The Hijacking of Global 7749

He eased into the taxi stall slower than the average commercial pilot might do. He didn't want to end a damned near perfect landing by sticking the nose through that great big plate glass window. He was glad they had cleared all parked aircraft on either side of him. He received the raised cross arm sign and complied, shutting down the remaining turbo fans that he had not killed prior to taxiing. Almost simultaneously the ground based auxiliary power system took over, providing electricity and air flow.

Ken turned to Melanie. "Are you ready for that drink now? I could sure use one."

Melanie smiled for the first time since the terrible ordeal had begun. "You bet."

It would be hours before they got that drink. A herd of officials immediately boarded the plane; EMTs with stretchers, FAA, airport security, home land security, FBI and TSA. Questions, questions, questions. Papers to sign. Reports to be filled out. Both Ken and Melanie said the same words to more people than they could remember---over and over and over.

Reporters---neither of them wanted to speak to them. Ken did not want his name released. Their wishes were respected---at least for the moment; he'd given his name in the clear to Bob---someone would have picked up on it. Next of kin had to be notified. It would be announced that a senior military reserve pilot with substantial multi-engine experience had landed the plane following the murder of all three members of the flight deck crew.

"Do you have any friends in Pittsburgh?" Ken asked Melanie. She shook her head.

"Me neither. I gather that air traffic is shut down nationwide. People are stranded all across the country. We're stuck here for God knows how long. I sure hope your employer has an in with a local lodging facility." Ken replied.

Her employer did, but the pickings were slim. With a little help from the local Global staff they found a room—one room with two beds. As Ken was deciding whether or not to be a gentleman and let her have the only room potentially available anywhere in the Pittsburgh area, Melanie took control.

"I just trusted you with my life, and the lives of my 278 passengers---and you came through. I'm sure I can trust you with my virtue. Come on jar head---let's go get some shut eye." Melanie said.

Ken had been able to retrieve his carry-on and Melanie had retrieved her Pullman from the cabin. They each had the minimum required for basic personal hygiene. They took a Global van to the airport hotel.

Melanie checked in since she had been given a voucher for the room. They were both exhausted. Ken anticipated no carnal activities but was pleased at the thought of her tight, young body---young at least from his perspective--- being a scant few feet from his own for the night. Always the gentleman, he gave her first crack at the facilities. They both raided the mini bar.

Ken took his turn in the bathroom. While exhausted, both were still coming off an adrenalin high. Rather than falling asleep, they talked, each lying on top of the still made hotel double beds.

Melanie started. "I've never seen anything like what I saw today---never seen anyone die horribly before my eyes. I'm sure you have."

"You did real good, girl. You kept your cool and did your job. I couldn't have done my part without you. It was hairy up there. I was real glad to have you at my side." Ken said, softly. "Sure, I've seen young men die in battle. It's very different when you get, up, go to work, expect the usual routine and see eight people slaughtered. You're a pretty damned tough cookie kid."

Before he knew what was happening, Melanie had left her bed and was in his arms. "Ken, this isn't about sex. Just hold me; it's all starting to sink in." She said, holding him for dear life and sobbing into his shoulder.

As aroused as he might have been at that moment, he understood. He let her cry on his shoulder, softly stroking her back and trying to comfort this brave young woman who had just gone through an episode more horrific than most people could ever imagine. After a few minutes, Melanie reacquired her composure, rolled away from him but did not return to her bed, nor did she release her tight grip on his arm.

"Are you married, Ken? Do you have children?" Melanie asked softly.

"I was married for fourteen years, divorced for the last ten; my boy is twenty-three and my daughter is twenty. How about you?" Ken replied.

"Married for ten years---divorced for nine. My daughter is eighteen. I foolishly married an airline pilot; he found a younger replacement." Melanie replied, with no hint of bitterness.

They chatted on for almost and hour before fatigue consumed both of them. Melanie was based out of Atlanta, living in one of the city's sprawling Northern suburbs. Ken lived and worked less than three hours away in Charlotte.

Ken woke up a couple of hours later with the proverbial piss hard on nicely ensconced in the cleft of Melanie's full, soft pajama clad rump. Only the pain of his enraged prostate and over filled bladder enticed him to remove it. When he returned from relieving himself he discovered that Melanie had pulled the covers back and settled her long form under the covers, still in his bed.

He thought about being the gentleman and taking the other bed. She had not chosen to return to her bed during his absence. Screw it, he thought as he slipped under the covers, almost hugging the edge of the bed so as not to disturb her. She wanted to be disturbed, moving her warm soft body in his direction as soon as she sensed that he was settled. Miraculously, she had somehow lost the PJ bottoms---and the matching tops. As her satiny rump intentionally pressed into his groin he was again erect and this boner had nothing to do with a full bladder.

"It is about sex this time, colonel." She said, as she rolled over into his arms and kissed him softly. "No guilt and no talk, Ken. I need this very much right now and so do you. Let's just enjoy it."

Ken quickly relived himself of his own tee shirt and boxer briefs. Melanie's ample breasts were smashed against his broad chest as she felt between them for the object of her desire. She moaned in anticipation as she softly fondled his engorged forty-nine year old implement.

With few preliminaries she rolled him over on his back and squatted her voluptuous form over his midsection. Parting her full labia with the fingers of one hand she deftly inserted his stiff prick at the entrance to her musky birth canal. She descended slowly, a wicked smile on her full lips as she allowed him to enjoy the agonizingly slow envelopment of his cock. Once she had it fully seated it in its rightfully place she began to ride him like a stud horse, leaning forward to make love to his face as her agile hips bobbed up and down in a slow rhythm. She was astonishingly tight for a woman of her age who had once given birth. They both came quickly; Melanie rolled off Ken and fell asleep nestled in his arms.

They both slept soundly until the jangle of the bed side phone awakened them. Melanie answered the phone...technically it was her room. Ken retrieved his cell phone and decided he needed to check his messages; he had a lot of messages including several from the Department of Defense. He started returning calls as Melanie continued to chat with her company. First, he contacted family, friends and his company to bring them up to date on his situation. Then with trepidation, he dialed the DOD.

"This is LTC Ken Taylor. I'm returning..." The excited young admin assistant on the other end cut him off.

"Yes sir, Colonel Taylor! Hold please for the Commandant."

The Commandant? Oh, shit. Was he in trouble? He actually had met the head of the USMC a number of times---even served under him---going all the way back to the Vietnam war when they had been very young officers. Ken had been a young lieutenant and the current four star general had been his first commander. Ken had appointed himself well as a combat pilot and had received a top of the line fitness report for his combat tour of duty. The two men had again worked together in the first Iraq conflict. He knew that once it got out that a military pilot had landed the stricken 747 that he would be contacted by someone in the Pentagon. He never expected the contact to be the Commandant himself.

"Ken! You antique throttle jockey! You're a fucking hero! Get ready for you fifteen minutes of fame." Ken turned on CNN with the sound off and was shocked to see his picture prominently displayed on the screen. It was an old picture...very old. Still, it was him; he had aged well. The official photograph in his dress uniform with rows of ribbons and awards looked as if it had leapt off of a Marine recruiting poster.

Ken learned from the Commandant that there was to be a press conference later that same day. The official government position was that Ken would participate in said press conference and bring great credit to the Corps. Ken had to admit that as much as he coveted his own privacy, his actions provided a positive PR opportunity for the military and it was his duty to do the USMC proud. The Commandant would have liked him to appear in his dress uniform with all the bells and whistles, but both men realized the impossibility of that plan. As he was considering what the hell he was going to wear, Melanie provided the answer.

"The airline is sending your suitcase over in about thirty minutes." She whispered.

Ken had been on a business trip and knew that his suitcase contained a couple of better than average dress suits that would more than suffice. After a few more minutes of pleasantries, the Commandant ended the call just as Melanie was finishing up with her company.

"Well Melanie, the circus is about to begin. Are you up for this?"

"No more than you are colonel, but I sense you just got the same spiel I did. We just became the number one news story---whether we like it or not. They're sending a car to pick us up in a couple of hours."

Ken called his civilian boss back to brief him on what was unfolding. Not that Ken's employer had much say in the matter, but their official position was not unlike that of the government. Make us all proud.

The airlines delivered their bags in less than thirty minutes and Ken and Melanie began picking out what they would wear for their introductions as America's latest heroes. Melanie offered Ken first crack at the shower; she joined him a few seconds later.

They explored each other languorously with their hands and mouths reveling in first discovery like a couple of teens. Melanie sat down on the corner shower seat, playfully pulling Ken toward her and taking his hard cock in her mouth as she softly raked her long nails over his firm stomach. Ken came quickly as Melanie's soft mouth engulfed his maleness and extracted his essence with the expertise and absolute joy of a woman who knew how to suck a man's cock...and thoroughly enjoyed doing so.

They switched positions as Ken returned the oral favor, bringing Melanie to a moaning, whimpering orgasm in short order. Thanks to the American's With Disabilities Act, the shower was properly equipped with several grab bars; Melanie picked one which enabled her to thrust her full, firm buttocks back to ensure perfect access for Ken's rock hard organ. As he caressed her smooth back and rear end with his hands and nuzzled her neck with his lips he entered her steamy cunt in a single thrust. It started as a slow, teasing, loving fuck; it ended with a passion and a fury that surprised and delighted both lovers. As they stood together bodies entwined sharing the taste of each others special places the hot water began to fade. They quickly finished up with their shower and returned the bedroom. Melanie spoke first, as she took Ken in her arms and softly kissed his mouth.

"That was very special, Ken. It was more than special...you're a great fuck! No, that's crude...you're a great lover. After this is all over..." Melanie trailed off, not sure that there should be or could be anything between them---anything resembling a future. Ken read her thoughts.

"Relationships that begin following a catastrophic event seldom work out; isn't that the conventional wisdom? Melanie, I was attracted to you when I first saw you in the doorway of that 747 roughly twenty-four hours ago. You impressed the hell out of me with your cool, calm professional performance yesterday. The sex, was, well, it was more than special. We're both adults, we're both unattached; we need to take it one step at a time, but if you're wondering if I'm interested in pursuing a long term relationship---yes I am. Are you okay with that?" Melanie nodded and embraced the forty-nine year old Marine again, convinced that---hoping that---there would be a future for them.

As they checked each other out in the mirror prior to meeting the waiting limo which would take them to the press gaggle, they made a stunning couple. Later, sitting next to each other in the back of the oversized conveyance, they held each others hand, grinning like a couple of school kids. It was show time.

The press conference was a panel affair which included several of the flight attendants, Bob Mattson the 747 instructor, a spokesman for the FAA, one from the FBI, one from TSA, another one for the airline and some big cheese from home land security. The Marine gunnery sergeant was there as was the Pakistani doctor. A couple of other passengers had agreed to participate. After the honchos read their prepared statements, it was time for questions.

As far as the reporters were concerned Ken and Melanie were the stars and the only ones they wanted to talk to. Some of the questions were too stupid to bear repeating. One reporter even suggested that Ken should not have attempted to land the 747 since he wasn't actually rated to fly it. Another referenced some talking head aviation consultant for his network who claimed that the Ken could have done better or should have landed some place other than Pittsburgh, in view of the weather. The general consensus among the television talking heads was in sharp contrast, viewing the successful landing as nothing short of a miracle. Still, the cynics always seem to have the loudest voices. Bob Mattson interrupted.

"Look, I've seen the video tapes and examined the flight data recorders. We set the scenario up early this morning on a flight simulator. Twelve senior 747 pilots flew the profile. Not one made a better landing; several made horrible landings---one crashed short of the runway. The landing was as good or better than 90% of the non-emergency landings that seasoned airline pilots make every day. Your aviation analyst wouldn't know shoe polish from a cow patty." That pretty well silenced the line of silly questions.

When another reporter informed the group that an attorney was preparing a class action suit on behalf of the passengers against Ken and the Airline, Ken had to laugh.

"Based on my net worth that ought to work out to around $100 per passenger. Folks, some of you are losing sight of reality. Three illegal immigrant janitorial workers with criminal records hid razor knives under several seats in first class. Under an absurd policy that only allows TSA to question one middle eastern male per two hundred passengers the only person questioned was a Pakistani Cardiac Surgeon---Pakistan is not even in the Middle East---who is an American citizen, has lived in this country since he was three and graduated from Harvard medical school." Ken acknowledged and smiled at the young doctor seated a few feet away.

"The existing policy put the air marshal half way back in coach, in the cheap seats---an impossible position from which to protect the flight deck. Half the airplanes in the sky use the same key to open the door to the flight deck. There were five people on that plane who use hand guns in their daily work---including an NYPD detective---who were not allowed to have them on the plane. All three pilots had military backgrounds---and had been waiting fourteen months for firearms certification. There was a Department of Education manager on board, authorized to have a weapon---but he neither had it nor was qualified to use it. In spite of all of this, my beloved, blunt nose hair scissors---which I've flown with for years---were confiscated at the security checkpoint. Three fanatics who precisely fit the profile---that's right, I said profile, don't look so shocked---of every hijacker, every fanatical terrorist---in the last ten years murdered five people---all of whom had spouses and children. You're reporters, for God's sake---report on the real story, not our fifteen minutes of fame."

Ken paused. "I'm a Marine. I'm a very experienced four engine pilot. No one else stepped up. According to the passenger interviews, no one else on flight 7749 was remotely qualified. I'm not a hero---it was my tired old butt up there too. I did what I had to; thanks to spectacular assistance from the likes of Bob and Melanie—and a damned fine group of air traffic controllers---we're all here today to chat with you."

Another reporter interrupted Ken to ask what his plans were for the future now that he was famous.

Ken continued, barely able to control his disdain. "Some of those seated in front of you are sitting here because it's their job to deal with you. Some have volunteered. I stringently protect my privacy. I am here because it was suggested that I needed to do this by the DOD...well, it was more than a suggestion. There's no book deal; I'll not be selling my story to the tabloids. If I ever do decide to write about this---myself---and anyone wants to read about it, any proceeds will go to the families of the brave people who died at the hands of those islamo-fascist thugs. I anticipate that many of us here will be asked to do some interviews; if that's what the USMC wants me to do, I'll comply, but don't expect to see me doing the top ten list on late night television or serving as grand marshal of the whatever festival. What are my plans? I will go back and do my job as a computer analyst, which I find very satisfying, and enjoy the last few months of my career as a reserve Marine officer. I will love my children and be a good friend to those I care deeply about."

Ken paused as his words began to sink in. "A tragedy occurred here...honorable, brave people just doing their job were slaughtered. A further even more horrific tragedy was averted---partly because everyone involved---flight controllers, Bob Mattson, the airline ops people, the air marshal who fought to the death, Melanie and her cabin crew---did the jobs they had been trained to do. My presence on this flight---call it serendipity, fate, God's will if you like---would have been meaningless if everyone else hadn't done the right things. I could not have succeeded---would not have succeeded---without them. That's part of the story; the story about people who are heroes every day they go to work."

After a brief pause and a sip of water, Ken continued. "The other part of the story---the critical part---is about the systemic failures that allowed this horrible event to occur. Political correctness which doesn't allow screeners to check out the most obvious potential perpetrators, inadequate screening of employees, nonexistent immigration control, a dumb system that doesn't allow the air marshal to properly protect his flight crew and tragically silly anti-gun bias that doesn't allow those trained to use firearms to carry them on a commercial flight---those are the nuggets of your stories. Do your job; report the right story and make damned sure that the existing, pathetically inadequate system gets changed---quickly."

Much to Ken's surprise a soft flutter of applause began in the back of the room. Within seconds, everyone on the panel and in the audience was on their feet, giving him a standing ovation.