Brian could see that they were still in the grips of the warm front that stretched across the Atlantic, and visibility was restricted. The radar antenna on the mast was spinning and searching the fog for other ships. He was only a couple of minutes late to the radio room, located at the rear of the ship’s bridge.
“Glad you could make it, Brian. I thought you were leaving me stranded up here all night.”
“Shut up, I brought you a donut.”
“I’ll eat it on the way to my rack.”
“Yeah right, Bobby, like you’re not going to chow on the mid-rats till they’re all gone.”
“Is Cookie down there? He owes me a favor.”
“Nah, just the mess cooks, but they’ve put out a good spread.”
“I’ll check it out.”
“That’s what I thought. What’s going on up here?”
“Not much, just some routine messages from fleet on Satcom. I picked up BBC for a while, but that’s about it. I’m out of here, buddy.”
Brian went through the standard communication checks required at each watch change and made sure the VHF and HF radios were on guard and tuned to the emergency frequencies. He made the corresponding logbook entries and then turned the speakers up so he could walk out onto the bridge and speak to Lieutenant Strickland, who was the mid-watch Officer of the Deck.
“Where are we, Lieutenant?”
“How would I know, Brian? I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
Brian laughed. “I need to send a position report to fleet at midnight.”
“Yeah, I know. We’ll figure it out. Let’s take a look.”
They walked over to the navigation computer and watched the digital readout as it slowly changed. It seemed to be in rhythm with the rise and fall of the deck.
The lieutenant said, “Looks like we finally made it to forty degrees west. You’ll be basking on the beach in beautiful Santa Maria in a couple of days: the most beautiful island of the Azores. I’ll get an exact fix on the hour for you to transmit to fleet, although I doubt if they really care where we are.”
Charlie was still enjoying his coffee and Britt had remained in the cockpit to talk and relieve the boredom. His break time had arrived, but he didn’t want to be rude by asking Britt to leave to wake Robby.
They were approaching forty west, and he decided to wait until Tony made his position report before taking his break.
Tony said, “Here we go again.” He waited for a lull on the frequency and then took his turn.
“Gander, Tri Con One-One, position.”
“Tri Con One-One, Gander, go ahead.”
Tony reported their time and altitude at longitude forty west and gave them the estimate for the next reporting point at longitude thirty west.
Gander read the report back correctly and added, “Contact Santa Maria on five-five-nine-eight at 030 west, over.”
“Santa Maria frequency 5598 at 030 west, Tri Con One-One.”
Tony turned his attention to the howgozit and made the calculations.
“I think I screwed something up, Charlie.”
Charlie answered. “I, of course, have never made a mistake.”
Britt said, “Captain, my captain.”
Tony looked puzzled.
“We lost a minute, probably due to the climb, but we lost over five-thousand pounds of fuel. I must have done something wrong.”
Charlie took the chart and looked it over.
“I don’t see it, Tony. Are you sure the figures at the last fix are correct?”
“I think so.”
Charlie did some quick calculations in his head, computing the total time since takeoff versus the total fuel burn.
“We may have a problem, maybe a bad fuel quantity indicator.”
He pulled the fuel system up on the diagnostic screen.
“Let’s add up the individual tanks.”
The two main wing tanks contained fuel and were balanced, as were the two wing tip tanks. They also noted that a small amount of fuel was contained in the aft balance tank. This small tank was located in the aft fuselage and used to trim the center of gravity of the airplane. It presently contained almost 3000 pounds. The numbers added up to what Tony had calculated on the howgozit.
“If we had a bad indicator, the tanks would show an imbalance, and that’s not the case.”
Charlie clicked the autopilot off and flew manually for a minute.
“The trim is good so the fuel is actually balanced. We may have a leak, Tony.” He turned to Britt. “Get Robby up, please.”
They continued to analyze the problem and could not find a fault in the system. The fuel flow to the engines looked normal.
“Maybe it was a transient problem, Tony, and we still have plenty of fuel. Let’s do a five-minute burn check and see what we come up with.”
Tony hacked the time and noted the total fuel on board.
Charlie said, “We haven’t reached the equal time point yet, but we might be closer to Lajes in the Azores than St. John’s in Newfoundland. Make Lajes a fix and check the distance.”
Tony did the appropriate typing and saw that Lajes was more than seven hundred miles to the southeast.
“We’re still closer to Canada, Charlie.”
“Okay, just for drill, compute a new equal time point between Lajes and St. Johns. We’ll forget about Lisbon for now.”
Britt shook Robby’s shoulder, and he came awake.
“Robby, it’s time to get up, and Charlie says we may have some sort of fuel problem. He wants you to come back to the cockpit right away.”
“What kind of fuel problem?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t seem panicked, but he wants you to come right up there.”
“Okay, thanks, Britt.”
Robby threw the blanket off and looked for his shoes in the dim light of the cabin. All the passengers were sleeping quietly. He laced up his shoes and put his iPod in his pocket, then made his way forward
.
When Robby entered the cockpit, Britt went with him. Robby asked, “What’s up, boss?”
“Maybe nothing. We can’t find five thousand pounds of fuel. Go ahead and change seats, and then you can double check our numbers.”
Tony unbuckled and slid the seat back. He and Robby changed places, and Robby picked up the clipboard. After a moment he said, “I don’t see a mathematical error. Maybe we should do a five-minute burn check.”
“We just did that, the estimated fuel at thirty west is normal except we’re still five thousand pounds short. It doesn’t appear to be getting worse.”
“Beats me, Charlie, but it had to go somewhere.”
“We made Lajes the ETP airport instead of Lisbon. In about five minutes, Lajes will be the emergency divert airport. Tony has already loaded it in the secondary flight plan.”
Robby double checked Tony’s work and said, “Yeah, that looks good. I’ll get the charts for Lajes out just in case.” He looked at the approach plates and said, “You’re not going to believe this, guys. There’s a note that says ‘Caution, cattle in vicinity of airport.’ There’s also a 3500-foot hill beside the runway. The good news is it’s a nice long piece of concrete.”
Charlie said, “Let’s hope we don’t have the pleasure of making a visit. Let’s do the numbers for another five-minute check. Britt, I’d like for you to hang around if you don’t mind.”
The fuel level in the main tanks continued to decrease, and the forward transfer pump in the right wing became momentarily uncovered as the autopilot made a slight course correction to the left. The electronic controller did its job and fuel began pouring out over the Atlantic. A few seconds later the wings rolled level and the system reconfigured back to normal once again.
Charlie watched the little airplane symbol track down the magenta line, making small wind corrections to stay on course. They waited for the five minutes to tick away and then recalculated the fuel burn.
“Charlie, we lost almost another thousand pounds,” Robby
declared.
“Okay, we know we have a problem now. Britt, I don’t want to alarm anyone, but there is the possibility that we might have to divert to the Azores. What I want you to do is wake everyone up and begin the breakfast service early. Tell the flight attendants what’s happening, but don’t tell the passengers yet. Also, don’t get the serving carts out, run the meals out by hand so we can leave the aisles clear in case you have to prepare for landing quickly. I don’t really care if anyone eats, I just want everyone awake.”
“That’s what I’ll do, Charlie. If we go there, how long until we land?”
Charlie checked the fix page and saw Lajes was less than six hundred and fifty miles away. “About one hour, Britt, but I’ll give you plenty of warning.”
He turned to Tony.
“I want you to go to the aft cabin and look at the wings. If we have a leak, it’s going to leave a trail. I’ll turn on the wing illumination lights so you can see.”
Tony held the door for Britt and then followed her into the cabin. He walked all the way to the rear galley and peered out the round window in the door. He could see the trailing edge of the wing in the glow of the lights. The lights were designed to illuminate the wings so that they could be checked for ice accumulation, but they served very well for the present situation. Tony looked very closely at both wings and could see nothing at all out of the ordinary. The strobe lights, flashing a steady cadence at each wingtip, provided a comforting feeling of normality. As he walked forward, the cabin lights came up and passengers began to stir.
When he reached the forward galley, the three flight attendants were gathered and Britt was explaining the situation to them. She asked, “Anything new, Tony?”
“No, everything looks normal, but Charlie won’t take any chances. If we lose any more fuel, there’s a good possibility that we will land in Lajes or Lisbon.”
As Tony entered the cockpit, Britt was announcing breakfast on the PA.
Molly was already awake and thought it strange to make a loud PA and wake everyone up. She had always found it effective to just start serving and people could eat or sleep as they chose. When she saw Nancy running meals out by hand, she knew something was up. Allen raised his head up off the pillow, mumbled something, and plopped back down. Molly walked to the forward galley and looked at Britt with a questioning expression.
Britt said, “We may have to divert. Charlie wants everybody awake.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“He thinks we may have a fuel problem.”
“That’s never good. How can I help?”
Charlie’s intuition was working full force.
“Guys, we need a contingency plan. If we divert, we obviously can’t descend on the track. There may be other airplanes below us. The standard track exit procedure is to turn ninety degrees, offset thirty miles to put us halfway between our track and the next one, and then parallel the track to descend. If we do that, I’ll turn right to put us closer to Lajes. When we start down, I’ll descend to at least twenty-eight thousand feet. That’ll put us below the lowest track, and we can proceed direct to Lajes. Tony, you handle the radios. Forget about Gander. Try to reach Santa Maria. We’ll be in their airspace anyway if we divert. Hopefully we won’t do any of that, but just in case, I want you to know what I plan to do.”
Robby said, “I pulled up the weather and Lajes is not great. They have a ceiling of three hundred feet and visibility at one and a half miles. I guess that warm front is still hanging around.”
“If we have to go there it won’t matter. We’ll declare an emergency and bust minimums if we have to.”
“I’m with you, boss.”
Charlie turned to the approach plates for Lajes and started familiarizing himself with the airport.
Tony said, “Oh man! Look at the fuel totalizer.”
The digits on the instrument were unwinding faster than any of them had ever seen. Charlie punched up the fuel system diagnostic page again and immediately saw two green symbols, one on each wing, representing an open dump valve. He rolled the airplane into a right turn, selected a heading ninety degrees from the track course, and said, “Get on the radio, Tony. Robby, punch the fuel dump switch and see if you can close those valves. Get the book out and see what you can do.”
Britt was walking down the aisle with a hot tray and almost tripped when the airplane abruptly rolled to the right. She regained her balance and heard the tone indicating that the seat belt light had been turned on. She turned and hurried back to the galley.
“Girls, put everything away.” She picked up the interphone and called the aft galley.
“That’ll be six dollars and thirty cents, drive to the window please.”
“Knock it off, Alice, we’ve got a problem. Button everything up and tell everyone to prepare for landing. I think we’re doing the divert I told you about.”
“Okay, we’ll be ready. Let us know what’s going on.”
Britt picked up the PA.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has illuminated the seat belt light indicating the possibility of turbulence in the area. Please check to see that your seat belt is securely fastened. Cabin service will be terminated temporarily. Thank you.”
Pam and Nancy began their trek down the aisle checking everyone’s seat belt. Britt could see Alice and Shelia doing the same duty in the aft cabin. As she moved through the aisle, the airplane rolled to the left and pitched forward slightly. She felt the familiar pressure change in her ears and knew they were descending.
Brian Davis propped his feet up and balanced his coffee against the pitch and roll of the ship. It never occurred to anyone that the ship was pitching or rolling; it was just a part of their being. He was debating whether he should shave before the arrival in the Azores. Most of the crew considered it a waste of razor blades unless they were in port. He had become bored with the BBC and turned it off. There had been no communications with other ships at all, and he knew they were far from the normal shipping lanes. Still, it was nice to have the radar searching their path for collision dangers. He had read all the electronics magazines stashed in the radio shack and looked forward to replenishing the supply when they hit port.
With the lack of anything better to do, he looked through the codebook for aircraft frequencies, just to possibly hear a human voice not connected with the US Navy. He found the list for Santa Maria oceanic radio and started scanning the HF band. There were ten frequencies listed for Santa Maria, but he remembered what he had been taught in radio school. Follow the sun to find a HF frequency that works efficiently. When the sun is high, use the higher frequencies, when the sun is low, use the lower frequencies. He started with the lower frequencies and hit pay dirt on 5598. He listened to the bored voices of a few pilots making position reports at thirty west and twenty west and heard the word Dirma a couple of times, although he had no clue where that was. He noticed that the airplanes used basically the same format for position reports that ships used.
It was irritating that operators stepped all over each other on the frequency, but he knew it was because of the long range of HF. Transmissions were commonly covered up by other transmissions. It was annoying, and he had heard nothing but position reports anyway. He was about to turn it off when he heard, “Santa Maria, Tri Con One-One, exiting track uniform, I say again Tri Con One-One, exiting track uniform, diverting to Lajes, over.”
He heard no response from Santa Maria, but he knew that didn’t mean they were not replying. At sea level, he might not receive them. He decided to stay with it a little longer. He wondered why an airplane might be diverting. Perhaps it was a hijacking. A few minutes later he heard a weaker transmission, “Santa Maria, Santa Maria, Tri Con One-One, off track uniform to the south, diverting direct Lajes, do you read, over.”
Britt hurried over to the interphone handset when the cockpit call tone sounded. “Britt, it’s Tony, we’re diverting. Charlie wants you to close everything up and strap in. I’ll make a PA and call y
ou back in a few minutes.”
“Okay, Tony.”
Tony pushed the PA switch.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is First Officer Johnson. I have some unfortunate news to pass along. We’ve developed a mechanical situation that will require a change of destination for our flight this morning. We are presently proceeding directly to Lajes in the Azores Islands and will be touching down within the hour. We regret that our normal schedule will be interrupted, but with your safety in mind, it will be necessary. Once we’re on the ground, we will keep you informed as to the length of the delay. Thank you.”
Britt repeated the information in Spanish and then added that everyone should remain seated with their seatbelts fastened.
Allen Smallwood was incensed.
“Molly, heads are going to roll. I have important meetings this morning in Madrid and someone is going to answer for this. How could they possibly decide to land in the Azores? Tri Con doesn’t even serve the Azores. We will have to pay through the nose to have the aircraft serviced and fueled. I’ll bet you that this will somehow result in extra pay for those pilots. Well, I’ll see that doesn’t happen.” He pushed the flight attendant call button.
Pam happened to be approaching his seat from behind and immediately punched off the whine light, “What do you want, Mr. Smallman?”
He ignored the stupid woman’s mistake.
“I want you to go to the cockpit and tell the captain that I have important business in Madrid, and I will not be delayed. You can inform him that I am an important member of Tri Con management, and I demand that he continue to Madrid.”
“Mr. Smallman, the captain is very busy right now, and I will not distract him. I’m sure he will grant you an audience at some future time, and you will be able to voice your concerns. Fasten your seatbelt like a good boy.”
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