by Jack Lance
For today’s flight, Oceans had appointed Jim commander, with primary responsibility for navigation and the autopilot. Greg would serve as the airplane’s first officer; as such he was responsible for radio contact with air-traffic control as well as the internal equipment.
While Greg checked the systems, scrutinized the cockpit from top to bottom, and set the devices, Jim prepared their heading. Reserve pilot Ben Wright, meanwhile, stood by quietly, with no specific duties for the moment.
‘I’ll check on the refueling,’ Jim said after they had reviewed the hydraulic system and oxygen levels, and activated the cockpit-window heating and the lighting inside the aircraft. Refueling did not demand supervision by the captain, but he had made a habit of being present, regardless. Every pilot had his own routines, and this was one of his.
Jim left the aircraft and stood beside the wing, watching as the fuel was pumped aboard. ‘Add another 30,000 pounds,’ he requested.
Every airline pilot understands that several factors are involved in the consumption of fuel on an airliner. Distance flown and the weight of the aircraft are critical factors, of course, but so is temperature. Airline fuel has a tendency to expand as it heats and can trickle out from the wings – a phenomenon that can frighten a passenger looking out a window. In winter, the tanks hold more fuel weight because the gallons contract.
The refueling finished, Jim went back inside the plane. His next job was setting the electrical system in the auxiliary power unit, a smaller engine in the tail of the aircraft which operates as a power generator. The APU also generates air to start the massive jet engines and to power the air-conditioning system.
The time was 8:25, twenty minutes before takeoff. Time for the cockpit briefing – another pre-flight routine. Some airlines dictate exactly what needs to be addressed in the briefing, but Oceans Airways was less formal and left it to the pilots to set the agenda. That pleased Jim, who preferred to tell his own story chronologically.
‘OK, here’s how I want it done,’ he said to Greg and Ben. ‘We’ve taken on 360,000 pounds of fuel, so we can leave as soon as everyone is on board and the doors have been closed. A pushback truck will push us …’ He paused briefly. ‘… We haven’t arranged for pushback yet, let’s not forget to take care of that. During the pushback, we’ll start the engines and taxi to 2-4 left. If a problem should arise, we abort before V1, at 150 knots.’
He was referring to the threshold speed to abort a takeoff. At any speed below V1 an aircraft can stop before takeoff if need be. At V1 it is still possible to abort takeoff, but only for such emergencies as engine failure, a fire, or a configuration alert. The flaps may be positioned the wrong way, or the aircraft may pull in the wrong direction. Sharp braking during this phase can cause overheating in the brake discs, which in turn can melt the valves and deflate the tires. In such circumstances there is also the danger of a brake fire. After V1 is attained, however, the pilot no longer has options: he must take off. An aborted takeoff above this critical speed renders the aircraft incapable of stopping before it reaches the end of the runway.
‘Should we continue with an engine defect, we’ll climb to 985 feet at V2. Then we’ll accelerate to 250 knots, pull up the flaps, and climb to a safe altitude of 2,000 feet. There, we’ll see if we can fix the problem. If I decide to turn back, we’ll climb to 5,000 feet to dump fuel over the ocean. If there are no problems after V1, however, we’ll first climb to 5,000 feet, then to cruise altitude of 30,000 feet. We’ll take a westerly course toward Hawaii, across Tahiti, the Cook Islands, and Fiji. Then we’ll pass the date line and fly on to Sydney. Weather reports confirm clear conditions except over the Cook Islands. There’s a slow-moving typhoon in the area moving southward. Sustained winds are at 65 knots, so I’m expecting some heavy turbulence there.’
Jim had never experienced an aborted takeoff, but like most airline pilots he remained forever vigilant. Fate could come knocking at any time.
More predictable was the hassle with passengers. Late arrivals, drunks, missing suitcases: these and other mishaps just before takeoff could ruin the day of a cockpit crew member. Not unknown was a last-minute disagreement between the pilot, keen for departure, and the purser, the crew member responsible for the passengers.
When everyone in the passenger section was seated, and everything had been checked and rechecked, and the plane was ready for takeoff, Jim Nichols heaved a deep sigh of relief.
After the passengers were seated and the doors closed, the next hurdle was obtaining permission to depart from LAX tower. Jim Nichols estimated a delay with that. Since radar systems cannot cover the entire Pacific Ocean, planes have to fly further apart from each other. No matter the immeasurable size of the Pacific, its air routes can become congested.
The delay was only fifteen minutes. On the asset side of the ledger, boarding the passengers had proceeded more smoothly than expected. At 8:57, Flight 582 called Ground Control for clearance.
‘Oceans Airways 5-8-2, cleared to proceed on the outer 2-4 left,’ a crisp voice from the Control Tower informed them. ‘Number three for departure.’
‘Oceans 5-8-2,’ Greg confirmed.
Jim activated the anti-collision signal and the hydraulics for the operation of the brakes, rudders, and nose wheel. As he flicked on a switch, the first doses of high quality aviation fuel began flowing into the engines. After deactivating the air conditioning in order to redirect power to help start the main engines, he made radio contact with the man in the pushback truck located beneath the nose wheel.
‘Ready to roll.’
‘Release brakes,’ the man on the ground responded.
As the truck pushed the aircraft back, Greg Huffstutter pushed the starter button to initiate the engine. Jim, meanwhile, reviewed the after-start checklist with Greg. Once the aircraft was pushed back, it was on its own. It would now have to make the balance of the long journey to Sydney under its own steam. Jim started taxiing from Delta to Echo 8 and stopped at holding position Victor 2-4 left.
The first plane in line, a United 737, turned right on to the active runway and took off with a roar of engines. When the second aircraft, an American Airlines 757, rolled into position at takeoff point for runway 24, Greg switched to tower frequency and clicked his mic button twice. As the 757 started its takeoff roll, the tower called in. ‘Oceans 5-8-2 taxi into position and hold.’
‘Oceans 5-8-2,’ Greg acknowledged.
Moments later, the tower controller informed Oceans 582 that it was cleared for takeoff. ‘Climb to 900 feet before you start your turn.’
‘Oceans 5-8-2,’ Greg repeated.
Suddenly Jim felt a wave of disease roil his intestines. He had felt that way earlier in the day, but this was the first time he had experienced such a sensation once inside the cockpit. He couldn’t explain what it was or what had caused it. But of this he felt certain: for the first time in his aviation career he did not want to fly.
Acting on automatic, he pushed the thrust lever forward, and the plane picked up speed.
‘V1,’ Jim said. ‘Lift-off.’
The 747 accelerated and started its climb.
Despite a flawless takeoff, Jim was restless as he switched to climb power at 1,000 feet. Gradually he accelerated to 250 knots, the maximum speed below 10,000 feet. At that level he increased speed to 375 knots, the most economical climb rate. Subsequently, he increased the speed with the same power to compensate for the lower density of air molecules higher up in the increasingly thin air. His airspeed indicator read 260 knots, but the true ground speed of the 747 had by now increased to 400 knots. Sixty miles into their 7,500-mile journey to Sydney they were flying at their final cruise speed: Mach 0.84.
The Princess of the Pacific, the pride of Oceans Airways, flew steadily away from the west coast of the United States on a southwestward course across the vast and often tempestuous Pacific Ocean, bound for the east coast of Australia.
FIVE
Airborne
From the crew�
��s perspective, the bulk of what needed to be done aboard the Princess of the Pacific had been done by the start of the flight. And after the passengers were served dinner and their trays were collected, members of the crew had time to relax a little. While the cabin crew tidied up the main galley, where Sharlene was stationed, tongues were wagging.
Alexandra Goldmacher started it. A friend of hers had planned to get married in a few weeks, but when her husband-to-be confessed to having an affair with another woman, the wedding was summarily cancelled.
‘She had everything ready,’ Alexandra explained to her female colleagues hanging on her every word. ‘Her wedding dress, the rings, everything.’ What Alexandra said, of course, spawned further dialogue about the fickleness of men.
Sharlene kept her distance until Alexandra made a show of telling Sharlene that she at least seemed to have found her soulmate in Aaron. Alexandra had been single for a year now, and until recently had been casting lustful eyes at the purser. Aaron could easily have fallen for her because Alexandra, who bore a sharp resemblance to the singer Shakira, was an attractive representative of the gentler sex.
‘I hope so,’ Sharlene said evasively. ‘I’ve had my fill of cheating boyfriends.’
Yeah, sure! Alexandra’s jealous eyes said.
But Sharlene was not exaggerating.
Todd Bower had been a monster. He hadn’t seemed a bad sort at first, but then at first men like that rarely do. Sharlene had been attracted to Todd and had seriously considered him the love of her life. One morning he left early for work at a small transport company he owned. It was a one-man business, and his pride and joy was his brand new Ram Van 2.5 High Roof. That morning, while Sharlene was still in her nightgown in his apartment, the doorbell rang.
She opened the door to find a pretty girl on the doorstep who introduced herself as Kristin. The girl had fiery-red hair, a perky freckled nose, cloud-white teeth, and a look that suggested she could take on the world and any man in it.
But she was not alone. In the crook of her arm she held a small female child. That cute little bundle of joy turned out to be Todd’s daughter.
Kristin had no qualms about telling Sharlene about her affair with Todd. What it boiled down to, she claimed, was that Todd was an unholy bastard who had run out on her and their daughter Tina and refused to give them a dime in child support. She had been keeping an eye on her ex-lover, and it had not escaped her notice that he had found a new girlfriend. Kristin’s intention was not to drive them apart, she insisted. She wanted no part of the son of a bitch. She just wanted Sharlene to know what kind of reprobate she was sleeping with.
When Todd returned home that evening, Sharlene told him about Kristin’s visit. Todd responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. His ex was his ex, he scoffed. It was over and that was all he had to say on the subject. Sharlene, however, had more to say. She informed him in no uncertain terms that this was something they needed to talk about. How could she trust him if he kept secrets like this from her?
He, in turn, insisted there was no need for her to keep nagging about it, because for him Kristin was history.
But what about Tina, your daughter? she had cried out. You can’t in good conscience abandon your own child. Do you even have a conscience?
That got his dander up. He yelled at her that it was none of her damn business, it was all in the past, and he didn’t want to open old sores.
Fuming, Sharlene snatched her car keys from the kitchen counter and yelled back that if he wouldn’t talk, she would walk. She would go to see Kristin to ask her what kind of a man Todd Bower really was. She had intended to use her threat as a crowbar, to force him to open up to her. The fact that he had a child might be an unpleasant surprise, but it need not cause a break-up if he pledged to be honest with her from then on. She still loved him, or so she thought.
What happened next forced a sudden change of heart. Todd ordered her to stay put and shut up. When she replied that he had no business speaking to her in that manner or telling her what to do, he hit her – a lashing violent whack across her face.
After Sharlene had been beaten by her father, she had vowed that no man would ever hit her again. Without another word, she left the house and drove away, forever, from Todd Bower.
But he had not accepted her decision. He called her at all hours of the day and night to say he was sorry. Sometimes he appeared on her doorstep in the middle of the night and rang the doorbell over and over again. That was when her nightmares started.
And then everything had gone terribly wrong.
That was six years ago. Sharlene had been nineteen, still a girl. That was how she regarded herself at that time: a girl who had been forced to walk through hell and back. But what she had experienced so far was but a prelude to Todd’s final act of vengeance.
This night, however, she saw no purpose in expanding on her story. Let Alexandra go on thinking she was exaggerating. Sharlene didn’t care.
After six hours in flight, Aaron Drake was still busily occupied in Business Class. Passengers kept pressing the crew alert button, summoning him to fetch them another beer, or a glass of wine or water.
Aaron was working the shift alone, waiting for Mara to relieve him so he could snatch a few hours of shut-eye before it was time to serve breakfast. He walked over to the passenger who had just paged him, a short man in a brown suit sitting in seat 78A.
‘How may I help you, sir?’ he asked the passenger politely.
The man picked up the little wine bottle from his tray table and wrinkled his nose, ‘This Chardonnay is stale,’ he groused.
Aaron fought an urge to take the bottle and sniff the wine. He restrained himself, however, because the customer was always right – a principle of salesmanship that his training had drummed into him. He looked down on the balding pate of the passenger and was reminded of another diminutive screen-hothead, the actor Danny DeVito.
Some people claimed Aaron had a woman’s job. Others said he was basically a high-end waiter. The former claim was untrue, the latter absurd. Safety is the first priority for any member of the cabin crew. If any member of a flight crew failed an intense safety exam administered each year, his or her career was over. No exceptions.
Aaron, who had launched his own career on a 737, had moved on to a 767 and had been purser on that type of plane for more than a year. He took his job seriously, and those who flew with him respected him for his professional demeanor.
This Danny DeVito look-alike obviously saw him as nothing more than a dumb waiter.
‘I’ll get you a new bottle,’ Aaron assured him.
‘You do that,’ the short man snorted. ‘Drinking sour wine is unacceptable.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Aaron said obligingly.
‘And while I’m at it,’ the man ranted on, ‘I’ve had far better meals on board airplanes. Obviously, Oceans is not doing so well. Other airlines still know the meaning of service.’
Although Aaron was getting annoyed, he realized the man had a point. Oceans Airways was not a luxury airline, and was in danger of being further minimized by the bigger players. The airways were filling up, and Aaron would not be surprised if Oceans ended up crushed in the throng or being sold.
‘Shall I take this bottle away?’ he asked.
‘Good plan, my boy.’
Flight 582 had started out as a routine flight. At two o’clock in the morning only the dimmed cabin lights were left on. Passengers who were still awake amused themselves with a book or with programs on the entertainment screens secured in the backrests of the seats in front of them. They watched movies; someone was playing a game of blackjack against the computer; a bearded man with a thick chain around his neck was engrossed in a religious book. The wide-shouldered man and his fair-haired wife talked about what they were going to do in Sydney. He wanted to see the sights, whereas she was more interested in the beaches. The Asian father patiently answered a barrage of questions from his youngest son, who could not seem to sleep and wanted t
o know everything about planes and how they stayed up in the sky. To the crew members servicing these people, it seemed a flight like any other.
Sharlene Thier was in a bed in the crew bunk, a section in the back of the plane that served as a rest area for staff. The gray canvas over her head, with its zipper closure, created the illusion that she was inside a small tent. The section held eight beds, and all of them were occupied. It also held a few seats with entertainment screens like the ones afforded the passengers. Until the final two hours before landing, the crew had little to do. Sharlene called this phase of a long, intercontinental flight ‘the dead hours.’ Her sleeping bag was no luxury, but it did offer a degree of privacy. Beside her on the blanket, always within reach like a child’s teddy bear, was her small black flashlight, spreading an aura of protective light. Feeling safe and tucked in, at least for the moment, Sharlene yawned and folded her hands behind her neck.
Sleep did not come easily, however. She was fretting. Why, she could not determine; but she knew it was precisely what she should not be doing.
In her perception of things, as a child Sharlene had been a caterpillar. Now, finally, she had become a young butterfly, hesitantly testing her wings to fly, occasionally crashing back down to earth. That had happened again just before she and Aaron left her house, when the heel of her shoe came undone. Then, on the plane, Alexandra had started going on about men and why they could not be trusted. She and Sharlene had never gotten along, and tonight Alex had managed to reawaken memories of Todd. The memories had stirred up dust clouds of toxic misery. After that, the dreaded fretting and stewing had settled over her. Sharlene tried to push the negativity away by focusing her mind on the positive things that had happened to her in recent years. She had applied for a job at Oceans Airways and, lo and behold, they had hired her. Today she was succeeding in ways she could only have dreamed about just a few years ago. She had climbed the career ladder with surprising speed. At the still young age of twenty-five, she was already an assistant purser on a 747. Outside work her life could still be fairly chaotic, she realized only too well. Aaron, too, had noticed her penchant for turmoil on the home front. But once on board an aircraft, a professional with a job to do, she deliberately set herself apart from the other flight attendants, some of whom were scornfully referred to as ‘schoolgirls’ by the pilots.