Off To a Rough Start

"Positive rate," Joe said.

"Gear up," I requested.

Once all the visual cues through the "windows" aligned with what I saw on my instruments, Joe said, "N1 on two is falling. Core temp is climbing. Suspecting severe damage. Possible bird ingestion?"

"Concur. Idle number two and get the QRH."

He did both, and we stepped through the Quick Reference Handbook's checklist for a damaged engine. The shuddering stopped, and we climbed to our assigned initial altitude.

"Mayday, mayday, mayday. Spark 1, mayday. Starboard engine failure. We need to return," spoke Joe.

"That was booo ring," the controller sang.

"Yeah, like I said, starting slow. We'll do a single-engine RNAV/LNAV precision approach in poor visibility next."

The screens went gray as the woman behind us ended the simulation.

"Nice job," Joe said and grinned, offering a fist bump I accepted.

The operator stepped forward and fiddled with a bunch of buttons, switches, and knobs, resetting the simulator's physical controls.

It required about twenty minutes to fly the next scenario which included the complex approach. It was one I'd never flown, so I was doing it cold. Even though we briefed it before the simulation started, I felt like I was sight-reading a bebop chart.

Add to that the fact the radio stack was at my right instead of left, my hands fought each other trying to set things up. It slowed me down. I barely made the altitude restriction of the initial approach fix and wound up having to chase everything from there, rushing the tempo.

"Adagio , dude," I whispered to myself. I took a deep breath and made my landing a greaser.

Once we'd stopped on the runway, Joe spoke only one word in his evaluation of the performance.

"Sahwheet ."

I smiled at his compliment, but was grading myself closer to a C than an A.

The operator again stepped forward to do her thing.

"Last thing for the session, a start from cold and dark. You have five minutes," Joe advised once the lady was done. "Go."

"Why the time limit?" I asked.

"Because that's all we have. Just do it."

Even though I'm right-handed, flipping the switches and twisting the knobs felt as foreign as throwing a Frisbee with my left.

"Okay, we're done," Joe advised as the number two engine reached idle in the nick of time. "Excellent job tonight."

I departed as soon as my session ended and crashed for six hours of sleep. After reaching a polite hour, I sent a text to Brandi Grant.

You wouldn't happen to be in St. Louis today, would you?

I was able to get a little more sleep, and the response which arrived a few hours later reawakened me.

We just chocked in Tulsa. Home this afternoon. What's up?

We texted back and forth a few times. I accepted her invitation to have dinner with her and her husband that evening.

Brandi's husband answered the door.

"Sorry I'm late," I said when he greeted me. "An InBev truck got sideswiped on Interstate 70 and lost a good bit of its load. Morons were getting out of their cars in the middle of the highway to pick up loose cases."

"I've heard. Brandi called about ten minutes ago to tell me she was stuck, too. I hear you're being promoted?"

"Soon, hopefully. I'm finishing up my training this week. I have more simulator work to do, then come the interviews. If those go well, I'll be scheduled for a flight with a check airman in the right seat and passengers in the back."

"Interviews? What do those entail?"

"Brandi can explain better than me since she's been through them."

"Make yourself at home," he said, showing me into the living area. "Care for a beer?"

"I'd love one, but I'm going to work in a few hours."

"Oh. Too bad," he said with a light laugh. "Ribs sound good? They're about to come out of the smoker, and the potatoes in the oven are probably close."

"Sounds absolutely fantastic."

"Ah. There's Brandi," Rob said, peering through the large front windows at the car pulling into the driveway next to my rental.

A short minute later, she joined us in the living room.

"Mack," she said on seeing me. She wore a comfortingly broad smile.

"Hello again. Now that we're out of the public eye, may I?" I said, opening my arms.

She accepted my hug and returned it with equal energy, patting my back and shoulder solidly. It felt good.

"I know it was only a few months ago when we bumped into each other at the airport, but it's even better to see you now. You look so different in street clothes," she observed.

I laughed.

"Do I get one?"

"No, babe, you get this ," she acknowledged her husband with a tender embrace which included double kisses.

Their affection for each other was obvious, but witnessing it wasn't what made it a little awkward. What made it so was something that happened more than a year earlier. I hadn't known it, but Rob was aboard a particular flight to Havana when I was Brandi's first officer. I didn't know she was married, and … well … I asked her out on a date not an hour before she introduced him to me.

The incident at Kansas City International occurred the following evening.

"After I change clothes, you're going to tell me everything that's new," she said and hustled away.

Rob brought me a Coke. "While she's doing that, I'll be checking the smoker."

I was left alone for barely two or three minutes before Brandi returned. Her attire made her so much more feminine than any uniform ever could, and I firmly believed Rob was a very lucky man to have met her. She was an attractive woman with a great personality. Those attributes were why I asked her out, after all. But … in casual clothes with her hair down? Just wow.

"So. Catch me up. What's been going on with you lately?" she said after she sat at the end of the couch opposite my chair, curling her legs underneath her with a Bud Light longneck in her hand.

I gave her the highlights.

"Have you seen any of them since the memorial service?"

"I bumped into Telo Solas in Fort Lauderdale a while back. We barely had time to wave and say hello. He was rushing to a gate. No one else."

"Pretty much the same for me. Natasha, the purser on our flight, told me at the memorial that she was never going to get on another plane, so I assume she resigned. After I saw you at the airport, I decided to look everyone else up in the corporate directory. Other than Natasha, they're still active. Kennedy Ames is now Kennedy Kennedy of all things, so it seems she got married."

"Kennedy Kennedy ? What are the odds?"

"Right? If it were me, I think I would have kept my maiden name," she said with a chortle.

"Even though I barely know her, I'm happy for her. I really am."

Changing the subject, I said, "I'd like your advice about something. A little shoptalk if it's okay."

"Sure. What's up?"

"How did differences and transition training go for you?"

"Differences was no prob, but the simulations? Yeah. They were challenging. I had some right-hand, left-hand coordination issues."

"I am, too. How'd you get through it? It's driving me nuts having sparring matches with myself."

"One of the guys in my class gave me a suggestion which was helpful and easy to do. When he saw me fumbling while practicing on the paper tigers in the briefing room, he asked me for the scarf from my uniform. He looped it around my left wrist and told me to sit on the tails."

"He what ?" I laughed hard.

"Yep, and it worked. Having one hand literally tied behind my back set up some sort of new neural connections. After about five or six hours of almost non-stop practice, the muscle memory in my left hand began to fade and rebuild in my right. Try it."

Rob came back in and sat next to his wife, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. The scent of hickory followed him and made my mouth water.

"It sounds weird, but I'll try anything. I almost dropped out of differences, but luckily, I was able to switch instructors," I said.

"It's good you didn't have to bail. It's been a few years since I did my training. I doubt I'll recognize any names, but who is your instructor?"

"I'm working with a guy named Joe Corning now. He and I seem to mesh."

"He was my check airman," Brandi said.

"Small world."

"So … what happened? Did you and your first instructor not get along?"

It took a few minutes to explain why I felt it best to move to another class.

"You probably did the right thing, but … you should talk to her. She might not understand the situation and may draw the wrong conclusions. It could dampen her confidence."

"I think I should probably just leave it alone," I countered. "I don't want to get myself into trouble by telling her the right conclusions."

"What do you think, Rob?" Brandi asked.

He raised a palm in surrender. "I've never been in a situation like he was in."

The discussion about my work and its difficulties ended.

Rob and Brandi served an incredibly delicious dinner as we continued to catch up on "old" times and interesting events which transpired since Brandi and I last flew together. Just before I was about to leave, there was a knock at the door. Rob rose to answer it.

"Hey there, Dasha!" I heard him say. Brandi smiled and stood.

"Where's Tater?" an unknown voice asked. "He always comes to the door with you."

"He's still at the vet. We get him back tomorrow."

"Aw, poor pooch."

"Yeah. Kennel cough is no good. Brandi's in the living room," he said.

The first thing I saw was a silver dog which made low, throaty rumbles when it saw me.

"Easy , girl," Brandi gently scolded, quieting the Siberian husky.

I then saw the person holding the leash. The woman looked somehow familiar. Since I didn't live in the area, I wondered if I'd seen her in an airport as a passing traveler. I couldn't place her. She was so lovely it made me think there'd be no way I'd forget any encounter with her.

"Cameron, I'd like to introduce you to soon-to-be Captain McGarry. He was the first officer on the flightdeck in Kansas City when our plane was struck."

The young woman's eyes showed surprise. She glanced at Brandi who subtly nodded, then said, "It's an honor to meet the man who saved my friend's life."

"I did no such thing."

Brandi groaned and shook her head. "His unnecessary humility is one of the things which make him such a nice guy."

"I'm Cameron Quincy. I'm a purser with InterAir. I've known Brandi for something like six years. I lived next door to her in Overland Park and met Rob when they started dating," she said, offering me her hand.

I gently took it in mine. It was so warm and soft. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Mack, and my friends call me Franklin."

"That's backwards," Brandi mumbled at me in a whisper.

"Uh … yeah. Call me Mack." My blunder made me blush.

"My husband and I are the Grants' neighbors again, because we moved into a house a few blocks over last year."

I actually felt my handshake give out just before she released her gentle grasp.

I've done it again. Why can't I catch even a  little break? I chastised myself. Not only had I been bewitched by a coworker, but another married one.

I had to clear my throat. "It was nice meeting you, but it's time I head back. I've got a sim session in a few hours and I need to sit on something first."

Cameron's eyebrows shot up and she glanced over at Brandi.

"It's a motor coord⁠—I'll explain later," the latter quickly and thankfully interjected.

I bid my hosts and their neighbor farewell and returned to the temporary housing building. I had less than two hours before I needed to report in. I practiced for as long as I could with my left hand bound with a dish towel, then swapped out of my streets into my uniform and departed for the sim center.

"We're running behind," Joe said. "Ready to get started?"

"Yep," I said.

The preliminaries had already been completed. I responded to the faux controller, "Spark 1, cleared for takeoff."

Joe was taking the role of pilot flying. I observed his actions and positioned my hand below his on the stalks of the thrust levers, feeling them move as TOGA was activated.

"Eighty knots," I advised, watching the airspeed tape. Ten seconds later, "One hundred."

"Check."

"V1" I spoke at 141 knots, confirming he'd removed his hand by lifting mine. When I saw 147, I ordered, "Rotate."

The sim shook violently, and alarms rang. Joe reached for the thrust levers again.

"If you touch those, I'll break your arm. Rotate. "

Joe did as I commanded. Even though the number one engine was on fire, he was laughing. He and I both executed the memory items of the emergency checklist, then confirmed them and the rest from the QRH. I took command of the flight at that point and flew a much more difficult non-precision and single-engine return and approach to the runway.

Once we'd stopped and secured, Joe laughed again. Even the operator behind us was chuckling.

"Break my arm? Wow. Harsh ."

"It's a paraphrase of something a wise captain told me a year or so ago."

"Funny. I said something like that to a candidate doing transition training a while back, but a finger. Not an arm."

I laughed. I laughed freaking hard. "Do you recall a name?"

"All I remember was how tall she was. She topped me by an inch or two. Kind of honey-blonde hair."

"Brandi Grant?"

"Sounds familiar."

"She's a friend."

Joe was silent for several moments, his eyes glued on me.

"Oh. Now I know who you are."

"Keep it to yourself, okay?"

"Of course I will. Let's set back up. Another surprise awaits."

"Nice!" Joe yelped ten minutes later after a successful terrain escape maneuver was completed.

It was my third and final hour in the sim required to complete my differences and transition courses. I'd spent at least ten hours sitting on a towel using nothing but my right hand to touch-simulate various procedures with the aid of the paper displays I'd pinned and taped to racks.

I felt so much more confident. I was definitely looking forward to wrapping up my work as I stepped out to the simulator to wait for my final evaluation. The safety barricade was in place, so I waited on the balcony for my turn while overlooking the floor of the facility. I was mesmerized by the steady hum of hydraulic pumps, watching the hulking masses pivot and slew on all six axes like the precision robotics they were.

A few minutes later, the door to the cab opened and a fellow student extended the walkway to the gantry.

"She's a feisty one," she said pointing over her shoulder with a thumb.

I chuckled back with a curious grin. Sure, even with precision manufacturing and the fact the MAX simulators were identical, they all had minor differences when it came to control friction, seat wear, or switch toggle forces. I couldn't imagine the simulator I was about to enter being eccentric enough to be described as "feisty."

"Come on in. Time's-a-wastin'," the simulator's operator called out and beckoned from his console just inside the cabin box's door.

I gave the man a friendly pat on the shoulder as I passed behind him. "Hey, Joe⁠—" I spoke toward the right seat, only it wasn't Joe sitting in it. "Uh … oh. Hello again, Pamela. What a surprise."

My last day of training was off to a rough start as my nerves ran ten rungs up the ladder.

"Hello again to you, too, Mack," she said, guardedly.

"Where's Joe?"

"Number six. For the final session, we're all randomly reassigned to other classes to do a cross-check."

She watched me intently as I situated myself in and positioned the left seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I could feel her watching me as I plugged in my headset and adjusted the mic. Simulators are definitely quieter than the real thing, so headsets aren't usually required. On the final check, though, we were all told to use them. When I turned to look at her, she broke her gaze.

"Here's what's in store for tonight," she began after clearing her throat. "George, our operator, has set the simulator up for a random non-normal event. Could be something simple like a nav radio failure or GPS solution disagreement. Could be something major like a hydraulic system failure. It could even be another engine out, which you've had a few times already. Could be almost anything. Even he doesn't know and won't until it happens. He'll play any necessary off-the-deck role as needed. You, of course, are pilot flying. The basis of this evaluation is to evaluate your crew resource management skills. Forget I'm an instructor and think of me only as your first officer. Any questions?"

"None."

She watched me again for several moments. It made it difficult for me to concentrate.

"Okay," she said, shifting her gaze to the displays. "Focus."

She said it sort of under her breath but loudly enough to break squelch on the intercom.

The screens came alive, and I recognized immediately where we were starting.

"Houston Hobby," we both said almost simultaneously.

I pulled up the relevant pages on my tablet, checked the radios, the PFD and MFD to confirm the flight management computer and other systems had been pre-programmed, a tremendous time saver. The only thing which wasn't set was the transponder code.

Pamela and I listened to George give us the ATIS briefing, then we got things moving along.

"Houston Clearance, Spark 1, information sierra, ready to copy."

"Spark 1 cleared to Dallas Love Field via WYLSN 8 departure, MAJJK transition, then as filed. Climb and maintain four thousand. Expect flight level two seven zero ten minutes after departure. Departure frequency one three two decimal three five. Squawk zero seven one six."

Pamela read back the clearance as I confirmed what was in the FMS was accurate.

"Spark 1, read-back is correct. Contact ground when ready to taxi."

She did.

"Spark 1, taxi to runway four via hotel one, hotel, golf. Hold short runway one three right."

She acknowledged and I nudged the plane to a slow roll.

After coming to a complete stop at the intersection of 13R, George gave us clearance to cross it.

"Clear to the left," I said.

"Clear to the right," she said, both of us having looked out our side windows for potentially conflicting aircraft.

Only then did I advance the levers to continue our taxi.

We worked the pre-takeoff checklist before we made it to the threshold of runway four.

"Squawk's not set," I advised after she read off the last item. As pilot monitoring, Pamela should have entered the transponder code before we started taxiing. I didn't know whether she was testing me or if she'd forgotten.

"Oh. Nice catch," she said, using her left hand to poke the buttons on the FMC to set it.

"One six, not six one."

"Oops," she said and corrected the error.

I looked over at her. I thought maybe she'd even blushed a bit, but the dim lighting of the flightdeck and the illumination from the screens made it difficult to tell.

"Dammit dammit dammit ," I heard her mutter.

"You might want to adjust your mic, Pam," George strongly suggested.

She glanced over at me, looking briefly bashful.

"Spark 1, fly runway heading. Runway four, cleared for takeoff."

"Cleared for takeoff runway four, Spark 1," she acknowledged.

I moved the plane to the centerline and pushed the levers forward.