by Les Abend
Chapter Two
Friday (One day earlier)
08:15 EDT
Jim adjusted the power levers to stop the unsynchronized throbbing of the two engines on the Boeing 767. Like most pilots, he found the noise annoying. As always, his copilot was oblivious. Mike’s head was lowered toward his flight bag on the right side of his seat. He seemed focused on retrieving something from the bag.
A muffled boom shook the airplane all the way into the flight controls. The electronic beep of the master caution system sounded in the cockpit. The amber caution lights were illuminated on both sides of the eyebrow panel. The EICAS alert-system screen in the center of the instrument panel annunciated the words, “AUTO PILOT DISCONNECT.”
Jim sat up rigid in his seat and instinctively gripped the control yoke with his left hand. With his thumb, he clicked the red autopilot disconnect button twice. The action silenced the caution siren, extinguished the amber light, and cleared the EICAS message from the screen. Ordinarily, it was no big deal. It was not unusual for an autopilot to experience a momentary fault and cause the warnings. It was a simple matter of re-connecting one of the other three autopilots with a push of a button. But something wasn’t right.
Jim continued to hand-fly the airplane at 37,000 feet, an untypical task. At high altitudes, the thin air made hand-flying a sensitive operation. Jim scanned the instrument panel for a sign of why the hairs were standing up on the back of his neck.
The sound of the electronic fire bell pierced the momentary silence. Both pilots glanced in unison at the EICAS display. The display now had the red words, “R ENGINE FIRE.” The master warning lights were blinking on both sides of the eyebrow panel. The right engine fire handle glowed red. Jim stabbed a finger at the master warning light on his side. The bell went silent.
Jim’s heart raced. He was not flying a simulator. It was not his annual recurrent training check ride. The drama unfolding before him was real.
“And I had high hopes that it was going to be a good day.” Jim remarked, his expression stone faced. “Engine Fire/Severe Damage checklist,” he commanded.
Mike leaned to his right and began to tap on the iPad that was attached to a suction cup mount against his sliding window. He searched for the appropriate electronic page of the emergency handbook. When he found the page, he pulled the iPad from its mount and held it in one hand.
In a methodical tone, Mike began to read. “Engine Fire/Severe Damage checklist.” He took a deep breath. “Auto-throttle arm switch.” He paused. “Off.” Mike reached over to the mode control panel in the eyebrow and moved the toggle of the auto-throttle switch down. “Off,” he re-stated. Mike glanced back at the iPad. “Right thrust lever…Close…The pilot flying will retard the thrust lever to idle.”
Mike nodded as he watched his captain move the correct thrust lever to the idle position.
“Close,” Jim confirmed.
A chime sounded in the cockpit. Both men glanced at the overhead panel. The FWD flight attendant light was illuminated in blue. The lead flight attendant was calling.
Mike glanced at Jim. He was waiting for approval or disapproval to answer the intercom. Jim shook his head. He sighed and said, “Let’s get through the checklist first. They probably want to know why they have no galley power.”
Mike nodded and began to recite more of the checklist. After he rotated the fire handle in the center console, he waited for the amber bottle discharge light to illuminate. When the light illuminated he reached down behind the center pedestal and unsnapped the intercom phone from its cradle.
Mike put the interphone to his ear and said, “Sorry, but we’ve been busy up here.”
“Mike, it’s Jackie. We’ve got serious problems back here.”
“What’s going on?”
“The right engine…when it blew up, or whatever it did…well…it threw stuff into the cabin at Row 19. We’ve got slices in the side of the fuselage. And…” Jackie paused for a brief moment. “I think two of the passengers in that row are…are dead. They were hit.”
Mike’s jaw tensed. “Are you sure, Jackie?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid so. It’s not good.”
“How big are the slices in the fuselage?”
“We can see daylight through them…there’s a handful…maybe about three inches long for each slice.”
“Shit. Thanks for the info. Do the best you can back there. We’re gonna get this thing on the ground ASAP. Probably Bermuda. As soon as we get things cleaned up here in the cockpit we’ll get back to you. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice had a guarded tone.
“Have you called for medical assistance yet?”
“Yes, we did. A nurse responded.” Jackie paused. “It didn’t take her long to start shaking her head. I’m looking down the aisle. I think she’s covering the Row 19 passengers with blankets right now.”
“Thanks, Jackie.”
Mike heard a click and then Jackie was no longer on the line. He reseated the interphone onto the cradle. It clacked into place. He looked at Jim.
“Two passengers may be dead. It sounds like the right engine threw shrapnel into the main cabin. There are holes in the fuselage.”
Jim shook his head. His expression was somber. “This really isn’t a good day.”
In the very brief moment that the two pilots took to contemplate the situation, the electronic siren broke the silence. The instrument panel was now a sea of red lights. The EICAS annunciated a new message among the list of others already displayed: “CABIN ALTITUDE”
Jim reached forward and jabbed the master warning light button in the glareshield eyebrow with his index finger. The siren stopped its high-pitched wail.
Both pilots glanced at the overhead panel. Their eyes focused on the needle in the round cabin altitude gauge. The needle was moving past ten thousand feet. The adjacent cabin rate gauge was showing a 300-feet-per-minute rate of climb. On a normal day they would have felt the pressurization change in their ears. Today, more urgent matters had distracted their attention. The holes in the fuselage were allowing pressurized air to seep outside.
Jim asked, “Did I have my second cup of coffee?” He shook his head while looking at the cabin altitude needle. “We’re losing the cabin,” Jim stated. He glanced at Mike. “I thought that I’d never have to say this in my career, but let’s get the masks on. Checklist.”
If they lost the cabin completely at thirty-seven thousand feet, the pressurization issue could render both pilots useless in about fifteen seconds. Jim and Mike reached for their oxygen masks. They squeezed the opposing red tabs of the release levers. The whooshing sound of air inflating the headband cage of the masks filled the cockpit. They secured the oval cup of the mask to their faces and released the tabs. The cages encapsulated their heads.
Someone not familiar with the system would have remarked on how the two of them looked like extras in a B-grade horror movie. It was as if the creepy octopus creature from Aliens had attacked their faces.
“You got me?” Mike asked, keying his mic switch on the control yoke and glancing at Jim. His voice sounded muffled and nasally over the speaker.
“I’m up, Darth Vader,” Jim said nodding.
Mike tried to grin, realizing that acknowledging his captain’s attempt at humor would ease the tension. But the oxygen mask and his own tension prevented the recognition. Instead, Mike began to recite the depressurization checklist from memory, “O2 masks…On…100 percent.”
Jim responded. “On. 100 percent.”
“Communications…established.”
“Established.”
“Cabin altitude and rate…check”
“It’s not controllable,” Jim stated.
“I agree.” Mike took a breath through his mask. “Passenger oxygen... On.” Mike glanced at Jim and then at the overhead panel.
“Time for the rubber jungle,” Jim said.
Mike reached up to the overhead panel and pushed the “Passenger O2” button. When th
e activation light illuminated, he nodded. He imagined the rows of yellow masks hanging from above passengers’ heads like moss from a cypress tree.
“Passenger O2…on. Descent…accomplish.”
Jim glanced at his altimeter and said, “We’ve started to drift down already because of the loss of the right engine.” The altimeter pointer was moving past 36,400 feet. He tilted his head back and stared at the cabin altimeter on the overhead. The small needle indicated a cabin pressure of twelve thousand feet. “We haven’t completely lost pressurization by any means. And there may be structural integrity issues considering the holes in the airplane. Would you agree that we don’t need to rush downhill at the moment?”
“I’m with you, boss.”
“All right.” Jim glanced at the transponder on the center console. “Put the emergency code in the box. Transmit on 121.5. Give a Mayday call. Let everybody know where we are and what we’re doing. Then get a hold of New York AIRINC on the HF and declare the emergency.” Jim glanced at his HSI display. “We only have about one hundred miles before we’re radar contact with New York Oceanic in Bermuda’s airspace. I’m going to turn away from the airway now so we don’t hit anybody on the way down.”
The flight was in an area of the Caribbean that had no radar coverage. Airplanes were separated by assigned speeds, routes, and altitudes. Each flight reported its position via a long-distance radio frequency to a contracted service called AIRINC. The AIRINC operator entered each reporting flight into a computer database which in turn created a real-time display of airplanes. The operator also had a direct link with New York Center.
Mike nodded at Jim’s instructions. He pushed the number two VHF button on his radio control panel and began to transmit. “Mayday. Mayday. Patriot Six-Three has experienced a catastrophic engine failure with a rapid depressurization. We have passenger injuries. We are a Boeing 767. Be advised that we are descending out of flight level Three-Six-Zero off airway Lima, four-six-two seventy-five miles south of PIREX intersection.”
As Mike began to repeat the message, Jim reached forward on the overhead panel and snapped on the landing light switches. It was part of the emergency procedure. It made them more visible to other airplanes. He turned the control wheel to the right, banking the airplane away from the invisible airway in the sky. The triangle that depicted the airplane on their HSI map displays began to move off the magenta course line.
Jim reached to his right and pulled the speed brake lever back. He felt the familiar buffeting. He glanced at the vertical speed indicator. The needle was settling on a 3,000 feet per minute rate of descent. That rate should keep them out of trouble with the cabin altitude. And if the airplane had structural problems, it should hold together till they landed.
Had passengers really died on board his airplane? Jim’s stomach tightened. He hadn’t so much as scratched the paint in twenty-five years with the airline. And now this. Christ…it will be on CNN before he gets home. He glanced at his radio control panel and pushed the round PA button. The button glowed red. Jim gulped and took a deep breath. He squeezed the mic switch on his control yoke.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Sanders. I am sorry for not making an announcement earlier. As you may have imagined, we have been working through our problems up here in the cockpit. You are probably aware that the right engine has suffered major damage. In addition, the engine pieces that entered the fuselage have caused a pressurization leak. We are in the process of descending rapidly in order to get down to a habitable altitude. The oxygen masks were deployed as a precaution. Although oxygen is not an issue, please use the masks until you are advised that we are at a safe altitude.”
Jim released the mic switch for a moment and took another deep breath. He glanced at his copilot. Mike was displaying an upturned thumb. He had made contact with New York AIRINC. Jim nodded.
Jim re-keyed his mic. “Ladies and gentlemen, this airplane is perfectly capable of flying on one engine. We have no controllability issues. I am diverting the airplane to Bermuda. We anticipate arriving safely at the airport in St. George in approximately thirty minutes. As I am sure you have been doing, please follow the instructions of your flight attendants. They are experts in your safety. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Jim released his mic switch and glanced out the forward windscreen for a brief moment. Nothing but pastel-blue ocean lay before them. The island of Bermuda seemed light years away. Everything that he had done in his airline career would be focused into the performance he was about to give in the next few minutes. He shook the realization from his thoughts. Who could have imagined that a simple Caribbean flight from Port of Spain in Trinidad to JFK would be his defining moment?
Through his oxygen mask Mike said, “We’re good, boss. New York cleared us direct to Bermuda’s runway three-zero outer marker. Descend at our discretion. No other traffic should be in our way.” Mike pointed at the radio control panel on the center console. “The next frequency is in the box. They’re ready for us. We’ll be in radar contact soon.”
“Good job,” Jim said. He turned toward Mike and attempted to smile. Despite the cumbersome apparatus engulfing his face, his expression was visible. His eyes twinkled. “This is damn serious shit, isn’t it?”
Mike nodded.
08:25 EDT
A glance down the aisle from the back of the airplane was all it took to realize that things weren’t right. The jungle of rubber masks dangling from the overhead ceiling panels made the scene even more chaotic. Newspapers and assorted personal items littered the blue floor and the handful of empty seats. Other than an occasional sniffle from a passenger, the cabin held an eerie silence.
Jackie walked forward toward the front of the airplane. The green oxygen bottle was slung over one shoulder with the yellow strap. She took quick breaths through the mask that was cupped to her face. With the airplane in a noticeable descent, the floor angle required her to pace herself as though she was descending a steep hill. Although Jackie attempted to divert her eyes from Row 19, her efforts were futile. Row 19 was a train wreck.
Aside from the occasional disconcerting slice of sunlight that pierced through the small holes in the side of the airplane, the carnage in the seats was worse. Red was spattered everywhere in the immediate vicinity. Red was on the seatbacks. It had sprayed across the passenger service units above the seats. It had spread to the floor. It had dotted the clothes and faces of nearby passengers.
The two victims had become lifeless forms, covered with blue blankets from head to torso. Their legs flowed out from underneath the blankets in distorted positions. Jackie had helped the nurse cover them, treating the chore as a matter of course…until now. Now as she approached the victims’ row, she had to fight the lump clogging her throat and the moisture seeping into her eyes. It was not the time.
An electronic chime sounded as Jackie approached the cabin class divider bulkhead. She looked at the small light that was illuminated in the ceiling near the forward galley. The pilots were calling. Jackie began to increase her pace. From a seat in first class, a hand reached up and gently gripped her wrist.
“Miss?” a scratchy voice asked.
Jackie glanced down at a man with wispy silver hair, wearing a monogrammed shirt and a striped tie, who had pulled the oxygen cup away from his face. “Yes, sir. Can I help you?”
The man released his grip and beckoned Jackie to lean closer. Jackie knelt on one knee and tilted her head toward the man.
“Has the crew considered this to be an act of terrorism?” the silver-haired man asked, his eyes narrowing. His tone had no inflection.
Jackie sighed, trying to hide the surprise of the unexpected question. She moved her oxygen mask to the side of her face. “Uh…no, sir. Right now the crew is busy trying to handle the emergency.”
“I understand, but please have them consider the possibility. Trinidad has a history of breeding terrorists. It’s a documented fact.”
“I appreciate your concerns, but
it will not change the way the pilots treat the condition of this airplane.” Jackie began to rise. “I’m sorry, but I need to answer my intercom.”
The silver-haired man nodded. His face held a grim expression.
Jackie strode into the first class galley. The man’s statement had given her an unsettled feeling. She unsnapped the intercom phone from its cradle and slipped the mask off her flowing brown hair. She put the phone to her ear.
“It’s Jackie. Sorry for the delay.”
A muffled voice from the cockpit answered. “No problem. How’s things going back there?” It was the captain.
“As well as can be expected. We’ve got the cabin pretty well secured.” Jackie cleared her throat. “It didn’t take much. When the oxygen masks popped out, everyone was scared to death. This is the first time I’ve seen passengers actually stay in their seats when the seat belt sign is on.”
“I can only imagine,” Jim remarked. “Our Bermuda ETA is about twenty minutes. We’re almost level at 10,000 feet. It’s safe to take off your masks. I’ll advise the passengers in my next PA.” Jim paused. “I don’t anticipate the need for an evacuation. Unless you guys see something different, our indications are that the fire has been extinguished.”
Jackie said, “There’s a lot of goop dripping out around the engine. Parts of it are pretty black, but no fire.”
“Good deal. Review your procedures just in case we encounter a problem. I anticipate us taxiing to the gate under our own power.”
“Okay.”
“And Jackie…”
“Yes?”
“Do we have injuries other than the passengers hit by the engine pieces?” Jim wasn’t ready to use the word “dead.” And technically, until a medical professional made a pronouncement, he couldn’t.
