Eagle Air Charter
By Andy Hatcher
13 March 2008
Two days after Hurricane Katrina slammed into the Gulf Coast,
devastating New Orleans, I got the phone call I expected. To be more
honest, I eagerly awaited it, pacing the floor in my small kitchen
wondering what the mission would be, but more importantly, what could
I do to help all those people. Eagle Air Charter VA has always put
people first and flown aid in some form or fashion to victims of
natural disasters all over the world. Just a couple of years ago, I
flew shuttle missions to Corpus Christie in a rickety old DC-3. It
was the only thing big enough to be effective yet small enough to
make use of the only surviving airport when the last hurricane came
through.
This time, the mission was simple. I was to take our 727 cargo
hauler to Baton Rouge loaded with MRE's, medical supplies, and some
rudimentary building material. The Red Cross was on the scene, and
they wanted it there yesterday! Grabbing my bag of charts, maps and
other goodies, I hit the door at a trot, eager to get started. It
kind of unsettled me, though, realizing that I had flown out of New
Orleans just three days prior. What would have happened to me had I
been delayed even 24 hours? I mean, forecasters knew the storm was
coming, and surge was already pounding the city long before the storm
actually hit. And here I am, going back in. They say the population
of Baton Rouge more than doubled in the days before landfall. I don't
doubt it.
When I arrived at the terminal in Colorado Springs, Eric was there
waiting for me with the particulars of the mission. I could tell by
the look on his face that everything was not as it appeared. When he
handed me the manifest, I saw why. In addition to the food and
medicine, I was ferrying an entire company of National Guardsmen.
Being CEO of the company, I had every right to decline the mission,
but I served my time, and I knew that the National Guard were not
just arbitrarily deployed. I also learned back in my early ferrying
days not to ask questions, and I could see on Eric's face that the
same was true in this instance. Don't get me wrong, because I have
the utmost respect for our uniformed services in all circumstances.
What bothered me was, it must have gotten completely out of hand in
New Orleans. How many more planes of guardsmen were being sent in?
I gave the trusty old 727 the obligatory pre-flight inspection,
the proverbial kicking of the tires before the lighting of the fires,
and climbed aboard. As the ground crew rolled away the stairs, one of
my crew shut and dogged the door, making sure we were completely
buttoned up. The 727 isn't a very big aircraft, making me wonder just
how heavy the old bird really was. In order to make room for the 128
armed soldiers and their gear, nearly all the planned cargo had been
removed and seat platforms installed. Some of them looked to be no
more than 18, barely old enough to shave, but they were eager to
serve, just as I had been when I joined the Army straight out of high
school in 1984. To fit that many on board, they were packed in like
sardines. The smell of break-free on their M16A2's permeated the
cabin, bringing back memories of a time when... well, I digress. It
was time to go.
There were still some lingering storms in Baton Rouge, so I had to
plan for that. Obviously, I couldn't use New Orleans as an
alternative, so I decided that if things went wrong, I'd head over to
Houston and the guys could bus in from there. All the preflights were
done, and I eased into the throttles, gently rolling the aircraft
from the ramp to the taxiway. Four A.M. What a time to fly! Flaps
set, APU off, three engines normal, everything looked good. As I
approached the runway, tower cleared me for takeoff, so I hot-rolled
from the taxiway and got airborne. I was a little bit long on the
takeoff roll, but that was expected. I was heavier than usual, after
all. A little bit of turbulence jounced us pretty good at about
10,000 feet, but for the most part, departure had gone smoothly
enough. My copilot and I settled in for the next couple of hours to
Baton Rouge.
"Hey, Rod, how 'bout grabbing us some coffee? They did pack the
coffee, right?"
"Sure thing, Andy."
As we got closer to Baton Rouge, the weather got rough.
Thunderstorms were popping up all over the place below us, and I
began to wonder just how much the old bird could handle. After all,
she wasn't a spring chicken anymore, and this turbulence was
horrible! In addition to the usual rattles and bumps, there was an
added assortment of new, more violent noises that, honestly, really
began to worry me. I found myself repeatedly checking the engine
instruments, looking for some reassurance that they were actually
still attached to the aircraft and running. Everything appeared to be
normal, but still I examined the gauges, looking for any indication
that something awful had happened. Nothing. Thank God!
"Boy, it's getting rough," said Rod.
"I know. This is bad. Let's go up to 310. We still have time."
I set the autopilot for a shallow climb, leaving flight level 270
behind us looking for smoother air. Normally, this would give me some
glimmer of hope, but as we climbed, the turbulence did not let up. It
must have really been storming down there, and we were nowhere near
the remnants of the hurricane. I held out little hope of a smooth
descent, and that time was coming in a hurry!
"Eagle 19, descend and maintain 11,000 feet, maintain own
navigation," Houston Center called, confirming my fears that our time
was coming.
"11,000 feet, Eagle 19," called Rod.
As we approached 11,000 feet, I had long abandoned my constant
examination of the engine instruments to concentrate on the descent.
It was rough, to say the least. The old plane bounced violently, yet
continued to hold together. But we weren't down yet. We wouldn't be
safe until we were on the ground at the airport and shut down. I
wondered how many of the soldiers back there had gotten sick. I'm
surprised I hadn't yet, and that's something I never did, not even on
my first flight in a Cessna back in Eufaula, ironically chasing
thunderstorms.
"Eagle 19, continue descent to 8,000 feet and contact Baton Rouge
approach on 120.3. Good day and good luck!"
Well, that was reassuring. Rod set COM1 to the appropriate
frequency and called approach just as the annunciator sounded. It was
like a bolt of lightning shot through me. What in the world had
happened?!? Another scan of the instruments revealed the problem.
Passing through 9,000 feet, the number three engine coughed and died.
More annunciators sounded, and things were getting pretty chaotic on
the flight deck. I quickly cut the fuel switch to number three and
killed the pumps in the empty right wing tank. Why was I out of fuel?
We took on extra just to compensate for the weather and for the
longer than usual distance to the alternate, yet there I was looking
at a gauge telling me the right tank was empty. No time to
contemplate it now. I still showed roughly 3,500 pounds in the other
tanks, so I should have enough. What worried me was making the
approach into Baton Rouge in bad weather on two engines.
"Rod, tell Approach what's happening and see if they can get us in
quick. Advise them we're down an engine and tell them we're
struggling."
I never even had to tell him to do that, because he was a step
ahead. While I was quickly thinking of my options, he had already
contacted Baton Rouge approach. It didn't really matter what they
told us, though. We had to continue to Baton Rouge. We no longer had
the fuel nor the power to make Houston.
"Eagle 19, descend and maintain 2,000 feet, expect ILS 13. We
understand your emergency and will do our best to get you down
safely."
Well, here we go. I reached up and turned on all the aircraft's
exterior lights, lighting the old bird up like a Christmas tree. By
God, if we're going down, everyone around is going to see us! The two
other engines continued to strain with the added load, and I was
working the rudder trying to compensate for the lack of thrust from
the failed engine. It's a good thing, I told myself, that all three
engines were so close together. I couldn't imagine having to fight in
this weather.
"Eagle 19, contact Ryan Tower on 118.45. Good luck to you, sir."
"118.45, thank you, Eagle 19."
Contacting tower, we reported established on the ILS. Ryan Tower
cleared us to land, and I was really worried that the aircraft
wouldn't hold together that last 2,000 feet. Easing in the flaps, I
lowered the gear. It felt as if something had grabbed the tail of the
aircraft and plucked us right out of midair. Microburst! We made it
this far only to be slammed to earth by something totally out of our
control! Just as I keyed the microphone to call a mayday, the burst
was gone, and we leveled out only 800 feet above the ground! It
happened so quickly we never even heard the 1,000 foot callout.
We were sweating buckets now, and the runway lights had finally
come into sight. It looked like we were going to make it. Extending
full flaps and easing back on the throttle, I had to kick in a little
extra right rudder to counter the crosswind gusts. We were at the
mercy of the weather at this point. We couldn't handle another
microburst. We were much too low. Fate seemed to favor us, however,
and we settled on in for a nice landing. For the first time, we
noticed that there was no rain. We didn't care, though. We were down,
and we were safe.
They actually had to sandbag the stairs to keep them from blowing
over, but they still shook violently as we descended to the tarmac. A
vehicle was there waiting to take us to the terminal, where we would
check in with Eagle dispatch and head to a hotel (if there was one
with a room left) to wait for our next assignment. That was fine with
me. I felt as if I had aged ten years in the last ten minutes of that
flight, and the only thing that interested me was a bit of sleep.
Chalk up another complete assignment, I thought, as I wondered where
I would go next. Who knows?
Andy Hatcher
Eagle Air Charter Virtual Airlines
http://www.flyeagleaircharter.com/
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