A stunned silence filled the passenger cabin as the PA clicked off, as if the announcement had reinstated a level of fear that most of the passengers had been able to reason away.
Britta Franz stood in front of the coach cabin feeling numb, aware of the sudden motion as over 200 people checked seat belts, adjusted pillows, held hands, and tried to reassure one another — some of them openly bowing their heads in prayer.
She issued a reassuring pat to Claire’s shoulder and headed back up the stairs to report the cabin ready.
And who will reassure me? Britta thought, and was instantly dismayed with herself for even a moment of self-pity.
In the cockpit Dan Wade moved the landing gear handle to the Down position. The 747’s four main gear assemblies and the nose gear shuddered into place, gently rocking the cockpit with reassuring vibrations.
“What… do you see now on those landing gear lights?” Dan asked.
“They’re all green,” Geoffrey Sampson replied. “Some were red, but now they’ve all turned green.”
“Okay. Now… I need you to tell me what the number is in the mileage window,” Dan said.
Sampson leaned forward again, his eyes searching the bewildering array of displayed numbers in front of him.
“You want the DME, Honey?” Dallas Nielson asked from the jump seat.
Dan turned his bandaged head to the left. “You understand DME?”
“Sure do. Distance Measuring Equipment. It’s showing eleven miles, and I can see the lights of the airport out there at about the same distance. There’s some lightning to the left, almost ahead, and some dark clouds over the airport. The altitude is still three thousand feet.”
“That’s correct!” Geoffrey Sampson echoed. “That’s the very instrument you were pointing to earlier.” He swiveled around to look at Dallas, who was sitting directly behind him. “Ms. Nielson, are you certain you shouldn’t be sitting here?”
“No. I can’t handle the controls, but I can help you guys with what I see.”
There was another ragged sigh from the exhausted copilot. “Ah, don’t hesitate to speak up, please.”
Dallas Nielson chuckled. “One thing I’ve never been accused of is hesitating to speak up.” She glanced over at Robert MacCabe and rolled her eyes with a huge smile that Robert couldn’t resist returning.
Dan’s right hand moved into position on the control yoke, even though the autopilot was flying. “In about two miles… we’ll intercept the glide slope. The lights on that display I showed you… will change. Please tell me when it happens, and what it says. At that point, the throttles will come back some and we’ll start down.”
He leaned forward again, breathing hard, before raising his head. “And then I’ll need to know how fast we’re coming down. That’s really critical.”
“You mean the rate of descent?” Dallas asked.
Dan nodded. “Do you know where to look?”
“Sure do,” Dallas answered.
“The display is changing, Dan,” Geoffrey said.
“How?”
“It’s — I think it’s — like you said, captured the glide path. The button that has GS on it is now green, and the throttles are coming back.”
“We are descending, Dan,” Dallas added. “We’re coming down about five or six hundred feet per minute.” There was a small series of lightning strikes just to the north of the runway, but she was trying to ignore it. What could they do, go around?
The voice of the Hong Kong controller cut through the cockpit. “Meridian Five, cleared to land. Emergency equipment is standing by.”
“Roger, Hong Kong,” Dan replied. “Altitude?”
“Two thousand six hundred,” Dallas replied.
“And airspeed?”
“One hundred sixty knots.”
“I’m… moving the flap lever one more notch. One of you confirm it’s at the twenty-five-degree position.”
“It is,” Sampson confirmed.
“And we’re not rolling left or right? We seem steady?” Dan asked.
“Steady as a rock,” Dallas confirmed. “We’re two thousand feet now, and I can see the runway straight ahead. We’re gonna nail this one, Baby!”
Dan fumbled behind the center pedestal for the interphone handset and pressed the buttons for the PA by memory. “Okay, folks, everyone into a brace position.”
“One thousand five hundred feet,” Dallas called out. “More lightning up there, Dan. Just to the left of the airport.”
Dan nodded, his left hand fumbling for one of the knobs on the glareshield. “Do I have the airspeed knob?”
“No! That’s altitude,” Geoffrey said. “Next one to your left. Yes, that’s it.”
“We’re at one thousand three hundred,” Dallas said.
“What does the speed show?” Dan asked.
“One hundred sixty,” Dallas replied.
“I want one hundred fifty. Am I going the right way?”
“Yes, keep coming. Two more clicks. One more. There! That’s one-fifty.”
“The throttles should come back a bit automatically,” Dan added.
“Yes, they are,” Geoffrey confirmed.
“One thousand one hundred feet,” Dallas said, watching the approach lights crawling steadily toward them. The amazing glow of light from Hong Kong formed the backdrop to the east. “The runway’s all lit up ahead.”
Dan fumbled on the forward panel for the landing light switches, assuring himself that they were on.
“Nine hundred feet,” Dallas said.
“Tell me instantly if anything goes off!” Dan said.
“Seven hundred feet. Runway’s right ahead,” Dallas added.
“Airspeed?” Dan asked.
“It’s one hundred and fifty,” Geoffrey replied.
“Six hundred feet,” Dallas called out.
“Okay,” Dan began, “at just under a hundred feet, the airplane will start to flare itself and the display will change like I told you.”
“Four hundred.”
“We should be about a mile out, and the runway directly ahead, right?”
“You got it, Baby!” Dallas said. “It looks beautiful! A row of jewels in the night, and we’re at three hundred feet.”
Robert MacCabe felt himself holding his breath as the huge jetliner floated toward what appeared to be a runway too short and narrow to accommodate such a huge machine.
“Two hundred…”
The intense flash of lightning ahead was followed by a sudden change on the forward panel as things snapped off and warning flags jumped into the display for the Instrument Landing System — all of them warnings that would have told a sighted pilot that the ILS transmitter had just been knocked off the air.
“Something’s happened, Dan!” Dallas said, her voice in control as she struggled to figure out what to say.
The Autopilot Disconnect Warning was going off, its import clearly understood by the copilot.
“Oh God!” Dan’s voice was an agonized croak.
“We’ve got little red warning things on the instruments,” Dallas said, “but hold her steady! Keep it coming down. The runway’s just ahead.”
“Talk me down, Dallas! Talk me down! Am I wings-level?”
“You’re rolling to the right a bit… and the nose is coming up too much. Down… down more… and roll her back left… NO, DAN! You’re still rolling too much right!”
“HOW HIGH?”
“Ah… one hundred, less than that, coming down now, but a bit too fast! Roll left! LEFT!”