“It’s coming up,” Gibbs yelled as they rocketed through the downburst created by the massive thunderstorm. Four seconds ticked by in slow motion. “Vee R plus five!”
“We’re almost there,” Harrison exclaimed through clenched teeth. “Just gotta nurse it nice and easy.”
Aborting landing approaches or takeoffs is among the toughest decisions captains have to make. They are instinctive decisions in most cases. Things happen so quickly that there isn’t time to consult and exchange ideas when a split-second decision has to be made.
Pam felt a pang of real doubt begin to creep into her mind. We need to abort — even if we go off the end of the damn runway.
“We’re running out of runway,” she blurted.
“—gonna make it.”
“I don’t know…”
The 3,000-foot “runway remaining” marker flashed past as Harrison gingerly worked the control yoke and shoved on the throttles. “Come on, baby… climb. Don’t give up on me now.”
Pam gripped the glare shield and held her breath while she fixated on the airspeed indicator. This isn’t good.
Concerned about the unusually long takeoff roll, Senator Morgan squeezed his wife’s hand and darted a quick look out the window, then attempted a reassuring smile.
She remained quiet and looked down at her lap.
“We’re going to be in Lewisville,” he scoffed under his breath, “if they don’t get this thing off the ground.”
Julie squeezed his hand so hard her wedding ring dug deep into her finger. “Something’s wrong — I just feel it.”
Morgan clasped his wife’s tightly balled hand. “Just relax,” he reassured her. “Everything is going to be fine.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’ll be okay,” he insisted.
“We’re out of runway!”
“Relax.”
On the other side of the aisle, Ed Hockaday’s hands were glued to the armrests. He opened his eyes and slowly turned his head to look out the window. We’re at the end of the airport! The pounding in his chest was excruciating and unrelenting. Taking deep breaths in an effort to calm himself, Hockaday closed his eyes and tightly gripped the armrests. Gents, it’s time to get the kite in the air.
The right main landing gear of the MD-82 skipped twice before the struggling airliner staggered into the disturbed air mass. The wings rocked back and forth as the long fuselage yawed left, then right. The hapless travelers were being slung from side to side as a number of overhead bins popped open and spilled a few items on top of them. A murmur of frightened voices could be heard throughout the cabin. The passengers, even the uninitiated ones, knew that this takeoff wasn’t normal.
“Positive rate,” Gibbs breathlessly announced as the aircraft approached takeoff safety speed.
“Gear up,” Harrison ordered, and winced at a bright flash of lightning.
“Gear coming up — Vee Two.”
The pilots could see that they were only seconds away from another wall of water that appeared to be more intense than the last one.
After Pam raised the landing gear, she watched in horror as the altimeter suddenly stopped climbing and slowly reversed its direction. “We’ve got a sink rate going! We’re going down!”
“Son of a bitch!” Harrison said as he pulled on the control column. He could feel the severe sink rate and his heart raced like a trip-hammer. Don’t give up, stay with it!
Pam’s face turned pasty white.
A microsecond later the ground-proximity warning device sounded. “Whoop, whoop. Pull up!”
Waiting for the expected impact with the ground, Harrison maintained the proper deck angle to fly out of a wind shear condition and continued to push on the throttles. He had practiced the same procedure many times in the flight simulator.
“Whoop, whoop. Pull up!”
Pam braced for the impact.
“Don’t let this happen to me,” Marsha Phillips moaned aloud, and tightly gripped the armrests. She glanced up the aisle and saw some of the other passengers doing the same thing. Listening to the baby cry more loudly, Marsha allowed her gaze to drift to the window, then recoiled in sheer terror. The runway was no longer under them and the shuddering airplane was only a few feet above the ground. Unable to contain her fear any longer, Marsha began praying out loud. “Dear God, please give me strength… please don’t let anything happen.”
“Brace yourself!” a flight attendant ordered over the PA system. “Get your heads down! Assume the crash position now!”
Marsha winced when someone screamed. Her worst fears had suddenly materialized and she couldn’t wake herself from this horribly frightening dream. She was about to die. No, no, no not me, please, God.
Both pilots slowly let their breath out when the airplane began accelerating and the shaking finally ceased. They could feel the stimulating effect of the adrenaline coursing through their veins. It would take a few minutes for their vascular systems to recover from the sudden shock.
The ride through the heavy downpour was extremely rough, but it couldn’t have been sweeter to them. Little did they know that the red-hot exhaust gases from the two Pratt & Whitney engines had literally scorched the ground at the end of the runway.
The pilots busied themselves with the after-takeoff checklist while their heart rates slowly began to return to normal. Neither wanted to say anything to the other. The decision to take off into the teeth of a raging thunderstorm had been ill-advised and they both knew it.
“Just another fun day at the office,” Harrison finally muttered.
“Yeah.” Pam sighed and glanced at the rain streaking off the windshield. “I wonder if I could make it as a topless dancer?”
Chagrined as well as frightened, Harrison didn’t respond to her comment. “We better tell the tower what happened.”
“As soon as I find my voice.”
Allowing a thin smile, Harrison grudgingly turned his gaze toward her. “Don’t ever let me do that again.”
“Trust me,” Pam said as her glance slid to Chuck. “I’m gonna carry a hammer from now on.”
Julie Morgan could tell by her husband’s sallow complexion that he, too, had been traumatized by the terrifying experience.
“I think we need a double bourbon and water,” she commented in a weak voice as she tilted her head back against the headrest.
“I’ll take mine straight,” he said, letting out his breath, then slowly glanced at his wife. “I wonder what the hell was going on up there?”
“Who knows?” she answered with her own sigh of relief. “Just be thankful it’s over and we’re safely airborne.”
He shook his head. “I’ll feel a lot safer when we’re on the ground in Washington,” he replied with a hint of irritation in his voice.
“I’m sure the worst is over.”
“Don’t bet on it,” he said sarcastically. “We aren’t there yet.”
Wide awake and on the verge of panic, Ed Hockaday felt beads of perspiration on his forehead. He placed his right hand over his heart. It was pounding so hard, he thought he was going to faint.
Looking around the cabin, Hockaday could see the raw fear in people’s eyes. Something is wrong. Get out of the storm and land this thing!
“Regional tower,” Pam said evenly, “American 1684 lost fifteen to twenty knots at rotation.”
“Copy, 1684. We’re shutting everything down until the storm passes. Contact departure, one three five point niner two, good day.”
“Switchin’ departure, American 1684.”
“Flaps up,” Harrison ordered.
“Flaps comin’ up,” Pam said, reaching for the lever.
Marsha Phillips hesitantly opened her eyes and tried to slow her rate of breathing. Never again. Never, never, ever again. Her knees were shaking uncontrollably and her neck was as rigid as a steel post. I could drink an entire pitcher of water.