Another Time, Another Place

By D.A Yeater

Another Time, Another Place is about an ordinary man, who, through a skydiving accident, is transported back in time and finds himself in 1916. He doesn't know quite how he got there or how to get back to his own time. So he must make the most of his situation. He arrives there less than one year before the United States enters the war. He meets several soon-to-be great men of early aviation.

With the knowledge of late twentieth century technology, he persuades them to build a lightweight engine and a small fighter plane to help the United States and the Allies win the war sooner. He meets Elizabeth Stuart, and events make Hugh Ericson uncertain about his future. He doesn't know if he will stay and live out his life there or whether he will return to his time, even if the opportunity arises.

He doesn't get the chance!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781503520868

D.A Yeater

Don A. Yeater is a retired airline pilot. He was a captain for Continental Airlines based in Los Angeles. He flew DC-3, DC-4, DC-6, DC-7, B707, B727, B707-320, B747. He is also a licensed flight engineer. After retiring, he lived in Louisville, Kentucky, and Sarasota, Florida. Now he lives in St. George, Utah. He has always been interested in time travel and is a history buff. WWl aviation has interested him since he was a child. He studied aeronautical engineering for a while until he devoted his limited resources to flying instead of designing. He is married, and between his wife and himself, they have six children and fourteen grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by D.A Yeater.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014921596

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5035-2084-4

                Softcover        978-1-5035-2085-1

                eBook             978-1-5035-2086-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 01/26/2015

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Contents

Acknowledgement

Prologue

Chapter 1 The Adventure Begins

Chapter 2 1916

Chapter 3 The Golden Goddess

Chapter 4 Gardena

Chapter 5 An Aluminum V-8

Chapter 6 The Picnic

Chapter 7 The Debt of Honor

Chapter 8 Jonas Revisited

Chapter 9 The Investor

Chapter 10 The Engine Test

Chapter 11 The Prussian

Chapter 12 The Wing Test

Chapter 13 McMasters

Chapter 14 The Confession

Chapter 15 The Trap

Chapter 16 Welcome Home

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgement

I want to thank my wife Elizabeth Ann Yeater for her encouragement, her typing the early pages and the pleading to finish this thing.

Also to Cindy Clark who took the last remaining pages, scrawled on lined tablets and turned them into a readable text.

To Sharla Christie at ChristieWrite for the cover design, Sharla also checked and did some additional research. Thank you to Phillip Christie for his expert editing.

THANK YOU EACH AND EVERY ONE!!

Prologue

America entered World War I on April 6, 1917. The aviation section of the Signal Corps had 131 officers—most of them pilots—about 1000 enlisted men and fewer than 250 aircraft. Only one aeroplane factory existed at the time. All of the others could only be declared shops.

There were perhaps a dozen aeronautical engineers of sound reputation in the United States, but none were even remotely qualified to design an up-to- date-fighter. Technology was a closely guarded secret in Europe. Within days of America entering the War legions of military missions from Europe were arriving, clamoring for planes, and this from a nation that had produced less than 1000 aircraft in the thirteen years since Kittyhawk.

Chapter 1

The Adventure Begins

Hugh Erickson leaned back in the driver’s seat of his car. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He was waiting for Jonas to emerge from his townhouse in Northeast Philadelphia. It was early morning on the first day of summer, and Hugh wanted to get moving. He looked at his watch again; he felt uneasy, as though he had forgotten something. He wanted to feel the wind in his hair, to speed down the interstate unimpeded. He felt he needed to be somewhere to keep a date. He shrugged it off.

I’m just anxious, I guess, he said to himself. I want to get in a full day of skydiving.

Hugh attempted to will Jonas from the house. When Jonas did come out, Hugh jumped out of the car to help him stow his gear in the trunk.

I put the top down. I don’t want to miss a thing about this glorious day.

It is a nice day, isn’t it? Jonas agreed.

The temperature is in the mid-seventies and no wind – a perfect day for what we want to do.

As they drove along Interstate 76 toward Amish country, the sun was well up and the first small cumulus clouds were forming, little fluffy balls of cotton floating in a field of blue. Jonas was slouched down in his seat with his head tilted back, looking up at the sky.

Is this the first day of your vacation? Jonas queried.

Yes, it is, and I want to make the most of it. They are having some problems with a big project we are doing, and I suspect they may call me, cancel my vacation, and have me come in to help out.

Come on, Hugh, they have a bunch of good structural engineers down there. Why would they need to have you come in?

It’s simple. I’m the best there is. We all like to think that we’re good at what we do, don’t we?

Jonas had turned and was looking at him over the top of his sunglasses, a questioning look on his face.

Well, I was told by a reliable source that you doctors do operations by the threes method.

Threes method? What’s that?

Hugh smiled, See one, do one, teach one!

Oh brother! You showed me that CAD computer you use for those high-rise buildings. My four-year-old son could run that program.

Maybe so, but they won’t hire him! Hugh laughed.

Seriously, why did you choose to become an engineer, Hugh?

Well, I was actually trained as an aerospace engineer. I wanted to be the very best aeronautical engineer in the business. I wanted to design and build fast, sleek, beautiful airplanes. I wanted to work for the Skunk works at Lockheed, or at Douglas, or Boeing aircraft; but I found out all I’d ever be was a draftsman. I wouldn’t design airplanes, just some parts or brackets, so I went to work as a structural engineer after college.

They turned off the interstate down a secondary highway that wound around the large farms covering so much of central Pennsylvania. They were quiet for several minutes as they rode past the well-tended fields, just two friends enjoying the early morning still air and the pleasant smells of summer. They passed an Amish carriage on the road, but said nothing; it was a common sight in that part of the country.

The airport is only a few more miles, Hugh said, as a matter of fact.

Good, my butt is getting tired. We doctors are on our feet a lot, not like some people I know.

Why did you go into medicine? Hugh asked.

I was born into it. As you know, my father was a doctor, as was my grandfather. You should know that I am a descendent of Hippocrates.

Funny, you don’t look Greek. Hugh said.

The airport was like something out of the 1930s – a grass strip with two corrugated hangars that had seen better days. The roofs were rusted with patches of what was once white paint. A tattered yellow windsock hung limply near the end of the runway. Sitting in front of the hangars was a DeHaviland Beaver and a Cessna 180.

Both planes had the doors removed. They didn’t look like much, but they were in excellent mechanical condition. These were the jumper planes. The paint on them matched the hangars, only without the rust. A slight breeze began to move the windsock.

Let’s get a move on people, said a small, well- built man of fifty or so. This was Watson, the jumpmaster. Watson was all anyone ever called him. They were not sure whether that was his first or last name. We want to get in a couple of good jumps before the wind comes up, Watson was saying to the jumpers. There were five of them in all, including him. Hugh was familiar with all of them.

A sound of squealing tires and an engine running at high rpm made everyone stop and turn toward the noise. A red 1965 Chevy Corvette came around the corner and slid to a stop in the small parking area. A young man of eighteen or nineteen climbed over the seat and jumped to the ground. He then reached behind the seat and pulled out a green canvas bag. Hey, Watson, I’m here, he bellowed.

No kidding, we hardly noticed, Watson growled sarcastically. Did you bring the liability waiver and the hold harmless papers – signed this time? Watson asked.

Yeah, yeah, just like you told me to.

Fellas, this is Ron Knudsen. He lives in Philly, and he’s going to make his very first jump with us today, Watson said to the group. Get your harness and other gear on. I’ll check it when I come back. I have to take these papers to the office.

As Hugh and Jonas put their parachute harnesses on, Ron talked with the other jumpers. One of them remarked about his ’65 Vette.

Yeah, it’s a nice car – good for picking up good looking dames and dragging with rods downtown.

Jonas looked at Hugh and said, I smell money, privilege and a surly attitude. A chill went up Hugh’s back as he looked at this late arrival. A perplexed look swept over his face. He couldn’t put his finger on the feeling he was experiencing.

Ron Knudsen was about six feet tall, medium to well built, with sandy hair and bright blue eyes. He had a two-day growth of beard. There was something about his demeanor. His attitude showed in his body language as he stood and talked with the other men.

Hugh’s thoughts were interrupted by Watson, coming out of the office shouting, Okay, let’s line up for inspection. We’re wasting time.

He still acts like a jumpmaster from the airborne, Jonas said in a stage whisper. I am, Doc, and don’t you forget it. He was smiling when he said it.

Watson gave a signal and the Pratt &Whitney on the Beaver turned over. It came to life with a roar and a cloud of white smoke, then dropped back to an easy idle. Ron crawled aboard first, as directed by Watson. He was to leave the aircraft next to last. The jumpmaster was always last to leave the plane. The rest of the group climbed on board, with Hugh getting in last.

He sat beside the door opening with his feet jammed against the doorframe. He liked to look down as they climbed to altitude. Just before they boarded the aircraft, Hugh asked Jonas, Want to make a bet on the spot landing?

You’re on pal. It’s going to cost you two beers when I win.

Well, I guess you have to win sooner or later. Let’s go for it, Hugh responded.

As the Beaver climbed to altitude, each jumper was left with his own thoughts. The wind whisking by the open door made it much too noisy to talk. Watson was going over in his mind just how he would explain to Ron, the new boy in the club, how to exit the aircraft one more time.

Ron had been through all the ground training and had done very well. But this was his first real jump, and Watson knew from experience that anyone can and people sometimes do, balk right at the door. It was easy in the Army, just kick ’em in the butt right out the door.

But this wasn’t the Army. The rest of the group, were experienced jumpers, so they didn’t take up any space in Watson’s mind.

However, Ron was only eighteen. He did have his parent’s permission to learn skydiving. It kept him out of trouble and in good physical condition. He came from a wealthy and socially prominent family from Philadelphia. He could drive any kind of car he wanted, so he chose a restored 1965 Corvette. Lucky young man, Watson thought, I wonder what it would have been like to grow up that way.

His own boyhood had been just the opposite. He grew up on a small farm near Raleigh, North Carolina. His father had been stationed at Ft. Bragg, as a jump instructor. His father married a local girl. They had lived the first couple of years on post. His father, whom Watson could only vaguely remember, applied continuously for overseas service, but was told that he was too valuable as an instructor.

Then when the invasion of Europe was about to happen, he was assigned to the 101st Airborne and made the drop on the eve of D-Day, June 6, 1944. He was killed on June 8. He fought heroically, and his mother had the commendation and the medal to show for it. Watson’s mother had bought a small farm not far from the fort. She finally remarried after he was out of high school.

So, most of his childhood memories were that of hard work, early mornings, feeding chickens and very little money. To this day, he couldn’t stand fried chicken. That is what they had for Sunday dinner as far back as he could remember.

As an only child he envied large families. He always wanted to have a younger brother, and he vividly remembered his mother’s heartbreak from losing her husband at such a young age. Watson, as a result of those memories, never married.

The pilot of the Beaver signaled they were at four thousand feet and had clearance to climb to six thousand. Hugh looked over at Ron and gave him the thumbs up sign. Ron nervously smiled his thanks and shook his head in acknowledgement. Hugh knew what he was going through. He remembered his first jump.

Hugh had joined the Army just out of high school so he could get the G.I. bill and use it for college. His father was coming up to retirement as an electrician and would not be able to put him through college. He signed up for officer candidate school and then Army aviation. Hugh always knew he didn’t want to fly helicopters. Some one had once jokingly said, The wing goes round and round. Well, he didn’t want any part of an aircraft that had moving wings. It had to be fixed-wing airplanes.

After graduation from fixed-wing school, he and a friend took skydiving lessons on their own. Hugh was only a little older than this kid who just joined their group when he made his first jump. It doesn’t make any difference what age you are, your first jump is always an up-tight time. He remembered, with a smile, what his instructor had said to him just before he went out the door, If it doesn’t open, you have only yourself to blame. Those were very comforting words, just before stepping out into space a mile above the earth.

At that time the Vietnamese conflict was over, so Hugh was lucky and did not have to go overseas. He finished his tour at Ft. Ord, California. He had continued to jump by joining a jump club. It was an inexpensive way to stay current and, if he wanted to quit, he could always sell his membership. Part of the dues went to pay the maintenance on the jump planes and the lease on the airstrip. The club also owned the airplanes.

The office in the hangar did not look like the run- down outside of the hangar. It was new and well decorated – a cool lounge in the summer. He couldn’t think of anyone who jumped in the dead of winter for pleasure. He shivered at the thought.

What’s the matter old man, getting scared? Jonas yelled over the roar of the slipstream.

That will be the day.

The pilot looked around at Watson and gave him the all-clear signal. Ready when you are. Watson leaned over Hugh’s leg and patted him on his helmet, holding up one finger, indicating one minute to go. Hugh stood as well as he could, hunched over, and did a few deep knee bends.

Just getting the kinks out, he stated to no one in particular.

There is always a thrill when you leave the airplane, no matter how many times you have jumped. It’s the rush of adrenaline, from being completely alone, falling through space. Or is it the fact that you are defying nature and usually winning, that makes you jump again and again? Hugh thought this as he felt the slipstream in his face.

As he was waiting to jump, Hugh noticed the fluffy little cumulus clouds he saw before weren’t so little anymore. Toward the southwest there were some rather tall cumulonimbus clouds building up. They were tight and knotty, and were beginning to boil as they gained strength.

He stood in the doorway and waited for Watson to drop his hand as a signal to go. When Watson did drop his hand, Hugh dove head first out of the door – head first so that if anything struck the aircraft, it would most likely be a foot – much better than a head.

They were leaving the plane at well over a mile above the ground. He looked up to see Jonas clear the plane. Good boy, he muttered. They would join up in less than a minute. After flying for a while and feeling completely free of earthly bonds, the euphoria finally returned to reality and he pulled the ripcord.

Both Hugh and Jonas were using the wing-type chute, which is easier to control and the opening shock is less. The others jumped one at a time, completely on their own. By the time Ron was ready to jump, Hugh and Jonas were near the ground. If Watson and the pilot had timed it correctly, all the jumpers would land on or near their little airport. They had built a landing zone, a large white circle in the grass beside the runway. The circle had a cross in it to mark the center. This was the spot that Hugh was aiming for, and had the bet on to see which would come closest to the center. Just being in the circle would not be good enough. One foot must be in the intersection of the cross!

When they judged their altitude to be about 3000 feet above the ground, they split apart and opened their chutes. Jonas would defer to Hugh to allow him to land first, by ten to twelve seconds, or so.

Air traffic control for the Philadelphia area knew of their existence. The Beaver pilot had been in contact with them and told them when the jumpers were away. ATC (air traffic control) would then advise any aircraft in the area to look for them.

Hugh pulled at the shroud lines to maneuver into position for his landing. With the wing chute he pulled the leading edge of the chute upward to slow his decent, so as to land standing up. He did just that and landed with one foot in the center of the cross.

From above, Jonas was watching and shouted down at him, Not good enough, old man; watch this! Hugh stepped out of the circle and watched Jonas plant both feet squarely in the center of the cross.

Ha, how do you like that, old buddy!

No big deal, a gust caught me just as I landed, Hugh huffed.

That’s bull, I saw you hit, Jonas exclaimed, as he unbuckled