Sojourners of the Sky (33 page)

Thirty Three

Fall 1992

S
eptember and October had always been Bill Pratt’s favorite time of year. For as far back as he could remember, whenever the end of August approached, the lifelong airman could detect a very slight change in the color of the sky. Even the atmosphere’s occasional partner, the clouds, seemed to have a different hue about them. Though the ambient temperatures and humidity struggled to remain relevant, Bill’s finely honed senses told him that things were about to change.

Bill spent his life observing, watching and listening. He noticed when the leaves began to change color, weeks before anyone else. When it would rain, Bill noticed right away that the sound the raindrops made when they hit the ground seemed gentler than in the spring and summer. The long-time captain was even able to discern that the ground smelled different than it did after a summer rainfall.

The warm autumn sun warmed Bill’s face as he strolled along a trail on the mountain behind his home. Well into his walk, he was forced to alter his route around an old and twisted tree that stood directly in his path. He stopped and studied the ancient-looking oak for a long while. The misshapen trunk and bent limbs clearly indicated that the old tree had been obliged to deal with the forces of nature for many, many decades. It stood up to the elements and had somehow survived. Before continuing on, Bill nodded as if telling the old man of the forest, “I understand.”

The fall of 1992 was little different from all the others Bill could recall, except for one thing: He was rapidly closing in on age sixty, the mandatory retirement age for all professional pilots. On one hand he was ready to go. He’d done what he wanted in his career, attaining goals he never thought possible. On the other hand, he resented being subjected to an arbitrary law imposed by the government--a law that he’d long considered overdue for change. But, like thousands of airmen before him, Captain Pratt willingly accepted his fate and actually looked forward to hanging it up. He could feel inside that his health was ever-so-slowly slipping away, and he wanted to enjoy what he truly believed would be the best years of his life. He did, however, have a few more hoops to jump through before he could cash in on his generous, union fought-for, pension.

After his August flight to Tokyo, everything changed in rapid order. Bill was removed from the remainder of his trip and flown to Minneapolis for questioning by, in his estimation, nearly half the people in management. After the first day of grilling, Bill got the distinct impression that they wanted to blame him for the fiasco. After all, one deceased passenger, four ill crew members, one missing first officer and one detained Fed simply begged for answers and blame. It seemed to Bill as though they were quite disappointed when they were unable to directly blame him; unable to show the world that the guilty party had been terminated and the problem solved.

Indeed, Captain Pratt had spent many years as a proud member of the Cobras, fighting for the betterment of pilots’ lives. His union had earned the moniker “Cobra” because they would strike at anything. And as far as he was concerned, this had been on the minds of some of his superiors during his ordeal at headquarters.

Not surprisingly, within days of recovering, Doug Fordham wrote a rather damning letter to the chief pilot regarding Bill’s unorthodox method in getting the fuel pumps to operate on their flight to Tokyo. It wasn’t totally unexpected; Bill figured he would. He also knew the company would use whatever they could against him in their quest to place blame, especially since he was known to be a former union rabble-rouser. But by virtue of the fact that his plan worked and the flight continued on schedule, there wasn’t a whole lot they could say or do. Remarkably, the fact that they’d landed with nearly empty tanks was never even mentioned.

Without so much as a “thanks for coming in,” they allowed him to keep his job and return home. Regardless of what happened next, Bill knew the end of his career had been marred. Things that were beyond his control and the actions of people he had never met came together at the right time to taint an otherwise spotless career. Bill knew he wasn’t the first pilot to have that happen to him, and he was certain that he wouldn’t be the last.

The following month, Bill’s twelve-day trip to Asia proved to be the worst voyage of his career. A different FAA inspector just happened to be present on every single leg of his journey. At the termination of each flight, the inspector detained the captain and subsequently picked apart every little thing he did or didn’t do properly, at least as far as the Fed was concerned. In many cases, the inspectors contradicted each other by warning him not to do something the previous day’s Fed had ordered him to do.

Bill had prearranged for his wife to be on board for the last trip of his career. In early October they planned to fly to Tokyo and then on to Honolulu. The plan was for Lynn to remain for seven days in the Aloha State before reuniting with her husband on his last flight home. He even purchased a first class ticket to ensure that his wife of forty years would be close by as the seasoned four-striper set his airplane down for the very last time. It was all set.

As the momentous date approached, however, Bill began to experience sizeable misgivings. He seriously considered calling in sick for the last trip of his career. He knew the FAA would be waiting for him, and could tell inside that he was no longer up to the task. Ultimately though, Bill decided that there wasn’t much they could do to him. After all, it would be his last trip. So he resolved to enjoy himself, hoping to give some of the FAA representatives a taste of their own medicine along the way.

With October edging ever closer and the heat of summer behind him, Bill actually began musing about his upcoming flight. Just the idea of screwing with the Feds brightened his spirits and always managed to put a sincere smile on his face.

There was only one nearly forgotten thing that Bill had to do in order to get to his retirement flight. A late afternoon phone call reminded him of his obligation. He tried to avoid it, but discovered that there was no way around it. Like all airmen that came before him, Captain Pratt had to endure one more simulator checkride before he could fly his last trip as a commercial airline pilot. There was nothing sinister about it; it was just the way it worked out. Bill reluctantly accepted his fate, knowing that simulator checkrides were a fact of life for all professional pilots.

Believing he had little to worry about, against his custom, Bill did not bother spending any time in the books to prepare himself. Little did he know that someone with a score to settle would be waiting for him. The day of reckoning was fast approaching and there was nothing the old man could do about it.

Thirty Four

W
hen the ill-fated day arrived, Bill was a bit surprised to learn that he would not have a first officer to fly with on his checkride--an instructor would serve in that role. Though not unheard of, the unexpected news was definitely outside the norm.

Remarkably, Captain Pratt’s oral exam went off without a hitch. He’d half expected to be tortured with an in-depth question and answer session on the aircraft systems, but it didn’t happen. He’d especially anticipated being questioned at length about the fuel system, but the instructor never even brought it up. Bill wrongfully assumed his instructor was going easy on him because he knew that it would be his last visit to the training center.

Bill had flown with Don before and knew he was a good instructor, but he also knew that Don was a company man and would do as he was told. There was little about the B747-400 that Don didn’t know, and was in fact considered by many to be the resident expert. He was tall and about as thin as a man can be, but had a library of knowledge and talent packed into his lofty frame.

After the briefing about how the session would be conducted, Bill sighed. He arrived fully expecting a tough go, but was relieved when he saw that everything was going to be on the up and up. That is, except for one thing. Don would be his copilot, but Bill’s question about who would operate the simulator went unanswered.

Bill wandered off to the men’s room with a relaxed stride. On his return, however, the smile he had on his face inverted itself into a deep frown the moment he turned down the hallway in the direction of the simulator. Standing in front of the door, right next to his instructor, was none other than John Tacker himself! Bill was speechless.

“Hello, William,” said John, without bothering to extend his hand.

The withheld handshake did not go unnoticed by Bill Pratt, who it seemed had suddenly lost his voice.

“Are you all right, William? You seem dazed,” said John. Then, with a phony smile painted on his face, he added, “I imagine you’re a little surprised to see me. Let me think…oh, yes. The last time we saw each other was in Japan, just prior to their inviting me to be a guest of the Emperor. I had a wonderful time, though the accommodations were a wee bit, shall we say, cramped. The food was a true bright spot, however. Now I understand why you enjoy traveling to Japan so much.”

“What are you doing here, Tacker?” asked Bill, struggling to get the words out.

“What, I can’t travel to Minneapolis to visit an old friend?” asked John, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Bill looked and saw pure evil in John Tacker’s eyes. He cleared his throat, hoping the anger he felt inside wouldn’t fly from his lips unchecked. “The last I saw you, John, you were under arrest for attempting a terrorist act. In fact, my jaw now makes a clicking noise whenever I chew. That’s no doubt from the sucker-punch you gave me while interfering with a crew member. And refresh my memory, but isn’t that, too, a federal offense?” asked Bill, fighting with himself to hold back.

“You know, Bill, the Lord has forgiven me. You would do well to follow in his footsteps,” observed John.

“Has the Lord forgiven you for jeopardizing the lives of hundreds of innocent people, John? I’m guessing you wanted to kill me for ruining your life. You know, if you weren’t such a screw-up you would have ended up killing us both, along with four hundred other people. Tell me, John, isn’t that funny? Or, shall I say, ironic?” asked Bill, with words he hoped would wound.

“You’re right, my actions that day were truly horrible,” said John.

“Reprehensible and unforgivable are two words that I would use to describe your actions, John.”

“Well, I…”

“Spare me,” spat Bill. “I am truly sorry for Liesel’s death, but it was not my fault. I did what I could.”

“I’m sure that’s how you see it. But as I said, the Lord has forgiven me, Bill,” said John. “It’s time to move on.”

“Bull! You hide behind religion because you’re a coward. You’ve done that ever since you got fired from Pan Am. You don’t fool me one bit. There is something wrong with a man who cannot admit fault!” exclaimed Bill. “And knowing you as I do, I sincerely doubt you’ll ever move on!”

“Bill, you are free to believe as you wish.”

“I’m struggling right now because I’d like to beat you to a pulp, John. But please, enlighten me, how did you manage to beat the rap in Japan?” asked Bill. “And how is it that you’re not serving time in the U.S.? But most of all,” he added, “how did you pull off not getting fired from the FAA?”

John’s face contorted so much that both Bill and Don thought he might break down in tears. They were both taken aback at the sudden change in the Fed. Neither knew what to say.

After nearly a minute, the aging Fed collected himself and then said with more emotion than he intended, “My wife of many years passed away at my side. I was beset with grief. I still am, and probably always will be. We were on a trip of a lifetime that turned into a trip from hell. I was blessed to receive some help from the federal government, along with some friends in the FAA. Thankfully, they were able to convince the Japanese government to exhibit some compassion and drop all the charges. It is only by God’s grace that I stand before you.”

“It may have been God’s grace,” said Bill more quietly, “but aside from your emotion-laced outpouring, I noticed that you failed to apologize for punching me. Nor did you express any regret for choking and threatening my copilot. Or for that matter, did you seem the least bit sorrowful for scaring the flight attendants half to death after trying your best to open the upper deck emergency exit in flight.”

There was an awkward silence between the three men.

Don suddenly felt a twinge of apprehension. He had no idea that he’d been set up. The conversation between the captain and the Fed answered all of his questions about why an FAA inspector from Washington unexpectedly showed up earlier that morning to conduct a spot checkride. He knew right away what was about to happen.

John momentarily considered saying more, but wisely refrained. The FAA Administrator had indeed intervened with the Japanese and American authorities on John’s behalf, but demanded his resignation in return. John recalled his words:
I have a file full of complaints about you from airline VPs to pilots. I’m tired of covering for you, Tacker. You are a disgrace to the administration. I want your paperwork on my desk by the end of the month. You’re finished. It’s time to retire.

Technically, John was no longer an inspector. But since he had yet to turn in his ID card and badge, John figured he would take advantage of his last opportunity to take a fatal shot at his former friend and long time nemesis. It was time to settle the score, once and for all.

“So, exactly why are you here today, John,” asked Bill.

“Considering your actions on board flight twenty-one as related by your copilot, Doug Fordham, as well as the reports forwarded to me by the inspectors who’ve been flying with you, I’ve decided to conduct your checkride today,” answered John, his voice noticeably switching from sorrow to revenge.

Looking at John and then toward his instructor, Bill said in a louder voice than he intended, “You can’t do that! He can’t do that, can he?”

But before Don could respond, John said, “Oh yes, I can. As an air carrier inspector, I can conduct any checkride I deem appropriate.”

“You’re not rated on the Whale! Nor are you checked out in this simulator. And as far as I know, you are not named in our company ops specs as an approved check airman,” said Bill, growing more angry with each passing moment.

“Nice try, Bill, but I am type rated on a half-dozen jet aircraft, including the B747-400. And, believe it or not, I am familiar with this simulator. Perhaps you are not aware, but my main office is located at the FAA headquarters in Washington, D.C. Therefore, I can pretty much do whatever I want. And right now, Captain Pratt, I want to see how much you know,” said John with a malicious smile.

“You may be type-rated, Tacker, but there is no way you’re current.”

“I don’t have to be current, Bill.”

“Perhaps I’ll retire today and tell you to shove it,” said Bill. He then turned to his instructor and asked, “Did you know about this, Don? Did you keep this a secret?”

“I was informed only this morning and was ordered to say nothing,” replied Don.

“Well, this is wonderful! What a way to end a career. I have some lunatic slug me while he’s attempting to take over my airplane, I get hassled every time I come to work and now this!” exclaimed Bill. Then after a brief pause, he said, “OK. Let’s get it over with.”

“Bill, you might want to reconsider,” suggested Don. “Perhaps you should retire. You know if he busts you, you would most likely be terminated and then have to fight to get your retirement. Remember, at one time you were very active in the union and management tends not to forget that sort of stuff.”

“Screw him,” said Bill, clearly disgusted. “There is nothing this loser can do to me that I can’t handle.” Then turning toward John Tacker, Bill added, “Go ahead and give it your best shot, Tacker! And watch close, you might actually learn something!”

Bill stormed down the steps and across the ramp leading to the simulator. It wasn’t until he was sitting in the simulator with his seat belt fastened that he realized he’d inadvertently allowed the former Marine inside of him to come out. He’d managed to keep his jarhead-driven bravado buried deep for a very long time, but Tacker somehow managed to bring it out. Bill knew the next two hours would determine his fate, and there would be no turning back.