So You Want to be an Airline Pilot

I made sure my guests were properly briefed and we started for Canada. About 150 miles out of Montreal, the low-fuel warning light came on, and within minutes the number three engine quit. I went through the emergency engine-out procedure, notified the tower I would be making a three-engine approach and landing, briefed the crew and the two watching our every move, and proceeded to land.

I guess I did the thing right, because as the two left they shook my hand and told me, “Good job.” I ordered the fuel screens and filters checked, and we left for our next stop at Gander, Newfoundland.

In Gander, I again ordered the fuel screens, sumps, and filters cleaned, as the next leg was across the North Atlantic, and I certainly didn’t want any problems out there. We refueled, refiled our flight plan, and checked the weather, which was already lousy. It promised to get worse.

We had just leveled off and sat back to ride out this wild weather with its ice and rain mixed with snow and what sounded like rocks hitting the airplane’s skin. For some reason I remembered pleasant thoughts of my mother, who had passed away years ago.

I was startled by a sudden cry from my flight engineer: “There goes number three again!” Sure enough, the low-fuel light was on. The engine lost power and stopped. We were heavy with fuel and cargo, and immediately started to lose altitude.

I knew that to ditch in the Atlantic Ocean in this storm in the dead of winter was certain death. Even if we survived a ditching, life expectancy in these Arctic waters is at best twenty minutes.