Copyright 2020, Ken Pimentel
I thought I'd share the first few scenes on the 777:Part One: New World
Chapter One
A stutter of light pierces the cabin, fracturing the composure of all 260 passengers onboard American Airlines Flight 67 bound for San Juan, Puerto Rico. For an instant, reality is jagged and discontinuous, like an old film played back at the wrong frame rate.
Then it’s gone. The seamless flow of time reasserts itself. Conversations resume amidst puzzled looks. But nothing will be the same.
On the flight deck, Sam Wells sits wide-eyed and blinking, trying to clear fragmented after-images. A buzzer startles him. The Flight Management Computer (FMC) displays “GPS Data Lost”. A half-second later, the autopilot disconnects. Reflexively, he hooks it back up.
Worried it was a lightning strike from the storm they thought they left behind, he scans the myriad dials and displays for other surprises. In all his years flying 777s he’s never seen the GPS fail. Still, losing it is an inconvenience - they can safely navigate with the plane’s inertial guidance system.
Glancing at the radar display, he frowns. A look out the flight deck window confirms the radar. He presses the PA button, “First Officer Kang, please return to the flight deck.” He wants someone to validate what he’s seeing – and his sanity.
#
When the flicker of light and disorientation hits, Linda Kang is standing in front of the first class lavatory mirror washing her hands. Feeling faint, she steadies herself. “What was that?”
Sam’s announcement surprises her. Touching the brim of her American Airlines cap, she lowers it a fraction. Her long, glossy-black hair, neatly curled in a bun, is secured by her cap, but strands escape to frame her oval face. She frowns, her mirror-twin sharing her concern. Pulling open the door, she heads back to the flight deck.
Moving forwards, she nods to Nicky Gonzalez, the senior flight attendant, who removes the protective barricade that blocks other passengers from using the lavatory. Ever since 9/11, a pilot can only leave the flight deck to use the bathroom – and even then, the door has to be protected from entry by a barricade.
Before she passes into the flight deck, Nicky hands Linda a cup of black coffee from Sam’s special stock. Without continual refreshes, he gets a little cranky.
Nicky asks, “Did you see that flash? Did we get hit by lightning? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Linda can see Nicky’s concern. Given her 33 years with American, triple Linda’s, she’s had opportunity to pretty much see everything. Nicky’s known as “Mom” to the crew because of her indefatigable efforts to monitor their well being and enforce sleep schedules. Having lost her own mother as a teenager, Linda accepts the substitute.
“I don’t know what it was, but Sam will. I wouldn’t worry, I’m sure we’re OK.” Holding Sam’s coffee, Linda steps into the flight deck and locks the door behind her.
As she squeezes into her seat and hands Sam his coffee, he nods towards the flight deck window and asks in his Texas drawl, “Notice anything missing?”
“What am I looking for?” She searches the skies.
He’s silent.
“Where’s the storm? Are we still flying southeast?” She glances at the instruments and answers her own question, “Guess so. OK, what’s going on?”
He shrugs. “Damned if I know. First, there was a flash, then the GPS stopped working. After that, the radar wasn’t showing the storm, so I looked outside. The storm’s just gone. I know that makes me sound nuttier than a pecan pie. Decided I wanted a second opinion.”
Linda scans the skies again, wondering how a massive storm could evaporate so quickly. She shakes her head. “Any other problems?”
“Other than GPS, everything seems fine. Maybe it was lightning, so might see other issues. Why don’t you check with Bermuda Air Traffic Control? They’re closest to us, maybe they know something.”
She keys in the frequency. “Bermuda, this is American 6-7, over?” She waits a moment and then repeats herself. Sibilant static fills the flight deck.
Sam verifies her frequency and radio settings, “That’s odd. Didn’t we just talk to them fifteen minutes ago? Try some other ATCs.”
She looks up frequencies and repeats the process - nothing but static. “Maybe the transmitter’s broken?”
“Seems unlikely.” Sam visualizes all the communication systems carried on the 777. “Since the satellite phone won’t work without GPS, try sending a message using the data link to let Bermuda ATC know our situation.”
“Sure, just a sec…” She turns to the data link display, types her message and presses, “send”. When nothing happens, she studies the display and notices an error code. She looks up the code. “Odd, it says we’re not in range of a satellite. I thought this worked world-wide?”
“We lost the data link too? Let me try. Christ, can’t believe this …” he trails off, playing with the gear. The data link stubbornly insists there aren’t any satellites. “Let’s check all the VHF radios. Maybe we can’t transmit, but we should hear someone. Also try the programmed channels, maybe there’s a HAM operator out there.”
As Linda reaches for the VHF panel, Sam asks, “By the way, did you try Long Distance Operations Control?”
She nods, checking the frequencies, listening for any man-made sound. Within minutes, she turns to him and shakes her head.
“How is it all the VHF radios aren’t working? That’s going to make the landing a lot more complicated.” Remembering procedures he adds, “Squawk 7600 to let everyone know we’ve got comm issues.”
Reaching down to the transponder control panel on the pedestal next to her she sends the 7600 code. Now, anyone receiving their transponder signal will know their communications have failed. Both pilots and traffic controllers have detailed processes to follow in such cases.
Sipping his coffee, Sam summarizes their situation, “OK, we’re two hours out of Newark. In a couple hours we’ll land at San Juan and an aircraft technician can figure out what’s wrong. We’re not the first to get hit by lightning and we won’t be the last.”
Linda takes her cues from Sam. With twenty-five years’ experience, he’s well known and liked within the tight community working the San Juan route. If he isn’t panicking, there isn’t any reason for her. Still, there’s no telling what other problems are lurking to disrupt the complicated process of landing the big plane.
Realizing there isn’t much more he can do for the next hour, Sam reaches up and stretches his six-foot-three frame. There’s barely room for the effort in the cramped cockpit. Patting his rounded belly he says to Linda, “I blame you! You’d better stop bringing jelly doughnuts or I’m gonna spread out like a cold supper.” At seventeen, Sam had been a 250-pound linebacker at Texas A&M, but now at 52, he’s long since lost all his hair and most of his conditioning – the weight, well, he’d kept that.
Linda smiles, focusing on the view out the window. She enjoys flying with Sam, he reminds her of her dad in a way. She adjusts her seat higher – she’s only a little over five feet tall and always has trouble getting the seat the way she likes it. She wishes she could adjust her rounded shape as easily. After trying every imaginable diet, she’s decided she’ll have to wait for the right guy, one who can love a chunky Korean princess. It’s been a long wait so far.
After another fruitless test of the radios, Linda asks, “Hey, how’s Kathy doing?”
Years ago, when Sam started the San Juan route, it led to a chance meeting in Newark with a slender, dark-haired woman waiting for coffee. When Kathy accidentally dropped her portfolio of architecture designs, he naturally helped pick them up. That chance meeting turned into a march down the aisle and eventually a daughter, Kristen.
It had all been so perfect for so long, but when Kathy contracted Lyme disease, things started unraveling. Now he and Kristen deal with the complications on a daily basis – when he’s home.
“She’s having another flare-up, I tried to find someone else to fly for me, but you know how it is on short notice. Luckily, I’ll be back tomorrow and have a few days off.”
“Are you going to take the early retirement offer?”
“The girls want me to, but here I am – flying again. Kathy used to manage all the finance and household crap. But now it’s too much for her and I guess I need to step up. Kristen’s pretty upset, there were tears when I left. Might be asking too much from her, she’s only just turned eighteen. But they don’t understand, flying’s all I ever wanted to do.”
Linda shares the same compulsion; she can’t imagine not ever flying again. “Your doctor prescribes a margarita, let’s grab one at the hotel. I know I’m going to need one - this might even be a two-margarita flight.”
On cue, the plane shakes hard for an instant before continuing peacefully.