The Mystery of Flight 427

by Bill Adair

  Germano said, “I have a good airplane.”

  At the Akzo Nobel office in downtown Chicago, Joan had gotten busy with meetings and phone calls, so she was running late when she grabbed her bags at 3:45 P.M. and ran out of the office to catch the El train to O’Hare. She had only an hour and fifteen minutes to get to the airport, and several people at the office thought she would miss her flight. She had decided to take along a laptop computer so she could work on a report at her Pittsburgh hotel. This was the first time she’d carried a laptop, and she was worried that it might get zapped by the airport metal detector, but her coworkers assured her it would be fine.

  Joan got off the train at O’Hare and dashed through the underground tunnels and up the escalator to Terminal 2. She tossed her suitcase and briefcase on the X-ray belt, walked through the metal detector, and grabbed her bags. She hurried past the shoeshine stand and the snack bar to Gate F6. She would have preferred to fly American or United—where she had most of her frequent flier miles—but neither of those airlines had many flights to Pittsburgh. Her travel agent had booked her on USAir, which had a big hub there.

  At O’Hare, however, USAir was a bit player. The airline’s gates in the F wing looked like they hadn’t been improved since the days of the first Mayor Daley. Under yellowed ceiling tiles, passengers sat in cramped gray chairs and watched the CNN Airport Network on a blaring TV. The hallway echoed with the sound of footsteps and the clickety-clickety-clickety of suitcase wheels. The PA system kept telling passengers: “May I have your attention, please. For security reasons, keep your baggage with you at all times. Unattended baggage will be removed by the Chicago Police Department.” A red cardboard sign told passengers to watch for suspicious activity and to refuse packages from “anyone you do not know very well.”

  Joan handed her ticket to the agent and walked down the Jetway toward Ship 513. She was in 14E, a middle seat just behind the wing. Though she preferred to sit on the aisle, nothing was available there. Flight 427 was packed. In the seat on her right was Robert Connolly, a financial consultant headed home to Pittsburgh. In the one on her left was a man from Virginia named John T. Dickens. The plane was so full that the Weavers, a family of five from Upper St. Clair, Pennsylvania, had to sit in middle seats scattered around the cabin. Seven-year-old Scott Weaver was one row ahead of Joan, and his eleven-year-old sister, Lindsay, was one row back. The family was returning from a funeral for a nine-year-old cousin.

  It was primarily a business flight. Eight U.S. Department of Energy employees were returning to Pittsburgh from a coal conference. Several of them had initially booked seats on later USAir flights but had switched to this one so they could get home earlier. Also on board were four people from US Steel, a lawyer from Westinghouse, and an account executive from a Chicago radio station. The man in 20C was a neuroscientist from the Scripps Institute for Oceanography. The grad student in 16A was flying to Pittsburgh for a job interview. The well-tanned guy with the baseball cap in 17F was a convicted drug dealer.

  At the gate, Captain Germano was given the flight plan, the weather forecast, and the cargo manifest on a computer printout that stretched four feet long. Pilots often joked about the big stack of paperwork for each flight, saying that when the weight of the paper exceeded the weight of the airplane, it was safe to fly. The papers told Germano that Flight 427 was scheduled to leave at 4:50 P.M. Chicago time and land in Pittsburgh 55 minutes later. The plane would have a cruising altitude of 33,000 feet and would get a gentle push from a 31-knot tailwind. The plane would need 6,400 pounds of jet fuel, but it would carry more than twice that amount in case Germano had to divert to another city or go into a holding pattern.

  The plane’s route looked like gibberish: ORD … GIJ … J146 … J34 … DJB … ACO … CUTTA1 … PIT, but Germano could read it like simple street directions. The three-letter codes stood for airports and navigation markers between Chicago and Pittsburgh. Flight 427 would climb away from O’Hare (ORD), over a point known as Gipper east of Gary, Indiana, and then up to jet routes J146 and J34. They were like interstate freeways in the sky, carrying high-altitude east-west traffic along the Indiana-Michigan border and then southeast toward Pittsburgh. Flight 427 would cross over a navigation point known as Dryer near Cleveland and then begin to descend near Akron, Ohio. It would follow a standard arrival route known as “CUTTA,” which was like a big funnel for planes from the northwest converging on the Pittsburgh airport.

  Several pages of Germano’s paperwork dealt with the weather. There were SIGMETS—significant meteorological conditions—for Georgia and Florida, but none that would affect his brief flight over the Midwest. The weather in Pittsburgh looked perfect, sunny skies with temperatures in the mid-seventies. All of the Pittsburgh runways were dry.

  The papers also gave Germano crucial information about the plane’s weight and the speed necessary to get off the ground. The plane would be carrying 11 tons of people and 3,700 pounds of cargo. The aircraft and its contents would weigh 115,000 pounds as it roared down the O’Hare runway. It would need to go at least 138 knots, or 159 miles per hour, to get airborne.

  At the bottom of the main page, Germano saw this statement:

  I HEREBY ACKNOWLEDGE RECEIPT OF THIS FLIGHT PLAN AND NECESSARY ATTACHMENTS AND CONSIDER ALL CONDITIONS INCLUDING MY PHYSICAL CONDITION SUITABLE FOR THIS FLIGHT. I HAVE ADEQUATE KNOWLEDGE OF ALL FACTORS AFFECTING THE ROUTE, WEATHER, NAVIGATION, COMMUNICATIONS, TERRAIN, OBSTRUCTIONS AND ALL APPLICABLE PROCEDURES AND REGULATIONS.

  Germano printed his name and his USAir employee number, then signed his name. The lives of 131 people on board were now his responsibility.

  As the passengers stuffed their carry-on luggage into the overhead bins, baggage handlers filled the belly of the plane with 1,700 pounds of luggage and a ton of Business Week magazines that were ultimately headed to subscribers in the Carolinas. The flight was running about fifteen minutes late, so USAir mechanic Tim Molloy had extra time to walk around the plane and make sure it was safe. He circled Ship 513 twice, checking the tires, the wings, the rudder, the tubes that measure airspeed, and the fluid levels for the hydraulic systems. He made sure all the cargo doors were locked. No problems. The plane looked fine.

  Either Molloy or mechanic Mark Kohut pushed the plane back with a USAir tractor—neither of them remembers who performed which task—and told the pilots by intercom that it was safe to start the engines. The mechanic then stood away from the plane and snapped the pilots a salute. Flight 427 was on its way.

  2. ZULU

  The cockpit in Ship 513 was identical to every other USAir 737. With pilots switching planes two or three times a day, it was crucial that the instruments and controls be in exactly the same place in all the planes. The cockpit seemed to be filled with a hundred clocks. It was possible to equip 737s with more modern computer screens, but USAir chose to stick with the older-style “steam gauges” so that all its planes would be standardized.

  The walls and panels of the cockpit were gray, a neutral color that allowed pilots to see the dials more easily. There were two seats with sheepskin covers, for the captain and the first officer, plus the fold-down jump seat behind them that could be used by Federal Aviation Administration inspectors or pilots hitching a ride from one city to another. A sign on the back wall of the cockpit said: LIQUOR TAX HAS BEEN PAID, a requirement because the airline served alcohol. The cockpit door had a small mirror on the inside so the pilots could straighten their hats and ties before saying hello or good-bye to passengers.

  Many people who earn more than $100,000 a year have spacious offices, but not airline pilots. They work in a room smaller than a bedroom closet. The 737 cockpit is a familiar, comfortable place to them, however. The controls and instruments are laid out very logically. The most important controls are directly in front of the pilots—the rudder pedals and the wheel/control column. The most important gauges—airspeed, altitude, the attitude indicator, and the compass/navigational dial—form a T in the center of each pil
ot’s instrument panel. Switches and levers that are used less frequently are placed farther away. The circuit breaker panel, which is not used very often, is directly behind the seats. Above the pilots’ heads is a small compartment with an escape rope so they can climb out a window and slide down the fuselage if the cockpit door is blocked. Hidden beneath the jump seat is an ax, which pilots can use to chop into an electrical panel during a fire or to break out of wreckage after a crash.

  By standardizing cockpits, the airlines are encouraging repetition. If pilots perform the same task repeatedly, it should become so automatic that they don’t make mistakes. That’s also the rationale behind requiring them to use checklists—to make sure that they flip each lever the same way, in the same order, on every flight. Checklists are no guarantee that a crew won’t screw up—the checklists themselves can become so rote that pilots race through them without doing what the list calls for—but when used properly they provide a good tool for helping the pilots go through the tasks consistently. Standardization is crucial because captains and first officers may never have flown together before. Pilots pick their trips based on their own personal schedules and their favorite cities, so the selection of a copilot is usually just a matter of luck. (A prized USAir trip was Baltimore–St. Thomas–St. Croix–Baltimore, which had a 25–hour overnight at a nice resort in St. Croix; the least popular were the red–eyes, such as the 2 A.M. Los Angeles–to–Pittsburgh flight.)

  Germano and Emmett had been through the 737 checklists thousands of times and could probably have recited them from memory. But before the plane departed, the pilots were still required to go through them point by point. The lists had a unique rhythm, like a rap song with two singers alternating back and forth:

  Fuel quantity?

  15–6 required; 15–6 on board.

  Oil and hydraulic quantities?

  Checked and checked.

  Fuel panel?

  Set.

  Seat belt sign?

  On.

  Window heat?

  On.

  Hydraulics?

  A’s off; B’s on.

  Pressurization?

  Set.

  On each flight the captain and first officer trade off the tasks of flying the plane and communicating with air traffic controllers, thus spreading the workload evenly and assuring that they both get a chance to fly. But a distinct pecking order is still in effect. The captain, whose uniform carries four stripes on the shoulder epaulets, has the ultimate responsibility. If the captain thinks that anything about the plane is unsafe, the flight won’t leave. Likewise, only the captain has the authority to abort a takeoff.

  The top job comes with a few perks. USAir 737 captains made about $160,000 a year in 1994, whereas first officers made $110,000. Also, the captain traditionally gets to sit inside the cockpit while the first officer performs the walk-around inspection outside the plane, which can be a miserable task during rain or snow.

  Germano, from Moorestown, New Jersey, was forty-five years old and had been flying since he was seventeen. He flew for the New York State Air National Guard and began his airline career with Braniff Airways in 1976. He started with USAir in 1981, initially as a flight engineer on the Boeing 727, then as first officer on the BAC-111 and then as first officer and captain on the 737. He was an accomplished pianist, had been married for nineteen years, and had two daughters, ages three and nine.

  Emmett, who was thirty-eight, also began flying as a teenager. He started his career by flying corporate planes and in 1987 joined Piedmont Airlines, which was bought by USAir two years later. He was married and lived in the Houston suburb of Nassau Bay. He loved to sail, and he drove a Corvette with the Texas license plate 1USAIR. At six feet four, he was one of the tallest USAir pilots.

  It was Emmett’s turn to fly, so Germano would be handling radio duties on the leg to Pittsburgh. Assuming that they followed standard airline procedures—as virtually every USAir pilot did—the taxiing and takeoff would have gone like this:

  After one of the mechanics pushed the plane back with a tractor, Emmett turned the ignition switch and Germano moved a lever to start the No. 2 engine, the one on the right wing. After waiting about forty seconds for the engine to spool up, the pilots started No. 1. Germano moved a lever to engage the parking brake until they were cleared to leave. Emmett set the flaps on the wings to provide the extra lift it would take to get the plane airborne. (It is crucial to set the flaps. Two crashes in the late 1980s were the result of pilots’ forgetting to set them.)

  The pilots then went through the “After Start” checklist, making sure that the generators and hydraulic pumps were on and the engine anti-ice was set properly. They checked for heat in the pitot tube, a sensor that measures airspeed, and then checked their shoulder harnesses to make sure they were snapped and secure.

  “After-start checklist complete,” said Emmett.

  Ground controllers cleared them to follow the taxiways until they reached Runway 32-Left, where they waited for another controller’s direction. It was shortly before 5 P.M. Central Time.

  “Cleared for takeoff,” the controller said.

  Emmett moved the throttle levers forward and pushed a button marked “TOGA,” which stood for “take off/go around.” That action energized the autothrottles so the plane’s flight-management computer would control the big CFM-56 engines. The computer would keep the power steady as the plane climbed.

  The silver 737 began to roll down the runway. Just as Emmett removed his left hand from the throttle levers, Germano placed his right hand on them. It would be Germano’s responsibility to decide whether to reject the takeoff.

  “Eighty knots,” Germano called out.

  Emmett looked at his airspeed indicator to make sure it agreed. “Checked,” he responded.

  The plane was nearing V-1, the speed at which it could no longer be stopped on the runway.

  “V-1,” said Germano, removing his hand from the power levers. They were committed now. They had to fly.

  “Rotate,” said Germano.

  Emmett pulled back on the control column, lifting the plane’s nose into the Chicago sky. They were airborne.

  “Gear up,” Emmett said.

  Germano grabbed the gear lever—it had a small wheel on the end so it would be unmistakable—and flipped it up. The pilots heard a thump as the nose gear was pulled inside the plane.

  Emmett relied on the autopilot most of the way. USAir wanted its crews to use the device as much as possible because it made the plane more fuel-efficient. It was like cruise control in a car. Emmett could set the desired airspeed, altitude, and heading on a panel just below the windscreen, and the plane would automatically follow that course. Ship 513 also had a flight-management computer that kept track of the plane’s route and position and told the autopilot when to turn, climb, or descend. The computer could be cranky, however. About thirty minutes into the flight, Emmett had trouble getting it to accept a command.

  “Ah, you piece of shit!” said Emmett.

  “What?” asked Germano.

  “I said, ‘Aw, c’mon, you piece of shit!’ This damn thing is so fucking slow!”

  Emmett cursed the computer twice more before it did what he wanted. “There it is,” he said, finally satisfied.

  The plane was at 29,000 feet as it cruised along the Michigan-Indiana border and then over the sparkling waters of Lake Erie, before banking gently to the right and turning southeast toward Cleveland.

  “USAir 427, cleared direct to Akron, rest of route unchanged,” a controller in Cleveland told Germano. “Give me the best forward airspeed, in-trail spacing.”

  “Direct Akron, best forward, you got it,” Germano said. “USAir 427.”

  They began a steady descent toward 24,000 feet. Once they reached that point, another controller told them to continue down to 10,000 feet, the point where they would enter the CUTTA arrival pattern into the Pittsburgh airport.

  Germano tuned the radio to the recorded weather brie
fing. “Pittsburgh tower arrival information Yankee,” it said. “Two-one-five-two Zulu weather. Two five thousand scattered. Visibility one five. Temperature seven five. Dew point five one. Wind two seven zero at one zero.”

  That meant the weather was ideal: 75 degrees Fahrenheit with scattered clouds and 15 miles of visibility. It was a perfect summer evening. The two pilots were relaxed. It was a Thursday shortly before 7 P.M. Eastern time, their last day of work that week. They chatted with a flight attendant about pretzels and sampled her fruit juice-Diet Sprite concoction.

  “That’s good,” said Germano after taking a sip.

  “That is different,” said Emmett. “Be real, be real good with some dark rum in it.”

  “Yeah, right!” the flight attendant said.

  The plane had crossed Ohio and was nearly to the Pennsylvania state line as it steadily descended toward 10,000 feet. About this time, the flight attendants were probably walking through the cabin to collect cups and cans. Passengers were told to put away computers and other electronic gadgets that might affect the plane’s navigational equipment.

  “USAir 427, Pittsburgh Approach,” air traffic controller Richard Fuga told the pilots. “Heading one-six-zero, vector I-L-S Runway two-eight Right final approach course. Speed two-one-zero.” Fuga sounded as if he was in a great mood. His voice was playful as he directed planes toward the airport.

  The pilots had been told to slow the airspeed to 210 knots and fly a heading toward Runway 28-Right. The plane was closing in on the Pittsburgh airport now, and Germano had listened to the latest radio briefing on airport conditions, which was known as “Yankee.”