A few minutes after the Narita airport appeared at the top of the pilots’ navigation displays, indicating the field was about one hour away, Mark and Bill began to mentally prepare for the descent.
“Northwest Orient twenty-one, cross the Arrow intersection at flight level one-five zero and two hundred and ninety knots,” ordered the Tokyo controller.
Mark acknowledged the clearance, and then watched as his captain typed the new data into the flight management system. While making sure his lunatic captain entered the proper numbers into the computer, he heard Penny’s voice.
“Hi, this is Mark.”
“Mark, this is Penny. I wanted to let you guys know that Mr. Tacker is resting quietly now.”
“What happened?”
“I asked three burly-looking men from coach to come upstairs and help out,” said Penny. The other men almost had Mr. Tacker pinned to the floor, but it didn’t look like he was ready to give up. I guess when he saw the cavalry arrive he decided to surrender. I moved some people around, so he is completely surrounded now. I doubt very much that he’ll cause any more trouble.”
“OK, Penny. We’re going to disable the inflight entertainment system in a minute. Would you make an announcement that we’re disabling it because it’s not working properly?” asked Mark.
“Sure, no problem.”
Bill overheard the conversation, but refrained from getting involved. Though the exchange seemed innocent enough, he wasn’t about to take his eyes off of Mark. As far as Bill was concerned, his copilot was still a threat. He knew if Mark was going to try something, he would do it soon. Bill reminded himself to watch his copilot even more closely.
Mark watched the icon on his navigation display, the one representing the Sendai airport, pass off to their left. He and the captain hadn’t spoken for a while--not since he’d been accused of being some sort of a terrorist. But, regardless of the anger he felt inside, Mark knew that he had to rise above it. After all, he was paid to back up the pilot in the left seat. And because of that professional obligation, he broke the silence by announcing, “I estimate we will have thirty minutes of fuel in the tanks when we land.” He looked at his captain with a solemn grin, knowing that the fuel they had on board was well below what they were legally required to have.
“I see that. Thank you for pointing it out,” replied Bill.
The copilot’s words briefly brought the captain back to a story that his father told him many years earlier. Bill didn’t recall all the details, except for the emotion his dad displayed while conveying it. It was back when his father had been serving onboard a Pan Am flying boat. His dad’s face contorted as he talked about how his own stupidity and rock-headedness caused him to put everyone’s life in danger. As he recalled, it had to do with his father nearly running the airplane out of fuel. His father didn’t often speak about his flying boat days, but Bill did remember what he told him regarding what he’d learned after the incident on board the Capetown Clipper. He said, “Do not ever alienate the men with whom you share a cockpit. They are there simply to make sure you get home safely. If you find that your ego has taken over and you’ve been an ass, then fess up and apologize. And make damn sure that you buy them all a beer afterwards.”
Bill mulled it over for a few minutes and then looked at Mark. When his eyes met his copilot’s, he said simply, “I’m sorry for what I said.”
Mark turned away and smiled grimly, but was much too angry to forgive.
Flight twenty-one remained under the watchful eye of Tokyo Control until they were below ten thousand feet, at which time they were handed off to Narita radar for final radar vectors to runway three-four.
Neither pilot said anything aloud about it, but both Mark and Bill instantly noticed that the person they were talking to on the radio was the first male controller they’d spoken with since leaving Russian airspace.
The experienced man working Narita north-arrivals spoke with more than a hint of Americanized diction. He articulated his words with impeccable clarity and possessed such an obvious command of the English language, had some of the pilots on his frequency closed their eyes, they could have easily believed they were landing in Chicago and not Tokyo.
Both Bill and Mark could hear at least a dozen other Northwest Orient flights on the frequency that were also inbound for landing at the Narita airport from various cities around Asia. It sounded as if there were more Northwest Orient flights operating in and out of Tokyo than any other airline.
The controller spoke in a calm, unhurried monotonous tone to the dozens of airplanes in his sector, issuing orders and then waiting briefly for a reply. Bill recognized his voice as one he had worked with many times in the past. He found comfort in knowing what to expect from a man he respected, but had never met.
Bill’s familiarity with the city of Narita always made him feel quite welcome while on a layover there. He even knew some of the local shopkeepers by name. The small city had in a way become his home away from home.
As the big Boeing turned onto final approach, both aviators glanced out their side windows and noticed that the indigo-colored sea beneath them was angry, with plenty of whitecaps from one side of the horizon to the other. Though it had been a nice day in Japan, the sea conditions were telling Bill that weather was on the way.
“Looks like we’ll touchdown with twenty minutes of fuel remaining,” noted Mark.
“Yes, I know,” replied Bill
“Probably not the best decision you’ve ever made.”
“Yes, I know.” Then, for a very brief moment, Bill could almost sense his father’s presence. The pig-headed Whale captain had nearly allowed his airplane to run out of gas. That realization, along with a feeling that his dad was looking over his shoulder, caused him to turn his head and suck air across his teeth, while thinking, like father, like son.
The sun was still above the horizon, as it had been for their entire flight, yet both pilots were dead tired. Bill knew this was a dangerous time, so he told himself to pay extra attention, especially since they didn’t have two extra pilots in the cockpit watching over them. He knew there was no room for error.
Despite the fact that the pilots were not openly discussing options regarding their fuel state, both were watching the fuel numbers intently while running various contingency plans through their minds. They were equally on edge, aware that the fuel gauges were known to be less accurate when the tanks were nearly empty.
Bill reminded himself about the speeds he was required to fly on final, as well as the requirement to extend the landing gear prior to crossing over the brown sandy beach, located nearly fifteen miles from the airport. The landing gear generated a great deal of noise in the cabin and created quite a bit of drag, but Bill knew full well that the Japanese controllers do not like to deviate from established procedures and have absolutely no sense of humor with pilots from other countries who want to do their own thing. The antsy captain wanted to advise the controller about their fuel state, but knew inside that in spite of how well the man spoke, he would probably not clearly understand what he was being told.
A caution light on the panel flickered briefly. Both pilots noticed and then looked away. They knew it was a signal that one of the fuel pumps had been momentarily uncovered. Normally submerged in jet fuel, it was a sign that their tanks were nearly dry. How long they had, neither pilot knew, but they were quite certain that it was only a fistful of minutes. They were also aware that it would either be engine number one or number four that would go first, since those engines were further uphill on the flexed-up wing. Regardless, there wasn’t much either of them could do: they were committed.
Satisfied the runway ahead was clear, Mark glanced out his window at a new runway under construction on the north side of the airport. Speaking with a cracking voice that sounded much like a frightened person whistling past a grave yard, Mark said, “I don’t think that new runway will be long enough to accommodate a heavy jet.”
“No, it won’t.
The local farmers are pretty ticked off about it, too,” said Bill. “They don’t like having a runway built on land that was deeded to their families by the Emperor. I’m not sure what’s going to happen with it,” replied Bill, with the strain of commanding an airplane full of people that was rapidly running out of fuel, clearly evident in his voice.
“What a waste,” said Mark. “It sure would be nice to have another option right about now.”
“I agree. Flaps ten,” said Bill, wondering if Mark was attempting to distract him.
“Flaps ten,” responded Mark.
The caution light flickered again, but this time it remained on for a second or two. Neither pilot spoke.
If only Bill had asked, he might have learned that Mark’s seemingly distant behavior and coyness was not due to a sinister plan to take over and crash the airplane. No, the junior copilot had other things on his mind.
Scanning across the rice paddies below, Mark inhaled deeply, his mind flashing to the lengthy road that had brought him from a small town near Albany, New York to the cockpit of a B747 on final approach to an airport in Japan.
Born with a love of all things mechanical, Mark Small had planned a life surrounded by engines. But many years earlier on a flight to visit his dying mother, Mark met the love of his life. Sue Gruber was a flight attendant for Pan Am who captured both his mind and his heart during one of the most harrowing experiences of his life. Following their return to the States, after the DC6 they were riding in nearly crashed into the side of a building, the two began dating. They saw each other for a little over two years before finally getting hitched. It turned out theirs was a passion-filled bond that lasted for many years. However, the intense passion of their relationship was not limited to the physical. Indeed, Mark’s wife endlessly pushed and prodded her young husband to be all that he could be. It was Sue that nudged him into flying and then urged him to pursue it as a career. Her constant nagging fueled many strongly worded arguments between the two over the years--quarrels that often ended in mad, passionate love-making.
It really wasn’t Sue’s fault. It was just that she’d been born a few decades too early. Her resourceful and cunningly sharp mind was simply too advanced for a 1950s society. What she could not attain for herself, she demanded Mark do for her. Living vicariously through her husband was the next best thing to actually doing it. Sue’s drive, however, slowly drove a wedge between the two. At first, her husband didn’t like flying and complained nonstop about his concerns. But his words fell on deaf ears. There was no way Sue was going to be married to an auto mechanic. The world was much too immense for someone to go through life doing something as mundane as changing oil and cleaning spark plugs.
Mark’s fear of flying eventually ebbed. He came to love airplanes, but flying them for a living seemed an unattainable goal. To keep peace in the house he remained silent, finding solace in working full-time on all manner of cars and trucks while steadfastly training for his preordained occupation. It became a simmering kettle in their marriage.
It would take many years for Mark to get the experience and schooling necessary to get hired by a major airline. Though he would have preferred to be an airplane mechanic rather than a pilot, he kept his nose to the grindstone and a smile on his face. He knew he had to remain focused. It was all for Sue.
Long into the quest, Sue became disillusioned and began pestering her husband to forget it--claiming that it was taking too long and that he should get a degree in business before he got too old. She simply could not understand why her husband refused to listen, especially since he’d fought her tooth and nail in the beginning. She eventually toned down her rhetoric when Mark landed a job with Northwest Orient. Sue spent the ensuing years totally unaware that her husband labored endlessly, climbing the ladder as a copilot, focused solely on pleasing her.
They waited many years to have a child because Sue wasn’t sure... What she had to be sure about, Mark did not know. When they finally did get around to it, they had a son.
In spite of her husband’s best efforts, Sue became convinced that Mark would never be the man she wanted him to be. Those thoughts would likely have led to depression in most women, but not with Sue. No, Sue’s mind became like a tiger in a cage. She had to get out. She had to succeed on her own. She wanted to be somebody before it was too late.
Seeing her son go off to college was the final straw for the antsy female with an alpha personality. She’d been riding in the back seat for far too long. She quit her job at Pan Am, which had over time morphed into a dead-end middle management position, and returned to school. Many years delayed, Sue finished medical school. Then, while completing her residency, she began taking courses toward a degree in law. The years of being held back drove her, but what she refused to see was that her drive came at a cost. It may have looked to others as if Sue had it all, and in many ways she did, but she was unable to find contentment in anything.
It had only been two weeks since Mark’s wife left, speeding off after a marathon screaming session. Sue informed him that she no longer needed him; that he’d been an anchor around her neck. He looked into Sue’s eyes as she screamed, believing that he was watching his own life being taken away. He was forced to conclude that everything he had ever considered important in life was, in fact, meaningless. He’d finally made it to the B747 after a lifetime of focusing on her dream for him, but in a queer twist of fate, what should have been the happiest time of their lives also turned out to be the saddest, most gut-wrenching for the two. Watching his new car turn the corner at the end of the street as his wife sped away changed everything.
Mark’s childhood was far from perfect, but marrying the most gorgeous woman he’d ever set eyes upon changed all that. He loved the stability of what he thought was a good marriage, even though he’d been forced into a career that he could take or leave. And when his son was born, he relished everything there was about having a family of his own. But life had once again taken a sharp turn, bringing an unwilling Mark with it.
Mark recalled a conversation with his father shortly after his wedding. When Mark informed his dad that Sue had intended to keep her last name and simply add his last name to the end, the man frowned. Mark’s dad told his son that he should never trust a woman who hyphenates her last name--that it sends the wrong message to her husband. It turned out that his dad was right; she had been signaling her intentions all along, but he never saw it.
Mark shook his head, acknowledging the wisdom he’d shrugged off years earlier. Of course, Mark knew his father’s advice wasn’t completely accurate. Some women were simply proud of their last names, while others had reasons having nothing to do with subliminal signals. Nonetheless, he told himself to give his dad a call.
Once on the ground in Tokyo, Mark intended to call in sick for the rest of his trip. He then planned to ride the cockpit jumpseat to Manila on the next day’s United Airlines flight. He’d been to Manila a few times and found the women to be both beautiful and approachable. They all seemed to like American men, and possessed a strongly held belief about being totally devoted to their mate. Since he’d been in a committed relationship, Mark always rebuffed the local women who seemed interested, but that was the past.
Mark had packed a little over $25,000 in his luggage, which, he knew, would provide him with a life of luxury in the Philippines for a very long time. Shortly after settling in he would resign his position with Northwest Orient, having come to believe that he had taken the job as far as he wanted. He’d accomplished his and his ex-wife’s goals. Mark knew that it was time to move on and try something else. He had no regrets.
Approaching one thousand feet, Bill turned off the autopilot and auto-throttles. If Mark was going to try something on final approach, he’d concluded that it would be best if he was in complete control beforehand. Bill knew it was unlikely, but still…
Captain Pratt kept the big Boeing on profile with only minor changes in power and pitch. Even though the B747 is a stable platform,
pilot input to the controls is required. During the descent, both pilots could not help staring at the ever decreasing fuel levels. It was a race against time, and they were slowly edging closer to the finish line.
When the thirsty airplane was five hundred feet above the ground, the yellow caution lights illuminated again. This time, however, they stayed on. Both pilots held their breath, wondering which engine would flame-out first.
The airplane neared the runway doing one hundred and sixty knots. Bill pushed himself further back into his seat and double-checked the position of his feet, making sure his toes were in the right spot to apply the brakes after touchdown.
The first audio tone blared through the speakers when the airplane was one hundred feet above the runway, warning Bill to get ready--the runway was near. At thirty-five feet a slightly higher pitched tone sounded, telling Bill to pull the nose up slightly. The last tone, higher in pitch than the previous two, sounded at twenty feet, reminding Bill to make sure his alignment with the runway centerline was set and to keep the nose slightly elevated. The captain pulled all four thrust levers to idle and waited for the very aft set of main wheels to touch the runway. He knew he would only have to wait a few seconds.
Bill took one final glance at the airspeed indicator to make sure the airplane wasn’t getting too slow, which he knew would result in a “firm” touchdown. But neither did he want to be fast, because in the B747 each knot above the target speed equates to hundreds more feet of required stopping distance. His speed was on the mark.
The moment the wheels touched the runway the speed brake handle flew back, making a squealing noise as it moved, aurally alerting the pilots that they were indeed on the ground. Bill then pulled the reverse thrust levers up, deploying the thrust deflector doors. These panels are mounted on the engines and are used to force a large portion of the engine thrust forward. In an airplane that weighs four hundred thousand pounds at touchdown, pilots use everything at their disposal to reduce their forward momentum after landing.
Sojourners of the Sky Page 29