
Chapter 73--SECRETS
Rather than tell the Itasca crew that the personnel and the radio on Howland Island would be the only ones communicating with Amelia on a higher frequency, Black elected to keep it a secret.
Word had been handed down from the upper echelons that all activities were to be kept under verbal orders, so there would not be incriminating evidence on paper. Each person involved was told only as much as they needed to know. The people who helped had dirty enough hands that they could be accused of participating in the spying, so FDR knew they would keep their mouths shut.
The radiomen on the Itasca were frustrated and concerned that they could not locate Amelia or talk to her, although they most certainly tried. Commander Warner Keith Thompson of the Itasca took his job seriously, and he was beginning to show the strains of concern.
Amelia did not respond.
The radiomen on the Itasca were confused. Where was Amelia?
"Earhart to Itasca," Amelia said, "Want bearing on 3105 kHz on hour. Will whistle in microphone." This was done at 17:17 bad chronometer time, 17:42 true GMT, and 6:12 a.m. Howland Island Time. Two minutes into her time to talk.
17:30 bad chronometer time (17:45 true GMT, and 6:15 a.m. local,) she transmitted, "About two hundred miles out, approximately. Whistling now." It was close to when the Itasca would begin to transmit, but this was so important, she had to try anything. With the trouble they had communicating, she thought the whistle might be more effective. She had been told whistling would get through; even in the heavy static that she was currently experiencing. She continued whistling periodically until the hour, when she hoped to get a bearing.
One minute after the hour (18:01 bad chronometer time, 18:16 true GMT, and 6:46 local,) Amelia transmitted, "100 miles out. Coming up." Then she was quiet, and listened for the Itasca to transmit. No response.
Everyone by now was thoroughly convinced Amelia didn’t know radio. She always seemed to be talking when she should be listening -- she didn’t even know how to follow her own schedule. No one aboard the Itasca caught the time error between the plane and the ship, nor did they consider its effect on Fred’s navigation.
Having taken his sun line at dawn, Fred settled in at his navigation table to do his calculations. Having done so, he felt better. He continued to take periodical running fixes on the sun line, since one or more would give him more information to correctly plot their course to Howland.
As they approached Howland Island, Amelia kept trying to reach someone. All her efforts were futile.
"Visibility is poor. It is gray and dark with clouds," Amelia told the Howland Island radio frantically, "We do not see you."
There was no response. Only the cold, stormy silence of muffled static. The radio was useless.
"There is no landfall," Amelia yelled to Fred over the dull roar of the airplane engines. The noise and vibrations were now pounding on her senses. Just one more island.
Fred reassured her, "You should see Howland any minute." But when they got to the spot Howland Island should be, there was no island. There weren’t any islands. Just dark sky, dark cold churning water and dark squally clouds spitting lighting at them.
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About the Book
You thought you’d never find out what really happened to Amelia Earhart and Fred Noonan. Think again. Each of us has felt at some time in our lives, a loss from the disappearance of someone, something strange happening that cannot be explained, let down by people in power, or the feeling that it would be nice to forget our troubles and walk off into the fog. As long as the mystery of Amelia Earhart and Fred Noonan remains unsolved, people will continue to have what has come to be known as "Earhart fever." Mary Vesta Nickerson has written a fictionalized account of what may have happened to the flyers. Until now, the books that have been written are like fireflies along the river that dart in all directions. To catch all the fireflies you have to run in a different direction each time, making it an impossible task. She has let the fireflies come to her, and she has them all in one brilliantly glowing jar. She has taken all the theories and put them in one jar. One jar, one plausible theory. Mary Vesta Nickerson has never been able to leave a mystery alone. For nearly 20 years, she has been collecting the "fireflies," preparing for the time when she would write her book. THE DECOY AND THE DOVE is a tale of adventure, betrayal, and courage. It is one you do not want to miss.
About the Author
Mary Vesta Nickerson is a writer new to field of mystery writing. THE DECOY AND THE DOVE is her third and current novel. She has finished two other novels, which have not yet been published, GARCO, and DOCTOR, DOCTOR. Nickerson’s interest in writing began 29 years ago when she began writing travel reports while working as Manager/Travel Counselor for AAA Nebraska. She was awarded 7 familiarization trips during the course of her 20 years of employment. One stipulation for taking the trips was writing a report to send around the state to be used as a learning tool for the other travel counselors in the other offices. Nickerson began receiving extraordinary feedback on her writing, some written and some verbal, which was delightful, as she enjoyed writing the reports. Since and during that time, she has written poems, short stories, and novels. Conceiving the idea for her Amelia Earhart book at a round table at a Nebraska Writer’s Conference in North Platte nearly twenty years ago, Nickerson began collecting books and materials for the time when she would be ready to write her book. She has reached deep into history to find a remarkable and thrilling tale of adventure and courage. "Just for the Fun of It," and for research, M. Nickerson attended the one-hundredth year Amelia Earhart Birthday Centennial put on by Atchison, Kansas in 1997, staying for all the festivities from July 24 through July 28. She enjoyed such events as a trolley ride, airplane ride, boat parade by the river, fireworks, church memorial service, and touring Amelia Earhart’s birthplace. M. Nickerson was born in Johnstown, Nebraska in the heart of the Sandhills, and has lived on a ranch in Cottonwood Canyon near Maxwell, Nebraska with her husband Ike since 1990. They have two horses, one cat, and one dog.