by C. J. Stott
He waited and then said, “Tell them we’ll keep them advised.”
All Stan could manage was, “Roger.”
And, tell them not to initiate any more calls to us unless it’s an emergency. We have enough to worry about without those God damned chimes going off all the time.”
Fred smiled at Don’s displeasure with the interruption from the company.
Stan considered the Captain’s irritation as he said, “Dispatch, we have no real news. The hijacker has taken one of the cabin crew hostage.”
No response from Dispatch.
“He may be armed with a gun. We have not spoken to him directly. We know he’s outside the cockpit door. He has taken at least one, or more, cabin crew hostage at this time.”
VHF radios are fairly quiet, but the combined background 400 cycle hum, static, cockpit wind noise, plus Fiedling’s accent made it difficult for Stan to understand his next comment, “100, from zis end, it looks like da hijacker’s name is Guerrero, initial B.”
Kurtz wondered why the company was telling them the hijacker’s name. “Makes no sense,” he thought.
“Okay. We got that, Dispatch. We’ll keep you posted as things devel...”
Far to Stan’s right, in the periphery of his vision, he saw something move, “Don, I don’t know how much more abuse this door can take.”
The Captain said nothing. He looked over his shoulder as the door was slowly being destroyed by the hijacker.
It was the mirror of the back of the cockpit door that Stan had seen move.
He helplessly watched the door’s rotation. The plywood door deflected and then started to fail as Carlton was once again slammed into it by the increasingly angry hijacker.
Chapter 53
17:55 Eastern Standard Time
South of Morgantown, West Virginia
Stan still had his microphone poised near his mouth, but did not speak. He froze as he looked, transfixed, at the flimsy cockpit door. He could see light from the upper deck galley and cabin through the gapping and deformed void at the top and bottom of the door.
The only thing that kept the door closed was the thin, badly bent aluminum dead bolt. He watched the cockpit door flex one last time as the hijacker slammed Carlton into the door. The deadbolt gave way.
“Shit,” Was all he had time to think or say.
The deadbolt failed completely and showered Stan with bits of plywood and sharp metal fragments from the doorframe.
Other pieces of aircraft hardware that had been designed to keep the cockpit safe from intruders came raining down on Stan. The cockpit filled with the smell of freshly cut plywood. Fine particles of dust mixed with larger chunks of wood, pieces of Formica, plastic and rubber rained down on Stan. Some of the pieces hit Fred’s back.
The sound of the door being breached caused Don to again snap his head around. He looked over Stan’s shoulder just as Carlton and Bill violently tumbled and fell into the cockpit.
Carlton looked terrified. He had been badly beaten. He looked like a wet rag-doll as he tried to resist the hijacker. The door banged against the stops and harshly bounced back against Carlton, who had slumped on the floor in an ungracious heap. He wriggled and tried to crawl away, but the hijacker kicked him and then viciously stepped on his calf, securing him to one spot on the floor.
Fred looked away from the unfolding drama at the rear of the cockpit and became intensely interested in his flight instruments, clock, altimeter, Horizontal Situation Indicator. Anything that would keep him from seeing and focusing on the events that had just happened in the past thirty seconds.
Fred, like every other experienced airline pilot, knew the primary rule of aviation survival was, “Fly the Airplane First.” Untold accidents and multiple deaths had happened because the pilots forgot this rule. The old and proven axiom for aviation survival was true, ‘Aviate. Navigate. Communicate.’ Right now, especially now, that was ever-present in Fred’s mind.
Fly the airplane.
Keep it in the air.
Keep it safe.
The hijacker looked around the cockpit and was surprised by its small size. He wrongly thought an airplane the size of a 747 would have an enormous place for the pilots. In reality, he saw the three pilots were tightly bunched together into the narrowing and wedged-shaped horizontal pyramid. There was a sloping ceiling and little excess room anywhere except a narrow walkway behind the Flight Engineer’s panel, to the cockpit emergency exit door.
The hijacker waved the pistol toward Carlton and then toward Don. “I want to go to Habana. I want to go to Cuba. Take me to Cuba.”
Chapter 54
18:05 Eastern Standard Time
South of Morgantown, West Virginia
He spoke with a strong Spanish accent. His voice was stressed. His voice was a tension-induced falsetto. It sounded like he was mentally stretched beyond his ability to control himself or the situation. He seemed to emphasize each syllable with a downward stroke of his pistol, an arc that covered Don’s back and Carlton.
Don tried to sound calm and at the same time authoritative as he said, “Listen, my friend. We’ll take you anywhere you want to go. You don’t need to threaten us, or try to hurt us. Remember, without us you’re not going anywhere but down. You’re dead.”
Fred muttered under his breath, “Straight down.”
Sweat stood out on the hijacker’s forehead, “You the pilot?”
“Yes. I am the Captain.”
Don nodded toward Fred, “This is my First Officer,” then looked back at Stan, who was still holding the microphone in his left hand and said, “this is my Second Officer.”
Guerrero looked at each of the pilots and thought, “Caramba! I never knew it took three pilots to fly the plane.”
Don spoke. His voice inflexible and very tight. “If you want to go to Havana, that’s okay with us. But, we have to prepare. We have to make changes if our flight is going to Havana instead of New York.” He waited a second. “Is that what you want to do? Is that where you want to go?”
The hijacker was confused by how easy this was, “Yes. That is want I want.”
A questioning pause, then, “I want to go to Habana.”
Don looked past the hijacker, through the broken cockpit doorframe, into the upper deck lounge and saw the faces of several frightened passengers.
One of the passengers was a nun, in her black habit. She leaned out in the aisle and looked directly into the cockpit. Both of her hands were busy as she frantically ran her rosary beads through her fingers. Involuntarily, her lips moved in a silent prayer.
Don looked up toward the hijacker, but said to both Bill and Stan, “Close the door.” As he asked, he realized there was little left of the door to close.
“My passengers don’t need to watch this. Your gun. The rough treatment of my crew. That’s frightening them.”
Bill thought there was nothing wrong with the pilot’s request and slammed the cockpit door. The forced entry had deformed the door and it would not stay closed. The locking mechanism had been divided into many parts, some attached to the bulkhead, others strewn about the cockpit floor.
Don looked back and forth between at the hijacker and his pistol. He quickly saw the gun was made from plastic. He was not sure the pistol was real.
Don thought this would be a good time to try and see how serious the hijacker was and asked, “Since we are going to do as you wish, will you put your gun away?” He added, “There is no need for that.”
Immediately Bill knew why the Captain was being so nice. He wanted the gun. Once the pilot had the gun he would not go to Havana. The hijacking would be over and he would go to jail.
Bill leveled the gun directly at Don and pointed the barrel at a spot just above the bridge of his nose. Don reflexively flinched and blinked as he looked down the barrel of the nine millimeter pistol less than 15 inches from his face.
Bill raised his voice much louder and snapped, “Hey, Hijo, I decide about the gun.” His face a cont
orted mixture of fear and rage, “I’m the one who says what goes.”
Don’s initial reaction was to argue about who was in charge. He was the captain. Captains have the ultimate authority. They made the final decision. But he realized the hijacker didn’t know or care about Captain’s authority. He could only say, “Whatever you say.” The hijacker said nothing.
Bill finally spoke and moved the gun slightly. Bright sunlight reflected on the dull grey barrel. Don clearly saw more detail of the gun and sadly accepted the fact that the gun was not a toy. It was real.
Fred took a chance. He looked over the hijacker, “Hey man, look. We don’t want to have anything happen to us, or to you. That gun makes me nervous and when I get nervous, I don’t fly very well. I promise. No tricks. Whatever you say goes. You’re the boss.”
Don added, “He’s right. No tricks. You just tell us what you want and where you want to go. We’ll do it for you. We’ll get you there.”
Don paused and waited to catch his breath, “The only thing we have to do is make sure we have enough fuel to get to Havana. And, that the weather in Havana is acceptable for our landing.”
Stan realized that he still had the microphone in his hand and felt completely embarrassed. He released the microphone key, thereby cutting the open line of communication between Flight 100 and Flight Dispatch. Though not certain, Stan thought the entire cockpit conversation over the past several minutes had been broadcast to the company.
Chapter 55
18:05 Eastern Standard Time
North of Roanoke, Virginia
The Captain made Bill feel uneasy. He didn’t like the way he looked directly at him. The other pilot, the one by the other window, seemed okay.
Don thought the tension had diminished somewhat. He took a deep breath, counted several beats then and said, “If we are going to go to Havana, my crew and I have to discuss how we are going to get there.”
He looked directly at the hijacker for a response. None came. No approval or disapproval. Bill stoically stood behind Don with his foot pressed down on Carlton’s leg.
Don didn’t know how to proceed. He didn’t want to antagonize the hijacker. At the same time, he knew he had to regain and then maintain his command and control of the 747.
Not wanting to upset the hijacker more than he already was, Don blandly said, “We need to notify the traffic controllers and the company that we are not going to New York. I need to find about the weather in Cuba. We don’t have an unlimited amount of fuel. We need to determine if we have enough to get to Havana. I need to start on these things right away.”
Bill guessed this was probably another trick and said in a tight voice, “Never mind that shit, man.”
Don realized he had made a serious error. The hijacker had no comprehension or understanding of what Don had just said.
“Listen, you say you are like the boss, “El Jeffe”. You got enough gasoline to go to New York. Then, Hijo you got enough to go to Havana. Bill was proud of himself. These “Gringos” weren’t going to fool him There was nothing to say in response. Don, Fred and Stan could only wait for the hijacker’s next comment or move. “Just fly this fucker to Cuba. You’re the Captain.” Bill added in a grating and sarcastic voice, “You can make it happen. You’re the man. Like do it, dude.”
For emphasis, the hijacker waved the pistol in a loose and irregular arc. When he waved the gun toward right side of the aircraft, Fred involuntarily flinched and ducked. Fred’s thumb hit the autopilot disconnect switch on the yoke on his control column.
The autopilot Altitude Hold disengaged. A tenth of a second later, the autopilot did the same thing. These events were programmed to set off aural warnings in the cockpit. When the autopilot disconnected, all auto flight inputs were simultaneously cancelled. Even though the autopilot was no longer flying the aircraft, her mass and inertia initially kept her level and on course. The sudden cancellation of trim inputs to the primary flight controls caused the aircraft to experience a slight jolt in the pitch axis. It felt similar to hitting a speed bump too fast. This insignificant pitch oscillation scared Bill. He was frightened by the loud and piercing wailer. He had no idea where the sound came from or what it meant.
His response was not surprising. “What the hell is that? What just happened?” He added, “Are you trying to trick me? ‘Cause if you are, I’ll know about it.” Bill’s logic was seriously flawed.
All three pilots reacted in a similar fashion. They knew the wailer was simply an alert. It was a low-level warning to tell them one, or both, of the ship’s autopilots had disconnected. Don pressed the autopilot disconnect button on his yoke and the wailer immediately stopped.
Automatically, and without even thinking about the hijacker, Don reached up to the center control panel on the glare shield to re-engage the autopilot. The aftermath of the unexpected jolt coupled with the warbling autopilot wailer destroyed Bill’s ability to think clearly.
He was terrified. His voice was loud and very sharp, “Stop.”
He waived the handgun, “What’re you doing?” He blinked, “You are trying to trick me.”
Again, he leveled the gun at the back of Don’s head and said, “Listen, fucker. You don’t do nothin’ without you tell me first.”
Don’s hand stopped in midway between the “A” autopilot toggle switch and the throttles. He could feel the anger rising as he looked back at the gun in the young hijacker’s dark hand.
He churned with anger. “Listen, pal. I’m responsible for the lives of those folks in the back of the airplane and I’m responsible for the lives of my crew and the safety of this flight. Hell, I’m even responsible for your safety.”
The hijacker said nothing. His stare roamed between Don and Fred.
Don continued, “I’m not going to do anything that will jeopardize my responsibility.” Not pausing, “I’m not going to do anything unsafe.”
Fred looked at the hijacker as Don continued, “I don’t have time to tell you everything that I am going to do before I do it.”
He paused and then asked the hijacker, “Do you know anything about airplanes?”
The hijacker remained silent. He could not admit that knew nothing about airplanes. That would be weak and weaklings end up in prison.
A different warning sounded. The aircraft was no longer being held at a precise altitude of thirty three thousand feet. It had drifted down more than one hundred feet, which triggered a new and different warning.
Fred ingeniously said, “Captain, I need to bring the aircraft back up to our altitude.” He looked at Bill, “I’m going to move the controls and silence the altitude alert. Is that ok with you?”
Bill had no understanding of what was happening all around him. He realized he knew nothing about anything in the cockpit. He could only rely on his instinct and machismo.
Fred asked again, “Well? I have to bring the airplane back on altitude. If I don’t we could hit another aircraft below us.”
Bill looked out the window and saw nothing but blue sky and a few cirrus clouds. He paused and said, “Ok. But no bullshit ideas or tricks.”
Fred looked at Don and hit the autopilot disconnect button, then re-armed the altitude alert. The audible warnings stopped. Fred gently added a bit of nose-up trim and the altimeter slowly reflected the aircraft’s slow and steady climb back to FL330. When the cruise altitude was reached another chime sounded. Fred started to reach for the “A” autopilot paddle switch. He paused and looked over his shoulder and then slowly engaged the “A” autopilot and Altitude Hold. The small green light again confirmed the autopilot was satisfied with its ability to hold the aircraft at the selected altitude.
Fred felt a small amount of progress had been somehow accomplished. Unfortunately, Don broke the mood.
Chapter 56
18:20 Eastern Standard Time
South of Roanoke, Virginia
To Bill, Don said, “Well, you’re the one who came up with this idea.” He turned in his seat to face Bill,
“We will help you. But you have to let us fly this plane. We need to do what needs to be done. We need to be able to fly it without any interference from you.”
He waited for the hijacker to respond. He didn’t. “Do you understand?”
With courage he didn’t have or feel, Don intentionally and purposefully selected a navigation mode for horizontal guidance. The aircraft made a slight roll to the left and then corrected itself, before turning even less to the right.
To the hijacker, standing in the cockpit, it looked like the aircraft were going to tip over or drop down again. “Another trick,” he thought.
The hijacker remained motionless and stood there in complete silence. With one foot on the floor and the other on Carlton’s leg, he considered what Don had said in the past ten seconds.
Carlton moved slightly, looked up at the hijacker and said, “For God’s sake. Listen to him. He’s the Captain. He knows what he is doing. He will get us wherever you want to go.”
Don took advantage of the hijacker’s silence as a sign of agreement and continued with his impromptu flying lesson. “There are other aircraft in this same area. We can’t just start flying to Cuba.”
Don knew this was not true. Any distressed aircraft is given takes exceptional priority over all other aircraft in the area. He hoped the hijacker didn’t know anything about flying. He continued, “We have to coordinate our plans with the flights of the other airplanes around us.”
Momentarily, he looked down at the radio controls center pedestal. “I’m going to call the controllers and tell them that you,..er that we, want to go to Havana.” The three pilots and Carlton waited for a response from Bill. He said nothing.
Bill felt a sudden rolling fear when the word, “Havana” was said by the pilot. He didn’t know what to do; so, he did nothing. Things were happening too fast for him. He was in a world of which he knew nothing.
