"What we? There's no company base there. And… damn it, it is the next longest runway!" She punched it in, and recalculated. She could make it, easily. She could still make Anueterriza, barely… but with no margin. And she needed margin, now. She sucked in a breath, and hit the mic. "OrbCon, TransCon 1453 requests amended urgent clearance to Tercia."
"TransCon 1453, Tercia's in rebel territory. Can you make the Fed side of the line?"
"The what line? Rebel who now? All I'm seeing on ACARS is runways lengths and fuel availability No NOTAMs on airspace!" Her voice broke on that, and there was a silence on the line, more terrible than all the alarms.
"Your company didn't brief you on the war zone?"
"War zone? My company told me I had an amended schedule due to a no-show and I had fifteen minutes to get to this gate and fly this leg so I didn't run out my duty day before landing. What fucking war zone?" And there went her career, swearing on open channel, on the tapes. She would have dropped her head in her hands if she weren't so busy trying to keep on top of damage reports. She made sure her finger was off the mic button as she swore as the master alarm bloomed again. "Fuck off, not right now! I don't need one more thing going wrong!" She felt an impulse to apologize to Blondie for the unprofessional language - but before she could act on it, OrbCon came back.
"Ah, TransCon 1453, Fed government declared Nueva Terra to officially be in a state of rebellion this morning, when the rebels seized eight provincial cities, and cut off access to the capital."
"And nobody updated airspace and canceled flights in and out?" The words hurt to say. They hurt to think. She didn't even have to look at the navcomp to know there was nowhere she could reach that wasn't ocean or war zone.
"They're not shooting at the civilian airliners." OrbCon sounded unhappy. Not nearly as unhappy as she felt.
"Rebels aren't. Feds are." Blondie said behind her, and she could have hit him, then, if she had a hand free. Softer, he said, "Didn't expect to get hit until we came in for landing, though."
Michelle sucked in a few deep breaths, letting them out, trying to think of what the hell to do next. The bird started singing a low bass groan as she started hitting atmosphere thick enough to drag on the skin, and a nasty vibration started to shake the stick. "All else fails, fly the plane. Fly the bloody…” She took another deep breath, and committed. "OrbCon, TransCon 1453's declaring an emergency. Hydraulics failure. I have 145 souls on board. Diverting to Tercia based on longest available runway, and expect main gear failure."
"Copied, 1453. Cleared direct to Tercia, all available runways. We'll keep traffic out of your way." A pause. "Fuel remaining?"
"Standby." She wasn't going to run the calculations one more time; the stick was developing an very unhealthy shake that was taking up the attention needed for that. "Three hours." Michelle took her finger off the mic, and said, softly, "If the engines last that long."
Behind her, she heard Blondie saying a very, very soft prayer.
She called up anything in a line between current position and Tercia; but there really wasn’t anything. It was all ocean. "Oh, this is going to suck…" She disabled autopilot, setting the stick over to kill the last of the roll that she could, trimming to try to keep her stable. She pinged emergency to the cabin crew, and then took another deep breath, forcing her voice to calm, light, and in control.
"Folks, this is your captain speaking. Descent's going to be very rough today. Secure all loose items, especially your handbrains, and strap yourselves down hard enough you think your harness is going to leave bruises, or you will get bashed when you bounce off the bulkheads. Cabin crew, please get buckled in now and remain so for full descent." She double-checked her straps, hauling them tighter. The last ping she sent to cabin crew was the one she'd hoped to never use outside of the simulator: prepare passengers for crash landing.
Behind her, she heard a comm go off, and Blondie said quietly, "No, she's under control. We've got a hydraulic failure, and outboard flight controls are locked."
"They'd be locked at this speed anyway." Whatever he was, it definitely wasn't a pilot. She didn't have the reflexes to do this by hand; she had to drop to implant to match the wobble with control inputs. Even then, she'd have used the autopilot if its responses wouldn't be more likely to get them killed, since there was no "gaping hole in the fuselage" mode. And that took all her attention; she left the displays up, but ceased to pay attention with her eyes.
Then things really got rough.
3
By the time Michelle pulled the bird through transonic and down in the relatively calm region of subsonic speeds, the wailing from the wind in the fresh rips in the fuselage was matched with the wailing from the last few alarms she couldn't silence, and the bruises blooming against the straps were matched by the fire in her nerves from the tingler. The plane had stabilized, except for an odd leftward roll that came and went in little hiccups, and she was aimed at Tercia and roughly in line with the runway, 30 miles out.
She sighed, and slumped in her seat. "That's about done for, then."
"Ma'am?" She twitched; she forgotten Blondie in the check airman seat. "What's done for?"
"We're on stabilized approach. This is the part where you go back, and strap in, and I take a few minutes to breathe before we get to the very last, very exciting landing." She didn't have the energy to turn around and look at him.
"Are there any systems still functioning?" He had to be looking at the near-solid red on the boards and function lights.
"Oh, yes. Engines are running, or we'd be going fairly well straight down. She's a lovely bird for suborbital, but she has all the gliding characteristics of a well-made brick." She looked around for a moment, confirming visually the information on her implants. "Electrical's running. Mostly. At least up here. Cabin's got partial power. You could still make yourself a hot meal in the galley right now." She waited, but he didn't rise to the bait. "Linkages are mostly good, or we'd be in a corkscrewing spiral right now. More of one, anyway. Comms - I can talk to people who can't do a damn thing to help… no, that's not fair. They're getting traffic out of my way, and expediting landing."
"Air is still running?"
"Yes, we're not depressurized. Thank goodness for large mercies." Michelle sighed. "I would kill for a bottle of water, but I don't dare leave the controls. She keeps hinking into a leftward roll on me."
"Where are they?" He looked around, and she turned on the lights over the crew locker. "Got it."
"Get one for yourself. Air travel dries you out." She tried to smile, as he came around in the small space by the cockpit chair.
"Here." Blondie cracked the cap, and handed the bottle over. "And food. You need to eat." He had some of the travel bars cabin crew and pilots alike stashed around the plane. "I'd give you a combat stim, but I'm fresh out."
"I've heard those are a great way to not sleep for three days." She drank half the bottle before she had to stop to breathe.
He chuckled. "Depends on which ones you get. And how tired you are." He waited until she'd finished the bottle, and pressed another one in her hands, taking the empty.
"Make sure that gets in the secured trash. Don't need to be pegged with it when we land." She fumbled with the wrapper, and he took it away, opened it, and gave it back to her. "Thank you. I'm sorry; I try not to be foul-mouthed in front of passengers or crew."
"I've heard worse. You're fine, ma'am." He sat back in the chair, buckling himself in without having to be told, and from the crinkling sounds, helped himself to food and drink as well. She pulled up the trajectory and associated readouts.
"Going to be warm in Tercia."
"Looks like." He agreed, and let the silence spin out. "Ma'am, I haven't been in a crash before. What are you expecting?"
"Without hydraulics, I can't get flaps down. We're going to be making very wide, very shallow turns to stay controllable, using differential engine thrust. When we get close, I'm going to see if the electrical motor to the gear s
till works, and use that to slow us down as we come in high and fast. If it does, we may have two shots at landing. If it doesn't, I'm going to try to blow the gear down and locked. Whether that works or not, we're committed to first attempt." She drew a deep breath, and let it out, then took another drink as if trying to draw courage from a water bottle. "If I can't blow the gear down, I'm dumping all remaining fuel to limit the post-crash fire when I skid her in on the belly. Assuming the valves are still responding."
"Not going to dump it anyway, just in case?"
"Nah. Scuttlebutt was saying there's severe supply chain issues out this way. If it can be fixed, I'll need the fuel to ferry it to the maintenance base in Anueterriza. If it can't, they'll salvage it and use it on whatever I'm flying out with whoever else." She chewed on the bar, surprised at how good it tasted. As last meals went, it wasn't what she'd choose, but it was far better than nothing.
OrbCon was calling, again. "TransCon 1453, OrbCon."
"1453, go ahead."
"Are you able to transfer to Nueva Terra Center on 136.28, or do you need to remain on this frequency?"
"Able to transfer. Thanks for all the help, OrbCon. Go with grace."
For the second time, OrbCon broke their strict adherence to standard speech. "Fly safe, 1453."
She clicked the mic twice, and transferred over. Blondie stayed quiet and still as she checked in, confirmed emergency, destination, and number of souls on board. When the handoff was complete, Center said, "You're cleared to land at Tercia. Winds currently 110 at 12, altimeter 30.04."
"Cleared to land Tercia, TransCon 1453." She replied, letting go of the mic and shaking her head. "Here, you'd better take the trash now. Not long until it gets interesting."
"Anything else I can get for you?"
"The reassurance you're snugged down hard in that seat, so I don't have to worry about you." She replied. Once she had his confirmation, she started running the numbers. Ten miles out was coming up fast at her speed… "Center, 1453's going to drop the gear to slow down."
She moved the switch to gear down, started the backup motor - and the plane bucked at the change in airflow as the gear doors dropped open. The nosewheel came down with a grinding whine and locked, but the main gear stayed up in the wells. Without the mains to counterbalance the nose wheel’s drag, the airplane pitched sharply nose-down, trying to tumble. She hauled back hard on the controls to keep from diving in, flipped the protective cover and hit the emergency switch to blow the gear down into place. A sharp thump traveled up through the floorboards, felt as much as heard, and the airplane ceased trying to pinwheel. Three green lights showed gear down and locked, even as the wind noise increased and the plane sank, harder and faster.
She had to increase throttle, bringing the engines up to keep from dropping too fast. The trajectory arc kept blinking as it adjusted to the rapidly changing altitude, and fresh alarms sounded. Too high, too fast… but that was coming down now. Center was calling, asking if she could switch to approach; she could hear them on the implant, but the cockpit was too noisy.
She switched to Approach, but all she could transmit was roaring noise. Approach took the handoff, voices rising in stress as they couldn't communicate, couldn't tell what was going on. The airspace was strangely empty - only a handful of other planes, and she wondered if they'd diverted, or gotten the message and grounded elsewhere.
She crept the throttle back, and pinged cabin crew - assume crash positions. Blondie wouldn't get the message - but he could see the earth rising quickly, farms and fields along the coast gaining sharp definition as they came down. She couldn't throttle back too much, or the plane would start falling with a stomach-wrenching lurch. But she had her trajectory now, her aim point picked out, longest runway directly in front of her. They had the lights turned up full, blazing a trail in for her even in broad daylight, and the flashing red of the fire trucks gathered at midfield for her landing.
Michelle waited almost a hair's breadth too long, making certain the runway was assured, then chopped the throttles. For a moment she was bleeding off airspeed, threshold flashing by, then smacking into the runway with a violent thump, hearing the squeal of overstressed metal and bangs as tires blew. Brakes were nonfunctional, as was directional nose wheel steering, but the wind was light and almost directly down the runway. The bird was slowing down by sheer friction. Gradually, very slowly, they slowed down. The terminal was well behind them, and they were passing the thousand-foot marker from the far end when they hit a walking pace, and dropped to a crawl at the 500-foot marker. Finally, just before the overrun, the plane came to a rattling, teeth-jarring, thumping halt.
She sucked in a breath, then another, feeling like she'd been sucker-punched by the harness, and triggered the mic. "Approach, TransCon is down and stopped on the runway. Switching to Tower now."
She changed frequencies. “Tower, TransCon 1453. Are we on fire, or can we get a tow into a gate?" She tried to put a smile into the words, but mostly she thought she just sounded exhausted.
"No fire, 1453. We'll bring jet stairs and buses to you, if you'll hold tight." The Tower operator’s voice was filled with relief.
"Thank you; I'll let cabin crew know so they don't blow the doors." She pinged the update to crew, and waited a moment. Once acknowledgment came back, Michelle reached up, and punched the announce with a shaking hand.
"Attention folks, this is Captain Lauden speaking. We have diverted to Tercia due to a little case of hydraulic failure. Sit tight for a few minutes. These fine folks are about to bring some jetstairs and transport out to us. Weather at Tercia is a lovely 72 degrees and sunny, with winds from 070 at 12 knots, and you may now use your handbrains for calling. Please remain seated until the jetstairs arrive. Thank you for flying TransContinental Airlines Fight 1453, and enjoy your stay."
She turned the seat belt sign off, then powered down the engines. Beacon off, transponder to standby… the resumption of normal checklist, even out on the runway at an accident scene, helped make the world make sense. As she shut down, the air circulation died, and the lights flickered to low on battery power as she powered down the flight computers. Her hand hesitated at APU start. Normally she’d immediately fire up the little engine that provided ship’s power, but without hydraulics, the fewer things to go wrong, the better. They'd do fine on battery.
As she went down the row of switches turning off the fuel pumps, fuel control switches, and the weather radar, Blondie spoke softly. "That was some damned fine flying."
"Any landing you can walk away from…” She smiled at the old joke. But more serious things intruded. "You really do need to get back with the pax, before people show up and start the inevitable paperwork and meetings."
He unbuckled, and came forward, crouching slightly in the confined area of the cockpit so he could stand over her. "Are you going to be all right?"
She looked up at him, and found a smile. "Of course. I'm always fine; I'm a pilot." He snorted, and patted her on the shoulder before turning away. She went to undo her implant attach cables, and the sleeve of the coat got in the way. "Hey. You forgot your jacket."
"Keep it." He looked back, hand on the door frame, and nodded at her. "You earned it."
4
Michelle stood at the door to the crash pad, peering at the address and code written in pen on the back of a luggage tag. The flight attendant's mercy was better than her handwriting. The taxi driver had been able to identify the crew house, but she couldn't make out the door code. The first try didn't work, nor the second. Before she could work out a third attempt, the door opened. A statuesque blonde stared down at her, and turned away. "It's all right; it's just a lost pilot."
"That's mine!" A voice called from inside. "You can let her in!"
The blonde sighed, and curled her lip. "Come in, I guess." She reluctantly held the door a little wider.
Michelle bowed lightly, and picked up her luggage, turning sideways to squeeze past. The house smelled of hair care products, la
undry soap, greasy microwave snacks, and perfume. Inside, she found her cabin crew among the crowd of people in the living room seated and sprawled around a paused sensie flick. They mostly looked as surprised and unhappy to see a pilot at their party as the blonde door dragon; only her crew looked… worried.
Michelle met her crew's eyes and bowed deeply enough her hair would have touched the floor if it were loose. "Thank you all. Very much. You were wonderful today. I am proud to have served with you."
Her senior attendant, Brianne, spoke into the tense silence. "Are you okay?"
"Pilot's not being an arrogant shit. Of course she's not okay." The door dragon snarked, but fell silent at the looks from her crew.
"It has been a very, very long day." She found a smile, but it didn't convince any of them. "For all of us, I think. I could just… something to eat that's not an energy bar?"
Three people jumped up, and Maria reached her first. "This way! Sit down, you look like you're about to fall over."
"Thank you." She sat, and closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again, forcing attentiveness. They were still watching, looking worried - the sensie flick was still paused.
Maria was rattling open cupboards, pulling out boxes. "Are you allergic…" At Michelle's head shake, she brightened up. "Good. I'll make you some breakfast tacos."
"Maria! You don't have to cook for me! You're off the clock!" Some things even the densest pilot knew were insulting.
Maria whipped around, and pointed a spatula at Michelle's face. "Sit! Down!"
Michelle dropped back into the seat like she was boneless. "Yes, ma'am." In the silence that followed, she dropped her head in her hands, and said, "If I may trouble you… how did he get in the cockpit?"
"How badly did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine." She realized too late that the quick response convinced absolutely no one, and there was no way to explain it was the actual truth. "I just… I can't figure out how he got in."
Going Ballistic Page 3
