The aircraft’s new tyre was less than 1/8th of a pound heavier than it should have been, but had the bogus Herr Koenig known that the tyre would not be weighed as a security measure, it would have been heavier. Arndeker was taking a moment to look up at the heavens and admire the stars when he was brought sharply down to earth.
“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday… this is Military Flight One Four Eight, explosion in starboard wing, our position is… ”
Arndeker rolled inverted as the diplomatic flights AC read off the GPS position as displayed on the navigation panel, and looked straight down. He shouldn’t have been able to see the Boeing, all external lights were off as a precaution, but a tongue of flame was trailing from its starboard wing and illuminating it.
“Chain Gang flight, maintain positioning on Military One Four Eight, I am going down to him!” Pulling the F-16s sidestick back, he brought the nose down to point below the horizon, descending inverted so as to keep the airliner in sight.
The RAF AWAC for this sector of sky had been charged with the additional task of keeping the sky around the airliner clear as well as looking for potential threats, when they received the Mayday call their senior controller took direct charge. The UK and Eire coastguard were alerted and Air Sea Rescue scrambled a helicopter. The controller needed more information than they currently had, and with the Boeings crew fully employed trying to keep the aircraft in the air, an external damage assessment was the logical first step.
Arndeker had rolled level and was closing on the Boeing when his back-up radio came alive
“Chain Gang lead… this is Overview Four Nine on Guard!”
“Go ahead Overview.”
“We have you closing on One Four Eight, assume you are intending visual, over?”
“That’s a Rog… monitor Guard and relay to One Four Eight please.”
The airliners nose was about 5’ below the horizon in a shallow turn to the right. The fire was reduced to a fraction of what it had been when the emergency had first occurred and he allowed himself to hope that all was not as bad as it first seemed. Lt Col Arndeker switched back to the primary set and hailed the Boeing.
“Military One Four Eight, Chain Gang lead?”
He received a brief.
“Go,” and continued. “Chain Gang lead is approaching from your Six, slightly high and right for a damage look-see.”
“Rog… be advised that we are experiencing control problems… amongst a few dozen other items… possibly damage to control surfaces is the cause. Number Three is out, maybe due to lack of gas reaching it, but we have not attempted an engine restart at this time. Currently we have shut off fuel supply to that engine and we are pumping fuel to the port wing tanks from the starboard to try and re-establish trim… in case you were wondering, this turn to the right is none of our doing Chain Gang… We are aware of a hole in the upper wing surface… appreciate anything else you can tell us.”
“Roger One Four Eight, a little light on the subject would assist.”
There was a momentary pause, and then the exterior of the aircraft began to light up as anti-collision and landing lights came on.
“Thank you One Four Eight, monitor Guard while I relay observations to Overview Four Nine.”
“Roger.”
The F-16 had closed to within a quarter of a mile and maintained its position there as the aircraft commander updated him; he now increased power slightly and closed, keeping clear of any debris that may come off the aircraft. The flames had disappeared but he was very conscious of the fact that substantial amounts of fuel were in tanks within that wing, so although his approach was not gingerly, it was cautious, the whole aeroplane still contained over 40,000 gallons of fuel, 800 plus barrels worth.
From above, it was clear that the aerofoil shape of the wings upper surface had been badly distorted from the wing root to within a few feet of the starboard inner, the number three engine. There was a gaping hole about three feet across, some eight feet from the wing root, and the wing was bulging upwards, almost blister like around it. Arndeker began relaying this to the RAF AWAC, all the while trying to match the Boeings involuntary turn, which was varying by degree from moment to moment. The aircrafts wings clean silver finish was blackened and burnt from the wound in the wings upper surface, back to the trailing edge, where a slight movement caught his eye. Nudging in closer, he could see that the nearside end of the starboard aileron was effectively clamped in place by buckled aluminium in the damaged area; it could only be raised and lowered slightly. He could see the aileron moving fractionally, in response to commands from the cockpit but unable to comply fully. He also voiced doubts that the flaps could be relied upon, when the time came. The F-16 pilot wondered how well a standard Boeing would have fared under the same circumstances.
There was much about this 747-200B, actually designated as VC-25A that was not fitted as standard, from the ECM suite to the self-sealing fuel tanks, which were effectively rubber bladders with a polymer shell. They didn’t stop the tanks from being pierced, but the rubber walls let the offending item penetrate and closed up behind it. Should the object carry away plugs of the rubber then the first trickle of fuel to touch the polymer shell would cause a chemical reaction as it reacted to leaking petroleum by first becoming gum-like, swelling and then hardening, sealing the hole. Even a tracer round would have little detrimental effect, as there was no air inside the tanks to allow an explosion to occur. The fuel tank nearest the seat of the explosion had been pierced by shards of jagged metal travelling at 1000 feet per second, and absorbed both they and the impact of the blast-wave, which would have sundered a standard fuel tank. The fuel line to the starboard inner engine had been severed and the fuel ignited, it was only prompt action by the USAF crew in cutting off the feed to that engine that had prevented the fire spreading. With the engine, a General Electric CF6-80C2B1 shut down; it was no longer adding its potential of up to 56,700lbs of thrust, so it was now a lump of metal causing more drag.
Arndeker let down a few feet to see the underside of the wing, edging in closer because there was little in the way of white light to help his inspection, just the sweeping amber glare of the rotating anti-collision beacon on the aircraft’s belly. If anything, the damage from below was more obvious, the wheel bay doors were missing, and here too the wing shape was distorted, a large bulge marring the otherwise flat surface. Jagged aluminium edges protruded like the teeth of a predator at its centre, where the wheel bay had been located. Moving underneath he peered up into the gaping maw where the starboard gear should have been.
“Overview, Gang Lead… I don’t know if anyone ever tried landing one of these on just the port wing and belly gears, but there isn’t much left of the starboard undercarriage… whatever happened, it happened in the starboard wheel bay.” Everything he was saying was being recorded, and design engineers were being woken up at home in America and collected by police cars for fast runs to their workplaces. He kept up his commentary until there was nothing else left to report, and then he backed away to a safe distance and called up the Boeing again.