“Twice.”
“Twice?”
“Did I stutter? Two strikes on approach while they were diverting into Cologne. They never made it to Frankfurt. Just find Gentry.”
15
Austral Clipper
“Heating up out there,” Tom observed as the familiar reddish tint spread across the nose. “Remind the pax for me, will you?”
“Got it,” Ryan said as he grabbed the intercom phone. “Good evening again folks, this is your first officer. We’ve just passed Mach 5, so you might notice the tips of the wings are starting to glow. That’s okay, but it means your windows are heating up too. Until we get into space, for your own safety please don’t touch them. Believe me, they get hot. Don’t ask how I know,” he ended glibly.
Chances were very good that no one could reach the windows anyway. They were arranged as parallel rows of portholes, each about the size of a dinner plate and by design almost a full arm’s length from any adjacent seats.
Two more chimes from Marcy confirmed the passengers remained safely in their seats. “Cabin is set for climb.”
“O2 inlets closed?”
“Affirmative. Both sides are buttoned up tight, all access points barber-poled.”
“Okay then,” Tom said. “Hang on to your butts.” There was an even more dramatic push backwards as he smoothly pulled the control yoke into his lap, setting up a steeper climb angle.
Austral Clipper’s nose and wings glowed cherry red as it shot out of the atmosphere. Hurtling past two hundred thousand feet, nothing about it resembled an airliner anymore. Aerodynamic controls became useless as the air they needed to bite into was rapidly left behind. From now on, any adjustments would be made using their reaction-control jets.
Confident they were holding pitch angle, Tom stole a sideways glance from a side window. He found the view to be forever irresistible. They were above Canada now, streaking towards Labrador. Sparsely lit cities receded beneath them as the sky ahead transformed from deep violet to black. Icy Hudson Bay fanned out towards the northern horizon, barely visible in the early gray light as the land fell away.
Faint wisps of seawater traced along barren shoreline in the rapidly approaching dawn. They would soon be over Greenland, with barely enough time to see its immense icecap painted by the early sunrise. It would pass mostly unobserved beneath them as they raced along the top of their arc over Europe, too early yet to roll over for a look.
…
Wow. So this is what the astronauts felt like, Wade thought, then realized that he was about to join their ranks. “I must weigh a ton,” he grunted from his perch behind the pilots. The plane vibrated steadily but the ride had become much smoother as they left the surrounding envelope of air. The dark sky ahead was all he could see; they were climbing too steeply for him to make out the horizon but for a fleeting glimpse through the corners of a side window.
“More like six hundred pounds,” Ryan said. “But it gets your attention.”
Wade searched the barely-familiar displays on the control panel, looking for their speed and altitude. There it was: 8500 knots and two hundred fifty thousand feet. Holy crap—that’s like Mach 12, he marveled. “So you guys still use knots and feet?”
“Not for long. We have to keep ATC happy until we cross the Karman boundary,” Ryan explained, referring to the semi-official threshold of where space began. “Units will switch over once we pass 100 kilometers.”
“When’s shutdown?”
Ryan pointed at the center display. “See the eight ball?”
Wade saw the familiar attitude indicator, which showed their position relative to the horizon. Below it was a less-familiar graph of their vertical profile.
“Just below that spaghetti chart,” Ryan said, “are speed and altitude targets.”
Wade could see the empty graph filling in as they approached the shutdown point, accompanied by a timer counting down steadily. Hit those targets, and the rest of their flight would be governed purely by physics. As the astronauts used to say, Isaac Newton would take over the wheel.
…
Colin Magrath looked out the window above his shoulder as they thundered past three hundred twenty thousand feet—over sixty miles high. They were now technically in space, but it had been impossible to tell the difference for the last few minutes. The sky was deep black with earth’s curvature clearly visible. The atmosphere below traced a distinct and startlingly thin blue glow along the horizon. They would be weightless soon and he could breathe easy again.
Bloody hell, he thought. They weren’t mucking around, were they? He tightened his grip on the armrests until the pain in his knuckles distracted him from those sensations he wanted to block out. He found himself longing for the simple company of his assistants seated behind, but would never let anyone know how truly terrified he was of flying.
16
Austral Clipper
“Propellant state?” Tom asked, not taking his eyes off the heads-up projection. He couldn’t afford to spend much time with his head down looking for numbers.
“Eighty-three grand,” Ryan replied. “O2 at sixty.”
A new symbol appeared in his display, the hollow diamond of a velocity target creeping up to signal their shutdown point. A quick look down at the profile graph agreed, telling him the flight computer should command a throttle chop right on time. So far, he hadn’t seen any of the hiccups they’d experienced before. The diamond began to brighten as it drew closer to merge with their shutdown target. “Coming up on MECO.”
“I show same. Standing by,” Ryan confirmed, once again keeping one hand over the autopilot cutoff. He turned to face their observer. “That’s main-engine cutoff.”
“Can’t wait,” Wade grunted in reply.
…
Denver
Penny began to relax as she watched the same information on their monitors. A crisp white triangle traced along the arc of 501’s path, marking their position as they closed in on the predicted shutdown point. Those guys are really smoking, she thought, checking their energy state against her own rough calculations.
“Clipper team, this is Stratton.”
One of the dispatchers picked up on the loop. “Go ahead.”
“They look good from where I sit. Anything I need to know?” she asked, preparing to call Hammond.
“All go, not that it matters much at this point. Goose Bay’s close to velocity blackout, Keflavik and Bergen are still clear if they have to divert.”
Any diversion short of their destination would be impossible in another few minutes; the flight’s ballistics would guarantee that. They were committed to some kind of suborbital hop, it was just a question of where they would end up. That sometimes made ocean crossings dicey—everything had to be working perfectly before any flight could be allowed past the no-return point. And the faster they were going, the sooner it would appear.
…
Austral Clipper
Following the shutdown projection on his display, Tom quietly recited his own mental countdown. “Cutoff in three…two…one.”
The sonorous howl still reverberating from below confirmed what their instruments showed: all three engines were still running at full power. The automated controls were still buggy. They would have to hand-fly it now, but at least they weren’t doing a skip burn.
“Could’ve sworn that was fixed?” Ryan wondered as he cut off the autopilot. He was only half joking.
“Looks like the flight data computer’s bust again. Setting flight idle,” Tom said with frustration as he briskly pulled the throttles back.
Nothing happened.
The pilots exchanged bewildered looks. What the…?
His frustration turned to urgency. “Command shutdown,” he said, and slammed the levers back past the idle detents to command a full engine cutoff.
Still nothing.
“Emergency cutoff!”
He never raised his voice, but the dreaded qualifier emergency immediately caught their ob
server’s attention. “What’s going on, fellas?” Wade asked anxiously.
“Later!” Ryan shot back, and pulled a red-bordered emergency checklist from beside his seat. “Emergency cutoff…hoo boy.” He paused to take a second look at the procedure. “Tom, this assumes atmospheric flight,” he said plaintively.
“Figured that when I came up short on a memory aid,” Tom said. “We need to hurry.” If they didn’t shut down soon, they’d overshoot Singapore on re-entry and be forced to turn around and fly back or divert farther downrange.
Ryan began reciting the check items, one by one. “Autothrottles at cutoff?”
“Done.”
“Confirm start valves closed?”
“Closed.”
“Igniters off?”
“All three,” Tom confirmed.
“Propellant valves closed?” Ryan asked as he traced the fuel system schematic etched into the switch panel overhead.
“Closed.”
“O2 isolation valves closed?”
“Iso valves closed.”
That was it. No more check items. They exchanged baffled stares as the engines continued thundering away.
Ryan turned the checklist over in his hands, hoping they’d missed something. What the hell is going on here?
“I don’t know…we’re off the map now,” Tom said as if reading his mind. “Check the breakers on those isolation valves.”
Ryan twisted to reach the circuit breaker panel behind him. “They’re all closed. Nothing popped.”
“Cycle them anyway.”
He pressed and released each one, with no effect. “Engine fire procedure?” he suggested cautiously.
Tom reached for three red handles centered above the panel, then paused. Pulling them would automatically engage everything they’d just tried and dump fire retardant into the burners. It might force the automatic shutdown sequencers, but once the fire bottles had been discharged the engines would have to go through a major overhaul back on the ground. They would be left flying a hundred-thousand pound, hypersonic glider. “No, not yet,” he decided. “We’ll still need them for approach and landing.”
Ryan checked their trajectory. “Right now, that would appear to be somewhere in Indonesia,” he said glumly. The vector kept extending farther around the globe as they gained altitude and speed, and they were rapidly running out of ideas.
Their attention was diverted by a persistent ding, accompanied by a yellow light on the radio panel. Denver was calling.
…
Denver
“Umm…Charlie?” Penny asked calmly. “That’s not a telemetry error, is it?” Austral Clipper’s flight path had just shot well past their planned cutoff and it didn’t appear to be slowing down.
“No way—just ran a diagnostic check. Maintenance controller confirms it too. They’re still burning.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said testily. “They’re still under thrust, but damned if we know why. I just sent them an ACARS message,” he said, referring to their airborne data system, “but they’re not responding. I was about to try Satcom voice.”
“Do it,” she ordered. “Find out what’s going on up there. They’re about to seriously overshoot.”
“Stand by.” He switched over to the air-to-ground satellite radio. “Clipper 501, this is flight control. How copy, over?”
He was met with silence, and unconsciously pressed the earpiece in closer as if that would improve their connection. “501, Denver ops, how copy?” he repeated.
There was a sudden crackle of static. “Denver, 501 copies you five-by-five. Kind of busy up here right now,” a voice hurriedly replied. It sounded like Hunter.
They could sense his tension through the attenuating static. “501, need to confirm you are still under power. We now predict termination at Jakarta.”
“’Termination’ is a really ugly word, Denver.” Definitely Hunter.
“Roger that, 501. Request your status, over.”
A different voice finally replied to their query. “This is Gentry. We have real trouble up here. All three engines are runaways. The autothrottles commanded flight idle but did not execute. No joy on manual or emergency cutoffs. We are considering pulling the fire bottles.”
“We copy your runaway engines,” he repeated for Penny’s benefit as she plugged her headset into an adjacent jack. “No effect from command and emergency shutdown procedures. Any danger of overheat at this time?”
“Negative for now. Engines are hot but holding equilibrium. They just won’t shut down.”
“You get all that, Penny?”
“Yeah, I got it,” she said. “Are they declaring an emergency?” She already suspected the answer.
Grant leaned back into his console. “Are you declaring an emergency at this time?”
The silence seemed interminable, though it only lasted a few seconds.
More silence was followed by another static burst and Tom’s voice once more. “That’s affirmative…we are declaring an emergency at this time. Please advise Center, we have our hands full. Will advise intended destination when able. 501 out.”
By now everyone else in flight control was staring at them and suspecting trouble. Penny grabbed a passing dispatcher by the shoulder. “Call Hammond and get him down here pronto. Tell him Gentry’s flight declared an emergency. He’ll hammer you with questions; just get him down here and I’ll brief him.”
She then spun on the maintenance and systems controllers, who had likewise been listening intently. “You guys have any ideas? Any way we can bypass the propellant feeds to choke off those engines without trashing the whole works?”
“Working on it,” one replied abruptly. The other technician was already on the phone and furiously poring over schematics.
“Hurry up, gentlemen,” she said forcefully. “This could get real nasty, real quick.”
She made a note of their speed and altitude from the tracking display. Turning back to Grant, she asked about their weight and propellant then grabbed a notepad to work through some quick figures. Her heart sank at the result.
A cold, hollow feeling settled in her stomach. They’ve got the delta-v. Dear God.
“We don’t have much time here, people.”
17
Austral Clipper
They were now hand-flying the plane as it rocketed past four hundred thousand feet. “We need to get this sucker under control fast,” Tom said. “I’m worried about our final velocity.” The graph of their predicted terminal point was now well past Jakarta and sliding eastward, arcing back up towards the Pacific.
Ryan understood immediately. If that velocity vector closed back over their departure point…“We have enough energy to make Perth, maybe even Brisbane, if we can get her back down in one piece,” he said. “Think you can do it?”
“Not up to me—checking RCS authority now.” Tom gently pushed the yoke forward to fire the reaction-control jets. The nose pitched down slightly, but it used a lot of propellant in the process. They were far less effective when firing at a tangent against the main engines.
Wade piped up behind them. “I can see we’re going way farther than you planned. Why won’t the engines shut down?” he asked suspiciously.
“If we knew why, then we could do something about it,” Tom shot back in exasperation. He caught himself and continued more calmly. “We carried a lot of extra propellant, so they could burn a long time. Too long,” he explained. “I need to shallow out our climb angle and get us back into the atmosphere before it runs out, or we end up with too much momentum.”
They were still over Canada but talking about diverting to the other side of the world. “Wouldn’t you want that? I mean, can you even land this thing dead-stick?” Wade asked, afraid the Clipper wouldn’t behave very well with dead engines.
“Not what I meant,” Tom said. “We may not get down at all.”
“What in hell does that mean? What are you talking about?”
Tom
pointed at the primary flight display. “Look at our horizontal trajectory…you see how the end point keeps creeping back towards Denver? That’s bad.”
Now he was thoroughly confused. “How is that bad?” he asked. “Wouldn’t that put us back where we started? Isn’t that a good thing?”
“No. Look down here at velocity change, delta-v. If we don’t find a way to slow down real soon, we’ll pass 9,000 meters per second. That’s the magic number to connect the circle.”
Wade had been trying to comprehend but everything was happening too fast. He did know enough to understand where this conversation was headed—indeed, where they were headed.
The color drained from his face at the sudden realization.
“We’re going into orbit?”
18
Denver
Hammond rushed into the operations center and forced himself to project calm, though inside his guts were on fire. Everyone appeared to be tied up on the phones or otherwise engaged, which he expected. A few rifled through system schematics and performance tables. Over at the air traffic desk, a harried-looking woman hovered over a search-and-rescue chart of the North Pacific as she balanced a telephone on her shoulder.
Now that ain’t good, he thought. Looking once more around the room, he finally barked, “Where’s Stratton?” To his surprise, she turned and hopped up from the console directly ahead of him. He immediately recognized the strain reflected in her face.
Penny didn’t waste time, as usual. “Arthur, we have a serious problem with 501. They’re still under full thrust, can’t shut down the mains, and are accelerating at a pretty good clip. They’re trying to flatten trajectory with the RCS thrusters but we can’t see that it’s having much effect…” she paused, distracted by a shout from behind her.
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