Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 420

Joslyn – Air Force One

“Mayday, mayday, mayday!” I calmly broadcast over the radio, fighting with the control stick, pulling the plane out of the steep dive. I glanced at the altimeter, 20,750 and descending, but not as fast as we had a minute ago. “This is Air Force One declaring an emergency!”

“Copy your Mayday, this is Anchorage control! What is the emergency?” It was reassuring hearing how calm the air traffic controller sounded.

“I have one dead engine, and multiple control surfaces damaged, descending through angels twenty.”

“Engine three is on fire,” Lydia reported, reaching for the flashing red knob and pulling the fire extinguisher.

“Feather three,” I ordered, my hands gripping the yoke with a death grip. My right thumb keyed the radio button on the yoke, “Air Force One; we've lost a second engine. We need a bearing to the nearest runway.”

“Copy that, Air Force One,” Anchorage control responded. “Turn to heading 47, you're 102 miles out from Anchorage.”

Shit! “We'll try to hold it in the air that long. We've achieved stable flight for the moment.”

“Copy that. Coast guard has been advised and is sending a cutter if you have to put it down in the water.”

I glanced at Lydia. “Throttle up.”

“Raider 3 to Air Force One, your plane has been swept clean of the...uh...gremlins,” one of the F-22 pilots reported. “Be advised, you are missing the port elevator and I see a lot of damage to your flaps. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Raider 3.”

Ten years of flying planes, training in simulators, and I never thought I'd actually have to worry about gremlins ripping my plane apart. If it wasn't for all my training, I would be falling apart right now. I glanced at my co-pilot, and she was as pale-faced as I felt.

I keyed up the PA, “We're heading to Anchorage for an emergency landing. It's twenty minutes out; we may be ditching in the ocean.”

Things went relatively smooth for the next ten minutes. My heart never once stopped hammering as my eyes kept checking the PFD and EICAS panels every second. I had the yoke in a death grip, fighting to keep the plane leveled. There was a loud, shuddering clunk and then the warning lights started flashing—fire in engine one. Lydia quickly pulled the fire extinguisher and feathered the engine. I couldn't take my hands off the yoke, or we'd pitch down into the ocean.

The last engine whined, damaged by those fucking gremlins, and we slowed down. The whine seemed to grow worse and worse; the intake fan blades must have been damaged. Maybe a piece of the wing had been sucked inside. Ahead, the coast of Alaska grew larger and larger, the Alaska Range towering beyond, white and gray above the green forest. We crossed over land, coming closer and closer to safety.

Engine four gave one last, loud whine, then went silent. The only sound in the cockpit were the many warning alarms. “Are we gliding?” Lydia asked.

“Yes. Pitch for glide,” I ordered.

Lydia reached for the hydraulic controls and extended the flaps, maximizing our wing surface as we glided in. It was all up to inertia now. If we had enough air speed we could make it to the airport. Our altitude started dropping faster.

“There's the airport,” Lydia reported.

I keyed the radio, “Air Force One to Anchorage Tower.”

“We see you, Air Force One,” the tower controller radioed. “You're coming in a little shallow. Recommended you throttle up a bit.”

“We are deadstick, Anchorage.” No engines, no power.

“Well...uh...good luck, Air Force One.”

“Gear down.”

The ground was rushing up fast. The calm, monotone computer's voice announced our Above Ground Level: “500. 400. 300. 200.”

I glanced at the PFD; our airspeed was 173 knots. Too fast; a rough landing. Since we were coming in shallow, I wasn't sure if we were going to land on the runway, or in the grass before it, so I couldn't afford to slow down. “Assume brace position,” I ordered through the PA.

“100. 50. 40.”

I flared the plane and we touched down hard, the yoke jerking in my grasp. We both started flipping the air brakes, and I pushed on the break pedal. The plane squealed across the runway, the terminal growing larger and larger. We weren't slowing down enough; we didn't have the engines, so there were no reverse thrusters to help slow us down. And the end of the runway was coming up fast.

A loud, metallic, shearing sound shivered through the fuselage; the plane lurched suddenly to the left, off the runway. The plane's wheels hit the dirt, and the front landing gear folded. The nose dropped, and pushed into the ground. Clods of dirt and grass flew up like the bow wave of a ship, and we came to a shuddering stop.

“I think we're alive,” Lydia breathed. She looked out her window. “Holy shit! Half the right wing sheared off.”

I swallowed. That's why we lurched left, only the left wing had been providing drag. If the wing had failed while we were still airborne, we would all have died. I let go of the yoke and my hands shook as I massaged my palms. Off in the distance sirens blared, rescue coming.

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