Code Black by Philip S. Donlay

airplane down to 10,000 before he could safely breath without his mask. He again tested the controls. If he relaxed his grip, the airplane wanted to turn to the right. It took constant pressure to hold the nose straight. Donovan pushed the left throttle up an inch, and the aircraft yawed as the thrust on that side became greater. He repeated the procedure on the other side. His little test at least confirmed that both engines were producing thrust. Silently, he gave thanks for small miracles, though he still had to constantly adjust the extra sensitive pitch of the 737. When he had let the speed build too much, the vibration in the controls became dangerous. From everything he was feeling, he knew the tail section must be damaged.
    Donovan once again turned his attention to the cockpit around him. Every one of the primary flight instruments was useless. Back-up systems that should have allowed at least partial power had failed. Not a single electrical component on any of the panels was illuminated.
    The overhead section was what worried Donovan the most. He could only take small measured glances upwards to get a better look. But as he quickly looked back and forth, he began to get a better picture of what he was dealing with. The tremendous force of the impact with the KC-135 had pushed the metal framework down and thrust it twenty degrees to one side. A little further aft, the twisted wreckage from the roof structure nearly blocked the entry onto the flight deck. Behind the captain’s seat, up near the ceiling, was more damage. Donovan knew enough about airplane design to understand that virtually all of the ship’s electrical power was routed from the compartments behind their seats, through the overhead panel. He shook his head at the wire bundles that dangled above him, frayed ends swaying back and forth like severed arteries to essential organs. This is one screwed up airplane .
    Donovan couldn’t help but wonder about the people in the back. Above each row of seats were the emergency oxygen generators. They produced air for approximately twelve minutes, usually more than enough time for an airliner to descend to a safe altitude. It was taking him far longer than that; those passengers with masks would probably have run out of oxygen by now.
    Donovan glanced back at the entryway. He thought he felt Audrey returning to the cockpit, but the passageway was empty. If something happened to her, he would have no way of knowing, or helping. He’d be forced to deal with all of this alone. What if he were the sole survivor?
    He focused his attention back to flying the Boeing. Audrey was on her own; whatever was happening behind him in the cabin was outside his sphere of influence. His job was to keep this airplane flying—if he lost control of the 737, nothing else would matter.
     

 
    CHAPTER SIX
     
     
    Lauren watched as the chaos in Operations moved from the counter and was now centered on a desk away from the lounge area. Henry Parrish had turned his back on her with a silent, but dismissive expression and began issuing orders to the people around him. David Tucker was still standing next to her; Lauren sensed he was torn between watching her and wanting to join the fray.
    “There’s an airplane crash in Indiana. It’s on CNN!” The dreaded words carried across the room to where Lauren stood.
    Lauren’s knees turned weak as Tucker escorted her into a different section of Operations. Moments later, Lauren stood with other members of the Wayfarer staff. They’d gathered in what she’d heard described as the war room. All four televisions were switched on, and tuned to different news stations. Henry increased the volume on the set marked CNN. The room had a complex communications system, though primitive by DIA standards. Lauren guessed they could monitor all of Wayfarer’s ground and flight frequencies, as well as all of the O’Hare air traffic control transmissions. The electronics were powered up and careful