Five of a Kind

By Kent Hugus

Sam flew combat in WW-I and intelligence missions into occupied France during WW-II. During peacetime, he flew the mail, then pioneered in the field of aerial crop dusting. Along the way, he founded an airline, rescued CIA spies from Cuba, mined gold in New Guinea and chased phantom nuclear weapons in the seas off Puerto Rico.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kent Hugus
• Release date: Jul 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301619955

Kent Hugus

Graduated Cal at Berkeley and have the sandals to prove it. Served as a Naval Aviator. Joined IBM as a software engineer, and then resigned to form my own software company. Sold that and retired to Park City, UT, until illness forced me down to sea level. I moved to Escondido, CA, and commenced writing novels. I am divorced, but have two sons, a daughter, and several grandchildren.

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Five of a Kind

Kent Hugus

Published by Kent Hugus on Smashwords

Copyright 2008 Kent Hugus.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Table of Contents

Special Delivery

We Have No Bananas Today

Get Out of Dodge

Under the Sea

Gold in Them Thar Hills

.Foreword

San Hebert is a composite of many airmen. His father’s farm was adjacent to Huffman Prairie, and Sam ran errands for the Wright brothers as they refined their early aircraft. He learned his piloting skills from Glenn Curtis at San Diego before the Great War, but spent the early part of that war driving ambulances. Finally accepted into French Air Service, he later joined Escadrille Lafayette. He came out of that war more than an ace with seven victories.

The Second World War found him carrying spies and explosives into occupied France, landing a small aircraft by the light of the moon; then ferrying downed airmen back to safety.

This collection of short stories tells what Sam did between and after the wars, of using aircraft as working vehicles to spray crops, deliver badly needed medical supplies, carry post cards to Grandma, transport rebel troops to their certain death, implement undersea exploration, and rescue the survivors of governmental mistakes.

Special Delivery

Summertime in Washington, DC: hot, muggy and oppressive. It was 10 a.m., and I was in the outer office of Assistant Postmaster General Otto Praeger, the government official in charge of the U.S. Post Office Department’s Airmail Service.

The sign on the secretary’s desk identified the lady as Mrs. Miller; she spoke formally, Have a seat Mister Hebert. Mister Praeger will be with you shortly. I was later to learn her name was Daisy Marie, and she was married to an airmail pilot.

Mrs. Miller, my name is pronounced ‘ee-bear’, I responded with a smile.

Certainly, Mister ‘ee-bear’, she replied with a southern accent and a real dazzler of a smile.

A short man entered the office from the outside, slamming the door as he headed for the inner office.

Good morning Mister Praeger, Mrs. Miller chimed.

Mornin’ my dear, Praeger responded with a Texas twang.

He was a little over five and a half feet tall, had a large cigar in his mouth, and, I saw after he had removed his hat, his hair was clipped as short as a soldier in recruit training. Entering his office, he slammed that door also.

Mister Hebert, he’ll be about 15, 20 minutes before he is ready for you, Mrs. Miller said.

That’s okay, I replied. My appointment had been for 10 a.m., and at least 45 minutes had passed.

Eventually I heard a buzzer. Mrs. Miller promptly said, Mr. Praeger will see you now.

I acknowledged with a smile, knocked once on the throne room door, and entered without waiting for an answer to my knock. The room was palatial with walnut paneling, windows outlined with marble columns and framed with some kind of metal, probably brass. Praeger looked even smaller behind a huge mahogany desk, his head down perusing a document of some sort. He did not acknowledge my presence for at least several minutes. I cooled my heels for what seemed an hour, and then sat without waiting for an acknowledgement or invitation.

Praeger looked up and said, I have reviewed your resume, and I am impressed with your war record: an ace with seven or eight victories. Tell me why this should qualify you to fly the mail. He made a steeple of his fingers and gazed at me.

It finally filtered through my thick skull that he was baiting me, and I had yet to figure out why. Before I could reply, Praeger continued, The kind of pilot I want is not a hero, but one who will do everything possible to maintain the schedule. I had three months of unsatisfactory experience with the pilots of the Air Service. When the weather was bad they wouldn’t fly, and I can’t have that.

I felt I had to say something. A pilot has to be able to see to fight, drop bombs or strafe the trenches. You can’t see during bad weather, sir.

I realized the moment the words were out of my mouth I had taken the bait. I quickly tried to save the inevitable lecture on Praeger’s lips, realizing that he had interviewed many ex military pilots before me. Of course I realize the Post Office is not at war and maintaining a schedule of service is of the utmost importance, weather or no.

Yes, just so. I think you will do well if you still want the job, he said with the briefest smile I have ever seen. We are offering $3000.00 a year, payable every 2 weeks. He waited.

I should say that I was not pressed for cash. I had inherited from both my father and my grandmother, was unmarried, and my wants were small. I had looked forward to starting engineering school after my service, but I soon realized that I would rather have a flying job, at least for a few years. There were ex-military pilots out of work on every street corner just now, so if I wanted to fly for pay, perhaps I should jump at this chance.

I would be happy to join your organization Mister Praeger.

Glad to have you Hebert, he said. I noticed the lack of Mister. Report tomorrow to my Mr. Lipsner out at College Park, Maryland. He manages the airmail operations of the Post Office Department. Thanks. I was dismissed.

In 1913 the U.S. Post Office Department switched from horse drawn wagons to motorized trucks, with a resulting increase in efficiency. Horse powered operations could be conducted perhaps 10 hours per day, but trucks could be operated in two 8-hour shifts for a total of 16 hours. This enabled the department to get rid of the horses and convert the horse stables into truck maintenance garages. Roads outside of cities were not hospitable to trucks; but, no matter, for the railroads handled the inter city movement of mail.

The advent of aircraft offered another opportunity to increase the department’s efficiency. So in 1918, the Army began to carry the mails between New York and Washington, DC. A Major Reuben H. Fleet was assigned to implement the task by May 15th, 1918. This gave him just 9 days to find six aircraft and pilots to fly them; locate an airport to serve New York and Washington, DC; and find an intermediate airport near Philadelphia as a fuel stop. Major Fleet had never failed at any endeavor, so he took on the job with industry.

The only immediately available aircraft was the JN-4 Jenny, and it did not have the range or carrying capacity to do the job. A hurried call was made to Glenn Curtis, the president and major stockholder of Curtis Aeroplane and Motor Company on Long Island, NY.

Recognizing that the JN-4H Jenny was not adequate for the job (it needed twice the range and twice the lifting capacity), Glenn Curtis rolled up his sleeves and proceeded to solve the problem. He knew the 150 horsepower Hispano-Suiza engine of the JN–4H was adequate, but he needed to increase the fuel and oil capacity to give the aircraft more range. The Jenny had no cargo capacity at all, but there were two cockpits and only one was needed; the space allocated to one cockpit became a cargo hold.

To obtain more range, he combined two of the 19-gallon fuel tanks and two 2.5-gallon oil tanks, thereby doubling the capacity of fuel and oil.

Major Fleet called his friend Major August Belmont, owner of Belmont Park Race Track on Long Island, New York, for permission to use his park for aerial mail service in New York City. Being an hour by rail from the main post office in the city would add to the portal-to-portal time, but it was the only immediately available choice. The U.S. Post Office Department selected the polo field at Potomac Park, MD, to serve Washington, DC, and chose Bustleton Field near the railroad station in Philadelphia as a refueling and transfer spot.

The next task was to find six pilots, four to fly the line with two to serve as backups. Two inexperienced pilots, 2nd Lieutenants J.C. Edgerton and G.L. Boyle were assigned over Fleet’s opposition, but for political reasons. The other four were 1st Lieutenants H.P. Culver, Torrey Webb, Stephen Bonsal, and Walter Miller. These four had the experience to offset the inexperience of Edgerton and Boyle.

The modified Jennies arrived 2 days before the inauguration date, in crates atop a truck rather than being flown in assembled and ready for use. Both pilots and every available mechanic rolled up their sleeves and went to work to assemble at least four Jennies, one for Belmont, one for Potomac Park and two for Bustleton. Three aircraft were finally readied and positioned.

With President Wilson watching, the aviation neophyte Boyle took off amid cheers from the crowd. He followed the railroad as he was instructed, except, it was the wrong railroad; realizing he was lost, he had the good sense to land and ask for directions. In doing so, he damaged his propeller and could not complete the flight to Bustleton.

At Bustleton, LT Culver learned of Boyle’s mishap and elected to complete his part of this historic mission, even without the mail aboard. He was met near Belmont by two air service aircraft flying out of Mineola, NY, and escorted to Belmont, where he received a hero’s welcome.

Going in the opposite direction, Webb departed from Belmont for Philadelphia amid cheering crowds. After an hour, he landed at Bustleton and handed off the mail to Edgerton, who made an uneventful flight to Washington, DC, and managed to find landing space at Potomac Park amid a crowd of onlookers. The mail was thrown into a waiting truck and rushed to the main post office. There it was handed off to several hundred Boy Scouts; the Scouts rushed the mail to its ultimate destinations on their bicycles.

The Army Air Service pilots flying the mail would not challenge bad weather. Coupling that with the intermittent availability of the aircraft meant that even a 90 percent completion of schedule could not be achieved. This drove Mr. Otto Praeger into a rage, Praeger being charged with the success of the new airmail service. Airmail had to maintain schedule on the relatively short distance between Washington and New York for it to show a saving in time over mail service by rail or trucks for the service to justify its higher fees. It was not doing so.

The Air Service listened to and understood the pilots when they chose not to fly in bad weather and gave priority to overseas shipment of aircraft over maintenance of the airmail fleet. Praeger had no say over the two things that could spell success for airmail: pilots and aircraft. This situation was untenable to either side, so on August 10th 1918 the Air Service backed out of the airmail experiment. Praeger handed over the conversion of airmail service to civilian control, and assigned to an ex-Army Captain named Lipsner to make it happen.

***

Washington operations had been moved out of the congestion of Potomoc Park, so I found my way to College Park, Maryland, and the new airmail operations center. As I walked over to the hangar, I heard the sound of an engine, and saw its source as a Jenny roaring down the field on takeoff, not steering a straight course, but wobbling from side to side.

Turk Bird takes to the air again, a voice said with a laugh. I turned. My name is Lipsner and you must be Hebert, our new addition.

Glad to meet you, I said. We walked toward the hangar.

Eddie Gardner insists we call him ‘Turk Bird’, and you saw the reason why, the way he wobbles about on takeoff. He does the same on landing. And we all know he can steer a straight course when he wants to.

We entered a side door to the hangar and found ourselves in a room that reminded me of the mess back in France, even to the smell of burned coffee. Lipsner slid behind the only desk and waved me into a chair. At a glance, I saw he was a far cry from Otto Praeger in mannerisms and appearance. Lipsner had been an Army Captain, and wore the uniform of an Army officer right down to well-shined boots, but without any insignia of rank. His manner was completely informal, but with teeth in it.

Here is your U.S. Airmail Service badge. Wear it whenever you are handling or flying the mail. It makes you a Federal Officer and, not surprisingly, makes a big impression on local law officers, sheriffs, and the like. He handed it to me. Our other big rule is that you never lose sight of the mail. If you are forced down, immediately notify the destination station manager. Then stick with those mailbags until they take possession. We recommend you get yourself a sidearm, you may need it if the badge is not enough.

I nodded in acknowledgement.

You probably realize our type of flying is much different from your experience in France. Here, the schedule is everything. You must fly regardless of the weather. You must make that schedule, otherwise airmail doesn’t save any time and is not worth the high postage were charging.

I didn’t care for the charge on regardless attitude of non-pilot Lipsner, but I held my tongue and listened.

My chief pilot is Roy Langley up at Belmont Park. You’ve arrived at an opportune time. We’re buying six JR-1B aircraft from Standard Aircraft Company in Elizabeth, NJ. Mr. Praeger wants all pilots and mechanics to go to the factory and participate in their assembly and testing, a kind of a hands-on approach. You’ll get to meet the rest of our crew up there.

Fair enough, I said. When do I start flying?

Today, as a matter of fact. Get that Jenny outside ready. When the mail truck arrives, load up and fly up to Bustletown Field and offload the mail. Then wait for the flight from New York and bring their mail back here. Come over here to the map and I’ll show you how to find Bustletown. A large map of the route from Washington, DC, to New York was pinned to the wall.

As I walked out to the only Jenny on the flight line, Turk Bird was returning from his test flight. I saw the rudder fanning back and forth when he landed, and I knew the wobbling about was purposeful on Turk Bird’s part. It’s hard to do anything wrong in a Jenny, after all, it’s a trainer.

After Turk Bird shut down and climbed out, I walked over and introduced myself. I said, seriously, The rudder cables on that ship must need some adjustment. You were chasing rabbits all over the field!

And you are a wise ass, huh? My name is Turk Bird Gardner. Glad to meetcha. He stuck out his hand.

I’m Sam Hebert, a new hire. I said, giving his hand a shake.

The mail truck drove up, and I held up my hand beside the Jenny I was to fly. The driver and I tossed the mailbags into the cargo hatch and clamped it shut. Then I climbed into the cockpit, a mechanic gave my propeller a twirl and I was soon off to Bustletown. I felt right at home in the Jenny, even though I hadn’t flown anything in some 4 months. Bustletown was easy to find, and I made an uneventful landing, gassed up and finished just as the flight from New York arrived. Roy Langley the chief pilot was flying it.

Roy, my name is Sam Hebert, a new hire. I introduced myself.

Howdy Sam! Glad to meet you. I heard you’d been hired. Want to let you fly out of Washington ‘til after the Standard factory deal, then move you up to New York. Okay?

Sure, I said. The weather in New York sure beats the heat and humidity in Washington. Got some mailbags for me? I’ll load up and head on back. This I did.

For the next week we alternated between flying the mail and spending time at Standard watching them assemble our new JR-1Bs. The workers there first regarded us as pests, but after we spotted ways to get some things completed easier, we were regarded with some respect.

The JR-1B had enough power and range to skip Bustleton if needed. We couldn’t, of course, or the politicians would be up in arms, and the Post Office needed every bit of congressional support just now.

It was evident to me that the portal-to-portal delivery time of the mail was hardly reduced, even when we made schedule. Flying in marginal weather was not a way to a long life, yet we had all signed up to do it. Thunderstorms could be circumvented. Or, if they socked in the destination we could land in a farmer’s field and wait for it to move on. If there was airframe icing, it could be avoided by climbing or descending out of the freezing range. One could always climb through fog when the sun was shining. You simply kept the sun’s relative position constant as you climbed until you broke out on top of it.

The most difficult weather is low fog with overcast above blocking out the sun. The temptation is to stay underneath the fog or overcast. The problem with that is avoiding buildings, low hills, and other obstacles. The other bad situation is getting caught on top of the overcast; here getting down is the problem, sometimes forced upon the pilot by running out of gas. That takes sheer guts or foolishness to find your way down without hitting the rocks, church steeples and other hard things that sometimes inhabit the clouds.

I relocated to New York after our stint at Standard Aircraft, and flew the New York to Bustleton round trip so many times I could almost tell you the names of all the farmer’s daughters on the route, ha, ha. I finally met the rest of the gang besides Turk Bird—that is, Robert Shank, Maurice Newton, Max Miller, Ham Lee, and Wesley Smith. We all agreed that sooner or later, flying in marginal weather would kill someone of us, but we continued to twist the tiger’s tail.

Although brave, pilots did not choose to be foolish. In July 1919, pilots Ham Lee and Wes Smith were the first to go out on strike when Roy Langley ordered them to fly in marginal weather, firing them when they refused. In a show