Airport. It's a real pleasure having you with us today Please note that I have turned off the fasten seat belt sign, so go ahead and take a stretch if you feel the need.'
It's a speech I've made in similar fashion many times before. But I've never been able to do it as smoothly as this guy He's been around a while, that's for certain.
'I strongly suggest, however, that you keep your seat belts securely fastened when you are seated in case we encounter any unexpected rough air.'
He knows the territory. Most companies advise against using the 'T' word. That sounds too technical and scary. 'Rough air' is better understood but is an understatement. Turbulence can, and has been, so sudden, unexpected, and violent as to nail people against the ceiling of the plane. Necks and backs have been broken. But the marketing departments say that passengers would rather not hear of such unpleasantness.
I really admire the captain's style; he's very articulate. His voice is deep and soothing. He could narrate a National Geographic broadcast. Too bad the speech is going to waste.
'We'll be flying at an altitude of 33,000 feet today. Our en route time is seven hours and forty-one minutes. We should be touching down at Kennedy at 12:15 p.m. local time.'
The poor guy still hasn't realized that he's flipped the wrong switch. He is not on his plane's passenger address system; he is, of course, broadcasting on the air traffic control frequency, which happens to be Scottish Control. We and dozens of other planes are hearing the eloquent address and in fact cannot do business until he finishes. This blocking of the frequency is potentially dangerous, but it would be rare that harm could result from it, especially on a high-altitude frequency such as the one that we're on. He thinks he has a captive audience, and he does: for two hundred miles in all directions.
'Kennedy is currently foggy; but it should have burned off by our arrival time. We can expect partly cloudy skies, a slight breeze from the northwest and an unseasonably pleasant temperature of around sixty five degrees.'
His error is not uncommon. The communications panel on most large airplanes is a thick forest of switches and knobs, crowded together and easily confused by a pilot who may have recently changed over from another type of aircraft. Grabbing the wrong switch isn't catastrophic, but it can be humbling. Sooner or later, everyone screws up with the radio and broadcasts on the wrong frequency or, like the captain, goes 'out' instead of 'in' with his message.
'The weather across the Atlantic should be fairly good today We're presently over Glasgow, Scotland. Our route from here will take us just south of Iceland and Greenland, across Newfoundland and the Gulf of Saint Lawrence, and down through New England into New York. If the weather cooperates we should get a nice view of the Canadian coastline.'
He's really dragging the speech out. It's one of the longest I've heard. He's obviously a people-oriented captain, one who enjoys talking to and interfacing with his passengers. He's the type who stands in the cockpit door and greets them as they disembark. He probably wears a vest beneath his uniform jacket and takes the flight attendants out to dinner occasionally. He's the kind who sends cards back to the first class passengers with a personal greeting. Airline executives like pilots such as he.
He's beginning to wrap it up now. I know what's coming next. Along with every other pilot on the frequency, I start thinking up a wisecrack.
'Relax now, and enjoy your flight. We want it to be as enjoyable and as comfortable as possible. And please, don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions about our flight or if you need anything at all.'
He's finally finished. Now the inevitable cracks begin to pour in from civil and military pilots alike, all across the sky.
'Thank you for sharing that with us.'
'Can I have a pillow captain?'
'I need another glass of wine, please.'
'Captain, can you warm up the cabin? I'm too cold.'
'When did you say we'll be landing?'
The comebacks go on unmercifully for almost as long as the speech lasted.
'I need a blanket, please.'
'This chicken is undercooked.'
'What city is that over there, captain?'
'I want to go back.'
Finally, the clowning is over, and after a few seconds of silence, the same calm, articulate, reassuring voice returns undaunted to the air, sounding as if we were all sitting in a pilot lounge sipping coffee, having known each other for years. 'Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.'
I think I'd fly with this guy anywhere, anytime.
I stare ahead through the windscreen, chuckling over the captain's blunder. We are sandwiched between two thin layers of cirrus cloud, catching glimpses of blue stratosphere through holes and gaps in the speeding vapors. It reminds me of that astronaut in 2001: A Space Odyssey when he cruises through endless corridors of light patterns and color. My imagination runs rampant. I'm a being trapped within a being. The jet's windscreens are its eyes, I its soul. I look out and see the world but I'm detached from it. I'm at a console on another planet, controlling this giant probe remotely. When I'm up here, it's easy to-
An orange flashing light catches my attention. Joe Brewer sees it too, and he straightens up as well. It's the master caution light on the forward panel telling us something is amiss. Even as Joe resets the light to cancel it and make it ready for another alert, instinctively, our eyes flash down to the center console quarter panel where one of a bank of sixty lights tells us there is a malfunction in the inertial navigation systems.
The amber warning light flashes its message:
INS 25 DIFF
We know that it means the INS units are in disagreement. They are twenty-five miles apart in their determination of exactly where our present position is. This is critical, because a twenty-five-mile offset could put us halfway into a neighboring track, and as time passes, the condition will doubtless worsen, sending us farther off course. We could easily cross into the flight path of other aircraft flying parallel tracks with us.
In all probability, only one of the units is in gross error, but we don't know which is lying to us and which isn't. If we were committed to high seas navigation, we would have to choose between following one of the two and trying to split the difference and fly a course between the two. We determine that number two is the culprit because it shows an excessive ground speed readout. But we can't go on with just one operative unit while we're still in radar contact. So we turn back and request clearance to divert to Mildenhall Air Base in England.
The master caution light spells trouble. It always means inconvenience at best and calamity at worst. But all military and airline pilots live with it. The light is always located up high on the panel where it will catch your eye when it flashes and jolt you out of whatever form of complacency or concentration you're feeling.
Years ago I was pulling off a low-angle dive-bomb delivery when the light came on. I had released a bomb and was pulling four or five Gs, and as the nose came up through the horizon, I noticed it.
MASTER CAUTION
My eyes fell to the annunciator panel and my lungs seized at the sight of the flashing amber warning light.
WING FOLD
WING FOLD
WING FOLD
The locking mechanism on the wing fold hinges was unlocked. The A-7, being originally designed to fly off the Navy's big boats, had a folding wing feature, so that many of the jets could be crammed together.
If the wings folded in flight, what would happen? My mind raced. Would I continue to have control? I thought I remembered that the ailerons operated normally with the wings folded. But would the fixed part of the wings generate enough lift to keep me airborne? And if it did, wouldn't the ailerons now act as additional rudders? How would that affect roll control? And what if only one wing folded? I would corkscrew like a cheap bottle rocket. How would I eject from that at this low altitude? I was only 2,000 feet above the ground.
It took about a nanosecond to interview myself with all those questions, after which I rolled into a right climbing turn and told Lead that I was heading for the emergency strip. I warned the jets to the north, on Guard
