by C. J. Stott
Dick Clifton hung up and noticed his hand was sweating. He thought the administrator was just like most other Washington bureaucrats. Don’t embarrass them in front of the press. And don’t embarrass them in front of their superiors. They just can’t take the pressure. Another bunch of wussies. The real pressure was on the pilots and controllers.
Clifton laughed to himself, “I guess shit really does run down hill.”
He walked back into his office saw Ed James standing immobile. He smiled at his lack-luster assistant, winked, smiled again and said, “Let that be a lesson to you.”
Chapter 72
19:10 Eastern Standard Time
Northwest of Atlanta, Georgia
In his head he saw flashing lights. Blue and white strobe lights that accompanied a pounding, crushing headache.
Stan Kurtz slowly came full circle from his trauma induced, semi-conscious state. He dimly recognized his surroundings and through a fog saw his steel rimmed glasses lying smashed and broken on his Flight Engineer’s desk. One earpiece was bent and stained cordova with dried blood. His attention was jerkily drawn to a very loud and shrill sibilant whistle coming from an area between the crew bunk and the forward Additional Crew Member, or ACM jump seat. He attempted to orient himself. But, in his fogged mind, he could not determine much about what was going on in the airplane.
His concentration flagged. He looked at familiar aircraft system controls, but had no idea what he was looking at, nor could he remotely comprehend how they functioned. His mind drifted between comprehension and confusion.
Several amber warning lights shined brightly, as well as two red warning indicators. From his training, he should have been quite familiar with these, but he could not remember what they represented or if they were significant. He had no idea if these lights were system warnings or confirmations.
Air whistled shrilly as it vented overboard and kept him from hearing much of the operational conversation in the cockpit. The implication of the sound escaped him. He was startled by a noise behind him and tried to get out of his seat, but his seat belt restrained his movements.
If he sat still and didn’t move, maybe he could slowly understand more about where he was. But, he still could not understand why he was in an airplane. He was sweating and it stung as it ran into the open wounds on his scalp.
He smelled something, but could not ascertain what it was or where it came from. Something smelled hot and there was smoke swirling around him. He took a deep breath and began to recognize the pungent odor. Now he knew what it was: the smell of recently fired gunpowder. The scent brought him back to Viet Nam. How well he knew that smell. It was spent gunpowder.
Explosions. Guns. Fear.
He looked around the cockpit and saw the long horizontal tear in the bulkhead on the left side of the airplane. Debris, paper, dust and smoke were being sucked out of the hole. A cockpit crew bunk pillow floated toward the rupture in the fuselage skin. Slowly, at first, and then very quickly, the small rubber pillow was sucked into the tear. As quickly as the sound had started, it quieted just as abruptly. The cockpit was now relatively quiet.
The sudden cessation of noise confused him.
The smell and how it applied to him was something he could not understand. Dimly, he continued to remember flying in Viet Nam. But, he wasn’t in Viet Nam, nor was he in a US Navy F-4D Phantom he had flown for the Marine Corps. “Why am I strapped in the cockpit of a heavy transporter? Where’s my F-4?” He asked himself. For a second he thought perhaps he had “re-upped” and was now flying Lockheed C-130’s for the Marines.
Chapter 73
19:20 Eastern Standard Time
South of Atlanta, Georgia
Slowly, without definition or meaning, as though everything in his field of vision was only two-dimensional, he saw the silhouette of an arm and a handgun being raised to the horizontal. It was aimed at the back of the Captain’s head. Stan thought he recognized the captain, but could not remember his name.
He wondered why this enlisted man was going to shoot the pilot. He sensed fear as he remembered that he was also a pilot. Maybe this soldier would shoot me too, he thought.
A long-ago learned reflex took over. Without thinking or knowing why, Stan abruptly, swiftly and forcefully swung his left hand up and away. His fingers were bent to form a hard edge, with his thumb tucked under the palm of his hand. He felt no pain as the knife-edge of his hand violently struck the wrist of the gun holder. The force of his motion caused the assailant’s hand to be deflected upward.
Up and away from the Captain.
Up and away from the other pilot.
Up and away from the thick, but fragile, windshields.
Stan’s physical intervention caused the hijacker to involuntarily squeeze the trigger, or perhaps, the force of his attack on the gunman jarred the trigger. In either case, the pistol discharged twice in rapid succession. Both 9 mm bullets sequentially penetrated an overhead control panel. Two 9 or 10 mm holes formed in a vertical line, exactly where the bullets had gone through the panel. The two holes were less than two inches apart.
Spent black gunpowder spotted the gray plastic panel backgrounds. Hot bits of packing material melted into black guarded switch covers. One of the bullets was trapped between an aluminum fuselage stringer and a cross brace. It moved forward and down to the lower edge of the overhead panel. The deformed lead slug exited the panel and dropped harmlessly on the center radio control panel. The bullet’s short journey was not long enough to dissipate the heat of compression. The spent and deformed round lay on a navigation control panel, benignly smoking between Don and Fred.
Chapter 74
19:25 Eastern Standard Time
Southwest of Atlanta
The second round did far more damage to the integrity of the 747. The 9 mm slug entered the Primary Flight Control Hydraulic Shut Off panel, then followed a winding path that bounced, ripped and tore though several control switches. Systems that were controlled by these switches received valid disconnect signals as though they had been activated by the pilots. Portions of the primary flight control systems, which include ailerons, rudders, elevators and trim tabs were all being powered down in random sequences and at varying rates.
Boeing Commercial Airplane Company engineers designed four separate hydraulic systems to power the enormous horizontal stabilizer. Two of the four systems received valid signals to remove all hydraulic power from the horizontal stabilizer actuators. Instantly, twenty-eight volt control power closed several hydraulic shut-off valves.
One third of the primary hydraulic power sources for the inboard ailerons were likewise powered off. One of the design criteria in the autopilot logic sequence was to constantly monitor primary flight control hydraulic pressure. Integrity in the hydraulic systems had to be assured before any control signals from the autopilot to primary flight controls could be sent.
The “A” autopilot recognized a loss of hydraulic power to the horizontal stabilizer and the inboard ailerons. The autopilot computer’s logic circuits essentially became overwhelmed. True to design criteria, the “A” autopilot disconnected.
Three pilots, a terrified Flight Attendant and a lone hijacker all heard the autopilot disconnect warning. The autopilot was no longer flying the airplane.
Chapter 75
19:25 Eastern Standard Time
West, Southwest of Atlanta
Consistent with Boeing design, the disconnected autopilot no longer had control of the primary flight control surfaces. As these systems failed, the aircraft’s three primary axis for all controlled flight - heading, pitch and yaw – could only be controlled manually. If control to these three flight control panels could not be restored, the aircraft would eventually crash from uncontrolled flight into the ground.
Boeing designers could never have anticipated that random gunfire in the cockpit would result in hydraulic system controls being shot up and deactivated.
However, they had given thoughtful and intentional c
onsideration to the probability of losing one or more hydraulic power sources. These kind of failures could be from complete loss of hydraulic fluid in one system. Or, it could be the result of an engine failure or precautionary engine shutdown. No one at Boeing, or else where, had ever considered or anticipated losing numerous hydraulic backup sources to several independent flight control system at the same time.
Initially, there was no discernible change in the flight profile of the airplane. Her mass and inertia kept her moving along the same track, heading and altitude. Each of her four engines continued to produce over thirty-five thousand pounds of thrust.
The great horizontal stabilizer that had been holding the aircraft in a level flight condition was now disabled. As fuel was consumed, and when passengers moved about the cabin, the center of gravity of the aircraft shifted.
Normally, the sweptback stabilizer made constant imperceptible changes to keep the aircraft flying on a straight and level path. These aerodynamic changes were made by powerful hydraulic and electric motors. If more elevator authority was required, it would only come from the horizontal stabilizer, which no longer had sufficient hydraulic power to move. The horizontal tail surface was essentially frozen in a fixed position.
The disconnected and deactivated autopilot was no longer able to send trimming signals to the horizontal stabilizer. Slowly and imperceptibly, the nose of the aircraft started to move upward, a movement so slight that no one in the aircraft could initially sense or feel it. The nose continued to slowly rise, while the unpowered tail surface moved in the opposite direction: downward.
Eventually passengers in the aft-most section became aware of this gradual change. They began to feel the floor tilt. Passengers who walked in the aisles found themselves slowly, but inexorably, moving up or down an inclined ramp.
Their collective movements in the cabin exacerbated an already divergent and dynamically unstable aft center of gravity condition. Within seconds, Flight 100 had gone from dead level, to a positive pitch approaching 3 ½ ° above the horizon.
Instinctively, Don placed his hands on the control column and pressed forward on the two horns of the yoke. Thirty one years of flying experience taught him these instinctive reactions. Don simultaneously looked at the six primary flight instruments displayed before him. To an experienced pilot, they told the story of where the aircraft was in a three-dimensional world. His visual assessment confirmed what he sensed. He felt and saw a sustained nose-up pitch change in the 747’s attitude. His artificial horizon showed a constant increase in pitch 3°, 4°, 6°, 9° then, finally 12°. Without direct and effective corrective action from the pilots, the vertical oscillation and excursion would continue until the aircraft would stop flying and enter into an aerodynamic stall.
Old flying habits never really go away, nor do they fail a pilot in times of stress. These habits had been built layer upon layer from years of accumulated aeronautical experience and training. Essentially, these habits were impossible to change or break.
Don smoothly exerted forward pressure as the nose passed through 15° nose-up. His manual inputs without hydraulic assistance did nothing to diminish the continued pitch-up. He added more forward pressure, which resulted in no discernable change or improvement.
Nothing.
Finally, Don pressed as far forward as the control column would move, yet the artificial horizon indicated almost 20° above horizon.
Throughout this pitch-up, he also tried to use the electric stabilizer trim motors. However, Boeing, in their design wisdom, had included a stabilizer trim brake system. Essentially, if a pilot tried to trim the aircraft in the opposite direction in which he was exerting pressure, a mechanical pawl would stop the stabilizer from any further movement. With the nose of the aircraft well above the horizon, Don continued to exert maximum forward pressure. Because there was no hydraulic power, the stabilizer trim brake remained engaged.
Passengers who been standing were now piled in the aft area of each section. First Class passengers’ belongings went tumbling into and through Business Class. Coach passengers tumbled and rolled aft to the rear bulkhead. Carry-on luggage and suitcases started to slide rearward, as they tumbled out of overhead bins. Assorted baggage piled over huddled and crumpled groups of passengers. Fearful voices were muffled by the increasing piles of luggage, carry-on baggage, computer cases, pillows, blankets, magazines and loose clothing.
Fred O’Day saw tremendous concentration on Don’s face, amplified by the cords standing out on his neck. Don locked his elbows as he pressed on the control column. Fred joined Don in an effort to bring the nose of the aircraft back to the horizon.
As much from fear as exertion, Don’s face was crimson and glistened. He took his eyes away from his instruments and glanced at Fred, “God damn it, Fred. Help me. Push harder. I can’t get the nose down.”
Fred pushed as they both applied maximum forward pressure against the opposing aerodynamic forces on the horizontal stabilizer. The elevator control column reached its forward limit stops. No matter how hard Don and Fred pushed, their control column would move no farther.
Even though the horizontal stabilizer was receiving the pilot input commands for more down force, residual hydraulic pressure essentially was inadequate to significantly move the stabilizer. Neither pilot was able to tell if the horizontal stabilizer was moving or having any effect on the pitch of the aircraft.
Pitched up, the cockpit floor was equally as unlevel as the rest of the aircraft. The hijacker moved, stumbled aft to the rear cockpit bulkhead. He came to rest against Carlton, who lay on the floor, cowering against the deformed cockpit doorframe.
The hijacker knew almost nothing about airplanes, but he knew something was very wrong with this one. His fears worsened when he heard the terror-filled reactions from the upper deck passengers through the badly deformed cockpit door.
The pressure of the moment caused Bill to momentarily forget he was armed. He was filled with terror and guessed there was a good chance the aircraft was going to crash and they were all going to die.
His feelings were solidified and amplified when he heard Carlton beg plaintively, “Captain. Captain. Oh, my God. Captain. He is going to kill me.” He whined, He’s going to kill us all. We’re going to crash and die.”
Carlton started to hysterically shriek, “My God. My God. Don’t let me be killed.” He wailed, “Please.”
“Not now, Carlton.” Don roared as he held full forward pressure on the yoke. “I’m in trouble here. Not now.”
“Oh, dear Jesus,” Carlton squealed. He got free by squirming and wiggling. But, he was unable to push the hijacker away from him. Bill regained his footing. Both were pinned against the bulkhead by the steep deck angle of the cockpit floor.
The airplane shuddered. A long-wave vibration pulsed from the wing root through the fuselage and cockpit floor. Fred, Don and Stan all knew that was the first warning that an aerodynamic stall was eminent.
Carlton could only manage to say, “Oh, for God’s sake.” Bill again waved the gun without aiming, and then intentionally menaced Carlton.
Chapter 76
19:45 Eastern Standard Time
South of Atlanta, Georgia
Eventually, both pilots’ sustained efforts exerted enough control input to slowly allow the flight controls to begin to work. Almost painfully, the nose of the aircraft stopped climbing. The unwanted rotation was halted near 20° nose up. Then, very slowly, the cockpit of the 747 started to drop back toward the horizon.
Fred pulled the four throttles back. “Don, I pulled ‘em back to Max Continuous power on.
“Good thinking.”
The nose of the giant 747 had now dropped 16° then slowly and almost gracefully 10°, 8°, 5°, then 3°. For a second, the enormous Boeing 747 was back in her element where she belonged; she was level with the horizon.
Chapter 77
19:50 Eastern Standard Time
South of Atlanta, Georgia
In that moment, th
e aircraft was dead level - neither nose up nor nose down. Though they were level and Don felt better about their limited ability to control the aircraft, he wondered if he should risk releasing some of the forward pressure on the yoke. He looked at the airspeed indicator, 298 knots.
“Watch the airspeed, Fred.”
Fred pulled the thrust levers back to flight idle. As he did so, he saw the nose of the aircraft start to drop. First, 1° nose down, then 2° below the horizon.
Alarm sounded in Fred’s voice. “Hey, Don. Do you show level? I show we’re pitching down about 2°. Make that 3°” Fred answered his own question and the nose was now 4° down and increasing.
The high-speed Mach/airspeed warning clacker sounded. To Carlton, it sounded like Spanish castanets.
Fred swore, “Wonderful. Simply fucking wonderful.”
The FAA had done it again. In their certification process they mandated that the Boeing Company design a warning system that could not be silenced. Through evolved, but flawed, Federal Aviation Administration logic, the only way to silence the over speed warning was to slow the aircraft.
Don pulled aft on the control column and from habit pressed on the thumb switches that activated the electric stabilizer trimming system.
Fred also pressed his thumb switch, but nothing changed. The same Boeing logic locked the trim system out because of the continued loss of hydraulic pressure. Don pulled as hard as he could with no change in their collective attempts. He roared at Fred to help, “Pull, start pulling and keep pulling until I tell you to stop.”
Both Don and Fred pulled aft with as much strength available. “Pull, Fred. Pull as hard as you can.”
