Rogue Element

The F-16’s altimeter wound down, counting back through the thousands of feet in a matter of seconds.

Granger and Flemming were checking their instruments, and Rivers was setting up the coordinates of Hasanuddin in the Flight Management Computer, when the second missile hit. The 747 yawed violently with the blow.

The flight deck instantly filled with mist as the rapid pressure change condensed all the water vapour out of the air. ‘Jesus Christ!’ shouted Granger as warning lights illuminated and flashed, lighting up the panel in front of him like a city after sunset. His ears popped viciously with the sudden change in pressure. The cabin rate-of-climb indicator was racing. A warning horn sounded. Granger hit the Alt Horn Cutout switch to silence it. The air pressure inside the 747 was rapidly equalising with the air pressure outside — at around 30 000 feet, an environment lethal to humans.

The flight crew immediately fitted their oxygen masks. Granger checked that the breathing system for the flight crew was correctly pressurised, and that the Pass. Oxygen On light was illuminated, indicating that the passengers were also getting theirs. The captain hit the switch that instructed the passengers to fasten their seatbelts. It was an odd thing to do in the circumstances, thought Granger, as if the passengers were all standing around in the aisles, unperturbed and unaware of the current critical situation. But it was procedure and couldn’t be argued with.

‘Emergency descent,’ said Flemming loudly, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask. He selected the PA and announced as calmly as he could, ‘This is the captain. Emergency descent.’

Granger immediately dialled up the frequency for Air Traffic Control to advise them of QF-1’s intention to descend to 3000 metres, and obtain the QNH for the area — the correct local air pressure at sea level that would allow them to rescale their altimeters for an accurate altitude reading.

He made the call and listened. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. He checked the communications panel quickly. Jesus! It was completely dead, not even receiving power. They had no communications. They were completely cut off. Adrift. He couldn’t let that distract them so he kept the knowledge to himself.

Flemming relentlessly continued the checklist for an emergency descent. ‘Engine start switches.’

The number three engine now had a fire. They shut it down and fired both bottles. Granger, Flemming and Rivers had punishing earaches and stomach cramps from the gases expanding inside them. They were in excruciating pain, as was everyone in the aircraft. At this altitude, their blood was almost at boiling point and there was intense pressure building up in the cavities in their heads. Blood flowed freely from Flemming’s nostrils into his oxygen mask. Start switches for engines one and two were selected to the On position.

‘Thrust levers.’ Flemming pulled the levers to the closed position and announced it.

‘Closed!’ yelled Granger into his mask.

The captain and first officer were themselves operating on a kind of autopilot with routines ingrained through hours of simulator time. They continued through the checklist, setting up the aircraft for the emergency descent.

The 747 began to pick up speed as it dived steeply towards the earth. The numbers on the altimeter rolled off backwards.

The seatbelt across Joe’s lap was done up so tightly that he was getting pins and needles in his feet. The mask dropped down in front of his face and he looked at it dumbly, not immediately knowing what it was for. Then he felt as if he was plunging over a waterfall. He grabbed the seat in front of him, reaching out to it in an attempt to stop the fall. The engine pitch increased to a wail. Joe believed the end was near.

Granger called out their altitude in increments of 5000 feet as the aircraft accelerated. ‘Flight Level three-zero-zero!’

Their rate of descent increased to the near vertical and the big aircraft shook frighteningly. ‘Two-five-zero!’

Raptor watched his prey lurch viciously in its dive. He had expected the aircraft to explode in a ball of flame and was disappointed that it hadn’t.

Still, the fighter pilot had seen enough file footage from gun cameras to know a kill when he saw one. There was only one possible outcome for the stricken 747. He retarded the throttle and slipped back a safe distance behind the giant. If the 747 did explode and his F-16 was too close, he risked bits of the disintegrating Boeing being inhaled into his engine, with disastrous results.

Joe strained against his seatbelt as the 747 screamed in its dive. He sucked oxygen from the yellow cup, the tangle of masks hanging like jellyfish tentacles in front of his face. He blinked through the frigid mist. His window was glazed with frost. The pain in his ears was searing. His stomach cramped in agony.