Crash Diet

Chapter One “Chicago O’Hare– Chicago Control– this is United Airways flight 232. I am declaring an in-flight emergency. This is a Mayday– Mayday– Chicago do you copy. Over.” “Flight 232. We have you on radar. Please state your emergency.” “Chicago. I am Captain Irene Ross. I have lost engine number two. And hydraulic pressure is dropping. Request an emergency landing. Over.” “Hold, Captain Ross.” United Airways regularly scheduled Flight 232: On route to Chicago. The plane: A MacDonald Douglas DC10-10. Captain Irene Ross at the controls: Fifty-two years old with 26,000 hours of flight-time. A veteran. Cool, calm, collected. Her First Officer: Co-pilot Brad English, 14,000 hours. Two hundred and ninety-six passengers onboard, mostly children. It’s Fun Day at United and children fly for a penny. “Flight 232; this is Chicago Control. We have a team of engineers standing by. Please give particulars.” Irene exhaled. If she died, they would want information on the demise of her aircraft. “Chicago. There was a violent vibration shortly after takeoff. We ramped-up to forty-thousand and engine number two blew. Hydraulic pressure has been dropping. My Flight Engineer tells me we have lost the fluid. I am losing control of my aircraft. Over.” “Thank you, Captain. We are working on it. Suggest emergency landing at Sioux Falls. Heading 2-40. Do you copy?” “Roger Chicago. Give us a moment.” “How is it handling?” “I’m losing it, Brad. You got Sioux Falls up on the computer?” “Heading 2-40. It’s our best bet, Irene. About fifty-five miles out.” “Roger– Chicago do you copy?” “Go ahead Captain.” “We are diverting course to Sioux Falls. Over.” A new voice blustered in: “Captain Ross. This is Ernie Dymes. I’m Senior Aeronautical Engineer with the NTSB. You have three separate hydraulic control systems on that bloody aircraft. You haven’t switched over. Use one of the alternate systems, for christ-sake. That’s what they’re there for. Don’t make me fly all the fuckin’ way out to god-damned Sioux Falls to investigate a crash just because you forgot to throw a switch. Get on the ball.” Irene fought for composure. “Mr. Dymes. I assure you that I have manually shuttled back and forth, several times, between all three systems. And the fact remains: The hydraulic flight controls are inoperable. I am losing control of my aircraft, sir. The elevators, ailerons, spoilers, horizontal stabilizer, flaps and the slats are all inoperable. I am attempting to steer with the engines. So, Mr. Dymes, being you are comfortably on the ground, while I am currently flying directly at it, I would– respectfully– enjoy any further suggestions you may have for me. Over.” There was a very long and empty silence. “Captain Ross. This is Chicago Control. The approach to Sioux Falls has been cleared. Good luck, Irene.” “Thank you, Chicago. Flight 232, out.” “Flight 232. This is Sioux Falls Gateway. We have you on radar. You are losing altitude. Bring the nose up, Captain.” “Roger, Sioux Falls.” Irene checked the altimeter. She had lost thirty-thousand feet and the nose of the aircraft was below the horizon. She struggled with the control column, the sinew twisting like root beneath the pale skin of her forearms, but the aircraft failed to respond. “We have to get the nose up.” Brad was focused on the instruments. “More power?” “Go. Our only option.” “But we’re dropping so fast.” “Yes– throttle it up.” Brad inched the controllers forward. The two remaining wing-engines spooled and Irene clutched her breath as she watched the nose of the aircraft inch up past the line-of-horizon. The right wing started to dip. “Throttle that damned starboard engine.” “Roger.” “Sioux Falls, this is flight 232. How is our vector?” “You are coming up, Captain, but still off course. Steer left, bearing 2-40.” “Roger, Sioux Falls.” Irene worked the rudder controls but they were unresponsive. The plane droned on without turning and the right wing began to drop. “Lord. We’ve lost the barn door,” Irene said. “Negative, Sioux Falls. We can’t steer left.” “We’ll have to haul her around with the engines,” Brad said. “Increase power to the starboard side. Now.” Brad slid the controller forward. “Anything?” “Try decreasing power to the port side.” “Anything?” “Nothing. Christ. Let me think... Can we steer to the right?” Brad went back to the controllers. “How’s that?” “Yes,” Irene responded. “She’s coming around. We can steer to the right. Steady now. We’ll go full circle until we are on course for Sioux Falls.” “Gotcha. Watch the nav-computer and I’ll guide you in.” The plane did a complete circle to the right and came up on heading 2-40. “Flight 232, this is Sioux Falls. We have you twenty-six miles out. Can you reduce air speed. Over.” “Negative. Not without losing altitude. We need to maintain air-speed, presently.” “Roger. Dump your payload.” Irene looked down through her windscreen and saw a town. She was so low she could see the upturned faces of startled children in a schoolyard. “Negative, Sioux Falls. Over an urban area.” “Roger. Keep her coming, Captain. You are cleared to land on any runway.” “Thank you, Sioux Falls.” “I’ll buy you a beer if we get past this,” Brad said. “Make it a vodka and soda, if you’re still around to pay for it.” “Why is the right side rolling under?” “Increase thrust to the starboard engine.” Irene thumbed the sweat from her eyes. She pressed the intercom switch. “This is Captain Irene Ross. As you’ve probably guessed, we are having some difficulties controlling the aircraft. We have diverted our course to Sioux Falls and have requested an emergency landing. The flight-crew is fully trained for this eventuality. Please follow their instructions. And understand, this is a trying and unusual situation for all of us, but we up on the flight-deck, will do everything possible to get you safely on the ground. I will update you again just before landing. Thank you.” “Jesus,” said her co-pilot. “Sioux Falls. Flight 232. How are we looking?” “Still too low. You need to get the nose up, Captain Ross.” “Roger. Increasing air speed.” She notched the throttles forward and watched the nose of the aircraft sway and lift. “God. We’re coming in awfully fast.” Brad started to sound shaky. Without hydraulics Irene couldn’t drop the wing flaps to reduce air speed. “Can we lower the wheels in back. The drag may drop the tail down.” Brad went to work but the hydraulics were completely unresponsive. “I’ll have to do it manually.” “Go on then,” Irene encouraged him with a weak smile and pointed to the panel in the cockpit sole that housed the cranks. Slick with sweat, she readjusted her grip on the yoke but it was the souls of two hundred and ninety-six passengers that she held in her hands. She looked up though the windscreen and was chilled by the sight of the Sioux Falls runway stretching out in front of her. “Sioux Falls. I have you in sight.” “Roger Flight 232. You’re too low Irene. You’re coming in short. And way too fast. Rein that puppy in.” Irene checked her air speed and realized her dilemma: She was coming in at three-hundred miles per hour with little or no flight controls. To reduce speed would mean landing short of the runway– increase speed and scream in at over twice the velocity of a normal landing. No jetliner had survived a landing at three-hundred miles per hour but she had little time to ponder the logistics. Her only concern now was putting her aircraft onto the runway. That’s where the emergency response vehicles would be waiting: The medical technicians, the ambulances, the fire department, the trained disaster response personnel. Above all else, she had to put her crippled aircraft down onto that runway. The survival of her passengers depended on it. Decision time. She hit the intercom button. “This is Captain Ross. Please ready yourself for landing. We are about two minutes out. Please be advised that this will be a crash landing. I’m doing my best. Your God be with you.” Irene reached out and pushed the throttles forward, felt the engines respond and watched the nose lift through the windscreen. Jesus Christ, she thought as she roared down toward the runway. “Everyone strap in.” She hit the intercom switch once more: “Brace– Brace– Brace–” As she gripped the control column, she felt the effect of the landing gear. The wheels in back were lowered and the resulting drag and air turbulence suddenly dropped the tail section. It was what she had prayed for but it came a second too soon. She felt the plane suddenly dropping, tail down, a mile short of the runway. In a desperate, last minute bid to pluck salvation from the jaws of certain disaster, Irene jammed the throttles wide open. The engines screamed, seemingly intent on wrenching themselves free of the wings. The nose lifted violently and for a long moment she thought the aircraft might turn-turtle; flip completely over and land on its back. Those watching from the ground later swore the plane was flying belly forward, like a demented demon; a huge flying crucifix. Irene lying on her back in the control seat, was only aware of the bright blue sky filling the windscreen and the sound of the screaming turbines.