I therefore suggested to Bob that I go to Base Operations and try to negotiate transportation to the depot at Hill AFB in Ogden, Utah, about 120 miles away. They were sure to have the plugs and nozzles and I could requisition them and be back in several hours which would put us in a position to return home that night. Bob agreed and I walked over to Operations. The officer on duty, Wentworth Collins, welcomed the opportunity to be of service and to get some flight time on an otherwise boring watch. They had an almost new C-45 assigned to operations. It was on the ramp, the fuel tanks had been topped off before it was parked. We accomplished the preflight inspection and climbed aboard. There were a couple of parachutes in the seats and a couple of spares in the cabin. We started the engines, taxied out and took off. By then it was dark and there was a scattered cloud layer above.

We climbed to 9,500 feet (above the clouds) and set course for Hill AFB. The airplane was in superb shape and it trimmed perfectly — like an autopilot. Our flight would take a little under an hour, so Collins and I settled back and started to get to know each other: married, how many children, where served before, etc. Then we both smelled it, the odor of very hot metal. And we both started a systematic search for the source of the odor. We couldn't see or feel anything amiss in the cockpit or the wings and engines, so I got out of my seas and started a search of the cabin. I had just searched the toilet and was turning to return to my seat when I saw Collins moving rapidly down the aisle and he was shouting, “Never mind, I've found it, we've got to get out of here.”