Blackout

CHAPTER 11

The chief of Hong Kong Approach Control and two of his controllers had been in urgent consultation over how to handle the emergency that Meridian Flight 5 had become. When ready, they would bring the flight in from the west, lined up carefully with Runway 7, the aircraft flying on autopilot and tracking in on the Instrument Landing System radio beams, which could guide it right through an imaginary target box fifty feet over the end of the runway. The expansive new Chek Lap Kok airport near Hong Kong had incorporated the latest electronic equipment, and the ILS system was new and reliable, sending steady radio beams back up the approach that gave pilots precise guidance. Any aircraft flying the ILS within normal tolerances would arrive fifty feet over the threshold precisely aligned with the runway.

The chief had authorized open phone lines to Meridian Airlines’ operations center back in Los Angeles, and had spoken to several American officials, including the American Federal Aviation Administration, as well as officials in the Chinese Air Force. Even the local American Consulate had been fully briefed, since there were American citizens aboard and no one knew if the explosion could be a hostile act. Customs, immigration, the Hong Kong police, the appropriate fire departments, and everyone else on the emergency plan was ready.

No one knew anything about an explosion to the south, east, or west. The blinded copilot’s initial mention of a distant nuclear detonation as the possible cause had touched a spark to a powder keg of official angst and reverberated all the way from Beijing to Washington, D.C. So, too, had the possibility that Meridian 5 had collided with the Global Express business jet that had disappeared from radar before the incident. The increasingly shrill question of what, exactly, had blinded the flight crew of Meridian 5 was a secondary issue to the facility chief, who, more than anything, wanted to see his men guide the 747 to a safe landing.

One of the controllers gestured west. “What do you think his chances are?”

The chief took a deep breath before replying. “Seven-forty-sevens land at our airport every day using their automatic landing systems.”

“Yes, Sir. I understand. But you haven’t answered my question.”

After locking the door to the consulate’s guest suite, Kat shed all her clothes and slipped between the elegant percale sheets of the king-size bed, enjoying the scent of flowers throughout the room. She had just closed her eyes when the phone rang. The consular officer who’d greeted her was on the other end with the news of Meridian 5’s emergency.

Kat sat in stunned silence for a few seconds, holding the receiver. Robert was a target, and now his flight was in deep trouble and might have been attacked.

“I’ll need immediate transportation to the airport,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

There was a brief silence on the other end.

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

The voice on the PA speakers was labored, but clear.

A stunned silence filled the passenger cabin as the PA clicked off, as if the announcement had reinstated a level of fear that most of the passengers had been able to reason away.

Britta Franz stood in front of the coach cabin feeling numb, aware of the sudden motion as over 200 people checked seat belts, adjusted pillows, held hands, and tried to reassure one another — some of them openly bowing their heads in prayer.

She issued a reassuring pat to Claire’s shoulder and headed back up the stairs to report the cabin ready.

And who will reassure me? Britta thought, and was instantly dismayed with herself for even a moment of self-pity.

In the cockpit Dan Wade moved the landing gear handle to the Down position. The 747’s four main gear assemblies and the nose gear shuddered into place, gently rocking the cockpit with reassuring vibrations.

“What… do you see now on those landing gear lights?” Dan asked.

“They’re all green,” Geoffrey Sampson replied. “Some were red, but now they’ve all turned green.”

“Okay. Now… I need you to tell me what the number is in the mileage window,” Dan said.

Sampson leaned forward again, his eyes searching the bewildering array of displayed numbers in front of him.

“You want the DME, Honey?” Dallas Nielson asked from the jump seat.

Dan turned his bandaged head to the left. “You understand DME?”

“Sure do. Distance Measuring Equipment. It’s showing eleven miles, and I can see the lights of the airport out there at about the same distance. There’s some lightning to the left, almost ahead, and some dark clouds over the airport. The altitude is still three thousand feet.”

“That’s correct!” Geoffrey Sampson echoed. “That’s the very instrument you were pointing to earlier.” He swiveled around to look at Dallas, who was sitting directly behind him. “Ms. Nielson, are you certain you shouldn’t be sitting here?”

“No. I can’t handle the controls, but I can help you guys with what I see.”

There was another ragged sigh from the exhausted copilot. “Ah, don’t hesitate to speak up, please.”

Dallas Nielson chuckled. “One thing I’ve never been accused of is hesitating to speak up.” She glanced over at Robert MacCabe and rolled her eyes with a huge smile that Robert couldn’t resist returning.

Dan’s right hand moved into position on the control yoke, even though the autopilot was flying. “In about two miles… we’ll intercept the glide slope. The lights on that display I showed you… will change. Please tell me when it happens, and what it says. At that point, the throttles will come back some and we’ll start down.”

He leaned forward again, breathing hard, before raising his head. “And then I’ll need to know how fast we’re coming down. That’s really critical.”

“You mean the rate of descent?” Dallas asked.

Dan nodded. “Do you know where to look?”

“Sure do,” Dallas answered.

“The display is changing, Dan,” Geoffrey said.

“How?”

“It’s — I think it’s — like you said, captured the glide path. The button that has GS on it is now green, and the throttles are coming back.”

“We are descending, Dan,” Dallas added. “We’re coming down about five or six hundred feet per minute.” There was a small series of lightning strikes just to the north of the runway, but she was trying to ignore it. What could they do, go around?

The voice of the Hong Kong controller cut through the cockpit. “Meridian Five, cleared to land. Emergency equipment is standing by.”

“Roger, Hong Kong,” Dan replied. “Altitude?”

“Two thousand six hundred,” Dallas replied.

“And airspeed?”

“One hundred sixty knots.”

“I’m… moving the flap lever one more notch. One of you confirm it’s at the twenty-five-degree position.”

“It is,” Sampson confirmed.

“And we’re not rolling left or right? We seem steady?” Dan asked.

“Steady as a rock,” Dallas confirmed. “We’re two thousand feet now, and I can see the runway straight ahead. We’re gonna nail this one, Baby!”

Dan fumbled behind the center pedestal for the interphone handset and pressed the buttons for the PA by memory. “Okay, folks, everyone into a brace position.”

“One thousand five hundred feet,” Dallas called out. “More lightning up there, Dan. Just to the left of the airport.”

Dan nodded, his left hand fumbling for one of the knobs on the glareshield. “Do I have the airspeed knob?”

“No! That’s altitude,” Geoffrey said. “Next one to your left. Yes, that’s it.”

“We’re at one thousand three hundred,” Dallas said.

“What does the speed show?” Dan asked.

“One hundred sixty,” Dallas replied.

“I want one hundred fifty. Am I going the right way?”

“Yes, keep coming. Two more clicks. One more. There! That’s one-fifty.”

“The throttles should come back a bit automatically,” Dan added.

“Yes, they are,” Geoffrey confirmed.

“One thousand one hundred feet,” Dallas said, watching the approach lights crawling steadily toward them. The amazing glow of light from Hong Kong formed the backdrop to the east. “The runway’s all lit up ahead.”

Dan fumbled on the forward panel for the landing light switches, assuring himself that they were on.

“Nine hundred feet,” Dallas said.

“Tell me instantly if anything goes off!” Dan said.

“Seven hundred feet. Runway’s right ahead,” Dallas added.

“Airspeed?” Dan asked.

“It’s one hundred and fifty,” Geoffrey replied.

“Six hundred feet,” Dallas called out.

“Okay,” Dan began, “at just under a hundred feet, the airplane will start to flare itself and the display will change like I told you.”

“Four hundred.”

“We should be about a mile out, and the runway directly ahead, right?”

“You got it, Baby!” Dallas said. “It looks beautiful! A row of jewels in the night, and we’re at three hundred feet.”

Robert MacCabe felt himself holding his breath as the huge jetliner floated toward what appeared to be a runway too short and narrow to accommodate such a huge machine.

“Two hundred…”

The intense flash of lightning ahead was followed by a sudden change on the forward panel as things snapped off and warning flags jumped into the display for the Instrument Landing System — all of them warnings that would have told a sighted pilot that the ILS transmitter had just been knocked off the air.

“Something’s happened, Dan!” Dallas said, her voice in control as she struggled to figure out what to say.

The Autopilot Disconnect Warning was going off, its import clearly understood by the copilot.

“Oh God!” Dan’s voice was an agonized croak.

“We’ve got little red warning things on the instruments,” Dallas said, “but hold her steady! Keep it coming down. The runway’s just ahead.”

“Talk me down, Dallas! Talk me down! Am I wings-level?”

“You’re rolling to the right a bit… and the nose is coming up too much. Down… down more… and roll her back left… NO, DAN! You’re still rolling too much right!”

“HOW HIGH?”

“Ah… one hundred, less than that, coming down now, but a bit too fast! Roll left! LEFT!”

Dan Wade snapped the yoke to the left, causing the 700,000 pound aircraft to roll sharply left with its wing hanging less than fifty feet off the ground. The huge airplane began to drift left toward the side of the runway.

Geoffrey Sampson’s voice rang out from the left seat. “We’re aimed too far left of the runway to land, Dan!”

“TOO MUCH LEFT! ROLL RIGHT, DAN, AND PULL!” Dallas bellowed.

The left wingtip struck the ground a glancing blow. The sudden left yaw was countered by the thundering impact of the sixteen tires of the main landing gear in the grass to the left of the runway. The nose began to come up in response to the blind copilot’s frantic pull on the yoke.

“Going… around!” Dan Wade managed to say as his left hand jammed the throttles all the way forward. Instinct caused him to counter the left-hand lurch with right rudder and right roll, which guided the big jet somehow back into the air, nose high, robbed of airspeed, and hanging ten feet over the surface on the pressurized cushion of air created by its passage. “TALK TO ME!”

Another bright series of lightning strikes, accompanied instantly by a sudden crack of thunder momentarily boggled both Dallas and Geoffrey. Dallas found her voice first, but decided there was no point mentioning something the copilot couldn’t see or do anything about anyway. “We’re… we’re holding… don’t let it down any more! We’re barely above the ground, but your wings are almost level. Runway’s to the right! Pull her up some.”

“AIRSPEED?”

“Jeez, Dan! One hundred… twenty!”

“Dan,” Geoffrey Sampson’s almost detached voice again, then, “DAN! THERE’S A TOWER AHEAD!”

Dan pulled sharply back on the yoke.

“OH LORD!” Dallas yelped, as the sight of a red-and-white checkered metal tower disappeared beneath the nose, followed by the sickening sound of a muffled metallic scraping noise. Another gigantic shudder rattled through the aircraft. The engines came to full power and the nose pitched up.

“GOD, Dan, We HIT it!”

“DALLAS! Can you tell me my pitch angle? How nose-up am I?”

“I’m looking! I think maybe ten degrees!”

“Help me hold it there! Am I wings-level?”

The sound of a muffled explosion on the left side was followed by a warning bell and a red light on the panel directly before them as the 747 yawed left.

“What the hell is that?” Dallas yelped.

“There’s a red light in the handle up there!” Robert MacCabe chimed in. “It has the number ‘two’ on it.”

“That’s a fire in number-two engine,” Dan said, automatically pressing the right rudder pedal to oppose the unbalanced thrust from the right wing. “We lost number two. You gotta help me keep the wings level, everyone! Talk to me! TALK TO ME! Geoffrey, keep telling me the degrees of wing-left or wing-right!”

“Wings are level now, Dan,” Sampson replied, his eyes huge.

“You’re level and we’re climbing quickly!” Dallas said, her breathing coming in short staccato gasps as she tried to keep up.

“How high?” Dan asked.

“Ah… three hundred feet. Still climbing.”

Dan found the flap handle and snapped it to the fifteen-degree position. Gear! he thought. Should he dare? It might be damaged, but he needed less drag. It could wait a second, he decided.

His left hand released the throttles to find the engine fire levers.

“Altitude?”

“Five hundred and climbing. Airspeed one hundred forty now,” Dallas said.

“Dallas, this is vital. The fire handle I’m touching, is that the one with the red light in it?”

“Yes!”

“Okay, and it says two?”

“YES! You need to roll a little to the right. JUST A LITTLE!”

“Left wing down three degrees,” Geoffrey Sampson intoned. “Now down left two degrees.”

Dan yanked the number-two engine fire handle and twisted it to set off the fire extinguisher. “ALTITUDE?”

“Eight hundred… still climbing!” Dallas said.

“I’m going to pull the gear up,” Dan said, and his hand snapped the gear handle to the Up position. The sound of moving landing gear shuddered once more through the aircraft.

“Airspeed?”

“One hundred eighty… no, one-ninety,” Dallas replied. “We’re climbing through a thousand feet. Wings are still level, but we’ve lost lights in here, all but a few.”

“Are we above the hills on the other side?”

“Yes,” Dallas told him.

Dan moved the flap lever all the way up as he took a deep breath. “You’re going to have to talk to me constantly! We need to go to the west and climb to five thousand. Don’t let me get too nose-high or roll too far in either direction!”

“I can still see the instruments, but this side only,” Geoffrey said.

“TALK TO ME, DAMMIT!”

“Okay, Dan!” Dallas responded. “Right wing’s down a few degrees, your nose is about ten degrees up.”

“I’m going to touch a switch called APU, Dallas. The Auxiliary Power Unit. Would you verify it says APU?”

“Yes. APU.”

He snapped it on and pressed the Transmit button on the control yoke.

“Hong Kong Approach, Meridian Five. We may have taken out your ILS tower. I’ll need vectors to a safe altitude while we try to figure out what to do.”

There was no answer.

“Hong Kong Approach, Meridian Five, how do you hear?”

Dan Wade’s left hand had found the glareshield panel again and was punching the Autopilot Connect buttons, but there was no response.

“Dallas? Geoffrey? Is the Autopilot Connect indicator here lit up?”

“No. It’s dark,” Geoffrey replied. “What does that mean?”

“Oh Lord. It means I don’t have an autopilot. I’ll have to fly manually. You’ve got a friggin’ blind pilot flying manually!”

“Oh, no,” Geoffrey moaned.

“Hong Kong Approach, Meridian Five. Please respond!”

The radio remained silent, as did Dan for an extended period, before Robert MacCabe broke the silence.

“Why aren’t they responding, Dan?”

The copilot reached forward and put his finger on a small round compass dial containing two needles.

“Ah, are… there two red flags in here?”

Dallas Nielson leaned forward. “Yes. Two of them.”

Dan pointed back to the center pedestal to one of the navigation radio dials. “Make sure it’s on one-oh-nine-point-five, and then tell me if the flags are still there.”

The sound of clicking filled his ears as Dallas made the adjustment. There was silence for a few seconds.

“The flags are still there, Dan.”

She could see him slump. “Dan? You okay?” Dallas asked. “Roll right a bit, nose down a bit.”

Dan began shaking his head. “We’ve lost it,” he said quietly.

“Can’t we try again, Dan?” Robert MacCabe asked, his voice strained.

Dan was shaking his head. “If I can’t reconnect the autopilot, we can’t do an automatic approach. And if we can’t get the localizer…”

“I don’t understand,” Robert said.

“When we took out the ILS tower and our own ILS receiver back there,” Dan said, “I think we destroyed the only equipment we had that could get us home.”