“I’ll dump the nose. Don’t worry.”
Dan held enough back pressure to let the airspeed bleed away, feeling the aircraft as best he could as she decelerated through 210 knots and then 205, aware of a sudden buffeting that was shaking the flight deck with alarming force.
“Speed up!” Jerry called as Dan forced the stick forward, accelerating the aircraft again to 220 knots. “What the hell was that?”
“Precisely what I was worried about,” Dan said. “We’ve got serious damage out there. The buffeting was from the right side.”
“We’re sixteen miles out. You have the airport visual?”
“I… think so. Coming through 8,000 at 1,500 feet per minute descent.”
“Not enough, Dan! Drop her to 2,000 feet per minute descent rate. We’ll take the additional airspeed.”
“I’d suggest gear down one mile out, Jerry.”
“Right. No more.”
“Maybe more if we’re over 240! Our speed brakes work?”
“Yes, but do NOT use them! Keep it on this glide angle and keep the speed under 230 without them,”
“Roger. But I will use them for landing.”
“Got it. We’re at 7,000 feet, fourteen miles out.”
“We’re too high.”
“No we’re not.”
“Yes we are, Jerry. Too high and too fast. I’m gonna ‘S’ turn us.”
“Okay, but… don’t go too far in either direction.”
“Call the distance and altitude. I want to be at 1,000 feet three miles out at 220 knots. That’s the needle I need to thread—the ‘Gate.’”
“Okay… ah, ten miles to go to that gate, and we’re coming through 6,500, so…”
“Lose 5,500 feet in ten miles and we’re going four miles per minute.”
“Right. That’s—”
“That’s 2,200 feet per minute down, or a couple of good ‘S’ turns.”
“Okay.”
“Everyone ready in the back?”
“What? Yeah, I guess.”
“Yes, they are,” Bill Breem replied from the back of the cockpit.
“Not too much, Dan! Just a few shallow turns.”
“Got it.”
“We’re 240 knots now, down 2,000.”
“Altitude?”
“Ah… ah… coming down through 4,000, six miles from the gate we want.”
“That’s about right. Coming back to centerline,” Dan said, shocked that his voice sounded so unreasonably calm. “I can see the airport ahead.”
“We’ve got one shot at this, Danny!”
“Yeah… no pressure, right?”
“Right. You’re at 240 knots, 2,100 down, through 3,000 above the ground, 2,000 above the gate, a bit over four miles from the gate.”
“Got it. I’m going be twenty knots too fast. Wanna drop the gear?”
“What will it do to us?”
“Slow us down. Maybe too much. But we’re way too fast.”
“Hold on, just… hold on. You’re steady on 240, slowing a hair, on descent rate, three miles from the gate, ahead of the descent rate, a bit over a thousand to lose.”
“I’ll pull the nose up a bit and slow. Jerry, to recap, the Landing Gear Gravity Extend lever is below the landing gear lever and remember it has to be pulled out toward you before moving it down.”
“I know.”
“Just wanna make sure.”
“Got it.” Jerry watched the numbers winding down, trying to stay ahead of the unfolding scenario but feeling like he was somewhere behind, chasing the bird.
“We’re 230 and slowing.”
“Distance?”
“Two from the gate, 500 above.”
“Just… a… little more.”
“We’re 225, Dan. One mile to go, just a hair above 1,000 feet.”
“I’ve got the runway. Are we cleared to land?”
“Who the hell cares? But yes, we are.”
“On speed?”
“Yes! Yes, you’re doing it right: 220, through the gate at 950 feet, a hair less than three miles out.”
“Don’t drop the gear yet.”
“I won’t. We’ll plan for a mile out.”
“Pray it works.”
“Already in progress. Two miles to go, 600 feet.”
“Roger.”
“Hold her, man. We’ll have a large nose up angle on touchdown with zero flaps.”
“Got it. Gear down, Jerry!”
“Roger, gear down,” the captain replied, reaching to the copilot’s side to reach the Landing Gear Gravity Extension selector, opening the safety door and moving it down . The sound of the unlocks on the nose landing gear releasing the nose gear into the slipstream combined with the feeling of deceleration as the main gear became speed brakes, pitching them up slightly before latching into place just as a loud metallic report reached them from the right side..
“JESUS!” Dan yelped, fighting the sudden roll to the right.
“We… lost something out there! Hold her!”
“I’m trying!”
“Half mile, 200 feet, 210 knots,” Jerry called.
“It’ll be a sudden flare. I’m full left stick and some left rudder… and she’s shaking again!”
“One hundred feet, Dan. Hang on! Start your flare.”
“Not yet.”
“NOW, dammit! We could be losing hydraulics!”
“Hold it… okay, now.” Dan’s hand pulsed backward on the sidestick, causing the huge panels on the jet’s horizontal stabilizer to pulse upward using the last of the uninhibited hydraulic pressure, the nose of the Airbus rising rapidly as they traded speed for lift and slowed the descent rate, the deck angle becoming almost frightening. In the left seat Jerry internally braced himself for impact, but the nose continued to rise along with the onset of the same heavy buffeting they’d felt minutes before. There was nothing to do but hang on, and the fact that the four wheels per side on the main gear had just kissed the runway at almost a zero descent rate was slow to dawn until Jerry realized Dan was releasing the backpressure slowly, lowering the nosewheel to the runway and carefully bringing in the brakes to absorb the massive inertia of an Airbus at 200 knots.
“Speed brakes!” Dan called as Jerry lunged for the handle and snapped it aft.
“Careful on the brakes, Dan!”
“I know. Call my speed.”
“We’re 180… 180… 170… we’ve got 7,000 feet left.”
Dan let his feet feel the feedback pressure. Once the accumulated hydraulic pressure was gone, the brakes would be nil. He couldn’t fan them, just keep careful steady pressure. Too much and they’d lock with no anti-skid, blowing all the tires and guaranteeing a high speed departure from the far end of the runway. Too little and they’d meet the same fate.
“At 150, Dan; 140 now, 5,000 feet remaining; 130.”
Another runway distance loomed on the right in the copilot’s window with a large “4.”
“We’re 125, coming up on 4,000 left.”
“Increasing pressure slightly,” Dan said, knowing the brakes were probably already red hot.
“We’ll need an emergency evac, Jerry.”
“At 110… slowing better now, 3,000 coming up. One hundred… almost ninety…”
The “3” moved past at a slower pace and he pressed harder, backing off at 1,500 remaining with the sound of a muffled explosion from the back as he felt the big jet swerve.
“We blew a tire!”
“Coming down through seventy, Dan! Careful!”
“They’re fading, Jerry! I’m bringing them to the binders.”
“Sixty-five… almost sixty… fifty…”
“We’re not gonna make this… I’ve got a thousand left,” Dan intoned
“Forty!”
“They’re fading big time! I’m full forward on the pedals!”
“Thirty. End of the runway coming up.”
“I’m steering to the right to miss that barrier.”
“More, Dan! More right!”
“Working on it!”
“Fifteen and slowing. We’re off the end but slowing.”