The silver aeroplane flew south east in fair weather, across the
small green islands called the
Lesser Antilles. The sky above was clear, and the blue Atlantic below
shone in the bright sunshine. But somewhere,
far out above the
Atlantic, trouble was waiting and the plane flew on to look for it.
The pilot, Harry Hansen, was an officer in the United States Navy,
with twelve years' flying
behind him. He stared
hard at the sky in front of him, and at last saw the first thin
clouds appear. He pushed a button
and spoke into the
radio.
'We're getting near, Dave. Any change of orders?'
Officers in the United States Navy didn't usually take orders from a
foreigner, but that didn't
worry Hansen. He was a
sensible man. He liked to fly with men who were good at their jobs -
and who would help him
to get the plane back
home in one piece.
David Wyatt came forward to speak to Hansen and looked out at the
sky. Already the clouds
were thicker and
heavier. In a few more minutes the plane would be in the storm.
'We'll take the usual route in,' he said. 'We'll follow the wind
round in a circle, moving slowly
inwards all the time.
When we get to the south west corner, we'll turn into the centre.'
'OK,' said Hansen. 'But I hope you get all the information that you
need. I don't want to do this
twice.'
Wyatt smiled. 'Neither do I.'
He went back down the plane and fastened himself into his seat. The
two men who worked
with him were already
busy. The three of them made sure that everything was safe and that
nothing could move. They checked that the instruments were working
and the computers were
ready.
Wyatt was frightened. He was always frightened just before the plane
went in, because he
knew more about
hurricanes than any man on the plane. Hurricanes were his job, his
life study, and he
understood too well the danger
of flying into those terrible, violent winds.
The clouds were now black mountains hundreds of metres high. Gently,
Hansen began to turn
the plane deeper into
the storm. The winds became more and more violent and the plane shook
from nose to tail.
Rain drove upwards
through the clouds and lightning filled the sky with a hard blue
light.
Suddenly the plane dropped like a stone. Hansen fought against the
wind and pushed the plane
into a climb. All
around, the blue black clouds were exploding into different shapes
every second. Then, just as
suddenly, another
wind hit the plane from below, and the plane shot upwards like a
bullet from a gun.
Hansen's arms ached as he fought the plane. He took a quick look at
his watch. Another half an
hour before he
could turn towards the centre, and then another 160 kilometres
through the crosswinds before
they reached it.
In the back of the plane, Wyatt and his men were very busy. Although
they were beaten and
shaken every second
by the plane's violent movements, they still managed to do their
work.
At last the plane flew into the 'eye' of the hurricane - that strange
place of calm, peaceful air in
the centre of the
storm.
'How are you doing back there, Dave?' came Hansen's voice over the
radio.
'Not too bad,' replied Wyatt. 'More than half of the
instruments are still working. I think we'll get most of the
information that we need.'
'This is a really bad storm, Dave. I'll give you five minutes, then
we're flying out again. It's
going to be worse on the
way out.'
And it was. For more than an hour the winds screamed and beat against
the plane, and tried to
break it into pieces.
Wyatt was afraid that the wings would come off, but at last they
reached calm air again and the
noise of the
hurricane died away behind them.
Four hours later they were back on the ground at Cap Sarrat. As they
left the plane, Hansen
turned to Wyatt.
'If I have to fly through another storm like that, I'm going to take
a ground job.'
Wyatt laughed. 'Well, that was the worst one that I've ever seen. And
I've flown into
twenty three hurricanes.'
'Twenty three!' Hansen shook his head. 'You must be crazy!'
The silver aeroplane flew south east in fair weather, across thesmall green islands called theLesser Antilles. The sky above was clear, and the blue Atlantic belowshone in the bright sunshine. But somewhere,far out above the Atlantic, trouble was waiting and the plane flew on to look for it. The pilot, Harry Hansen, was an officer in the United States Navy,with twelve years' flyingbehind him. He stared hard at the sky in front of him, and at last saw the first thinclouds appear. He pushed a buttonand spoke into the radio. 'We're getting near, Dave. Any change of orders?' Officers in the United States Navy didn't usually take orders from aforeigner, but that didn'tworry Hansen. He was a sensible man. He liked to fly with men who were good at their jobs -and who would help himto get the plane back home in one piece. David Wyatt came forward to speak to Hansen and looked out at thesky. Already the cloudswere thicker and heavier. In a few more minutes the plane would be in the storm. 'We'll take the usual route in,' he said. 'We'll follow the windround in a circle, moving slowlyinwards all the time. When we get to the south west corner, we'll turn into the centre.' 'OK,' said Hansen. 'But I hope you get all the information that youneed. I don't want to do thistwice.' Wyatt smiled. 'Neither do I.' He went back down the plane and fastened himself into his seat. Thetwo men who workedwith him were already busy. The three of them made sure that everything was safe and that nothing could move. They checked that the instruments were workingand the computers wereready. Wyatt was frightened. He was always frightened just before the planewent in, because heknew more about hurricanes than any man on the plane. Hurricanes were his job, hislife study, and heunderstood too well the danger of flying into those terrible, violent winds. The clouds were now black mountains hundreds of metres high. Gently,Hansen began to turnthe plane deeper into the storm. The winds became more and more violent and the plane shookfrom nose to tail.Rain drove upwards through the clouds and lightning filled the sky with a hard bluelight. Suddenly the plane dropped like a stone. Hansen fought against thewind and pushed the planeinto a climb. All around, the blue black clouds were exploding into different shapesevery second. Then, just assuddenly, another wind hit the plane from below, and the plane shot upwards like abullet from a gun. Hansen's arms ached as he fought the plane. He took a quick look athis watch. Another half anhour before he could turn towards the centre, and then another 160 kilometresthrough the crosswinds beforethey reached it. In the back of the plane, Wyatt and his men were very busy. Althoughthey were beaten andshaken every second by the plane's violent movements, they still managed to do theirwork. At last the plane flew into the 'eye' of the hurricane - that strangeplace of calm, peaceful air inthe centre of the storm. 'How are you doing back there, Dave?' came Hansen's voice over theradio. 'Not too bad,' replied Wyatt. 'More than half of the instruments are still working. I think we'll get most of theinformation that we need.' 'This is a really bad storm, Dave. I'll give you five minutes, thenwe're flying out again. It'sgoing to be worse on the way out.' And it was. For more than an hour the winds screamed and beat againstthe plane, and tried tobreak it into pieces. Wyatt was afraid that the wings would come off, but at last theyreached calm air again and thenoise of the hurricane died away behind them. Four hours later they were back on the ground at Cap Sarrat. As theyleft the plane, Hansenturned to Wyatt. 'If I have to fly through another storm like that, I'm going to takea ground job.' Wyatt laughed. 'Well, that was the worst one that I've ever seen. AndI've flown intotwenty three hurricanes.' 'Twenty three!' Hansen shook his head. 'You must be crazy!'
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