'...And now for the weather. Winter is definitely here! It's been four months since the year's hottest day, and two and a half months since Hurricane Gilda, and it's turning cold overnight folks, with a nor'easter rolling in. Winds could gust up to 20 miles per hour, and, yes, there's snow on the way. It's not quite Hearth's Warming yet, but it sure will look like it. Two or three inches are expected but we could get as much as six, so watch out on your morning commute tomorrow, when snow will still be falling. Temperatures could drop to minus five overnight but should rise steadily through the morning, with highs of three degrees in the afternoon. Stay safe out there, folks!'
'That's your weather. Now, with just three weeks left until Hearth's Warming, a lot of ponies are wondering where to get the most requested toys of the season for their foals. Our special correspondent Amethyst Moon has been investigating...'
'Hey, turn that crap off, will ya? I'm trying to concentrate!'
Striker's annoyed call cut across the break room, and Ember Blaze, High Line and Dark Flash, who had been watching the tv news, turned to look.
'Concentrate on what?' Dark Flash questioned.
'This!' Striker held up a small bottle, inside which he had been working on assembling a model ship. 'My dad got it for me for my birthday. Guess he was trying to be a smartass.'
'I wonder where he gets that from...' Blaze smirked. 'What ship is it?'
'It's the ENS Canterlot,' Striker replied, drawing some wry chuckles. 'At least it will be if you turn that tv off while I'm working!'
'Ha...there's a sense of humor for ya, huh?' High Line grinned. 'I guess he heard you bragging about being...what was it, the twenty-seventh-due engine to that fire, huh?'
'Yeah, yeah. Hey, we only got that run because we made such good time on our relocation that we were already on the bridge when they transmitted the seventh alarm!' Striker retorted. ' Any other engine from midtown would have still been stuck in gridlock somewhere at about Hoofston Street.'
'Oh, shit...' Dark Flash suddenly muttered. 'That reminds me...hey, turn the tv up!' She looked back at the screen, but it was too late. The news report had come and gone. 'Damn it...'
'What's wrong?' Blaze asked.
'That report about the toys. There's some new must have for colts, it's like...shit, I can't remember the name. Some kind of airship thing? Like it has its own little motor and you can fill the balloon...'
'Gasbag,' High Line corrected her, drawing a scowl before she continued. 'Fill it with air and it'll fly around and fire rockets or whatever. I was hoping they'd tell me the name of it, because I'll be damned if I can remember. My son wants it for Hearth's Warming. Like, that's all he wants. Even if he didn't get any chocolate, he'd still be happy if he got that. I was gonna go take a look in Pony's department store after shift.'
'Eh, you don't really need to know the name,' Striker called. 'Just say hey, excuse me, where's the thing all the colts want? They'll know what you mean.'
'Thing is, it's like 200 bits, and that's a lot of money,' Dark Flash added. 'I mean I could get him a game console for that. All this thing does is fly around.'
'Yeah, but it shoots rockets,' Striker pointed out with a grin. 'When you're...what is Sand Star now, seven, right? When you're seven, all that matters is that something shoots rockets. If it could shoot missiles and cannons too, that'd be even better.'
'Does it light up?' Blaze asked. 'When I was seven, I had this fire truck toy. Press buttons on it, the lights would flash, the siren would go, the air horn, the works. If you filled the tank it'd even shoot water from the deck gun.'
'Oh yeah! Hey, I had that same toy,' Striker replied.
'Me too!' High Line added. 'What a machine! Nothing like your little squirt gun out there on the back of your rig,' he teased Dark Flash and her apparatus.
'At least we have water!' she retorted. 'The only water you carry on the Rescue is whatever's in your bladders. Oh, and water on the brain, too.'
'Look out, wise guy alert!'
As the banter continued, the first flakes of snow began to fall outside the firehouse.
'Royal Air Equestria one one five, this is Celestia Ground. Cleared for pushback and start from gate one zero two. Follow taxiway Apple one and hold short of taxiway Castle.'
'Cleared for pushback, follow taxiway Apple one, hold short Castle. Royal Air Equestria one one five.'
Silver Soar glanced across at his co-pilot, Open Skies. Both stallions were dressed in the smart white shirts and black pants common to most commercial air crew across Equestria, but always particularly associated with Royal Air Equestria, the national flag carrier and the largest airline anywhere on the planet. The bright tail, featuring the national flag, was a familiar sight in the skies above Equestria's major airports, including Manehattan's Princess Celestia International, its biggest.
Flight 115's route would take the two pilots, eight cabin crew, and two hundred and sixty eight passengers on a four hour flight from Manehattan to Las Pegasus, trading the snowy northeast for the deserts and baking heat of the southwest. Many ponies made the trip from Manehattan as winter set in, to escape the chill and make hay in the sun of the known party and gambling hotspot, where the casino slots never fell silent and spectacular shows from the likes of Sapphire Shores and The Great And Powerful Trixie would wow audiences every evening. Manehattan had its theaters, its museums, its culture and its tourist hotspots, but it did not have legal gambling, which was a big lure for many of the city's big spenders that enticed them down to visit Las Pegasus and empty their wallets.
Their aircraft for the flight would be an Equestrian Aerospace EA-90, not the newest nor the biggest, but the most dependable aircraft in the fleet, able to hurry ponies through the air at almost six hundred miles per hour to a maximum range of four thousand miles, more than enough for them to reach Las Pegasus easily. Silver Soar and Open Skies were experienced pilots, both with hundreds of hours in the nose of an EA-90. Silver Soar also had a pair of combat wings affixed to his shirt below his pilots' wings, since he had flown jets for the air force before retiring to the civilian life and retraining as a commercial pilot.
Wiping frost from his windshield, the driver of the powerful tug attached to the nosewheel of the jet began to reverse, pushing the plane back out of its gate and into the taxiway, making the turn and bringing the EA-90 onto the taxiway's centerline. With a signal from the driver, the ground crewpony, huddled as far as he could get into his orange fluorescent jacket, disconnected the tug, and the driver pulled clear.
The passengers, ensconced either in the austere plastic of economy class or the plush luxury of business or first class, would hear a dull whine, growing steadily into a hum as the pilots started up one of the engines. The process was then repeated with the second engine on the other wing. Pre-flight checks were being continually carried out, both before pushback, during pushback, and during taxiing, to make sure all the aircraft's systems were ready for takeoff. Everything seemed to be in working order.
Silver Soar nosed the jet forward, following the directions assigned by the ground controller in the tower overlooking the airport, which was only intermittently visible thanks to blowing snow. Conditions were not ideal for flying, with low visibility, low cloud, gusty winds and snowfall, but everything was well within safe operating limits. Thousands of commercial flights had taken off and landed safely in snow, wind and rain, even thunderstorms, over the years since powered flight had been pioneered.
At such a big airport, the taxiing could take time, but traffic was relatively light as the morning rush was only just getting underway. Leaving early, 7am, would ensure that the partygoers would arrive in Las Pegasus with almost a full day ahead of them to get drunk and visit the salad bars of whatever casino or hotel they happened to be staying in. The jet followed the instructions of the ground controller who guided them down the taxiways to the end of the runway.
'Royal Air Equestria one one five, contact Celestia Tower on frequency one two one decimal five zero. Have a safe flight.'
'Going to tower frequency, one two one decimal five zero. Royal Air Equestria one one five thanks you.' Open Skies retuned the radio as Silver Soar stepped on the hoof brakes to bring the bulky aircraft to a stop. The runway lights blinked off to their left, where a four-engined Air New Zebrica monster was starting its takeoff roll, snow billowing out behind it as its engines rose to full power, sending a rumbling not just through the ground, but through the waiting EA-90 as well.
'Celestia Tower, good morning, Royal Air Equestria one one five holding short runway two seven,' Silver Soar spoke into his headset microphone as the giant airliner rolled past his side window. The language of aviation required numbers to be spoken individually, thus twenty seven would always be spoken as two-seven for clarity.
'Royal Air Equestria one one five, Celestia Tower, good morning. Position and hold runway two seven,' the efficient voice of the tower controller responded over the radio.
'Position and hold, runway two seven, Royal Air Equestria one one five,' Silver Soar replied, releasing the brakes and opening the throttles a little, enough to swing his aircraft around onto the runway centerline, where he applied the parking brake as he watched the Air New Zebrica jet lumber into the air like a pregnant Pegasus. Now there were more preflight checked to be performed.
'Elevator trim?'
'Elevator trim set.'
'Flaps ten.'
'Flaps ten.'
'Spoilers retracted?'
'Spoilers retracted.'
'Anti-Ice on.'
'Anti-ice on.'
'Landing lights on.'
'Landing lights on.'
Their checks were complete, and RAE 115 was ready.
'Royal Air Equestria one one five, winds are two niner zero degrees at fifteen knots. You are cleared for takeoff, runway 27, caution the wake turbulence.'
'Cleared for takeoff, runway two seven, we copy the winds and wake turbulence, Royal Air Equestria one one five,' Silver Soar replied. The passengers in the back would be adopting the familiar positions depending on their disposition. The kids, aviation nerds and lovers of noise and speed would be eagerly peering out of the windows, perhaps recording on their phones, anticipating takeoff, especially the unicorns, earth ponies and other non-flying species. Those of a more nervous nature would be gripping the armrests, or perhaps the hooves of their traveling companions.
Silver Soar, meanwhile, was gripping the throttles. Open Skies placed his own hoof atop his captain's, standard procedure for both pilots to initiate the takeoff and open the throttles together. First, they pushed them approximately one third of the way forward, and then monitored their instruments. Engine exhaust temperatures and thrust ratings had to match for both engines; if they didn't, the jet would be pulled to one side during takeoff by the differential, and it could also indicate a deeper problem. But everything was normal, and so they pushed the throttles all the way to ninety percent power. Full power was wasteful; ninety was more than enough to get them airborne.
The jet rolled down the runway, gaining speed despite the wet surface. Snowplows did the rounds every so often, clearing away the snow as it built up and keeping the runway clear, but damp. Their engines roared.
'V1,' Open Skies reported, referring to the speed at which the jet was now committed to takeoff as there was not enough runway left to safely brake.
'Rotate.'
The nosewheel left the ground as Silver Soar pulled back on the stick, in conjunction with his copilot.
'V2.' They were airborne.
And immediately, they were in trouble.
A loud bang from over Silver Soar's left shoulder made him glance back. Simultaneously there was a blaring alarm and a blood-red light illuminated on the control panel.
Master Warning.
Within a second, more lights were shining and flashing.
Master Caution.
Oil Pressure.
Fuel Pressure.
Primary Hydraulics Failure.
Fire.
'Fire in the number two engine!' Open Skies called.
'Shut down engine number two,' Silver Soar ordered immediately. 'Positive rate of climb, gear up.' He flicked the landing gear lever to raise the undercarriage. They were ascending, and with one engine out, anything they could do to reduce drag and retain their speed was vital. Open Skies cut power to the engine, but the fire warning light remained lit.
'Extinguishers.' SIlver Soar flicked a red-gated switch, discharging Halon gas through the burning engine, a torch on the left wing unseen to the busy pilots, but illuminating the passenger compartments, to the terror of those within who could see the orange glow. The flames died down, but were not extinguished, and what was worse, the damage was not confined to the engine.
'Raise flaps,' Silver Soar ordered. Open Skies flicked the lever, but there was another problem.
'Flaps are still stuck on the port wing, skipper,' the co-pilot relayed. That would add to their drag and increase the instability of the jet, especially at low altitude.
'Mayday, mayday, mayday, Royal Air Equestria one one five, we have a fire and failure in the number two engine,' Silver Soar spoke into his mouthpiece. 'Requesting vectors for immediate return to Celestia Airport.'
'Royal Air Equestria one one five, Celestia Tower, roger. Climb to two thousand five hundred and remain on this frequency. Turn right heading two niner zero. Say souls on board and fuel remaining.'
'Climb two thousand five hundred, turn right heading two niner zero, Royal Air Equestria one one five. We have two seven eight, two hundred seventy eight, souls on board. Fuel remaining two three seven seven two gallons,' Silver Soar responded, gently banking the jet, increasing the power on the one remaining engine. The aircraft could safely fly on one engine for hundreds of miles if needed, but all they had to do here was circle straight back to the airport, where specialist air crash rescue firefighting teams would be waiting, alerted by the tower, as well as a contingent from the MFD who assigned an automatic second alarm to the airport whenever an inbound aircraft had declared a mayday. Units from the borough of Princess, where the airport was located, would even now be on their way to stage and standby.
'Captain, look at the gauges,' Open Skies tapped one of the digital dials. It displayed the capacity of the fuel tank inside the port wing, where the burning engine was located, and it showed that the tank was rapidly draining.
'Fuel leak...' Silver Soar grunted. He spared a glance out of his side window, straining to look as far back as he could. He did not like what he saw. There was still black smoke pouring from the engine, as well as flickers of flame inside its shattered cowling, but there was also a steady stream of white vapor spraying from the back of the wing- the leaking jet fuel. The aircraft had two other fuel tanks, one in the starboard wing and one in the belly, so running out of gas was not a concern, but if a spark or am ember from the engine caught the stream and ignited it...
'Royal Air Equestria one one five, Celestia Tower. Turn right heading three four zero. Vectors for a straight-in approach to runway two seven. We are holding all other traffic for you. Crash trucks are rolling.' The controller continued to provide instructions. Silver Soar repeated them and pulled on the control column again to turn the jet, but the controls were sluggish. The primary hydraulic system was down, and the secondary system was holding together, but clearly the engine explosion had done more damage than it had seemed at first.
'Fillies and gentlecolts, this is your captain speaking,' Silver Soar flicked a switch to activate the on-board public address system. 'Due to a fire in our number two engine we are currently returning to Celestia International where we will be performing an emergency landing. Please remain calm and remain in your seats. Obey all instructions from your flight attendants, who will instruct you on the brace position and evacuation procedures. Thank you.'
Whether that would sew more panic or more calm remained to be seen, but a silent cockpit was sure to strike terror into the hearts of the passengers. Snow pelted the windscreen as the jet made the turn slowly. they were in the low clouds, not an ideal position to be in, but the controller had given them an operating altitude above the height of the tallest structures in the city, so Silver Soar wasn't too worried about the visibility at the moment.
That soon changed, however. There was a mass collective scream from the cabin, audible even through their headsets. The captain looked back out of the window. Trailing behind the jet was no longer a stream of vapor, but a column of fire, like a comet's tail.
'Shit...' he muttered. 'The fuel leak's ignited...'
Another warning light began to flash. 'Skipper, we're losing the secondary hydraulics!' Open Skies warned.
'Switch to emergency backup,' Silver Soar ordered. Things were steadily going from bad to worse.
In the streets below, ponies on the early morning commute were able to catch an occasional glimpse of a trail of fire in the sky, flitting between the clouds overhead. Calls came in to the MFD's communications office, variously reporting an aircraft on fire and a meteor in the sky. Since they already had units rolling to Celestia International for a mayday call, the department could do little else than reassure the callers they were already aware of the incident.
'Royal Air Equestria one one five, descend to two thousand, turn right heading zero one zero.'
'Descend two thousand, turn right heading zero one zero, Royal Air Equestria one one five.'
Silver Soar pushed the nose down gently. The altimeter clicked down. They were still in the clouds, and still on fire.
'Skipper, backup hydraulic failure!' Open Skies called, a note of alarm in his voice now which had not been present even a minute earlier. Silver Soar pulled back on the stick to steady their descent, but the aircraft did not respond to his commands. Unlike more modern jets that used fly-by-wire and fiber optic cables to connect the pilot with his control surfaces, the EA-90 used hydraulically boosted mechanical linkages to physically move the elevators, ailerons and rudder.
'Shit...' Silver Soar grunted, trying again. The nose of the jet bobbed slightly, like the head of a swimmer doing the breast stroke, but the altimeter continued to tick down.
'Celestia Tower, Royal Air Equestria one one five, be advised we have a complete hydraulic failure,' Silver Soar informed the airport. Now they were in real trouble. Normally, even with a total hydraulic failure, the jet could be nominally steered using differential thrust from the two engines, increasing the output of one while decreasing the output of the other in order to turn the craft and adjust its rate of climb or descent. But with engine two shut down due to the fire, that wasn't an option. Finally, they dropped out of the clouds.
'Sweet Celestia...' Open Skies breathed. Ahead of them was the sweeping vista of the borough of Manehattan, still a mile ahead but looming large. The towers and skyscrapers of downtown were just to the left of their flight path, and the towers of midtown just to their right.
'Emergency restart checklist for engine two!' Silver Soar ordered, starting through the procedure already as he knew it off by heart, flicking switches. It was their only chance, their only choice. They couldn't steer the jet with no hydraulics, and there were skyscrapers ahead that would already be filling up with workers, high rise hotels with tourists, and residential towers full of sleeping ponies. If they could regain the use of the other engine, they might just be able to avoid hitting any of them, though reigniting the engine meant potential danger for the aircraft. The ignited stream of fuel was only catching alight some several feet to the rear of the wing where it came into contact with embers from the engine. If restarting the engine made the fire worse or caused another explosion, then it could spread rapidly to the fuel tank itself and cause it to explode, turning the jet into a fireball with one wing missing. The alternative, however, was to leave their fate and the fate of those on the ground in the hands of chance.
The two pilots rattled through the checklist as there was little time to lose. The hydraulic lines ran through the fuselage of the jet, meaning the engine explosion must have caused some shrapnel damage to the aircraft. There was no guarantee the engine would start at all; it had clearly been heavily damaged, but it had still been turning before they had shut it down. Perhaps that was all that was needed?
'Alright, alright, scratch the reignition,' Silver Soar commanded. 'Just get the blades spinning. Maybe the windmill effect will give us some control.' Open Skies did just that, letting the turbine blades spin freely in the slipstream where they had previously been locked in place to prevent the exact effect they were now seeking to replicate. The spinning blades increased the drag to the jet, causing its nose to move to the left. Silver Soar could counteract by increasing the thrust from the surviving engine to move the nose right, cutting thrust to move it back left, increasing power to maximum to try and raise the nose.
That was how he guided the stricken airliner through the gap between the two forests of tall buildings, downtown and midtown, toward the West River. With such limited control, that was their only option now. They were losing height and there was no way they could get back to the airport.
'Royal Air Equestria one one five, be advised we are unable to return to Celestia International. We are going to attempt a ditching in the West River,' Silver Soar informed the tower. There were a few moments of silence.
'Royal Air Equestria one one five, roger. Notifying fire and rescue. Celestia be with you.'
'Copy, tower. Royal Air Equestria one one five...this will be our last transmission.'
Silver Soar concentrated on the difficult task ahead. Not just difficult, but almost impossible. Even with the slight control over the differential thrust, the plane was basically unflyable at this point. They were dropping lower, mercifully past the skyscrapers and out over the river, following it almost due north. There were several barges and small ferries in the channel below. The landing lights were supposed to be on, but Silver Soar didn't know if they were actually still working. Perhaps they had died when some electrical circuit was cut by whatever had burst out of the engine nacelle when it had exploded.
'Keep her out in the channel...' Open Skies urged. Out of his starboard side window, the streets and buildings of Manehattan rolled by. They were slowing, below two hundred knots, then down to one fifty. Their height was dropping steadily as Silver Soar fought to keep the jet on track.
Two hundred.
An emotionless computerized stallion's voice informed them of their altitude, as well as a plethora of other issues.
Too Low, Gear.
At this altitude, there was an automatic warning played on repeat if the landing gear was not down, but they were going for a water landing, and that needed the gear to be up, or else the jet could easily cartwheel as the wheels acted like scoops and added massive drag to the jet.
One hundred.
'Nose left, nose left!' Open Skies called. Silver Soar tried, cutting power to the starboard engine.
'Flight deck to cabin, brace, brace, brace!' Open Skies quickly spoke into the intercom. Passengers fearfully adopted the position, bent over in their seats with their forelegs crossed over the back of their heads. Flight attendants tightened their lap and shoulder restraints. More than a few prayers to Celestia were spoken, aloud or in the silent privacy of the mind.
Fifty.
'We're drifting!' Open Skies warned. The gusty wind, blowing at close to twenty knots, was threatening to overcome their attempts to stay clear of the shoreline.
'Son of a bitch...' Silver Soar grunted, wrestling with the controls, cutting power right back as far as it could go. The small wavelets below were thrown into stark relief as the wind continued to blow. Piers passed by. The wind kept blowing.
'Whoa, whoa, abort, abort!' Open Skies cried suddenly. 'We're not gonna make it!' He pointed wild-eyed with a hoof. Ahead of them, one of the piers jutted out farther into the river than the others, only now visible through the curtain of snow which had cut their visibility during the descent. Atop it lay a large warehouse or similar structure.
'Fuck...fucking shit...' SIlver Soar swore, opening the throttle to the starboard engine.
'Come on...come on you bastard, come on!' he roared, pushing the throttle to the firewall. The engine screamed, wakening hundreds of sleeping ponies.
Terrain. Terrain.
Whoop-Whoop.
Pull Up.
Whoop-Whoop.
Pull Up.
The emotionless warning voice bleated out its repetitive alarms, but there was little that the pilots could do at this point except pray. They were too low, surely. Yet the nose began to rise as the turbine raced, burning fuel and spinning the blades and producing thrust. It rose and rose and they hopped up over the warehouse roof like some kind of foal's toy. By some miracle, the prayers to Celestia worked.
For a moment.
Clearing the roof and opening the throttle had caused the engine's torque to pull the jet to starboard, away from the open channel of the river, and now they were facing inland. Ahead, there were no longer piers. There were buildings. Apartments, shops. Ponies.
'Sweet Celestia...!' Open Skies gasped. 'Do something! For Celestia's sake, do something!'
Silver Soar cut the power again, willing the nose to swing to port, but it was much too late. Not only were they now short on altitude, they were short on speed, despite the burst of throttle. The nose had risen, bleeding off precious forward motion. There were buildings and streets, cars and trucks and buses, foals and mothers and fathers looming in the windshield.
'Celestia forgive us...' Silver Soar muttered. Apart from a heart-stopping crunch and the noise of tearing metal, his final words were the last thing to be documented on the cockpit voice recorder of Flight 115.