The Stick Read online

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  Contents

  David Beaty

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  PART THREE

  David Beaty

  The Stick

  Arthur David Beaty was a former RAF pilot, novelist and non-fiction writer whose books about flying earned him a worldwide reputation.

  Born in Ceylon, Beaty was educated at Kingswood, Bath and Merton College, Oxford, where he edited The Cherwell with Iris Murdoch. He became an RAF pilot during WWII, where he excelled, but gave up a life in the Air Force to write full-time. However, his experiences informed his many novels, thrillers originally written under the pseudonym Paul Stanton. In 1960, Cone of Silence was made into a film starring Peter Cushing and George Sanders, and Alfred Hitchcock bought the rights to A Village of Stars, although the film was never made.

  In the late 1960’s Beaty turned his hand to writing non-fiction: his book about safety and aviation The Human Factor in Aircraft Accidents, caused wide controversy on its publication in 1969, but was later accepted and remains very influential.

  Dedication

  For B, as always

  PART ONE

  Friday, 16th November 1979

  AT six o’clock on the damp misty evening of Friday, 16th November, Captain Paul Harker, the most senior pilot on Atlanta Airways parked his Citroën in the company car park at Heathrow Airport, reached for his bag, briefcase and stick and began the short walk to Operations to report for Flight GA/ 444 to New York. The flight had already been delayed by twenty-four hours for no more sinister reason than a lightning strike called by the cabin staff. Yet that delay, now amicably settled, had crystallised a profound change in Captain Harker’s life.

  He was a tall well-built man in his early fifties, his gold-braided cap set very straight on his still thick, dark red hair, but it was the stick that caught the attention of his two operating crew, First Officer Adams and Engineer Officer Griffiths, following at a safe distance behind.

  ‘Hey, Geordie, d’you see that stick?’ the young fair-haired First Officer said. ‘Our Skipper’s gone lame. They’ll be sending them off in wheelchairs next!’

  Certainly the stick was strange. Made of knobbly golden-brown wood, its handle was shaped like a shepherd’s crook and there was an odd blacking round the brass ferrule at its tip as though it had been burned.

  ‘That’s to rap your knuckles with, lad.’ The red-faced Griffiths, who looked more like a butcher’s boy than an Engineer Officer, spoke with what Adams considered a vulgar northern accent.

  ‘Like to see the Atlanta Captain that had the strength!’

  Griffiths laughed. ‘You don’t like ’em, do you lad?’

  They entered the Operations building and began walking up the stairs.

  ‘Trouble is …’ Adams said, ‘they never know when they’ve had enough.’

  ‘Flying or women?’

  ‘In Harker’s case, both.’

  ‘You’re jealous.’

  ‘You’re the one who should be jealous, Geordie.’

  The Engineer Officer shrugged his shoulders. ‘Wasn’t that struck.’

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘She’s a bit of a scrubber.’

  ‘Lovely blonde though.’

  ‘He’s welcome.’

  ‘Beautiful blue eyes.’

  They reached the top of the stairs as Harker disappeared through the door of Operations at the far end of the corridor.

  ‘Weren’t you keen on his daughter, lad?’ Griffiths asked curiously.

  ‘He’s welcome to her too!’

  ‘Harker’s had a rough time lately.’

  ‘So have I!’ So have I!’

  ‘He’s not a bad bugger, as Atlanta captains go.’

  ‘They don’t! That’s the trouble.’

  There were so many pilots these days that first officers were sitting in the right-hand seat for twenty years and more.

  For six steps forward towards their destination, Adams contemplated his grisly future in silence. Then he said, ‘Wasn’t keen to come on this trip. Not when I found Harker was taking it.’

  ‘Don’t suppose he was either, Terry, when he found you were coming with him. I remember a certain Check flight in the simulator.’

  ‘Wasn’t my fault!’

  ‘I was there, lad, sitting behind you.’

  ‘Just as much Harker’s. And yours, come to that.’

  The white door of Operations loomed up in front of them.

  ‘Tell you what, Terry … I’ll tell Harker you don’t want to fly with him and I don’t mind hanging round while they call in the standby First Officer.’ Griffiths began opening the door, ‘ Then you can join the dole queue and we’ll all be happy ever after!’

  ‘The trouble with you, Geordie—’ the First Officer began but stopped suddenly as Harker’s eyes lifted from the flight plan spread on the table and met his. ‘Good evening, Captain.’

  ‘Evening, Mr Adams, Mr Griffiths.’ Harker had put his stick on the table and his right hand was now holding a pen. ‘They’ve given us a slot at Flight Level 360.’

  ‘Which aircraft, sir?’ the Engineer Officer asked.

  ‘X-Ray November.’

  ‘That old bucket,’ Adams said. Atlanta were a small airline forced by economics to use pretty ancient equipment. Not much of the new technology about their aircraft.

  ‘We’ll finish here and then see you on the aircraft.’

  Watched by his First Officer, Harker silently studied the flight plan made out by the computer, added up the load sheet, checked the trim chart, and had a look at the weather map and forecast.

  ‘Passengers here?’

  The Operations Officer nodded. ‘All two hundred and seventy-one of them, sir.’

  ‘Then we’ll have a word with the Met man.’

  Adams grimaced. Few captains bothered these days. The weather doesn’t change much, the few lows were over the Atlantic, and they’d be receiving continual weather information.

  Harker reached for his stick. ‘Let’s go, Mr Adams.’

  Most captains would have called their First Officers by their first names. Not Harker. Too correct, too like the Navy. Had a son in the Navy. Birds of a feather, Adams thought, as they walked back down the stairs and along the lower corridor.

  If Harker was aware of any antagonism to or from his First Officer, he gave no indication. Adams was not so good at hiding his feelings. There was a sliver of spite below the veneer of over-polite sympathy as he asked, ‘Hurt your leg, sir?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why the stick then, sir?’

  ‘I happen to like walking with a stick.’

  That was all. No further explanation. No reason of course why he shouldn’t. RFC
Officers, after all, used to carry canes. No doubt this was a survival of an ancient custom by an ancient Captain.

  The walk continued in silence to the Meteorological Office.

  There the Met Officer explained the Upper Air Atlantic chart. A westerly headwind component of minus twenty-five knots. A warm front at 35 west, but cloud tops should not exceed 30,000. A little clear air turbulence forecast that sudden hidden danger which could convulse a huge aeroplane, but well north of them.

  ‘Visibility none too good for take off though,’ the Met Officer said. ‘Comes from this warm front slap through the Midlands.’ He gave them an encouraging smile. ‘But you should soon be clear of that.’

  With Adams carrying the Met folder and Harker his stick, they returned to Operations in silence.

  In silence they waited for the OK from the ground staff. In silence they boarded a crew car and were driven to the waiting Astrojet, towering forty feet above them, her vast fuel tanks now filled with 52,000 gallons of kerosene.

  Harker and Adams went up the nose gangway and began settling themselves down on the flight deck where Griffiths was already sitting at his panel.

  Harker propped the stick on his left-hand side. Rain drizzled down the three black rectangles of the windscreens in front of them.

  The Chief Cabin Officer came to report. ‘All passengers on board, sir.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Harker said. ‘Door warning light, Mr Adams?’

  ‘Door warning light out, sir. All doors closed and secure.’

  ‘Then start engines.’

  Adams selected the plastic-covered Engine Starting Check List from the container on his right that held all the Check Lists – Check Lists for normal operations like take off and landing, but also Check Lists for all the emergencies too. Airmen’s memories had long since been discarded as unreliable, particularly now there were so many items.

  Adams began chanting them out like a litany, to which Harker and Griffiths responded, checking each instrument, lever and switch as they touched it.

  Finally it was completed. Finally Number Three, the star-board inner, burst into life with a smoky guffaw, followed by Number Four, Number Two and Number One. They were pushed back from the dock, released from the tractor and began slowly trundling through the darkness towards Runway 28 Left with all engines whistling softly.

  Ahead of them were a DC8, two Boeing 747s and a Lockheed Tristar.

  Harker watched their blurred red and green navigation lights, their winking white identifications, slipping along between the airport buildings and the blue taxiway lamps. It was like being at the bottom of the sea as those silver monsters with their long smooth noses and their high tails moved in and out of grey-green rocks and coloured phosphorescent coral.

  That’s not me, he thought suddenly. Not me at all. That’s how Harriet would have seen it.

  ‘Coming up to the intersection, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Adams.’

  He could feel the wheels sliding a little on the wet concrete as he curved round the eastern bend behind the Tristar and took up position in the queue of aircraft waiting on the taxiway, ninety degrees to the runway.

  ‘Shall I start the Before Take Off Check List, sir?’

  Harker nodded. ‘Might as well.’

  ‘Fuel?’ Adams chanted.

  ‘Fuel on main tanks,’ Griffiths replied.

  ‘Booster pumps?’

  ‘On.’

  Three-quarters of the way through the litany, the DC8 took off into the night.

  ‘Before Take Off Check complete, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The first 747 roared down the runway.

  ‘Mr Adams.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I want the Engine Failure Check List and the Engine Fire Check List to hand as usual.’

  ‘I’ll put them side by side on the central console, sir.’

  ‘Do that.’

  The second 747 was taking an inordinate time to get on its way. The rain had increased, half drowning the wipers in a continuous waterfall. Harker took his eyes away from the dark night outside and let them fall on the two emergency Check Lists behind the four thrust levers.

  Engine Failure Check List, he read:

  1. Warning Light, cancelled.

  2. Thrust Lever, closed.

  3. Start Lever, cut off.

  4. Essential Power, reselected.

  5. Generator, off.

  6. Engine Fuel Valve, closed.

  7. Engine Anti-icing, off.

  8. Hydraulic Pumps, off.

  Then his eyes switched left to the Engine Fire Check List and read again:

  1. Warning Light, cancelled.

  2. Thrust Lever, closed.

  3. Start Lever, cut off.

  4. Essential Power, reselected.

  5. Fire Shut Off, pulled.

  That fire shut off lever tripped the generator, closed the fire wall and shut off both the fuel and the hydraulic fluid. The first four items before the fuel and fire shut off were of course indentical in both Failure and Fire Check Lists. It was only when you came to 5, the most important item of all, that they differed. Unless it was pulled in a fire emergency, the flames would continue to be fed at the rate of thirty gallons of kerosene a minute. 6. Booster Pumps, off. 7. Engine Anti-icing, off.

  The alcohol used to de-ice the engines was highly inflammable. 8. Extinguisher Bottle, discharged.

  Harker always had those Lists at the ready before take off. The two worst emergencies that could happen – fire and engine failure. The only times, really, a pilot had to react and act with split-second speed.

  The Tristar had moved into position and been cleared for take off. Now he too was dawdling.

  Waiting again. Harker hated waiting. There the three of them sat, waiting, in this little lighted cell with the clanking baton of the wipers conducting the engines’ tune.

  Waiting – it seemed to him now he had always been waiting. Waiting for aircraft to be made serviceable. Waiting at the end of a telephone on standby. Waiting for what the consultant called ‘a talk’. Waiting at the hospital …

  Memories swam into his consciousness. Memories of his family. Memories of people. Jumbled as a jigsaw, jagged-edged, and hurtful. Jane’s face contorted with rage. The soft sound of Harriet’s voice. Belinda’s big blue eyes. No shape or meaning to them. Messy and disorganised. Things done top quickly. Things half-done. Things done too late.

  Christ, when would that Tristar move?

  The passengers would be wondering that too, he thought. All two hundred and seventy-one of them. Would they also be wondering about the man at the sharp end who held their lives in his hands?

  He looked down at those hands now, hefty hands with square fingers and nails cut straight. Navvy’s hands he reckoned, but Harriet always said she loved them. Get-you-there hands, that’s what she called them. Adding with that little lift of a smile, ‘eventually’.

  Adams was sitting as still as stone. Griffiths was whistling through his teeth.

  Like a pheasant disturbed from its nest, the Tristar suddenly departed.

  ‘X-Ray November, cleared to position.’

  Harker turned onto the runway, his eyes flickering over the instruments. Take off flap was down. He touched the lever significantly, wondering whether Adams would remember that check in the simulator they’d done together.

  ‘Take Off Check all complete, sir.’

  That slight grimace again – he had.

  ‘X-Ray November ready to roll!’

  Here came their clearance – Outward Six, cross Windsor at two thousand. Adams repeated it back word-perfect.

  ‘X-Ray November, cleared take off!’

  He moved the thrust levers hard against the stops, heard the roar of the engines, felt the push in his back as he released the brakes. Slowly the Astrojet gathered speed.

  The orange runway lights slipped by. He could feel life coming into the controls.

  ‘Rotate!’

  He lifte
d the nosewheel.

  ‘VI!’

  The sound of the engines was strong.

  ‘V2!’

  The aircraft lifted easily up into the night. Adams raised the undercarriage and completed the After Take Off Check just as X-Ray November’s nose plunged into heavy cloud.

  One minute later Harker felt the control column quiver.

  ‘Bit of vibration, Mr Griffiths. Anything registering on the instruments?’

  ‘Pressure’s fallen on Number Four, sir.’

  Harker turned his head and looked to starboard.

  ‘Seems OK. But better shine the torch on it’.

  The beam of light fingered the curve of the cowlings and the massive turbofan.

  ‘Nothing I can see, sir,’ said Griffiths.

  ‘What’s the pressure now?’

  ‘Steady.’

  ‘Temperature?’

  ‘Normal.’ Then, ‘What about the vibration, Captain?’

  ‘Gone now.’

  The Engineer put the big torch away and returned to his seat at the panel. The Astrojet was still climbing in cloud, bumping in the uneven air, when suddenly the vibration started again. There was a screeching of metal. The nose swung violently to starboard. On the instrument panel, a red light glittered indignantly.

  ‘Number Four’s gone!’ Harker shouted. ‘Engine Failure Check List!’

  ‘Warning light?’ Adams called.

  ‘Cancelled,’ Griffiths replied.

  ‘Thrust lever?’

  ‘Closed.’

  ‘Start lever?’

  ‘Cut off.’

  ‘Essential power?’

  ‘Reselected.’

  Harker saw the night to the north suddenly explode. A flash of yellow flame burst from the starboard wing like a rising sun.

  ‘Fire! Fire in Number Four! Change to Engine Fire Check List!’

  Adams called to the Engineer, ‘Warning light?’

  ‘Cancelled.’

  ‘Thrust lever?’

  ‘Christ!’ Harker howled. ‘We’ve done all that! Start where the Check Lists differ!’

  There was a clatter of Check Lists. Then Adams’ voice said shakily, ‘Booster pumps?’