Chapter 2 (cont)
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Chapter 2 (cont)
FOUR AND A HALF HOURS EARLIER
AIR FORCE ONE
NORTH ATLANTIC
EARTH
22nd January 2026 – 1345 MIDAT (1545 UTC)
DiGriz was well aware that he had to get the aircraft out of its steep dive before it tore the wings off the already weakened airframe, but he had to do it carefully. Too much back pressure to recover the aircraft was as dangerous as letting the airspeed become too high.
With all three of the surviving engines flamed out, the VC-25B had become a 350 tonne glider until they could be relit.
Assuming they can, he thought grimly. He knew that the recommended maximum engine in-flight start envelope began at an altitude of 28000 ft and so for the time being, he had to bring the rate of descent down as quickly but as gently as he could.
“How’s the wing looking Lee?”
Wylie interrupted his attempts to regain the electrical systems to look out of the window.
“No sign of fire Sir, but there’s loose panels towards the extremity. No sign of fuel leakage, I think the cut-offs took care of it.”
That was one less worry at least. No fuel leakage meant that the fire wasn’t likely to restart and once they got the engines relit, they could redistribute the fuel in the tanks to balance the aircraft.
“Any luck with the electrics?”
“Minimal Sir. Something must have taken out a junction downstairs.”
That wasn’t so good thought DiGriz. No electrics meant, among a dozen other things, no radios.
“Alright,” he replied, easing the yoke back slightly. “Prep the in-flight restart checklists so we’re ready for a try at 28,000 feet. I’ll be happy if we can get two and three so go for those first.”
Engines two and three were the port and starboard inner engines and if he could have those two for balanced flight, they might just get out of this one.
********
Stacey Kyle had risen quickly in the world of broadcast journalism and just four months ago had picked up the prestigious position of Senior White House Correspondent for the relatively new Digital America media franchise.
The reporters who flew on Air Force One with the President were called the press pool and were rotated quite often. When Kyle had found out that she’d been picked for the London trip, she felt it was adequate justification to rub it in the faces of colleagues who felt her rise within the company wasn’t entirely due to her professional reporting skills. The fact that those not in the press pool would be flying commercial (and probably economy at that) had been another sore point.
Breathing deeply from her oxygen mask, she wondered just how many of them were now thinking of how to write her obituary.
Looking around the press section of Air Force One, she saw her camera man, Vince Bush, sat just across the aisle holding a napkin to the gash on his head. It wasn’t serious but he looked decidedly pale. Strangely there was not the sense of panic amongst the four teams of media personnel that she might have expected. Like Kyle, they believed that anybody who piloted the President had to be at the top of their game and they trusted in the crew’s ability to get them out of this situation.
Of course, she had no idea what this situation actually was. An air force flight attendant had circulated to tell them that the Captain had requested they all put on their seatbelts but that there was no reason for concern. Moments later the aircraft had slewed around the sky and there had been the sound of an explosion, though it hadn’t seemed to come from their aircraft.
That’s when Vince had been injured and the oxygen masks dropped. She had been so busy getting the mask in place that she only belatedly realised that the sound of the engines had died, and now the aircraft was in a high speed descent.
Kyle had managed over the past few minutes to enter all of this into the data slate she’d been cradling in her lap at the time of the incident. The act wasn’t wholly one of a professional doing their job in the face of adversity however. Part of her mind felt that if she was going to die today, she wanted people to know just what had happened.
Imagine that, a mocking part of her mind jibed,
a posthumous Pulitzer.
She looked at the assorted crew members who were seated back here with the press. All seemed composed despite the dire circumstances. She knew that Air Force One carried 26 crew in total and they were all carefully screened military personnel, with exemplary service histories. If they were to survive today’s events then their lives would be entrusted to these people.
The press cabin, with about 15 or so seats, was at the back of the aircraft and subsequently the crew members who had been caught back here had taken whatever seats were vacant but at least two had been thrown to the floor when the explosion occurred. One was now conscious and tightly holding on to his colleague whose pretty face was marred by a deep gash from forehead to jaw.
Kyle had managed to throw them a cushion from the seat beside her as well as a spare shirt from her carry on bag. The man had silently thanked her as he used it clean up the wound.
Her observations of the press cabin were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a strange crack followed by a low vibration from the port side of the aircraft which quickly faded back to silence, and for the first time Kyle felt a shiver of fear.
********
“Trying again,” said Kyle. He re-initiated the start-up sequence for the number two engine and began his quiet litany from the checklist again. “Check fuel flow, EGT, N2, & N3 RPM & oil pressure indications are normal for engine light off and…”
DiGriz tuned Wylie’s checklist out of his mind as he continued to bring the aircraft out of the steep descent. Passing 25,000 feet, he realised they had already dropped over a mile and a half unpowered since the explosion, but he kept reminding himself of the mantra his air force instructor had drummed into him all those years ago:
When you face any in-flight problem, thing one is to Keep Flying the Aircraft.
He’d managed it so far relying on Wylie to carry out the emergency drills, and it was starting to pay off. The big aircraft was starting to respond, but she was sluggish and continually trying to yaw because of the damaged starboard wing. The additional loss of the number 4 engine would take a severe toll on the distance they could glide if the engines couldn’t be restarted.
The numbers sprang to his mind as if hardwired into his brain. In a controlled glide under ideal conditions, an unpowered 747 could travel 15 feet forward for every loss of 1 foot of altitude. But these were far from ideal conditions. They’d already lost over 8,000 feet in trying to recover, and then there were the winds at this altitude to factor in.
DiGriz attempted the mental maths. If they could recover a level attitude by 20,000 feet, the best glide distance would work out at just over 50 miles. That was how long they had to start the remaining engines or a ditching was guaranteed and 50 miles closer to land at this stage of the flight meant very little.
His calculations were interrupted by Wylie cursing vehemently in the right hand seat.
“Nice and calm Lee,” he chided gently. “The Lady won’t respond to a potty mouth.” Not that he didn’t want to scream and curse himself, but right now he needed Wylie to be calm and professional. “Keep trying for an in-flight restart until we hit 10,000 feet. If we still don’t have any luck we’ll try the ground start procedure, otherwise I’ll need to start dumping fuel before we try to ditch.”
When they’d departed Andrews, the VC-25B had been carrying just over 170 tonnes of fuel in its eight tanks. They’d used four hours worth of that plus the fuel already lost from the starboard wing but if they were going to ditch he’d want to lose more. It would reduce the risk of fire, still a real threat despite the fact they were landing in the sea, and it would add to the aircraft’s buoyancy.
He had little idea how much of the underside of the fuselage had been compromised after the explosion, but if they’d lost cabin pressure then there were holes. It was up to him to ensure that the cabin crew had as much time as possible to evacuate the people on board and despite the size of the aircraft, he knew that could be achieved in a relatively short time as long as nobody panicked back there.
********
“Alright everybody, listen in.” The air force Staff Sergeant was calling from one of the forward seats in the press cabin in an attempt to gain attention. “The sound you’re hearing outside is the flight crew trying to restart the engines, but I want to run through the landing on water drill with you just in case ok?”
Kyle was all ears hoping this would make up for the fact that she’d been too excited to listen before take off.
“First thing you need to know is that we can glide for a short while so we have time to prepare, but we have to be ready when the time comes. What I need you to do is reach under your seats and pull out the life vest that’s there.”
There was a rustling sound through the cabin as 15 media people and several crew members obeyed the order. Again, there was still no sense of panic.
“Alright now is there anybody who does not have a life vest in their possession?”
The flight attendant who had been crouched on the floor stood up.
“Anne, I need to get Brenda forward and treat this head injury. I’ll strap her in up front and get life vests for both of us there.”
“Alright Alan,” she replied unfastening her lap strap and standing up to face the press pool. “Check in with the cockpit and brief me.”
The man nodded and supporting his injured crewmate set off towards the on-board medical centre.
She returned her attention to the sea of silent faces in the cabin and continued with the brief. “Now this is very important. Do not under any circumstances inflate that vest before you attempt to leave the aircraft. I can’t stress that enough ladies and gentlemen, so trust me when I say you’ll have points deducted if you do.” She attempted a slightly nervous smile. “Ok, just follow me as I put on the vest…”
********
Staff Sergeant Alan Hackett half carried, half dragged Senior Airman Caroline Byers through the security cabin, the guest cabin and then down the port side corridor that led past the dining room and senior staff meeting room. Along the way, he checked in with the flight attendants who were detailed to cover each compartment advising them to brief on an expected water landing before moving on again.
When he reached the onboard medical facility just aft of the President’s suite, he gently laid Byers down on the med table and fastened two straps across her before beginning to treat the gash to her head. When he looked at it, he realised that it was way beyond the realms of his simple first aid skills and decided that the doctor was needed.
“Caroline, can you hear me?” He watched carefully as the young woman’s eyelids fluttered. “I need you to hold this…” He saw that she was in no condition to understand or comply with his instructions and so quickly fastened a gauze pad to the wound hoping it would staunch the flow of blood until he could find the doctor.
Stepping out of the door, he saw the two Secret Service agents who were strapped in by the entrance to the Presidential suite.
“Guys, you’re safe to unstrap and check on the President but make it quick. I’m going to fetch the doc forward while we have a few minutes. Any problems, pick up the phone and buzz.”
He didn’t wait for a reply as he dashed aft to the guest facility where he’d seen the doctor on his previous way through.
“Doctor Hallam?” Hallam raised his head with bloodshot eyes and adjusted his glasses. “The flight attendant I just brought through, I need your help please.”
“Have they checked on the President?” Hallam had his priorities right which at least showed that he wasn’t completely falling apart.
“I have security checking on her now. If you’d come with me please?”
Hackett led Hallam to the medical facility then left him to tend to Byers while he checked with the cockpit. He selected the intercom to the cockpit twice before he realised that internal communications must be out. Replacing the handset, he dashed upstairs to the cockpit door and rapped loudly on it.
“Sir it’s Hackett from the press cabin. Internal comms are out back here so I’ve done a run through the compartments.”
There was no reply for a moment and then he heard the clunk of the cockpit door being manually freed from the inside. By the time he entered, Lieutenant Colonel Wylie was just retaking his seat.
“Hackett,” called DiGriz keeping his attention focused on the analog instruments, “I’ll need to keep this brief but it’s gonna be a definite water landing. I don’t know how badly the lower fuselage may have been compromised so we might start taking on water fast which means we need a rapid evacuation.”
Hackett nodded, understanding that time was of the essence.
“Any casualties back there?”
“Security is checking on the President now Sir, but it looks like we got off lightly. Only one non-walking and the doctor is treating her now.”
DiGriz nodded. “Good work Hackett. We’re still trying for a restart but it looks like a no go. Without internal comms, you’ll have to get the passengers moving as soon as we come to a rest ok? Your discretion.”
“Got it Sir, I’ll report back when I have an update.”
Moving quickly, Hackett ran back down the stairs to see the Secret Service agent exiting the Presidential suite supporting a fellow agent.
“President is fine,” he said. “I just need to pop Agent Harmon’s shoulder back in and then we’ll join her for the landing.” Hackett thought grimly that landing might not be quite the right term for it, but simply nodded.
“Let the doc know that the President’s ok and make sure that you all have your life vests on but do not inflate them before you exit the aircraft under any circumstances ok?" They nodded gravely at the warning and Hackett said, "I need to go aft and brief the other flight attendants.”
As he hurried back through the aircraft, briefing the senior flight attendant in each compartment, he quickly checked through the nearest window at each stop. By the time he’d reached the rear once more, the surface of the Atlantic was getting extremely close. It was only then that he realised he hadn’t stopped to retrieve a life vest.
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON DC, USA
EARTH
22nd January 2026 – 1603 EST (2103 UTC)
Stearman was pacing the floor of the situation room when the first call came in from a civilian aircraft that had been crossing the estimated scene of the incident. They had reported a large slick of what could have been aviation fuel and lubricants as well as possible wreckage and bodies in the water.
Stearman exploded unexpectedly. “Is it Air Force One? Ask them!”
Packard stood quietly and approached Stearman. “Mr Vice President, the aircraft didn’t have time to loiter over the scene because of fuel concerns. However, at least now we have a possible incident scene to investigate and as soon as our forces arrive there, then we’ll know more. They’ll have to make several passes for verification and it may be that until we have a surface vessel on scene, we won’t know exactly what they’ve found.”
“Not good enough Admiral. I expect the armed forces of the United States to respond swiftly and report accurately considering the circumstances.”
“Which they will do Mr Vice President,” responded Packard firmly, “as soon as they have verifiable information to relay to us.”
Carmel watched the interchange praying that Stearman wasn’t about to make a total ass of himself when he caught one of the situation room staffers trying to attract his attention. He quickly moved to the operator’s position as the heated conversation continued out on the floor.
“Sir, it’s the NMCC! They have the Russians on the direct line. They need to speak to the VP immediately.”
The Russians! God they know how to pick their moment thought Carmel.
“I’ll take it.” He picked up the headset and settled it on his head. “This is the NSA, who am I speaking to please?”
“Sir, its Major Arnold, duty controller at the NMCC. I have Acting Premier on the direct line wishing to speak to the Vice President immediately.”
Carmel thought quickly. “Did they say what it was about Major?”
“No Sir, they said they’ll only speak with Vice President Stearman.”
“Alright, hold the connection, I’ll get the Vice President over.”
Placing the headset on the console, Carmel quickly interjected himself between Packard and Stearman.
“Mr Vice President, I’m sorry to interrupt but I have the NMCC with a direct line communication from Moscow. They need to speak to you immediately.”
For a moment, Stearman seemed dazed as if the sudden interruption had taken the wind out of his sails. “Why? What is it?”
“They didn’t say Sir, simply said they need to speak to you as soon as possible.”
“Deal with them, Mr Carmel. I’ve got other priorities right now.”
“Sir?” Carmel couldn’t believe his ears. “I seriously advise you to…”
Stearman turned quickly to face Carmel. “No Mr Carmel, it is I that advise you if I’m not mistaken. Deal with it.”
Stearman stormed off leaving Carmel to stare in shock at Packard.
“Take the call Bob, I’ll speak to the Vice President,” Packard said quietly before striding to catch up with Stearman.
Hurrying back to the console, he placed the headset on once again. “Major Arnold, patch the line through please.”
“Connecting now Sir.”
There was the faintest of clicks before he heard Arnold introduce the acting Premier of the Russian Federation.
“Vice President Stearman?”
“I’m sorry Acting Premier; the Vice President is on a second line at the moment. I apologise for the delay.” It galled Carmel to have to cover for Stearman, but protocol demanded it. He certainly wasn’t about to start divulging information about the downing of Air Force One.
“Then perhaps you will ask him to contact me immediately after he has finished. I assume he would like an update on the condition of President Everett?”
Carmel’s mouth fell open. The Russians had the President!
Air Force One is in mortal jeopardy, and it seems a rescue of any survivors (if anyone lives through this) will be a long way off.
