“After-start checklist complete,” said Emmett.
Ground controllers cleared them to follow the taxiways until they reached Runway 32-Left, where they waited for another controller’s direction. It was shortly before 5 P.M. Central Time.
“Cleared for takeoff,” the controller said.
Emmett moved the throttle levers forward and pushed a button marked “TOGA,” which stood for “take off/go around.” That action energized the autothrottles so the plane’s flight-management computer would control the big CFM-56 engines. The computer would keep the power steady as the plane climbed.
The silver 737 began to roll down the runway. Just as Emmett removed his left hand from the throttle levers, Germano placed his right hand on them. It would be Germano’s responsibility to decide whether to reject the takeoff.
“Eighty knots,” Germano called out.
Emmett looked at his airspeed indicator to make sure it agreed. “Checked,” he responded.
The plane was nearing V-1, the speed at which it could no longer be stopped on the runway.
“V-1,” said Germano, removing his hand from the power levers. They were committed now. They had to fly.
“Rotate,” said Germano.
Emmett pulled back on the control column, lifting the plane’s nose into the Chicago sky. They were airborne.
“Gear up,” Emmett said.
Germano grabbed the gear lever—it had a small wheel on the end so it would be unmistakable—and flipped it up. The pilots heard a thump as the nose gear was pulled inside the plane.
Emmett relied on the autopilot most of the way. USAir wanted its crews to use the device as much as possible because it made the plane more fuel-efficient. It was like cruise control in a car. Emmett could set the desired airspeed, altitude, and heading on a panel just below the windscreen, and the plane would automatically follow that course. Ship 513 also had a flight-management computer that kept track of the plane’s route and position and told the autopilot when to turn, climb, or descend. The computer could be cranky, however. About thirty minutes into the flight, Emmett had trouble getting it to accept a command.
“Ah, you piece of shit!” said Emmett.
“What?” asked Germano.
“I said, ‘Aw, c’mon, you piece of shit!’ This damn thing is so fucking slow!”
Emmett cursed the computer twice more before it did what he wanted. “There it is,” he said, finally satisfied.
The plane was at 29,000 feet as it cruised along the Michigan-Indiana border and then over the sparkling waters of Lake Erie, before banking gently to the right and turning southeast toward Cleveland.
“USAir 427, cleared direct to Akron, rest of route unchanged,” a controller in Cleveland told Germano. “Give me the best forward airspeed, in-trail spacing.”
“Direct Akron, best forward, you got it,” Germano said. “USAir 427.”
They began a steady descent toward 24,000 feet. Once they reached that point, another controller told them to continue down to 10,000 feet, the point where they would enter the CUTTA arrival pattern into the Pittsburgh airport.
Germano tuned the radio to the recorded weather briefing. “Pittsburgh tower arrival information Yankee,” it said. “Two-one-five-two Zulu weather. Two five thousand scattered. Visibility one five. Temperature seven five. Dew point five one. Wind two seven zero at one zero.”
That meant the weather was ideaclass="underline" 75 degrees Fahrenheit with scattered clouds and 15 miles of visibility. It was a perfect summer evening. The two pilots were relaxed. It was a Thursday shortly before 7 P.M. Eastern time, their last day of work that week. They chatted with a flight attendant about pretzels and sampled her fruit juice-Diet Sprite concoction.
“That’s good,” said Germano after taking a sip.
“That is different,” said Emmett. “Be real, be real good with some dark rum in it.”
“Yeah, right!” the flight attendant said.
The plane had crossed Ohio and was nearly to the Pennsylvania state line as it steadily descended toward 10,000 feet. About this time, the flight attendants were probably walking through the cabin to collect cups and cans. Passengers were told to put away computers and other electronic gadgets that might affect the plane’s navigational equipment.
“USAir 427, Pittsburgh Approach,” air traffic controller Richard Fuga told the pilots. “Heading one-six-zero, vector I-L-S Runway two-eight Right final approach course. Speed two-one-zero.” Fuga sounded as if he was in a great mood. His voice was playful as he directed planes toward the airport.
The pilots had been told to slow the airspeed to 210 knots and fly a heading toward Runway 28-Right. The plane was closing in on the Pittsburgh airport now, and Germano had listened to the latest radio briefing on airport conditions, which was known as “Yankee.”
“We’re coming back to two-one-zero,” Germano replied to Fuga. “One-sixty heading down to ten, USAir 427 and, uh, we have Yankee.”
A minute later, Fuga told them to descend to 6,000 feet. Germano acknowledged it, saying, “Cleared to six, USAir 427.” The pilots went through a preliminary checklist, making sure that the altimeters and other flight instruments were set properly.
“Shoulder harness?” Germano asked.
“On,” replied Emmett.
“Approach brief?”
“Plan two-eight-right, two-seven-nine inbound, one-eleven-seven.” They had set the navigation radios to align the plane with the runway.
Ship 513 was the last plane from the northwest in a big wave of arrivals. After landing in Pittsburgh, it would continue to West Palm Beach. But Emmett and Germano would switch to yet another 737 and fly the final leg of their trip across Pennsylvania to their home base, Philadelphia.
Fuga told Germano to slow the plane to 190 knots and begin turning toward the Pittsburgh airport at a compass heading of 140.
Germano acknowledged, saying, “Okay, one-four-zero heading and one-nine-zero on the speed, USAir 427.”
One of the pilots switched on the seat belt sign, but then Emmett realized he hadn’t told the passengers to prepare for landing. “Oops, I didn’t kiss ’em ’bye. What was the temperature, ’member?”
“Seventy-five.”
“Folks, from the flight deck, we should be on the ground in ’bout ten more minutes,” Emmett announced over the PA system. “Uh, sunny skies, little hazy. Temperatures, temperatures ah, seventy-five degrees. Wind’s out of the west around ten miles per hour. Certainly appreciate you choosing USAir for your travel needs this evening, hope you’ve enjoyed the flight. Hope you come back and travel with us again. At this time we’d like to ask our flight attendants, please prepare the cabin for arrival. We’d ask you to check the security of your seat belts. Thank you.”
Germano was confused about the runway assignment. “Did you say two-eight Left for USAir 427?” he asked the controller.
“Uh, USAir 427, it’ll be two-eight Right,” Fuga said.
“Two-eight Right, thank you.”
Germano then listened to Fuga slow other planes to 190 knots, the equivalent of 218 miles per hour. “Boy, they always slow you up so bad here,” he said to Emmett.
“That sun is gonna be just like it was takin’ off in Cleveland yesterday, too.” Emmett said, laughing. “I’m just gonna close my eyes. You holler when it looks like we’re close.”
Germano chuckled. “Okay.”
They were about four miles behind Delta Air Lines Flight 1183, a Boeing 727 that was going to land ahead of them. Another plane, an Atlantic Coast Airlines Jetstream commuter plane, had just taken off and was about to enter their area.
“USAir 427, turn left heading one-zero-zero. Traffic will be one to two o’clock, six miles, northbound Jetstream climbing out of thirty-three for five thousand,” Fuga told them. The commuter plane was headed from 3,300 feet to 5,000, but it would stay miles away.