Flight 493

It isn’t every day you are forced to kill your best friend.

It was a brisk Sunday afternoon when I stepped aboard the Vanhela. Flinching at the chilled winter air that seeped into the gangway, I straightened my pilot’s cap and nodded to the flight attendant. She carries a thin manila envelope in her right hand.

“Morning captain Walken.” She says with an upbeat inflection.

“Good morning Andrea. How are the kids?” I reply, stopping to speak with her.

“Doing great. Well, mostly anyway. Henry has a fever, and I’m sure it won’t be long until we all have it!” she lets out a bit of a giggle, and I smile in return. She looks off into the direction she was heading.

“Well, I best get a move on. Your flight plans, Mr. Walken.” She passes the manila envelope to me before turning a heel and heading on her way. I smile and look towards her as she makes her way down the bridge.

“Thanks!” I call after her.

She waves her hand in the air, as if to say “You’re welcome.”, but never turns to face me.

I chuckle and shake my head, then make way to the cabin. I reach the door and knock, knowing that James has already come aboard. Three short taps, and two long ones. That was the code.

He swings the door wide and I step in, walking past him. I stop mid step and peer back at him. The tall man is chewing voraciously on a soft pretzel, a look of content on his face. I raise an eyebrow at him curiously and give a short chuckle.

“What?” He says defensively. “A man’s gotta’ eat!” He scoffs through a mouth full of dough.

At that I laugh wildly. “And what about boys?” I prod at him as I shrug off my matching slick black captain’s jacket. Draping it over my pilot’s chair, I have a seat and spin to face Mr. Maron.

“Ah but sir there’s still the question of what you eat!” A large grin creeps across his bearded face. “Well, I suppose I could always consult a National Geographic.”

I step up to him, chest to chest. Even though he was a good five foot ten, I still towered over him. I pierce him with a menacing scowl of disapproval. He suddenly shrinks back, regretting what he had said immediately.

“Sorry sir.” He mutters.

I suddenly burst out laughing, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Come on James! You know me better than that! ”

His expression changes from fear to relief, then to a grin. He lets out a sigh and shrugs off his own jacket, then has a seat.

I swivel the chair forward to gaze out the front of the enormous steel bird. The runway seems hundreds of feet below us, and I know it’s no illusion. The pilot’s quarters rests on the top floor of the massive aircraft, where the front slopes down to its belly. The turbofans alone are far taller than I am, topping out at 34,000 pounds of thrust. The wingtips stretch to the very ends of the runway, waiting eagerly to slice through the air.

The entire aircraft is the size of a small hotel, and well it should be. Like a flying boarding house, the enormous Vanhela acted as an overnight flight, and it was essentially an apartment building with wings. The plane was an unorthodox creature, over doubling the size of its competitors. Instead of rows of seats, the interior featured hallways and dorms. The flight attendants were replaced with full time workers, who were more hospitality staff than anything else. Chefs, maids, janitors. They were the kind of people you would never expect to see aboard a flight. The whole aircraft was bright and beaming, inside and out. Swirls of blues and oranges accented the walls and aerofoil, while blacks and whites coated the rest. It was a truly remarkable sight.

The coded tap on the door interrupts my thoughts. James throws himself out of his seat with a grunt, and then walks over to open it. I swivel myself to see it is Andrea again, but notice there is someone standing beside her. I stand from my own captain’s chair and step to the door to see Corporal Manali Koster, an eccentric friend of mine. A walk to the door was almost not necessary, for I suspected it was him the second I heard his thick, distinctive accent. Behind him I see a stream of boarding passengers, their carry-on luggage in hand.

Boarding already? Must have lost track... I think to myself.

The corporal sees me and smiles, shaking my hand vigorously.

“Good see you Mr. Walken! How kids?”

“They’re quite well thanks. And yours?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Doing fine.  Had no idea you piloted such an immense aircraft! Quite impressive.”

I chuckle. “Thank you sir. She is quite a beauty. What brings you aboard her?”

A look of horrific shock flashes across his face for a split second. He clears his throat and straightens his already straight tie. “Russian Prime Minister needs me in for business. Not permitted to talk about-“

A passerby, one of the countless filing into the Vanhela, bumps into Koster. He straightens his suit and clears his throat once more.

“Well,” He says with a wave of his hand. “Best get to seat. Nice talk to you!” He grins and shakes my hand once more before filing into the line of people.

Andrea, who has remained quiet this whole time, turns to look at me.

“And you,” She says, smacking me playfully with her manila folder. “Best get to your own seat. Plane won’t fly itself!”

“Ever heard of autopilot?” I say playfully.

She grins and strolls away, finding her place in the back of the plane.

I watch the last of the Vanhela’s passengers file aboard, then step back into the cabin. James follows suit, and we both sink back into our chairs. We both prepare for flight, putting on our headsets and checking gauges. I reach to my right and flip the intercom switch. Adjusting the microphone so that it is in from of my face, I greet the passengers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Captain Walken.” I hear my voice echoing throughout the aircraft.  “I’d like to be the first to welcome you aboard the Vanhela. We will be departing soon, so be sure to strap yourselves in.  Flight executives will be giving safety procedures momentarily. Again, welcome and enjoy the rest of your stay.”

I switch the intercome off and connect to air traffic control.

“Control this is flight 493, ready for departure.” In saying this I ignite the engines. They crackle and sputter before roaring to life, shaking the Vanhela.

“Stand by 493.”

A series of four beeps sound, and James informs me that all of the fans are operating smoothly. I swivel my head in all directions of the glass dome the surrounds the cockpit, checking to see that the aerofoil moves as I tell it to. I check the other countless lights and gauges, but all glow with a vibrant green.

“Flight that’s a firm on takeoff. Whenever you’re ready. And congratulations on your ten year stance aboard the Vanhela.”

“Proud to be her captain.” I say, pressing the talk button once more.

The wail of the engines now fills the air, and its pitch increases as I drive the thrust lever forward. We begin to roll across the runway, slowly gaining speed. I advance another one of the throttle handles, and the whole aircraft gives a little kick, as if shifting gears. The outside world is now a blur, and I watch the airspeed dial carefully. The aircraft rumbles and vibrates slightly, and I know she is eager to touch the sky. I pull the yoke to my chest gently, pitching us upward. The landing gear peels off the runway and the nose points up, making me sink in my seat. The aircraft ceases it’s shaking and I set a climb rate, making the airplane gain altitude steadily. The aircraft now vibrates with a steady hum; a kind of calming sound I have grown fond of over the years. We reach our cruising altitude and level out, which means passengers are now allowed to roam the plane. I reach forward and flip a switch, and it dings in response. I speak into the intercom once more.

“Attention passengers of the Vanhela. We are now at our cruising altitude, which means you are free to roam. As usual, however, you must first gather in the café for the safety procedures, as promised. We will try to take a minimal amount of your time.”

I look over at James to see him playing with the coiled wire of his headset. I let out a little laugh, and he looks up at me. He returns my smile and drops the cord.

“What?” he asks, laughing.

“Five years on this gargantuan aircraft, and the most entertaining thing you can find is a headset-“

Static over my headset makes me stop short. I reach to my right ear and press the muff against my head, straining to make out the noise. I can tell it is the emergency line by the red glow that emanates from the call box.

“What-“ James begins. But I hold up a finger to hush him. Through the static of the transmission, I can only make out a few, barely intelligible words. But there is one thing I can determine. It’s Andrea. And she’s talking in a low whisper.

“Vanhela…attack…hostages…Koster…seven.”

I glance over to James, and I can tell he is listening intently. He meets my gaze and mouths the words: “Seven?”

I shrug my shoulders. I have no Idea what is going on. Koster was a great friend of mine; he’d never attack the Vanhela…

Through the headset I hear a sudden amount of noise. Loud crashes, scraping, and the sound of dragging feet. As if someone was struggling. I hear Andrea scream. A second or two pass in complete silence until I am startled by a deep, familiar voice. Its accent was unmistakable. It was Corporal Manali Koster.

“Mr. Walken. How are you today?”

I sit in pure shock for a second before answering. “It’s Captain Walken.” I tell him sternly. “What’s going on down there?”

“Ah but you see, Mr. Walken, you are no longer the captain of Vanhela. The real question is, how many people must I kill before you have realization?” There is a hollow shattering sound, as if glass had been broken.

“You hear, Mr. Walken? Sound of glass? Has very sharp edge, no?” He pauses for a second. “Not very impressive weapon. Not nearly as impressive as gun you keep in captain’s cabin.”

I glance over to the corner of the cockpit, where I always keep my Winchester rifle. It lays propped against the wall, a box of shells at its side.

“But it’ll do.” Koster continues. “You use gun, I use glass. It no hurt you, but there are plenty of passenger right here. All passenger required to report for safety instruction, yes?” He pauses once more, which I hate. The more time he gives me to think, the more I calculate how many people will die.

“Here is solution. You bring gun down, unloaded, and hand it to me. No one hurt, everyone goes home happy. I become new captain. Simply trade me spots. You, and your James here, and me in cabin. I am nice man, Mr. Walken. Do not make me upset.”

And with that, the radio crackled to silence. I look over at James with a pale face.

“You ready?” I ask him faintly.

“For what? There’s seven of them!”  He asks wildly.

“We’re going down there.”

“I’m not!” He bellows, gripping his chair tightly.

“Just hear me out.” I tell him with a pleading face. “Please. They have Andrea.”

I poke James in the back with the barrel of the Winchester. He looks back at me, and we both descend the stairs. We make our way to the café, James first. The hallways are only half lit, and it is hard to find our way around. We bump into something, and it cries out.

“Ouch!”

James and I both jump at the noise, thinking it is one of Koster’s partners. I point my gun in the direction of the noise, and it hits something. Or someone I suppose.

“Who’s there?” I ask, bewildered.

“It’s Jessie.” The voice tells us.

One of the other flight attendants! I think to myself.

“How did you escape?” I ask, this time even more confused.

“I… uh… never went.” She says hesitantly. Through the lack of light I can barely see her bow her head.

“Well I’m glad you didn’t! Do you know what’s going on?”

“Sort of.”  She says. “Code 204. Hostage situation.”

“Smart, but tardy!” I say, wagging a finger. “But there is a way you can help. If you’re up for it, that is.”

She looks uncertain, scared even. But who wouldn’t be? A good minute passes before she answers.

“I’m up for it.” She says matter-of-factly.

I quickly go over our plan on taking back the Vanhela, and then explain to the both of them how Jessie will fit into it. I finally finish, wanting to get to the café soon. I didn’t want to arouse suspicion.

“Ready?” I ask, repositioning my gun on James’s back.

They both nod, but Jessie speaks up once more.

“But wait… why are you holding him hostage?”

“I’ll explain later, let’s go.”

She nods and turns back the way she came, running down the hallway on the opposite side of the café. I look at the hallway we were starting down before we bumped into Jessie; our target.

At the end of this hallway to the left, is the café door, and as we draw nearer, I can see that the handle is a dark amber.

Locked.

We reach the end of the hall and wait outside the door. There is no warm welcome, no friendly greeting, and I have to knock for them to notice. I only hope Jessie has made her way to her own door. At seeing us, Koster unlocks the door. I push it open with my foot, not wanting to take my hand off the gun.

Every man, with the exception of Corporal Koster, holds a piece of glass to a passenger’s throat. Adults are fear stricken, children are crying, and Koster is unnaturally calm. Upon seeing the rifle in my hand, every one of the men tenses and holds their hostages a bit tighter.

“I told you to bring it unloaded, Mr. Walken.” He shakes his head disapprovingly.

“It was the only way I could force him to come.” I nod towards James.

“I see. Still, huge disappointment. I didn’t want anyone hurt.” He nods to one of his men, who is holding an older woman captive.

Without a word the man slices the woman’s throat, making her cry out in surprise. She collapses to the floor, and it isn’t long before a pool of blood envelopes her. She stops moving.

“I am man of word, Mr. Walken. I promise no one get hurt if cooperate, but I see that is not the case. How-“

The door at the other end of the café swings wide, and everyone, including James and I, jump in place. Standing in the doorway is Jessie, hands in the air. Every person in the room is turned to look at her. I stand in place, but quickly shake myself out of my trance. Now was the time to act.

I run forward, tossing the Winchester back to James as I do. I make a B line for Koster, who is standing in the middle of the café with his back to me. He hears me coming, and the whole world seems to spin in slow motion. All at once I tackle Koster to the ground, swiping the piece of glass from his hand. I put it to his throat and scream at him not to move. Simultaneously, at the end of the café, Jessie reaches around the frame of the doorway. When her hand returns, it carries its own Winchester, which she points at the all of the guards on the right side of the café. At the other end, James had been pointing at the left side of the room all along. They both scream for them to get down, pointing their rifles at them boldly.

There was so much that could go wrong, so many flaws, such low probability of everything working out. But it was the plan. The plan that Jessie would grab the second Winchester from the Captain’s safe and encircle the café. The plan that James was never really a hostage, or in any danger at all. And so I waited. I waited for the sounds of gunshot and fallout. I waited for the sounds of utter chaos! But nothing happened. All was silent.

Then, there was suddenly laughter. I looked down to find it was Koster, chuckling madly. I was enraged and confused all at the same time.

“What?” I screamed at him. “What is funny? Tell me!” I shake him; press the glass tighter to his neck.

He stops chuckling, and I realize it’s because I am nearly choking him.

“Always knew you were a bold man. Is why I installed fail safe.” He says through gritted teeth.

I look around the room, to James and Jessie. I hadn’t even realized that Koster’s men were now on their knees, hostages themselves.

“What do you mean?” I spat back.

“Large bomb. Lower deck. No use trying to save now, Mr. Walken.”

I punch him hard across his face.

“What is the combination?” I demand from him, gritting my own teeth.

He spits in my face. I grunt and stand to my feet, wiping it away. I look to James, who tosses me his gun. I turn it and crash the stock against his cheek, then point it down on him.

“Only Marx and I know. You’ll kill me before I tell.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” With a loud bang I pulled the trigger, slugging out a bullet into his chest. His tattered and blood covered suit ceases to rise with each breath, and then soon stops. The children in the room scream in surprise. Many Adults wear a horrified expression. I had killed a man. Not just a man, but my best friend, and a highly respected military leader. I think of the bomb however, and snap out of my shock. I look around the room with swift intent.

“Which one of you is Marx?” I call out, my voice echoing in the now silent café.

One of the men points to a gray haired man beside him. I step up to the both of them and look at them steadily. I slam the cocking lever up and down, loading another shell. The casing clatters to the floor.

“You Marx?”

The man dips his head in sorrow, not meeting my gaze.

“I see.” I say in a softer voice. “You have great friends here Marx. Real loyal. Now how about that combina-“

“Six eight, two five, zero six.” The older man doesn’t hesitate. Why would he?

I nod to him and peer over at James. He has an uneasy look about him.

“Watch them. And get everyone to a room. Doors locked.”

I toss the Winchester to him and sprint out the door. I round a corner and fly down the stairs to the lower level. Over the sound of my own footsteps I can hear a faint beeping noise. The lower level is mostly storage, used to supply food, water and emergency fuel…

“That’s it!” I say aloud, and to no one in particular. “The fuel!”

I round another corner and keep running. The beeping noise is getting louder, and the entire time I run I repeat the code over and over in my head. I must not forget it. I finally round one more corner to find a device the size of a milk jug pinned to one of the fuel tanks. The digital display shines a bright blue, and the numbers read twenty-five. I scroll through the screen until I find diffuse, repeating the code even then. I type it in quickly, knowing I don’t have much time. It takes what seems like forever to type it in, and then press enter. The device sounds two long beeps before becoming silent and freezing at four seconds. I let out a sigh and relax a little, slouching against the fuel tank. After a minute or two I stand and make my way to the first deck once more.

***

I arrive in the café to find it completely empty, with the exception of the two bodies; Koster’s and the older lady’s. I look down at them with despair. What had I done? I make my way to the cockpit, expecting James will be there. Someone had to be flying the Vanhela. It couldn’t run on autopilot forever. I think back to when Andrea said that earlier this morning. Everything had been so different then.

I stop along the way though, bumping into Jessie. She stands outside the janitorial closet. I remember now that it is the only closet that locks from the outside. I can only assume the hijackers are in there, for she seems like she is standing guard, gun in hand. She smiles to me, but I know it isn’t real.

“Hey.” She says faintly.

“Hey.” I reply. “Is James in the cockpit?”

“Yeah. He’s taking us down to the nearest airport. Police and medics are waiting there.”

I nod to her and then continue on my way to the cockpit, not really wanting to talk. I feel sick to my stomach. Never in a million years would I think of killing someone. But at the same time, I knew it was the right thing to do. It was either him, or all of us.

I reach the door and knock, this time telling James it was me. He answers, but carries his Winchester in hand. I don’t blame him for being cautious. I step in and we both have a seat in silence. I reach for the headset, but this time ask to be connected to a private line. I dial my wife’s phone number and wait for the tone.

“Hello?” calls a sweet voice.

For a second I can’t speak; try but nothing comes out. I sniffle and take a deep breath.

“Hello?” The voice asks once again.

“Honey? It’s me.” I finally manage to get out.

She can tell I am distraught. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine. And aboard the Vanhela.” I tell her through sobs. But I wasn’t okay. I was crying now, and even though I knew she was talking I couldn’t hear her. My stomach was in knots and I felt gutted from the inside out.

After all, it isn’t every day you are forced to kill your best friend.