ATC RULES AND PROCEDURES 34 страница
As they swung left, behind the plows, Mel reported, "Runway three zero clear and open."
TRANS AMERICA Flight Two,The Golden Argosy, was ten miles out, in cloud, at ftfteen hundred feet.
Anson Harris, after another brief respite, had resumed flying. The Lincoln International approach controller---with a voice vaguely familiar to Vernon Demerest, though he hadn't stopped to think about it---had guided them thus far on a series of courses, with gentle turns as they descended. They had been, both pilots realized, skillfully positioned so that a final commitment toward either of the two possible runways could be made without major maneuvering. But the commitment would have to be made at any moment. Tension of the pilots grew as that moment approached. A few minutes earlier, Second Officer Cy Jordan had returned to the flight deck, on Demerest's orders, to prepare an estimate of gross landing weight, allowing for the fuel they had used, and that remaining. Now, having done everything else necessary at his flight engineer's position, Jordan had gone back to his emergency landing station in the forward passenger compartment. Anson Harris, aided by Demerest, had already gone through emergency trim procedures in preparation for landing with their jammed stabilizer. As they finished, Dr. Compagno appeared briefly behind them. "I thought you'd like to know---your stewardess, Miss Meighen, is holding her own. If we can get her to a hospital soon, I'm fairly sure she'll come through." Demerest, finding it hard to conceal his sudden emotion, had resorted to not speaking. It was Anson Harris who half-turned and acknowledged, "Thank you, Doctor. We've only a few minutes to go." In both passenger cabins, all precautions which could be taken were complete. The injured, with the exception of Gwen Meighen, had been strapped in seats. Two of the doctors had stationed themselves on either side of Gwen, ready to support her as they landed. Other passengers had been shown how to brace themselves for what might prove an exceptionally heavy landing, with unknown consequences. The old lady stowaway, Mrs. Quonsett, a little frightened at last, was tightly clutching the hand of her oboe player friend. Weariness, too, was creeping over her from the exertions of an exceedingly full day. A short time earlier her spirits had been buoyed by a brief message from Captain Demerest, relayed through a stewardess. The captain thanked her, the stewardess said, for what she had done to help; since Mrs. Quonsett had kept her part of their bargain, after they landed Captain Demerest would keep his by arranging passage for her to New York. How wonderful of that dear man, Ada Ouonsett thought, to remember that when he had so much else to think of!... But now she wondered: would she be around to make the trip at all? Judy, the niece of Customs Inspector Standish, had once more been holding the baby whose parents were in the seats beside her. Now she passed the child back to its mother. The baby---least concerned of anyone aboard the airplane---was asleep. On the flight deck, in the right-hand seat, Vernon Demerest checked the weight information the second officer had given him against a weight-airspeed plaque on the pilots' instrument panel. He announced tersely, "Bug speed 150 knots." It was the speed at which they must pass over the airfield boundary, allowing both for weight and the jammed stabilizer. Harris nodded. Looking glum, he reached out to set a warning pointer on his airspeed indicator. Demerest did the same. Even on the longest runway their landing would be risky. The speed---more than 170 miles per hour---was diabolically fast for landing. Both pilots knew that it would mean an exceptionally long run after touchdown, with slow deceleration because of their heavy weight. Thus their weight became a dual liability. Yet to approach at anything less than the speed which Demerest had just computed would be suicidal; the aircraft would stall, and plummet earthward out of control. Demerest reached for his radio mike. Before he could transmit, the voice of Keith Bakersfeld announced, "Trans America Two, turn right on heading two eight five. Runway three zero is open." "Jesus Christ!" Demerest said. "And about time!" He keyed his mike and acknowledged. Together, both pilots ran through a pre-landing check list. There was a "thud" through the airplane as their landing gear went down. "I'm going in low," Harris said, "and we'll touch down early. We're still going to need every bit of real estate they have down there."
Demerest grunted agreement. He was peering ahead, straining to penetrate cloud and darkness, to catch a glimpse of the airport lights which must be visible soon. His thoughts, despite his own outward calm, were on the damage to the plane. They still didn't know exactly how bad it was, or how it might have worsened during the rough flight in. There was that damned great hole; then there would be the heavy, fast landing... God!--- the whole tail assembly might come off... If it does, Demerest thought, at a hundred and fifty knots we've had it... That son-of-a-bitch who had set off the bomb! A pity he had died! Demerest would like to have his hands on him now, to personally rip out his stinking life...
Beside him, Anson Harris, making an Instrument Landing System approach, increased the rate of descent from seven hundred to eight hundred feet per minute.
Demerest wished desperately he were flying himself. With anyone else but Harris---with a younger or less senior captain---Demerest would have taken full command. As it was, he couldn't fault Harris for a thing... He hoped the landing would be the same way... His thoughts went back to the passenger cabin. Gwen, we're almost in! Keep on living! His conviction about their child, that he and Gwen and Sarah would work out something, was as strong as ever.
On radio, Keith Bakersfeld's voice reported, "Trans America Two, your course and descent look fine. There is medium to light snow on runway. Wind northwest, thirty knots. You are number one to land." Seconds later they emerged from cloud to see runway lights dead ahead. "Lincoln approach control," Demerest radioed, "we have the runway in sight." "Roger, Flight Two." Relief in the controller's voice was unmistakable. "The tower clears you to land; monitor their frequency when ready. Good luck, and out." Vernon Demerest clicked his mike button twice---an airman's shorthand "thank you." Anson Harris ordered crisply, "Landing lights on. Fifty degrees flap." Demerest complied. They were coming down fast. Harris warned, "I may need help with rudder." "Right." Demerest set his feet on the rudder pedals. When speed came off, the rudder---because of the destroyed boost mechanism---would be stiff, like a car's power steering which had failed, only more so. After landing, both pilots might need to exert force, together, to maintain directional control. They zoomed over the airfield edge, runway lights strung ahead like strands of converging pearls. On either side were piled banks of snow; beyond them, darkness. Harris had made his approach as low as he dared; the nearness to the ground revealed their exceptional speed. To both pilots, the mile and three quarters of runway in front had never looked shorter.
Harris flared out, leveling the aircraft, and closed all four throttles. The jet thrum lessened; an urgent, shrieking wind replaced it. As they crossed the runway's edge, Vernon Demerest had a blurred impression of clustered emergency vehicles which would, he knew, follow them down the runway. He thought: We damned well might need them! Hang on, Gwen!
They were still floating, their speed scarcely diminished. Then the aircraft was down. Heavily. Still traveling fast. Swiftly, Harris raised wing spoilers and slammed thrust reverse levers upward. With a roar, the jet engines reversed themselves, their force---acting as a brake---now exerted in an opposite direction to the airplane's travel. They had used three quarters of the runway and were slowing, but not enough. Harris called, "Right rudder!" The aircraft was veering to the left. With Demerest and Harris shoving together, they maintained direction. But the runway's forward limit---with piled snow and a cavern of darkness beyond---was coming up fast. Anson Harris was applying toe brakes hard. Metal was straining, rubber screaming. Still the darkness neared. Then they were slowing... gradually... slowing more... Flight Two came to rest three feet from the runway's end.
BY THE RADAR room clock, Keith Bakersfeld could see that another half hour of his shift remained. He didn't care.
He pushed back his chair from the radar console, unplugged his headset, and stood up. He looked around him, knowing it was for the last time. "Hey!" Wayne Tevis said. "What gives?" "Here," Keith told him. "Take this. Somebody else may need it." He thrust the headset at Tevis, and went out. Keith knew he should have done it years ago. He felt a strange lightheadedness, almost a sense of relief. In the corridor outside he wondered why. It was not because he had guided in Flight Two; he had no illusions about that. Keith had performed competently, but anyone else on duty could have done as well, or better. Nor---as he had known in advance---did anything done tonight wipe out, or counterbalance, what had gone before. It didn't matter, either, that he had overcome his mental block of ten minutes ago. Keith hadn't cared at the time; he simply wanted out. Nothing that had happened since had changed his mind. Perhaps, he thought, there had been a purging in his own sudden anger of a few minutes ago, in the admission, never faced before even in private thoughts, of how much he hated aviation, and always had. Now, fifteen years late, he wished he had faced the fact long ago. He entered the controllers' locker room, with its wooden benches and cluttered notice board. Keith opened his locker and put on his outdoor clothes. There were a few personal things on the locker shelves; he ignored them. All he wanted was the color snapshot of Natalie; he peeled it carefully from the inside surface of the metal door... Natalie in a bikini; laughing; her impudent pixyish face, and freckles; her hair streaming... When he looked at it, he wanted to cry. Behind the photograph was her note he had treasured:
I'm glad we had our ration With love and passion.
Keith pocketed both. Someone else could clear the other things out. There was nothing he wanted to remind him of this place---ever. He stopped. He stood there, realizing that without intending to, he had come to a new decision. He wasn't sure of everything the decision involved, or how it might seem tomorrow, or even if he could live with it beyond then. If he couldn't live with it, there was still an escape clause; a way out---the drugstore pillbox in his pocket. For tonight, the main thing was: he was not going to the O'Hagan Inn. He was going home. But there was one thing he knew: If there was to be a future, it must be removed from aviation. As others who had quit air traffic control before him had discovered, that could prove the hardest thing of all.
And even if that much could be overcome---face it now, Keith told himself---there would be times when he would be reminded of the past. Reminded of Lincoln International; of Leesburg; of what had happened at both places. Whatever else you escaped, if you had a whole mind, there was no escaping memory. The memory of the Redfern family who had died... of little Valerie Redfern... would never leave him.
Yet memory could adapt---couldn't it?---to time, to circumstance, to the reality of living here and now. The Redferns were dead. The Bible said: Let the dead bury their dead. What had happened, was done.
Keith wondered if... from now on... he could remember the Redferns with sadness, but do his best to make the living---Natalie, his own children---his first concern. He wasn't sure if it would work. He wasn't sure if he had the moral or the physical strength. It had been a long time since he was sure of anything. But he could try. He took the tower elevator down. Outside, on his way to the FAA parking lot, Keith stopped. On sudden impulse, knowing he might regret it later, he took the pillbox from his pocket and emptied its contents into the snow.
FROM HIS CAR, which he bad parked on the nearby taxiway after quitting runway three zero, Mel Bakersfeld could see that the pilots of Trans America Flight Two were wasting no time in taxiing to the terminal. The aircraft's lights, now halfway across the airfield, were still visible, moving fast. On his radio, switched to ground control, Mel could hear other flights being halted at taxiway and runway intersections to let the damaged airliner pass. The injured were still aboard. Flight Two had been instructed to head directly for gate forty-seven where medical help, ambulances, and company staff were waiting.
Mel watched the aircraft's lights diminish, and merge with the galaxy of terminal lights beyond. Airport emergency vehicles, which had not after all been required, were dispersing from the runway area.
Tanya and the Tribune reporter, Tomlinson, were both on their way back to the terminal. They were driving with Joe Patroni, who had handed over the Aéreo-Mexican 707 for someone else to taxi to the hangars.
Tanya wanted to be at gate forty-seven for the disembarking of passengers from Flight Two. It was likely she would be needed. Before leaving, she had asked Mel quietly, "Are you still coming home?" "If it isn't too late," he said, "I'd like to." He watched while Tanya pushed a strand of red hair back from her face. She had looked at him with her direct, clear eyes and smiled. "It's not too late." They agreed to meet at the main terminal entrance in three quarters of an hour. Tomlinson's purpose was to interview Joe Patroni, and after that the crew of Trans America Flight Two. The crew---and Patroni, no doubt---would be heroes within a few hours. The dramatic story of the flight's peril and survival, Mel suspected, would eclipse his own pronouncements on the more mundane subject of the airport's problems and deficiencies. Though not entirely, perhaps. Tomlinson, to whom Mel had entrusted his opinions, was a thoughtful, intelligent reporter who might decide to link present dramatics with the equally serious long-term view. The Aéreo-Mexican 707, Mel saw, was now being moved away. The airplane appeared undamaged, but would undoubtedly be washed down and inspected thoroughly before resuming its interrupted flight to Acapulco. The assortment of service vehicles which had stayed with the aircraft during its ordeal by mud were following. There was no reason for Mel not to go himself. He would---in a moment or two; but for the second time tonight he found the airfield's loneliness, its closeness to the elemental part of aviation, a stimulus to thought. It was here, a few hours ago, Mel remembered, that he had had an instinct, a premonition, of events moving toward some disastrous end. Well, in a way they had. The disaster had happened, though through good fortune it had been neither complete, nor had the airport's facilities---or lack of them---been directly responsible.
But the disaster could have involved the airport; and the airport in turn might have caused complete catastrophe---through inadequacies which Mel had foreseen and had argued, vainly, to correct.
For Lincoln International was obsolescent. Obsolescent, Mel knew, despite its good management, and gleaming glass and chrome; despite its air traffic density, its record-breaking passenger volume, its Niagara of air freight, its expectations of even more of everything, and its boastful title, "Aviation Crossroads of the World." The airport was obsolescent because---as had happened so often in the short six decades of modern aviation history---air progress had eclipsed prediction. Once more, expert prognosticators had been wrong, the visionary dreamers right. And what was true here was true elsewhere. Nationwide, worldwide, the story was the same. Much was talked about aviation's growth, its needs, coming developments in the air which would provide the lowest cost transportation of people and goods in human history, the chance these gave the nations of the world to know each other better, in peace, and to trade more freely. Yet little on the ground---in relation to the problem's size---had been done. Well, one voice alone would not change everything, but each voice which spoke with knowledge and conviction was a help. It had come to Mel within the past few hours---he was not sure why or how---that he intended to continue speaking out the way he had tonight, the way he hadn't for so long. Tomorrow---or rather, later today---he would begin by summoning, for Monday morning, an emergency special meeting of the Board of Airport Commissioners. When the Board met, he would urge an immediate commitment to build a new runway paralleling three zero. The experience of tonight had strencqhened, as nothing else could, the arguments for increasing runway capacity which Mel had presented long ago. But this time, he determined, he would make a fight of it---with plain, blunt words, warning of catastrophe if public safety were given lip service only, while vital operational needs were ignored or shelved. He would see to it that press and public opinion were marshaled on his side---the kind of pressure which downtown politicians understood. After new runways, other projects, so far only talked about or hoped for, must be pressed on; among them---an entirely new terminal and runway complex; more imaginative ground flow of people and freight; smaller, satellite fields for the vertical and short takeoff aircraft which were coming soon. Either Lincoln International was in the jet age, or it wasn't; if it was, it must keep pace far better than it had. It was not, Mel thought, as if airports were an indulgence or some civic luxury. Almost all were self-sustaining, generating wealth and high employment. Not all the battles for ground-air progress would be won; they never were. But some of them could be, and some of what was said and done here---because of Mel's stature in airport management----could spill over into national, even international, arenas.
If it did, so much the better! The English poet John Donne, Mel remembered, had once written: No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main . No airport was an island either; those which called themselves International should employ the kind of thinking to justify their name. Perhaps, working with others, Mel could help to show them how.
People who hadn't heard from Mel Bakersfeld for a while might quickly learn that he was still around. And intensive work, a resumption of more of his old industry-wide interests, might help with personal problems by keeping his mind occupied. Mel hoped so, anyway. The thought was an abrupt reminder that sometime soon---perhaps tomorrow---he would have to call Cindy and arrange to move out his clothes and personal belongings. It would be an unhappy process which he hoped the girls, Roberta and Libby, would not be around to see. To begin with, Mel supposed, he would move into a hotel until he had time to arrange an apartment of his own. But more than ever be knew that Cindy's and his own decision for divorce bad been inevitable. Both of them had known it; tonight they merely resolved to remove a facade behind which nothing existed any more. Neither for themselves nor for the children could anything have been gained by more delay. It would still take time, though, to adjust. And Tanya? Mel was not sure what, if anything, was ahead for them together. He thought there might be a good deal, but the time for a commitment---if there was to be one---was not yet. He only knew that tonight, before this long and complex workday ended, he craved companionship, warmth, and tenderness; and, of all the friends he possessed, Tanya had those qualities in greatest measure. What else, between himself and Tanya, these might lead to would be known in time. Mel put his car in gear and swung it toward the perimeter road which would take him to the terminal. Runway three zero was on his right as he drove. Now that the runway was open, he saw, other aircraft were beginning to use it, arriving in a steady stream despite the lateness. A Convair 880 of TWA swept by and landed. Behind it, half a mile out, were the landing lights of another flight approaching. Behind the second, a third was turning in. The fact that Mel could see the third set of lights made him aware that the cloud base had lifted. He noticed suddenly that the snowfall had stopped; in a few places to the south, patches of sky were clearing. With relief, he realized the storm was moving on.
ATC RULES AND PROCEDURES V YEAR 1. - Selection procedures of RW-in-use – 7.2 (4444) The term “runway-in-use” shall be used to indicate the most suitable runway for use by the types of aircraft expected to land or take off the aerodrome. Normally, an aircraft will land and take off into wind until safety, the runway configuration, weather conditions and available instrument approach procedures or air traffic conditions determine that a different direction is preferable. In selecting the runway-in-use the unit providing aerodrome service shall take into consideration: - surface wind and direction, - other relevant factors such as the aerodrome traffic circuits, the length of runway, approach and landing aids available. If the runway-in-use is not suitable for the involved operation, the flight crew may request permission to use the other runway and should be cleared accordingly, if circumstances permit.
- What is area (approach, aerodrome) control service. – 4.1.1, 4.1.2, 4.1.3 (4444) Area Control Service – is Air traffic control service for controlled flights in control areas provided by: 1. an area control centre (ACC); or 2. the unit providing approach control service in a control zone or in a control area of limited extent which is designated primarily for the provision of approach control service, when no ACC is established. Approach Control Service – is Air traffic control service for arriving and departing controlled flights provided by: 1. an aerodrome control tower or an ACC, when it is necessary or desirable to combine under the responsibility of one unit the functions of the approach control service and those of the aerodrome control service or the area control service; or 2. an approach control unit, when it is necessary or desirable to establish a separate unit. Approach Control Service may be provided by a unit co-located with an ACC, or by a control sector within an ACC. Aerodrome Control Service – is Air traffic control service for aerodrome traffic provided by an aerodrome control tower. ATC Service shall be provided to: - all IFR flights - all VFR flights - special VFR flights - all aerodrome traffic at controlled aerodrome. Responsibility of control of all aircraft operating within defined airspace shall be given to only one air traffic control unit. Large portions of airspace are controlled airspace within which ATC Service is provided. The prime objectives o air traffic services (Annex 11) is to prevent collision between aircraft, whether taxiing on the manoeuvring area, taking off, landing, en-route, or at holding pattern at destination aerodrome. Air Traffic Controller has to provide operating flights with additional information upon crew’s request and to provide alerting service.
2. - Controller’s action during coordination. – 6.3.2.2 (4444) Where standard clearances for departing aircraft have been agreed to between two units concerned, the aerodrome control tower will normally issue the appropriate standard clearance without prior coordination with or approval from the approach control unit or ACC. Prior coordination of clearances should be required only in the event that a variation to the standard clearance or the standardized transfer of control procedures is necessary or desirable for operational reasons. Provision shall be made to ensure that the approach control unit at all times is kept informed of the sequence in which aircraft will depart as well as the runway to be used. Provision shall be made to display the designators of assigned SIDs to the aerodrome control tower, the approach control unit and/or the ACC as applicable.
- Where shall flight information service and alerting service be provided? – 4.2, 7.1.1, 7.1.2 (4444) Flight information service and alerting service be provided as follows: - within a FIR: by a flight information centre, unless the responsibility for providing such services is assigned to an air traffic control unit with adequate facilities for such responsibilities; - within controlled airspace and at controlled aerodromes: by the relevant air traffic control units. Aerodrome control tower shall issue information and clearance to aircraft under their control to achieve a safe. Orderly and expeditious flow of air traffic on and in the vicinity of the aerodrome with the object of preventing collisions between: - aircraft flying within the designated area of responsibility of the control tower including the aerodrome traffic circuits; - aircraft operating on the manoeuvring area; aircraft landing and taking-off; - aircraft and vehicles operating on the manoeuvring area; - aircraft on the manoeuvring area and obstructions on that area. Aerodrome controllers shall maintain a continuous watch on all flights operations on and in the vicinity of the aerodrome as well as vehicles and personnel on the manoeuvring area. They shall maintain watch by visual observation and with a help of radar in low visibility if available. Traffic shall be controlled in accordance with the procedures set forth and all applicable rules specified by the appropriate ATS authorities. If there are other aerodromes within a control zone, traffic at all aerodromes within such a zone shall be coordinated so that traffic circuits do not conflict The functions of an aerodrome control tower may be performed by different control or working positions, such as: - aerodrome controller, normally responsible for operations on the runway and aircraft flying within the area of responsibility of the aerodrome control tower; - ground controller, normally responsible for traffic on the manoeuvring area with the exceptions of runways; - clearance delivery position, normally responsible for delivery of start-up and ATC clearances to departing IFR flights. Where parallel or near-parallel runways are used for simultaneous operations, individual aerodrome controllers should be responsible for operations on each of the runways. Aerodrome control towers are responsible for alerting the rescue and fire fighting services whenever: - an aircraft accident has occurred on or in the vicinity of the aerodrome; or - information is received that the safety of an aircraft which is or will come under the control of the aerodrome control tower may have or has been impaired; or - requested by a flight crew; or - when necessary or desirable. Procedures concerning the alerting of the rescue or fire fighting shall be contained in local instructions. Such instructions shall specify the type of information to be provided to the rescue and fire fighting services, including type of aircraft and type of emergency and, when available, number of persons on board, and any dangerous goods carried on the aircraft. Aircraft which fail to report after having been transferred to an aerodrome control tower, or, having once reported, cease radio contact and in either case fail to land five minutes after the expected landing time, shall be reported to the approach control unit, ACC or flight information centre, or to the rescue coordination centre or rescue sub-centre, in accordance with local instructions.
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