by C. J. Stott
“Stop, Stan. Stop it. I’m getting some roll here and having difficulty controlling it.”
Stan grabbed the switch covers and flipped the ALTN LEADING EDGE MASTER back on. He held one toggle switch down, which locked the last errant leading edge panel into place. The aircraft stopped the roll motion to the right and the airframe vibration stopped.
“Nice work Stan. You did it. You got rid of the roll.”
“Any time,” he said and a small smile crossed his face.
Chapter 91
23:01 Eastern Standard Time
6 Miles West of Miami International Airport
Don, Fred and Stan looked out the windshields and saw hundreds of emergency flashing lights six miles ahead.
The Outer Marker audio tone sounded and blue indicator light flashed in unison. The aircraft had proceeded to an exact location on the Instrument Landing System for Runway 9 profile. Standard protocols would demand that the landing gear be extended at the outer marker on a normal approach.
“Ok, men. Let’s down the gear. Fred, give the cabin the five-minute warning.”
Fred picked up the emergency hot microphone, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have about five minutes ‘til touchdown. Please do as your flight attendants have asked.”
“Done deal, Don.”
“Gear Down.”
Fred pulled the long lever with the plastic wheel on the end. The lever came out of the center detent and slipped into the down detent. The whole aircraft shuddered and then a single red GEAR warning light was illuminated.
“Aw shit.”
“We’ve got a gear door that’s hung up.” The normal procedure was to raise the gear and recycle it. However, today was not normal.
“Use the ALERNATE EXTENSION system.”
Quickly, Stan pressed two switches and looked at the warning lights on the Flight Engineer’s panel. The Nose Gear, the Left Wing Gear, the Left Body Gear and the Right Wing Gear all indicated solid green lights. They were all safely down and locked. The Right Body Gear still indicated a bright red warning light. The gear might, or might not, be down but it clearly was not locked.
“Looks like the Right Body Gear is hung.” Frustrated, he said, “I’m sorry Don. Really really sorry. I’m fresh out of ideas. I don’t know what else to suggest.”
Fred took up the slack in the conversation, “Stan. No sweat. You did the best you could. This bucket of bolts has had a lot of crap happen to her today.”
Stan continued to find a solution when none was available. All the conventional procedures and protocols were based on an assumption that there would only one problem at a time, not multiple system failures all happening at the same time. After a second, he said, “How about we do a flyby by the tower and have them check the gear?”
Strangely, Don was kind. “Stan, normally a great idea. But, I don’t want to risk a go-around with all the problems we’re having with pitch. A go-around’s not going to happen. The aircraft seems pretty. I don’t want to do anything that will upset the delicate balance we’ve got right now.”
Stan considered what Don had said and agreed with his logic. “You’re right.”
Forcefully, Don said, “We’re committed to land. We’ll just set her down on the available gear.”
Don thought a couple of seconds and then added, “The worst that will happen is she’ll settle on the tail and right side if the main Body Gear collapses.”
Thinking, Stan asked, “Want me to tell the tower about the gear situation?”
“Sure. Go ahead. But make it quick.”
Stan grabbed his microphone and said, “Miami, 100. We are on final, at on the localizer and we know we’re a little high on the Glide Slope.”
The tower Ground Control Approach controller who was monitoring 100’s flight path on radar said, “We concur. Slightly right of course, slightly high on the Glide Slope.”
Stan continued, “On top of everything else, we can’t get the Right Body Gear down and locked.” He waited then said, “We don’t think it’s an indication problem. We think the gear is actually hung up.”
The female supervisor in the tower said, “We’ve got glasses on you and think we can see a landing gear door hanging down. We can’t tell if the gear is locked or not. But, it does look like the gear is down.”
“Roger, that. Thanks.”
“Maybe when you get a little closer, we’ll be able to get a better look. Maybe brighter lighting near the airport.”
Fred said to no one, “They’re a big help. They are all perfectly safe up there in the tower.”
Don reduced the power. As expected the nose dropped. This time, however, Don didn’t add or hold any backpressure. He allowed the 747’s nose to pitch down 2°. The airspeed increased a few knots. After an increase of five knots the airspeed stabilized.
“Fred. Give me full flaps.”
Fred pressed the alternate switches for the last time. The Trailing Edge Flap indicator passed through 20°. A loud horn sounded and a woman’s electronic voice said over a loud claxon horn: “WHOOP! WHOOP! PULL UP!” Again, “WHOOP! WHOOP! PULL UP!”
Carlton cried out, “Oh my God. We’re going to die.”
Chapter 92
23:06 Eastern Standard Time
1 Mile West of Runway 9 at Miami International Airport
Stan instantly knew the source and reason for the warnings. “The landing gear proximity switches are not lined up.”
“Pull that damned Ground Proximity circuit breaker and while you’re at it, pull the other aural warning breakers.”
Stan did as Don ordered and silence returned to the cockpit.
Don and Fred’s judicious application of power and elevator control forces allowed them to gently descend to less than nine hundred feet above the runway.
They all saw that they were still a little high on the Glide Slope. To both Don and Fred, it looked like less than one dot deviation on the high side with less than a half-mile to touch down. Don thought, “I’d rather be a little high on the Glide Slope and be able to correct that, than be low and slow.” He knew that with the landing gear extended they were committed to land.
He continued the approach, clearly understanding there were no alternatives.
The Public Address system barked in the cabin as Fred said, “Less than one minute to touchdown.” He thought ‘impact’ might be a better choice of words.
To no one he said, “It’s a good thing Ralph Nader doesn’t know about this airplane.”
“Jesus, Fred. Will you knock it off,” but as Don spoke, he half-chuckled at his copilot’s comment.
They all looked in unison at both sides of the runway. In the darkness, they could see flashing red and blue emergency vehicle lights and sparking white strobe warnings at the far end of the “touch down zone,” over half-mile away from their position over the end of the runway. With their ground speed of 140 knots, it would take less than ten seconds until they were abeam the emergency equipment.
At five hundred feet above the ground, Fred made the required call out, “Five Hundred. Airspeed 142. Sink rate 700.”
Don acknowledged Fred’s call out.
The crash equipment headlights illuminated an unlikely collection of ungainly apparatus. Bright lime-green trucks and hose tenders, red and white ambulances, several black and white police cruisers and Cyclops, the enormous yellow fire-fighting vehicle with four water cannons. To all three pilots, the emergency equipment flashed by and then was gone as 100 continued to descend toward the runway.
Don called out, “All landing lights on.” Fred flipped the landing light and taxi light switches on.
Fred called, “100 to go.” The 747’s main landing gear were 100 feet above the runway.
“Makes no difference. We’re going to land.” He told Fred to be ready to help him during the flare.
Stan watched the radar altimeter closely, as it measured absolute altitude above the runway. Now it read seventy feet. At the appropriate time, he was to call out the 747’s
radar altimeter read out in ten-foot increments, from fifty feet to touchdown on the runway.
“Fifty feet.”
Slowly, Don pulled off some power and the nose responded with an immediate drop. Don anticipated the pitch change and pulled back with great concentration.
“Pull. Fred. Pull!”
Fred pulled hard, as Don pushed up the throttles and the nose rose slightly.
Stan said, with excitement in his voice, “Forty feet.”
All three pilots could see they were still high on the approach and might float, putting them much farther down the runway, something to be avoided with marginal brakes.
There was no time to explain. Don slammed all four throttles closed and pulled aft as hard and as far as he could.
The nose dropped 1° or 2°, a dramatic pitch change, as the sink rate of the aircraft increased suddenly.
Stan called out, “Thirty feet.”
“Twenty feet.”
Stan could see and feel a high sink rate of over two three thousand feet per minute. He knew they were going to hit the runway very hard. Even the exceptionally well built and strong Boeing aircraft could not withstand a strike on the runway at such a high sink rate.
Don waited until he heard Stan call out ‘twenty feet’ then jammed all four throttles full forward to the stops. Every passenger, flight attendant and crewmember felt the resultant rumbling acceleration.
The timing was perfect. The nose rose just above the horizon and when Stan called out, “Ten feet.”
Don slammed the throttles closed hard against the stops, while he and Fred pulled back on the controls as hard as they could.
Though not usually done, Stan called out, “Five feet.”
The 747’s nose gently dropped, just as the left hand Body Gear tires touched the runway, followed by both Wing Gear as they touched the concrete at the same time.
Chapter 93
23:07 Eastern Standard Time
Runway 9 at Miami International Airport
The automatic spoilers partially deployed slowly when two of the sixteen main landing gear wheels spun up.
Don grabbed all four thrust reversers and pulled them against the interlocks and waited for what seemed an interminable span for the levers to unlock. Stan backed him up on secondary throttle handles in the center of the console.
Slowly, the interlocks released and Don pulled all four engines into maximum reverse. The nose pitched down with full deployment of the rest of the automatic spoilers, killed most of the lift generated by the wings. All three pilots could feel the aircraft’s weight transfer from the wings to the main landing gear.
Don stepped on both brake pedals as if everything were normal. He felt only a slight deceleration and was not certain if the deceleration was from the reverse thrust or hydraulic brakes, or both.
The right main Body Gear knuckled under and collapsed inward and aft.
Gradually, the 747 slowed from her touchdown speed of 141 knots. At the same time, the aircraft slowly and inexorably drifted toward the right side of the runway.
Don attempted to control the ship with rudder, but knew as the aircraft slowed, the rudder would become less effective. He pressed as hard as he could on the brake pedals. Pain shot up both shins as his feet were fully extended forward. Above the noise in the cockpit, he yelled, “The brakes are not working. We’re not slowing fast enough.”
It felt like he was virtually standing on the brake pedals with little effect on their speed. He waited for any response from Fred or Stan.
Fred said, “Time for the air brakes!”
“Using emergency brakes now.” Don gripped and then twisted the red handle but nothing happened. Unknown to the pilots, the handle needed to be turned well beyond the OPEN position and then back to OPEN to allow nitrogen to open the shuttle-cock valves. The nitrogen bottle would then provide more than 3,000 pounds of unregulated and unmetered brake pressure to multiple brake discs.
He turned the pneumatic control hard to the right, but no deceleration happened.
Don pulled the nose steering tiller aft and tried to steer her back to the center of the runway. When Bill shot up the cockpit, one of the “A” system hydraulic control valve switches was destroyed. This sent a signal to the valve the controlled hydraulic pressure to nose gear and main body gear steering. Through a design error at Boeing, this erroneous failure was not discernable by the cockpit crew.
The first indication Webber had was when he applied pressure to the nose gear tiller, only to find it was virtually useless. The flight crew also was unaware the Body Gear Steering had received an erroneous signal that closed its control valve, as well.
There was no backup system for nose gear or main body gear steering. The nose gear castered as the nose of the aircraft wandered toward the edge of the runway. Effectively, the cockpit crew had no more control over the direction of the aircraft than did the passengers in the back of the plane. Essentially, they all were just along for the ride.
In desperation, he reduced the reverse thrust on engines three and four on the right side, hoping the asymmetry would help keep the aircraft on the runway. It worked, but only marginally. With differential thrust, Don was only able to weakly redirect the 747’s nose somewhat back toward the runway centerline.
“80 knots.” Habits. Old habits took over as Fred called out their airspeed, which should have signaled Don to bring all four engines out of reverse thrust.
“70 knots.”
The plane now rolled parallel with centerline of the runway, narrowly skirting the right edge of the concrete. Don tried to get more reverse thrust out of engines one and two. The airplane was swallowing up the remaining runway quickly.
Again, Don pressed on the brake pedals and with resigned finality turned the pneumatic emergency brake handle well past the 90° hash mark. This time, he could feel the sudden and dramatic reduction in the speed of the airplane as it rolled down the runway.
“60 knots.” Fred’s tone was concise but relaxed.
The aircraft continued to slow dramatically.
Fred called out, “50 knots.”
There was no warning, other than a rumbling shudder. The 747 made a very abrupt turn to the right. Suddenly, they were headed 65° off the runway at 40 knots. As they say, “Through the weeds.”
Don again tried to pull all of the engines into maximum reverse, but the reverser levers were already fully against the stops. Over seven hundred thousand pounds of aluminum, human cargo and fuel continued on its errant path. Little seemed to alter her course or speed. The cockpit crew could do nothing but watch the runway disappear beneath the cockpit windows. No matter what they tried, nothing worked.
It was too late.
Fred looked out his side window and saw the painted white runway edge markings and lights disappear underneath him. Both he and Don felt the nose gear tires and then the right main landing gear tires roll off the pavement and onto the crushed sea shells, sand, dirt, grass and rocks.
All three pilots heard several concussive explosions from the main gear tires when they blew out. The combination of normal and pneumatic emergency air brakes had locked up several of the main landing gear brakes. Tires and wheels overheated quickly and fusible plugs in the magnesium wheel rims melted. The tire and wheel assemblies quickly disintegrated, throwing shredded tire casings and retreaded rubber, aluminum and magnesium debris along the runway and up into the wheel wells of the aircraft.
Chapter 94
23:10 Eastern Standard Time
Runway 9 Excursion at Miami International Airport, Florida
Several years prior, the Miami-Dade Airport Authority had commissioned a new Southeast/Northwest runway to be built. The approach end of Runway 12 intersected with the rollout end of Runway 9. On both sides of Runway 9, a drainage collector tunnel was constructed under runway 12. The airport authority had also constructed a drainage culvert that ran parallel to runway 9. This culvert was located seventy feet from the edge of the runway on both sides. It
was designed to accommodate excessive rainwater from Runway 12 and Runway 9 during tropical storms. The culvert was less than 18” deep by 48” wide. Both sides were sloped upward at a 45°.
When the nose tires dropped into the drainage culvert, the gear suffered an instant deceleration from 35 knots to 0 knots in a 1/10th of a second. The side load imposed on the landing gear strut far exceeded all design criteria established by the Boeing Commercial Airplane Company.
The nose gear assembly tore away from three attach points in the nose wheel well. Three thousand pounds of hydraulic pressure instantly emptied the seven-gallon “A” system reservoir. Hot, steaming Skydrol sprayed from the broken hydraulic lines. Now, no pressure was available for the main landing gear brakes, nose gear or body gear steering.
When the nose strut failed, the gear collapsed inboard and aft. Both nose gear tires and rims ripped into the bottom of the fuselage just aft of forward L-1 passenger door. Great sections of aluminum skin were torn and ripped from the fuselage by the collapsing nose gear. Quickly the fuselage of the aircraft settled to the ground, grinding along on its belly. The underbelly of the fuselage was severely buckled and twisted. Elongated holes opened up from the friction with the ground had pulled the aluminum skin away from the fuselage stringers.
When the nose gear collapsed, though he had never experienced it before, Stan said, “Don, the nose gear collapsed.”
“I know it.”
Both Fred and Don could see the Runway 27 Instrument Landing System Glide Slope transmitter directly in front of the nose of the aircraft. Separately, Don and Fred both unconsciously calculated whether the aircraft would stop before or after it hit the Glide Slope building. The incapacitated Boeing 747 slid toward the cinderblock structure with square red and white checkerboard markings at over twenty miles an hour. The ride was bumpy and very noisy. Pilots, Flight Attendants and passengers alike could hear metal being torn, compressed and then ripped from the crippled jet. One passenger likened it to the sound of an automobile collision that lasted forever.
