Filthy Secrets: A Steamy Romance Boxset Collection

by Nova Rain

  “Wonderful,” I scoffed. “Thank you, Holden. United 115, out.”

  “Godspeed with you, boys.”

  “Bullshit extreme caution,” I grumbled, yanking the headset off. “Why the hell don’t they cancel the flight?”

  “Do you really want me to answer that?” Michael wondered, furrowing his brow.

  I drew in a sharp breath, doing up my seatbelt. “Nope. I know the answer already. Let’s take this baby off the ground.”

  As I completed my sentence, we both ceased talking about the situation altogether, and started going over the tasks at hand. Takeoff checklist, getting takeoff permission from the control tower and last but not least, the weather forecast. Thankfully, Holden had sent us thorough data of the hurricane’s predicted movement. Precipitation on the onboard monitors showed as green in areas with the lightest phenomena, and yellow in areas with the heaviest. At the time of our approach, the former would be around one hundred-and-forty miles south of New Orleans, whereas the latter would be less than fifty miles north. There were a few areas of both colors in between, but they were too small for us to worry about them.

  Half an hour later, our magnificent triple seven, carrying three hundred-and-twenty passengers and crew, was in cruising altitude. For all my passion for flying, starting my day after lunch was not my cup of tea. It was guaranteed to end very late at night. It didn’t make much difference to the trip; after all, our course was programmed into the autopilot. I just enjoyed starting early, because I would have some time to myself after the end of my shift. That afternoon, I had an extra reason to not like a somewhat later flight. And this one was perhaps the most troubling situation a pilot ever had to face. Cruising at 35,000 feet, knowing that at some point during the flight, he might have to battle Mother Nature herself.

  As expected, the cruise remained uneventful for its duration. We would reach the fifty-mile zone around New Orleans long after the beginning of our descent. At 17,000 feet and well before the first yellow area on the map, I disabled the autopilot and steered the aircraft west. According to the weather data, such an action would take us around the storm. But, as the plane leveled off, I discovered how right Holden had been when he warned me about the unpredictable movement of hurricanes. A brilliant fork of lightning tore through the sky, tightening the back of my neck. A sea of clouds up above, forced me to issue my next orders.

  “Seatbelt lights on. Anti-icing on.”

  “Here we go,” Michael sighed, pressing the two buttons overhead. A loud thump from outside gave me a clue of what would ensue. In a matter of seconds, the noises multiplied, balls of hail striking the fuselage and the windscreen. I spotted one of them crashing against the glass, its size not leaving me any doubt. It was as big as a golf ball. Just when I was about to speak, a boom of thunder rocked the entire aircraft, jolting both Michael and me back and forth.

  “Tell the flight attendants to take their seats.” I instructed my first officer, the triple seven shaking in severe turbulence. I held on to the yoke, instruments and indicators blurring in front of me.

  “Flight attendants, please take your seats.” Michael spoke on the intercom.

  All of a sudden, just over fifteen thousand feet from the ground, our flight became even more terrifying. Each and every light in the cockpit went off. With several alarms piercing my ears, I focused my attention on the dashboard. Alas, no instrument was working. No lights were on. The only two things that seemed in working order, were the altimeter and the attitude indicator. Taking my hand off the yoke, I grabbed the throttle. I needed control of the aircraft. I was expecting some sort of resistance, like it always happened whenever I pushed it forward. Sadly, it was loose, which could only mean one thing.

  “We’ve lost power on the engines,” I announced, turning my head right to face Michael.

  “Shit…” he groaned, banging his head in a spasm of frustration. We did have enough speed to glide. The airspeed indicator read two hundred-and-forty miles an hour, but that wasn’t going to last. We would lose altitude during the glide, and it had just dropped below fourteen thousand feet. Worse still, no power meant no electricity for all of the onboard systems.

  “We’re dropping at a rate of fourteen hundred feet per minute.” My first officer stated, staring down at his watch.

  “Start the APU.” I addressed him in a firm voice, hoping that the Auxiliary Power Unit would assist us in getting out of this mess. In truth, it was just a backup generator that gave us basic systems for a limited amount of time. It also constituted our one chance of getting the engines started again.

  Michael reached up and flipped the APU switch. “Come on, baby!” He cried, shifting his gaze back down to the dashboard. I could hear the hail striking the plane. That noise was too great for the alarms to drown out. It was like we were being hammered from all sides. Some of the thumps were not so noisy, but most of them sounded like sledgehammers, banging against a concrete wall. Flashes from outside were illuminating the cockpit for a fleeting moment, and then leaving it back in the dark.

  “The APU is up and running.” He announced as the yellow, “power” button in the middle of the dashboard was lit. The noise of the alarms stopped hurting my ears, overhead lights illuminating the cockpit once again.

  “Call a ‘mayday’ to New Orleans.” I assumed a less tense tone. “Tell them to get us out of this storm, and onto a runway.”

  Michael turned on communications by flicking the appropriate switch to his left and pressed the “speaker” button.

  “Mayday, mayday, mayday, United one-fifteen. We’re in the middle of a storm. We need vectors to the runway now, sir.” My co-pilot stated, wiping the sweat from his brow. “We lost an engine.”

  “Both engines.” I corrected him, raising my voice.

  “Both engines.” Michael emphasized, leaning closer to the onboard microphone.

  “Understand. Both engines, United one-fifteen, roger.”

  “How far is New Orleans?” I posed a question, my gaze fixed on our altimeter. We had passed the 9000-ft mark, and were still falling from the sky.

  “Twenty-two miles.” My friend’s response did nothing to appease my fear. Without engines, we would crash in less than five minutes.

  “United one-fifteen, turn right, heading two-seven-zero, vector’s to Navy Callender, runway two-one.”

  “That’s a navy airport.” Michael blurted out. “It’s five miles closer.”

  “Turn on engine number two,” I commanded, my voice much faster than ever before. Setting start ignition to “start,” Michael flicked the control switch to “on.”

  “Thirty seconds,” he sighed, his attention on his watch. “It’s been an honor, man.”

  “Likewise, but let’s save that for another day,” I suggested, figuring out the point of his confession. Restarting the engine would take half a minute, but to him—and me—that would feel like an eternity.

  The yellow button titled “Engine 2” was lit, sending waves of relief down my spine. The hail and the booms of lightning prevented me from hearing the distinctive spin, but that was not the point.

  “Good job,” I said on an exhale, and patted him on the shoulder as he ran his fingers across his forehead. “Start working on the other one.”

  “Yes, boss,” he gasped while I reviewed my options. The triple seven was capable of flying with one engine. Under these terrible circumstances though, two would be much safer. If we didn’t get the other one back online, we risked banking to the left, because the engine on the right wouldn’t be able to generate any lift. In that case, not even God himself would rescue our bird. We’d just plummet to the ground with no hope of recovery.

  The other yellow button titled “Engine 1” was lit as well, giving me a reason to believe that the worst was over.

  “Here comes the other one. Yes!” Michael cheered, punching the air.

  “Request a vector back to New Orleans,” I issued another order, not sharing his enthusiasm for the time being.


  “Tower, we’ve got both engines back online. Request a vector back to New Orleans.” Michael assumed a stiff voice, his eyes on the communications console.

  “United one-fifteen, Wilco, fly heading one-eight-zero. Vector around the thunderstorm to your left.”

  “Thank you, sir. We appreciate all your help. We’re going to go down to three-two-zero.” My first officer spoke on the radio.

  For the second time after the beginning of this crisis, I eased back the throttle, because I had to fly manually to the designated airport of Wilco. But just like earlier, the result was the same. There was no resistance whatsoever, as if the engines were out of the picture again.

  “I don’t feel any power,” I told Michael, my face twisting into an expression of surprise. “This sucker doesn’t have any power.”

  “It can’t be,” he muttered, his face falling into an expression of disbelief.

  “Look! The throttle’s dead, man,” I added, pulling back on the lever, hoping that a demonstration would convince him.

  Before he had a chance to react, the “Master Caution” button flashed red, accompanied by its loud alarm. Right under it, the engine temperature gauges provided an explanation for what had been transpiring. One of them indicated 98 degrees Centigrade, and the other indicated 102. Both engines were overheating, a clear sign that they were burning up from the inside.

  I was faced with the worst possible dilemma: On one hand, keeping them on was our only hope of landing. On the other hand, they were just seconds away from catastrophic failure. It was just a matter of time before they were consumed by fire.

  “Shut down both engines,” I instructed Michael, unable to believe that I had been forced to do that to my aircraft. He nodded assent and obeyed, flicking the necessary switches. With the “Master Caution” alarm silencing, he returned to communications with the ground.

  “New Orleans, we’ve lost both engines again,” he uttered, managing to keep his fear out of his voice as the plane broke through the clouds.

  “United one-fifteen, I’m going to vector you to Lakefront Airport. You’re only six miles from Lakefront.”

  “Tower, I don’t think I’ll make it,” I stated to the air traffic controller. “I don’t have any power in the engines. We’re at four thousand feet. We’re going to declare an emergency. We have to decide where to put this thing.”

  “United one-fifteen, do you have visual reference on the ground at this time?” He asked, urgency speeding up his tone.

  “Affirmative.” My response was sharp. I had flown to New Orleans hundreds of times. The outskirts of the city were much different than most suburban areas in the US. The city was surrounded by canals and lakes. It was protected by an intricate system of levees, manmade barriers to protect it from flooding.

  “United one-fifteen, there is an Interstate Highway directly ahead of you at twelve o’clock. Three miles.”

  “That’s not an option, sir,” I rejected that idea, because highways are almost always full of cars. I would jeopardize the lives of more people on the ground, including the ones of the people onboard.

  “You’re four miles away from Lakefront Airport. Can you make it there?”

  “No, sir. We’re at three thousand feet and losing altitude.” I retorted, understanding that I was left with just one option: Landing on water. There was a canal directly ahead of the plane. “I’m going to have to make a ditching here.”

  “United one-fifteen, roger. Whatever you need to do, sir.”

  Twenty-five hundred feet from the ground, I sucked in a deep, cleansing breath. I hated my decision. A triple seven wasn’t designed to land on water. Pretty much everything could go wrong in such an eventuality. The impact could sheer the engines clean off and trigger an explosion. The tail could break off, and the passengers would be ejected out of the aircraft, due to the loss of cabin pressure. Yet, it was better than trying to reach an airport and crashing in a populated area.

  “Look!” Michael cried out, pointing at something outside. It was a levee, parallel to the canal we had been approaching.

  “We put it down on the grass?”

  “Yeah.” I hadn’t even completed my question and I had an answer to it. Without a doubt, that levee was a lot shorter and narrower than a runway. I couldn’t deny that it was safer than the water, though.

  “That’s where we’re going to go in?” Michael posed the question, turning to me.

  “You got it, buddy,” I gave an emphatic nod. I pressed the “intercom” button on my headset, my heart racing in my chest. “Prepare the cabin,” I ordered Linda, our senior flight attendant.

  “Head between your ankles! Hold your knees!” Despite the ambient noise, I could hear her instructions loud and clear.

  “Okay.” I exhaled hard, the altimeter reading 700 feet. “Landing gear down. Flaps.”

  “Landing gear down. Flaps deployed,” Michael called out, the corresponding lights turning green on the dashboard. I eased back on the yoke and gave it a series of gentle nudges to the right. My first officer yanked his crucifix from his chest and kissed it. The sideslip I attempted was a risky move, meant for gliders and small aircraft, not a huge plane like the triple seven. But this was a risk I had to take.

  The plane banked slightly to the right, getting into the position I was aiming for. At last, it was parallel to the canal, speeding towards the levee. I watched the rain-soaked grass growing larger, my grasp tightening around the yoke.

  “This is it,” I said to myself. “I’m not coming back to you in a body bag, Penny. That’s a promise.”

  Our bird bypassed a high cement wall in front of the levee as I spotted another one, hundreds of yards away.

  “Don’t let me down, baby,” I murmured, the rain leaving vertical trails on the windscreen as the length of the levee spread out in front of me. A loud bang, followed by a strong, upward push heralded our touchdown. Our bodies shot up at least five inches, before gravity slammed us back down again. By then, rivers of adrenaline were flowing through my veins. The force of the impact caused the yoke to vibrate as the plane banked to the right first and then to the left. Knowing that we could well skid off the levee due to its soggy surface, I applied gentle pressure to the brakes.

  “Speed one-fifty,” Michael called out, his chest rising up and down. “One-forty… One-thirty.”

  Staring out the windscreen, I felt the plane slowing down faster than usual. Grass and mud were working in perfect harmony, providing us the necessary stroke of luck. By then, the view of the cement wall had become much clearer. It had to have been at least fifty feet tall. The rain we had been battling up in the air, was now an invaluable ally. Having drenched the wall, it highlighted its form, making it stand out in the green backdrop.

  “We’re going to make it,” I remarked, looking over the structure. Another levee stretched out in the distance as my first officer continued to call out our speed.

  “Forty… Thirty…”

  A safe distance between us and the wall, the plane came to a gentle halt. I and Michael were jolted forward one last time, before our bodies returned to their previous positions. I let off a chuckle, easing my headset off. My friend burst out laughing, leaning over sideways with his arm raised in the air.

  “Fucking amazing job, man,” Michael praised, high-fiving me. “Fucking amazing.”

  Halfway through his second sentence, the sound that came from the cabin made me feel on top of the world: A long round of applause. Cheers and whistles soon joined in, rendering these the most moving moments of my entire career. Mixed feelings of pride and completion raced through my system as I realized what I had accomplished. Still, I couldn’t bother with myself just yet. We all had to get out of that plane.

  “Evacuate!” I spoke through the intercom.

  “Already ahead of you there, Captain.” Linda couldn’t hide the cheer in her voice. “We’re deploying the slides.”

  “Good,” I sighed, undoing my seatbelt. In the meantime, Michael had risen
from his seat and was unlocking the cockpit door.

  I followed his example and grabbed my jacket and my hat. Narrow patches of light were coming through the open doors of the aircraft. The flight crew had done a wonderful job. There were still people in the aisles, but most of them had already been evacuated. In less than a minute, Michael and I were the only ones left onboard. We slid down the nearest chute, drops of rain landing on my forehead as I did.

  Finding myself on the ground, I was amazed by the scent that lingered in the air. Soaked earth. Wet grass. That was it. No aviation fuel. There was nothing to even suggest that a massive jet like the triple seven was there.

  I jogged off alongside my friend, heading towards the passengers and the flight crew. A handful of them had amassed hundreds of yards down the levee. I glanced up at the stricken plane, wondering about the damage that the storm had inflicted upon it. Leaving the wind behind, I was in awe. Tiny portions of the red paint had flaked off. The underbelly of the fuselage had more dents than I could count. Moreover, the huge wheels of the landing gear were digging in the grassy dirt.

  I strode past a small group of passengers, locating Linda just feet from the larger group.

  “Is everyone okay? Any injuries?” I asked her, noticing a man lying on the dirt with five people gathered around him.

  “Just a sprained ankle,” she revealed, admiration written all over face. “He’ll be all right. You did it, Captain.”

  “We did it,” I corrected her, the moment a smiling Michael halted beside me.

  “Nah, don’t listen to him, Linda,” my friend drawled in a casual tone. “He did all the work. I was just monitoring the instruments.”

  At that point, the sound of sirens tore through the atmosphere. A whole host of ambulances and firetrucks raced along the road parallel to the levee, speeding past the houses. I sucked in a deep breath, savoring the view around me. The levee wasn’t pretty by any means. It was just a patch of soil and grass, next to a canal. The people on it were a different story. Perfect strangers, smiling and hugging each other in sheer delight. They were alive. They would see their loved ones again. To me, this was a greater reward than praise from the media, company bonuses and pats on the back put together.