by C. J. Stott
Bill was only able to stare at Carlton. He was unwilling and unable to speak, afraid that if he did say anything it would call attention to himself.
Not one to be deterred by a lack of conversation, Carlton smiled at him. “Can I get you anything?” Finally Bill began to understand that Carlton was speaking to him. “Yeah. Water. Some water. In a glass.”
“I’m not allowed to give you a glass. It’s just against all the regulations. I’ll see if I can find a paper cup for you.” Carlton turned and was gone in one fluid movement.
Strong, pulsing terror was all Bill felt. Slowly, came the realization that fear had taken over again. He tried to think about options, but the Valium slowed his rational thinking. He wanted to go back to the plan, but his mind was a roiling caldron of jumbled facts and fears.
He sat very still. He tried to decide what to do, but was unable. He weeded out seemingly unrelated ideas. He was left with only a few choices, none of them acceptable. He could do nothing. Maybe he should fly to New York and disappear. Or, he could wait and see how the flight went. If he found the right opportunity, then he could go with the plan. Once again, his thoughts would not settle down.
Brother Juan told him he borrowed money from the drug buyers in Miami to pay for the gun and other stolen items. Bill knew if their plan didn’t work, Juan would be in deep trouble with his narcotic customers.
Bill’s concentration was interrupted when Carlton returned and put a soft hand on his shoulder. “Here’s a nice paper cup filled with water. Wet and cold. Especially for you.”
He could not speak, but his mind screamed, “Get away from me you fucking fag.”
Carlton leaned over him, his hand casually spread over Bill’s seat back. “I just love cool water, don’t you?”
Carlton ached for a physical encounter with this stunning treasure. He wanted him to pick up on the idea of cool water. Then he could bend the conversation toward taking a shower, perhaps, together. Carlton had used this approach many times, often with great success.
Bill intentionally ignored Carlton. In an impulsive act, he reached into his pants pocket and removed the remaining yellow Valium tablet and tore open the plastic covering. He avoided Carlton’s gaze as he extended his hand and then took the small cup of water. He compulsively tossed the tablet into his mouth and drained the water from the cup. Bill swallowed this tablet with far less difficulty than he had with the first one.
Carlton remained in front of him and watched his ritual ingestion. “Do you like to do drugs?”
Bill’s head snapped back as he looked at this angularly shaped blond haired man. “Hey, man. None of your fucking business.”
Carlton was embarrassed and a little more than put off by this hostile and aggressive attitude. He tried to placate him, saying, “Well, I only wanted to help you. There’s no cause to get hot with me.”
After he waited a few long seconds, he dropped his gaze toward Bill. “That is, if you want my help.” Carlton was starting to become aroused. He was very tempted to casually brush against Bill’s arm. All he would have to do is just step a little closer, and then thrust up against Bill.
Carlton stood there and deliberated about his ingenious courting ritual, when the aircraft stopped abruptly. After a moment or two, it seemed that maybe the Captain was slowly taxiing back to the terminal. Carlton bent down in front of Bill to peer out the window. In an exaggerated move, he dropped his right hand onto Bill’s left shoulder.
His hand remained there while he fussed about what was going on. “Honestly. I just don’t know what is the matter. I hope we aren’t going to be delayed getting to New York.” Carlton squeezed Bill on the shoulder gently.
Bill’s reaction was forceful and abrupt as he knocked Carlton’s hand away, his voice full of intense anger, “Hey, asshole” he roared, “You listening to me? You keep your hands off me. I don’t like fuckin’ fairies.”
The volume of his voice was conspicuous enough that passengers turned to see the source of commotion. Bill bellowed, “Keep away from me and keep your hands off me. Understand?”
Sadly, in a frightened frame of mind, Carlton looked down at him. Bill had overreacted. There was no need for him to have pushed him away so forcefully. That was mean, rejecting him so harshly. The verbal outburst and abuse simply were not called for.
The strong physical attraction Carlton experienced a few minutes ago still remained. If anything, the physical rejection made his sexual stirrings even stronger.
To Bill, the situation was out of control and this Maricón was going to screw everything up. He knew he would end up being caught and arrested. He felt trapped.
In all his conversations with Juan, the one thing they all agreed on was that he was to remain calm and not call attention to himself. This afeminado was doing exactly that. Because the Maricón couldn’t keep his hands off of him, Bill had been forced to lash out at him. That caused many passengers to pay closer attention to Bill and the flight attendant. In Bill’s mind, it was all Carlton’s fault. No matter what happened, Carlton would be to blame.
Many travelers in Carlton’s zone wondered what was going on with the flight attendant and the unruly passenger. Passengers in the aft section of “E” cabin had an excellent view of Carlton, as he fussed over the thin, tall Chicano. Several saw the Mexican suddenly backhand the Flight Attendant. The blow had been swift and effective. Even at a distance, the overtones of their conversation clearly indicated the passenger was angry about something the Flight Attendant had said or done.
Carlton was crushed by Bill’s abusive rejection. He spun toward the rear of the aircraft, but stopped to say, “You are probably just tired. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you before we get to New York.”
Bill realized that he had made a mistake. In little under an hour, he had taken two Valium tablets. He did not know the strength of the tablets, but he knew he had to remain alert. He needed the Maricón’s help. Maybe, somehow, he could use the fairy, much like he had been used in prison.
Carlton straightened up from having knelt down to check his emergency slide on his door, then turned to check on his passengers. His gaze quickly zeroed in on Bill, that was met with a prolonged and direct stare. Bill looked around to see if anyone was watching him and then quietly and quickly motioned for Carlton.
Carlton could hardly contain himself as he rushed toward Bill, “Yes. Yes. I’m here. What is it you want?”
“Hey listen. I’m sorry about jumping you and all that shit, man.”
Carlton smiled.
“I’m like sort of uptight. Know what I mean? Anyway, I want to take a nap for a while.”
Bill looked at the delicate and feminine watch Carlton was wearing, “If I fall asleep, wake me up in an hour, man.”
Here was the chance Carlton had been waiting for. He was absolutely beside himself. He would, indeed, wake his wonderful passenger at whatever time he said.
Carlton suspected he might be on a sexual roll and didn’t want to do anything to antagonize Bill. He considered Bill’s request about a nap and affectionately asked, “I’ll be glad to wake you. Do you want a pillow, or perhaps a blanket? They really are for the First Class passengers, but I’ll be happy to get one for you.”
Bill felt the effects of the Valium and could hardly keep Carlton’s face in focus as he said, “No. Ok. If I fall asleep, wake me in a while.” He did not recognize his own voice. It sounded to him like he was speaking at half-speed.
In a dull and rapidly dimming awareness, he remembered when he flew from Miami to San Francisco it was about six hours. So he incorrectly assumed San Francisco to Havana was six hours too.
He knew he was going to fall asleep or pass out. He was not certain which. Dreamily and euphorically, he thought everything was going to be just fine. If he fell asleep, the Maricón would wake him and then he would put the plan into action.
The effects of the Valium hit in waves. At first, he felt warm, relaxed and didn’t have a care in the world. What he didn’t kno
w about, didn’t matter. Then some obscure thought would flash in his consciousness, over which he would obsess. He could not focus, nor could he hold onto an idea or concept. His stream of consciousness was like the sea at low tide, his thoughts rolled in, stopped and then rolled back out. Physically, his eyes felt very dry and when he closed them he quickly became incredibly tired.
Bill leaned back, now fully relaxed and settled deeply into his seat. He had no feeling or awareness of his surroundings nor any concept of time. In his semi-conscious state he was mildly aware of the aircraft’s distant soft rolling motions. Far, far away, he heard the subtle whine of engines. Days, hours or minutes later, Bill’s seat felt like a marble slab, covered with a rough canvas material. The marble was cold and unforgiving. His last dim perception was the slab on which he was laying was being moved, turned and then lifted.
Chapter 30
08:59 Pacific Standard Time
Runway 28 Right San Francisco International Airport
The two nose gear tires of the Boeing 747 straddled the eighteen inch wide white dashed centerline on Runway 28 Right at San Francisco International Airport. Don Webber aligned the aircraft on a heading of 283°, the precise magnetic heading of that runway.
Through two-inch thick laminated windshields Don Webber and his crew looked down to the end of the two and one half mile-long by two hundred foot wide runway. Even in the early morning light, the concrete shimmered from the absorbed heat so the last several thousand feet of runway looked wet.
Don said to both Fred and Stan, “I’m still sort of new on the aircraft. I’ll fly us to Kennedy.” He looked to his right at Fred. “Tomorrow you can fly us back to San Fran.”
Fred said, “Fair enough.” Then turned and said to Stan, “Such is life for the lowly copilot.”
Don returned his attention to the job at hand and asked, “Everybody ready?” Then he quickly glanced over his shoulder at Stan.
Stan replied, “Yes Sir. I’m ready, Boss.”
Continuing his instructions, Don then gave the standard before takeoff review. “Fred, call out 80 knots, V-1, V-R and V-2.” Fred nodded his understanding.
“If there is a reason to abort the takeoff, I’ll make the decision.”
“Stan, if you see anything that doesn’t look right, let me know.”
“If we abort below V-1, Stan, I want you to pull all four throttles back against the idle stops. Fred I’ll want you to call out airspeeds and anything else you see that is not normal.”
Don took a deep breath and asked, “Got it?”
Both pilots, in unison said, “Yes, Sir.”
Don ending his instructions with the traditional, “If either of you see anything you don’t like, speak out. Loud and clear.”
“If you both are ready, let’s get the takeoff check list out of the way.”
Stan turned the roller shade checklist to BEFORE TAKE OFF, and read each item, to which Fred responded.
After Stan was satisfied that all the systems were properly set for take -off, he said, “BEFORE TAKE OFF checklist is complete.”
Stan swiveled his seat to the full forward position and directed his attention to the four engines. Even at idle, their combined thrust exceeded fifty thousand pounds.
To the uninformed, the Standard Instrument Departure from San Francisco sounded like someone speaking in a foreign language.
TAKEOFF RUNWAYS 28L/R: Climb on SFO VOR/DME R-281 to the NORMM INT/SFO 13 DME. Expect RADAR vectors to assigned route/fix. Expect further clearance to filed altitude 10 minutes after departure.
LOST COMMUNICATIONS: If not in contact with departure control after reaching 3,000 feet, continue climb to filed altitude and proceed to assigned route/fix.
Fred repeated the clearance and placed a bug pointer on his compass directly under the cursor, his reference for maintaining runway heading after they were airborne. Then he selected HDG for heading references both Flight Directors. Finally, he set 3,000 feet in the window of the altitude arm alert system and for the autopilot/flight directors. These actions would keep the aircraft on the assigned heading and at the proper altitude after the autopilot was engaged.
Fred looked at Don. “Whatever happened to the good old days? You know? Where you went out to the airport, jumped in the airplane and took off?”
Stan said, “These are the good old days. Just wait till you’re old and gray. You’ll look back at these times with fond memories.” He finished the last three checklist items and then repeated, “BEFORE TAKE OFF checklist is complete.”
Three air conditioning systems spooled down and the cockpit immediately started to heat up. Heat from cabin climbed the circular staircase and was sucked into the cockpit by equipment cooling fans. Radiant energy from hundreds of incandescent lights, instruments and control panels and windshield heaters added their collective heat to the cockpit environment.
Don, Fred and Stan felt an increase in cockpit temperature as they waited for their take off clearance from San Francisco Tower.
Fred continued the conversation with Stan. “I know, but it seems the company makes everything we do so difficult. We flew these things for years without all this altitude alert equipment. Sometimes I wonder how we flew from A to B without the Flig...”
San Francisco Tower interrupted, “100. Cleared for takeoff Runway 28 Right. Maintain runway heading. Climb and maintain 3,000 feet.”
After a short pause, the expected meteorology advisory, “Wind is 300 degrees at 12 knots.”
The windsock always told the truth regardless of the wind direction and velocity reported by the tower. Today the sock confirmed the tower report. The brisk wind blew almost directly down the runway, only 20° off the Runway 28 Right heading.
Fred looked at Webber, who nodded and rested his right hand on the four thrust levers. Fred picked up his microphone and said, “Roger. 100’s on the roll.”
Don had not been listening to what Fred was saying about the good old days. He had been listening for the takeoff clearance. After the tower called, he instinctively looked at Fred and then at Stan.
“Ready, boys?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stan, trim the throttles between 60 and 80 knots. Fred hold forward pressure on the yoke and call out the targets for the V-1, V-R, V-2 and minimum safe climb speed.”
Smoothly, slowly and deliberately, Don advanced the throttles. Typically, Pratt and Whitney JT-9D engines do not spool up evenly. Due to age differences, hours since overhaul, jet fuel controller adjustments and throttle rigging, each engine accelerates at its own rate. Don advanced the throttles approximately eighty percent of their forward travel and then waited for the engines to stabilize.
Essentially, this was a high-idle condition. After two seconds, he carefully advanced the levers to the target EPR’s, Engine Pressure Ratios.
Don said, “EPR, Fuel Flow, Temperatures, N-1’s all look good.” At less than 40 knots, commanded, “Trim ‘em.”
Stan reached forward and made normal minor adjustments to each of the 4 thrust levers. Satisfied, he called out above the quadruple compressors’ roar, “Trimmed at 60.”
Fred had been holding slight forward pressure on the control column that placed a modest down load on the nose gear that improved nose wheel traction and steering. As the 747 slowly gathered speed, Fred relaxed his forward pressure and allowed the yoke to return to its neutral position. Hydraulically, the immense slab elevator returned to a position of neutral aerodynamic lift.
Don steered with the nose gear tiller, a lever that protruded through the cockpit bulkhead just below his left window. He made minute movements to the tiller and 3,000 pounds of hydraulic pressure directed the nose gear steering cylinders to slightly move right or left. All three pilots could hear the one of the nose tires as it rolled over the centerline runway lighting. A rhythmic thumping with decreasing intervals as the aircraft speed increased over each runway light.
Don heard Fred call out, “80 Knots.” Don moved his hand from the nose gear t
iller and put his left hand on the control yoke. He too said, “80 Knots.” This confirmed both airspeed indicators were active and reasonably close indications.
At precisely 142 knots, Fred called, “V-1. Decision Speed,” and then gratuitously added, “It’s all downhill from here.”
At V-1, the 747 had reached a speed at which a decision had to be made. If any one of the four engines failed precisely at this speed, Don would have to decide whether to continue the takeoff, or abort. Aerodynamically, the aircraft had the capability to become airborne from the amount of runway remaining on three engines. Conversely, if the pilot flying decided to abort, the 747 had the capability to stop on the remaining runway.
Every professional airline pilot knew most takeoff accidents occurred because of unsuccessful abort attempts. Don had always thought that given a choice, he would continue the takeoff rather than botch an abort.
Fred called, “156 knots. V-R. Rotate.”
Don waited for this call and subconsciously tightened his grip with both hands on the yoke. He repeated Fred’s call, “V-R.”
At 156 knots, Don gently, consistently and intentionally pulled the control column toward his stomach.
As he pulled, the hydraulic systems started to move the leading edge of the horizontal stabilizer downward. This downward pressure on the elevator caused the aircraft to start a rotation around a predetermined aerodynamic center-of-lift through the wing and fuselage.
Slowly, the aircraft’s full weight and subsequent pressure on the nose tires diminished. Inexorably, the nose gear bounced on the runway. Don pulled aft until the fuselage visually started to rotate upward. The traditional training center wisdom was that the aircraft rotation should be no more than three degrees per second. In the 747, a too-rapid rotation, if overdone, could result in a tail strike on the runway. The goal was to gently fly the airplane away from the runway surface.
Five seconds after he started the rotation, the aircraft was pitched up to precisely fifteen degrees above the horizon.
With a practiced eye, Don scanned each of flight instruments for normal indications and values he expected to see. Consistent with his anticipation, he saw the IVSI, the Instant Vertical Speed Indicator show an initial positive rate of climb.