Pilot - Anthony Davis
CoPilot- Steve Edwards
Airframe: Embraer 120 Full Cargo
‘Bout 2080 words so far
On the blazing hot tarmac of Dallas Fort Worth, a small twin turboprop plane sat close to the end of the taxiway, engines idling, almost ready for takeoff. The plane, a Brazilian made Embraer-120 Brasilia, was not the newest or fanciest of planes. Standing in with a length of 66 feet and a wingspan just under 65 feet, the plane was an ugly, squat little thing, whose heyday had long past. The trademark FedEx white, purple, and hold paintjob didn’t make it look any prettier. This plane in particular had been purchased by FedEx for pennies on the dollar from a bankrupt regional airline during the 90’s, when deregulation had created the continental airline powerhouse. The seats and amenities ripped out, it had been easily converted into a sleek and nimble short-haul cargo plane, perfect for short haul cargo flights that required quick turnaround times.
Inside the cramped cockpit, Anthony Davis, the pilot, and Steve Edwards, the first officer, sat in relative silence, occasionally pushing buttons and twisting knobs as they cleared their way through countless checklists. Davis was technically Edward’s superior, having been with FedEx longer, but after working long hours together and both suffering from executive ‘manglement’ they each trusted each other as equals. Finally, with the solid click of a switch pushed home, they had completed their departure checklist, and were now ready for takeoff… or at least ready for the next phase of before takeoff preparations.
Reading from his clipboard full of papers, Jackson spoke. “Takeoff checklist complete, starting briefing. We are taking off on runway twenty three right, climbing to ten thousand feet. If we get an alarm before V1, the pilot flying will stop the aircraft on the runway. The pilot not flying will notify the tower. Confirm?”
“Confirm,” was Edward’s reply.
“Okay. If we have an alarm after V-r, we will takeoff the runway. The pilot will fly the plane while the non-flying pilot will contact the tower and inform them of our situation. We will triage in the air, and if required we will make a landing.”
Flipping through the papers, he found his scribbled mass of calculations near the back. “V-one will be one hundred two knots, V-r is one-fifteen, and V2 is one-eleven. Aircraft weight is twenty thousand nine hundred pounds, with cargo and fuel loaded. Assuming twenty one thousand pounds gross weight.
While Davis was speaking, he was also giving the cockpit a final once over, scanning and confirming for the last time that every switch, selector, and lever was in the proper position.
“Flaps fifteen,” he announced as he confirmed the setting of the lever against the indicator on the center panel. “Slats armed. I think we’re good to go. Any questions?”
“No, I’m good. We just need to ask for takeoff clearance and we can get going,” Edwards said.
“Oh no!” Davis gasped in mock horror. “I’ve forgotten the most important step!”
Picking up the long defunct microphone for the intercom, he held it to his face and began his spiel. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Barry Friendly welcoming you aboard FedEx flight two one seven with nonstop service to Cimarron New Mexico. Our flight time today will be approximately two hours, thirty minutes. At this time I’d like you to direct your attention towards the cabin crew who will demonstrate the proper safety procedures. In the event of a water landing, we hope that you are able to relax and enjoy every last moment of your FedEx flight experience until impact.”
They both shared a laugh. After their brief moment of levity, the mood in the cockpit turned serious again.
“Tower, FedEx 217 is short of two three right, requesting takeoff clearance,” Steve radioed. After a short pause, they got the reply that they were waiting for.
“FedEx 217. Cleared for takeoff runway two three right. Climb to Flight Level one hundred, then proceed with flight plan. Have a safe flight.”
“Roger. FedEx two one seven rolling,” Edwards replied.
Davis turned towards Edwards and nodded. Permission granted, crew ready, it was time to get this show on the road.
Davis released the toe brakes, the aircraft moving slowly onto the runway from the taxiway. Once the aircraft was lined up with the centerline, he advanced the throttles for the twin engines, their background hum changing in tone and volume to become a loud throbbing roar. The plane gathered speed, moving faster and faster down the runway with each passing second.
While Davis was handling the aircraft, Edwards was busy looking over the instrument cluster, ready to call an aborted takeoff at the slightest malfunction. As their speed rose, so did the tension. The aircraft was rapidly approaching V-one, the cutoff speed for a takeoff. If any issue presented itself at this time, they would be forced to take off then land, a less than ideal circumstance in an emergency.
As the thin needle on the airspeed indicator climbed past one hundred and two knots, Edwards called it out. “V-one.” When the needle finally passed one hundred and ten, Edwards called “Rotate!”
With skill born from experience, Davis firmly pulled the yoke back. The plane responded nimbly, the nosewheel smoothly rising into the air. The rest of the airplane soon followed, lifting gently off the runway.
As the aircraft passed through thirty five feet, there were some final things to confirm.
“Positive rate?” Davis asked.
“Positive rate established,” Edwards replied.
“Alright, gear up,” Davis said, mentally ticking through the post take-off checklist.
“Gear up,” Edwards replied as he reached forward and worked the gear selection lever into the appropriate position. A hydraulic hum, felt more than heard filled the cockpit, signaled the gear retracting into the body. After a loud clunk, it stopped signaling that it had fully retracted, which Edwards confirmed by checking the panel. The six red lights had turned off, indicating up and locked.
“Gear is up and the light are out.”
“Flaps to zero degrees.”
“Flaps to zero,” Edwards confirmed, reaching forward and pushing the flaps lever into place. Once again, a hydraulic hum filled the cockpit as the wings reconfigured themselves to be smaller, the flaps sliding neatly into the main assembly. While the flaps were needed on the ground to give the wing more lift at takeoff speeds, at altitude they produced parasitic drag that sapped performance.
A voice called out on the radio, one of the air traffic controllers hailing them.
“FedEx two one seven, contact departure on nine zero decimal three, catch y’all later!”
“Ninety decimal three for FedEx two one seven, roger,” Edwards replied, dialing the radio to the new frequency. It was a moment later that he keyed the microphone again. “Dallas Fort Worth departure, FedEx two one seven with you at thirty-eight hundred to ten thousand.”
He didn’t have to wait long for a response, the controllers in this area were always professional and snappy.
“FedEx two one seven, good morning. Cleared to flight level two seventy. Climb is at your discretion.”
“And up to two seventy for FedEx two one seven,” Edwards confirmed.
Climbing at a modest rate for several minutes, the aircraft finally reached three thousand feet. As Davis leveled the aircraft, both pilots were able to relax slightly. Takeoff, one of the more dangerous parts of flying, had been to the letter, and their ascent to cruising had been trouble free. Now both pilots settled in for the long and tedious portion of the flight.
“Pop it on climb, on nav, and autopilot on.” Davis ordered, ticking the last box in his mental checklist. Finally they were out of the.
“Climb, nav and autopilot on.” Edwards replied as he leaned forward dialed in the initial climb altitude and desired airspeed into the autopilot panel. The autopilot itself was a marvel of engineering. While it wasn’t as fancy as anything installed in the latest generation of the growing FedEx fleet, it could maintain a heading and altitude, even lock onto a runway and guide the plane in for a smooth landing. Once he had confirmed their heading and altitude against the values set in the autopilot, Edwards thumbed the ‘AP ENG’ button along with several mode selections, and was rewarded when several lights on the front panel turned green and a buzzer chimed two tones then fell silent.
“Autopilot is engaged,” He announced.
Davis released the pressure in his hands, but kept them against the yoke. After keeping them on the yoke for a few moments, he removed them, confident that the aircraft would hold its course.
With the autopilot engaged, both pilots were to relax in the cockpit, though they still remained busy. Edwards busied himself, stowing the checklists in their cubbyhole and pulling out their detailed flight plan, which he passed to Davis.
The cockpit was calm and peaceful, the airplane gently banking and climbing to intercept the first waypoint. As they passed the first waypoint,
Edwards flipped through the flight plan, found the next radio navigation radial to follow, and keyed it into the autopilot. When they hit the next checkpoint he’d adjust it to the next track, but that wouldn’t be for another thirty minutes or so.
Both pilots sat back in their seats and reviewed their flight systems while the aircraft continued to climb towards their assigned altitude of thirty-two thousand feet. Davis kept an eye on the altimeter and smiled when it finally passed ten thousand feet. The FAA’s sterile cockpit rule forbade any non-flight essential conversation below ten-thousand feet, but now that they were above ten thousand feet, and not in any critical phase of the flight, the regulations were relaxed.
Unbuckling his harness, Davis turned and tapped Edwards on the shoulder.
“What?” Edwards asked.
“I’m gonna put some coffee on in the galley, you want any?” he asked.
Edwards considered the offer for a moment, then accepted. “Sounds good, save me a cup.”
“Your aircraft.”
“My aircraft.”
With his responsibilities handed over, Davis stood up and climbed out of his seat, stooping in the cramped cockpit. He opened the cockpit door and stepped into the small room between the cockpit and cargo bay. First order of business was to get the aging coffee maker going, then he could grab some reading material from his flight bag.
He took two short steps into the remnants of the galley, from a time when the airplane hauled people instead of packages. Digging around, he found a brick of coffee grounds in a drawer and cut open the vacuum sealed package with a knife. It was cheap and bitter coffee, but any coffee was better than no coffee. He loaded the grounds into the machine and opened the valve to fill the coffee maker from the aircraft’s potable water supply. Muttering a short prayer, he fiddled with the switch until the machine kicked on, a red neon bulb on the front flickering. There he sat for several minutes, simply waiting and waiting.
Finally, a buzzer sounded and the machine started filling the carafe with a thin stream of black liquid from the nozzle. Smiling to himself, he took a big whiff of the coffee filling the pot, basking in the aroma. Except… something was off about the smell…
Has the coffee gone bad? He leaned in close to the machine and gave another sniff. No, it smells alright. He stepped back and sniffed again. Smells stronger now… burnt rubber? Something was definitely burning.
Confident that the source of the smell wasn’t the dilapidated coffee machine finally giving up the ghost, he started looking around the cramped compartment for the source. It was only after he had scanned the length of the room that he noticed the faintest trace of smoke coming in through the gap between the cargo door and the floor. Bingo, the source of the smoke was definitely somewhere in the cargo hold. This had the potential to be a very dangerous situation. A fire in flight was one of the most dangerous situations that a flight crew could face. Once established, a fire was near impossible for the crew to put out and it could quickly spread the length of the plane, destroying the plane from the inside out.
The coffee forgotten, he cautiously cracked open the door to the cargo hold, mindful of any possible flames, and looked inside. The light streaming through the windows that ran the length of the bay highlighted the thick haze hanging in the air. He scanned the length of the cargo hold and inventoried what he saw.
The large and monolithic looking crate dominated cargo bay. Earlier it had been specially loaded by some government types with a skid-steer, then cinched to the floor with heavy cargo straps. The rest of the cargo bay was crammed full of smaller packages in bins, loosely held back with netting, but he ignored them. What he focused on was a small wisp of smoke leaking from a corner of the large crate. He had found the source of the smoke.
Davis was about to open the door and investigate further when the plane shuddered with a loud explosion. He stumbled on his feet, flailing to regain his balance as another explosion erupted, rocking the plane further. The plane started rolling sharply towards the left, the floor shifting out from under his feet. Small bits of debris in the galley became projectiles, assaulting Davis as he fell against the bulkhead of the compartment. A single thought kept repeating itself in his head.
Something’s wrong with the plane. Something’s wrong with the plane.
