Airport. Part 33

Pilots in a simulator conversed with a nearby control room, as they would on radio in the air. Within the control room, skilled operators duplicated air traffic control procedures and other flight conditions. The operators could also feed in adverse situations, without warning, to pilots. These ranged through multiple engine failure, to fire, violent weather, electrical and fuel problems, explosive decompression, instrument malfunction, and other a.s.sorted unpleasantness. Even a crash could be reproduced; sometimes simulators were used in reverse to find out what bad caused one.

Occasionally an operator would feed in several emergencies at once, causing pilots to emerge later, exhausted and sweat-drenched. Most pilots coped with such tests; the few who didn't had the fact noted in their records, were re-examined, and afterward watched carefully. The simulator sessions continued, several times a year, through every stage of a pilot's career until retirement.

The result was: When a real emergency occurred, airline pilots knew exactly what to do, and did it, without fumbling or loss of precious time. It was one of many factors which made travel by scheduled airlines the safest means of transportation in human history. It had also conditioned Anson Harris to instant action, directed toward the salvation of Flight Two.

In the drill for explosive decompression one rule was fundamental: the crew took care of themselves first. Vernon Demerest observed the rule; so did Anson Harris and Cy Jordan.

They must be on oxygen at onceeven ahead of pa.s.sengers. Then, with full mental faculties a.s.sured, decisions could be made.

Behind each pilot's seat a quick-don oxygen maskresembling a baseball catcher's mask-was hanging. As he had practiced countless times, Harris ripped off his radio headset, then reached over his shoulder for the mask. He tugged, so that a holding clip snapped open, and slapped the mask on. As well as a connection to the airplane's oxygen supply, it contained a microphone. For listening, now his headset was removed, Harris changed a selector, actuating a speaker overhead.

Behind him, Cy Jordan, with identical swift movements, did the same.

In another reflex movement, Anson Harris took care of pa.s.sengers. Cabin oxygen systems worked automatically in event of pressure failure; but as a precautionin case they didn'tover the pilots' heads was an override switch. It ensured positive release of pa.s.senger masks and sent oxygen flowing into them. Harris flipped the switch.

He dropped his right hand to the throttles, pulling all four off. Thz aircraft slowed.

It must be slowed still more.

Left of the throttles was a speed brake handle. Harris pulled it fully toward him. Along the top surface of both wings, spoilers rose up, inducing drag, and causing further slowing.

Cy Jordan silenced the warning horn.

So far, all procedures had been automatic. Now, a moment for decision had arrived.

It was essential that the aircraft seek a safer alt.i.tude below. From its present height of twenty-eight thousand feet, it must descend some three and a half miles to where the air was denser so that pa.s.sengers and crew could breathe and survive without supplemental oxygen.

The decision Harris had to make wa.s.should the descent be slow, or a highspeed dive?

Until the past year or two, the instruction to pilots in event of explosive decompression was: dive immediately. Tragically, however, the instruction had resulted in at least one aircraft breaking apart when a slower descent might have saved it. Nowadays, pilots were cautioned: Check for structural damage first. If the damage is bad, a dive may worsen it, so go down slowly.

Yet that policy, too, had hazards. To Anson Harris, they were instantly apparent. Undoubtedly Flight Two had sustained structural damage. The sudden decompression proved it, and the explosion which bad occurred just beforethough still less than a minute agomight already have done great harm. In other circ.u.mstances, Harris would have sent Cy Jordan to the rear to learn how bad the damage was, but since Demerest was gone, Jordan must stay.

But however serious the structural damage, there was another factor, perhaps more cogent. The air temperature outside the aircraft was minus fifty degrees centigrade. Judging by the near-paralyzing cold which Harris felt, the inside temperature must also be near that. In such intense cold, no one without protective clothing could survive for more than minutes.

So which was the lesser gambleto freeze for sure, or take a cbance and go down fast? Making a decision which only later events could prove right or wrong, Harris called on interphone to Cy Jordan, "Warn air traffic control! We're diving!"

At the same moment, Harris banked the aircraft steeply to the right and selected landing gear "down." Banking before the dive would have two effects: Pa.s.sengers or stewardesses who were not strapped in seats, or who were standing, would be held where they were by centrifugal force; whereas, a straight dive would throw them to the ceiling. The turn would also head Flight Two away from the airway they had been using, andhopefullyother traffic below.

Putting the landing gear down would further reduce forward speed, and make the dive steeper. On the overhead speaker, Harris could hear Cy Jordan's voice intoning a distress call. "Mayday, mayday. This is Trans America Two. Explosive decompression. We are diving, diving."

Harris pushed the control yoke hard forward. Over his shoulder he shouted, "Ask for ten!"

Cy Jordan added, "Request ten thousand feet."

Anson Harris clicked a radar transponder switch to seventy-sevena radar S-OS. Now, on all monitoring screens on the ground, a double blossom signal would be seen, confirming both their distress and ident.i.ty.

They were going down fast, the altimeter unwinding like a clock with a wild mainspring... Pa.s.sing through twenty-six thousand feet... twenty-four... twentythree... Climb and descent meter showed eight thousand feet descent a minute... Toronto Air Route Center on the overhead speaker: "All alt.i.tudes below you are clear. Report your intentions when ready. We are standing by."... Harris had eased out of the turn, was diving straight ahead... No time to think about the cold; if they could get low enough fast enough, there might be survivalif the aircraft held together... Already Harris was aware of trouble with rudder control and elevators; rudder movement was stiff; stabilizer trim, not responding... Twenty-one thousand feet... twenty... nineteen... From the feel of the controls, the explosion had done damage to the tail; how bad, they would discover when he tried to pull out in a minute or less from now. It would be the moment of greatest strain. If anything critical gave way, they would continue plummeting in... Harris would have been glad of some help from the right seat, but it was too late for Cy Jordan to move there. Besides, the second officer was needed where he wa.s.shutting air inlets, throwing in all the heat they had, watching for fuel system damage or fire warnings... Eighteen thousand feet... seventeen... When they reached fourteen thousand, Harris decided, he would start pulling out of the dive, hoping to level at ten... Pa.s.sing through fifteen thousand... fourteen... Begin easing out now!

Controls were heavy, but responding... Harris pulled back hard on the control yoke. The dive was flattening, control surfaces holding, the aircraft coming out... Twelve thousand feet; descending more slowly now... eleven thousand... ten, five... ten!

They were level! So far, everything had held together. Here, the normal air was breathable and would sustain life, extra oxygen not necessary. The outside air temperature gauge showed minus five centigradefive degrees below freezing; still cold, but not the killing cold of alt.i.tudes above.

From beginning to end, the dive had taken two and a half minutes. The overhead speakers came alive. "Trans America Two, this is Toronto Center. How are you doing?"

Cy Jordan acknowledged. Anson Harris cut in. "Level at ten thousand, returning to heading two seven zero. We have structural damage due to explosion, extent unknown. Request weather and runway informationToronto, Detroit Metropolitan, and Lincoln." In his mind, Harris had an instant picture of airports large enough to accommodate the Boeing 707, and with the special landing requirements he would need.

Vernon Demerest was clambering over the smashed flight deck door and other debris outside. Hurrying in, he slid into his seat on the right side.

"We missed you," Harris said.

"Can we maintain control?"

Harris nodded. "If the tail doesn't fall off, we may stay lucky." He reported the impeded rudder and stabilizer trim. "Somebody let off a firecracker back there?"

"Something like that. It's made a b.l.o.o.d.y great hole. I didn't stop to measure."

Their casualness, both men knew, was on the surface only. Harris was still steadying the aircraft, seeking an even alt.i.tude and course. He said considerately, "It was a good scheme, Vernon. It could have worked."

"It could have, but it didn't." Demerest swung around to the second officer. "Get back in tourist. Check on damage, report by interphone. Then do all you can for the people. We'll need to know how many are hurt, and how badly." For the first time he permitted himself an anguished thought. "And find out about Gwen."

The airport reports, which Anson Harris had asked for, were coming in from Toronto center: Toronto airport still closed; deep snow and drifts on all runways. Detroit Metropolita.n.a.ll runways closed to regular traffic, but plows will vacate runway three left if essential for emergency approach and landing; runway has five to six inches level snow, with ice beneath. Detroit visibility, six hundred feet in snow flurries. Lincoln Internationalall runways plowed and serviceable; runway three zero temporarily closed, due to obstruction. Lincoln visibility one mile; wind northwest, thirty knots, and gusting.

Anson Harris told Demerest, "I don't intend to dump fuel."

Demerest, understanding Harris's reasoning, nodded agreement. a.s.suming they could keep the airplane under control, any landing they made would be tricky and heavy, due to the large fuel load which in other circ.u.mstances would have carried them to Rome. Yet, in their present situation, to dump unwanted fuel could be an even greater hazard. The explosion and damage at the rear might have set up electrical short circuits, or metal friction, which even now could be producing sparks. When dumping fuel in flight, a single spark could turn an aircraft into a flaming holocaust. Both captains rationalized: better to avoid the fire risk and accept the penalty of a difficult landing.

Yet the same decision meant that a landing at Detroitthe nearest large airport could be attempted only in desperation. Because of their heavy weight, they would have to land fast, requiring every available foot of runway and the last ounce of braking power. Runway three leftDetroit Metropolitan's longest, which they would needhad ice beneath snow, in the circ.u.mstances the worst possible combination.

There was also the unknown factorwherever Flight Two landedof how limited their control might be, due to rudder and stabilizer trim problems, which they already knew about, though not their extent.

For a landing, Lincoln International offered the best chance of safety. But Lincoln was at least an hour's flying time away. Their present speedtwo hundred and fifty knotswas far slower than they had been moving at the higher alt.i.tude, and Anson Harris was holding the speed down, in the hope of avoiding further structural damage. Unfortunately, even that involved a penalty. At their present low level of ten thousand feet there was considerable buffeting and turbulence from the storm, now all around them instead of far below.

The crucial question was: Could they remain in the air another hour?

Despite everything that had happened, less than five minutes had pa.s.sed since the explosion and explosive decompression. Air route control was asking again: "Trans America Two, advise your intentions." Vernon Demerest replied, requesting a direct course for Detroit while the extent of damage was still being checked. Landing intentions, either at Detroit Metropolitan or elsewhere, would be notified within the next few minutes. "Roger, Trans America Two. Detroit has advised they are removing snowplows from runway three left. Until informed otherwise, they will prepare for an emergency landing."

The intercom bell chimed and Demerest answered. It was Cy Jordan calling from the rear, shouting to make himself heard above a roar of wind. "Captain, there's a great hole back here, about six feet wide behind the rear door. Most else around the galley and toilets is a shambles. But as far as I can see, everything's holding together. The rudder power boost is blown to h.e.l.l, but control cables look okay."

"What about control surfaces? Can you see anything?"

"It looks like the skin is bulged into the stabilizer, which is why the stabilizer's jammed. Apart from that, all I can see outside are some holes and bad dents, I guess from debris blowing back. But nothing's hanging looseat least, that shows. Most of the blast, I'd say, went sideways."

It was this effect which D. O. Guerrero had not allowed for. He had blundered and miscalculated from the beginning. He bungled the explosion, too.

His greatest error was in failing to recognize that any explosion would be drawn outward and would largely dissipate, the moment the hull of a pressurized aircraft was pierced. Another error was in not realizing how stoutly a modern jetliner was built. In a pa.s.senger jet, structural and mechanical systems duplicated each other, so that no single malfunction or damage should result in destruction of the whole. An airliner could be destroyed by a bomb, but only if the bomb were detonatedeither by plan or chancein some vulnerable location. Guerrero made no such plan.

Demerest queried Cy Jordan, "Can we stay in the air an hour?"

"My guess is, the airplane can. I'm not sure about the pa.s.sengers." "How many are hurt?"

"I can't say yet. I checked structural damage first, the way you said. But things don't look good."

Demerest ordered, "Stay there as long as you need to. Do what you can." He hesitated, dreading what the answer to his next question might be, then asked, "Have you seen any sign of Gwen?" He still didn't know whether or not Gwen had been sucked out with the initial blast. In the past it had happened to others, including stewardesses who were near the site of an explosive decompression, unprotected. And even if that had not happened, Gwen had still been closest to the detonated bomb.

Cy Jordan answered, "Gwen's here, but in pretty bad shape, I think. We've got about three doctors, and they're working on her and the others. I'll report when I can."

Vernon Demerest replaced the interphone. Despite his last question and its answer, he was still denying himself the indulgence of private thoughts or personal emotion; there would be time for those later. Professional decisions, the safety of the airplane and its complement, came first. He repeated to Anson Harris the gist of the second officer's report.

Harris considered, weighing all factors. Vernon Demerest had still given no indication of taking over direct command, and obviously approved of Harris's decisions so far, else he would have said so. Now, Demerest appeared to be leaving the decision about where to land to Harris also.

Captain Demeresteven in utmost crisiswas behaving exactly as a check pilot should.

"We'll try for Lincoln," Harris said. The safety of the aircraft was paramount; however bad conditions might be in the pa.s.senger cabin, they would have to hope that most people could manage to hold on.

Demerest nodded acknowledgment and began notifying Toronto Center of the decision; in a few minutes, Cleveland Center would take them over. Demerest requested that Detroit Metropolitan still stand by in case of a sudden change of plan, though it wasn't likely. Lincoln International was to be alerted that Flight Two would require a straight-in emergency approach. "Roger, Trans America Two. Detroit and Lincoln are being advised." A change of course followed. They were nearing the western sh.o.r.e of Lake Huron, the U.S.Canadian border close.

On the ground, both pilots knew, Flight Two was now the center of attention. Controllers and supervisors in contiguous air route centers would be working intensely, coordinating removal of all traffic from the aircraft's path, sectors ahead warned of their approach, and airways cleared. Any request they made would be acted on with first priority. As they crossed the border, Toronto Center signed off, adding to the final exchange, "Goodnight and good luck."

Cleveland Air Route Center responded to their call a moment later.

Glancing back toward the pa.s.senger cabins, through the gap where the flight deck door had been, Demerest could see figures movingthough indistinctly, because immediately after the door had gone, Cy Jordan had dimmed the first cla.s.s cabin lights to avoid reflection on the flight deck. It appeared, though, as if pa.s.sengers were being ushered forward, indicating that someone in the rear had taken charge presumably Cy Jordan, who should be reporting again at any moment. The cold was still biting, even on the flight deck; back there it must be colder still. Once more, with a second's anguish, Demerest thought of Gwen, then ruthlessly cleared his mind, concentrating on what must be decided next.

Though only minutes had elapsed since the decision to risk another hour in the air, the time to begin planning their approach and landing at Lincoln International was now. As Harris continued flying, Vernon Demerest selected approach and runway charts and spread them on his knees.

Lincoln International was home base for both pilots, and they knew the airport as well as runways and surrounding airs.p.a.ceintimately. Safety and training, however, required that memory should be supplemented and checked.

The charts confirmed what both already knew.

For the high speed, heavy weight landing they must execute, the longest possible length of runway was required. Because of doubtful rudder control, the runway should be the widest, too. It must also be directly into wind whichthe Lincoln forecast had saidwas northwest at thirty knots, and gusting. Runway three zero answered all requirements.

"We need three zero," Demerest said.

Harris pointed out, "That last report said a temporary closing, due to obstruction."

"I heard," Demerest growled. "The d.a.m.n runway's been blocked for hours, and all that's in the way is a stuck Mexican jet." He folded a Lincoln approach chart and clipped it to his control yoke, then exclaimed angrily, "Obstruction h.e.l.l! We'll give 'em fifty more minutes to pry it loose."

As Demerest thumbed his mike b.u.t.ton to inform air route control, Second Officer Cy Jordanwhite-faced and shakenreturned to the flight deck.

11.

IN THE MAIN terminal of Lincoln International, Lawyer Freemantle was puzzled. It was most peculiar, he thought, that no one in authority had yet objected to the big, increasingly noisy demonstration of Meadowood residents who, at this moment, were monopolizing a large segment of the central concourse.

Earlier this evening, when Elliott Freemantle had asked the Negro police lieutenant for permission to hold a public censure meeting, he had been firmly refused. Yet here they were, with a curious crowd of spectatorsand not a policeman in sight!

Freemantle thought again: it didn't make sense.

Yet what had happened was incredibly simple.

After the interview with the airport general manager, Bakersfeld, the delegation, led by Elliott Freemantle, had returned from the administrative mezzanine to the main concourse. There, the TV crews, whom Freemantle had talked with on the way in, had set up their equipment.

The remaining Meadowood residentsalready at least five hundred strong, with more coming inwere gathering around the TV activity.

One of the television men told him, "We're ready if you are, Mr. Freemantle."

Two TV stations were represented, both planning separate film interviews for use tomorrow. With customary shrewdness, Freemantle had already inquired which TV shows the film was destined for, so that he could conduct himself accordingly. The first interview, he learned, was for a prime-time, popular show which liked controversy, liveliness, and even shock treatment. He was ready to supply all three.

The TV interviewer, a handsome young man with a Ronald Reagan haircut, asked, "Mr. Freemantle, why are you here?"

"Because this airport is a den of thieves."

"Will you explain that?"

"Certainly. The homeowners of Meadowood community are having thievery practiced on them. Thievery of their peace, their right to privacy, of their work-earned rest, and of their sleep. Thievery of enjoyment of their leisure; thievery of their mental and physical health, and of their children's health and welfare. All these thingsbasic rights under our Const.i.tutionare being shamelessly stolen, without recompense or recognition, by the operators of Lincoln Airport."

The interviewer opened his mouth to smile, showing two rows of faultless teeth. "Counselor, those are fighting words."

"That's because my clients and I are in a fighting mood."

"Is that mood because of anything which has happened here tonight?"

"Yes, sir, We have seen demonstrated the callous indifference of this airport's management to my clients' problems."

"Just what are your plans?"

"In the courtsif necessary the highest courtwe shall now seek closure of specific runways, even the entire airport during nighttime hours. In Europe, where they're more civilized about these things, Paris airport, for example, has a curfew. Failing that, we shall demand proper compensation for cruelly wronged homeowners."

"I a.s.sume that what you're doing at this moment means you're also seeking public support."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you believe the public will support you?"

"If they don't, I invite them to spend twenty-four hours living in Meadowood providing their eardrums and sanity will stand it."

"Surely, Counselor, airports have official programs of noise abatement."

"A sham, sir! A fake! A public lie! The general manager of this airport confessed to me tonight that even the paltry, so-called noise abatement measures are not being observed."

And so on.