It seemed that his head had barely touched the pillow when the telephone's
persistent ringing blasted him awake. At first he groped for the clock,
only to find it silently blinking time in the dark. It wasn't set to wake him
for another hour. Groggy from the abrupt awakening, Jake could still recognize
the oily voice on the other end of the line.
"Captain Adams?"
"Affirmative."
"I hope I didn't wake you."
"You damn well did."
"Sorry. I wanted to catch you before you left the hotel. I'd like to see you
in my office for a few minutes before you leave for London again. Can you
check in half an hour early?"
"All right, Jerry," Jake sighed. "See you then."
Jake lay back on the pillow, trying to doze before the alarm went off.
It was no use. His thoughts continued to torture him. He knew perfectly well
what Jerry Bruce wanted. Of course Maintenance hadn't found anything wrong
with that engine.
Jake had learned in primary to trust his intuition, his 'airman's sixth sense,'
as Marg now called it. More than once his intuition had saved his ass, and a
lot of others along with it. And tonight it had told him not to fly that airplane
out over the long water jump. He didn't believe in psychic phenomena,
like Marg did, but he never forgot his first flight instructor's words,
"Never fly an airplane unless you feel right about it." Once, he'd watched a
buddy crash and burn in a Stearman that Jake had refused to fly. A prop
blade had broken off and sliced through wing struts just as the trainer broke
ground. A hairline fracture had not shown up on the preflight. But watching
helplessly while a buddy burned to death was not something a man forgot.
Jake gave up, and got up. At least the coffee shop wasn't crowded this early.
He left word with the van driver so the rest of his crew would know he'd gone
on ahead.
By the time Jake walked into the Chief Pilot's office half an hour later
it felt like all the demons of Hell were shoeing horses inside his chest and gut.
"Hello, Jake," the secretary greeted him with a friendly smile. "I think you're
in hot water again."
"Doesn't surprise me. But like I always say...it's better than being in the
cold North Atlantic. I take it Jerry's waiting for me?"
"Is he ever!"
"Then let's get this over with."
She flipped the switch on her intercom. "Captain Adams is here to see you,
Captain Bruce."
"Send him in, please." Bruce's smooth voice betrayed nothing.
Jake squared his shoulders and lifted his chin before he strolled into Bruce's
office. The Chief Pilot leaned back in his chair behind a massive oak desk.
Coldly he appraised Jake's appearance, from gold-braided cap to spit-shined
black shoes.
"I can't say I'm happy to see you again, Jake. I just finished talking to
System Control. Putting that bird down for so many hours has screwed up
the whole schedule. If it weren't that this Miami-London route is so important
to us now I'd recommend canceling two days of it to get back in sync.
Have you talked to Maintenance yet?"
Jake was glad that Bruce was seated. The Chief Pilot's imposing height
made Jake uncomfortable when he had to confront Bruce standing. It was
the only way any pilot could look up to the man, Jake reminded himself.
Jerry Bruce had no redeeming qualities that Jake knew of. Even his looks
were foppish. His carefully styled dark hair and thin mustache made him
look like the villain in an early vaudeville sketch. One of the younger pilots
promoted because of his intra-company political connections rather than his
skill, Bruce was not liked, nor respected, by line pilots. He left no doubt that
the feeling was mutual.
"Not since we got in late last night," Jake answered evenly. "There's just been
time to sleep a little, and eat less. I'll talk to the Lead Mechanic when I get to
Operations. I thought I'd best stop here first."
"Now, Jake," Bruce suddenly changed his tactics. "I can imagine how you
must have felt when that engine flamed out and you were still fairly close to land.
But we have to think of the budget, you know. As it turned out, it seems like you
could have kept going and saved the company a lot of money. I have an Incident
Report from the Customer Service Supervisor who worked the trip inbound here,
with a list of expenses incurred for hotels, meals, and so on for two hundred and
fifty people."
Jake's steely gaze bored into Bruce. "I suppose you'd have kept on going?"
"Well...let me put it this way...if you're not willing to take a chance now and then,
there's always someone who will. Jake, I don't know any gentle way to put this.
I've always admired you, and you're certainly one of our better pilots. But times
are changing. We've got so much competition with deregulation and cut-rate fares.
We have to think differently than we did a few years ago. It's a matter of economics...
cost effectiveness. I'm going to have a tough time defending your decision to the guys
upstairs. They already think you senior people should take early retirement and make
way for new blood."
"You mean cheaper blood."
Bruce winced, but continued. "Perhaps you should bid domestic trips until you retire.
Over land."
Jake barely controlled the fury that exploded inside him. He leaned on Bruce's desk,
his hands carefully placed to effectively display the gold seniority pips above the four
gold stripes on each black sleeve. Jake watched Bruce's shifty gaze flick to the gleaming
display, and linger on the gold wreath that was Jake's Check Airman insignia.
Jake knew his message was coming through loud and clear.
"You see these, don't you?" Jake asked coldly. "They mean I'm in command. I alone
hold hundreds of lives in my hands each time I turn a wheel. I was teaching pilots to fly
when you were still in diapers. You wouldn't have a job at all if I hadn't nursed you
through your last three proficiency checks. You're the same sorry sonofabitch you've
always been, Jerry. You'll never be fit to fly anything but a desk, and you know it.
If you had to go back on the line, you'd never pass another check ride because I damn
well wouldn't help you again. But I'll tell you this...I know more about driving airplanes
than all your B-scale pilots put together. As for being cost-effective, tell your board of
directors to think about the cost of putting a 747 full of people in the drink. I'd make
the same decision again. When it comes to safety I answer to all those people behind me,
and to my conscience...not to the almighty dollar. You tell the System Control people and
the Customer Service Supervisor that it's none of their damn business how I run my trip.
It's my command, and by God I'll be in command because that's what my license requires.
I'll fly any place my seniority can take me. And you can fly your frigging desk any place
it'll take you!"
Jake spun on his heel and marched out of the office, leaving Bruce spluttering, while his
secretary mouthed a silent 'Bravo' as Jake strode past her. The pain in his stomach and gut
was gone. He felt great.
It was a long hike to Ops. By the time Jake entered the busy little room he had calmed down.
Danny Callahan leaned against the counter, studying the flight departure papers.
"Rough time with Bruce?"
"No worse than usual. I suppose I should have stayed in the Training Department.
Not that I didn't tangle with the desk jockeys there, too."
'I know. I've had my share of run-ins as well. I suppose you've heard about this,
but you're too polite to mention it. I walked off an airplane two months ago because
I thought it wasn't safe."
"I'd heard rumors. I figured you'd tell me if you wanted to."
"Jake, you know I was an A&P when we were still A&E's. I signed off plenty of
airplanes before I climbed into this third seat. So, picture this: I'm doing my pre-flight,
and here's a delaminating windshield, Captain's side. It is definitely not within legal limits.
Then I go outside and find a gear door hinge pin so corroded I wouldn't even have it in
my car. So help me, while I'm looking at it a baggage cart taps the door and bends the pin.
A Maintenance foreman comes and bends it back into shape, sort of, and signs it off.
I couldn't believe it! I point out the corrosion, and he says, 'Tech Service says it's within limits.'
So I say, 'Okay, let Tech Service fly the damn thing.' And I went home. They got a reserve
second officer to take the trip. They already had a brand new reserve captain who sat there
like 'whatever you guys say.' So, they get near Bermuda, and the windshield goes 'boing!'
So down they go, into Bermuda, with oxygen masks dangling all over the place. When they
put the gear down, the door fell off, and tore through hydraulic lines. That knocks out the
one and four systems. They got the main wheels down okay, and cranked the nose gear down.
That always beats the inflight movie for passenger entertainment. But they had next to no brakes,
and with that crazed windshield the captain could hardly see out. Somebody was watching over
that guy, so they made it safely down. But what if they'd rolled the airplane into a ball of fire
on landing? Who'd have been hanged for it? El Capitan, of course, if he survived. Not a word
in court or the investigation about management's 'cost-effective' non-maintenance policies...
'don't fix it 'til it breaks.' 'Pilot error' or 'pilot committed suicide'...sure he did, he got up that
day and came to work...and the public buys it."
"What did they do to you?" Jake asked.
"I got two weeks on the ground, without pay of course. But I figured it was worth it to miss
all that stress. My old lady says she'd rather have me poor and alive."
"You're a good man, Danny. I'm glad you're here this month."
"Maybe not. I talked to the Lead Mechanic. He drained the tanks and sent fuel samples to
Tech Service. The filters were okay, but I've got a hunch they should get into those tanks."
"They won't do that until the next phase check."
"Not even then, with things the way they are now. Cheaper to take a calculated risk
that it won't happen again than to ground the bird ahead of its scheduled time.
Anyway, we got a new airplane. They substituted ours on a 1011 trip...with passengers...
to get it back to Miami. It left this morning early on a flight that should have left last night.
The crew that ferried our new bird up here flew it."
So another reserve captain had taken it, Jake mused. With all new fuel and an airport
every few miles along the two and a half hour route to Miami. With a little luck One Three
Seven Yankee would be routed back to South America. With less than a year before he was
forced to retire Jake might never see it again.
"What's up? You guys look awful grim," Dunbar called from across the room where he
checked the flight clearance. Jake joined him as the copilot read off the information.
"Payload's 70,000 pounds. Sounds like about what we had yesterday. Couldn't have lost too
many passengers. We don't have the New York-London authority, so we can't pick up any
new ones, unless they scrounge up some pass-riders. That front's stalled in about the same place.
Looks like everything is still down from Boston north and east. I'm sure glad we got a new airplane."