Code Black

by Donlay, Philip S.

  “Here we go then,” Henry said.

  “Keith. Go back and get ready to land. Tell Rafael we’ll be on the ground in less than ten minutes.” The man turned and hurried toward the rear of the plane. He banked the airplane to match Henry’s movements. John sat silently. “Not much longer, John.”

  “I know,” John replied, weakly. “I promise, I’ll call the approach lights the second I see them.”

  Donovan took one last look around the cockpit. He met John’s eyes briefly. They both knew that they were running out of time—so many things could still go wrong.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Henry once again handed the phone to Lauren. “Let me know when they’re in position. Hopefully we can keep this connection open for the entire approach,” Henry said, and then asked quietly, “If you get a chance, can you ask him how she’s doing?”

  Lauren asked Donovan the question that was on everyone’s mind.

  “Tell Henry she’s about the same,” Donovan said. “Honey, I need both hands to fly. I’m going to have to give this to John. We can relay through him. With a little luck I’ll see you shortly. How about a late dinner?”

  “It’s a date.” Tears welled up in Lauren’s eyes.

  “What did he say?” Matt asked. “How’s Mom?”

  “He said she was doing about the same.”

  A wounded expression formed on Matt’s face.

  “They’ll be on the ground in a few minutes,” Lauren said.

  “Pull out the jump seat, Matt, and strap in tight,” Henry ordered.

  “Hello?” John’s voice sounded over the phone.

  “This is Lauren. We’re here, how are you doing?” Lauren heard the sound of buckles next to her as Matt cinched himself up.

  “Donovan’s got us situated. We’re moving into position. Give us another twenty seconds and we’ll be there.” John paused. “Tell Henry we can’t have very much fuel left. If we can’t stay with you and have to break it off, I think we should probably just head this thing for the lake.”

  “I understand,” Lauren said.

  “Boeing 31 Whiskey Alpha, this is O’Hare Tower. Turn left to a heading of 170 degrees and intercept the localizer. You are cleared for the CAT III approach to 14 Left,” Kate said. “All vehicles are clear, centerline and touchdown zone lights have been plowed. Emergency vehicles are in position and standing by.”

  Henry turned the plane toward O’Hare, and Michael verified the clearance. Only a trace of light was still visible to the west. Henry glanced at Matt. “You all buckled in? You already know how rough it’s going get.”

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t be in the back of the plane—watching what’s going on?” Matt said.

  “No. You stay right here.” Henry said.

  “John says they’re in position,” Lauren relayed.

  “I hope we have enough light left for this,” Henry muttered.

  Lauren wondered how much more difficult the growing darkness made it for Donovan to see their airplane. The autopilot began a gentle turn to the left. She couldn’t shake John’s words about heading for the lake if they failed.

  “Localizer’s alive,” Henry called out to Michael “I’m showing we’ve captured both the localizer and glide slope. Speed set. Tell them we’re starting down.”

  Lauren held her breath as the first wisps of vapor flew by with alarming swiftness. At 225 knots, they plunged into the diffused world of the raging blizzard.

  “Lauren.” John’s strained voice sounded far away. “Donovan wants Henry to kill the strobe lights. They’re blinding us.”

  “Kill the strobes,” Lauren said.

  Henry reached for the switch, then double-checked that all the other external lights were on. Turbulence began to shake the 737. All the powerful lights on Henry’s airplane shone forward; there were precious few in the tail for Donovan to see. “Do they still have us?”

  “Yes, just barely,” Lauren said.

  “When we get closer to the ground, there should be some light from the city filtering up through the clouds; it should help silhouette us. But it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

  “Boeing 31 Whiskey Alpha, O’Hare Tower. RVR for 14 Left is 600 variable 700. Wind is 330 degrees at 22 knots, gusts to 32.”

  Lauren relayed the information to John, and then listened. She put her hand over the receiver and turned to Henry. “John doesn’t sound good; they can hardly see us.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about that!” Henry said.

  In a flurry of motion, Matt unlatched the belts and threw off his harness.

  “Goddamnit Matt, sit down!” Henry yelled, but his son ignored him and bolted headlong from the cockpit.

  Lauren started to say something—but Matt was already gone. A barrage of turbulence pounded them as they descended lower into the storm. It was getting even darker.

  Lauren gazed at the glowing instruments before her. The autopilot reacted instantly to each new disturbance in the atmosphere. It had grown eerily quiet on the flight deck. Suddenly, John began shouting something to her but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  “There’s a what?” Lauren snapped her head toward Henry. “John, slow down, I can’t understand you.”

  “What’s happening?” Henry asked.

  Lauren’s eyes grew wide. “John says there’s a beam, a laser of some kind coming from our airplane. He’s ecstatic! He’s saying that they need for it to stay in a fixed position.”

  “How can that be?” Henry shook his head, and then glanced at Matt’s empty seat.

  “It’s Matt! He has one of those laser pointers; I saw him with it earlier.” Lauren listened to what John was telling her and then relayed to Henry. “Donovan says for us to fix the beam just above the tip of the right horizontal stabilizer!”

  Henry’s focus never left the instruments as he picked up the handset for the cabin announcement system. “Matt. They want you to keep the laser beam pointed out into space, just above the tip of the right horizontal stabilizer. Son, do your best to hold it still.”

  “John says keep it right there,” Lauren reported, her voice filled with exhilaration. “Matt’s got it perfectly. Donovan can’t believe how much of a difference it makes!”

  “It’s working, Matt,” Henry said. “No matter how rough it gets son, just keep it steady!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Donovan fixed his gaze on the red, pencil-thin beam of light that reached out into the darkness from Henry’s plane. The sharp contrast of the laser gave him a constant point of reference back to the other 737. “John, it’s a stroke of genius!”

  “Incredible,” John muttered.

  “I’ll keep the beam out in front of us. It’s so damn perfect.” Donovan could just make out a face in the rearmost window. He knew it was Matt holding the laser steady. He remembered Audrey’s words, her desire for Henry and Matt to reconnect. Donovan wished she could see this, her husband and son working together.

  Donovan guided the 737 within 20 feet of the other plane. As before, he stayed slightly behind and above the other Boeing—the sleek vertical stabilizer rose almost level with their cockpit. Wayfarer’s logo was bathed in a soft light, a stark contrast to the piercing red beam. He reacted to each small movement of the other aircraft, aided by the small point of laser light from the Wayfarer jet. He felt as though he could reach out and touch the painted aluminum.

  As the turbulence grew, Donovan’s control adjustments became more aggressive. His body tightened; the tendons in his hands and wrists twitched as he battled to stay in formation.

  “Lauren says it’s going to get a lot rougher the lower we go,” John relayed.

  “No kidding.” Despite the unstable air, Donovan remained in perfect position. “How high are we?” He didn’t dare risk even a quick glance at the altimeter.

  “We’re going through four thousand feet. We’re twelve miles from touchdown,” John said. “At this speed, we’ll be there in three and a half mi
nutes.”

  The tailwind hurtled them over the ground at almost 260 knots. Donovan hoped he’d be able to bleed off some of that speed, but the touchdown might still be as fast as 200 knots—a staggering difference from the usual 125. He pushed the power up slightly as the other plane pulled several feet in front of them. Donovan marveled at how steady Matt was able to hold the laser despite the turbulence. The aching fatigue moved from his legs to his shoulders and arms. His eyes burned, unblinking, as he constantly judged his distance from the tail of the other 737. The laser beam glowed brightly in the murky sky.

  “Outer Marker,” John relayed, as the planes sped over the final approach fix. “One minute and fifteen seconds until touchdown.”

  Donovan nodded. The 737 reacted sluggishly in his hands and he added a fraction more power. His legs throbbed painfully; his calves began to cramp. He wriggled the numbness from his toes. “John, I need a little more help with the right rudder. I’m having trouble holding it.” The pressure applied by John was only a slight relief. A dull orange glow reflected off the polished metal of Henry’s Boeing. It took Donovan a moment to realize it must be from the fire in his left engine—it was still burning.

  “One thousand feet above the ground,” John said.

  Donovan’s right leg trembled involuntarily from the strain. He was tapping into the last of his physical resources. The ache in his shoulders crept down his arms and into his hands. He desperately wanted to shift in his seat, but the risk of creating some small control input made it far too dangerous.

  “I saw some lights straight down!” John said. “Just a flash, but I saw them.”

  Donovan knew that forward visibility would be the deciding factor. Often you could see directly down in the fog or snow, but the view straight ahead was the one that mattered. He was about to ask John how far they were from the runway when a massive wave of turbulence pummeled both Boeings.

  “Look out!” John yelled, as they skidded and rocked dangerously close to the other airplane.

  Donovan tried to turn away, but they lurched toward the tail of the other plane. He could see Matt in the window; the laser pointer fixed exactly where he wanted it. The young man never so much as flinched at what seemed like certain impact. Donovan was so close he could recognize individual rivets on the paint-chipped tail.

  He put both hands on the controls and tried to roll away. He held his breath as a second jolt hit the 737. The aircraft grazed the side of Henry’s plane, and the shudder and sound of scraping metal almost made Donovan duck. He fought the controls. If he corrected too far, he would lose them. Not far enough and they would hit again. The rudder and elevator of Henry’s airplane fluttered for a moment, correcting for the forces of the two planes having touched.

  “Oh shit! We hit them,” John’s voice cried out. “We’re still here, we’re okay. Are you?” He listened for a moment on the phone, then turned toward Donovan. “They’re all right!”

  Donovan struggled as he tried to regain control of the plane. The instability had eased momentarily, but still pounded the planes. He knew they had entered an area where two different rivers of air collided. The turbulence was bordering on severe. Scraped paint and a small indentation in the smooth metal marked the point of impact on Henry’s 737. Matt gave a thumbs-up from the window, the laser beam a rock-steady red line in the near darkness. “Just a fender bender. Tell Henry his son is magnificent!”

  “Will do, five hundred feet to go,” John said. “Keep going Donovan. We’re almost there!”

  Donovan nodded, swallowing hard. His tortured muscles ached and screamed in protest as he continued to match the other 737 move for move.

  “Two hundred feet. Ground contact straight down!”

  Again, turbulence tore at the two airplanes. John reached out and grabbed the glare-shield. The blurred yellow glow of streetlights flashed past. Donovan strained through his burning eyes to see the first section of the approach lights.

  “One hundred feet. I see the strobes! Right below us,” John cried out.

  “I’ve got them.” The array of approach lights flashed directly beneath them, their rhythmic white pulses leading to the runway. At this rate, they’d be over the concrete in seconds. Donovan’s muscles tightened even more. He had no way to get to the runway—Henry’s plane was still in their way.

  The lights that marked the touchdown zone raced past. Donovan yanked the good throttle all the way back, trying desperately to fall away from the other plane. He knew he was eating up runway at an alarming rate.

  “Go around!” John screamed into the phone at Henry. “We have the runway!”

  Donovan watched in horror as the other 737 plummeted even lower. Full thrust from Henry’s engines raised a giant plume of snow as he struggled to go around. In what seemed like slow motion, the other 737 clawed and lifted its way out of the wind shear, moving ever-so-slightly out of their path. Donovan held the controls tightly as the jet blast from Henry’s plane buffeted his aircraft. When the right wing tried to come up, Donovan forced it level. If he let a wing tip dig into the snow, they would cartwheel and die in an instant. Donovan used all of his strength to raise the nose. They were still going 190 knots. He managed a few more degrees of pitch before the Boeing finally plunged heavily onto the snow-covered runway.

  Donovan’s harness dug deeply into his shoulders at first impact, then eased as the 737 skipped. He caught a glimpse of Henry’s airplane as it struggled to climb upward into the night sky. Donovan pulled back on the elevator with everything he had to kill some more of their speed. The tail hit the ground and the force rammed the nose heavily into the snow. He caught one last glimpse of the other 737 lifting up and away from 880.

  The next impact threw him even harder against his straps. Above the roar of the plane, Donovan heard John shriek in agony. From behind him, the sound of tearing metal filled the cockpit. The rudder pedals slammed against his feet. He tried frantically to keep the Boeing’s nose pointed straight ahead. Without warning, the 737 began to skid sideways. Donovan used every last ounce of his strength to hold it straight, but the airplane spun hard, and Donovan was hammered against the wall of the cockpit. Everything outside vanished under a wall of snow as they careened off the runway. Seconds later he was catapulted into the control column—and the world went black.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Lauren had come out of her seat as the wind shear pushed them down almost to the runway. Henry jammed both throttles to full power and the engine noise resonated through the airframe.

  “They’ve got the runway!” Lauren called out “Henry, get us out of here!”

  Fifty feet above the ground, they began to accelerate. Henry eased back on the controls. One tiny mistake and they would hit the runway and crash in front of the other plane. The 737’s wings bit hard into the cold air; the huge turbofan engines were screaming.

  Lauren felt the first subtle sensation they were picking up speed. She knew that 880 was somewhere close behind them and she steeled herself for the first tremor of a collision. Henry forced the 737 away from the runway, straining against the onslaught of turbulence as they climbed back into the heart of the blizzard. Below them flashed the long-term parking lot lights and broad expanse of the International Terminal.

  “John! Can you hear me? Are you down? Talk to me!” Lauren cried out over and over into the phone.

  The powerful Boeing pounded through the turbulence. Henry finally pulled the engine thrust back a fraction. They were now hurtling out of 3,000 feet for the smoother air above.

  “Tower. This is Boeing 31 Whiskey Alpha,” Michael said, breathless as he spoke into the microphone. “We’re going missed approach. Did they make it? Is 880 down?”

  “Surface radar shows they’re down. We can’t see anything. We’re waiting for reports from the emergency crews. You are cleared to climb to 10,000 feet.” Kate stopped for a moment. The background noise in the cab increased as reports from the crash landing poured in. “31 Whiskey Alpha, you are cleare
d to climb to 10,000 feet and say your intentions.”

  “Stand by.” Michael waited for Henry. They’d finally flown above the worst of the storm.

  “I’ve lost the connection.” Lauren lowered her head, as she slowly closed the phone. The 737 plowed through the occasional rough air currents as they continued to climb

  “Tell Kate we want to hold at 10,000 feet.” Henry leveled the wings as another jolt buffeted them. “Any word yet at all?”

  Michael keyed the microphone. “Tower, we’ll level at 10,000 feet. Can you tell us anything about 880?”

  “Boeing 31 Whiskey Alpha, you’re cleared to 10,000 feet. Turn left to 090 degrees. I’ll give you vectors to keep you in my airspace. I have no official word I can relay over this frequency. O’Hare is officially closed at this time due to an accident.”

  Lauren slumped in her seat.

  “It worked!” Matt exploded into the flight deck. “They made it down. Is Mom okay? Do we know yet?”

  “Not yet. We’ll know soon.” Lauren turned toward the young man. She leaned over and gave him a huge hug. “You were amazing,” she whispered, before she let him go.

  “That guy was incredible!” Matt said. “You should have seen how close he held the airplane. I could almost see right inside the cockpit.” He held his hands together to illustrate how both airplanes had been positioned. “I thought we were done for when he bumped into us. The turbulence was so bad! I could see his wings flexing up and down. His left engine was still on fire; the whole time we were flying, that thing was burning. But he stayed right there. Man, it was something! I could even see the scratch on his nose where he ran into us.”

  Michael looked back and smiled. “What made you think of the laser?”