Read Online A Voice In The Night by Brian Matthews - Free Book Online
Authors: Brian Matthews
Tags: Fiction
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automatic reply to Kansas City control. “Eastern 106 descending to two five zero at 315.” An instant later, they hit something with a violent shaking of the aircraft and bounced up 1000 feet in an instant. Every passenger snapped awake. Two stewardesses sprawled in the aisle. Papers, briefcases and flight bags were everywhere.
“Kansas City control. This is Eastern 106. We just ran into a thermal layer or something at about 27,000 that rocked us very hard. Do you have any other reports?”
“Allegheny 315. We’re about 20 miles behind you at 26,000 and there’s huge turbulence that’s slamming us all over the place. Kansas City, request a return to 32,000 to clear this stuff.”
“Allegheny 315 and Eastern 106, return quickly to 32,000.” Flowers was an 18 year veteran on the transcontinental run, with four years of carrier landings in the South Pacific before that. But this was something outside his experience.
Jim McGowan punctured the silence. “That didn’t feel like any thermal. Felt more like a mountainside or we nosed down into a runway.” The co-pilot was a gifted, instinctive flier. A ’60s version of Lindberg, he wore a plane like a second skin, felt everything, and adjusted without conscious processing. After only four years with Eastern, he was already respected by the senior pilots, and especially by the mechanics for his ear for engines. He could point out a failure well before it happened. They knew to do a tear-down if McGowan said something sounded wrong.
“Yeah. But I don’t know what we ran into back there and I didn’t want to get too dramatic on the radio.”
“Well, we’ve gotta start descending again pretty soon or the folks in the back are gonna have to settle for someplace other than Chicago. And I better go back there and look around.”
“Okay. Try to look reassuring, huh.” Flowers switched on the passenger intercom and slipped into his practiced captain’s baritone. “Ladies and gentlemen, we hit some pretty fierce turbulence back there a couple of minutes ago, but this is one tough airplane and everything is working fine. Co-pilot McGowan is checking to see that you’re all okay and we’d appreciate it if you’d put your seatbelts on and make them tight in case we hit any more of this chop.
“We expect to arrive in Chicago in about 55 minutes and we’ll be starting a slow descent in just a few minutes.”
McGowan saw the blankness in Mary Dalton’s eyes. He’d seen it on combat-weary Marines during the war. She was beyond fear. Mary had been a stew for as long as Captain Flowers had been with the line. Nearing 40, she knew her days in the air were numbered. She’d be asked to retire and a younger girl would be taking her place. As of two minutes ago, that had become an appealing idea.
“You alright, Mary?”
“Been better. Lying face down in the aisle is a little rough on the dignity. What happened back there?”
“I’m not gonna lie to you. We don’t know. And we’re heading down to it again so stay strapped tight into your jump seat and look nonchalant.”
Jim slid back into the co-pilot seat. “People are pretty shook up back there but nothing’s broke. This plane is such a tank .”
“Eastern 106 requesting another try for 25,000.”
“Eastern 106 cleared for 25,000. Come right to three-four five and begin your descent.”
The passengers felt the airspeed slow and the plane bank right, nosing down almost imperceptibly. Mary Dalton stared back through the passengers at a spot on the back bulkhead. A pasted-on smile was in place to mask thoughts she had never allowed before. What would she feel if they crashed? Would she feel anything, survive the initial impact? She imagined being torn from the seatbelt and hurtling into the far bulkhead, crushed by the deceleration. And burning. Time for an Act of Contrition, she thought, hoping she could remember it all. It had to be a perfect Act, or was it a good Act that was required for
“Kansas City control. This is Eastern 106. We just ran into a thermal layer or something at about 27,000 that rocked us very hard. Do you have any other reports?”
“Allegheny 315. We’re about 20 miles behind you at 26,000 and there’s huge turbulence that’s slamming us all over the place. Kansas City, request a return to 32,000 to clear this stuff.”
“Allegheny 315 and Eastern 106, return quickly to 32,000.” Flowers was an 18 year veteran on the transcontinental run, with four years of carrier landings in the South Pacific before that. But this was something outside his experience.
Jim McGowan punctured the silence. “That didn’t feel like any thermal. Felt more like a mountainside or we nosed down into a runway.” The co-pilot was a gifted, instinctive flier. A ’60s version of Lindberg, he wore a plane like a second skin, felt everything, and adjusted without conscious processing. After only four years with Eastern, he was already respected by the senior pilots, and especially by the mechanics for his ear for engines. He could point out a failure well before it happened. They knew to do a tear-down if McGowan said something sounded wrong.
“Yeah. But I don’t know what we ran into back there and I didn’t want to get too dramatic on the radio.”
“Well, we’ve gotta start descending again pretty soon or the folks in the back are gonna have to settle for someplace other than Chicago. And I better go back there and look around.”
“Okay. Try to look reassuring, huh.” Flowers switched on the passenger intercom and slipped into his practiced captain’s baritone. “Ladies and gentlemen, we hit some pretty fierce turbulence back there a couple of minutes ago, but this is one tough airplane and everything is working fine. Co-pilot McGowan is checking to see that you’re all okay and we’d appreciate it if you’d put your seatbelts on and make them tight in case we hit any more of this chop.
“We expect to arrive in Chicago in about 55 minutes and we’ll be starting a slow descent in just a few minutes.”
McGowan saw the blankness in Mary Dalton’s eyes. He’d seen it on combat-weary Marines during the war. She was beyond fear. Mary had been a stew for as long as Captain Flowers had been with the line. Nearing 40, she knew her days in the air were numbered. She’d be asked to retire and a younger girl would be taking her place. As of two minutes ago, that had become an appealing idea.
“You alright, Mary?”
“Been better. Lying face down in the aisle is a little rough on the dignity. What happened back there?”
“I’m not gonna lie to you. We don’t know. And we’re heading down to it again so stay strapped tight into your jump seat and look nonchalant.”
Jim slid back into the co-pilot seat. “People are pretty shook up back there but nothing’s broke. This plane is such a tank .”
“Eastern 106 requesting another try for 25,000.”
“Eastern 106 cleared for 25,000. Come right to three-four five and begin your descent.”
The passengers felt the airspeed slow and the plane bank right, nosing down almost imperceptibly. Mary Dalton stared back through the passengers at a spot on the back bulkhead. A pasted-on smile was in place to mask thoughts she had never allowed before. What would she feel if they crashed? Would she feel anything, survive the initial impact? She imagined being torn from the seatbelt and hurtling into the far bulkhead, crushed by the deceleration. And burning. Time for an Act of Contrition, she thought, hoping she could remember it all. It had to be a perfect Act, or was it a good Act that was required for
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