A tense, self-imposed silence enveloped the two stallions. The cabin of the Trotter was dominated by the uneven thrumming of the propellers, punctuated by the occasional crack as ice was broken free from them and slung against the fuselage. Featherprop vainly tried to keep them in phase, glad for a task to bury his attention in; anything to do that let him avoid speaking to, looking at, or even thinking about his passenger.
The radio suddenly crackled to life. “Aircraft over Fetlock Falls, this is Fetlock Radio.” The call was weak and static-filled, but an urgency in the voice cut through the interference. “Fetlock traffic, is somepony up there? I heard an airplane. Fetlock Radio, calling traffic over Fetlock Falls!”
Throughout the entire let-down, there had been no sign of life from the station. Now, though, the worried voice sent an icy shiver through Featherprop's chest, slicing deep into his resolve. His eyes grew wide as he realized he knew whose voice was pleading for them to call back. That’s... that’s Piney Boughs. Luna, I can't tell him it's too late! A guilty indecision gripped him, and Featherprop stared at the radio, his hoof hovering over the microphone button.
Likewise, Pasture had been startled by the sudden voice from the radio. With nothing to do he had turned inward, letting his mind wander over pitfalls and extenuating circumstances, trying to plot a path that would protect his career. The voice rekindled an ember of hope that had all but died out and he turned to look at Featherprop in wide-eyed anticipation, only to see the pilot frozen in place, seemingly unmoved by the distress in the caller’s voice. With a swift impulse, Pasture blindly felt for his own microphone button and pressed it, hesitantly saying, “Fetlock Falls? Fetlock, this is, ah, Snowpony, we hear you!”
Pasture’s reply shocked Featherprop into action– he lunged across the cabin and slapped Pasture’s hoof aside. With a snarl he hissed, “What in the Windigo’s mane do you think you’re doing?”
Even through the static, an enthusiasm borne of desperation could be heard in Piney Bough’s voice. “Snowpony? Thank the Moon, I thought I heard an aircraft overhead! Are you on the let-down yet?”
Still leaning across the cabin, Featherprop violently yanked Pasture’s microphone cable from the socket and gave the Unicorn a furious glare. He took a deep breath before hoofing his own microphone on. “Fetlock... Fetlock, Snowpony called for weather half an hour ago, but got no response. We made a let-down but the field was socked in. We’re committed for Kathia. I’m sorry.”
“You did? I... I had to go check on my wi– Kathia?! You can’t leave! Please, you can try again, can’t you? You should be able to make it in. It’s... it’s not that bad outside!”
“Fetlock, I’m sorry. We tried. The ceiling was too low.”
“Are you sure? Snowpony, please!”
Featherprop’s gut clenched. Piney’s voice was full of pain, and he didn’t want to think about why. Anger and shame brought a taste of bile to his mouth. Why did you have to call? I can’t do anything. Why are you making me say this? “Fetlock Radio, Snowpony is at minimum fuel and unable. I’m sorry, but we are unable. ” He emphasized the word, trying to reinforce the decision that his heart screamed for him to ignore.
“But...” The anguish in the voice was unmistakable as the transmission broke off. When Piney Boughs spoke again, his voice was flat, the hope that had animated it before gone. “Fetlock unders...nds, Snowp....” Static washed over his words as mountains began to block the signal.
Featherprop blinked back tears at the defeat he heard in the voice. “Fetlock, Snowpony’s losing you. KEEP REPORTING THE WEATHER. You need to get the weather out. As soon as we can, we’ll be back, I promise. I repeat, WE NEED WEATHER REPORTS. Do you copy?”
“Fetlock cop.... ...keep making rep... Sunspeed to you, Sn...” The transmission washed out in the static, then ended.
Featherprop choked up, unable to speak. He simply clicked the mic several times in reply. Without looking over at Pasture he brusquely said, “You can plug your mic back in. Keep your hooves off the controls.” As an afterthought, he added, “Please.”
Pasture sat and said nothing for a few minutes, numbly trying to understand everything that had happened in the last hour. We were so close. Now... now what is left? This is a disaster. Finally, he asked, “How can you just leave?”
Without looking over at Pasture, Featherprop gave a terse reply. “Because I have to.”
“But it’s not that far to go back. One more try, that’s all we need, I’m sure of it. He said the weather is improving!”
Featherprop turned his head and fixed Pasture with a watery-eyed stare. With a weary voice he asked, “If you were desperate for somepony to come back, what would you say? I can’t, I won’t operate based on what it looks like, or what somepony thinks, not anymore.” He thrust a hoof at the fuel gauges. “I’d like to think there’s another three hours of fuel in here, but there’s not. There’s two, tops, and we’re burning it faster than normal now with this load of ice. Doc, I used the words ‘minimum fuel’ back there, because that’s where we’re at. If we tried again, and then had trouble getting in at Kathia... well...” He trailed off and shivered, feeling as though he’d just trotted across his own grave.
Pasture mistook the pilot’s softer tone for a weakening of his resolve and tried a different tack. “After everything we’ve gone through, after all of the effort we’ve put into this endeavor, you sound like you’re afraid to take one more chance.”
Featherprop looked at Pasture as if he’d grown a second horn. Slowly, bits of conversation thorughout the flight began to fit together; it dawned on him that the Unicorn was completely, hopelessly unaware of the magnitude of the danger they had been facing all night long. He took a deep breath and tried to flush out the distracted thoughts running through his mind, and then spoke slowly and deliberately.
“Yes, I am afraid. I’ve been afraid since we left Fairflanks, and right now I’m scared to the point of losing my hay.” He shook his head as Pasture raised a hoof in protest, and kept speaking to forestall the Unicorn’s objection. “ I don’t know if you’re confusing fear with cowardice, or just assume everything will magically work itself out, but that’s not how things are in the Frostmane. You don’t realize how close we came to packing it in back there, do you? We’re alone, there’s no one to come rescue us if something goes wrong. We have to make a plan and stick to it, because planning is essential to survival up here. Improvisation means you’ve screwed up.”
It surprised him how good it felt to simply say the truth out loud. Drawing strength from his admission, he continued. “So here’s the facts, Doc. Right now, we have enough fuel to get to Kathia safely, or we have enough fuel to try ‘one more time’ at Fetlock Falls and then pray like a naughty foal on Hearth’s Warming Eve that Kathia’s skies are clear, because when those gauges read zero we will have zero fuel and zero control over where we end up. You might think that gamble is worth it, but I sure don’t. Look here,” Energized, Featherprop began rustling through his chart bag, looking for the map covering the Kathia region. Pulling out a sheaf of papers, he riffled through them, then froze as his hoof uncovered a well-worn document.
Pasture did not like Featherprop’s sudden change in attitude. Despite the cautionary words, it struck him as yet another elaborate cover for Featherprop’s lack of dedication to his duties. He snorted and looked out the windscreen. Cowardice, as you say. For somepony who was full of pride in their abilities, you certainly seem reluctant to exercise them. The sight of the ice-encrusted wing outside the windscreen only seemed to mock his failure, and with a sigh he squeezed his eyes shut. Unacceptable. Deep inside, an iron-willed conviction drove him to try reasoning with Featherprop again. “I think you’re overstating the severity of the situation. We’ve had some difficulty, but doesn’t that make it more essential to put forth a greater effort?”
Pasture’s ear flicked sideways as an choked sound from the pilot came through his earphones. Looking over, he saw Featherprop slowly leafing through a bundle of papers, which trembled slightly in his hooves. Celestia, he looks like he’s seen a ghost. The sudden change was unnerving. “What is it?”
Featherprop didn’t answer, instead holding the sheaf out to the Unicorn. “Here.” When the Unicorn hesitated, he shook them and growled “Here.”
Pasture reluctantly took the papers, a puzzled look growing on his face as he eyed the title.
Equestrian Transportation Safety Board
Preliminary Accident Reports
CY 997 Marevember
Accident reports? Is this a joke? The report began with a series of brief summaries, outlining incidents and accidents throughout Equestria. Pegasus mare collided with occupied tree during aerial maneuvers, minor property damage... Lost bags of mail, mailpony’s strabismus determined to be a contributing factor... Several cases of brake failure on tour carts... He looked over at Featherprop in confusion, and caught the pilot nervously eyeing the report before meeting Pasture’s eye with a fearful expression. What is going on here? Concerned, Pasture began flipping through the report.
One page stopped him. While the others were soft from repeated turning, this one was wrinkled; it had been hoofed so often that the paper was dingy, except for some patchy clean spots surrounded by darker rings, where droplets had fallen on the page. Glancing over at the pilot, Pasture noticed the Pegasus seemed to be avoiding looking over towards him– his eyes darted back and forth over the panel, but the muscles in his neck were corded and tense. A faint dark streak ran down his muzzle from the corner of his eye. Pasture opened his mouth to ask a question, then looked down at the report in his hooves again.
ETSB EAR-13-20
ETSB Accident SummaryExecutive Summary
The pilot of a Pferduyn Norsepony MkIII, tail number FM1924, operating as SnowPony 413, had executed a second blind let-down attempt at Kathia but was unable to visually acquire any part of the runway environment during the let-down. After passing the Missed Let-down Fix, the aircraft deviated from the published departure course and impacted terrain several miles west-southwest of the Kathia navigation range.
The Norsepony MkIII is a single-engine, high-wing, fixed-gear light transport capable of carrying seven Ponies in passenger configuration. It lacks a full complement of anti-icing equipment and is only approved for operation in trace icing conditions. The flight crew, consisting of one pilot and one nurse, perished in the impact.
The flight departed Fairflanks on a medical evacuation mission and was scheduled to land at Kathia two hours later. At the time of the accident Snowpony 413 had been airborne for over three and one-half hours. Instrument conditions prevailed throughout the flight and both blind let-down approaches were conducted in meteorological conditions conducive to airframe ice accumulation.
The foundations of this accident were laid long before the second let-down attempt. The pilot’s decision to continue flight in known icing conditions, rather than departing for an alternate destination, resulted in a profound reduction in the margin of safety for the flight.
Pilot fatigue is believed to have played a role on several levels– it is the Board’s opinion that the pilot’s decisionmaking was impaired both by fatigue and lack of preparation for the second failed let-down attempt. It is apparent the pilot had not prepared a plan of action prior to breaking off the second let-down attempt, and radio logs seem to indicate that his distraction with flight planning details interfered with the basic task of maintaining aircraft control.
The pilot’s failure to implement proper unusual attitude recovery techniques supports this. In ETSB flight tests, a successful recovery was possible in eight out of ten attempts when proper techniques were utilized. In reconstructions of the probable course of events, recovery was not possible from the pilot’s estimated entry altitude.
Probable Cause
The Equestrian Transportation Safety Board has determined that the probable cause of this accident was the pilot’s failure to maintain a minimum safe airspeed while executing a missed let-down procedure in icing conditions, resulting in an asymmetric stall at low altitude. Contributing to the accident were the failure to follow manufacturer’s published airspeeds and flight profiles, the pilot’s decision to execute a second let-down in icing conditions, the pilot’s failure to follow the published missed let-down procedure, the pilot’s failure to utilize proper unusual attitude recovery procedures, and cumulative fatigue from an extended duty day.
Beyond that, the report delved into a dry discussion of company policy and operating history.
Still confused, Pasture looked up at Featherprop. “Why are you showing me this? You don’t need to convince me that this sort of flying has it’s share of danger– I’ve seen quite enough tonight to know that.” He was still brooding over how to salvage his career and was in no mood to agree with the pilot’s decisions. Pasture had managed more interns than he could count, and felt he could sniff out an excuse a league away. There was no doubt in his mind that Featherprop was simply trying to justify his reluctance to make another attempt at landing at Fetlock Falls.
“Doc, that IS why I showed it to you.” Featherprop shook his head and tapped the report with a hoof. “That... the pilot. He was a friend, a good one. He sort of showed me the ropes and got me started, back in my first year at the Gryphon’s school.” Sniffling, he turned his face away from Pasture. “Actually... he was like an older brother– better than the ones I had, in some ways.”
Pasture was caught off-guard. What is going on? Celestia, he’s not losing his grip, is he? Wary of upsetting the Pegasus further, Pasture offered a stilted apology. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”
Featherprop cut him off with a wave of his hoof. “I didn’t tell you that for sympathy. It’s... Spin Drift, his name was Spin Drift, and that accident... it was his fault.” He sighed and gathered his thoughts, struggling to condense the whirl of loss, fear, regret, and resentment into something Pasture could understand.
When Featherprop had first read the report, the language had shocked him, angered him. Spin Drift’s decisions made sense to him, much more than did the cold, calculating recommendations of the board and the company policies. It was easy; Ponies mattered, not rules. If you were flying to save somepony, you’d better do whatever you could to save them. Heroes didn’t quote rules, they broke them when it was necessary.
Time and experience gave him new perspectives. Featherprop had come to see that the Board’s conclusions were right, but the ferocity of his early convictions made it difficult to set them aside, as if he were spitting on his friend's grave. Admitting it to himself had been hard enough, but now, as he tried to say the words out loud, it was harder than he had imagined. And yet, he felt a need to say it, that to gloss over it again would be a cowardly acsession to Pasture's overbearing demands. Not like he'll listen, but if I'm done I may as well go out on a high note. ”Spin Drift and Nurse Soothing died because Spin did the wrong thing for what he probably felt were the right reasons. Spin was... well, he was focused, really driven. He was a better pilot than me, even though he didn’t have any inborn wing-sense.” He nodded back at his folded wings and shook his head. “But he pushed too hard, all the time. He hated to fail, but he had the skill or the luck to make it through, somehow.”
He took a deep breath and forced himself to voice the criticism that he’d tried to ignore for so long. “Spin Drift didn’t pay attention to how much danger he was putting them in. He killed himself and Soothing because he couldn’t stand to say, ‘I can’t do this.’ ”
Pasture was taken aback; the cold tone of Featherprop’s words made his ears flicker. It was as if a different Pony were sitting across from him In contrast to earlier emotional outbursts from the Pegasus, Featherprop’s voice now seemed empty of warmth or empathy. "But surely that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? Wasn’t your friend was on a rescue mission? If a Pony’s life was at stake, doesn’t that makes a difference?” A tragic ending, but there’s a certain nobility to being so dedicated.
Featherprop gave Pasture a baleful look. “No, Doc, it doesn’t. It makes it worse.” He nodded at the sheaf of papers. “Spin Drift was flying a Norsepony. It’s only got one engine, it’s smaller, and it doesn’t have the same equipment we do. That whole flight should never have gotten halfway to Kathia. Other pilots reported icing across a wide area that night, so there’s no way he wasn’t coated in ice. Look at us– we’re in bad shape, and we’ve got two more powerful engines. On a Norsepony, it’d be a lot worse. That’s how Spin was, though. He always assumed the weather reports were written by,” here he affected a deeper accent with odd vowels, “crusty old sad-sacks with no one to love them.”
He continued, a touch of sadness mixing with reproach in his voice. “When he got to Kathia, the ground station told him the clouds were too low– that was right in the station logs. He knew. And then he held over the range, in the clouds, for over half an hour. Luna knows how much more ice he picked up while waiting for the clouds to lift.” A trace of anger began to liven his words. “And then, after that, he decided to start the first let-down. There’s no way he should have. Look in there, he station manager told him the field’s beacon was in the clouds.”
“And when he couldn’t get in the first time, he tried again.” Featherprop faltered as his throat fluttered; that decision made him angry, he finally realized.
Pasture stirred; he felt compelled to offer some defense for the deceased. “But in a life and death situation... I’m sure he felt it was necessary to try.”
Featherprop let out a laugh, a short sharp one that caused Pasture to flinch, his muzzle twisted in a dismissive frown. “Life or death? Please, Doc. The patient he went to pick up was stabilized– we can’t carry them if they aren’t. You know what that means, right?” He watched as Pasture looked away with a slight snort. Of course you do. Any doctor would. “ So it wasn’t ‘life or death’ that night.” He kept to himself the detail that the patient had suffered a severe limb injury, one that had left them crippled. “Spin Drift should have left after that first attempt and departed for the alternate. On the second try, we don’t know what happened, and we never will. But after he went missed again, the Norsepony went off course. Then...” He choked up and had to sniffle a couple of times to get his throat to open up. “They hit the ground nose-first, partially inverted. I think... I think the report is right, that he let it get slow and one wing stalled. The ice could have made that happen, easy. Once she flipped on her back...” Featherprop shook his head, “I think he got disoriented. It looks like he tried to pull through. He should have rolled it! At that height, there was no way to make it through the bottom.” He had to pause for a minute before he could force himself to say the ugly truth: “When he did that, they were deadponies.”
He stopped. Inside, he was balanced between guilt and anger, torn between the sense that he was betraying a friend and righteous professional anger at a colleague who failed to exercise any sort of good judgement at all. The panel blurred as tears collected in his eyes, and he looked towards the side windscreen to hide them from Pasture.
As Featherprop’s silence stretched out, Pasture ventured a question. “So you’re saying–”
Featherprop shook his head, cutting Pasture off. “I’m saying he took too damn many risks. He killed himself. And somepony else! He was stupid.” The more he said, the more he thought about it, the easier it became to voice the long-suppressed feelings. He let loose the anger and frustration that had shamed him for so long. “He was iced up and had less power than us, but he took those risks. Back in training, the instructors hammered us about that very situation: What do you do? And the answer is, Leave. You leave, because all the cards are stacked against you. But he didn’t– he ignored the risks and took another try.”
Featherprop had become agitated, emphasizing his words with slashes of his hoof. Pausing now, he took a deep breath and concentrated on the instruments for a minute before looking at Pasture with sadness in his eyes. “And because of it, he and another Pony died. He let the idea of being the hero galloping in to save the day get in the way of doing his job.” As he said this, the Pegasus looked embarrassed. “And the truth, Doc? I kind of felt the same way tonight, back when we started out, and I’m feeling pretty bad about it now. It wasn’t right. I worried about what would happen if we didn’t get in. I ignored all kinds of warning signs. I let you push me around, and it led me to make some bad choices.” His muzzle stiffened and he stared down at the instruments. “Somepony once told me, ‘Failure is not an option.’ The stallion’s voice cracked as he spoke. “ ‘Failure is not an option’ Da- they said.”
He looked up at Pasture, and when he continued, some of the sadness in his voice was gone, and a hint of confidence and pride made him lift his chin. “But then I failed, and discovered that failure is always an option. I learned that sometimes failure is the only option, and all you get to do is choose how you fail. How you fail is just as important as how you succeed. You might not like it, but that’s what I did tonight: I chose to fail the right way.”
Pasture shook his head. “I... I just cannot see how you judge him like this. If he was your friend, as you say... surely you knew what was in his heart. Doesn’t that count for anything between you?” He shook the report in his hooves. “Reports. I’ve written dozens, hundreds of reports where I’ve sat and analyzed data from a comfortable office. We’d like to pretend that these words define the reality of the situation, but you and I know that’s not true. Don’t you feel that you’re tarnishing his memory?”
Featherprop bit his tongue, realizing that the argument was moving in circles. After a short while, he asked, “Let me ask you, Doc; where do you work?”
“Where do I work?” The soft tone of the question surprised Pasture. He’d been expecting anger or bitterness from the Pegasus, not a gentle question.
“Yeah, you know, the emergency room? Surgery, maternity? Where?”
“Oh, well, I divide my time between the Thaumaturgics Lab, the Library, and my office.”
Featherprop nodded slowly. “Not a lot of sick ponies going in and out, is there?”
Pasture raised an eyebrow as he allowed, “Well, no. It’s a research lab. What are you trying to say?”
Featherprop shook his head and continued, “So what happens at the end of the day when you make a mistake? You turn out the lights, go home, and think about it, right?” He nodded when the Unicorn didn’t respond. “Well, Spin made a mistake, and he didn’t get to go home, and neither did Nurse Soothing. The world and weather up here are harsh. Sometimes we’re lucky and get to learn from our mistakes. Sometimes we don’t get a second chance.”
“One thing about this job, I get to see a lot of the ones that do get lucky. Late at night, or in bad weather, they get loaded on and they’re usually in rough shape. But they’re trusting me to think it through and keep them alive. Sometimes that means I have to choose the better way to fail. I’ve spent hours in the air, listening to somepony sobbing because the nurse can’t stop the pain and we can’t get in.” He paused for a moment and swallowed. “Sometimes they don’t make it, and all we can do is say we’re sorry... and carry them home one last time.”
Pasture looked away from rawness of the emotion in the Pegasus’ voice. This was a side of medicine he had long ago left behind in favor of a clean lab and peaceful library. When he spoke, his voice was quiet: “Then why do you do it?”
“I... I don’t know. No, wait. Because for every flight where somepony doesn’t make it, there’s a dozen times they do. Because of the nights when somepony comes up front and shouts “It’s a filly!” Featherprop paused and looked towards Pasture with a small smile. “Do you know what it feels like to be a part of that? I’m an honorary Uncle a few times over.”
Featherprop glanced towards the back of the aircraft with a trace of sadness. “Even getting to watch a frostbit colt limp down that ramp, short a hoof but alive,” he sniffled and smiled, “and to see his family surround him, you know you’ve done the right thing. I don’t know what it’s like away down south, but life up here isn’t fair. Sometimes you need somepony to put a hoof on the scales... I like to think that, once in a while, I help to balance things out.” He trailed off and looked at the side window.
When he continued, Featherprop’s voice held a hint of bitterness. “But you can’t do that if you’re dead. So don’t expect an apology from me, Doc. You think my job was just to get you to Fetlock Falls? Sorry if it disappoints you, but that should've been at the bottom of my list.” Featherprop became more animated, waving a hoof for emphasis as he spoke. In his head, all the events of the evening began to fit together. I should have seen it earlier. I should have put my hoof down in Fairflanks.
“First is to keep myself, well, both of us, alive. Second is to keep my job. Third is to keep this plane in good shape. Fourth, keep the ETSB off my back. Getting you where you want to go is fifth, maybe, unless Espresso is having a bad day, then you drop a notch or two.” Featherprop involuntarily smiled as he imagined Espresso throwing a full-blown fit over the fiasco this evening had become, complete with files being tossed about. After all this, I think it might be nice to get yelled at by her.
“Do you get it, Doc? We actually got to Fetlock Falls, and there’s no flappin’ way I should have let that happen. We were walking into a bear’s den without a candle. One step, two steps... pretty soon, you’re stepping on the bear and it’s over. I don’t know how close we got; nopony does until it’s too late.” His rear hooves drummed a little against the floorboards as he shivered at the thought of just how close they must have come, and tried to put the image of sharp rocks out of his mind.
“So I don’t care if you’re angry. I don’t care if you write some scrolls, or whatever it is you plan to do. I don’t give a Lunar horseapple, because we got lucky tonight and I managed to do jobs one through four. That’s pretty good in anypony’s book.” He glared at Pasture with defiance, no longer caring what the doctor might say.
Pasture started to speak, then held his tongue as he realized that there really was nothing more to discuss. What’s the point? Soon, it will be out of my hooves. One Pony or another, the Academy will have it’s pound of flesh. His mouth narrowed into a hard line. You’d do well, boy, to learn that not all danger comes wrapped in cold and ice.