Sojourners of the Sky

by Clayton Taylor

  There was only one nearly forgotten thing that Bill had to do in order to get to his retirement flight. A late afternoon phone call reminded him of his obligation. He tried to avoid it, but discovered that there was no way around it. Like all airmen that came before him, Captain Pratt had to endure one more simulator checkride before he could fly his last trip as a commercial airline pilot. There was nothing sinister about it; it was just the way it worked out. Bill reluctantly accepted his fate, knowing that simulator checkrides were a fact of life for all professional pilots.

  Believing he had little to worry about, against his custom, Bill did not bother spending any time in the books to prepare himself. Little did he know that someone with a score to settle would be waiting for him. The day of reckoning was fast approaching and there was nothing the old man could do about it.

  Thirty Four

  When the ill-fated day arrived, Bill was a bit surprised to learn that he would not have a first officer to fly with on his checkride--an instructor would serve in that role. Though not unheard of, the unexpected news was definitely outside the norm.

  Remarkably, Captain Pratt’s oral exam went off without a hitch. He’d half expected to be tortured with an in-depth question and answer session on the aircraft systems, but it didn’t happen. He’d especially anticipated being questioned at length about the fuel system, but the instructor never even brought it up. Bill wrongfully assumed his instructor was going easy on him because he knew that it would be his last visit to the training center.

  Bill had flown with Don before and knew he was a good instructor, but he also knew that Don was a company man and would do as he was told. There was little about the B747-400 that Don didn’t know, and was in fact considered by many to be the resident expert. He was tall and about as thin as a man can be, but had a library of knowledge and talent packed into his lofty frame.

  After the briefing about how the session would be conducted, Bill sighed. He arrived fully expecting a tough go, but was relieved when he saw that everything was going to be on the up and up. That is, except for one thing. Don would be his copilot, but Bill’s question about who would operate the simulator went unanswered.

  Bill wandered off to the men’s room with a relaxed stride. On his return, however, the smile he had on his face inverted itself into a deep frown the moment he turned down the hallway in the direction of the simulator. Standing in front of the door, right next to his instructor, was none other than John Tacker himself! Bill was speechless.

  “Hello, William,” said John, without bothering to extend his hand.

  The withheld handshake did not go unnoticed by Bill Pratt, who it seemed had suddenly lost his voice.

  “Are you all right, William? You seem dazed,” said John. Then, with a phony smile painted on his face, he added, “I imagine you’re a little surprised to see me. Let me think…oh, yes. The last time we saw each other was in Japan, just prior to their inviting me to be a guest of the Emperor. I had a wonderful time, though the accommodations were a wee bit, shall we say, cramped. The food was a true bright spot, however. Now I understand why you enjoy traveling to Japan so much.”

  “What are you doing here, Tacker?” asked Bill, struggling to get the words out.

  “What, I can’t travel to Minneapolis to visit an old friend?” asked John, his words dripping with sarcasm.

  Bill looked and saw pure evil in John Tacker’s eyes. He cleared his throat, hoping the anger he felt inside wouldn’t fly from his lips unchecked. “The last I saw you, John, you were under arrest for attempting a terrorist act. In fact, my jaw now makes a clicking noise whenever I chew. That’s no doubt from the sucker-punch you gave me while interfering with a crew member. And refresh my memory, but isn’t that, too, a federal offense?” asked Bill, fighting with himself to hold back.

  “You know, Bill, the Lord has forgiven me. You would do well to follow in his footsteps,” observed John.

  “Has the Lord forgiven you for jeopardizing the lives of hundreds of innocent people, John? I’m guessing you wanted to kill me for ruining your life. You know, if you weren’t such a screw-up you would have ended up killing us both, along with four hundred other people. Tell me, John, isn’t that funny? Or, shall I say, ironic?” asked Bill, with words he hoped would wound.

  “You’re right, my actions that day were truly horrible,” said John.

  “Reprehensible and unforgivable are two words that I would use to describe your actions, John.”

  “Well, I…”

  “Spare me,” spat Bill. “I am truly sorry for Liesel’s death, but it was not my fault. I did what I could.”

  “I’m sure that’s how you see it. But as I said, the Lord has forgiven me, Bill,” said John. “It’s time to move on.”

  “Bull! You hide behind religion because you’re a coward. You’ve done that ever since you got fired from Pan Am. You don’t fool me one bit. There is something wrong with a man who cannot admit fault!” exclaimed Bill. “And knowing you as I do, I sincerely doubt you’ll ever move on!”

  “Bill, you are free to believe as you wish.”

  “I’m struggling right now because I’d like to beat you to a pulp, John. But please, enlighten me, how did you manage to beat the rap in Japan?” asked Bill. “And how is it that you’re not serving time in the U.S.? But most of all,” he added, “how did you pull off not getting fired from the FAA?”

  John’s face contorted so much that both Bill and Don thought he might break down in tears. They were both taken aback at the sudden change in the Fed. Neither knew what to say.

  After nearly a minute, the aging Fed collected himself and then said with more emotion than he intended, “My wife of many years passed away at my side. I was beset with grief. I still am, and probably always will be. We were on a trip of a lifetime that turned into a trip from hell. I was blessed to receive some help from the federal government, along with some friends in the FAA. Thankfully, they were able to convince the Japanese government to exhibit some compassion and drop all the charges. It is only by God’s grace that I stand before you.”

  “It may have been God’s grace,” said Bill more quietly, “but aside from your emotion-laced outpouring, I noticed that you failed to apologize for punching me. Nor did you express any regret for choking and threatening my copilot. Or for that matter, did you seem the least bit sorrowful for scaring the flight attendants half to death after trying your best to open the upper deck emergency exit in flight.”

  There was an awkward silence between the three men.

  Don suddenly felt a twinge of apprehension. He had no idea that he’d been set up. The conversation between the captain and the Fed answered all of his questions about why an FAA inspector from Washington unexpectedly showed up earlier that morning to conduct a spot checkride. He knew right away what was about to happen.

  John momentarily considered saying more, but wisely refrained. The FAA Administrator had indeed intervened with the Japanese and American authorities on John’s behalf, but demanded his resignation in return. John recalled his words: I have a file full of complaints about you from airline VPs to pilots. I’m tired of covering for you, Tacker. You are a disgrace to the administration. I want your paperwork on my desk by the end of the month. You’re finished. It’s time to retire.

  Technically, John was no longer an inspector. But since he had yet to turn in his ID card and badge, John figured he would take advantage of his last opportunity to take a fatal shot at his former friend and long time nemesis. It was time to settle the score, once and for all.

  “So, exactly why are you here today, John,” asked Bill.

  “Considering your actions on board flight twenty-one as related by your copilot, Doug Fordham, as well as the reports forwarded to me by the inspectors who’ve been flying with you, I’ve decided to conduct your checkride today,” answered John, his voice noticeably switching from sorrow to revenge.

  Looking at John and then toward his instructor, Bill said in a louder voice
than he intended, “You can’t do that! He can’t do that, can he?”

  But before Don could respond, John said, “Oh yes, I can. As an air carrier inspector, I can conduct any checkride I deem appropriate.”

  “You’re not rated on the Whale! Nor are you checked out in this simulator. And as far as I know, you are not named in our company ops specs as an approved check airman,” said Bill, growing more angry with each passing moment.

  “Nice try, Bill, but I am type rated on a half-dozen jet aircraft, including the B747-400. And, believe it or not, I am familiar with this simulator. Perhaps you are not aware, but my main office is located at the FAA headquarters in Washington, D.C. Therefore, I can pretty much do whatever I want. And right now, Captain Pratt, I want to see how much you know,” said John with a malicious smile.

  “You may be type-rated, Tacker, but there is no way you’re current.”

  “I don’t have to be current, Bill.”

  “Perhaps I’ll retire today and tell you to shove it,” said Bill. He then turned to his instructor and asked, “Did you know about this, Don? Did you keep this a secret?”

  “I was informed only this morning and was ordered to say nothing,” replied Don.

  “Well, this is wonderful! What a way to end a career. I have some lunatic slug me while he’s attempting to take over my airplane, I get hassled every time I come to work and now this!” exclaimed Bill. Then after a brief pause, he said, “OK. Let’s get it over with.”

  “Bill, you might want to reconsider,” suggested Don. “Perhaps you should retire. You know if he busts you, you would most likely be terminated and then have to fight to get your retirement. Remember, at one time you were very active in the union and management tends not to forget that sort of stuff.”

  “Screw him,” said Bill, clearly disgusted. “There is nothing this loser can do to me that I can’t handle.” Then turning toward John Tacker, Bill added, “Go ahead and give it your best shot, Tacker! And watch close, you might actually learn something!”

  Bill stormed down the steps and across the ramp leading to the simulator. It wasn’t until he was sitting in the simulator with his seat belt fastened that he realized he’d inadvertently allowed the former Marine inside of him to come out. He’d managed to keep his jarhead-driven bravado buried deep for a very long time, but Tacker somehow managed to bring it out. Bill knew the next two hours would determine his fate, and there would be no turning back.

  Thirty Five

  Bill taxied the simulated B747-400 onto runway five at the Chiang Kai-Shek International Airport in Taipei, on the island of Taiwan, China. He’d flown to the tiny island hundreds of times in his career and knew exactly why Tacker chose that runway over the dozens of others he could have picked.

  Just a few short miles northeast of the airport, a very high mountain juts out of the murky ocean and combines with other lofty hills that encircle the airport to the southeast. The sharply rising terrain, mostly covered by very plush, jungle-like greenery, is particularly hazardous to all aircraft taking off in that direction. With such a steep gradient of rocks located so close to the field, if an aircraft were to encounter a mechanical failure shortly after liftoff it could quite easily spell disaster for all those on board. It is for this reason that all aircraft departing from runway five are required to make a sharp left turn toward the ocean immediately after takeoff.

  With the briefing and checklists complete, Bill looked at Don and asked, “All set?”

  “I’m all set, Bill,” said Don.

  Bill pushed the power levers to the pre-planned reduced power setting for takeoff, keeping his hand firmly on the thrust levers in the event he was forced to make a sudden stop. The captain would not move his hands until the airplane passed the point at which stopping on the remaining portion of the runway would be impossible.

  As the big simulated Boeing slowly gained speed, Don called out each twenty knot milestone. The closer the heavy airplane got to the decision speed--where Bill would have to decide whether it was safe to continue or not--the tension in the cockpit grew. A split second before Don called “V-one,” Bill removed his right hand from the thrust levers and grasped his control yoke firmly. If a problem were to crop up now, they would have to continue the takeoff. There were no other options.

  Seconds passed as the aircraft sped through no-man’s land. The airplane was traveling too fast to stop, but not nearly fast enough to fly. If an engine were to fail during this part of the takeoff roll, things could get tricky. And of course, that is exactly what happened.

  “Engine failure on number four,” said Don in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Bill instinctively pushed all four thrust levers to the forward limit.

  “Rotate, eleven degrees,” said Don, advising his captain to gently pull the nose up to eleven degrees of pitch.

  Bill slowly rotated the nose skyward, and as he did so his copilot sang out, “V-two.”

  When an engine fails on a twin-engine airplane, there is very little guessing as to which one failed. The nose yaws sharply toward the dead engine. In the B747, however, the yaw is not quite as pronounced. Pilots new to the Whale often push the wrong rudder pedal while attempting to counteract the unwanted yaw, only to inadvertently roll the airplane upside down.

  Bill quickly glanced at the skid indicator on his main flight display to confirm which engine had failed. Once verified, he pushed the left rudder pedal to the floor. He then activated an electric trim switch that helped hold the rudder in place, while struggling with the control yoke to keep the airspeed precisely at V-two. Neither pilot spoke while they waited for the aircraft to reach a safe altitude.

  John Tacker had set the cloud height at two hundred feet so that, once the airplane lifted off, there would be nothing to see except for the inside of the simulated clouds.

  As they watched the altimeter slowly inch toward one thousand feet, both pilots heard an unexpected loud “pop,” causing the aircraft to yaw sharply to the right.

  “Forward cargo door is open,” said Don.

  Bill looked at the ECAM display and saw “FWD CARGO” displayed in amber. This, he knew, was going to cause some serious problems. Though he couldn’t see outside, Bill was well-aware of the rapidly rising terrain ahead. He also knew that company policy dictated a climb to one thousand feet prior to initiating any turns with an engine out. Bill’s experience told him that the Boeing could safely be put into a shallow bank, but with the cargo door disrupting the air flow, he first wanted to build as much speed as possible in order to prevent a loss of control. At the same time, he realized that if he allowed the airplane to accelerate too much the open cargo door would undoubtedly lead to an even more serious control problem. Bill didn’t know exactly what speed he should target, but quickly decided to let the airplane tell him through his hands. He knew time was against him and that he was practically out of options.

  Bill counted the seconds in his head, calculating how long he could remain on his current heading. He knew the terrain was rapidly approaching, but held off on turning away until he could feel the airplane was ready to bank without stalling.

  As the airplane struggled to gain altitude, Old Man Time, who would not allow himself to be rushed by any mortal, smugly permitted the seconds to advance at an agonizingly slow pace.

  The moment their altimeters indicated one thousand feet, Bill started a shallow turn to the left. Barely ten degrees into the turn, however, an engine fire alarm rang out. Bill glanced at Don and noticed that the red light from the fire handle was reflecting off of his copilot’s glasses.

  “Fire on number three, captain,” said Don, in the same tone that one might use to say, “Have a nice day.”

  “Number three thrust lever to idle,” ordered Bill.

  Bill watched Don do as he’d been ordered and then momentarily smiled to himself. The old-salt captain knew that John Tacker had deliberately boxed him in, hoping to watch his prey squirm before busting him. Bill kept the airplane in a shallow bank
to the left, manipulating the controls as gently as possible. “I have the airplane, Don. You run the checklist for an engine fire. And when you’re finished, keep going and run the Cargo Door Open in Flight checklist. I’ll work the radios and tell them we’re planning a return to Taipei.”

  “Roger,” replied Don as he reached for the emergency checklist.

  Bill glanced at his altimeter and was shocked to see that they’d lost two hundred feet during their shallow-banked turn. There was no way he could roll the wings level to help the airplane climb, there were mountains ahead!

  The heavy airplane Bill held under his control, with two engines out and a wide-open cargo door on the right hand side, simply refused to climb or accelerate. Both the airspeed and altimeter indications appeared to be frozen in place. The captain knew he had to do something, but wasn’t quite sure what or how.

  Bill knew that banking the airplane reduced the wing’s ability to generate lift. In addition, with all the flaps hanging out he was quite certain the airplane would never go any faster. After mulling it over for far longer than he should have, Bill decided that there was only one thing left to try. But first, he had to shed some weight.

  Bill reached up and turned the fuel dump switch to position “A,” and then pushed both dump valve push buttons to open. His actions caused all the fuel jettison fuel pumps to activate and the overboard jettison valves to open. The airplane immediately began dumping fuel at the maximum rate. Eventually, as the airplane cast off the extra weight, they would be able to climb and accelerate. In the meantime, however, the threats facing Bill were increasing with each passing second.

  Flames continued to billow from the number three engine. At the same time, hundreds of pounds of jet fuel spewed from a dump nozzle on the aft part of each wing. Bill fidgeted in his seat because he knew that with just one flick of God’s, or in this case, John Tacker’s little finger, the highly volatile spray could easily ignite. The anxious captain could almost see the spectacular explosion in his mind. But he calmly reasoned that there was no other choice. To allow the airplane to descend unchecked, or to continue flying straight ahead, were not viable options. He simply had to keep turning and do what he could to get the massive machine to climb.