Blackout

CHAPTER 17

With the pain in his eyes significantly numbed and young Steve Delaney flying the airplane with surprising smoothness, Dan Wade had dared to hope again. He had sat back and breathed deeply, forcing himself to think clearly, when the jarring sound of a warning bell coursed through his consciousness.

What the…? Oh, Lord! That’s an Engine Fire Warning bell!

Dan turned in sightless frustration to the forward panel, wondering which of the four engine fire switches had a bright red light showing in the handle, a light that would be indicating a fire or overheat in one of the remaining engines.

“Wha… what’s THAT?” Steve Delaney was already asking from the left seat.

Dan could feel the control yoke bobble slightly as Steve reacted to the adrenaline coursing through his system, propelled by the shrill cacophony of the bell.

“Engine fire warning,” Dan replied. “Steve, follow where I’m pointing. Quickly! One of those four handles will have a red light in it. Which one? There’s a big number on the end.”

“Ah… number one!”

Oh Lord, we’ve already lost the left inboard! Now I’ve got to shut down the left outboard.

Dan put his left hand on the engine fire switch for the outboard left engine.

“Am I touching the only handle that’s lighted?”

“Yes,” Steve replied, his voice betraying deep fright.

“Don’t stop flying, Steve. She’s going to want to turn left. Don’t let her.”

Keep your emotions in check! Dan told himself. If you sound panicked, he’ll panic. SLOW DOWN!

“Okay, Steve. We have specific procedures for things like this, and I’m going to ask you some questions first, then we’re… going to handle it.”

“Okay.”

“First, look down at the center instrument panel where I’m pointing. Are some of the engine instruments now showing in red?”

“Yes.”

“Which ones?”

“Number one.”

Dan took a deep breath, trying to muster strength. “Look down that row of instruments and find the one labeled ‘EGT.’ Read me the temperature.”

“Uh… it looks like, seven hundred something.”

“Is that reading going up?”

“Yes. Slowly.”

“Okay, Steve. I’m… going to shut down number-one engine. I’m putting my hand on the lighted handle again. It is vital that I get the correct one. Is my hand on the lighted handle for number one?”

“Yes.”

“You are certain.”

“YES! You’re holding number one.”

“Okay, I’m pulling it and discharging the fire bottle. Did a light come on?”

“Yes.”

Please let that be enough! Dan thought. I’ve only got the one fire bottle left on that side.

There was a sudden, seismic BOOM from the vicinity of the left wing, and the entire airplane shuddered.

Oh, God! It exploded!

“What was that?” Steve Delaney asked in a strained voice.

“Steve,” Dan asked, “did the engine readings on the forward panel for number one all go to zero just then?”

“Yes.”

“Is the red light out in the handle?” Dan asked, holding his breath.

“No.”

It may take thirty seconds. Don’t panic! But if the engine’s gone… “Watch the red light, Steve! Tell me when it goes out, but keep flying the airplane.”

“Okay. DAN, IT’S ROLLING TO THE LEFT!”

“Stay calm, Steve! Roll it back to the right. It will do what you physically tell it to. Look back at the attitude indicator. Make it go back to straight and level. I’m putting in rudder trim to the right, and that will help, too. You’ve got to remember that this airplane will fly fine with just two engines on one side.”

Dan could feel the increasingly staccato gyrations on the control yoke as the boy in the left seat fought the airplane. Dan toggled the rudder trim several degrees to the right to counteract the loss of engine thrust on the left wing, ignoring the fact that the cabin call chime was ringing.

“Is she still wanting to roll to the left?” Dan asked.

“Yes! Not as much now, but I’m… I’m having a hard time holding it.”

“I’m putting in more trim. Does that help?”

“I think… yes, it does. Much better.”

“See the turn and slip indicator? It’s below the ADI — the attitude indicator.”

“I… think so.”

“Is the little ball centered, or off to the left or right?”

“It’s… a bit to the right.”

Dan toggled in more right rudder trim. “And now?”

“Almost centered,” Steve replied, his voice nearly an octave above normal.

“Okay. She should fly straight now. Don’t let that right wing come up on you. All our thrust now is on the right wing, and it’s going to want to roll left. Is the red fire light out?”

“No. It’s still on.”

The call chime rang again, and this time Dan swept his left hand back to scoop up the handset.

“Yes?”

“Dan? This is Britta! Our left wing is on fire!”

“What… you mean, left engine? The outboard engine on the left wing?”

“No, Dan. It’s in that vicinity, but the wing is on fire!”

“Oh, wonderful! Ah… Britta, make sure everyone’s strapped in. Report back to me every three minutes or so on… how bad the left wing is. Okay?”

“Right.”

“Okay… ah, Steve, what’s our altitude?”

“Eight thousand.”

“And airspeed?”

“I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING AT ONCE!”

“Hang in there, Steve. You’re doing fine. You’re not going to lose it. She can fly on one engine if necessary.”

“I know that.”

“Now I do need you to glance at the airspeed.”

“Ah… two hundred and… ah… five.”

“Okay. Don’t let it get under a hundred and sixty until I tell you.”

“What do I do?”

“You tell me if I get too slow and I’ll push up the power.” Dan turned partially to his left. “Mr. Walters? Are you still there?”

John Walters’s voice reached him immediately. “Yes!”

“Okay. Can you punch in the coordinates for Da Nang, Vietnam, and give me a heading and distance?”

“I… I think so. Hold on…”

Dan heard the sound of a map being hastily unfolded. “Take it easy, John,” he said, breathing hard. “Just do it methodically.”

The cabin call chime rang again and Dan pulled the handset to his ear.

“Dan. Britta. It’s still burning! A long plume of flame off the left wing, maybe twenty or thirty feet inboard from the wingtip. The passengers are freaking out! It’s getting very red out there, the metal I mean! Can we do something?”

“I’m… trying, Britta. Keep calling.”

He punched in the number for the PA system. “Robert MacCabe… Dallas Nielson… to the flight deck immediately, please. Folks, we’re going to attempt an emergency landing. Strap in.”

Dan could hear heavy breathing from the young boy in the left front seat. “How’re you doing, Steve?”

“I’m holding it, but it doesn’t want to fly straight.”

“Three hundred forty degrees, and about forty miles!” John Walters said.

Dan nodded. “Steve, you’ll need to make a gentle right turn. That’s to the right. Come right to a heading of three hundred and forty degrees. Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Once you have it turned, we’ll work on getting the altitude down carefully.”

Dan could hear people bursting in the cockpit door. “Who’s there?”

“What’s left of Dallas, Honey!” Dallas Nielson said.

“And this is Robert, Dan. What’s happening?”

“Okay… here it is. We must have damaged the left outboard engine back in Hong Kong. I think the engine exploded a few minutes ago and probably… peppered the wing with shrapnel. I’m guessing it breached a fuel tank, which is now feeding a fire. We have no choice but to land or ditch. We’re forty miles from Da Nang, Vietnam, where there’s a big runway. I don’t have time to plan this. Dallas? Please sit behind Steve and help him… strap in and make sure he stays under control. Start a gentle descent now, to five thousand feet on a heading of three-forty, and don’t let the airspeed get below one hundred sixty. Robert? In the middle jump seat, please. John? I’ll need you standing for now, and strapped in back in the cabin before we land.”

Dan could hear Dallas talking low and soothingly to Steve Delaney. “Steve, Honey, take a deep breath and stay calm. You’re doing fine.”

“What’s your plan, Dan?” Robert asked, his voice low and urgent.

Dan reached for a leather-bound book of instrument approach procedures and handed it behind him to Robert. “I need you to find the pages for Da Nang. They’re organized alphabetically… look under Vietnam. They’re instrument procedures. I need a runway heading and… John, please make sure the GPS has the precise airfield coordinates.” Dan stopped, lowered his head, and took several ragged breaths.

“Hang in there, Dan!” Robert said, frantically flipping pages.

Dan nodded. “I am. I am.” His head came up again. “Here’s the deal. Steve will physically fly. I’ll follow him on the controls. Dallas?”

“Yes, Baby?” she responded, her eyes glued to the forward instrument panel.

“I’ll need you reading out the heading and… the airspeed. Okay?”

The cabin call chime rang through the cockpit again, and Dan yanked the handset to his ear once more.

“Yes?”

“It’s still the same, Dan,” Britta reported. “Some of the metal is getting cherry red out there! Can’t you do something?”

“I’m trying, Britta. Keep reporting.” He dropped the phone in his lap once more. “Okay, people… if we can’t make the runway, we’re going to ditch. We don’t have long with that fire. Steve? Dallas? Can you see anything outside?”

“It’s black out there, Danny. Still nighttime. I can see lightning up to the left, but… what am I looking for?”

“You’re looking for a large group of lights on the coast, about thirty-five miles ahead. We should still be over water. Da Nang’s runway is north-south, I think. That’s our only chance, but we have to see it to use it.”

“So, I’m looking for city lights?”

“And an airport.”

“Okay. I’m looking.”

“Let’s descend carefully to two thousand feet. No more than one thousand feet per minute descent rate. Dallas, make absolutely sure Steve doesn’t descend through one thousand for now. Go, Steve.”

“All right.”

“Robert? I’ll need your voice calling out descent rate and altitude. Do it like this: down one hundred, at two thousand three hundred feet. Can you handle that?”

“I think so,” MacCabe replied.

“It’s this display,” Dan said, pointing in the direction of his own set of flight instruments in front of the copilot’s control yoke.

“Down eight hundred, at four thousand eight hundred feet now,” Robert said. “That’s the way to do it?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s good. Okay, and John?”

“Yes?” John Walters replied.

“Can you read the attitude indicator? Do you know what that is?”

“No.”

“Dallas? Could you quickly show John Walters how to do that?”

“I’ll try,” she said. Dan could hear her pull the man toward her and begin talking earnestly in his ear.

“Down one thousand five hundred, at three thousand eight hundred feet, Dan.”

“Thanks, Robert. Steve? Slow your rate of descent. What’s your airspeed?”

“Two hundred fifty.”

Dan reached up and pulled back the throttles for engines three and four on the right wing slightly. “I’m reducing power to keep the airspeed in check. Does it want to roll back to the right now?”

“No,” Steve replied.

“Is it flying straight?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Is it slowing?”

“A little. Two-forty-five now.”

“And can you see any lights ahead?”

“Some. But I can’t look at those and at the instruments at the same time.”

The cabin call chime rang again. “Dan? Britta. The fire’s diminishing a bit. I don’t know what you did, but it’s getting better.”

“Maybe airspeed is helping. Thanks, Britta.”

Dan could hear Dallas finish with John Walters.

“John?” Dan asked. “How many miles now?”

“Twenty-eight. We’re on the right heading… dead on,” he replied.

“Okay. Dallas, we’re going to have one shot at this. When we slow down further, that fire is probably going to flare back up. Can you see an alternating green-and-white beacon ahead?”

There was silence for a few seconds from the left before Dallas replied.

“You know, I expect a refund for this flight if I’m going to be a damn crew member!” she grumbled. “YES!” Her voice was tinged with excitement. “I’ve got it, Dan! Dead ahead.”

“All right,” Dan began, taking a deep breath. “We will probably not see the runway lights until the last minute or so. We need to aim for that beacon, but remember, it will not be on the end of the runway. Robert? Have you found that approach sheet in the book?”

“Yes. Just now.”

“See if you can find anything that indicates… I don’t know how to say this, but there may be a way to manually control the runway lights there by clicking the radio.”

“Do we have a radio we can use?” Robert asked.

Dan hung his head. “Damn! No, we don’t. Forget that.”

“Down one thousand, at two thousand three hundred,” Robert said.

“Steve, start pulling her back to level flight, which will be about three to four degrees nose-up on the attitude indicator. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied.

“Dallas, are we still aiming directly at that beacon?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Can you see anything that looks like an airport?”

“I — not yet, but we’re aiming the right way.”

“Okay. Airspeed?”

“Two hundred sixty,” Steve said.

“I’m going to slow us down now, Steve. She’ll take larger corrections with the yoke, and will seem a bit more sluggish.” He pulled the two throttles for the engines on the right wing back and changed the rudder trim and the pitch trim, keeping a hand on the yoke to feel what Steve Delaney was doing. Thirty seconds crawled by like an eternity.

“Airspeed?” Dan asked again.

“One hundred ninety,” Steve said.

“Altitude, Robert?”

“Level two thousand feet.”

“Exactly?”

“Dead on.”

“Great job, Steve! Keep her there a bit longer. John? How far out?”

“Seventeen miles.”

“Okay. The field is at sea level. At seven miles out we need to start down at no more than seven hundred feet per minute. Robert? You understand that?”

“Yes.”

“If you see a descent rate greater than seven hundred to eight hundred feet per minute, tell Steve to pull it back a hair. You’ll be talking directly to Steve, and I’ll be helping. Steve? Even if you feel me moving the controls, you hang on and keep on flying. I might make corrections, but do not let go! Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Airspeed?”

“One hundred seventy,” Steve replied.

“I’m going to try to get flaps out. Robert? See the flap position gauge up here?” Dan waved his finger at the appropriate gauge. “See the two needles?”

“Yes.”

“If they start to split apart, yell ‘STOP FLAPS!’”

“Okay.”

“Okay — Flaps One.” Dan moved the flap handle to the first detent. “Steve? The airplane is going to want to jump up a bit and climb, so I’m toggling in some nose-down trim.”

“Okay.”

“Flaps Five.” Again he moved the handle, and the sound and feel of the giant 747 flaps moving into position rumbled through the cockpit.

“Robert, are the needles pointing to five?”

“Yes, Dan. Together.”

“Okay. Flaps Fifteen. John? How far from the airport?”

“Fourteen miles.”

“Altitude?” Dan asked.

“Still steady at two thousand,” Robert answered.

“And airspeed?”

“One hundred fifty,” Steve said.

“Dan!” Dallas broke in. “I can see what looks like runway lights up there.”

“Good! Is there a series of flashing white lights leading to the runway lights, or any patch of white approach lights?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Dallas responded.

“So, we’re still headed right for the end of that runway?”

“Looks like it,” Dallas said.

“Keep helping Steve to aim right at it. Now for the landing gear.”

Dan held his breath as he moved the gear handle to the Down position, but the sound of the gear moving out of the underbelly and into position was unmistakable.

“How many green and red lights do I have up here?” Dan asked, his hand on the appropriate gear light panel.

“All green, Dan. No red,” Robert said.

“Hallelujah!” Dan replied. “How far, John?”

“Eleven miles.”

“How does it feel, Steve? Are you pushing or pulling to keep level?”

“I’m pulling.”

The sound of the trim wheel operating filled the cockpit for a moment as Dan toggled it nose-up. “How about now?”

“That’s better.”

“If you let go, does the nose go down or up?”

“It pretty much stays the same.”

“And airspeed?”

“One hundred thirty.”

“Oops!” Dan pushed the throttles up and changed the rudder trim. “Now, tell me when we reach one-forty. We want no less than one hundred forty knots.”

The cabin chime rang again with Britta on the other end.

“It’s flaring up, Dan. It’s really burning out there.”

“Strap in, Britta. We’ll be on the ground in… three minutes.”

“Okay. I’m just behind the cockpit on the upper deck, Dan.”

“Okay.” Dan replaced the handset in his lap. “Miles to the field?”

“Eight miles,” John Walters said.

“Okay, folks. We’re gonna do this!” Dan said, pumping as much energy into his voice as he could in an effort to convince himself.

“Dan, there’s lightning ahead. Looks like a storm’s on the other side of the airport, and when it flashed, I was able to see the airport and the runway.”

“Okay, Dallas. Now, Steve… the object will be to keep a steady descent and not try to flare. Just keep her aimed at the runway, and when we’re down to a hundred feet or so, just make very, very gentle left-and-right movements to keep her between the lights on the runway. She’ll touch down hard, but it’ll be okay. This is a tough bird. She can take it.”

“All right,” Steve replied.

“The wings must be level on touchdown, understand?”

“Yeah.”

“Distance?”

“Seven miles,” John Walters said.

“Okay, Steve, start her down. No more than seven hundred feet per minute. I’m going to nudge the power back and change the trim slightly.”

“Okay.”

“John? Give the GPS to Robert, show him how to read mileage, and strap in.”

“I’ll stay here.”

“NO! There’s no other seat for you.”

“Six miles. I’m staying, Dan.”

Dan hesitated, then nodded. “Your choice, John. Thank you. Altitude?”

“Down eight hundred feet per minute, at one thousand eight hundred feet.”

“Got it. Dallas? Start your call-outs now.”

“Heading is three-five-zero degrees, speed one-fifty.”

“And John? Attitude?” Dan asked.

“Ah… plus one degree. Is that how you want it?”

“Yes!” Dan replied. “Distance now?”

“Five miles,” John Walters said.

“Dallas? Are we lined up with the runway, or are we angling to it?”

Steve answered before she could reply. “It’s angling off to the left — maybe twenty degrees left. WHAT DO I DO?”

“Okay, Steve. Carefully, gently bank the airplane to the right ten degrees, then turn back gently just before the runway comes into alignment. Understand?”

“I… think so.”

“Turn NOW! Keep it gentle! Robert?”

“Yeah, uh, down eight hundred, and… altitude fifteen hundred.”

“Heading three-six-zero,” Dallas added. “Steve, turn it back left now.”

“Okay,” Steve replied.

“Airspeed, somebody?”

“One-forty-five,” Dallas said.

“There!” Steve Delaney said. “I’m lining up! It’s good!”

“Robert?” Dan prompted.

“Down six hundred, altitude twelve hundred,” Robert replied.

“Attitude, John?”

“Plus one degree.”

“Steve, keep it steady… keep it lined up. Make small corrections, very small corrections, in roll and pitch. Okay?”

“Yeah!”

“Robert?” Dan prompted again.

“Down eight hundred now, altitude just under a thousand.”

“We should be three miles, John. Right?” Dan asked.

“Yes. Three.”

“Dallas, can you see the runway clearly? Does it look empty?”

“Yes. The runway looks clear, but there’s lightning on the north side.”

“Concentrate on the runway. Does it have lights on each side?” Dan asked.

“Yes.”

“Down nine hundred, six hundred feet.”

“Steve,” Dan said, “I’m pulling back gently. We want the descent rate a little less. Now, is the end of the runway coming up in the windscreen, or moving under us?”

“Ah, it’s… ah… moving under us.”

“Speed?”

“One-forty.”

“Steve, let the nose down just a hair,” Dan added. “Is the end staying in the same place now?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Steve replied.

“Down nine hundred, two hundred feet,” Robert said.

Dan reached up and verified by feel that the landing lights were on. “Okay… are we headed straight down the runway?”

“Yes!” Steve replied. “But something’s wrong! There’s… a… OH NO! THERES A BUILDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RUNWAY!”

“Dallas? What does he mean?”

“Jeez, Dan, this isn’t a runway! There’s…”

“DAN! This is a taxiway! It ends in a building!”

Dan Wade’s left hand crammed the throttles forward and pulled back on the yoke, pressing the right rudder pedal hard to keep the airplane aligned.

“We’re going around!” Dan croaked. “Max power. Steve, keep wings level!”

“I am!”

“Are we climbing?”

“Yes, a little!” Steve said.

“I’m… guide us straight out, Steve. Are we clear of hills?”

“I don’t know… there’s the runway, under us! Oh, man, I lined us up on the wrong thing!”

“Steve, keep us climbing gently straight ahead. Let’s go up to a thousand feet and turn east. It’ll want to turn left. Don’t let it.”

“There’s a hill over there… in front,” Steve yelled. “And a lot of lightning just ahead.”

“Steer us away,” Dan replied, feeling the yoke go to the left.

“We’re climbing eight hundred, at five hundred feet,” Robert said.

“Airspeed?”

“DAN! WHICH WAY DO I GO?”

“Steve, stay calm! Hold on to the airplane and aim to the left of that storm and keep us clear of any hills. Most are to the west. Keep climbing.”

“Gotta come left more,” Steve said, his voice high and strained. “Lightning!”

“Yes, to the left!” Dallas echoed. “I can’t tell how far. Can’t see for these clouds. We’re in the clouds now, Dan.”

“Steady, Steve. Keep her climbing, and keep her going straight. We’ll go back around to the east, around the storm, and try it again.”

Unseen by the copilot, a tremendous flash of light illuminated the cockpit.

“Dan, we’ve flown into a storm,” Robert said, as calmly as he could.

“DON’T TURN, STEVE! Just keep climbing on this heading. We’ll have to take the bumps.”

Another lightning flash flooded the cockpit with a ghastly light, followed almost instantly by a gigantic booming sound.

“SWEET JESUS, HELP!” Dallas exclaimed.

“DAN,” Steve yelped, “we’re right in the middle of it!” The aircraft had begun to heave and buck in the violent air currents of a thunderstorm cell.

“Keep climbing. Robert?”

“Ah… up… ah, one thousand, and altitude now at one thousand two hundred.”

“Airspeed, someone?” Dan asked.

“I can hardly see after that flash!” Steve said.

“One-sixty,” Dallas said. “And heading two hundred eighty degrees.”

“I CAN’T SEE ANYTHING, DAN!” Steve yelled.

Dan raised his left hand. “Wait, did you say two-eight-zero degrees?”

“Yes,” Dallas said.

“NO!” Dan said. “Aim more north! Use your instruments now. Turn right. Keep climbing. I’m going to raise the gear.” Dan reached out and snapped the landing gear lever to the Up position, feeling the undercarriage respond. “Altitude?”

“One thousand seven hundred, but we’re not climbing,” Robert said.

“Attitude, John?”

“Ah, up five degrees.”

Robert’s voice cut in. “Dan, we’re descending three hundred feet per minute.”

“Watch your pitch, Steve!” Dan shoved the throttles as far forward as they would go as he added back pressure to the yoke to pull the nose up. “Attitude?”

“Up seven, no, eight degrees.”

“We’ve stopped descending, Dan, but we’re at one thousand three hundred.”

The sound of a call chime rang through the cockpit, unheard by Dan. Dallas answered it, then replaced the handset. “Dan, the rain’s put the fire out!”

“Thank God,” Dan said. “We turn north now, we’ll be over the coastline. Need more altitude.”

A tremendous burst of wind slammed into the 747 at the same moment another round of staccato lightning strikes all but blinded everyone but Dan. The gut-wrenching sound of repeated thunderclaps coursed through their souls as the turbulence became severe; the instruments bounced too wildly to be read.

“HANG… ON… EVERYONE!” Dan shouted. “STEVE… IT’S UP TO YOU TO KEEP THE NOSE UP! KEEP IT AT FIFTEEN DEGREES UP! AIRSPEED, ANYONE?”

“CAN’T READ IT!” Dallas cried.

“HEADING? HEADING PLEASE!”

“TWO HUNDRED SOMETHING…” Dallas yelled.

“NO! NO, NO, NO!” Dan yelled. “THERE ARE MOUNTAINS TO THE WEST. TURN RIGHT!”

“DAN, WE’RE DESCENDING AGAIN!” Robert yelled. “WE’RE HOLDING AT A THOUSAND…”

A sudden massive impact threw them all forward against the shoulder straps with incredible force as the belly of the 747 found a ridgeline. John Walters felt himself propelled forward, his body frozen for a split second by another lightning strike. The mountain ridge ripped off all of the engines and most of the flaps, leaving the remaining structure of wings and fuselage skittering in disintegrating confusion at more than a hundred knots past the ridge and settling progressively into the mountain jungle canopy. The airframe rapidly decelerated as flaps and wing panels, engines and lower fuselage parts were ripped away. The lower deck and coach cabins, galleys, seats, and passengers were progressively yanked into the thickening buzz saw of passing trees as the 747 spread its parts through the jumble of vegetation below.

For those in the cockpit, the sensory overload became total. The unbelievable sequence unfolded too rapidly to grasp or see or understand. The airplane disintegrated like a block of cheese skimming a kitchen grater, shedding more and more parts and ribs and components until only a portion of the liberated upper deck of the 747 remained intact. And finally, all that remained habitable of what had been an enormous airplane slid to a halt in the middle of a verdant jungle clearing.

In the minutes that followed, the thunderstorm moved east, leaving behind the normal sounds of a misty predawn jungle, broken in places only by the sound of liquids hissing on hot metallic objects.