Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Machine
We were passing through twenty thousand feet when the first engine sputtered.
The sound was like a giant coughing,
a violent vibration that shook the floorboards and sent a fresh wave of panic through the cabin.
"Flame out,"
Malachi shouted,
his hands flying across the fuel control panel.
"Engine number two is down!"
"Grace,"
"tell the passengers to brace!"
I grabbed the intercom,
my voice trembling as I delivered the most terrifying instruction of my career.
"Ladies and gentlemen,"
"please assume the brace position."
"Head down,"
"hands over your head."
"We are experiencing an engine issue,"
"but we have everything under control."
It was a lie,
and everyone knew it.
In the cockpit,
the red light for engine fire began to blink.
"Vance,"
"we have a fire in the right engine!"
Malachi cried out,
his voice rising in pitch for the first time.
"I’m pulling the fire handle!"
"Wait!"
Vance’s voice boomed over the radio.
"Check your hydraulic pressure first!"
"If the fire handle cuts the lines,"
"you won't have landing gear!"
Malachi hesitated,
his hand hovering over the T-shaped handle.
He looked at the gauge,
the needle bouncing in the yellow zone.
"The pressure is falling anyway,"
he said,
his eyes narrowing.
"If I don't put out the fire,"
"the wing will melt."
"I’m pulling it."
He yanked the handle,
and the vibration stopped,
replaced by a terrifying silence on the right side of the aircraft.
The plane began to yaw,
pulling violently to the right as the left engine worked overtime.
"Step on the left rudder!"
Gerald shouted,
remembering something he’d seen in a movie.
Malachi was already doing it,
straining his leg to keep the nose straight.
"Grace,"
"I need you to stay in here,"
"I need you to read the checklist."
"The emergency manual is in the side pocket."
"Find 'One Engine Inoperative Landing'."
I grabbed the heavy book,
the pages fluttering as I searched with numb fingers.
"Found it!"
I shouted over the wind noise.
"Step one,"
"increase thrust on remaining engine."
"Check,"
Malachi said.
"Step two,"
"set flaps to fifteen."
"Check."
"Step three,"
"arm the speed brakes."
"The sensor is dead,"
Malachi said,
sweat dripping off his chin and onto his blazer.
"I’ll have to do it manually upon touchdown."
Suddenly,
the lights in the cockpit flickered and died,
leaving only the dim glow of the standby instruments.
"We lost the main bus,"
Malachi whispered.
"I’m flying on battery power now."
"Vance,"
"do you still have me?"
"I’ve got you,
Malachi,"
the radio crackled,
the signal weakening.
"You’re thirty miles from the coast."
"The storm is right on top of the airport."
"Visibility is less than half a mile."
"You’re going to have to fly the ILS needles."
"Do you remember what your father told you about the needles?"
Malachi closed his eyes for a split second,
a small smile touching his lips.
"Center the cross,"
"and you’re home."
"He said the needles are like a compass pointing to your heart."
I looked at the boy,
and for a moment,
I didn't see a child.
I saw the silhouette of Captain Brooks,
his steady hand guiding us through the dark.
The chemical smell was fading,
May you like
replaced by the scent of ozone and rain as we entered the thick,
grey clouds of the English Channel.
