One per cent

One per cent

Imagine, if you will, a job where the remuneration is considerably in
excess of the National Average. Imagine that ninety-nine percent of the
working day is spent merely sitting in a comfortable chair watching an
extremely expensive piece of electronic wizardry perform its function.
A wonderful job, I hear you say. A sinecure, even. Money for old rope.
You may be correct. On the other hand, it is the remaining percentage
of the time that can allow a pilot to justify his whole salary for
twelve months in a space of time as short as a few seconds.

Before my colleagues and I get too comfortable, however, we should bear
in mind the extent of our reliance on other people, not actually inside
the airplane. Some aircrew claim that the term 'Air Traffic Controller'
is a misnomer, based on the fact that they do not actually control any
aircraft in the physical sense. Certainly if we consider that an
instruction issued by air traffic is unsafe we have the authority to
refuse to comply. In reality, the ladies and gentlemen of the National
Air Traffic Service carry out an extremely difficult task with enviable
efficiency and their instructions are generally based on sound
judgement and extensive experience.

It is when fate decides to stir the pudding and throw the well laid
plans out of the window that the assistance of others is most urgently
required to ensure a reasonable expectation of survival of the
'one-per-cent'. The purpose of these few lines is to pay tribute to
those souls who, although not in actual danger, were otherwise fully
influential in the outcome of the events.

We had departed from Luton late on evening in late October. Having only
fairly recently been promoted to captain, I was pleasantly aware of my
position and was enjoying the high level of responsibility. Our
destination was Menorca and we were carrying some one hundred and
twenty adults and children on the final holiday charter of the season.
Being October and being England, the weather was rather unpleasant with
a low cloudbase below which an irritating drizzle persisted. Our
BAC1-11 soon climbed through the clouds and emerged into a pleasantly
clear sky. Everything was proceeding precisely to plan and everything
in our flying garden could be considered lovely when the aerial
equivalent of Japanese Knotweed suddenly took control. A warning light
and the strident clanging of the fire bell indicated a fire in the rear
baggage hold. Such warnings were not uncommon, as the temperature
sensors were known to be somewhat pessimistic and tended to react to
even minor temperature changes. Fire warnings are always treated with
the utmost seriousness and even if it is obvious that no actual fire
exists, discharge of the built-in fire extinguishers and a swift return
to the ground is usually initiated.

The First Officer and I carried out the immediate fire drill and were
attempting to find some evidence to prove or disprove the presence of a
fire. The door to the flight deck opened to admit one of the cabin
crew.
"There seems to be a bit of smoke in the cabin," she said. "And there
is a smell of&;#8230;like..hot oil in the rear galley area."
"And we have a rear baggage hold fire warning Sandy." Paul Jennings,
my co-pilot was never one to make light of a situation.
"Go with Sandy and check it out," I told him. He climbed out of his
seat and disappeared on his mission. Rather sooner than I had expected,
he returned, his face white.
"There is definitely smoke back there and the smell is hydraulic
fluid. I think we're in trouble."
I made a swift, but rather obvious decision. We had to get the
aircraft back on the ground before the situation deteriorated too much.
It was time to involve the assistance of the folks on the ground. I
pressed the radio transmit button and confessed our sorry plight to air
traffic. Immediately, the well-oiled wheels of recovery started to
turn. Our nearest diversion airfield was Southend on Sea, some thirty
miles to the north. Whilst Paul spoke reassuringly to the passengers, I
disconnected the autopilot and turned the aircraft north. The fire
warning light was still glaring accusingly at me, indicating that the
problem was refusing to go away.
Sandy came onto the flight deck again to tell us that there was now a
good deal of smoke in the cabin and that several passengers were
starting to panic. To add to our bag of ill fortune, two hydraulic
warning lights flickered then lit up. These two lights represented our
primary flying control system. To move the controls of a large
transport aircraft without mechanical assistance would take the
strength of superman. Once the pressure in the reservoirs was gone, I
would be left with only a minute degree of control from the trim tabs.
I had to be very sparing with control inputs in order to maintain the
reservoir pressure for as long as possible.
When we explained our increasing problems to air traffic, they
instantly came up with a solution. Our track to Southend would be an
almost direct approach to the short runway. This runway was hardly ever
used for large aircraft as it was uncomfortably short. It seemed to me
that we had little choice. At least with such an approach our controls
would in all probability be still functional but if I had to manoeuvre
to make an approach to the long runway, we would run out of pressure.
We opted for the short runway.
With something like fifteen miles to go, and with all the safety
briefings delivered, I settled down to comply with the very precise
instructions coming from the ground. It was similar to walking on a
knife-edge as I gingerly applied tiny amounts of control whilst
watching the pressure gauge drop alarmingly with every movement. Paul
and I were startled to hear shouts coming from the cabin. Sandy rushed
forward to say that the floor was getting very hot and that the smoke
in the cabin was now quite visible. It was obvious that there was quite
a substantial fire burning in the hold, probably fuelled by leaking
hydraulic fluid. Because of the clear and calm instructions from air
traffic, I was able to concentrate on the actual handling of the
aircraft without worrying about direction or position.
At just a few miles to run, we broke out of the clouds and we saw the
runway dead ahead of us. Thanks to the continuous guidance of air
traffic, we were in exactly the right position and at precisely the
correct height. The landing was going to be a difficult one but we were
comforted to see the complete airport fire service ready to welcome us.
Thankfully, the control pressure remained until just after touchdown
and although the landing was uncomfortable, we stopped without running
off the far end.
I ordered an immediate evacuation of the aircraft by the escape slides.
Even as the first of the passengers made the undignified descent to the
ground, the fire crews had the hold open and were pouring foam onto the
fire that was raging inside. Happily, there was not a single injury
although I learned later that within a further five minutes, the fire
would have burned through the floor. In that event, the possibility of
a safe landing would have been substantially reduced. Had we not had
the most excellent guidance from air traffic control, we would have
used up the five minutes in unnecessary manoeuvring.
Sometimes, control of a personal 'one per cent' relies heavily on
others. Being able to depend on the complete professionalism of such
people is greatly comforting during the 'ninety-nine per cent'.