But such serious errors were fortunately rare, and in general flying so close to the mainland, so close to the enormous military might of the Peoples Republic of China, was very routine, almost mundane. The key was in a careful cross-check. Captain Shen double-checked that the proper tower control frequency was set — it was. Double-check the ILS (Instrument Landing System) frequency, get a good Morse code ident — got it. Double-check the inbound course set — got it. Double-check the NDB (Non-Directional Beacon) frequency set, get a good ident, then check that the marker beacon lights were working — got it. Gyro heading indicators checked with the “whiskey” compass — done, both within five degrees, which was a lot but acceptable. Double-check the ILS with the VOR (Very-high-frequency Omnidirectional Receiver) on the copilot s side, in case the glideslope went out — done. If there was any big deviation, the copilot would call it out and they’d decide as a crew which approach to use. In this weather, losing the ILS might mean returning back to Taipei because the VOR was never as accurate as the ILS, but both appeared to be working fine. Shen wished he had a GPS (Global Positioning System) satellite navigation receiver, but this old transport wasn’t slated to get one for several weeks.
Now the business of shooting a “no shit” instrument approach got under way. For any pilot, even one with as many hours as Shen, flying totally on instruments, without one single reference outside the cockpit, was always tension-filled. The C-130’s autopilot was a simple heading-hold system, not coupled to the ILS, so Shen was hand-flying it on this approach. It was like playing a video game, maneuvering the sixty-thousand- pound plane in order to keep two needles on the HSI (Horizontal Situation Indicator) forming a perfect cross in the center of the instrument. The needles’ movement got more sensitive as they got closer to the field, so Shen’s inputs had to be more careful, more delicate. But if he kept those needles centered perfectly, at just the right airspeed, he would be lined up perfectly on the runway, in position to execute a landing without any gross turns or dives.
“Coming up on point Charlie,” the copilot announced.
“Approach flaps,” Shen ordered, and the copilot put in twenty degrees of flaps, which slowed the big transport down nicely to just below approach speed, they’d get back up to approach speed as they started down the glideslope, the invisible electronic “ramp” that would take them to the runway. Shen now focused all his attention on the instruments, performing a careful scan of the four primary flight instruments— the copilot would look after the engine instruments and other indicators. The HSI in the center of the instrument panel in front of the pilot was a combination gyro compass, omni bearing indicator, and ILS indicator, so that was the central instrument to watch; next was the artificial horizon, back to the HSI, then out to the airspeed indicator, back to the HSI, out to the altimeter, back to the HSI, out to the vertical velocity indicator, back to the HSI, then perhaps a quick scan of the engine instruments and a peek out the cockpit windscreen before starting the scan all over again.
“Point Charlie… now,” the copilot said, resting his hand on the gear handle. “Glideslope alive.” When the glideslope needle on the HSI reached five degrees above center, Shen ordered the copilot to lower the landing gear. “Gear down,” the copilot repeated, as he put the handle down. A red light in the handle illuminated, meaning the gear was unlocked, and the three gear-position indicators moved from up to black and white stripes, indicating the gear was in an intermediate position. “Gear moving…” One by one the gear indicators showed down, and seconds later the red light in the gear handle went out. “Three down and locked, red light out,” the copilot said. He reached over and moved an indicator bug on the altimeter. “Decision height, two-forty.”
“Roger,” Shen said. He lowered the nose, reduced power, and transitioned smoothly onto the glideslope. There was a pretty good crosswind from the west, and Shen banked left to center the localizer needle.
“Transport One-Five, contact tower,” they heard on the radio. Right on time. The transmission was a bit scratchy — a storm was brewing, Shen thought, a big thunderstorm. Hopefully they’d be on the ground well before it reached the airfield.
“One-Five going to tower,” the copilot acknowledged, then switched channels and announced, “Matsu Tower, Transport One-Five point Charlie inbound on the ILS.”
There was a scratchy, barely readable “Roger, One-Five,” then a garbled “Clear to land,” and the copilot acknowledged the clearance and reported the clearance to Shen as he set up the ground control frequency. The ground spotters had issued the landing clearance early, considering the cloud cover — maybe it wasn’t as thick as it looked from up here, Shen thought.
Needles centered perfectly, airspeed right on the dot — this approach was going well. A bit more crosswind correction, left wing down… “Two thousand to go,” the copilot said.
“Engines look good,” the engineer, sitting behind the copilot, said. He looked at the forward instrument panel, triple-checking the indications prior to landing. “Gear, flaps, lights, all check.” He made a quick announcement on intercom to the passengers in the back, ordering them to check that their seat belts were on. “Before-landing check complete.”
Bit more left — there, needles centered again, right on the glideslope. The Doppler was not locked on — it commonly did not lock on over water — but even without it he knew he had some pretty hellacious west winds. No sweat, he could handle it.
“One thousand above,” the copilot said.
“Doppler’s OTL,” the flight engineer said, meaning “out to lunch,” “mag compass… it’s OTL too.” The flight engineer quickly checked the engine and flight systems, looking for any sign of trouble.
“Looking good, a little hot,” the copilot said. Shen was right on the glideslope, so he pulled the throttles back slightly to get back on the proper airspeed. That should be his last correction, he reminded himself — any more corrections this close to the airfield and he’d be “chasing” the ILS needles, which would porpoise him all over the sky. Nice, easy, small corrections from here on out. “Five hundred to decision height.”
Shen completed another scan, ran his eyes over the engine instruments — all OK, all needles pointing in roughly the same direction — then back to the HSI — right on the glidepath — then quickly up to the mag compass above the center of the windscreen…
… and it read sixty degrees differently than the inbound course to Matsu Airport. A sharp thrill of panic clutched at Shen’s throat. The ILS needles were perfectly centered, the DME (Distance Measuring Equipment) put them at the proper position on the approach — but they were sixty degrees off course! If the ILS was wrong and the gyro and mag compasses were correct, they were far, far off course — into Red China’s airspace. “What in hell’s going on with the heading?” Shen shouted. “I’m centered up, but the compass says we’re way west.”
“My VOR’s centered up, too,” the copilot said. He quickly punched the buttons on the audio panel. “I’ve got good idents on the ILS, VOR, and NDB. DME’s okay…”
“Electrical and vacuum systems okay,” the engineer said.
“The tower’s got us, they cleared us for landing — if we were off course, they’d have said something,” the copilot said. “The gyros must be screwed up.”
“But the gyro compass and mag compasses are both reading the same,” Shen shouted, the fear rising in his voice. He suddenly jammed the throttles to full power and raised the nose, trying to stop the descent on the “glideslope.”