Affairs of an Airline Captain

Timothy I. Meldahl

Prof. Z. VandeZande

Fiction Writing

November 11, 2017

Affairs of an Airline Captain

     “I will be there, dammit. I said I would, didn’t I?” he shouted into his cellphone. “Jeezus,” he thought, “how many times have I told her not to call me at home?”

He took a deep breath and, calming himself said, “I’ll be there in an hour. I love you, too.” Cringing when he said those last words, he pocketed the cell phone.

     John Simmons, airline captain, father and husband was having an affair with a flight attendant. This wasn’t his first, by any means, but this one had lasted much longer than the others and he wanted out in the worst possible way. He cursed himself for not having been able to end it before it got to this point. As he prepared his uniform, he vowed that things were going to change. And soon.

     He finished dressing, wondering how in the hell things got so bad, so fast. He’d had affairs before but this one was different. This one was getting messy. Mika Corbin, the beautiful, young flight attendant he was seeing was not only demanding that he get a divorce, but was insisting he marry her.

     “Dump your wife or I will tell her everything,” she had said, angrily. “And you can trust me, I won’t leave anything out.” His head lowered as he placed a hand over his eyes, unable to look at himself in the mirror.

     Checking his uniform before heading downstairs, John forced himself to remember why he was going anywhere with this woman. For a moment, his mind went blank. Then he recalled the reason, as the bile in his stomach turned acidy. He was taking this trip to Cabo partly because of the pressure that Mika kept on him to do such things and partly because he was trying to figure a safe way out of this affair, one that allowed him to stay married.

     Mika, on the other hand, thought they were going to Cabo so he could “pop,” the question, something she had wanted for a very long time. She was wrong. He was never going to do that. Ever.

     John Simmons a veteran airline pilot, was six feet two inches tall, slim, muscular and exceptionally good looking. He had been a distinguished aviator in the Navy, transitioning easily to a career as airline pilot, been married to his wife Sue for eight years and had a daughter, Kathlene, seven, whom he loved fiercely. It was a good family. So why did he insist on fucking it all up? That was a question he had asked himself a thousand times over.

     Somewhere along the way John figured out that he was good at something other than flying. He was very good at lying. He could lie to damn near any one. He would never lie when it came to flying. No, he was very professional when it came to flying. He only lied to the four people that mattered, Mika, his wife, his daughter and of course, himself. And he was very good at it.

     John headed down stairs, stopping for a minute at the bottom. Looking in the large, foyer mirror, he adjusted his pilot’s uniform for the last time. His epaulets with eight gold captain’s bars festooned his broad-shouldered uniform shirt, four on each side, pilot wings pinned on and perfectly situated above his left shirt pocket. He looked good. Satisfied, he turned into the living room where his wife and daughter were playing a child’s game of cards, both sitting comfortably on the living room carpet.

     “Daddy, are you leaving again?” asked seven-year-old Kathlene. Lying to his daughter was always the toughest part of this charade. He had always managed to get past the aching in the pit in his stomach by placating her with kind words and of course, a promise of a gift at the end of the trip.

     “Yes, sweetheart, daddy is leaving for a few days.” He kneeled in front of his daughter. “You know, Kitten,” her nickname, “daddy is an airline pilot and he has to leave to go flying. I will be back in a few days, I promise, if you are good, I might just find a nice gift for someone very special.”

     “Me?” she asked, throwing her arms around his neck, giving him a big hug.

     “Of course, you, silly,” he responded, returning the hug. “Now go and play while I say good bye to your mother.” He knew that his daughter had virtually no concept of time and after she received an answer that satisfied her, she would go back to the business of a being a seven-year-old.

     “I will be back in three days,” he said to his wife as he gathered the luggage he would need, including his flight bag. He was lying, again. This time it was to a female much older and wiser than his daughter. This time he was lying to his wife. They had been married for eight years and he loved her. He sometimes wondered if she ever got suspicious.

     “I will be back on Tuesday. Maybe we can go to dinner,” he offered. The guilt that came with lying like this often required he offer a ‘bone,” of sorts. On the surface, the offer was meant to demonstrate how bad he felt about leaving. Being honest with himself, he knew the offer was to mitigate the horrible guilt he felt for cheating on his wife. It rarely worked.

     As he drove to the airport, he felt like hell.

*************************

      His ’69 Ford pickup carried him on the 30-minute drive to the airport employee parking lot. While driving, John was deep in thought. He could never quite figure out why, if he always felt so bad about these affairs, did he keep having them? Something else occurred to him.

     Up until now he’d had the cover of an assignment by the airline in the form of a trip on his schedule. He would fly the trip as the captain, raise a little hell on the layover and return home. This time there would be no cover. The trip he was about to take with Mika Corbin was manufactured by him, not assigned by the airline. He was not even flying the plane. He was lying about every part of what he was doing. If he were caught, it would most likely mean the loss of everything he really cared about. His stomach was one big knot. He arrived at the airport sensing he was about to make a very big mistake. He was right.

*********************

     “God, she is beautiful,” he thought as she came towards him in the terminal. All the guilt he felt moments ago was gone. She was gorgeous, smart, educated, came from a wealthy family and she loved him. At least, he thought she did.

     Mika drew closer. In an instant, she was in his arms, kissing him longingly, pressing her solid, firm body against his. As he held her, it became painfully clear to him that bringing this relationship to a close was not going to be easy.

     He went to the restroom and changed from his uniform to more casual attire, careful to avoid mirrors. The anxiety and guilt about what he was doing was making him feel like his head would explode. He had no interest in looking at himself, he was that ashamed. He fought with himself, trying to figure out why this affair was so much harder to get out of than the others. He could not come up with an answer. He just knew he felt like shit.

     When he came out, Mika was standing there, tall beautiful, hopeful as she took his arm and they headed for the flight to Cabo San Lucas.

***********************

      John and Mika settled into their business class seats, compliments of the airline they worked for. Stefan, the first-class flight attendant appeared, asking them if they would like something to drink. “I’ll have a gin and tonic,” John replied. “White wine, please,” said Mika.

     Stefan spun around, headed for the forward galley, returning moments later with two drinks. As he placed them carefully on the small table between John and Mika, he looked at Mika and said, whispering, “What a stud!” and smiled. She rolled her eyes. She wondered if Stefan knew John was married.

     Stefan returned to his duties. John and Mika smiled at each other for a moment as she slid the fingers of her right hand in between the fingers of his left, doing so with an ease that disarmed him completely. She leaned into him and kissed him. The guilt John felt on the drive to the airport was dissipating rapidly. As the alcohol started to take hold, John Simmons became more convinced than ever that he was, indeed, a complete and total asshole.

     Moments later, John noticed the Captain on this flight walking toward him. John quickly pulled his hand back to his lap, startling Mika with the move. She looked at him, wondering what the hell just happened.

     “Hey John,” Captain Scott Jones said, smiling.

     “Hi Scott,” John replied. Scott was one of the most well-respected captains on the airline and one of its best pilots.     

     “Hi, my name is Scott,” the captain offered his hand to Mika.

     “Hello, I’m Mika” she said, amazed at how easy this man was to like.

     “Welcome to the Airbus A-330, John,” Scott offered.

     “What do you think of my airplane?”

     John smiled, relieved to be past the point of introductions.

     “Scott,” John said, “she is a beauty, but I am a Boeing man, through and through.” 

     “I know,” said Scott. “You’ve been flying Boeing equipment for years, haven’t you?”

     “Yes, and I have no intention of moving to one of these flying laptop computers, my friend,” John said, smiling. John thought the word “yes” came out more like “yesh,” but he wasn’t sure. “Was the drink that strong?” he wondered. Mika sat quietly.

     Scott replied, “We will welcome you if you decide to come over to Airbus. I think you might like it, computers and all. I need to head back up front. Very nice to meet you, Mika. See you later, John.” Scott turned towards the flight deck, smiling, chatting with the business class passengers as he went.

     “John thought, “Airbus— not on your friggin life.”

     Mika turned to John. “I have a question for you,” she said.     

    “Shoot,” he responded.

     “I’m curious. If you had to, could you fly this airplane?” 

     “Of course, I could” he said with no small amount of bravado. “Hell, I can fly anything!”

     “Apparently, you can drink anything, as well,” Mika said, unhappily, as she turned to look out the window.

     A few moments later John was having second thoughts about how he’d answered that last question. “Could he actually fly this plane if he had too?” he wondered. He had never flown an Airbus before. “Airbus airplanes are notoriously difficult to fly and frankly, who gives a shit,” he thought. John took a long pull on his second drink left there moments ago by Stefan.

     “Yep, strictly a Boeing man”, he mumbled as he started to drift off. Mika nursed her white wine, looking out the window at mostly nothing, wondering about her choice in men.

*************************

After takeoff, the plane climbed quietly to its assigned altitude, the fasten seat belt sign had been turned off and the flight attendants were scurrying about, preparing to serve food to the passengers,

     “Have you two lovebirds decided which meals you would like?” Stefan asked, winking stupidly at Mika.

     “Seafood gumbo, please,” Mika asked, disgusted with Stefan.

     “Gumbo it is,” Stefan replied. “And you, sir?”

Stefan inquired.

     “I don’t think I’ll eat just now” John responded, half asleep, half drunk. The sensation in his stomach had returned, guilt and remorse once again gaining purchase. “Just another drink, please,” he requested, hoping that the alcohol would numb him to the point he no longer cared about anything. He closed his eyes.

****************

      “Ding,” the bell inside the cockpit sounded, alerting the pilots to a call from Stefan. Picking up the flight deck inter-phone the captain spoke.

     “Flight deck, Scott speaking.”

     “Would you gentleman like to eat?” Stefan inquired. The Captain took a quick look at his First Officer. Getting a nod to the affirmative, he responded,

     “Yes, we would love to eat.”

     “Unfortunately, seafood gumbo is all we have left but we do have some ice cream left over if you would like that for desert,” offered Stefan.

     “Two of everything you have, please. We both feel a ‘hungry front’ moving in,” the Captain said, trying to add a little “pilot humor,” to the conversation.

     “I will call you when it is ready,” Stefan said, dryly, not laughing.

     “Scott, isn’t there some rule that the two of us are not supposed to eat the same crew meal?” the first officer inquired.

     “There was back in the day, but I haven’t heard anything about that rule in some years,” Scott replied. “Besides, our only alternative is a day-old peanut butter and jelly sandwich sitting at the bottom of my flight bag.”

      “No thanks,” said the first officer, “I’ll take my chances with the gumbo.” Both pilots laughed and returned to their flying duties as they awaited the food that they knew would be coming soon.

      *************

      Mika did not appear to be drinking anything, but after a couple of Stefan’s powerful concoctions, John was beginning to forget that he had any misgivings about this trip at all. He thought, “I know this is wrong, but what the hell. I’m here, so why not enjoy myself.” Stefan walked by, John grabbed him and ordered another drink, his third. He turned to Mika, reaching for her hand.

     “John, I have another question for you,” Mika said as she turned to John, staring into two very blood shot eyes. “Are we OK?”

     “Why of course, (sounding like “of coursh”), we’re OK, honey. Why would you think otherwise, (otherwyshe)?” John asked. Half convinced, Mika sat quietly, thinking.

*************

     “Ding” sounded the cockpit bell announcing, once again that Stefan was trying to contact the pilots.

     “Are you gents ready to eat? Again, all we have left is seafood gumbo.”

     “You bet,” responded the captain. “Send it on up.” After all security precautions had been taken, the cockpit door swung open and the food was passed forward. Both the first officer and captain quickly turned their attention to the crew meal in front of them as Stefan closed the door. The food looked, smelled fantastic and both pilots were hungry.

      “How is the food?” John asked Mika as he finished his third strong drink.

      “It’s quite good, “she answered, looking over at him.

       “Are you alright?” she asked. Mika thought John looked older and more tired than any of the other times they had been together. He was drunk, as well. As she watched him down his third drink, she thought she really didn’t care if John was alright or not. Perhaps he was tired because she was pushing him so hard on this divorce thing. “Too bad,” she thought. She had set the trap with her body and looks and now she thought it was time to trigger it.

       Mika wanted this man. She wanted the security, the money and the prestige of being married to an airline captain. She wanted the big house and the nice cars and she knew exactly how much money a captain made. She didn’t really give a damn about the kid or the wife. “Hell, if she couldn’t hang on to her guy, that was her problem,” she figured. The one thing Mika was certain of was that she would spill her guts to any one that would listen if she did not get what she felt she deserved.

     She wasn’t angry with anyone. Not at all. She simply was going to do whatever it took to get the guy sitting next to her out of his marriage and onto the altar. As far as loving him went, truth be told, when she asked if he was all right, she didn’t really give a damn.

***************************

     “John.” she said. “John, wakeup. WAKE UP, GODDAMMIT!” Mika demanded with an unusual sense of urgency. John, sleeping, heard about half of the first request and all the second. Awake, but in a fog, he looked at the woman next to him, half expecting it to be his wife. It only took a moment or two before his head cleared enough to remember where he was and who he was with.     

    “What’s up?” he asked rubbing his eyes. He could see something was wrong.

    “John, I’m sick. My stomach. It hurts, terribly,” she said, slumping sideways and perspiring heavily.

     John grabbed the nearest flight attendant, asking her to bring Mika a glass of water. Cramped up into a fetal position now, Mika was beginning to convulse, groaning as she shivered beneath the blanket John had placed over her. John grabbed a napkin off his side tray, dipped it into some water in the glass on his tray and dabbed a little on the Mika’s forehead and cheeks.

     Mika pulled him closer, as if holding onto John would somehow ease the cramping in her stomach. She was getting worse by the minute. John was trying to shake off the effects of the alcohol, to clear his head. So far, it wasn’t working.

******************

     “Ding,” the inter phone in first-class went off. Stefan picked up the interphone, thinking it must be time to pick up the trays. “Yes sir,” he responded lazily. “Let me set up the security protocol for opening the flight deck door and I will be right up.”

     “Fuck the protocol, get in here now,” commanded the captain. Stefan, struck by the insistence of the captain, figured there must be something very wrong. He knew this captain to be a real stickler for security and he just said to ignore the security protocol. The flight deck door lock clicked loudly and the door popped open. Stefan entered.

     What he saw was terrifying. Both the captain and first officer were slumped over the trays in front of them. The first officer was not moving and the captain was convulsing, his face covered in vomit. The stench was almost unbearable as Stefan realized both men responsible for flying the aircraft were horribly ill. As he looked on, not at all sure what to do next, the captain raised his head, looked at Stefan with eyes that were half shut, and said in a raspy sounding whisper, “Get help.”

************************

     Mika was getting worse. John held her head in his hand as she heaved, vomiting and convulsing. He had a killer headache himself and was still feeling the effects of the three powerful drinks he had been served earlier in the flight. 

       “Where the hell is Stefan?” he thought as he looked around. John gazed around the first-class cabin. To the right of him there were passengers starting to complain about how they felt, some coughing, some vomiting and some slumped heavily in their seats. “The food!” John thought. “The goddamn gumbo!”

     Several flight attendants were in the first-class cabin now, attending to five or six very sick passengers. Mika had stopped vomiting and was laying very still. John felt her forehead. She was on fire. He needed to get a message to the captain to get this plane on the ground, now. He gently lifted Mika’s head, setting it back down on the seat, stopping for a moment to check her breathing. She was breathing in short, unintelligible breaths, like a dying horse in his last minutes.

      John decided to try to find out what in the hell happened to Stefan. He headed to the forward galley with every intention of getting a note to the flight deck. As he approached the galley he noticed that the cockpit door was wide open.

     “Man, that’s a bad sign,” he thought. What John saw next was far worse than just a “bad sign.”

     “Christ, Stefan, what happened?” John exclaimed as he entered the flight deck. Struck for a moment by the space age technology of the cockpit, John wondered how in the world this thing could fly. Jerked from his revelry, John was soon coughing as the smell from the cockpit overwhelmed him.

     Then he saw the pilots. Both were lying, heads back against their seats cocked to one side, eyes shut, looking as if they were sleeping. Stefan appeared frozen in place, sitting on the third observer’s seat, just behind the first officer, to the right of the flight deck door, staring forward. In the background, through the flight deck speakers, John could hear the familiar radio chatter of air traffic controllers guiding aircraft, each aircraft responding. He thought he heard a call using the flight number of the plane he was on, but he was not sure. As he looked around it became horrifyingly obvious that no one was flying the plane.

     “Stefan,” John requested, what the hell is going on here?” ”STEFAN, GODDAMIT!” John, said, shouting this time. “What happened?” 

     “They both ate the gumbo. This is my fault,” Stefan responded in a low muffled tone. A moment later Stefan began to cry, loudly, screaming that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone. John looked at him for a minute and realized two things. One, Stefan was useless as a flight attendant right now and two, something had to be done and it had to be done fast.

     “Get out of here, Stefan,” John demanded. “Get your ass to the back and go find Maria, the lead flight attendant in the coach section. You are no longer the Purser on this flight. Go help with Mika and the rest of the sick passengers. “Do you understand?” Stefan slowly stood up, nodded his head in understanding and left. John looked around and, while wishing he had never taken that third drink, started figuring out what to do next.

     A few moments later a voice came up from behind John who was starting to unbuckle the captain from his seat.

    “I’m Maria. All hell is breaking loose in back,” she said, frustrated that she had been taken from her duties

     “I’m John Simmons. Here is my company ID. I am a pilot, a captain. The two pilots that are supposed to be flying this aircraft are very, very ill. Can you help me?”

     “I’ll do what I can,” Maria responded.

     “Maria,” John answered without really thinking, “I am going to need that and a lot more from you.” He was getting worried. Very, worried.

     Turning from Maria while tugging on the captain’s seatbelt, John glanced at the instrument panel of the most confusing aircraft cockpit he had ever seen. From what little he knew, and it was very little concerning the A-330, he surmised that the aircraft was on autopilot.

      “Thank God for that,” he thought. 

       It took twenty minutes to remove the pilots from their seats. John could hear air traffic control center calling the flight number of the plane they were on, growing more impatient each time they called. He was busy and would have to get to them in a minute. The pilots were laid down on the floor of the galley and covered with blankets for warmth. Neither of them looked good. Both were passed out.

      John turned to go back into the cockpit. He realized that he was the only person on this aircraft with a remote chance of landing it safely. And he was, for all intents and purposes, still drunk.

     All that was bad enough, he figured, but as he sat down in the captain’s seat, fighting off the vomitus stench, he remembered why he was on this flight. He had lied to his wife and child and was on this three-day junket with a young flight attendant. If he lands the plane, his name will be page one news in no time. He knew that. It won’t take long before his wife puts it all together and his marriage is over.

     “God, my head is really beginning to hurt,” he thought. “Damn, Stefan must have really loaded those drinks.”

     Maria, the lead flight attendant rang the flight deck interphone bell. John picked up.     “John, Maria. Both pilots are resting, but they are in very bad shape. Mika is barely breathing and we have at least five other passengers in various stages of food poisoning. What do you want us to do?”

     As he fought his way through the fog of the three drinks he’d had, he realized he would have to deal with his marriage issues later. He had fucked up and he knew it. Right now, though, it was time to figure out how to fly this damned airplane and get it on the ground.

       “Maria, get me a cup of hot coffee and a lot of bottled water. Bring them both to the flight deck, ASAP. Put someone you can trust in charge of the back of the aircraft, not Stefan, but someone who will give us regular updates. I want you up here with me,” John ordered. Maria acknowledged his directives, feeling better that someone was taking charge.

     “Now” John thought to himself, “where is the yoke on this damned plane?”

*********************

The A-330

     Developed over a period of years, the Airbus A-330 is state of the art. With “fly by wire,” technology, its designers eliminated many functions of older aircraft, such as the Boeing planes John was used to flying, like the yoke, the mechanism that pilots have used for generations to steer the aircraft. In its place is a side stick, located on the left of the captain and to the right of the first officer. This side stick flies the aircraft with remarkably small inputs from the pilot.

     Another innovation was the power levers, the levers located on the center column that allow the pilot to decide just how much power is needed to apply during different phases of flight. These power levers are usually moved forward or backward depending on whether the pilot wishes to go faster or slower, climb or descend. In traditional aircraft, the power levers move on their own when hooked up to an auto throttle system. This gives the pilot visual information as to whether the plane requires power or not. The movement of the levers in flight is a comforting sign to pilots that all is well with the engines. In the A-330, the inflight, automatic movement of the levers has been eliminated. This takes some getting used to and, unfortunately removes one source if information that the pilot has always relied upon.

     Many a pilot studied hard to make the transition from the older aircraft to this new style of flying. Once the transition is made, most aviators love the new approach to aviation. But, it does take time to learn. A lot of time, and time was something John Simmons simply did not have.

                                                   ************************

     Sitting in the captain’s seat he was staring at the instrumentation and wondering what in the hell Airbus had in mind when they built this thing. He remembered his words to Scott, the captain. “I am a Boeing man, and proud of it.” That was about to change, whether he liked it or not.

      “Altitude is steady at flight level 350 or thirty-five thousand feet. Airspeed looks good at 240 knots. We are hooked up to the autopilot and auto throttle and the fuel looks good for now,” John gathered. He looked at each instrument, all located in different places than he was used to seeing. “The aircraft is fine for now” he thought.

     “So, where are we?” he asked himself. “Somewhere over Northern Arizona,” John surmised.

      The cockpit door opened. “John, are you ready for that coffee?” Maria asked. John turned his head quickly, startled out of his thoughts, reaching up to take the cup of coffee from the senior flight attendant.             

    “Grab a seat,” he said. “We have a lot of work to do. How are they doing in the back?”

     “Not good,” Maria replied as she slid into the first officers seat. John continued looking forward, familiarizing himself with the instruments, while listening to Maria give him an update. “Mika is barely breathing. We have her and the two pilots on oxygen. Six passengers are in a similar state, all taking oxygen. By the way, have you ever flown one of these airplanes?” Maria asked, concern on her face.

     Looking over the top of his cup of coffee while taking a sip, John glanced at Maria and said nothing.

    Time to call air traffic control center. “Center, this is Northwestern 225 on frequency 121.5, declaring an emergency. How do you read?” 121.5 is the frequency used by all aircraft to convey an emergency over the radio.

     “Northwestern 225, this is Phoenix Center. Go ahead,” a voice came over the radio. “Center, this is Northwestern 225. We have two pilots down and multiple passengers very ill with apparent food poisoning. We are going to need immediate vectors to a field with medical facilities.” John, stated, the stress in his voice, obvious. 

     “Northwestern 225, this is Phoenix Center. If both pilots are down, who is this talking?” the voice asked. “My name is John Simmons. I am a 767 captain for Northwestern Airlines and I suggest you get Northwestern operations on the line, ASAP. This aircraft is an A-330 and I am not familiar at all with how it flies.”

     “Roger, 225.” Standby, replied the controller.

     Maria got up to go see how the passengers were doing. Interrupting John, “John, you have got to do something. I don’t know how much longer these people can hold out.” She was panicking.

     “Goddammit, Maria, I don’t even know which button to push to get us started down,” John shouted. Maria was shaking. John knew he had just scared the hell out of her. He also knew, shouting at her would not get the plane safely on the ground.

     “I am sorry, Maria. You didn’t deserve that.” He needed to take a deep breath and slow down, and he knew it.

      He had to get the plane started down and now. “But what button to push first?” he asked himself. As he scanned across the panel he came across the autopilot button. John reasoned, “I will shut off the autopilot and fly the damned thing like a real airplane. John started to reach for the autopilot button. “Here goes nothing,” he said to himself.

     “Northwestern 225, this is Phoenix Center on 121.5.” John stopped just short of pushing the autopilot button and answered the call.

     “Go ahead Phoenix, this is 225.”

     “225, we have your company on the line. Northwestern operations, you have the line to 225,” the controller stated.

       “John, this is Luke Ristow, A-330 command instructor. My first command is this: do not touch anything, especially the autopilot button.” It was as if Captain Ristow knew exactly what John was thinking. Ristow continued, “If you push that button the side stick is very sensitive at FL330, thirty-three thousand feet. You could easily put your plane into uncontrolled flight. It does not fly like any other airplane you have flown. Repeat, it is not like any aircraft you have ever flown. Do not touch a thing unless I tell you to do so. Do you copy?”

     John, sat back in the seat, knowing he had nearly set up a situation where he would have had no idea to what to do next. He felt exhausted. “Copy,” John replied.

     A moment later, “John, Mika is gone,” Maria, standing at the flight deck door said, tears welling up in her eyes. “We lost her a few minutes ago.”

      “Oh, no, oh no,” John responded, dropping his head.

      He thought, “can things get any worse?” The answer to that question came to him in the form of a very sharp sounding horn. “Woo, woo, woo, woo.” John, alerted, heart pounding, started to panic.

     “What the hell is that sound?” he thought.

     John could tell they were no longer in level flight. He must have inadvertently shut off the autopilot. His eyes frantically searched the instrument panel to find out what their altitude was. Locating altimeter, he saw that the plane was descending and starting to roll to the left.

      “Shit!” he thought.

     The sound in the cockpit was deafening, “Woo, woo, woo.” He started looking for a way to reconnect the autopilot or hand fly the aircraft. John looked at the side stick on his left and decided it was time to try his hand at hand flying the plane. He grabbed the stick and noticed how it fit snugly into his grip. He pulled back and the plane jolted upward, speed bleeding of rapidly. In short order, stall warnings were going off resoundingly, and the stick-shaker, the stall protector for the aircraft, was vibrating wildly. John also noticed they were climbing at an alarming rate. He pushed forward on the stick. This time the altitude decreased while his airspeed increased, again at a rate that scared the hell out of him. He could not get the plane under control. John was feeling panic for the first time in his life.

     “Phoenix Center is Northwestern 225, is ops still on the line?” requested John, trying to sound calm. It seemed like hours since he had called them. It had been 6 minutes.

    “Northwestern 225 this Phoenix Center, they are still here. Go ahead. You are talking with operations now.” 

   “Listen ops, the autopilot has kicked off and I cannot get this thing under.” John stated, with emphasis. “I need help and I need it now!”

     “John, Ristow. Get your hands off the stick, now! John removed his hand.

      “Now look up, just below the glare shield. You will see a series of buttons. Starting from left to right I want you to look at them and tell me what you see.”

     “I see buttons for several things. Wait a minute. I think I may have it.” Jumping ahead, John set his eyes upon a button labeled “Autopilot 1”. “I think I have the right button, shall I push it now?” John asked, obviously in a hurry to get something on this A-330 under control.

   “No, do not push it yet, John.” What is your altitude?”

   “340, thirty-four thousand feet,” John responded, “we’ve gained a thousand feet.”

     “OK, look to the right of that button and you can see where you set your altitude. Set 34000 in that window.” John spun the small button so that 34000 was in the window. “Now,” Ristow directed, “I want you to go back to the autopilot 1 button and push it.”

     John looked once again to make certain he had the right button and pushed. There was a small “clunk” as the Autopilot took control of the aircraft. John, relieved, sat back in his seat to take a breath. Back on the radio.

     ‘Listen, Ristow, we have got to get this plane down, now. We’ve already lost one passenger and I know we are going to lose more.”

     “I understand John, and from now on I am Luke. Are you ready?”

     “It’s time, Luke,” John replied.

      Maria, not feeling well, standing at the cockpit door, had been listening to this conversation, knowing this man who had three powerful drinks and who had absolutely no idea how to fly this plane was the only reasonable chance they had of landing safely. She was petrified.

     “Maria,” John asked turning his head to face her, “I need for you to go into the back and make sure all passengers are in their seats and strapped in. I want them to be briefed on crash landing procedures as well. Then I want you back up here to assist me. Am I clear?” John asked. As Maria snapped back to the world, she responded.

     “I understand.”

     “Maria, you have less than 7 minutes to get this done.”

     John grabbed a sip of the coffee that had been sitting for almost an hour. It was cold and tasted as if a week had gone by since it was made. But, it was coffee and he needed a jolt.

     “Mika is gone, “he thought out loud. “Damn.” “Was this all my fault? No, it couldn’t be, could it?”

**************

     “John, this is Luke, do you read?”  the radio crackled.

     “I’m here, Luke,” John replied, feeling weary as the nightmare continued.

     “Let’s get that plane on the ground,” Luke said, ready to go to work.

      Luke began. “The first thing that I want you to remember as we start down is to keep this aircraft on the autopilot, always. The side stick is very sensitive and powerful inputs can spell disaster. Are we clear on that point?”

      Irritable from the booze, the coffee and the lousy situation he was in, John was in no mood to be patronized. “I got all of it, Luke. This is not my first rodeo!” he barked. “Now, what’s next?”

     Luke stood back a moment as he tried hard not to tell the ass on the other end of the mike to drop dead. “Deep breath,” he thought. “OK, I want you to change the altitude in the window to 20000, 20,000 feet. We are going to begin the descent.” As John reached up to change the altitude, he wondered how this was all going to end. At the very least his marriage was over. “Stay focused,” he thought.

     “20000 is in the window, Luke” he said.

     “Alright John, now push on that same button. You will go into a slow, controlled descent. Now, look directly in front of you. That is your attitude instrument as well as altitude and airspeed information. You can see all of the information you need to fly the airplane directly in front of you, not unlike the Boeing aircraft,” Luke offered.

     John pushed the altitude button and the power came back smoothly.

     The altimeter began to show the results of his actions. 33000, 32000, 31000, continuing past 27000 feet as the descent continued.

     “Now we must get you pointed towards an airport,” Luke piped in over the radio. He continued, “Look up at the Mode Control Panel to the heading button. Come right to a heading of 300 degrees.” Again, John reached for what he thought was the correct button. As he did this the plane abruptly stopped its descent and started to climb. It had descended to 26,500 feet and was, for some inexplicable reason, starting back up. John felt panic set in as the plane looked as if it had its own agenda.

      “Luke, this thing is really getting weird. I put in the heading and it started to an immediate climb.” What the hell is going on?” As he finished asking the question the plane leveled off at flight level 300, again smoothly reducing power to hold the speed.

     “John, what is your flight level?” No answer. “John, goddammit, what is your flight level?” Luke yelled.

     “Three zero zero”, John responded.

     “Jesus Christ, John, you put the heading into the flight level widow!” Luke admonished. “Slow down, John or you’ll kill yourself and everyone on board that aircraft. From now on you listen to me and do exactly as I say. Is that clear?” Humbled by Luke and an aircraft he simply did not understand, John responded quietly, “All right, Luke. I’m all ears.”

     As Luke continued his instructions, John felt he could easily close his eyes and sleep for days. The booze was wearing off, his headache was in full thrall and fatigue was gaining purchase.

     “Damn, I am tired,” he thought. A “ding,” drew John’s attention to the interphone. He picked the phone handle on the back end of the center console and responded.

      “This is John”.

     “John, I need to talk with you.” It was Maria.

     “Come into the cockpit, Maria,” John ordered. As she entered, John turned to face the flight attendant and what he saw shocked him. Maria was on the verge of collapse. There was fear in her eyes and she was propping herself up in the entrance, holding on tight to both sides of the flight deck door as if letting go would assure her complete collapse.

     “John, the captain just died. The first officer is in what looks like a coma and there are others, twelve to be exact. They are getting sicker by the moment. We have got to get this plane on the ground, now!”

     “Christ” he thought, “now, I have to calm her down.” She looked terrible. John didn’t tell her. “Maria, look at me. Everyone on this plane is depending on you and me to get them down safely. “We’ve started down,” John continued. “Get back and get everyone as comfortable as you can.” “Christ, my head hurts” he thought. “And Maria, forget about coming up here to help.”

******************

     “Luke, are you there?” John queried over the radio.

     “I’m here John.” Luke responded. “Listen,” said John, “we have got to speed this descent up. The captain is dead and there are at least 12 more that are going fast.”

     “OK, John. Go to the altitude window and dial in 24000. Now pay attention because you can easily dial in 2400. Go ahead.” Luke said patiently.  

    John looked at the Mode Control Panel of the A-330 and found the window indicating altitude. Dialing in 24000 he pulled his hand away, anxious that he might make another mistake.

     “Is that done, John?” Luke asked.

     “It’s in there,” John responded. God, I hope it is in the right place.

     “John, look at the glass instrument window directly ahead of you. Pay attention to the words and numbers in the upper right side of the window. Do they say AP 1 and AT 1+2?” Luke asked. John took a close look at the window and saw that the required information was displayed correctly.

      “It’s there, Luke.” he answered. “Now what?”

     “Go back to the altitude window, grab hold of the button that you used to put in the numbers and pull. The aircraft will start a more rapid descent almost immediately.” Luke advised. Luke was trying to speed up the descent.

      His head pounding from the hangover, John reached for the button and pulled. The A-330 started its descent. It was coming down swiftly now. Relieved that something, anything was happening that would get him closer to ending this horrid nightmare, John sat back to watch the large glass screen in front of him. As the altitude indicator showed a descent, John studied other parts of the window to see what information was there.

     “OK, there is speed, altitude, direction and all of the selectable modes for moving the aircraft laterally and vertically. He was beginning to feel a little more comfortable with this strange aircraft when the interphone any again.

********************

     “John, this is Stefan. Maria has passed out. I am the only one left in the front of the aircraft. There are three flight attendants working the rest of the folks in back.” Stefan’s voice was cracking as he tried to explain what was happening in the back of the plane. “What do I do?” he cried. “What do I do?”

     This was all John needed at this point. Several people dead already, descending in an aircraft he has no experience in or knowledge of and now the only person who had a reasonable chance of managing the disaster in the back of the plane was sick and, to top it off, he was left with a flight attendant in a state of panic.

     “What next?” he thought. “Standby, Stefan. Stay on the interphone,” John directed.

     The radio barked. “John, this is Luke. We have got to get some information inserted into the computer so that you can land that airplane.” “Are you ready to copy?” Luke asked. John could hear the strain in his voice. The situation was getting worse by the minute.

     “Standby one, Luke” John said. John put the mike down, then put the inter phone to his mouth. “Stefan, are you still there?” he asked.

     “I’m here” he answered. His voice weaker than before, as if he had been crying in the moments since they last spoke.

      “Now listen to me, Stefan” John stated, “you get your shit together and get back to those people and do your goddamn job. They are counting on you and you will take care of them. Is that clear?” John ordered.

     “Yes, John. I understand. You don’t have to be such a prick about it.” Stefan responded.

     “Back to Luke,” John thought.

     “Luke, let’s get to it. Tell me how and what to put into the computer. We are running out of time.” John said. As Luke explained to John how to insert information into the flight computers, John typed as fast and as accurately as he possibly could.

     “Now hit the insert button and that part is done.” Luke stated.

     John’s head was really pounding now and fatigue was playing a bigger role by the minute. He took a large pull on the water bottle.

    “Luke, I think I have about 20 more minutes in me so let’s take our best shot,”

    “Roger that, John.”

    Leveling at 24000 feet came easy for the big airplane as the autopilot worked perfectly.

     “John,” Luke directed, “reach over to the heading bug and spin it to a heading of 180 degrees. I’m going to bring you in on a very long final approach for landing. Set 5000 feet in the altitude window and pull the knob out again. Be sure not to mix up the two switches. Now we are going to talk about the stick on your left.”

     John was exhausted as he made the needed entries. He then stared down at the joy stick on his left. It seemed easy enough to work with but he decided to wait until Luke explained it to him. He took a moment to stretch his neck and back. He thought of his wife and daughter and what they must be thinking. Undoubtedly, the story of this flight was making headline news worldwide. He could only imagine what his wife was thinking, knowing this was not the flight he was supposed to be on.

     “Ding” the interphone chimed. John picked up. “John,” was all he said.

     “This is Stefan. John, this is getting bad. The aisles are full of passengers needing to lie down with cramps. The first officer’s breathing is getting shallower by the minute and Maria appears to be getting worse as well.” There was strength in Stefan’s voice that had not been there before and John appreciated it.

     “Get people strapped in as best you can, Stefan. We should be down in the next 20 minutes.” John said. “Treat this as a “Red” emergency.” Spelling out the color coding of the emergency told all the flight attendants what to do after landing. John hung up.

     “God,” John thought, “I could really use some help on this one.” He was not a praying man, but if there was ever a time…

*******************

     “John, I am going to put you on a heading to intercept the localizer radio beam from the runway,” Luke asked. “Things are going to be really busy for the next few minutes. Look up at the panel with the altitude window, on the left of that panel you will see a speed window. Dial in a speed of 220 knots and pull the knob.” Luke stated. John did this and immediately felt the aircraft start to slow.

     “Now set the altitude in the window at two thousand five hundred feet and pull. Look up at the same panel to see the word “LOC”. Push that button. Are you getting this? John” Luke asked.

     John hadn’t responded for a few minutes, making Luke nervous. Almost to the point of exhaustion, John hoped to hell he was pulling and pushing the right knobs. He didn’t know it, but he had missed the LOC button.

     “So far so good” he thought.

      “I’m level at twenty-five hundred feet, Luke. Is it time to start throwing out some flaps,” John asked, knowing he was getting close to the airport.

     Luke responded, “Grab the flap handle and move it to the first detent then reach up and set your speed at 190 knots. Now move the flap handle to the next detent and move the speed button back to 180 knots,” Luke instructed. “Now reach over and lower the gear. I am going to give you a very long final,” Luke said. John knew just what he meant and was thankful that Luke understood that he would need as much room as possible to set up for final approach.

     “Ding” the interphone chimed. “Damn, Stefan, what do you want?” John yelled into the handset. “John, Maria is dead. So is the first officer. I just thought you would want to know,” Stefan responded, quietly. “Goddammit,” John thought. “OK, Stefan, thanks.” Shit was happening way too fast and John felt himself getting further behind the aircraft as it barreled towards the airport.

     “John, are you there?” asked Luke.

     “I am here,’ John answered, with little energy remaining. “I need you to be on your toes. This next part is not easy. I want you to lower the flaps all the way to the bottom detent and push the speed button, the one with 180 in the window.” “Is the gear down and locked?” he asked. Look to your right to see the gear indicators”, Luke commanded.  

     “Shit,” John thought, “I forgot to drop the gear. He reached over and grabbed the small handle with a wheel on the end of it and shoved it down. After a minute or so he answered Luke. “Gear is down and locked. “I am showing us twelve miles from the field, Luke. I just noticed that the glideslope indicator for the runway guidance is at the bottom of the picture. Is that normal?”

     “Dammit,” Luke replied. “John, did you push the LOC button?” Luke asked, desperation in his voice. “No. I didn’t,” John shouted. “Fucking A-330!” he thought. Tell me what you want me to do. I look very high on this approach and I don’t have the strength to go around.”

     Luke knew that John was in trouble. There were no options left. He had to gamble on John’s years of flying experience to get the plane safely on the ground.

     Luke also knew that the A-330 was notorious for being difficult to fly with the autopilot and auto throttles turned off. It didn’t matter anymore. Luke got back on the radio.

      “OK, John, it’s time to see just how good you are at stick and rudder flying,” Luke said. “I want you to listen to me very carefully.” “First, reach up on the glare shield. Locate the button that says, “FD” on it. You have got to move on this, John. Get it done,” Luke said, nearly shouting into the phone.

     “FD? FD?,” said John, looking. “There it is. Do I push it?” asked John.

     “Yes, yes, push the damn button, John.” Luke responded. “Now locate the copilots FD button and push it as well.” said Luke.

     “Done,” said John. Now reach over to the side stick on your left and see the red button. I want you to push that button and hold it for just a moment. The autopilot will kick off. You will soon be flying the plane. Do it now.” demanded Luke.  

    John looked down at the at the stick at his left and put his hand carefully around the grip. He pushed the red button and felt himself gain control of the aircraft. Suddenly the plane started to climb. Instinctively, John pushed the nose over. The plane responded by going nose down too much and John responded, again with stick inputs, pulling back too far, then pushing forward, again, too much.

   “Jesus, Luke, I am in an oscillation here. The plane is all over the place and getting worse. What the hell is wrong with this thing?” yelled John into the mike headset.

     “Christ,” thought Luke, “he is honking the nose around as if he were flying a Cessna. John, you have to settle down.”

      “Settle down?” answered John. “This thing is gaining and losing a thousand feet at each input. Tell me how to stop this. I am 8 miles from the runway. I can see it.” John said, desperation starting to take over.

     “John, listen. Put your left elbow firmly down on the armrest, stiffen your arm and relax your grip. Breathe. The plane will settle down,” added Luke. John did as he was told and the aircraft settled into a slight and controllable descent towards the runway, nothing like a moment ago, but still oscillating a little.

     John, over the radio. “Luke, I have had enough of this computer crap.” Both pilots understood that John had to take control of the aircraft, side stick or no side stick. Luke responded,

      “Push the button on the left side of the power levers.”

     Taking control of the throttles and the stick felt good to John. The plane was responding as if it were a fighter, the plane he flew in the Navy. “Luke, I am going to hand fly it in. No more talk.”

    “Fly the plane the way you believe you should fly it, John. Trust your instincts. You are cleared to land. Good luck.” Luke said, knowing that he had done all he could.

      John Simmons, father, husband, pilot, knew that his skill as a pilot was the only thing between life and a calamitous death for over two hundred people.

     “Jesus, here we go,” thought John. The runway is in sight, I have the aircraft somewhat under control. I am close. Now for the landing.”

********************

     As he pulled the power levers back John noticed the airspeed dropping off. “Power levers forward, just a little,” he thought, talking to himself. “Not too much.” The aircraft was very sensitive to pilot inputs, as John had learned, so he tensed his body to keep the inputs small. As he looked at the runway ahead of him, about one thousand feet below, John realized he had to do something quickly or he was not going to make it onto the runway and still be able to stop.

     “Screw this,” John thought, “I want to live. I want to see my wife and kid again.” He prayed. Not being particularly religious, John, paid momentary, simple homage to “The Man Upstairs.” “Lord, just give me this one. I do not want to die and these people deserve to live. One break, God. Just one little break.”

     John was in trouble and he knew it. The first thousand feet on runway were behind him and he could not get the damn plane down.

     “Here we go,” he thought. John pushed the nose of the A-330 over. The nose wheel struck the runway surface first and bounced. Back into the air the plane went as John struggled to get it to respond to his commands. Again, he pushed the nose over but this time, just before he touched down, he pulled back on the stick. The rear wheels rolled onto the runway.

      “Three thousand feet remaining,” said the runway distance signs.  

    The end of the runway was coming up fast. John pushed again on the stick, lowering the nose of the plane. This time it came down with a thunderous crash and stayed. John’s experience took over as he reached for the thrust reversers/power levers and pulled back on them mightily. As the thrust reversers came into play, helping to stop the plane, there was a deafening roar, the aircraft straining to a stop, shaking violently.

     “Brakes, goddamit John, brakes,” John yelled to himself, almost too late. He placed his feet on both brake pedals and pushed as hard as he could.

     “100 knots, 90, 80”, the ground speed indicator window showed the plane slowing.

     “2000 feet, then 1000 feet of runway remaining,” John thought. He pushed harder on the brakes, knowing a brake fire may result from the heat generated by the brake pads on each wheel. None of that mattered now. “70 knots, 60, 50, 40”, the speed slowed. The aircraft stopped. As John looked out of the cockpit window he could see that he had about 50 feet of runway remaining.

     John sat still in the captain’s seat for a moment, trying hard to come to terms with what had just happened. He made it. His plane made it. They were down. As he looked to his right he found the parking brake handle and set it, then reached for what he figured to be the engine on/off switches, shutting the engines down.

     He was shaken from his revelry with the sound of the aircraft door opening. John had barely noticed that there were numerous ambulances and fire trucks surrounding the plane. He unbuckled his seatbelt and turned to leave the flight deck. One last look at the plane that had performed so well for him. “Crazy ass French contraption,” he thought, smiling as he opened the door to leave. He headed back to see what he could do to help.

*******************

     John Simmons was a hero. Although five people had died, including the captain, first officer, Maria and, of course Mika, he had saved the majority of the folks on the plane.

     The accolades were short lived, though. It did not take the press long before they put together the fact that John was traveling on a free employee pass with Mika Corbin, the flight attendant who died, and that he was married and had a child. The shine soon wore off John’s heroics as the press relentlessly asked questions of John, his wife, Mika’s family and anyone else who could add to the scandal.

********************

      “Why?” Sue asked as John and his wife sat in the dining room, a bottle of wine opened, two glasses pored, not touched. “I don’t know. I was such a fool,” John responded, quietly, his head down. “Please be gone by morning,” his wife said, almost in a whisper as she got up to leave the room. There were no tears in her eyes. John rose from his chair and walked upstairs to collect his things.

Six months later.

    

     John Simmons was back to flying. He was living in a cabin in the mountains that was owned by his brother. It was quiet and he was alone. Each day he looked in the mirror wondering how he could have hurt the ones he loved so much. And Mika, poor Mika. Was it his fault she was dead? He wouldn’t let himself believe that. Mika and the affair had become something of an after-thought at that point. He missed his daughter. He missed his wife. He missed his life.

     John was going to fly his next trip and was preparing to leave his mountain hideaway. Packing his things, he realized he needed something from his car. As he walked out of the house, he heard a voice he had not heard in some time. It was his wife.

     “Hi,” she said. John stopped where he was, looked at his beautiful wife and said the only thing that came to mind,

      “Hi.”

     “Can we talk?” she asked.

     “Sure, he said, not certain at all of what was going on.

     As they entered the house and sat down, she on the couch, he in a chair, she started talking.

      “I don’t care anymore about why you did what you did. I want our family to be together again. I have to know, can you do this, can you be true to just us?” she asked, not an ounce of compromise in her voice. “You cannot ever lie to me or nor to our child again, is that clear?” she asked, not asking. “Can you show that kind of strength?”

       “I didn’t care about her, Sue, I really…”

       “Stop. I don’t want to hear it. What’s done is done,” Sue said, abruptly.

     John Simmons looked at his wife, a tear filling his eye. It was a quiet, slow moving tear that spoke to his overwhelming love for this woman and his regret for having hurt her the way that he did.

     “Never again” he said.

     “Good” she said. “Now, can we go home?”

     “You bet we can,” John Simmons replied. He was the happiest he had been in months. “Thank you, God” John said to himself. “Thank you so very much.

      As John and is wife finished loading his Ford pickup, he noticed a figure to his right, behind the wall of the small cabin he had been living in for the last six months.

     “Is there someone there?” John asked. Just then a small, thin man holding a very big rifle came out from behind the building. He seemed slight in build but there was a determination in his eyes that bordered on madness.

     “Can I help you?” John queried.

     “I have come to kill you, John Simmons,” the man said, not an ounce of emotion in his voice.

     “I’m Michael Corbin,” the man said. “Recognize the name?” he asked.

     “Mika”, John thought, looking over at his wife. Her dad. “Sir, I am so sorry for what happened to your daughter.”

      “You killed her, you bastard.” He leveled the gun at John. “You killed my daughter, just as if you had held a gun to her head.” “Admit it. DO IT!” Mika’s dad yelled.

     Sue, was slowly backing away from both men. “Maybe he deserves this,” she thought. “Odd, I would think that,” she wondered as she took more backward steps. “I wonder if I’m making a mistake letting him back into our lives.” She watched.

      John looked quickly over at Sue, then Mika’s father, back to Sue then back to Mika’s dad, panicking, not knowing if this man was going to kill him in the next few minutes or not.

     Falling to his knees, he pleaded “Yes sir, I killed her. It was my fault. She should have never been on that flight. It’s my fault and I am so sorry. Please, don’t shoot me.” At that point, John, sobbing, did something he did so very well. He lied. “I loved her, I truly did,” he said.

     Mika’s dad held the gun on John for a long moment, pointing it directly at his head. Then he lifted the gun, pointed it to the sky and fired it three times in rapid succession, the sound of the shots echoing off the trees that surrounded the cabin.

     “Now, you miserable son-of-a-bitch, you live with it. Just like I have to.”

      Mika’s dad took a quick glance towards Sue. Their eyes met for a moment, then he turned slowly and was soon out of sight.

     Sue looked in shock at her husband, on his knees, sobbing, not believing what she had just heard.

     She walked quietly to her car, unlocked the door and got in.

     A moment later, she was gone.