Читать книгу Flight of the Forgotten - Mark A. Vance - Страница 14

Several years after that dramatic encounter, I was finally a jet pilot, flying captain on a Boeing 737. I hadn’t felt Buster’s presence in some time and had become engrossed in the day to day routine of airline flying. The pattern was mind-numbing, and this day was no different than dozens of others, except for what was about to happen as we started rolling down the runway.

The sun was a blinding fireball on the end of the runway that evening as I taxied into position for takeoff at sunset. Boston was departing to the West and there was a lot of radio confusion at the time. Several flights jammed the tower frequency with transmissions. The Boston airport was also using intersecting runways for takeoffs and landings, further adding to the confusion and potential for conflict.

Nonetheless, my first officer and I heard our takeoff clearance very distinctly, acknowledged it and began rolling down the long Western runway. The juncture where the intersecting runways met was invisible ahead in the blinding sunlight as was the Boston downtown area a short distance off the end of the runway. I knew the tall buildings were there, of course. Their towering presence required a left turn shortly after takeoff whenever you departed to the West.

As we accelerated through 100 knots, two thousand feet from the runway intersection and still well below flying speed, I heard a desperate, pleading voice over the loudspeaker that evening above the roar of my engines.

“I can’t stop it, Piedmont! I can’t stop it, Piedmont!” a high pitched, frantic voice declared as a large passenger turboprop suddenly materialized to my left. Appearing out of nowhere in the blinding sun, the huge turboprop was closing rapidly on the intersection ahead and appeared to have both engines in full reverse in an all-out effort to avoid hitting us at the intersection. It called for a split-second decision, leaving no time to think. Fortunately, my first officer and I saw it the same way and reacted accordingly, instantly electing to clear the intersection ahead of the other plane.

“Go!” he shouted, not realizing that I had already firewalled both thrust levers full forward to maximum thrust as we hurtled ahead into the blinding sun. The Boeing 737 was still too slow to fly, but as the huge turboprop neared from the left, that no longer mattered. We would collide at the intersection if something wasn’t done to get us out of his way fast. So, with my engines straining at firewall thrust and a collision imminent, I pulled back sharply on the control wheel, forcing the big jet into the air well below flying speed. Seconds later, we augured through the intersection above the turboprop airliner as it flashed by below us and I braced for impact. Somehow, with everyone doing just the right thing at the right time, we missed each other.

From the moment we lifted-off well below flying speed, the stick shaker activated, warning me of an impending stall. It was a miracle we hadn’t hit the other airplane of course, but our problems were far from over. None of us had any way of knowing at the time that our near-accident was all due to an air traffic controller operational error.

The first officer and I were busy working to get control of the airplane and keep from crashing. Auguring toward downtown Boston, blinded by sunlight and unable to turn, neither of us had time to acknowledge the first miracle as we prayed hard for a second one. The slightest turn now to avoid the tall buildings, with the jet on stick-shaker, would mean a stall and a total loss of control.

Working desperately to regain control of the airplane and keep from crashing, I held the vibrating control column tightly as my eyes strained to read the flight instruments. Blinded by the sun just above the horizon, I searched for a glimpse of the downtown sky scrapers as my eyes watered profusely and I struggled with the controls. Tears began rolling heavily down my cheeks as I searched in the blinding light for the buildings, glancing intermittently at the first officer’s flight instruments. My own were invisible in the blinding glare.

It was truly the ragged edge. I needed help. I needed it bad, and there wasn’t much time left for it to arrive. In the passenger cabin, over one hundred people were counting on us to salvage things and pull them through safely, not to mention those ahead of us on the ground.

“Holy Jesus! Jesus! Watch the buildings!” I shouted as we wallowed out of control and I began to feel more and more like a crash was imminent. That feeling enveloped me as events seemed to slow around me, and my mind continued racing at warp speed.

“You do have a way of making me feel needed.” Buster suddenly announced, leaning over my right shoulder. “Okay … now you need to start turning left, Mark.” he directed, as I eased the control column into a gradual turn and felt the ailerons and spoilers respond. “Hold your nose down and power through the turn.” he instructed as the stick-shaker continued rattling and tears kept streaming down my face.

“Okay, I’m coming left.” I shouted as my first officer acknowledged, thinking I was talking to him.

“Left? Okay. Easy … easy, now.”

“Keep coming around to the left, Mark. You need to miss those buildings.” Buster directed as I continued turning the big jet. “Keep your nose down. You don’t want to stall. Go ahead and bring the gear up … let’s get some airspeed.”

“Gear up!” I ordered as my first officer immediately reached over and raised the gear lever.

“Take it easy. You’re doing fine. Just do as I tell you and everything is going to be alright.” he continued. “Okay now … easy … easy … easy … roll out on this heading!” he ordered. Suddenly, the stick-shaker, which had been vibrating from the moment we lifted off, abruptly stopped and our airspeed margin increased above a stall. Within moments, we were out of danger from the tall buildings and no longer auguring out of control.

“I owe you again, Buster.” I announced as my first officer looked at me curiously.

“Me? You saved it!” he exclaimed, grabbing his microphone to respond to the Boston air traffic control tower.

“I was just along for the ride.” I gasped, as things began to settle down.

“Did you hear that asshole in the tower?” my first officer asked excitedly.

“No, why?”

“He was reading off their phone number the entire time and demanding a response. Didn’t you hear him? What a jerk!”

“No, I guess not. I was listening to something else.”

“Lucky for you.” my first officer grunted.

“Lucky for all of us.” I corrected him.

“You’ll be okay now.” Buster interrupted. “I’m here anytime you need me.” he reminded, as I just nodded silently and engaged the jet’s autopilot. “I have to go now, but when the time is right, I’ll be back to ask for your help on an important matter.” he said cryptically.