instructions.
Almost there.
* * * * * *
The tower crew watches Delta Flight 1493 approach, their binoculars trained on the landing lights that are growing larger and brighter by the second. Due to the nature of the emergency, they’ve cleared the field and airspace around. Of course, it’s early in the morning so they don’t have much traffic to begin with.
With clearance to land given, it’s just a matter of waiting for the flight to touch down and then handing control off to the authorities. They are short-staffed due to the large numbers who have called in sick but, using on-call personnel, they have enough to manage.
The reports from center were sketchy. The pilot reported that the passengers were being attacked and that they had numerous casualties on board. How many there might be is unknown as the pilot was unsure. The latest report indicated that the pilot, co-pilot, and one other flight crew member might be the only ones left alive. They had also reported someone trying to gain entry into the cockpit. That means a hijacking and it may leave Denver closed for some time.
Staring at the approaching lights, the tower personnel note the occasional swing as the aircraft rides through turbulent air. The red flashing lights of emergency vehicles stand to the sides of the runway, the only real indication that something is amiss with the flight. Other than that, it looks like any other airliner approaching for a night landing. The runway controller holds a radio in his hands, ready to turn control of the flight over to the FBI agents who arrived a short while ago. Once the wheels touch the ground, it’s their show.
Over the approach lights, the landing lights break through the darkness. The aircraft experiences another wobble of turbulence which is almost immediately righted. The runway threshold begins to be illuminated under the intense glare. Going through another moment of turbulence, the 757 slews slightly to the side. Used to seeing the effect of turbulence from the wind passing over the mountains a short distance to the west, the controllers gathered together in the tower expect an immediate correction. They are taken aback, and then watch in horror, as the aircraft slides to one side of the runway and slams into the ground. Dirt, metal, and fuel are thrown into the air and to the sides. Skidding across the ground, the aircraft begins coming apart. The fuel, thrown from ruptured tanks, becomes vaporized by the impact and ignites with a tremendous concussive explosion that lasts only moments before settling back down to a slow burning fire.
They were right about one thing; Denver would be closed for some time.
Seaside, Oregon
Kyle Thornton stands unmoving on the sidewalk, staring at the reflection in the window of him and his family. The small store advertises T-shirts and other touristy items familiar to many of the small shops in the towns along the Oregon Coast. People from the interior and other locales descend upon the coastal communities during the summer months to partake of the sunny days on the long stretches of beach and scenic views of the mostly rock coastline.
Kyle’s red T-shirt reflects starkly as he gazes at the torsos of the partial mannequins just inside the window, each one hosting a shirt with scenic screen prints plastered on their fronts. Looking to his daughter, who is approaching her eighth year, he smiles as she reaches into the small white sack to extract another salt water taffy. Her white summer dress blows gently against her legs from a light onshore breeze.
“That’s enough candy for now,” Kyle’s wife, Carol, says, leaning down to pluck the sack from her small hands.
She adds the small bag to the other larger, plastic ones she is carrying from the shopping they’ve done during the morning. Her long, tan legs extend from a pair of jean shorts with her button-up blouse blowing in the breeze. Even with the illnesses that have spread
Almost there.
* * * * * *
The tower crew watches Delta Flight 1493 approach, their binoculars trained on the landing lights that are growing larger and brighter by the second. Due to the nature of the emergency, they’ve cleared the field and airspace around. Of course, it’s early in the morning so they don’t have much traffic to begin with.
With clearance to land given, it’s just a matter of waiting for the flight to touch down and then handing control off to the authorities. They are short-staffed due to the large numbers who have called in sick but, using on-call personnel, they have enough to manage.
The reports from center were sketchy. The pilot reported that the passengers were being attacked and that they had numerous casualties on board. How many there might be is unknown as the pilot was unsure. The latest report indicated that the pilot, co-pilot, and one other flight crew member might be the only ones left alive. They had also reported someone trying to gain entry into the cockpit. That means a hijacking and it may leave Denver closed for some time.
Staring at the approaching lights, the tower personnel note the occasional swing as the aircraft rides through turbulent air. The red flashing lights of emergency vehicles stand to the sides of the runway, the only real indication that something is amiss with the flight. Other than that, it looks like any other airliner approaching for a night landing. The runway controller holds a radio in his hands, ready to turn control of the flight over to the FBI agents who arrived a short while ago. Once the wheels touch the ground, it’s their show.
Over the approach lights, the landing lights break through the darkness. The aircraft experiences another wobble of turbulence which is almost immediately righted. The runway threshold begins to be illuminated under the intense glare. Going through another moment of turbulence, the 757 slews slightly to the side. Used to seeing the effect of turbulence from the wind passing over the mountains a short distance to the west, the controllers gathered together in the tower expect an immediate correction. They are taken aback, and then watch in horror, as the aircraft slides to one side of the runway and slams into the ground. Dirt, metal, and fuel are thrown into the air and to the sides. Skidding across the ground, the aircraft begins coming apart. The fuel, thrown from ruptured tanks, becomes vaporized by the impact and ignites with a tremendous concussive explosion that lasts only moments before settling back down to a slow burning fire.
They were right about one thing; Denver would be closed for some time.
Seaside, Oregon
Kyle Thornton stands unmoving on the sidewalk, staring at the reflection in the window of him and his family. The small store advertises T-shirts and other touristy items familiar to many of the small shops in the towns along the Oregon Coast. People from the interior and other locales descend upon the coastal communities during the summer months to partake of the sunny days on the long stretches of beach and scenic views of the mostly rock coastline.
Kyle’s red T-shirt reflects starkly as he gazes at the torsos of the partial mannequins just inside the window, each one hosting a shirt with scenic screen prints plastered on their fronts. Looking to his daughter, who is approaching her eighth year, he smiles as she reaches into the small white sack to extract another salt water taffy. Her white summer dress blows gently against her legs from a light onshore breeze.
“That’s enough candy for now,” Kyle’s wife, Carol, says, leaning down to pluck the sack from her small hands.
She adds the small bag to the other larger, plastic ones she is carrying from the shopping they’ve done during the morning. Her long, tan legs extend from a pair of jean shorts with her button-up blouse blowing in the breeze. Even with the illnesses that have spread
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