Authors: Thomas Kirkwood
“It’s your call, Captain.”
“That’s right. Give Oakland Center our position, heading, indicated air speed, altitude and intent. Then run the ditching checklist.”
“Got it.” While Gains worked, Hutchinson summoned the head flight attendant back to the cockpit. This time he did not offer her a seat. “We’re going in, Julie. You’ve been through the passenger briefing so go ahead and get the life rafts out of the bins and secure them in the galleys. Make sure everyone is wearing a life vest. How’s the mood out there?”
“Bad, and I assure you it will get worse. We’re even having trouble with one of the flight attendants. We’re holding her in the aft toilet as discreetly as possible.”
“Do your best. We’ve got our hands full up here.”
“I will, Captain. What are our chances?”
“Keep your thoughts on the evacuation. Anything I tell you is speculation.”
She left and he went back to work. Minutes later, the number one engine seized with a violent shudder.
“Goddammit,” Hutchinson growled, “this is what I call a bad day.”
“How do you want to do this, Jim?”
Hutchinson tilted the nose down to avoid a stall. “Finish up the checklist. When we descend through five thousand feet, I want you to start calling out our altitude in increments of one thousand feet. At one thousand feet, we’ll configure the airplane. Then start giving me readings in increments of one hundred feet. In the meantime get on the radio and let them know what’s going on. With any luck there’ll be a ship or two in the area.”
“Roger.”
They glided in eerie silence toward the low clouds covering the Pacific, a silence interrupted from time to time by a muffled scream from the cabin.
They were at 18,000 feet now, airspeed 250 knots. Hutchinson made a crisp cool announcement to the cabin to help the flight crew with its impossible task of calming the passengers, then glanced at his copilot. He could see Gaines was taking the prospect of imminent death less well. No wonder. The poor bastard had tried to put life in a savings account, renouncing all of the things a man in his prime enjoyed so that he could have a secure and healthy old age. Bad choice.
“Any ships in the area?” Hutchinson asked.
“The carrier Enterprise is about two hundred miles away. They’ve got us on radar and have already dispatched search planes and rescue helicopters. Maybe our luck is changing.”
“Maybe. We’re passing through fifty-three hundred feet. I’m going to concentrate on bringing us in. Get ready to start with the increments.”
“Roger . . . We’re coming to five thousand feet and I’m completing the checklist.”
The seconds ticked by, the descent continued. The aircraft bumped through a band of turbulence.
“Four thousand . . . ”
Hutchinson took a deep breath. He still outperformed most of the younger guys in the simulator, so his instincts and hand-eye were good. On top of that, he had learned to fly in the old days when improvisation was the rule. If anyone could set this crate down, he could.
“Three thousand. Aren’t you coming in a little fast?”
“No, I’m gonna hold it at two fifty to a thousand feet, then start to bleed the airspeed off as we configure.”
“All right . . . Two thousand feet.”
Hutchinson noticed his grip on the controls had tightened. He made a conscious effort to relax.
“One thousand feet.”
The big jet responded well to the captain’s input. As they entered the low overcast stretching across the water, the airspeed indicator dropped below 200 knots.
“Go to increments of a hundred. We just might be able to ease this baby in. Give me flaps one.”
“Eight hundred . . . seven hundred . . . flaps five . . . six hundred . . . flaps fifteen.”
“Complete the checklist. Lock your shoulder harness. Goddammit, I still don’t see anything.”
“Five hundred . . . four hundred . . . flaps twenty-five. I don’t know what the altimeter setting is in this area. I’ve kept the altimeters on two-nine-nine-two.”
“Let’s hope we break through before we hit water.”
They came out beneath the clouds. They were plunging toward an angry gray sea. Gaines breathed a sigh of relief.
“Shit,” Hutchinson shouted, pulling up the nose still further. “We’re heading right into the goddamn waves.”
“Three hundred . . . ”
“I’ve gotta bank twenty degrees or we’re shark bait.”
“Two hundred . . . one hundred fifty . . . spray on the windshield . . . watch your wing tip!”
“We’ve gotta come around, no choice.”
“One hundred . . . ”
Almost parallel to the swells, Hutchinson thought. A little luck and he might pull it off. Just gotta come around another ten degrees, just another eight or ten.
Nose up, slow the descent, keep that goddamn wing out of the water.
There, there it is, what I was looking for, the backside of a big swell. Soft, smooth and almost parallel. Straighten her out now, Jimbo, straighten her out.
“Fifty feet. Get the wing up!”
Hutchinson waited until the last possible moment, then moved the controls to level her out. No good. He had waited an instant too long. He felt the tip of the banking wing catch the water with a ferocious jerk. The 757 cart wheeled wildly. He knew it would all be over before he took another breath.
***
When Hutchinson awoke, he believed he was in the water about to drown. He tried to move his arms and legs. Pain shot through his body. He screamed and gasped. A young nurse tried to calm him down while she called for the doctor.
As his vision cleared, he saw that he was not in the ocean but in a hospital room. When he stopped trying to flail, the throbbing pain subsided enough that he could tolerate it. He took a quick inventory of his wounds: right leg up in traction, right arm in a cast, bandages everywhere.
He felt a sudden rush of exhilaration. He was alive! To hell with the goddamned chart. If hurtling into the Pacific from 38,000 feet hadn’t killed him, he would live to be a hundred.
He was drugged, he didn’t know with what. He drifted back to sleep but awoke when the young doctor came in.
“Captain Hutchinson, I’m Doctor Gary. How are you feeling?”
“Like I got run over by a bulldozer. Where am I?”
“Honolulu General Hospital. You’re a very lucky man. Banged up but lucky. My prognosis is for a complete recovery.”
“Doctor – ”
”Yes?”
“How long have I been here?”
“You came in last night. Do you remember anything?”
Hutchinson shook his head. “Nothing from the time we hit the water. How did they rescue me?”
“Military helicopter. You were fortunate enough to have an aircraft carrier in the vicinity. They stabilized you on board, then sent you on to Hawaii by plane.”
Hutchinson latched onto the doctor’s arm as his mind cleared. “The others, did they make it?”
The doctor patted his hand. “Not all of them. It was a bad crash.”
“How bad? How many survivors?”
“In addition to yourself, two children.”
“Two!” Hutchinson felt frantic. His excitement about being alive gave way to an overwhelming dread. He tried to say something but his chin quivered so badly he gave up with a strangled curse.
The doctor said, “There’s a psychiatrist on the hospital staff who deals with situations like yours. I’ll arrange for him to come by and talk to you. You must not blame yourself for what happened. I was told about the engine failure.”
“I could have done better . . . I . . . the wing tip, you see, we were just about there when it caught a wave. Don’t bring your goddamned shrink in here. I fucked up. A lot of people died because I fucked up. I don’t want some weirdo telling me it’s okay. It’s not okay, doctor.
It is not okay.
”
“Captain, you must remain still. You’ve got multiple fractures and over three hundred stitches. I’m going to have to give you something that will calm you down.”
The syringe came out of nowhere, a big syringe filled with yellow liquid. Hutchinson was too weak to resist; and glad he hadn’t when the sedative began taking the knots out of his gut.
Chapter Twenty-One
Steven hadn’t thought of anything but Nicole during his motorcycle trip back to Paris – the first night, the last night, the nights in between. He thought of the days, too, of her laughter and playfulness, and the sense of doom that came over her when they spoke too freely about the future. His love was great and growing; so was his dilemma. But he was having no trouble getting out of bed in the morning.
As he climbed the worn marble staircase of his old apartment building, he shook the water from the roses he had bought from a vendor on the outskirts of Paris. He had always hated homecomings, but this one promised to be different. There would be no parental judgment, no fraternal scorn, just the warmth and laughter of Soul Mate Number One.
Sophie opened the door, pulled him inside and gave him a warm hug. “Steven, darling! I’ve missed you. And roses! It’s been years.”
“They got a little roughed up sticking out of my saddle bags, but they’re still pretty, aren’t they? Jesus, Sophie, what did you get me into? That woman has turned me into a lovesick fool.”
“You? My hero? Never. But what about our dear Nicole? Has she become your panting slave?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s the other way around.”
Sophie hugged him again and laughed her husky laugh. He had never seen her look more delighted. She said, “I knew it! You’re the real thing, darling. I’m pretty impressed with myself, too. In the game of human chess, I moved you leap by brilliant leap so close to our subject you’ll soon be ready to whisper father in his ear.”
“I don’t think so, Sophie. In fact, I think it might be over. Nicole has big fears about seeing me in Paris. She didn’t know I lived here until . . . after.”
“She’ll be back.”
“But what if I don’t hear from her? What do I do?”
“Not to worry, darling, you’ll hear from her. Trust a woman’s judgment. Now come, relax, have a drink and tell me everything.”
He settled into her big comfortable sofa, vowing to say as little as possible about the more intimate details of his relationship with Nicole. After all, there were some things you didn’t share, even with a soul mate.
His vow dissolved with the first swallow of pastis. Once he started talking, it was like spending money: he couldn’t stop. He poured his heart out, marveling at how good it felt to have someone he cared about listening to him.
While he finished his drink, he told her about the incredible first-night encounter with Nicole in the fancy restaurant. When lunch was ready, he and Sophie moved to the dining room. Fueled by the best
Coquilles St. Jacques
he had ever tasted, and helped along by a terrific bottle of Bâtard Montrachet, he told her about the tennis lessons, the mischievous cousins, the doubles games and the constant laughter. He told how surprised he was that a genuine friendship had sprung up in the unexpectedly fertile soil of a planned deception.