The Fog - James Herbert [65]
Joe wiped the moisture from his forehead as he waited for the command from the Control Tower to get his aircraft moving. As always, it was a relief when the order came. The thrust from the four giant engines pushed him back in his seat and the jumbo rolled down the runway, gathering speed by the second. After six thousand feet he was able to ease back on the stick and bring the nose up, allowing the four main bogies to take up all the weight. Then the huge, clumsy beast was off the ground, gaining height, an impossible spectacle, but a triumph to man’s ingenuity.
The crew breathed their sighs of relief as the 747 circled the airport in an effort to increase height. There was always that tense moment when they wondered if the monster would rise or flop back to the ground, despite their years of experience that told them the former would inevitably be true.
Miller, Joe’s First Officer, grinned across at him. ‘New York City, here I come. And Beryl, my dear, am I going to fly you!’ He laughed at his own joke. Beryl was an air hostess belonging to a rival airline he had met at the John F. Kennedy Airport. Her company’s over-used slogan always tickled him.
He was surprised at his Captain’s lack of response to his joke. ‘You okay, Skip?’ he asked.
Joe Ennard stared ahead, his hands tightly clutching the stick before him.
‘Hey, Captain,’ called the nervous young Flight Engineer. It was only his second fight with Captain Ennard and he was still slightly in awe of the man. ‘Er, we’re a little off course.’
Miller didn’t even have to check his instruments. He could tell visually by merely looking down at the ground, still only ten thousand feet below. ‘You should be going that way,’ he said humorously, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘Skip? Hey, Joe!’
He reached across and shook Ennard’s arm. ‘You okay? Come on, Joe, snap out of it!’ He leaned forward anxiously to look into the rigid man’s face. He shook him again.
The blow from the back of Joe Ennard’s hand knocked him back into his seat and drew blood from the corner of his mouth. ‘Terry, get him!’ he yelled at the Second Officer as he turned to his own controls and tried to wrest them from the Captain’s iron grip.
The Flight Engineer unbuckled his seat belt and hurried forward, not sure of what he was going to do, reluctant to lay his hands on the Captain.
‘Pull him away from the controls!’ Miller shouted at him, his efforts to gain control of the giant machine useless without the Captain’s co-operation.
Terry grabbed at Joe’s hands and tried to yank them away, but the grip was too strong. He put his arm around the Captain’s neck and squeezed, pulling back at the same time. The First Officer tried to prise Joe’s fingers away from the stick. None of them heard the discreet but urgent tapping on the locked cockpit door; the Chief Steward was also worried about the direction of their flight.
Suddenly, in a swift movement, Captain Ennard released himself from his safety belt and rose as much as his cramped position would allow. A powerful man, and more powerful because of the madness within him, he lashed out at his First Officer, blinding him with his fist, sending him into a heap back in his seat. He drove an elbow into the Flight Engineer’s ribs, causing him to lose his grip and double up with pain. With another blow from his forearm, he sent him crashing back down the cockpit.
Miller was holding his head, rubbing his eyes so that he could see again. He screamed at the half-conscious Flight Engineer, ‘Get the gun! For God’s sake, shoot him!’
They kept the illegal gun hidden behind the transmit unit, a secret agreement among themselves and many other aeroplane crews, as a protection against the increasingly frequent hijackings.
His words were cut off as a two-fisted blow landed on the back of his exposed neck. He slumped forward