Chapter 32.
DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
The day was dawning under cloudy skies and brisk winds when Jackie and Scott arrived at the Signature Flight Support executive terminal. Their witty, sometimes bawdy, Irish-born taxi driver placed their luggage next to his cab and wished them well.
Scott handed him a crisp folded bill. "Keep the change."
A glint of appreciation flashed in the drivers twinkling eyes. "Thank you, sir. Very generous of you."
"My pleasure."
After they entered the building, Jackie checked the en-route weather and filed an instrument flight plan to Gander, Newfoundland.
With the help of a friendly customer service representative, Scott loaded their luggage and supplies into their new Gulfstream 100 jet. With fresh coffee, warm pastries, water, and plenty of ice on board, they were ready to get under way in their search for terrorist mastermind Saeed Shayhidi.
After Jackie started an engine, Scott listened to the ATIS and called Clearance Delivery. He copied the instrument clearance and then read it back for verification. Switching to Dulles Ground Control, Scott requested permission to taxi to Runway 19-Left. When they were cleared, Jackie added power and began taxiing. Clear of the parking ramp, she started the second engine.
Completing the before-takeoff checklist, Scott rechecked the flap setting and then called the tower as they approached the runway. Granted permission to take off, Jackie pulled onto the runway.
"Ready to go?" she asked.
"All set."
She added power and tracked straight down the centerline of the 11,500-foot runway. The aircraft rapidly accelerated, and Jackie made a smooth transition to flight at the calculated rotation speed.
With the landing gear retracted and the flaps raised, the tower handed Gulfstream 957GA off to departure control.
Scott changed frequencies and keyed the radio. "Uh, Dulles departure, Gulfstream Nine-Five-Seven Golf Alpha out of fifteen hundred feet climbing to five thousand."
"Gulfstream Nine-Five-Seven Golf Alpha, departure, radar contact, turn left, proceed direct Baltimore, climb and maintain one-one-thousand."
"Left, direct Baltimore, climb, maintain one-one-thousand, Fifty-Seven Golf Alpha."
After a short delay, Dulles departure switched the flight to Washington Center and Scott changed to the new frequency. He checked in, and the controller cleared them to climb and maintain 37,000 feet.
Climbing through 18,000 feet Scott and Jackie reset their altimeters to the standard setting of 29.92 inches of mercury. Passing 33,000 feet and cleared to climb to 41,000 feet, Scott climbed out of the cockpit and went into the cabin to turn on the Airshow direct-broadcast satellite television. He selected the Weather Channel and waited for an overall view of their route.
Keeping one eye on the screen, he handed Jackie a cup of coffee and a pastry. He munched on a Danish and watched the current weather patterns. Satisfied with the en-route update, he finished his coffee and returned to the cockpit. He strapped into the right seat as the Gulfstream leveled imperceptibly at 41,000 feet.
"The weather still looks fairly reasonable to Gander, but after that it may be a bit dicey. Showing thunderstorms with tops up around mid-forty range and growing."
Jackie's voice was emotionless. "We can climb above it."
"Not if they're up to fifty thousand feet," Scott said, knowing he was being tested. He casually rolled his eyes toward her. "The higher we climb the more dangerous the atmosphere. Not to mention that we d be close to our aerodynamic ceiling. Only a few knots of separation between an aerodynamic stall and Mach buffet . .. possibly experiencing Mach tuck. The early jet pilots learned that lesson the hard way, losing a lot of good planes and good pilots."
"True," she said, without looking at him.
He glanced at the engine instruments. Tm staying at flight level four-one-oh until I'm comfortable with this machine."
"I've never seen you intimidated by an airplane."
He raised an eyebrow in good humor. "Whats that old saying about truly superior pilots?"
She laughed softly. "They use their superior judgment to avoid those situations where they might have to use their superior skills."
He turned to her and smiled. "And, I might add, the test pilots have already set the limits for this airplane. We don't need to experiment."
"No argument from me."
GANDER INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, NEWFOUNDLAND
The flight from Dulles International was smooth and uneventful at FL410. Jackie made landfall over Burgeo, Newfoundland, on the final descent into Gander. As usual, she made the landing look effortless and then taxied to the Century Aviation facilities.
While Jackie closely observed the refueling, Scott again checked the weather and filed an instrument flight plan to Luton Airport, located thirty-five miles north of central London. They enjoyed a snack and a soft drink before investigating the duty-free shop.
"Time to move on," Scott said, as he reset his watch to local time. "This is the long leg."
They walked out of the FBO and headed toward their immaculate red-and-white Gulfstream 100.
Jackie studied the sky to the northeast. "You haven't said anything about the weather. What's London like?"
"London isn't a problem." He glanced at her and shrugged his shoulders. "There's a huge system, thunderstorms, from the southern tip of the Reykjanes Ridge to the Newfoundland Basin."
"That's all the way to the Azores," Jackie said with growing concern in her voice. "Maybe we should wait until morning."
He ignored the suggestion. "We can probably skirt around it to the north. Pilot reports from the low flyers indicate moderate to heavy rime ice from eight to fourteen thousand feet. The jet drivers are reporting the tops at forty-five and above."
"What about going south?" she asked.
"We don't have the fuel reserves if it drives us too far south, have to land at Lajes. I believe we can find a place to get through."
She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, but lets leave our options open, come back here if we have to."
"I agree. Well give it a try."
They climbed aboard and strapped in, and Scott started the engines. Jackie handled the checklists and radios while Scott gave a crew brief. They were soon airborne, climbing to FL410. They picked up moderate rime ice but rapidly climbed through the clag. Two hours into the flight, they could see dark clouds stretching from horizon to horizon. Flying away from the setting sun was rapidly enveloping the jet in total darkness.
"Want to go up to forty-five?" Jackie asked.
"Not yet," he mumbled. "Just not comfortable pushing it that high if we encounter severe turbulence."
"Coffin corner?"
He glanced at her. "Yeah, we dont need an upset in the middle of a thunderstorm, bad for the adrenal glands."
They could see dim lightning flashes in the distance. The radar was beginning to paint the enormous series of storms.
After another fifteen minutes of anxiety, she stared into the midnight-dark sky. "Were going to have to rely solely on the radar, can't see a damn thing outside."
He studied the radar screen for a few seconds. "It looks like a possibility, an opening at eleven o'clock . . . coming left ten degrees."
"What if it isn't?"
"Then it's going to be a bumpy ride."
The turbulence was intensifying by the minute and lightning was beginning to blind them. A few splattered raindrops announced the beginning of a wild ride. A sense of unease stole over Scott when a huge bolt of lightning flashed directly in front of the jet.
"Tighten your straps," he said evenly. "Continuous ignition."
Jackie engaged continuous ignition for the engines and rechecked the icing switches.
"Let's slow to maneuvering speed," she suggested, when they flew into heavy rain and menacing lightning.
"Okay, easing the power, lets go with all the lights," Scott said, in a calm voice. Maybe we should get out of here...
Ja
ckie quickly responded. Their darkened cockpit was suddenly brightly illuminated to help stave off flash blindness.
"That's much better," he said, keeping his eyes on the flight instruments. "Almost like daylight in here."
An awkward silence filled the cockpit for the better part of a minute.
"This is not good," Jackie finally said. She watched the weather radar and suppressed a twinge of panic. The screen was one large blotch of solid red. "What about diverting to Iceland, to Reykjavik?"
Scott started to reply as the Gulfstream was swallowed by an extremely severe level-five thunderstorm. The fierce weather system was immense, creating storms of colossal proportions.
"Do you want the strobes off?" Jackie asked, in a tight voice.
"Sure, kill all the exterior lights."
The exterior lights reflecting off the clouds were distracting. The turbulence quickly became severe, forcing Scott to hand-fly the airplane. The lightning was the worst either had ever seen. It was almost continuous and blinding, forcing both pilots to squint.
Seconds later the heavy rainfall turned into pounding hail. The airplane was taking a beating and the engines were ingesting large amounts of ice. Scott was concerned about losing control of the jet and overstressing the wings or tail. A deafening thunderclap, accompanied by a crackling flash, shocked them. Jackie's windshield popped when hail cracked the lower right corner. That's enough--this windshield could go at arty second!
"Scott," she said, urgency in her voice. "This is a huge, powerful system. Let's make a one-eighty and get the hell out of here."
They were inside a killer storm and their situation was definitely serious, a life-threatening experience over the middle of the North Atlantic.
Focused on keeping the jet under control, he nodded quietly. "Yeah, might be the best course."
A double flash of intense lightning made them wince.
With fear in her eyes, she glanced at Scott. "We just took a lightning strike. The left engine is rolling back, losing power!"
Gripping the control yoke, Scott turned left toward Reykjavik. Fighting the extreme turbulence, he lowered the nose and thought about broadcasting a Mayday message. "As soon as were in the parameters for an air start, give it a try."
Before she could answer, the G-100 took a mind-numbing lightning strike that literally knocked out the entire electrical system. It was like tripping the main circuit breaker to a home.
"Both engines are spooling down," she said in a frightened voice. "We've lost everything!"
"Grab the flashlight!" Scott said, focusing on his three small, dimly lighted basic instruments. "Put on your mask!"
They quickly donned their oxygen masks while Scott initiated an emergency descent. Without the electrical system, they could not communicate with anyone.
With her mask adjusted, she snatched a flashlight from her flight bag and trained it on the emergency primary instruments. "Were in deep trouble," she said in a muffled voice.
"Check the circuit breakers," Scott said, when he smelled the pungent stench of burned electrical wires. He adjusted his mask to fit tighter.
Jackie made a quick sweep with the flashlight and felt a cold chill run down her back. "We have smoke in the cockpit."
"Keep the extinguisher handy."
"I have it."
Scott remained unusually quiet, concentrating on flying the airplane and facing reality. Most aircraft accidents are the result of a chain of events leading to a disaster. I dismissed all the obvious warning signs, all the flashing neon lights.
The emergency instruments were powered by an independent battery that lasted a half hour or less. The radios did not have a separate battery. Scott and Jackie had to find a place to land or risk losing control of the battered jet. Making matters worse, there was no way to declare an emergency or broadcast a Mayday call. They were alone and descending through the maw of a violent thunderstorm.
Scott centered his attention on flying the plane as smoothly as possible in the severe turbulence. "Stay on oxygen until we re out of fifteen."
Jackie nodded, as she stared at the primary instruments.
They focused on the basic survival instincts. Don't lose control of the jet during the rapid descent. Passing through 17,000 feet, Scott couldn't wait any longer.
"Jackie, try the sat phone--get off a Mayday!"
She slowly shook her head. "They're packed in the external luggage compartment."
"Great."
She ripped off her mask and handed Scott the flashlight. "I'll check the satcom in the cabin." She hurriedly unbuckled her seat restraints and then rushed into the darkened cabin. The turbulence knocked her from side to side and caused her to trip. Jackie checked the satcom and lurched back to the cockpit door. "The phone in the cabin is fried."
"It just keeps getting better." Scott yanked his mask off. He could feel the Grim Reapers hand resting on his shoulder. We cant make land--have to ditch at night in a thunderstorm ...
"Jackie," he said, in a controlled voice, "grab one of those glass tumblers from the bar and fill it half full of water."
She fumbled in the dark, found a glass, and guessed at the amount of water she drained into it. Jackie steadied herself and then handed the glass to Scott. She braced herself on the glare shield and fell sideways into her seat, banging her head on the side window.
Scott set the flashlight on Jackie's lap. He carefully placed the water glass on the glare shield directly in front of him. Although the water continually sloshed around, it stayed in the tumbler. "If we lose our emergency battery--our primary instruments--shine the flashlight directly on this glass."
"A homemade artificial horizon?"
"It'll keep us right side up."
"We're going to have to ditch," she said, fear creeping into her voice. "No options--no place to go."
They exchanged knowing looks in the faint illumination of the flashlight. The mental illusions of denial were rapidly being displaced by the stark reality of their situation.
Scott paused and drew in a deep breath. "Yeah, we don't have any choice--my fault--huge mistake." He picked up the flashlight. "Break out the life raft and two life vests."
Without saying a word, Jackie went into the dark cabin. She stowed the carrying case containing the nine-man life raft in the aisle between the emergency hatches. The right and left exits were over the leading edges of the wings. Swaying in the aisle, she donned a life vest and staggered to the cockpit with another one. She handed Scott his vest and then strapped into her seat. "I'll take it."
"You have it." Shining the flashlight on the instrument panel, Scott wiggled into his vest and cinched it tight. "After we descend through five thousand feet, remove the starboard hatch and stow it in the lavatory. Remove the raft from its carrying case and secure the restraining line to something solid in the cabin--we don't want the raft to blow away."
He flinched when a jagged bolt of lightning hit the left wing. "As soon as we stop, set the raft on the wing--but don't pull the lanyard until I reach the hatch."
A sudden silence fell over them while Jackie trained the light on the emergency instruments. "If we live through this," she began slowly and deliberately, "we need to discuss a new operating protocol."
"Integrated steps in decision making."
"Yes. Exactly." She stared into the darkness. "We've been operating at the far edges of the envelope, sometimes over the edge, for a long time. We've been lucky. We think it's normal to push everything to the limit and beyond to see if we can reel it back in." She paused and glanced at him. "We may have gone too far this time."
"There's ten thousand feet," Scott declared. "We'll discuss it later; time to strap into your seat in the cabin. Take all the sharp objects out of your pockets and take off your shoes."
Jackie made her way to the cabin and sat down in the aft-facing club seat on the right side of the jet. The stomach-churning turbulence, combined with the heavy rain and lightning, made a true believer out of her. She would never
again fly through a thunderstorm, at least not on purpose. Jackie knew this was one of those experiences she would remember in great detail all her life, and the ordeal wasn't over.
Passing through five thousand feet, Scott turned around and peered into the dark cabin. "Stow the emergency hatch."
"Working on it."
With confidence the emergency battery would hold out, Scott placed the flashlight on the right seat and cinched his restraints as tight as he could. Out of 3,000 feet he began slowing the jet. He could intermittently see whitecaps when the lightning flashed.
"One thousand feet," Scott announced. "Brace yourself!" "All set."
The controls were beginning to feel mushy. Scott scooped the water glass from the glare shield and tossed it on the floor in front of the copilot seat. Don't stall the airplane... where's the surface?
Descending through 400 feet, he had a peek at the ocean during a mighty flash of lightning. The huge frothy waves were only 100 feet below him.
Oh, my God! he said to himself. The altimeter was off--not set properly in all the confusion. Scott eased the control yoke back. Hoping for another flash, he realized there wouldn't be time to align the airplane parallel to the swells.
Scott nursed the yoke in an attempt to bleed off speed. He was holding his breath when the Gulfstream smacked the first towering wave. The right wingtip plowed into the water and violently yawed the jet to the right. The aircraft plunged through another giant wave, and its forward motion suddenly stopped.
"We've stopped--toss the raft out!" Scott was out of his harness in a heartbeat and scrambling for the open hatch. "Pull the lanyard," he yelled, as Jackie stepped on the wing.
She yanked and the raft was automatically ejected from its carrying case. It began inflating and Jackie jumped in a few seconds later. Scott followed suit after the raft was fully inflated. He frantically searched through the raft's equipment bag and found a utility knife as the Gulfstream slipped beneath the waves. Scott slashed at the retaining line attached to the jet. The airplane was about to pull the edge of the raft underwater when the partially severed line snapped.
Assurred Response (2003) Page 37