Aztec Treasure

Air Force Colonel Randall McNally’s POV

Cockpit of Air Force One

“Air Force One, wind 300 at 14 knots, clear to land runway 28.”

The great thing about flying this particular 747 was never waiting for clearance. “Winds 300 at 14 knots, cleared to runway 28, Air Force One.” My copilot, Colonel Amy Atlas, had us right on the ILS glide path for approach and had control of the aircraft while I handled the radio and supervised the crew.

“Landing checklist,” Lt. Colonel Alan A. Anderson began as he read from the book. “Landing Gear- check down.”

“Gear down and locked,” I replied.

“Autopilot off.”

I checked the control. “Autopilot is off.”

“Autothrottle OFF and SPD deactivated.”

“Autothrottle is OFF, SPD deactivated.”

“Landing speed, 160 knots.”

“Reducing throttles,” I said. When speed bled down from 165, I reported, “Landing speed at 160 knots.”

We went feet dry just north of Duluth and continued heading west to the airport. “Five hundred feet,” I called out.

“MISSILE BREAK RIGHT BREAK RIGHT,” came over the radio from one of our fighter escorts. Amy put the controls hard to the right and shoved the throttles forward to the firewall, turning the big jet to the north.

I reached up to deploy flares and activate electronic countermeasures, but there wasn’t much time to respond at this altitude. I saw the flash of an explosion behind us, followed by a missile strike on the number one engine. “We’ve lost Engine One,” I said. “Amy has the aircraft. Engine fire checklist.” Amy focused on flying as we worked the problem.

“Thrust lever CLOSE,” Alan said.

I took the number one engine throttle back. “Number one thrust lever closed.”

“Start lever CUTOFF.”

“Start lever in cutoff.”

“Pulling engine number one fire switch. Fire switch pulled.”

I listened as Amy gained us precious altitude; we’d come close to crashing with the steep bank at such a low altitude. “Controls are sluggish,” Amy said.

“We lost the engine mount and part of the wing,” I said as I looked out at the damage.

“Level flight, climbing to two thousand,” Amy reported.

“Duluth tower, this is Air Force One declaring an emergency. We’ve lost Engine One, and I can see wing damage and damage to flight controls. Climbing to 2000 feet on heading 030.”

“Air Force One has declared an emergency. Continue right to one-zero-zero and climb to two thousand feet.”

Now that we had turned, I could see a large fire just short of the airport. I had a fighter off my left wingtip, but nothing on the right. I knew in my gut what the fire meant, and the remaining fighter jet confirmed it. “Duluth tower, Rapier one-five is down, chute deployed touchdown just east of base access road. Two missiles launched from near the substation one mile east.”

I looked over at my copilot, who was bringing the throttles back and leveling out. “Captain, I have stable flight altitude, reducing speed to one-eighty.” I could see she was using right bank and right rudder to compensate for the uneven thrust and the loss of part of the left wing. I spent the next minute working with the flight engineer to manage our fuel load. I also took thirty seconds to update the passengers and crew on the attack. “Flight crew, prepare for an emergency landing,” I finished.

The Fighting Falcon was still on my wing. I had him give me a look at the damage; we’d gotten lucky, and the engine nacelle absorbed much of the explosion. “Rapier one-six, break off and check the launch area. I don’t want to find out they’ve got a third missile when I fly over.”

“Roger, wilco,” the pilot said. The jet rolled away, then accelerated to check out our landing path.

“Ready to land?”

“Ready,” Amy said.

“Duluth tower, Air Force One requests immediate landing.”

“Air Force One, turn right to 280 and slow to 160 knots to pick up ILS approach.”

“Turn right to 280 and 160 knots, Air Force One.”

To minimize the differential thrust effect, I feathered the throttles on Engine 4 (on the far right) to minimum thrust, while engines 2 and 3 inboard provided the needed thrust. Once we were back on the glideslope with the correct speed, I requested landing clearance. “Air Force One, wind 295 at 15 knots, cleared to land runway 28.”

“Air Force One, I see no hostiles in the launch area. FLIR shows no threats.” That was good; the fighter’s Forward-Looking Infrared would have picked up any hostiles still in the area.

I had the Flight Engineer run through the landing checklist again before we tailgated the landing. “The aircraft is going to want to turn left when you level the wings for landing, and it will be worse when the engines go to reverse thrust. Our stopping distance will be longer, so we need to touch down early on the runway.”

“And we don’t know if our tires or landing gear got damaged,” Alan said.

“May God watch over us,” I said as we approached the site of the missile attack. “Five hundred feet.”

Amy did a fine job of flying as we approached. I got on the PA one last time. “We will be on the ground in thirty seconds, and it may be rough. Brace for impact on my call.”

Nothing happened as we flew over the substation, and Amy flared out shortly after crossing the edge of the runway. “Brace for impact,” I said over the PA system. The main gear touched down, followed by the nose. “Reverse thrust,” I said, engaging the levers before throttling up engines two through four. At sixty knots, I stopped the reverse thrust, extended the spoilers, and idled the engines as we braked to a halt. Emergency vehicles were already heading our way.

“Flight crew, prepare for emergency evacuation.” They would get the emergency exits opened and assist people off the aircraft due to the continuing fire danger. We went through the evacuation checklist. As the Captain, I was the last to depart. The President was already speeding to the Air Force Reserve Base under heavy guard.

My crew gathered around me as we looked at the damage to the left wingtip and the missing engine. “Damn,” Alan said.

“You guys did a hell of a job,” I said. “We survived a missile attack at low altitude with no serious injuries. I’m proud to serve with you.”

The FBI was waiting for us, and soon the NTSB and Secret Service would want their time. "What happened to the pilot?"

"Major Louisa Doyle didn't survive the missile impact," the lead agent told us. "She put her fighter in the path of the first missile."

Dammit. I said a silent thank you to the brave fighter pilot; while the 747 could fly with two engines, another missile hit at that altitude was not survivable. Thanks to her and my flight crew, we just foiled the most audacious attempt at a Presidential assassination in history.

President Kettering’s POV

As far as the Secret Service was concerned, I was an important package to be handled. As soon as the aircraft came to a halt, agents surrounded me and moved me to the emergency exit. A half-dozen vehicles rolled up to the end of the emergency chute, and two agents slid down to verify we were ready.

There was no time to bring The Beast, the President’s armored limousine, to Duluth. The advance team rented an armored SUV and surrounded it with FBI Suburbans and Sheriff’s Department cruisers. “You’re next,” Valerie said after sending Colletta down the slide.

“Thank God I’m wearing slacks,” I said as I moved to the edge. I followed instructions, jumping down the slide to the waiting agents who bundled me into the armored vehicle next to Colletta. As soon as Valerie got in behind me, we were on the move. “Where are we going?”

“The Air National Guard base is over there,” Valerie said. “It’s close, and it’s defensible.”

“I need to get to Arrowhead,” I objected.

Valerie shook her head, no. “Colletta can go when she wants, but we don’t know if there is an active threat against you still out there. We have at least two people with access to anti-aircraft missiles out there, which means they can have damn near anything. I’m not putting you in a helicopter or driving you anywhere until we can guarantee your safety.”

That wasn’t the answer I wanted. “My husband is DYING not far from here. I need to get to him NOW.”

“I’m sorry, Madam President. You can fire me tomorrow if you wish, and I’ll know I kept you alive long enough to give me my pink slip.” We pulled into one of the hangars and stopped near an office door.

I needed to get to Andrew before he died on me.