Sojourners of the Sky (27 page)

Bill looked briefly at his copilot, but said nothing.

Once he was certain the fuel was transferring normally, Doug looked up from the system screen on the lower panel and said with a very loud and angry voice, “You’re just another fly-by-night, FLAP! This could just as easily have gone bad and I would have been forced to help you clean up the mess! A mess that you caused by your own stupidity. If this hadn’t worked, we would be making a dive for Yellowknife right now, hoping the airplane didn’t go out of CG limits before we got there. You have no business sitting in that seat! Do us all a favor and retire!”

“Do you suppose it’s possible for you to think about anyone but yourself?” asked Bill. “You seem incapable of seeing beyond your own nose because you’re blinded by your own arrogance. If you only opened your eyes for a minute, you might see it, too. Do you honestly believe that you’re a better pilot than any of the other four thousand airmen that work here? You’re not. You were granted the opportunity to fly fighters, good for you. You’re a smart and capable aviator, but don’t kid yourself, you’re not that great. In fact, I would take a commuter pilot, one who’d served his apprenticeship down in the dirt, over a guy like you any day of the week. Feel free to write me up and to add me to your no-fly list. But I’m willing to bet that you’re running out of people who can stand being around you. Now, I’m sorry I couldn’t get you to see my way of thinking, but as I said, I’ve seen this before. And yes, it could have gone wrong, but it would have been my butt in front of the firing squad, not yours. It’s easy to sit there and criticize the old guy in the left seat, but just wait until your ass is sitting here. See what it’s like when all the responsibility and risk is sitting squarely on your shoulders; then you’ll finally understand what it’s like to fly with guys like you. That’ll be the day.”

“You had no right to put all of our lives in danger just to prove to everyone that you still matter,” said Doug with disgust. “…that you’re smarter than everyone else; that you have more experience and should therefore be trusted, regardless of whatever hare-brained idea you come up with. Congratulations, it worked. This time you were right. I just hope that I’m not here the next time you feel you have to prove yourself a hero.”

The word-volley hit each of the pilots squarely in the face. Some of the words hit home, some did not. Bill instantly felt a little shame, but Doug was far too thick to let all the words get through. Doug looked at his captain and shook his head. “Thank God we survived, FLAP.”

Bill sent a message via the on-board computer to the folks on the ground, advising them that the system had fixed itself. He knew Doug would most certainly write him up and that he would have to answer to the chief pilot, but that would be later. Bill had long ago decided to stop worrying about all the things that might happen. So two minutes after he hit the send button on his message, he looked out his side window and smiled.

For the next ninety minutes the atmosphere in the cockpit was as chilly as the ground thirty-five thousand feet beneath them. Not a word was spoken between the two. Doug ate his meal quietly, and then shortly after finishing he sat absolutely still with a rigid expression on his face.

Bill considered his copilot’s behavior rather odd, even for Doug. It almost appeared as though his first officer was a frozen block of ice. The silence in the cockpit, and Doug’s frosty condition, was interrupted only when the copilot was forced to speak with the air traffic controllers on the ground.

The minor crisis they had earlier with the first class passenger meals died down to nothing. Other than bringing Doug’s meal, they hadn’t heard a word from any of the flight attendants for hours. But that would soon change.

Twenty Eight

T
he sun gently warmed the pilots’ faces as the Northwest Orient B747 traversed the skies of northern Canada. Both pilots stared outside at the vast treeless tundra below. Bill tried to imagine what it would be like to live in such a place, while Doug saw the entire landscape as a wasteland--something to fly past as rapidly as possible.

There had been a full moon in view outside their right window for hours, while the sun rose and set twice outside their left window. It was a phenomenon that both pilots had seen many times, but never seemed to grow tired of.

Hours of nearly uninterrupted silence passed.

When the aircraft was a few hundred miles north of Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, the two pilots reluctantly put aside their differences to prepare for what was coming.

The controllers at Magadan, Russia were expecting Northwest Orient twenty-one to arrive in their airspace at a predetermined time. Both Doug and Bill crosschecked their chronometers against their flight plan to make certain that they would arrive on schedule. In addition, the pilots had to convert their altitude from feet to meters, necessitating a climb of a few hundred feet.

Unlike most of the world, Russia and China use meters rather than feet to control their air traffic. Prior to entering or leaving meter-controlled airspace, all pilots must make sure their altimeters are set correctly and that they are flying at the proper altitude.

Flight twenty-one’s arrival at the boundary with Russia was also the time they were to awaken the other crew, thus allowing Bill and Doug to get some sack time. Since the crew changeover often occurred at the boundary with Russia, most pilots tried to have everyone in the cockpit prior to the change in hopes of preventing any unwanted surprises.

Bill pushed a button on the center pedestal to alert the sleeping crew that their break was over. He then waited for one of them to pound on the bunkroom wall to let the captain know that they were awake and would arrive in the cockpit within ten minutes. When the sleeping pilots didn’t respond after a few rings of the buzzer, both Bill and Doug looked at each other with startled expressions.

The captain knew that half of the flight attendants were on break and resting in their own bunk room, located at the base of the vertical stabilizer in the tail of the airplane. He rang the flight attendant on duty in the aft part of the upper deck, and waited nearly two minutes for a reply.

“Hi, captain, this is Stella. I’m sorry it took so long to answer, but I’ve been a little busy back here. One of the female passengers told me that she’s not feeling well.”

There were twelve flight attendants on board flight twenty-one and there was no way Bill could remember all of their names. The best he could manage was to remember their faces. But regardless of his weakness for recalling names, he was certain that Stella was not someone with whom he was familiar.

“Stella, where are the two girls that were assigned to work the upper deck?” queried the captain.

“They’re lying down in the back,” said Stella. “I was told they don’t feel well, so I’m up here by myself. And since I don’t normally work the upper deck, I’m a little lost.”

“OK, Stella, don’t worry about it. By any chance do you see the other two pilots hanging around back there anywhere?” asked Bill.

“Mark is standing right here. I’ll put him on,” said Stella.

“Hi, Bill, this is Mark. We’re out of the bunk. Steve is in the bathroom right now. We’ll be up in a few minutes,” he said, aware of what the captain wanted before being asked.

“OK, Mark, just knock on the door when you guys are ready to come up,” said Bill.

A mile or two inside Russian airspace the other two pilots rapped twice on the cockpit door. Bill stood to let them in as Doug checked in with Magadan control.

Doug knew the Russian controllers would only answer if they felt like it, and after two tries he concluded that they weren’t in a talking mood.

The pilots swapped seats, and as they did so, Bill briefed the fresh crew about their flight’s status. He also advised the replacement crew that they’d had a problem with transferring fuel from the tail tank, and that it had been resolved. He left out the part about performing an unauthorized procedure. The system had been working fine so he saw no reason to rehash it, especially with Doug standing close by.

As Bill spoke, the new pilots rearranged their flight bags and changed their seat adjustments. To an outsider it might have appeared as though there was mass confusion in the cockpit during the crew changeover, but things were far from confused.

When he’d heard enough, Steve Hotchkiss looked at Bill and said, “OK, we’ve got it. Sleep well.”

Bill glanced at Doug and asked, “Which bunk would you like?”

“I’m taking the lower bunk,” said Doug curtly, as he opened the cockpit door. Then, without waiting for a reply, he quickly disappeared into the back, slamming the door behind him.

The lower bunk on the B747-400 is slightly larger than the upper bunk; it also contains the sole heater control for the small room. It is common practice for the copilot to yield to his captain, affording him the opportunity to choose which bunk he prefers. Doug subverted that practice and once again managed to alienate the people he worked with.

Bill and Steve exchanged a knowing glance. Bill frowned and then turned to exit the cockpit.

Three hours passed.

Northwest Orient flight twenty-one was flying at eleven thousand-six hundred meters, hundreds of miles inside Russian airspace. The ride had been especially smooth. And even though they’d been airborne for over eight hours the sun was still high above the horizon, prompting Mark to put one of his maps in the windshield to block some of the blinding light.

It was pitch black in the bunkroom, however, and with the exception of the nearly constant wind noise, a hushed tranquility hung in the air.

Bill was fast asleep when he vaguely heard the buzzer go off, advising him that his break was over. At first he thought he’d heard four tones, indicating an emergency, but quickly concluded that he’d been dreaming. He stretched and yawned and tried to get his eyes to acclimate to the darkness. He couldn’t believe time had passed so quickly and that his break was over so soon.

Bill climbed out of the bunk and noticed Doug had already gone. The vacant bed immediately raised a red flag with Bill because Doug’s normal M.O. was to get into bed first and leave last. But regardless of what was going on with Doug, Bill mentally put the oddity aside and dressed quickly.

After quietly closing the bunk room door, Bill stood in the forward part of the upper deck waiting for one of the two lavs, located directly across from the bunkroom, to become available. With all the window shades pulled down it was quite dark on the upper deck, and equally serene. He looked around and noticed that Doug was nowhere to be seen. A few moments later, he heard Doug retching and gagging inside one of the lavs.

After a brief flash of concern for his copilot’s health, and fearing the sounds emanating from the lav might also cause him to feel ill, Bill walked briskly toward the rear of the upper deck. He was halfway to the upper galley when he felt someone grab his arm. It was John Tacker, his next door neighbor.

“John, what are you doing here?” asked the surprised captain.

“Liesel and I are on vacation. We’re going to visit Asia for a few weeks,” said John.

Though the two practically never spoke, whenever they were in a situation requiring the use of words, both men struggled to withhold their emotions.

Remembering he was technically an ambassador of Northwest Orient, Bill forced himself to remain in his role as airline captain. “That’s good to hear, John. I guess the FAA will have to figure out how to get along without you while you’re gone,” said Bill, with a phony smile plastered on his face.

“Yes, and I may make it permanent in a year or so. We’ll see how it goes,” said John.

Bill felt a sense of satisfaction.
That’s good
, he thought.
The FAA doesn’t need inspectors like you in their ranks
. Bill had heard plenty of stories over the years about how “Mr. Tacker” used his power to exact revenge on nearly every pilot he came in contact with.

“Something’s wrong with Liesel,” said John. “She hasn’t been feeling well. She’s been in and out of the bathroom, and she seems to be getting weaker by the minute.”

Bill knelt down and studied Liesel’s face. She did indeed look pale. In all the years Liesel Tacker lived next door, he was certain that the two had never so much as uttered one word to each other. Neither could he recall ever seeing his enemy’s wife up close. He instantly knew what had attracted John to her. Despite her pale and drawn appearance, Liesel was quite an attractive woman. Bill wasn’t yet aware that she and his wife had become friends.

“Liesel, can you hear me?” asked Bill.

Liesel opened her eyes briefly and whispered something inaudible.

Bill stood erect and faced his former friend. Hoping his face hid his concern, he said, “I’ll see if we have a doctor on board.”

“One of the flight attendants already did that and no one came up. Frankly, I’m worried. This could be very serious,” stated John with obvious concern.

“They just called me to come off break, so I guess we’ll be starting down in a little while. As soon as I get up front I’ll make some calls,” said Bill. Though he truly was concerned about Liesel Tacker’s well-being, he really wanted to get away from John Tacker as quickly as possible.

“What are you talking about?” asked John. “The moving map on the entertainment system shows we are over Russia someplace. We still have nearly three hours to go. I think we might have to land in Russia or turn back to Anchorage,” said John. “My word, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“OK, John. Give me a few minutes,” said Bill, with both raised palms facing outward.

Having been awakened from a sound sleep, Bill was having trouble understanding what was happening around him. It was highly unusual to be awakened early, and that alone told him something was wrong. He scanned the upper deck but didn’t see any flight attendants, leaving him to wonder where they’d all gone. His under-the-weather copilot only added to the mystery. Bill knew he was in the midst of something, and whatever it was left him with a sense of foreboding. He made his way to the galley at the rear of the upper deck and called the cockpit.

After an unusually long pause, the copilot answered, “Flight deck, this is Mark.”

“Mark, Bill here…” he said before being interrupted.

“Bill, come up here right away!” ordered Mark.

Not waiting for an explanation, Bill hung up the phone and walked briskly through the upper deck to the cockpit door. As the concerned captain knocked, waiting for one of the pilots to get up and let him in, Doug opened the bathroom door and collapsed at Bill’s feet. Doug was dry heaving and sweating profusely. He seemed to be having a convulsion. The arrogant know-it-all copilot then curled up into a fetal position on the floor.

A moment or two later, Mark opened the cockpit door and was stunned to see Doug writhing in pain and whimpering like a baby.

Bill quickly stepped over Doug and then pushed Mark aside. When he looked into the cockpit he noticed Steve was slumped back in his seat. Bill gasped. It appeared as though Captain Hotchkiss was unconscious, or worse. Bill’s initial reaction was to don an oxygen mask, fearing there was something in the air. But then he stopped himself. He looked at Mark and then back toward Steve, trying to figure out what was happening. Something inside was sending him a warning, but it was taking its time getting through.

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” said Mark. “About thirty minutes ago Steve started acting, uh, well, kind of weird. He said something about waking you guys up and when I asked him what he was talking about, he just mumbled something under his breath. Then he reclined his seat and put his head back. A couple of minutes later, he started breathing heavy. I figured Steve was tired and wanted to take a short power-nap, so I left him alone. But after a while, I knew something was wrong. That’s when I hit the emergency buzzer to wake you guys up.”

“How are you feeling? Are you OK?” queried the confused captain.

“Yeah, I’m OK, but Doug doesn’t look so good,” noted Mark.

“Where are our flight attendants?”

Mark shrugged his shoulders.

With the cobwebs of sleep slowly clearing from the senior captain’s brain, Bill did what all pilots must do when things seem out of control: he took command.

“Mark, sit in the right seat and strap in,” said Bill. “Make sure ATC hasn’t been trying to call us. I’m going to drag Steve back to the bunkroom and then I’ll see if I can corral Doug into a bunk, too. When I’m done, I’ll call you on the phone. If you hear the buzzer, do not open the door until after I’ve called you on the phone.”

“OK, Bill,” said Mark.

Bill un-buckled the junior captain’s seatbelt and began hauling his near lifeless body out of the left seat. After wrangling Steve into the lower bunk, Bill turned and pulled Doug into the bunkroom. The pilot’s sleeping quarters are barely large enough for one person to move around, so it was a tough, exhausting effort for Bill to transfer his workmates into the tiny room and then get them into a bunk.