how we’ll line it up with the runway.”
“Copy that six-four-zero. Got you on radar, forty miles west of the airport. We’ll have equipment waiting.”
Again, the big aircraft yawed to the right, this time the left wing tilting upward.
Equipment.
The controller meant fire-rescue, paramedics, and enough foam to float a battleship. But without the ability to turn, without a way to control the pitching, rolling, and yawing, they would not so much land as cartwheel across the runway. In that case, the only equipment they would need would be hearses.
“We can’t turn your way and we don’t have any brakes,” Kingston replied, “so I don’t know how we’d stop this thing even if we get it there.” He pictured the crammed apartment buildings and condos west of the Palmetto Expressway. “We don’t want to drop it into a neighborhood.” He glanced at his two crewmates and pointed down toward the ground. They both nodded. “We’re going to have to ditch.” He sighed audibly and signed off, “Six-four- zero.”
Below them, in the darkness, was the primordial slough. Kingston hoped for a soft, level spot, not a strand of mahogany or live oak trees. It wasn’t the ideal terrain for ditching but better than the side of a mountain.
Dozier was hurriedly thumbing through the flight manual. “Nothing here. Nothing for loss of all hydraulics.”
“It’s not supposed to happen,” Kingston said softly.
He said his name was Howard Laubach. Rita Zaslavskaya said she was glad to meet him, but she wasn’t glad at all. She had heard the explosion and felt the plane shudder. Now, the right wing kept dipping and the nose of the plane was sliding back and forth. She’d asked a flight attendant what happened, but the woman hurried past her and headed toward the cockpit, the color drained from her face.
“It could have been anything,” Howard Laubach said, a hopeful note in his voice. “A flock of birds could have been sucked into the engine. Heck, that’s brought down planes before. But the captain seems like he has this one under control.”
It didn’t seem under control to Rita. It seemed as if the plane would veer to one side, then overcorrect and swerve to the other side like a wobbly drunk attempting to walk a straight line. Other passengers were chattering nervously or praying or simply grasping their armrests with bloodless hands. Rita felt queasy, as if she’d eaten piroshki made with spoiled meat, and the look on the flight attendant’s face had frightened her. Something was very wrong.
She turned to her seatmate. “You’re pretty calm for someone who brings his own oxygen aboard.” She was annoyed that the man could be so oblivious to the situation.
“It isn’t oxygen,” Laubach said, testily. “I’m just prepared. If there’s a fire, you’d wish you were, too.” He clutched his smoke hood, as if she might steal it.
“What’s that noise?” Rita asked, jerking around in her seat.
“Landing gear,” Laubach said. “He’s setting her down.”
“Where? Here?” She leaned past him and peered out into the blackness. All she could see was the startled face of an insane woman. It took her a moment to figure out that she was staring into her own reflection.
Suddenly, a horn blared on the Ground Proximity Warning System. The nose angled up again, and both pilot and copilot pushed forward on the yoke. Tony Kingston already had given the tower his count: 288 souls on board. It helped the authorities when it was time to count bodies.
“Six-four-zero, please advise,” Miami Control said through the headset.
“We’re about to put the world’s largest tricycle down in the swamp,” Kingston said.
“Roger that, six-four-zero. We’ve got you on radar and we’re dispatching rescue vehicles.”
“Tony, I can’t keep the nose down,” Ryder said. “I’m having a real nose-up moment here.” His voice was cracking.
“More power, Larry.”
Dozier pulled both throttles back. “C’mon baby,” he coaxed her. “Level, level, level.”
The aircraft picked up speed and the nose came down.
“You’re gonna have to back off some more,” Kingston said. “We’re going too fast.”
“Without flaps or slats, I can’t slow it down without stalling,” Dozier said, sounding desperate.
It’s not hopeless, Kingston told himself, but he knew the odds were against them. At over two hundred knots, they’d likely break up on impact.
Dozier eased up on both throttles.
Too much.
A puff of smoke, a sputter, a cough.
“Oh, shit!” Ryder shouted. “Number one quit.”
They were flying on one engine. Dozier immediately increased the power, but it was too late. The number three engine smoked, choked, and stalled. They coasted in total silence, the huge aircraft a glider.
“Okay, fellows,” Tony Kingston said. “We’re taking her in.”
For several seconds there was nothing but the sweet, sad rush of the slipstream past the windshield. Then the left wing dipped, and the plane rolled hard, the wings virtually perpendicular to the ground. Loose papers flew across the cockpit. Without the lift from the wings, they had only a few seconds before they would plunge nose down into the ground.
Tony Kingston fought the yoke, his cramped arms futilely trying to right the plane. He heard screams from the cabin, just as in his nightmares. Next to him, his copilot whispered a prayer.
Kingston wanted to draw out the last moments, to arrange his thoughts, pull up memories from the recesses of his mind. But there was no time. He saw her then, her face flashing by, beautiful but heartbroken, and for the briefest moment, he felt a stabbing pain, knowing of her anguish when she heard the news. He said it then, knowing the cockpit voice recorder would pick it up, and she would hear him or at least read the words. He told her he loved her.
A few jumbled images raced through his senses: his father, long buried; a cold Minnesota lake where he swam as a child with his sister; and then the black-and-white grainy videotape of the two men walking along the jetty in Kuwait just before the bomb hit.
What did they say to each other? Why didn’t they run?
IN THE CIRCUIT COURT OF THE ELEVENTH JUDICIAL CIRCUIT IN AND FOR DADE COUNTY, FLORIDA CASE NO: 96-00136 CA 04 (11) GLORIA LAUBACH,
individually and as Personal
Representative of the Estate of HOWARD J. LAUBACH, deceased,
Plaintiff, vs. ATLANTICA AIRLINES, a Delaware corporation,
Defendant.
COMPLAINT FOR DAMAGES FOR WRONGFUL DEATH
Plaintiff GLORIA LAUBACH, individually and as personal representative of the estate of Howard J. Laubach, deceased, sues Defendant ATLANTICA AIRLINES (hereinafter “ATLANTICA”), a Delaware corporation, and alleges:
1. This is an action for wrongful death brought pursuant to the Florida Wrongful Death Act.
2. ATLANTICA is a common carrier engaged in the business of transporting fare-paying passengers on regularly scheduled flights in aircraft owned, leased, operated, man aged, maintained, and/or controlled by ATLANTICA and its agents and/or employees. As a common carrier, ATLANTICA is obliged to provide the highest degree of care to its passengers.
