No Man's Land

by Kevin Sullivan

  ‘Because I was at my mum’s house, watching morning television and eating my Weet-Bix, and there you were with a megaphone in your hand at Learmonth – and everyone was cheering!’

  I haven’t seen this video clip, but I remember one of the passengers had a small camera and recorded my briefing in the Learmonth terminal. A major media outlet in Sydney somehow acquired a copy.

  The flight attendant asks if I’m okay. I shrug, because I really don’t know at this stage, but I tell her I’m happy to be alive and I’ll start from there.

  My daughter watches all this with amusement. While I retrieve our bags from the carousel, she summarises it aptly and sarcastically with one word: ‘Legend.’

  I raise one eyebrow, and she smiles. That’s my girl.

  I spend a couple of quiet days with my daughter, but all too soon it’s time for her to return to her life.

  My body is still buzzing but now a new situation is developing: a sense of isolation. I don’t feel guilty and everyone I was responsible for survived. So why don’t I feel like a hero?

  II

  AFTERMATH

  21.

  I retreat to my cave to let the dust settle, try to make sense of my body’s chemical rebellion and contemplate the future.

  I keep thinking about the decisions I made on the flight and what could have been if the sequence of events had changed slightly. I’m lucky I wasn’t physically injured: there was a margin of about five minutes where I wasn’t secured while on my way back to the flight deck. If I’d been recalled from my rest break a few moments later and the meal service had finished a few minutes earlier, I would have been in the forward galley – as Pete was when he got injured – checking on my crew before returning to the flight deck for my duty period.

  The threat presented to my brain of crashing into the water at the hands of out-of-control computers activated an enormous fight-or-flight response. I’m sure it’s the same for a soldier, police officer or first responder – if you’re placed in any position where you ask yourself, ‘Is my life going to end now?’ then your life changes.

  I need information about PTSD now, and my first stop is a visit to my doctor. I hope he can shed some light on what is happening to me a week after my wild ride.

  A commercial pilot, as part of their annual licence renewal process, must successfully complete a medical examination administered by a designated aviation medical examiner. These examiners are trained as GPs and complete a specialised qualification by the Civil Aviation Safety Authority (CASA) in Australia to administer the annual pilot exams. This process is similar throughout the world as part of a commercial or airline transport pilot’s licensing requirements.

  Pilot mental health is a recent inclusion in attempts to identify symptoms of depression and alcoholism. It’s a pilot’s professional responsibility to seek assistance if health concerns could potentially hinder performance. A commercial pilot is directly responsible for the lives of those on every flight, and few occupations shoulder the level of responsibility that a pilot must manage throughout their commercial flying career.

  The appointment with my GP starts with my description of the flight. An aviation enthusiast, he’s intrigued by the complexity of our failures and the workload we faced. I then recount the body response issues that I experienced during the flight and in the days since. He knows of my military background and agrees that this falls outside the boundaries of my extreme experience. As he describes the symptoms of a ‘chemical imbalance’ associated with a traumatic event, he writes notes:

  1)Mood Swing

  2)Irritability

  3)Crying Spells

  4)Early Morning Waking: 2am – 3am

  5)Appetite Disturbance

  6)No Motivation

  7)Poor Concentration/Memory

  8)Low Libido

  9)Anxiety

  10)Self-Harm

  I’m nodding as he reels off these symptoms, then I quietly start ticking off those I’ve experienced in the past few days. I explain my disrupted sleep, including the nightmares. As we discuss the list of symptoms, my alarm grows. ‘Self-Harm’? Could I ever allow myself to do that? Part of me wants to dismiss this discussion as a short-term hiccup, but the other half accepts the precarious and potentially dangerous territory I’m navigating through.

  We talk about my libido, and I admit that I feel ‘it’ has been affected.

  ‘Do you need something for that?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, that would help.’

  He scribbles on his prescriptions pad and slides the form over to me as we keep talking. I tell him I’ll be taking some time off work, and he starts to fill in a worker’s comp form, annotated again with the abbreviation I’m starting to dread: ‘PTSD’. The process of documenting my injury has begun.

  I collect the various pieces of paper he has filled out for me. Glancing at the prescription for the first time, I see it’s for Viagra.

  ‘Hey! What’s this for?!’ I wave the prescription in front of him.

  ‘You said you needed something for your libido!’

  ‘Not for that! How is this going to help my disrupted sleep?’

  He quickly scribbles a script for some mild sleeping pills. ‘But do you want to hang on to that prescription too?’ he asks sheepishly.

  ‘Actually, Doc, I don’t really need any assistance in that department.’

  We laugh, and I thank him. But the levity of our banter is replaced by solemn concern as I digest our discussion on the drive home. I stop to fill the prescription for the sleeping pills but don’t ever use them. For the first time, a wave of sadness wafts over me.

  I’m alarmed by my body response issues and the PTSD label. I know I need time to power down from this event, but I’ll get back to work later on . . . won’t I? This internal questioning, in itself, concerns me. I’m working overtime to prevent it from consuming me.

  *

  With time on my hands, I’m able to explore the flurry of media articles being written about QF72. Initial coverage on 7 and 8 October was inaccurate, citing potential causes for the pitch-downs as autopilot malfunction or clear-air turbulence.

  Qantas published their first official statement on the ‘Qantas and OneWorld’ website on 8 October, under the headline ‘Qantas Update on QF72’. It summarised the event and said that the company was cooperating with the Australian Transport Safety Bureau in the investigation. It was also mentioned that an internal corporate investigation was in progress. The Royal Flying Doctor Service and other support agencies were formally recognised and thanked, and the main corporate focus was on the welfare of the surviving passengers and crew. The statement ended by commending the professionalism of the crew in safely handling the emergency.

  A day earlier, on 7 October, the day of the event, the ATSB had published its first media release:

  The Australian Transport Safety Bureau (ATSB) has been notified of an incident involving a Qantas Airbus A330 aircraft on a flight from Singapore to Perth. While cruising in level flight, the aircraft experienced a sudden in-flight upset, resulting in injuries to a number of cabin crew and passengers, primarily in the rear of the aircraft.

  The crew declared a MAYDAY and diverted the aircraft to Learmonth, near Exmouth in WA, where it landed without further incident.

  Early reports indicate that three cabin crew and approximately 30 passengers sustained injuries, including about 15 with serious injuries, namely broken bones and lacerations.

  The ATSB has initiated a safety investigation and is making arrangements for investigators to travel to Learmonth as soon as possible.

  For the ATSB team of investigators, the QF72 accident presents an enormous challenge in determining the causes of the computer and systems failures that confronted the operating crew and injured so many.

  When the ATSB investigation commenced at Learmonth Airport, I spoke with the two investigators who’d been quickly deployed from the Perth office. We secured the data from the flight-data recorder and the cockpit
voice recorder on shutdown in accordance with instructions provided by the maintenance unit. ATSB personnel supervised the removal of the recorders from QPA, and they were sent to the ATSB offices in Canberra for inspection, arriving on 8 October. The downloaded data was provided to the investigating team on 9 October.

  *

  On 14 October 2008, the ATSB team present their initial findings at a media conference in Canberra. Examination of the recorded flight data from the aircraft has revealed significant failures of the automation, specifically that the air-data processing portion of ADIRU 1 produced ‘spiked values’ of data that were responsible for the false stall and overspeed warnings, the loss of the captain’s instrumentation and the loss of other systems.

  This falsely generated data was responsible for the pitch-downs ordered by the flight-control computers and the subsequent faults with the electronic flight-control systems.

  The ATSB team comment on the actions of the flight crew: ‘The crew’s timely response led to the recovery of the aircraft’s trajectory within seconds.’

  On the same day, 14 October, VH-QPA is flown out of Learmonth to Sydney. It’s a positioning flight by pilots from the Qantas Technical Section and carries a contingent of engineering specialists providing technical support. An extensive refit of the avionics and a clean-up of the interior has been completed in the seven days following the emergency landing.

  Many of the electronic components have been removed for testing as part of the ongoing investigation, and Airbus has provided technical assistance to Qantas in preparing the aircraft for the flight. Extensive testing of the aircraft’s wiring and the operation of the flight-control system is completed before the flight is conducted.

  On 15 October, Airbus issue the first of several operational engineering bulletins to address issues with abnormal operation and faults associated with the air-data computers. This is in response to the ongoing ATSB investigation, and is formulated after the recorded data from the aircraft has been downloaded and analysed. The enhanced procedure directs pilots to turn off both the inertial and air data portions of the ADIRU if any faults are displayed on the pilot’s instrumentation.

  The same day, The Sydney Morning Herald publishes an article entitled ‘Ex-fighter pilot saved QF72’. A colleague from our pilots’ association has been interviewed. The article focuses on my US Navy flying experience and my documented coolness under pressure in previous emergencies; there’s also comment on the training of Qantas pilots and how it would have assisted in a successful outcome. The article concludes that the malfunctions the crew faced were outside the scope of normal or expected operation, underlining the fact that Qantas pilots are held in high regard around the world and are known as safe and reliable pilots.

  22.

  The Australian Transport Safety Bureau team schedules our formal interview for 21 October in their Brisbane office as part of their investigation. All three pilots are in attendance, as well as Captain John Killingback, acting as our pilot representative.

  There are three ATSB investigators at my interview. The atmosphere is cordial and professional, and I’m not nervous – they’re analysing and reporting on an accident that’s way outside the boundaries of normality.

  The interview is recorded. After providing a written summary, I’m asked to recount the events of the flight and my actions in responding to the pitch-downs and emergency landing. They listen quietly, making notes as I progress through the sequence of events for the fifty minutes we were airborne. They clearly understand the severity and magnitude of the workload the pilots were faced with, and the confusing information and lack of communication that the computers were throwing at us. I describe my bewilderment when my stick inputs couldn’t counter the computer’s nose-down manoeuvre. I express my frustration that the aircraft computer systems didn’t supply any information to justify the activation of the protection modes or the data being sampled to generate the computer’s violent response. Airbus has already established that protections modes were activated, causing the dives.

  I let them know why I did a control check at altitude and made a high-energy approach to landing; I didn’t trust any of the information or the automation that the aircraft was providing. In my opinion, I tell them, the computer-commanded dives and multiple systems faults generated a confusing, distracting and dangerous cockpit environment.

  The investigators ask me if I want to listen to the cockpit voice recorder. This captures everything said or heard in the cockpit from the time the engines are started until they’re shut down at the end of the flight.

  I’m still emotionally raw – I haven’t been sleeping well and don’t want to stress myself further. ‘I don’t want to listen to it now, but can you keep the invitation open for later?’ They agree.

  ‘Do you remember what you said when your second officer asked if you wanted to reset PRIM 3 after the second pitch-down?’ one of the investigators asks.

  ‘Yeah. “Don’t fuck with it.”’

  ‘That was my favourite part,’ he says.

  ‘I think I used the f-word a few times that day,’ I reply wryly.

  After the interview, the investigators ask me to sign a confidentiality statement in regard to the ongoing investigation, and I’m briefed on the investigation process. The aircraft’s data and voice recorders are intact, and the investigators have three eyewitness accounts from the pilots.

  ‘How long will it take to complete?’ I ask.

  ‘Unsure at this stage, but we’ll keep you updated.’

  Should only take a few months to complete the investigation, I think to myself.

  I wait outside as Pete and Ross complete their interviews. When they emerge, separately, their faces are troubled.

  ‘You didn’t listen to the voice recorder, did you?’ I ask.

  They both nod. Listening to the tape has triggered some very bad memories, still raw and unresolved in our minds. This affirms my decision to wait longer before reliving the event through the recording.

  *

  A week later, I meet with the crew of QF72 in Sydney. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since the flight three weeks earlier.

  Their injuries are still visible: facial bruises, injured limbs, stiff necks and shoulders. And my heart breaks as Fuzzy hobbles in on crutches to greet his fellow crew. He moves awkwardly and looks in distress, but maintains a dignified air of courage and humility. My eyes tear up as we shake hands and embrace. How could this have happened to him? To us?

  One by one, my brave crew recount their experience on that horrible day. Their eyes lock onto mine as they describe their reactions to the pitch-downs, how they were injured, their fears and confusion, their actions during and after the violent manoeuvres, and their dedication to their passengers and to each other. My heart is pounding again – not only in sympathy for their injuries and their trauma, but also in admiration and pride.

  For Rory it is his first opportunity to release his pent-up emotions and seek support from his fellow crew members. He’s the flight attendant who ran through his section – with a fractured foot, it turns out – checking on his passengers while Lisa and others yelled at him to be seated. His emotional reconstruction is powerful and heartbreaking. He details how he was thrown into the ceiling while moving through the cabin after the meal service; he came down hard on his foot and was dazed, thinking the aircraft was in turbulence.

  After the second pitch-down he disregarded his injury as he moved rapidly through his area, instructing passengers to fasten seatbelts and checking on the infants in his section before securing himself in a seat. On landing, he quickly retrieved a first-aid kit from its stowage.

  As he moved through his cabin area, an elderly passenger with a bloodstained pillow held tightly to his head stopped him for assistance. After the pillow was removed, Rory was shocked to see a jagged gash along the man’s scalp line, part of the skull exposed. This man hadn’t fastened his seatbelt and had been propelled through the plastic above his s
eat. He grew concerned at Rory’s shocked expression and asked if his injury was very bad.

  ‘No, mate, no, you’re gonna be okay,’ Rory replied, then replaced the pillow firmly back on to the wound. As Rory recalls this event, he begins to cry, all the while staring into my eyes, which are also stinging with tears.

  I have to keep looking down, to feign rubbing an itchy eye as I fight back my tears. I realise that the crew never really talked to me about their individual actions until now. I knew they were in shock and traumatised in Learmonth and at the time I didn’t want to make them relive the event.

  When it’s my turn to talk, I remind the crew they’d done an incredible job. Faced with mass casualties, they used innovation to deal with the unexpected emergency. They communicated with each other and with the passengers to clear the aisles and prepare for the contingency of an evacuation. Finally, they supported each other and their passengers after we landed until the medical response was completed and all the passengers were moved into the terminal. They’re response couldn’t be faulted.

  But sitting with them now, I could see it would take more than words for this group of remarkable individuals to recover from the experience. It had left a permanent mark.

  *

  My return-to-work coordinator, Adam Lloyd, helps me navigate the complexities of extended leave and worker’s comp intricacies.

  Meanwhile, Pete and Ross are keen to return to flying and need to requalify, but are uneasy about flying the Airbus fleet, with the causes the subject of an ongoing investigation. In my opinion, the get-back-in-the-saddle approach after such a unique traumatic event can be a challenge.

  *

  On 14 November 2008, the Australian Transport Safety Bureau releases a preliminary report on QF72. The chief ATSB investigator informs the three pilots the week prior to the publication, also letting us know a draft copy will be provided to us before the public disclosure. I appreciate that they’re keeping us informed.