You [Birds] Have a Choice to Make

“Le Bore-zhay,” Rainbow Dash calls, “Northwest 69-02, clearance to Incheon.”

“Northwest 6902, cleared to Seoul Incheon via radar vectors, then as filed. Maintain 5,000 on departure, expect FL370 10 minutes after departure. Charles de Gaulle frequency 131.2, squawk 7727.”

“Cleared to Incheon via radar vectors, then as filed. Climb [and] maintain 5,000, expect FL370 10 minutes after departure. De Gaulle departure 131.2, squawk 7727, Northwest 69-02.”

“Northwest 6902, readback correct. Contact ground on 121.9, advise ATIS information Québec.”

“69-02.”

“Le Bourget airport information Quebec, 1301Z. Wind 250 at 7. Visibility 1. Heavy rain. Sky condition overcast 700, overcast 1,200, overcast 2,900, overcast 3,300, overcast 5,000. Temperature 10, dewpoint 1. Altimeter 1005.4. Notices to airmen: runway 25 braking action reported good. Advisory: all aircraft read back hold short instructions. Advise on initial contact you have information Quebec.”

“Ground, Northwest 69-02, Air & Space Museum, Quebec.”

“Northwest 6902, Le Bourget ground. Runway 25, taxi via… standby. Say aircraft type.”

“747-400 series,” I respond, “Northwest 6902.”

“Roger, you need to be towed then. You’re too large for one of the taxiways. Have you started your engines yet?”

“Affirmative.” Dash responds.

“Roger, Northwest 6902, we’ll get you a tug.”

“Roger, we’ll shut them all down.”

Without skipping a beat, Dash releases the push-to-talk and in one swift motion, moves all four fuel levers to cutoff without even giving me time to react.

“We have checklists for a reason,” I seethe as I check the APU and generators. “We’d be fucking beached if the APU was already turned off.”

“Heh… Whoopsies.”

“APU, running and lever in ‘run’. APU generator on.”

“Northwest 6902, ground. Expect to taxi on runway 3, then a right turn onto runway 9, then a left onto B, then taxi to runway 25 via B.”

“Expect runway 3, then runway 9, B to runway 25, Northwest 69-02.”

Soon, a tug arrives, and after ground gives us our tow instructions, we get towed out of the museum ramp to the run-up area on taxiway C, short of runway 3.

When the tug operator is clear of the area, Dash and I restart the engines and redo all the checklists for ground ops.

Due to the short runway, our take-off weight, and need to climb steeply both for noise abatement and getting above the clouds, we’ll use flaps 20.

Flaps 20, trims set, all lights except strobes (the fog is thicc) on, as we’re on a runway.

After we turn onto B, I flip off the landing and pulse lights then quip to Rainbow,

“You want to change your type? There’s plenty of time for you to move to a heavy. Well, heavier.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, but still replies with a dry, “Nah. I like where I am.”

“Figured you would. It does pain me to say these are a dying breed. Thank God the Mushroom World has a place for them. A380s too.”

“I’m glad twinjets are making the leaps and bounds they are though.”

“I won’t argue. It’s the process of evolution. The only constants in life are death, taxes, and change.”

“Even by your standards, that’s pretty cynical.”

“Hi; Split Scimitar. Nice to meet you.”

She only rolls her eyes as we run through checklists.

“At least the winds are gentle today. If we got IFR, heavy rain, AND heavy wind?”

“You afraid of a little challenge?” She quips back rather humorously.

“Enough to count my blessings.” I say as I monitor the engine gauges. Having been warmed up slightly before being so quickly shut down, I appreciate the minimum time to warm up the second time.

“Temps, pressures green. Flaps 20. Trims set. Squawking 7727. Autopilot armed, references bugged and armed. Brakes at RTO, spoilers armed. Tower set, departure on standby.”

“Le Bore-zhay tower, Northwest 69-02, runway 25, ready to go.”

“Northwest 6902, Le Bourget tower, runway 25, line up and wait.”

“Line up and wait 25, 69-02.”

Strobes, pulse, landing lights on. Expect a short-field procedure.

“Northwest 6902, three departures off Charles de Gaulle.”

“69-02.”

I then get on the horn and announce,

“Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize. Uh, we’re encountering traffic delays related to the fog. Should be just a couple of moments, we appreciate your patience.”

A few moments later, I check behind the open cockpit door and see both Jake and Applejack walking in.

“What are you doing??”

“Sorry, wanted to move up at the last second.” Applejack responds.

“Same here.” Jake adds.

“Belt up quickly, please.”

“Northwest 6902,” tower calls a few minutes later, “fly runway heading to 5,000, then turn right heading 040. Runway 25, cleared for takeoff.”

“Cleared for takeoff runway 25, runway heading to 5,000, then turn right 040, Northwest 69-02.”

Brakes on, set takeoff thrust.

Throttles set. Gauges in the green.

Brakes off. Rolling.

80 knots.

V1

Rotate.

V2

Positive rate, gear up.

400’ AGL, autopilot on. Flaps 10.

Stabilizing. Climb speed and thrust set by autopilot.

“Northwest 6902, contact departure, au revoir.”

Flaps up.

“Over to departure, Northwest 69-02.” “Paris (sic) departure, Northwest 69-02 off Le Bore-zhay, 3,200 climbing 5,000.”

“Northwest 6902, De Gaulle Departure, bienvenue. Climb and maintain FL130.”

“FL130, 69-02.”

“Alright, that’s the top of the fog.” I say as I get blinded by the sudden change in light. “Tops at about 7,800.”

“Noice.” Dash says as she adjusts the pressurization system to ensure ΔP stays within parameters.

“Same drill as last.” I say to the rest of the cockpit. “Once we reach cruise, I’ll tag up with each of you and you can monitor the airplane as necessary. I’ll probably take control back about an hour or two before landing. Incheon is expecting us at about 11 AM local.”

Instead of going straight to the crew rest module, I decide to walk up and down the lower deck. I’ve had a lot on my mind, and suffice it to say, most of uneasiness around it all has manifested itself as queasiness.

As I pass by each unit and cluster to check their security, I ponder of each unit in active use for a frightening moment. Amidst this shambolic crisis, I wonder how many lives these machines have mingled with. How many people used them? Relied on them to sustain their life? It’s pretty heavy stuff.

In any case, after about 10 minutes, I head for the crew rest chamber and settle into one of the bunks, letting out a straggle yawn before closing my eyes.

When I wake up, I slowly emerge from the chamber and head for the cockpit. Seated and either asleep or engrossed in a device or a book are all but Celaeno and Applejack.

A few steps later, and Rainbow Dash emerges from the lavatory.

“Hey Max. You’re up early.”

“Guess I only needed a power nap.”

“You were out for about three hours. Celaeno’s monitoring with AJ.”

“Are you gonna go rest then?”

“I guess. I’m not tired though, so I can stay if you want me to.”

“You can do what you want. Celaeno’s rated in your current type(s), so she should know what she’s doing.”

“Thanks.”

“You know what I mean. I have crew members who can help besides you. If you want to sleep, I trust Celaeno.”

“So do I. We spent the last hour talking about the 767.”

“Speaking of, I know it’s been a while since our last lesson, since you’ve been busy training future Blues.”

“I know. When do you think my checkride will be?”

“Well, given our progress, extra remedial to regain proficiency, and a date by which to test, you could be looking at your checkride to carve out… a 4-6 week block?”

“Really? That long?”

“It’s been how long since you last flew the thing? She isn’t exactly an easy flier.”

“Yeah… you’re right… I wanna test on the 757 though.”

“Figured you would. Anyway, I should probably check on this bird before I decide to return to slumber again.”

“Aight, later.” She finishes with a fist bump.

“Well, guess who’s back. Back again?” I say as I enter the cockpit.

“Howdy, Sugarcube.” AJ calls from the right seat. “Nothin’ to report. Smooth sailin’.”

“ATC not giving you any grief?”

“No. Only thing would be the occasional traffic reports. Surprisingly chatty in this part of the world.”

“Moscow? Er… no, Leningrad.”

“Did you want to take back control?” Celaeno asks a few short moments later.

“Would you like to keep monitoring?”

“I can. I’ll leave it up to you.”

“How comfortable are you for the foreseeable flight? It’s nothing but Russia until we hit Mongolia, then China.”

“I’ll stay here until you return again.”

“No problem at all.” I say as I leave the cockpit, seeing Applejack’s travel bag open on the jumpseat.

Out of a slight urge to keep my physicality up in the long-haul environment, I take a walk up and down the aisles again. A couple of straps have shifted, so I re-secure them as necessary. When I reach the back of the plane, I get a good look at the emptied galley (for weight purposes of course) and think back to when this aircraft was in active service, both with Minneapolis and Atlanta.

Before too long, I decide to return to the crew rest module and find Applejack waiting for me.

“Hey Max, can I bunk up in here?”

“Yeah. I don’t have a problem with it. Top or bottom?”

“Top’s fine.” She responds climbing up to it.

“You have the WiFi password, right?”

“Yea, I do.”

“Cool.”

A few hours later, I wake up again, finding Applejack fast asleep on her side, facing away from me. Her hat is covering her face, so I chuckle as I watch her breathe peacefully but for a few seconds before I return to the cockpit.

Inside, only Celaeno is monitoring, so when she notices me, she says,

“Oh, glad you’re back.”

“You’re finally free.” I say as she relinquishes control back to me.

Sitting back in the left seat, I readjust just in case I have to fly manually before Jake unceremoniously shuffles into the right seat.

“Oh, hello there.” I respond with an almost memeatic mock-Glaswegian, or maybe it’s Edinburgh. I don’t know.

“Thanks for doing this.” He says after he puts the headset on.

“Happy to help.”

“You made the excellent choice to use one of the ex-Northwest birds. I’ve always been a huge fan of the airline.”

“Got any memorabilia?”

“No. Just memories.”

“Favorite livery?”

“Bowling Shoe. Easily. I absolutely love the retro style.”

“Seems to be the trend these days. Nissan, BMW, even Coca-Cola [Classic].”

“True.”

When we pass the halfway point, Jake leaves the cockpit and Dash comes in to take her place.

“So, how’d you meet this… Jake from San Bruno?”

“When I have to stay in San Diego, we meet up when we can and play soccer with a bunch of other guys. It started as him and another friend, but eventually, the two of us got talking and recruited a bunch of other guys. Gotta pass the time, you know?”

“Of course. I never spend any time down there since I’m always fixin’ to beat traffic, but it’s nice to know I might have incentive to put them back on the radar.”

“Sort of. Since I’m in Miramar, it’s a little less San Diego. It’s time to select future Blues, so this arrangement is only temporary.”

“Fair enough. Your group go against others?”

“Nah. It’s all pickup games. Some days you get some, some days others. That’s the fun of it. No one’s competing for money, no one’s trying to make a career out of it. It’s purely recreational.”

“Well, knowing you, you’d find a way to turn it into a competition.”

“Not really. With all this collective tension brought on by the pandemic, most of us understand that these activities are to help alleviate the tension.”

“This pandemic really has changed people.” I mutter to myself. “What’s your post?”

“I play left back.”

“And Jake?”

“Center Attack Mid.”

“He’s the playmaker?”

“Not per se. None of us really play a full strategy, if you know what I mean, so since no one squad is ever really the same, it’s more of an on-the-field read.”

“Interessant.” I reply in anglicized Deutsch. “Sounds like you’re always in for a good time.”

“Well, no. With all the public parks closed, we don’t meet anymore, though a bunch of us keep in touch.”

“That’s nice.”

“You should join us sometime.”

“If you want to guarantee yourselves either a loss or a bad time.”

“Why do you always have to compare yourself?”

“Because it’s how I was raised. ‘One is only as good or bad as those surrounding them.’”

“That’s the law of averages, not the weakest link.”

“Which I would be. Besides, it’s not like the other people who play with you would want some wannabe on their team.”

“What position do you play?”

“Either goalie or defense. I don’t have any goalie gear though, so I always play off or away from the ball.”

“Can you take PKs?”

“I never have, but I’m always itching to try. No one’s ever considered me though.”

“GKs can take PKs.”

“I know. I had a friend who did just that on varsity. The same one who said I shouldn’t play because I’m not really that good at soccer.”

“Dude, fuck him! Just because you’re unproven on a soccer field doesn’t mean you’re ‘not that good.’”

“I literally have zero equipment. Closest thing you’d find are cleats for baseball and [American] football.”

“Stop making excuses.”

“I don’t play soccer. That’s the long and the short of it.”

“Well, what sports do you play?”

“I played baseball and football, plus basketball mostly against my will.”

“Against your will?”

“Parents signed me up for a kids’ league, even though I didn’t want to. Football, same story, except I wanted to do that. But it was flag ball, so…”

“Lame.” She responds dryly.

“I really was. Then again, you’re also talking to one of the nerds of his high-school class.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“63,360.”

“What?”

“Inches in a mile.”

Instead of smiling, she groans, rolls her eyes, and leaves the cockpit.

“Northwest 6902, descend and maintain FL300. Radar vectors to Incheon, standby for approach.”

“FL300, vectors to Incheon, Northwest 6902.”

Figuring I don’t really need Dash here with me, I do as much of the descent checklist as I can solo before Celaeno comes in with a couple of her crew members.

“Welcome,” I greet dryly, “we’re in the initial descent. Hope you enjoyed your time napping and/or here in the cockpit.”

“Appreciate the opportunity,” Celaeno says with a nod.

“Aye.” Boyle adds. “The Queen lives another day.”

“Thank Jake, it was his idea.”

50.

40.

30.

20.

10.

Touchdown. Spoilers up, brakes on, 2 in reverse.

60 knots, disengage reverse thrust.

“Northwest 6902, D6 D, hold short at position 33 and shut down, we will tow you to your spot for security reasons.”

“D6, position 33, and we’ll shut down, Northwest 6902.”

“On behalf of your Southern California based Captain and… Pensacola-based first officer along with your additional flight crew based in Los Angeles, welcome to Seoul Incheon International Airport.” I say after turning from D6 onto D. “The current weather is 26°F, mostly cloudy skies, and a light southeasterly wind. For your continued comfort and safety, please remain seated until we have come to a complete stop and the seatbelt sign has been turned off. Per ATC instructions, we are shutting down and then getting towed to our gate, so please remain seated until the seatbelt sign is turned off. It’s certainly been a pleasure to serve you this morning, and we hope to see you on a future flight. Thank you so much for your patronage, welcome to Seoul.”

Once parked, Celaeno and I do the shutdown list with the APU on.

A few moments later, a tug comes and mates. The operator then pops open a panel and hooks up an audio cord.

“안녕하세요 (Annyeonghaseyo.)”

The operator only responds with, “감사합니다 (Gamsahabnida)” before I hear him radio to ground.

“Ground, Korean Air Tug 2, ready.”

“Korean Air Tug 2, tow approved as assigned.”

“Tug 2.”

In about 5 short minutes, we park, I meet an air stair at the airplane, but upon the entry of the lineman, he climbs aboard and upon seeing the cargo, his face changes to a look of shock then quickly says “excuse me” and takes the air stair back.

A few minutes later, he returns with a few more men and bows this time, along with the others. However, they remain on the ramp and don’t enter the aircraft.

I bow courteously to the group then go fetch Jake, who then emerges from the lavatory drying his hands.

Unfortunately, Jake doesn’t speak Korean, or any of the rest of us for that matter. In spite of that, the crew chief, who speaks the most English out of the others, then asks me to hook up external power, which I approve, so I head to the cockpit to turn off the APU.

When we both return to the ramp, the two of us along with Jake say that the contact for receiving our cargo here is on her way over here. When the lineman relays that to his colleagues, they all nod in agreement then return to the terminal.

The crew chief however, remains with us, so I invite him in so he can see the arrangements again. Since all the units are on wheels, besides the fact he changed from stairs to a ramp, I do give notice of the contents in overhead bins by lowering the two that mark the boundary of loaded bins, followed by all the rest between them.

By the time we return to the door, the chill has reached the cabin to the point where the others voice their discomfort.

“Can you come with me to terminal?” He then asks both of us.

We both affirm and follow the lineman in, granting permission to close the door provided someone can watch for us when we return.

My Illinois blood is working wonders, as despite only bearing a standard short-sleeved shirt, I feel not even the slightest discomfort. Jake however has a hoodie over a sweater on top of, or rather, all underneath, a trench coat and is still shivering.

Fortunately, it’s not too far to the cargo terminal, and upon our entry, we’re led to a “public” lobby, which is to say a separate from the sorting floors and the “inner workings” of the terminal.

“Jake!” A woman’s voice exclaims a few moments after we arrive. The two of them share a hug before she introduces herself to me.

“Hi, I’m Joy.” She says extending her hand.

“Max.” I reply by extending mine, but supporting my forearm just below the wrist and shaking it, giving a small customary bow, seeing as how despite local customs, she isn’t really observing them.

“Did you fly the ventilators here?”

“I did. Jake was our contact in Paris.”

“And she’s our contact here in Seoul.” Jake fills in.

“Oh, perfect!” I exclaim as she beams in response.

She then asks the lineman if someone can get the release paperwork. He then bows courteously and runs to fetch presumably his supervisor.

Not long after, two gentlemen return, to which Joy then introduces us.

“Max, this is our customs agent. He’ll be supervising the process of unloading. He’s ready, and all the paperwork is ready for the three of us to sign.”

“Right this way, sir.” I respond leading everyone else back.

A couple of knocks, and Applejack opens the door for us. The whole crew then steps aboard as Celaeno and her crew undo all the straps and hooks.

“Can we unload from the back of the plane first and go back to front?” I ask Joy, who translates.

Everyone then complies, so we all head for the back.

After about 40 minutes, we get everything offloaded. Jake, Joy and I all sign for the cargo as proof of release, and once all the cargo is set on the floor of the cargo terminal, everyone thanks each other, and with a final handshake from both Jake and Joy, I give them each my card for future contact or in case of any other issues, then complete a bit of paperwork for the airplane, since we’ve operated into a SIDA secure area (requiring full TSA clearance), submission to a background check is required, since I did have to leave the airplane.

When I finally return to the airplane, I ask if everyone is comfortable quarantining in Hawaii. None really object, but also express their preference to bypass quarantine. For that reason, since we’re heading to VCV to keep costs down, our AOE will be… not in the USA.

As we take on fuel, of which we’ll need plenty for the transpac journey, I call and confirm an appointment in 9 1/2 hours at none other than YVR.

“We’re home.” I say once we park and shut down at VCV, hooking up external power as quickly as possible, a job for AJ and RD.

Once hooked, Dash runs to fetch the fuel lorry, returning in almost a flash. I just for kicks drain the last of the fuel in the tanks since I don’t plan on using her for awhile. So, after we clean sweep, we unhook external power, tow her off the stand, and mothball her in the same spot we got her, next to all her sister ships.

“Well Max,” Celaeno says removing her own hat, “I must say I’m very impressed. I expressed confidence in leasing aircraft from you, and I can say with full confidence now that we all look forward to your help in expanding our operation.”

“I’m very glad you feel that way.” I respond with a tip of my hat. “Do you have accommodations for the night?”

“We do. We’re staying with Rainbow.”

“All’a youse staying in Palm Springs?”

“Yeah.” Rainbow responds. “I’ll get the van started.”

“Good looks. I’m in no rush to get you to my other airport to show you my offerings, so I’ll leave our departure up to you.”

“We can afford to wait awhile. Most of us live near L.A.”

“Whereabouts specifically?”

“Culver City,”

“Torrance,”

“Carson,”

“Inglewood,”

“[and] Hawthorne.”

“Close by LAX then.”

“[It’s] where we were based, before we got shuffled around.”

“I see. Company not provide you with new ones?”

“They let us go. Even before our accident, we were going to be laid off, so we’ve been out of work, but with an increase in cargo traffic due to the pandemic, we have everything we need to begin our own independent operation, except airplanes.”

“Can be done. If you also don’t mind relocating, I can base you out of one of my airports. Probably cheaper for you.”

“We’ll see, but I’d much rather think about it on more energy.”

“Absolutely. Thank you so much for accompanying me.”

“We appreciate the work.”

“I’ll see you soon then.” I reply extending my forearm, exchanging bumps with everyone leaving.