Flying Too Close to the Sun

by George Jehn

  . . .

  Bill Francis glanced at the Runway Visual Range monitor in the tower and was surprised to see the airport visibility had increased to slightly more than a half-mile, with the RVR at three-thousand feet. He immediately went to the portly Heinz and asked, “The RVR on runway 22 indicates three-thousand feet. You want me to turn the motion sensors back on?”

  Heinz looked incredulous. “What’re you fucking nuts? We’ll be lucky if it stays at three-thousand feet for even another five seconds, never mind five minutes, the time it takes to get them up and running. Leave ‘em off.”

  “Whatever you say, but the regulations call for—”

  “Goddamn it, Bill. I know what the regs state. Just do what I say.”

  “Okay, it’s your call.”

  Approximately a minute later the visibility dipped back to a quarter-mile. Pointing to the meter, Heinz said, “See. What’d I tell you?”

  . . .

  The huge tractor pushed the tri-jet back onto the ramp as easily as a child would roll a toy plane. Christina ordered the number one and three engines started and instructed Erik to leave the Auxiliary Power Unit, the APU, running to provide needed compressed air to start the remaining one. Woody called for taxi clearance and they were cleared to runway 22 Right via Alpha and November taxiways. The poor visibility required a reduced taxi speed.

  “You guys were lucky to have arrived earlier,” Francis commented, “when the visibility was better. Right now we’re running delays up to thirty minutes inbound and we’ve already had a couple of missed approaches.”

  “Are there any departure delays?” Woody anxiously inquired.

  “No. All I need is a release from the En Route Center, which should take only a few minutes.”

  They crossed over runway 15 Right and Francis instructed them to change to the tower frequency of 119.1. The big jet entered November taxiway, which ran parallel to 22 Right. The partially fog-obscured bright yellow sign indicating taxiway N2 soon came into view. They stopped at N2 and Christina positioned the 727 to block it so no other departing aircraft would be able to observe their forward cargo compartment door. As she set the parking brake the lever almost slipped from her sweaty fingertips.

  “How long will it be until our clearance comes through?” Woody asked the tower.

  “I called the High Altitude Center and it should only be a few more minutes.”

  “Let’s crank up number two,” Christina commanded.

  Erik reached up with trembling hands and shut off the air conditioning units to get the compressed air needed for start and turned on the four center tank fuel boost pump switches. Extending his arm, he could feel the damp perspiration under his armpit and the fine hairs on the nape of his neck quivering.

  “We’ve got enough air pressure,” he announced.

  . . .

  Juni heard the sounds of an approaching jet and a moment later brilliant smudges emerged from the cloaked mist, as though a shroud had been lifted. Once it passed by, he ran to the edge of the taxiway and confirmed it was a Shuttle Air 727. But he still couldn’t make out the registration number on the tail. The noise was deafening and as he observed the plane came to a smooth halt. He ran toward the tail section until he could make out the number, N838SA. He dashed back to the boat and grabbed two duffel bags. Hugging the fuselage as he ran to the area near the forward cargo bin, he dropped them to the pavement, returned and got the other two. The roar of the engines increased and he figured they must be starting the final engine.

  . . .

  “Shuttle Air 1540 your clearance came in. You ready to copy?”

  “Affirmative. Go ahead,” Woody replied as he copied and then read back the ATC clearance.

  “You’re cleared into position and hold on Runway 22 Right.”

  “Roger. It’ll be a moment ‘til we’re ready,” Woody replied, as the N2 gauge on the now-running number two engine reached thirty-five percent and Christina released the start switch.

  “Let’s perform the remaining items on the After Start checklist,” she directed.

  Erik interrupted. “Number two engine generator won’t come on line. I can’t get the breaker to close.”

  She swiveled in her seat to get a better look at the engineer’s panel. “Try again,” she ordered. But the second attempt also failed. “What do the generator frequency and voltage show?”

  “Both indicate zero.”

  Woody turned around, attempting to get a look at the indications, but Christina stopped him. “Erik and I’ll handle this. Please notify the tower we’re holding on the taxiway with a mechanical problem and keep an eye out for conflicting traffic.”

  Woody did as instructed. The tower operator wanted to know if the trouble required any type of assistance and asked for their exact location.

  “Negative on the help. Hopefully, we can rectify it. We’re stopped on November taxiway at the intersection of N2.”

  “Have you blocked access to the runway?”

  “Affirmative. If anyone needs to get to 22 Right they can enter the runway at the taxiway behind us and back-taxi on the runway to the end.”

  “Roger. Keep us informed of your status.”

  “Take out your manual and check the possible causes,” Christina told Erik. “I don’t want to depart in this crummy weather with only two generators.”

  “A circuit breaker might have popped.” Woody chimed in.

  “Woody, please keep your eyes and ears outside. If you feel like you’ve got to do something else, pick up the PA and tell the passengers there will be a short delay while we try to resolve this.”

  . . .

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and welcome aboard. This is First Officer Montgomery speaking. We were delayed a few minutes leaving the gate due to the inclement weather, but the weather conditions at LaGuardia are much better, so we don’t anticipate any inbound delays and should arrive on or close to schedule. We’re currently experiencing a minor mechanical problem, which should be resolved in a few moments. Our flying time to New York will be approximately thirty-five minutes. Thank you for flying with Shuttle Air.”

  . . .

  The noise level was now much higher and Juni figured all three engines must be running, meaning he had two minutes at most. Never enough fucking time! He spun the latch for the forward cargo door and it swung inward as smoothly and silently as night turns into day, just like Christina said. It was pitch black inside, so a breathless Juni turned on the small penlight held between his teeth and peered in. Suddenly, the clouds parted and slid away, exposing the moon. Was the fog lifting? But just as quickly dense murkiness again descended and placed a tight lid over everything. He could see the shape of two duffels right near the front, so he grabbed and dropped them to the hard taxiway. The remaining bags were inside. He reminded himself to think like a cop, meaning he had to keep his feet outside of the compartment. So stretching his full length, he felt his way around like a blind person, finally clutching two others. Although tempted to climb in and grab them all, he knew greed meant immediate detection at LaGuardia. He dropped two more bags to the pavement. As he quietly slid the bogus satchels into the compartment, a slight smile crossed his lips as the fakes and locks closely resembled the ones on the ground. He silently closed the door, swung the handle to the locked position and dragged two bags behind the jet. After depositing them at the edge of the taxiway, he quickly returned and got the remaining two. All the time silently praying Christina wouldn’t move the plane and crush him like a swatter would a fly.

  . . .

  “It says in my book the only time there’s no frequency or voltage indications is when there’s been either a generator
differential fault or an over-voltage. In either case the enunciator panel is supposed to show that, but it’s blank,” Erik said.

  “Look. I’ve been trying to tell you, the problem is in the generator control circuit breaker,” a red-faced Woody broke in. “It’s probably tripped. For Christ’s sake my old man’s dying. I gotta get home!”

  “Where’s this breaker?” Christina calmly asked.

  “The large black one on the bottom row of the rear panel,” an exasperated Woody said, pointing to the bottom of the rear bulkhead.

  There was no reason to delay any longer. “That’s it!” Erik exclaimed. “The number two’s popped.”

  As Woody turned back around, per Christina’s instructions Erik quietly reset the cargo compartment door light circuit breaker. Finally, he did the same for the generator control and the generator immediately showed 115 volts and 400 cycles. After placing it on line everything appeared normal. He then completed the remaining checklist items.

  “Thanks, Woody. Let’s get out of here,” Christina ordered.

  Woody immediately informed the tower, “Shuttle Air 1540’s ready for takeoff.”

  . . .

  Mere seconds after clearing the tail, the high-pitched engine whine turned into a roar and the big jet began slowly proceeding along the taxiway. Juni stood motionless on the wet grass as the 727 slowly vanished into the blackness, figuring he had two million bucks or more at his feet. Although he felt giddy, the money wasn’t theirs’ until the job was finished. He still had to get back to the marina and then as far away, as quickly as possible, from charming Boston. But he sensed the most difficult part was over.

  . . .

  “Shuttle Air 1540 is cleared for takeoff. Once airborne, turn left to a 140-degree heading and contact departure control on 133.0.”

  While rolling down the runway, with the pilots’ attention on the takeoff, Erik slipped the tiny bulbs back into the door light panel. The forward cargo light remained extinguished, meaning Juni either got in and out or never made it. They would know soon enough. As the plane thundered down the runway, Erik wondered if the flight recorder was the new or old type. If the old, then how was he going to spend his newfound wealth? But if it was the new he would be spending time in prison. They broke ground and the jet quickly vanished into the overcast as they headed for the bright New York City lights.

  . . .

  Juni tossed the duffels into the boat and again jump-started the engine. While carefully backing away from the shoreline, after cranking in the 348-degree radial he steered a heading of 330 degrees until the VOR needle centered. He again experienced minor problems remaining on course, but holding the VOR radio in top of the compass resolved the problem. His ass was dragging but his mind was already in Jersey counting the money. Approximately fifteen minutes later, the dull lights of the yacht club began sporadically peeking through the thick fog like the cheerful blinking lights on a Christmas tree. He dropped the VOR radio overboard, where it immediately sank out of sight. Not another soul was around as he slowly chugged by the long wharf and turned into slip #42. He removed the copper jumpers and the engine quit. The wires went overboard and he made certain the boat was berthed in precisely the same manner. Although difficult, Juni refrained from breaking off a lock and peering inside one of the bags. He should now have enough to pay off his debts and get on with his life. Although he wanted to let out a loud Brooklyn cheer, there would be plenty of time to celebrate later. After stripping off the diving suit and changing back into jeans and flannel shirt, he wrapped the other gear up in the wetsuit, tied the arms to secure it and placed the entire bundle on the dock. His watch read 9:44, meaning he would be home by two-thirty or three. After double-checking the boat and systematically wiping it down with the sleeve of his shirt, a quick glance confirmed the dock was deserted. This pleased him because it would probably again take two trips to haul everything back to the car. He carefully placed two of the duffels sideways on the narrow floating walkway between the boats so they couldn’t roll off into the water, picked up the gear and the two other duffel bags and walked to his car. He had a nagging feeling he wasn’t alone, and sure enough, passing the clubhouse he saw the same guy still sitting outside nursing a beer. He simply gazed at the boats, while stroking a sizable birthmark visible on his left cheek. Juni again nodded as he passed by. Even in the thick fog the fellow’s voice carried from the porch with radio-like clarity. “Nasty evening for boating,” he offered in a copious Boston accent.

  “I cut my diving trip short because of this piss-poor weather. I couldn’t see a damn thing. Maybe tomorrow night will be better?” Juni replied. At the car, he felt uneasy, but couldn’t put his finger on why. He dumped the gear and two bags into the trunk and locked it. Returning to the boat, the guy was no longer sitting on the porch, but was ambling toward him. Juni noticed that he was carrying a wooden softball bat in his large hands, confirming he’d come from a local game. As he passed, however, Juni paused, an innate animal-like alarm stiffened his muscles and an internal siren screamed inside his head that this was a dangerous man. Something wasn’t right. The peril suddenly came together in the viscous air. Why would he have a wooden bat? Everyone uses metal today. With this lousy weather there couldn’t have been any games. Fight or flight? No time. No choice. With clenched fists and flexed muscles, Juni wheeled around to confront the stranger. But there was only a thunderous crack followed by searing pain that spread from his head down into his neck, followed by a descent into a bottomless pit of a slowly revolving abyss.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Shuttle Air 1540 is cleared for an ILS approach to LaGuardia Runway 22. The ceiling measured three hundred feet overcast, three-quarters of a mile visibility in light rain and fog. Wind, one nine zero degrees at seven knots. You’re cleared to land.”

  As the 727 touched down, Christina put a handful of levers controlling almost fifty thousand pounds of Pratt and Whitney jet engine thrust into reverse and came to a smooth halt at the Charlie taxiway turnoff. She slowly taxied to the terminal via the Inner taxiway. After securing the aircraft the crew quickly gathered their belongings. Woody had left his car in the short-term lot directly across from the terminal in order to quickly get to his father’s side. Erik and Christina didn’t speak during the seemingly endless ride to the employee lot, where they simply shook hands before driving off.

  There was unceasing darkness just outside Erik’s line of sight on both sides of the road on the drive home, the air heavy with expectancy. McDonald’s provided a quick respite to stave off the hunger. Once home, he went to the fridge and cracked one of the old man’s Warsteiner beers and tried to settle back with bottle and remote in hand. He heard nothing while alternately glancing from the TV to the seemingly stationary hands of the old Bauhaus Moller clock, anxiously awaiting the agreed-upon signal.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “Mister, are you all right? Wake up. Please!”

  Juni looked up and could barely make out the blurry outline of two dark-haired, teenaged boys, twins, leaning over him.

  “You don’t look good. You slip on the dock or something?” one asked, his brown eyes wide with fear.

  “Where am I? Who are you? What happened?” As Juni lay there motionless, the caustic stench of creosote and coal tar arose from the dock, which when mixed with the metallic odor of his dried blood made him wonder if he was dead and embalmed, but then it came back that he was at a marina. The excruciating pain made it difficult to bring anything into focus and while attempting to get to his feet, Juni discovered that wouldn’t happen as his body seemed to be at involuntary rest. His brain felt as though it was too big for his head, which throbbed in rhythm with every heartbeat.

  “Whoa, easy. You must have taken some spill. Want me to call an ambulance?”

  �
��No!” Juni exclaimed, but then murmured, “I’ll be okay. Just give me a few minutes.” He took some slow, deep breaths, trying to clear his head and the hurt finally subsided to an endurable level. When his equilibrium returned, with the youth’s help he slowly sat up. He finally stood with his world spinning and swaying on feet with legs that felt like rubber bands. This vertigo sensation, when combined with the slight pitching of the dock made him almost tumble over.

  “I came down to check on my dad’s boat ‘cause I wanted to make sure the bilge pump was working. Then I saw you lying here...” The boy gulped, obviously holding back tears.

  “Don’t worry, I’m all right.” Juni softly patted the lad’s shoulder, wondering where his brother had gone. But he realized there was only one boy. He’d been seeing double. “I must’ve slipped on the dock and hit my head,” he said while looking down at his blood, now thinned by the rain, oozing between the boards and dripping into the murky brine. Juni took a handkerchief from his pocket, noting his keys were missing and gently touched the back of his head and grimaced, feeling sizeable swelling along with a good amount of fresh and partially dried blood in his matted hair. How long had he been out? “You know the time?”