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The last shopping done
Duty today until close to eight
Friday, December 23rd
A look at the apron, it's snowing
Out there she stands ready for take-off
The Delta-Hotel-Kilo-Golf-November
The afternoon takes its course
The doctor clears the desk
The pilot eats his sausage sandwich with pleasure
The two of them have often waited like this
Went on many flights together
And killed even more time together
The weatherman says: bad visibility
In the west, Bremen is already closed
Minus four degrees with heavy precipitation
The cold front is here at three o'clock
The pilot spreads his sandwich paper
And folds it thoughtfully: "Fine with me"
The doctor rumbles next door
Looks for filter bags, gets to work
To rinse cups and make coffee
But the emergency call comes first
On the eastern shore, Steinhuder Meer
A child has broken through the thin ice
The doctor grumbles: "Hurry up!"
The pilot starts the engine
A dozen colored lights have to be tested
And as soon as he calls the tower
He gets the bird into the air
Across the field and on course to the west
He dives into the gloomy gray
Here he knows every bush exactly
Every chimney, every power pole
Not even five minutes have passed
When he already begins
Searching for his target on the ground
A second aircraft, Phoenix III
At 300 feet is about to
Circle the lake at a higher altitude
Guiding from a better point of view
Golf-November which is closely
Hovering above the water
Was there a shadow under the ice?
The Golf-November disapperars
In white, swirling powder snow
There it was, in position nine o'clock
Over there on the left, just three meters
There it is, yes, they've found it!
The pilot touches down in hover flight
His machine firmly enogh
On the ice to break in with the skids
And then holds it with precision work
As if bolted down, an inch above
The deceptive white plains
The doctor dares to rope himself down
Climbs onto the skid, far too little
Time to get out rescue equipment
Kneels down from a daring position
Grabs hold and with a steady hand
Recovered the small, lifeless body
Power and control stick forward
The Golf-November rises up
And again it's a race for seconds
And soon the precious cargo
Carefully tended and guarded
Disappeared behind the clinic doors
That was it, the tension turns
Into tiredness, the two of them stand around
No one has a word to say
While in there with all their effort
All their art and mastery
A dozen people struggle for a life
Three thousand hours in the air
And still the same shock
That no habit can overcome
A thousand missions and more
And still just as hard
To come to terms with our powerlessness
The front is here, it's already dark
And in the cramped guard station
Pale fluorescent lights have come on
The pilot fills out the duty sheet
The doctor looks out of the window
And a thought holds the two of them captive
But no one to break the silence
Just a tiny chance, nothing more!
Both would give a lot for it
And then the phone breaks
The silence of the guard station
And a voice says: the child will live
The doctor hangs up the receiver
"The coffee might be bitter
Never mind, I'll have a cup, will you?"
The pilot nods from his seat
And writes Event: Rescue mission
Special incidents: – none
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