My fourth month with the company was memorable. In those days a 727 crew would be together on every trip for a month. Since computers were in their infancy, and there was no internet, any schedule trading had to be done by hand. If I thought real hard, I might be able to remember the captain’s name, but I remember that he lived in Trumble, Connecticut, so I will call him Capt Trumble. The poor guy seemed like a by-the-book team player to me, but snake bitten by bad luck. I was too new to read the tea leaves, so he would translate to me things like:
-The company thinks I went missed approach three times, entered holding, and diverted to Newark just to make more money.
-The company thinks I faked the compressor stall on #2 engine to make more money.
Here are some more things I remember from that month. We were passing though a fairly big hub and I, as the flight engineer, discovered a tripped circuit breaker for external navigation lights that wouldn’t reset. I had doubts that maintenance would try to fix it unless it was documented in the logbook, so, in the absence of either pilot, I entered the squawk. This is a big no-no. Only the captain decides what gets entered in the logbook for reasons that I could now go on all day about. But Captain Trumble was very good about delivering his admonishment gently. (Ref my “Doggone switch” story, that captain would have probably had me in tears). I remember this malfunction meant no night flying, possibly canceling a subsequent leg. Maybe that cancellation played a role in the next vague memory, which was to deadhead home on a DC-10 that needed a captain. To my surprise, Captain Trumble was dual rated, and flew as captain while I sat in first class. Another time that same month we heard “American 123 turn right to 150 immediately“; this is a rare radio call that usually averts a collision threat somehow. The last memory, before I get on with my real story, happened on final approach in Philadelphia; it appeared to me that the pilots were forgetting final flaps, so after waiting as long as I could, I reminded them.
So, I learned a lot that month and in about the third week; as if we weren’t already cursed enough, I made the comment that really jinxed us, something like “I am getting the hang of this and I think I’m ready for anything”. We checked the logbook as we swapped jets in Dallas, heading for Philly. The jet had a pneumatic bleed valve on #3 engine that was placarded inoperative in accordance with guidelines of the Minimum Equipment List (MEL). This was in response to a logbook entry on the previous flight, possibly an imbalance in the duct pressure, and it had not flown this way since. It is not uncommon to have something placarded and when it happens the crew should reference the MEL for any special procedures. The bleed valve was my domain, and I correctly followed the MEL by leaving it closed. Since you already have some idea about what is coming, I will give you the Cliff notes on takeoff performance. Every time we accelerate down the runway we announce a speed called V1. If we decide to abort before V1, we know it is possible to stop within the remaining runway. Likewise, if we decide to takeoff after V1, we know that we have enough runway to do that, even if an engine fails after that point. Both must be true, or we would not attempt a takeoff on that runway. Sometimes we are so light that we have both options during quite a speed range, but it is common for passengers, or cargo, or fuel to be added to the point where the first opportunity to continue taking off within the remaining runway is also the last opportunity to stop, and that point
is displayed on the airspeed indicator as V1. We call that a “balanced field” condition.
The worst time to get an engine failure is right at V1 on a balanced field because if you start the abort too late, or continue the takeoff too early, there will be insufficient runway length. We never put the airplane where there would be no safe option if something were to fail, no matter what, but we do
reduce it down to only one option depending on your speed. It should be no surprise that the FAA makes us exercise the proper action in the simulator. On every visit they crank down the visibility to a half mile or less, crank up the crosswind to the limit, and hit us with an engine fire or failure right at V1 to make sure we are ready for the worst case scenario. We call them “V1 cuts”.
The conditions were not “worst case” on the evening of the event because the visibility was very good and the crosswind was not at the limit. By the time we got out to the runway, the flight had progressed routinely, with all the typical effort of getting our final numbers (weight and passenger count, etc), assuring proper flap setting, and coordinating with various controllers to be worked into the traffic flow to the runway. It was all the stuff we do every day and the pilots had long forgotten about the placarded bleed valve, but there was a part of me that wondered if maintenance had looked close enough when they addressed the logbook entry. It didn’t seem to me that it had been on the ground long enough for a thorough check. They thought they were
ruling out a problematic duct leak by turning off the source of hot air, but what if they were wrong about the source of the leak? If so, where would all that hot air be going? So, there we were, rolling down the runway on another routine flight. The captain was monitoring and making all the routine calls as the copilot flew the takeoff. “Stand ‘em up, Push ‘em up, Power set, 80 kts, V1, Rotate”. But, right at V1, just like the simulator, the fire light on #3
engine came on, along with an obnoxious bell. The first crewmember to notice was supposed to call it out, and that was me: “Engine Fire Number Three!” I like it when the training rises to the top, and that was the feeling I had at the time. I was scrambling, but I knew what I was supposed to do. I think the pilots knew their responsibilities too, but the captain used his emergency prerogative to modify, and that is where the problems came in.
I have talked before about the myriad of thoughts that go through my head in an instant. In this case, I remember thinking it’s probably hot air blowing across the fire loop from the danged bleed leak that they didn’t fix right, which I figured the pilots had forgotten about. But we had to assume the worst anyway. I remember thinking we were a little on the heavy side and wondering if the ramifications of that would unduly complicate what was coming next. The pilots must have thought I was pretty whacked-out to be blurting “What’s our weight?” at such an inopportune moment. I looked down at the closeout and saw that we were a couple thousand pounds over maximum landing weight, which was completely manageable, but still a factor in what was to come.
My first responsibility was to grab the emergency checklist and run it. There were memory items for the most crucial stuff that we would be doing, but I could read them right from the card since the procedure was to fly at V2 airspeed and wait until cleanup altitude. During that period of time the captain squeezed off a radio call to tower to tell them we had a fire and needed to come back. Speaking about instant thoughts, he later said that he was thinking about the infamous Air Canada flight that did not get on the ground in time to save the passengers from an inferno; I think 23 people died. See:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Air_Canada_Flight_797
But that was a cabin fire started by a cigarette in the bathroom trash, something completely irrelevant that would never result in an engine fire light. There was little time to discuss these instant thoughts, especially with the pace the captain was setting.
“Standing by Engine Fire or Severe Damage checklist”
“Go ahead with the checklist”
“Throttle (affected engine) – Retard. (The pilot flying will retard the affected throttle)”
“Confirm #3 throttle” “Number 3 throttle confirmed”
“Engine fire handle (affected engine)- Pull”
“Confirm #3 fire handle” “Number 3 confirmed”
And so on…
After the first few steps, the remainder of the checklist was mine to do and call out while the pilots flew the airplane (still the copilot at the controls). My hands were flying as I threw switches and turned valves to secure the fuel, hydraulics, electrics, and pneumatic air coming from that engine. Meanwhile I tried to have some situational awareness about what the pilots were doing, but that was tough because that aspect was not looking like the typical simulator ride. Both pilots later said they were relieved to hear me call out “Engine Fire/Severe Damage checklist complete”. But after I called it, I looked out the window to see us in a swooping ¼ mile final turn to a runway that had seemed to come out of nowhere! I knew we still had the entire “Before Landing” checklist to do, not to mention several others that applied to our situation, but we would be in the landing flare in a matter of seconds, and I determined that the best thing to do was to make sure the important things were done. Was the gear down? Were the flaps out? What else is important on that checklist?
One answer to that question, in hindsight, was the bug speed. It escaped everybody’s attention that the one little reference bug on each airspeed indicator was still set to V2, instead of a landing reference speed. That meant the copilot would be flaring with a full 10 knots of extra airspeed. The tower had offered Captain Trumble the little-used runway 31R to land to the northwest, after having taken off to the south on 17R. That is less than a full box pattern requiring one left turn of a little more than 180 degrees to put us on final approach. I don’t remember exactly what the wind was, but a typical headwind taking off to the south would have resulted in a tailwind component for this landing. A proper engine failure approach would use less than full flaps to reduce drag and preserve go-around capability. Did I mention that this runway was shorter?
So, there we were trying to land heavyweight, 10 knots fast, on a short runway with a possible tailwind, less drag, and minus one engine. When the copilot edged up his pitch to stop the sink, the airplane just parked about five feet off the ground, happily floating above the runway, seemingly forever. The captain, realizing that a good bit of the runway was already behind us and still exercising his emergency authority, reached up and “cracked” the spoiler handle. You can see, next time you fly, that the spoilers are always extended after landing to spoil the airflow above the wings; that kills the lift and keeps the airplane on the ground. Even the little bit he pulled out from a level five feet above the ground meant that we came crashing down, but a welcomed crash it was, as they went about the business of getting the plane stopped. The next ramification suddenly became obvious. We had 33% less reverse thrust available; with one engine shut down, and you can bet they were using it all, plus all the braking they had. So, there we were, with two engines roaring. Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar. It didn’t seem to be having much effect! Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar.. The most endless reverser operation in my memory, Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar. The end of the runway was coming up. Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar Roar.
Finally, we stopped, still on the runway in the last 500 feet. The next thing on the agenda was to determine if we really had a fire and decide if we had to evacuate. The flight attendants are the evacuation experts. Thanks to them, getting a planeload of passengers off the airplane is usually measured in seconds, but there are often injuries involved as people of all sizes and ages slide down the chutes. Therefore, the decision to evacuate must not be taken lightly. With the captain’s consent, I picked up the intercom and asked a flight attendant in the back to look for any signs of fire on the right, wait, correct place. Now, I would say “right/copilot’s side”, but I don’t remember if I had that technique at the time.
Let me take a moment to say a few words about a bizarre phenomenon. The daily boarding process seems to affect the flight attendants’ perspective of left and right. The industry has acknowledged this, but has been slow to emphasize it in training. Notice, the next time you board a jet, a flight attendant at the forward door will point aft with brief directions about how to find your seat, saying that it will be on your right, or on your left, as the case may be. Walking aft, your left is on the airplane’s right. History has demonstrated, more than once, that a flight attendant might look out the wrong side of the airplane if you ask them to look out the left or right window. It might seem silly, but airplanes have crashed over the issue. One case in point took place about 25 years ago on a two engine 737 in England. The story I heard was that the flight attendants confirmed no fire in the left engine by looking left, while facing aft, and seeing no sign of fire. Read the following link about it and you can decide, but I always say “right/copilot’s side”, or “left/captain’s side”. I remember making sure the flight attendant was looking in the right correct place, and relayed to the captain that she saw nothing unusual. See:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kegworth_air_disaster
.
By now the fire trucks were pulling up and confirming to us on the radio that there were no external signs of fire. Thankfully, we could avoid the ugly prospect of evacuating. Since we were all in agreement that the emergency was probably over, we obtained clearance from tower to begin a taxi back to the gate, escorted by the fire trucks just in case. The captain pushed up the throttles to break-away thrust, which is a maximum thrust setting we use in the gate area to make sure our jet blast does not damage equipment, roll baggage carts, or hurt the ground crew. The left and center engines were both up to break-away, but we had not started moving. The obvious response to that was to add more power; after all, there were only two of the three engines running and, being on a runway, jet blast was not a concern. So, the captain pushed them up further, but still no movement. Maybe the runway had a bit of an upslope? Captain Trumble really cobbed them. Roar roar roar roar, but all we did was sit there and burn kerosene. Simultaneously our independent suspicions intersected at one conclusion, our brakes were seized. The heavy weight, fast touchdown, and short runway had resulted in a high energy stop, and that energy, which had to go somewhere, wound up in our brakes expressed as heat. We might have prevented the high brake temperature from welding them together by not setting the parking brake after we stopped, but other things were on our minds at the time. At least we had our own staircase because the 727 was designed with “airstairs” that we could drop from inside; soon all the passengers were walking across the runway towards a waiting bus.
When we arrived at the terminal, the company had already found another airplane, and everybody was game for another try, except for a couple of passengers who said they would take a bus. In the world of airline flying, the delay we saw arriving at our Philadelphia hotel was hardly worth mentioning, but the first attempt to get there is a memory forever etched in my mind. The airplane has a data-link communication system which, among other things, automatically sends a liftoff and touchdown time to the company; this is one way that the monitors in the terminal are kept up to date. The entire flight lasted 4 minutes from “off” to “on”.
Captain’s Log 