Primary Target (1999) (11 page)

Harrison and Gibbs exchanged concerned looks while streaks of blue-white lightning crackled and thunder rumbled in the distance. The weather picture was rapidly deteriorating and Harrison knew that the airport was going to have to cease flight operations at any moment. We've gotta play, or fold our cards. Let's go, tower ...

"American 1684," the tower operator said after a long delay, "taxi into position and hold."

"Position and hold, American 1684," Gibbs read back, then again keyed her mike. "Say winds."

"Winds are now zero-four-zero at twenty-three--the controller paused--"with peak gusts to forty-five. Low-level wind-shear alert in northeast quadrant, three-two-zero degrees at nine, northwest quadrant one-four-zero degrees at five."

"Copy, American 1684," Gibbs replied as the former Air Force bomber pilot swung the nose of the jetliner around to align it with the centerline of the runway. She studied the thin, swirling vortices slinking from the bottom of the foreboding clouds and cast another dubious look at the captain. "Chuck, this weather really looks questionable."

A short pause followed while he thought about the situation. Hell, he'd flown through lots of tough weather, including a full-blown hurricane. Dealing with inclement weather was just another facet of being a professional aviator.

"Yeah, it's a little messy," Harrison replied in a voice he hoped sounded more confident than he felt. "Once we get airborne and out of the area, we'll be okay just gotta get on top."

Pam started to respond, then stopped herself before she said something she might regret.

Avoiding her questioning eyes, Chuck Harrison watched Delta 728 slowly lift off the runway and disappear into a solid black mass of clouds. Feeling a sudden surge of adrenaline, the pilot forced himself to be calm as he keyed the PA system.

"Ah . ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Harrison." He paused while his concern about the weather conditions weighed on his conscience. "We're presently number one for takeoff. It looks as if we're going to have to work our way around a few thundershowers this afternoon, so please keep your seat belts securely fastened. I'll turn off the seat-belt sign when it's safe for you to move about the cabin; however, I ask that you please keep your seat belts fastened when you're occupying your seat."

He tossed a quick look at the dark, churning clouds. "And, on behalf of the crew, we thank you for choosing American." Harrison focused on the spot where the runway disappeared in the torrential downpour. I hate to put these people through this, but we have a schedule to keep.

A few feet behind the cockpit door, Travis and Julie Morgan frowned at each other and leaned over to look out the cabin window. They were seasoned fliers who weren't usually concerned about weather conditions, but this particular storm looked extremely severe. The darkened sky had taken on an eerie, greenish cast and the intensity of the rain was increasing.

Senator Morgan knew from past experience that a storm of this magnitude could easily contain severe turbulence, heavy rain, strong updrafts and downdrafts, intense lightning, severe icing conditions, and heavy hail.

During his illustrious political career, he had flown through every imaginable type of miserable weather. After a number of hair-raising flights over the years, Travis Morgan had drawn a clear conclusion; thunderstorms were the worst kind of torture. They concerned him more than any other hazardous weather condition.

The senator had read a variety of National Transportation Safety Board accident reports about aircraft that had flown into thunderstorms and encountered catastrophic turbulence.

He knew the resulting high G-loads on the airframes had led to loss of control, causing structural failure and an inevitable crash. Without a parachute, the chances of surviving an in-flight breakup were nil-to-nonexistent.

Senator Morgan folded his paper in half and gently patted his wife's arm. "I don't think I'd describe those clouds as thundershowers, but what's the poor guy going to say?" "Well," she replied in her usual confident tone, "they're trained to do this, and I'm sure they know what they're doing."

Her hushed comment didn't convince either of them. "Let's hope they do," Morgan said as he opened his paper and tried to concentrate on the political comments in the editorial section. A few seconds later he turned toward the window to study the approaching mass of black clouds.

Ed Hockaday also felt a sense of apprehension, but he kept his eyes closed and mentally reassured himself that everything would be fine.

Chapter
11

Chuck Harrison attempted to appear confident when he
glanced at his normally relaxed, effervescent copilot.

He'd flown with her enough times to know when she was uncomfortable, and she was definitely tense. It showed in her eyes and in her mannerisms. Small, subtle things.

If she's this nervous, maybe I should taxi back to the gate. He started to suggest a prudent retreat, then immediately talked himself out of it. This'll be a rough ride, but I can handle it.

"Pam, I think it's a good idea if we climb at Vee Two plus twenty to give us a slight cush on speed."

"Good idea," she said with more than a trace of anxiety in her voice. "You might want to consider adding a little more speed--in case we go through some shear or a down-burst."

"I think we'll be okay." His attempt to reassure her seemed to have no effect. "It'll be a bit bumpy, but we'll be out of it fairly quickly."

Pam nodded valiantly and cinched her seat and shoulder restraints tighter. "We're going to have lots of white knuckles in the back." Chuck, you might want to reconsider this and taxi back to the gate while we still have an option.

"American 1684," the pleasant voice said, "wind is zerotwo-zero at twenty-seven with gusts to forty-seven, runway three-five left, cleared for takeoff."

With her mouth as dry as sawdust, Pam took a deep breath and held it momentarily in an effort to loosen the knot that had formed in her stomach. She was an extremely confident pilot, but loud warning bells about wind shear and micro-bursts were going off in her mind. Wind shear and thunderstorms are unforgiving killers and she rated them at the top of her "fear factor" list.

"American 1684, cleared for takeoff three-five left," Pam repeated while she fought the paralysis that gripped her throat. The bright warning lights continued to flash, in her mind and her senses were crying out for rational intervention, but no action was being taken. I'll be glad when this day is over.

"Let's go for it," Harrison said boldly as he released the brakes and gripped the twin throttles. "Lights on."

Pam studied a whirling mass of debris crossing the edge of the runway. Yeah, let's go for it. The feeling of helplessness was almost overpowering. Jesus, what are we doing? Harrison slowly walked the throttles forward while Gibbs closely monitored the engine gauges and the airspeed indicator. The two jet engines smoothly spooled up to the predicated power setting on the takeoff data card. With 11,388 feet of runway available, there wasn't any reason to rush the normal sequence of events.

Marsha Phillips closed her eyes and silently prayed as the thrust from the powerful engines pressed her against the seat-back. This was the moment she'd been dreading since the breakfast meeting. Every terrifying second was suddenly compressed into one stomach-wrenching desire to scream out in protest, to yell, Stop the plane! Let me off!

Facing the stark reality that she didn't have any control over the situation at this point, Marsha thought about her fiance. Forced to accept the fact that her fate was in the hands of someone else, she stole a quick peek at her engagement ring. Her husband-to-be had surprised her with the ring the night before she left for Dallas. Two rows in front of her, a baby cried out as Marsha prayed. Dear God, give me the courage I need to get through this flight.

"Set takeoff power," Harrison ordered while Pam worked to fine-tune the engine power settings.

"Power is set," came the terse response from a highly experienced pilot under tremendous pressure.

"Thanks."

Pam studied the engine instruments. "Power looks good." "Oka "
y
.

Gibbs inched the right throttle forward to make a small correction. "Just a tad low on number two."

"Whatever it takes."

The clouds abruptly spilled their contents and a gigantic waterfall collided with the windshields.

Harrison unconsciously gripped the control yoke tighter. "I'll take the wipers when you get a chance."

"Wipers coming on," she replied behind a superficial barrier of calm professionalism. "Everything's lookin' good." "Okay."

The runway markers were flashing past the wingtips when the Super-80 reached takeoff decision speed.

"Vee One," Gibbs reported in a strained voice as the intensity of the rain suddenly increased. The loud noise was similar to the pounding sound of light hail on a tin roof. Harrison shot a quick glance at the engine instruments. All indicators were within normal parameters.

Shortly thereafter, the long, sleek jet accelerated to the speed at which the pilot would rotate the aircraft to the initial climb attitude.

"Vee R," the first officer sang out an octave higher than usual. The butterflies in the pit of her stomach were beginning to take flight as she watched Harrison ease back on the control column. We're committed, no turning back now. At the same moment the deck angle increased to the takeoff attitude, Gibbs felt an unexpected decrease in velocity. Her eyes flashed to the airspeed indicator, which confirmed a fifteen knot deceleration in airspeed.

Oh, shit!

"You're losing speed," Pam shouted. "The airspeed is dropping! We're going through a microburst!"

"I know!"

"Hang on to it!" Pam urged.

"I've got it!"

Harrison felt the airplane buffet and instinctively pushe
d
the throttles forward to maximum power. No sense sparing the engines if it looks like we might crash.

"Call my speed!"

"It's coming up," Gibbs yelled as they rocketed through the downburst created by the massive thunderstorm. Four seconds ticked by in slow motion. "Vee R plus five!"

"We're almost there," Harrison exclaimed through clenched teeth. "Just gotta nurse it nice and easy."

Aborting landing approaches or takeoffs is among the toughest decisions captains have to make. They are instinctive decisions in most cases. Things happen so quickly that there isn't time to consult and exchange ideas when a split-second decision has to be made.

Pam felt a pang of real doubt begin to creep into her mind. We need to abort--even if we go off the end of the damn runway.

"We're running out of runway," she blurted.

"--gonna make it."

"I don't know ..."

The 3,000-foot "runway remaining" marker flashed past as Harrison gingerly worked the control yoke and shoved on the throttles. "Come on, baby ... climb. Don't give up on me now."

Pam gripped the glare shield and held her breath while she fixated on the airspeed indicator. This isn't good.

Concerned about the unusually long takeoff roll, Senator Morgan squeezed his wife's hand and darted a quick look out the window, then attempted a reassuring smile.

She remained quiet and looked down at her lap.

"We're going to be in Lewisville," he scoffed under his breath, "if they don't get this thing off the ground."

Julie squeezed his
. H
and so hard her wedding ring dug deep into her finger. "Something's wrong--I just feel it." Morgan clasped his wife's tightly balled hand. "Just relax," he reassured her. "Everything is going to be fine."

"I don't think so."

"It'll be okay," he insisted.

"We're out of runway!"

"Relax."

On the other side of the aisle, Ed Hockaday's hands were glued to the armrests. He opened his eyes and slowly turne
d
his head to look out the window. We're at the end of the airport! The pounding in his chest was excruciating and unrelenting. Taking deep breaths in an effort to calm himself, Hockaday closed his eyes and tightly gripped the armrests. Gents, it's time to get the kite in the air.

The right main landing gear of the MD-82 skipped twice before the struggling airliner staggered into the disturbed air mass. The wings rocked back and forth as the long fuselage yawed left, then right. The hapless travelers were being slung from side to side as a number of overhead bins popped open and spilled a few items on top of them. A murmur of frightened voices could be heard throughout the cabin. The passengers, even the uninitiated ones, knew that this takeoff wasn't normal.

"Positive rate," Gibbs breathlessly announced as the aircraft approached takeoff safety speed.

"Gear up," Harrison ordered, and winced at a bright flash of lightning.

"Gear coming up--Vee Two."

The pilots could see that they were only seconds away from another wall of water that appeared to be more intense than the last one.

After Pam raised the landing gear, she watched in horror as the altimeter suddenly stopped climbing and slowly reversed its direction. "We've got a sink rate going! We're going down!"