Chapter 6 - System Failure and the Frozen Horizon
“McChord Tower, Northstar 417 Heavy, established on the localizer, seven miles out,” Mara transmitted.
“Northstar 417 Heavy, McChord Tower. You are cleared to land Runway 16. Wind is three-zero-zero at eighteen, gusting thirty-two. Extreme turbulence reported below eight hundred feet. The entire field is cleared for you. Fire and rescue crews are positioned on taxiways Alpha and Bravo.”
“Copy cleared to land,” Mara said. She looked over at Evan. “Emergency gear extension. Pull the manual release handle.”
Evan reached down with his left hand, grasping the red T-handle on the lower console. With a grunt of agonizing effort that made him scream aloud, he pulled the handle straight up until it clicked into the detent.
Deep within the belly of the airliner, heavy mechanical latches snapped open. Gravity and the roaring slipstream dragged the massive landing gear assemblies downward. Three massive thuds shook the airframe, followed by three solid green lights illuminating on the instrument panel.
Three green. Gear down and locked.
“Gear is down,” Evan panted, tears of pain tracking through the grime on his face. “Speed is one-eighty-five knots. We are coming in way too fast, Mara!”
“I’m pulling back number two throttle to idle,” Mara commanded. “Cut fuel flow to engine two. Shut her down.”
Evan hesitated for half a heartbeat, then his trembling left hand reached up and flipped the red fuel cutoff switch for the right engine.
The right engine’s deep hum died away, replaced by the rising howl of the wind rushing over the wings. Immediately, the aircraft yawed hard to the right. Mara’s left foot kicked the rudder pedal with crushing force, catching the drift before the nose could wander off the runway centerline.
“Airspeed one-eighty,” Evan called out, his voice cracking. “Glide slope is one dot low. Pull up! You’re getting low on the approach path!”
“I’m staying low under the windshear layer,” Mara said, her eyes locked onto the glowing crosshairs of the flight director. “If I stay high, the crosswind gusts will flip this brick onto its back. We come in flat, we flare late, and we plant the rubber firmly on the asphalt.”
May you like
Rain poured over the forward glass in blinding sheets. The windshield wipers beat frantically back and forth, barely clearing enough space to see the dark void ahead.
Then, out of the blackness, the ground rushed up to meet them.
