“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 thou
sand 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 han
dset 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.”
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