Airport ´79 – The Concorde – The Missing Scenes

Like trying to stop a Bullet with Cray Paper

He didn't know what to expect, he only knew that there was a problem with the aircraft's hydrodynamic functions. Their flight engineer said the brakes were not fully operational and after hearing that he'd decided to land at Le Bourget instead of Charles De Gaulle. The decision would cause a delay for the passengers and they would most likely complain about it but at the moment Paul Metrand didn't really care. To go for landing at a fast pace airport like De Gaulle with high intensity traffic on all the runways and not knowing if he would have any brakes was like begging for a disaster to happen.

He suddenly felt the urge to loosen his tie and fought to keep his mind focused at the present as he tightened his grip around the yoke. The Concorde responded albeit a bit sluggishly to his commands and he let out a shaky, shallow breath as he heard his co-pilot start to give him airspeed and distance. With experienced hands he eased the aircraft down on the runway, the wheels gently touching the ground. She rushed down the lane like a sleek greyhound racing after a rabbit, she was going too fast. Paul saw the first net deploy and within seconds they'd passed it without as much as a twig. Joe continued to report speed and distance but Paul didn't really hear him, the truth was that there was nothing else he could do that he wasn't already doing to slow the white lady down.

He was practically stomping the brake pedals through the floor as it was. He narrowed his eyes as the second net appeared before them but like the first one the aircraft dodged it easily and his hope of managing a complete stop before the end of the runway diminished for every second. 'Come on', he mused as the third net gently nudged the plane, trying to hold it in its grip. Once again the aircraft managed to slip through.

"Two hundred meters to the end of the runway, Paul," Joe said grimly. "After that this plane buys us a farm."

At that moment the fourth and last net rose before them. The nose gently kissed the orange net and passed through with grace but then the net tangled around the body of the aircraft and ensnared it. As the net was stretched to the limit the Concorde came to an abrupt halt while the passengers was being held back brutally by their belts and then slammed into their seats. Paul felt the shoulders straps dig into his flesh and he grimaced as tense muscles in his neck and shoulders protested the rough treatment. Then it was all over, the large white aircraft had ended her mad dash just within the limit of the runway.

Paul let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding and slumped back in his chair with a glance at Joe who sat to his right. The older captain looked just as relieved.

Joseph Patroni was in fact chuckling with delight as he reached for the microphone and keyed the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen-" he began and then paused for a brief moment to punctuate his statement. "-welcome to Paris."

"You forgot the – thank you for flying with Federation World Airlines," Paul said with a faint grin yet the statement was dripping with sarcasm.

The CEO of the Federation World Airlines gently gripped his shoulder from where he was sitting, behind the captain's seat. "Thank you, Paul, for flying the aircraft," he returned seriously, gratefully, before he reached out with his other hand to gently squeeze Joe's shoulder as well. "Thank you, both of you."

There was a moment of silence, only the sirens from the vehicles outside could be heard. Then Eli shrugged, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, boys. I better head back to the cabin and my wife. I can't let such a beauty wait long."

Joe shook his head in amusement.

"Can I get you anything?" The president of Federation World Airlines asked.

"With all the excitement, I don't know," Paul said softly. "Does anyone have any Cuban cigars? I feel like celebrating."

Eli laughed. "As a matter of fact," he said smugly as he retrieved a fresh cigar from the inner pocket of his jacket. "I happen to have one right here and I've got to tell you. No one deserve it better than you."

The statement elicited a snort from the younger captain as he accepted it and watched the CEO leave the cockpit.

Joe let out a low whistle and shook his head. "What a ride," he mused as he leaned toward the side window to watch the maintenance workers raise the ladders to the exits of the aircraft.

"Well, we're down aren't we?" Paul said with a twinkle in his eyes, feeling very pleased with himself all of a sudden.

"You know, Paul, when I asked around about you, they said you were one hell of a pilot," Joe said seriously. "I believe them."

The younger French captain frowned, then with a casual shrug of his shoulders answered cockily; "Well, you're not too bad yourself."

"Of course you couldn't have done it without that smart British flight engineer sitting behind you," Peter filled in with a sly smile as he reached for his briefcase.

"A fine teamwork, O'Neill," Joe said with a grin as he turned to look behind him to the flight engineer's station.

There was a sharp knock on the door before it opened, not waiting for allowance. Isabelle Delé, the woman in charge of flight deck and the cabin crew worriedly stuck her head inside. "Are you all right?" she asked.

Paul turned slightly in his seat and gave her a soft but reassuring smile. "We're fine, Isabelle. Just take care of the passengers."

She nodded, looking relieved. "There's a doctor onboard, and a worried mother to a very sick child. They only booked a ticket on this flight so that they could reach Paris faster. They are carrying a transplant with them and it crucial that they reach the hospital as fast as possible. Can you please arrange that?"

"Sure," Paul returned. "Just tell me where they want to go."

Isabelle glanced behind her and stepped to the side as a man in his forties appeared in the doorway. "Better talk to him directly," she suggested.

The doctor nodded politely to the flight engineer and the co-pilot before focusing on Paul. "Captain, I hope everything's all right in here," he said in an American accent.

"We're just fine," Paul assured him as he reached for his headset. "Just tell me where you want to go?"

"That would be much appreciated, captain. We need to get to the American Hospital in Paris immediately. It is imperative if we're to be able to use the transplanted heart we've brought with us over the Atlantic Ocean."

Paul nodded, keyed the microphone and then spoke in rapid French to the flight manager in the tower. Within a minute he discarded his headset and pushed a button on the panel, shut down the connection and turned toward the doctor. When he spoke again it was in fluent English. "There will be a helicopter here in five minutes, it will take you to the hospital as soon as possible. That's the best I can do," he offered.

"Thank you captain, I couldn't have asked for more," the doctor said in appreciation as he turned to go. "I wish I could say it's been a pleasant trip."

Joe laughed but it was without mirth. "Me too, Doc. It wasn't pleasant for any of us," he said truthfully.

The doctor chuckled lightly. "I figured as much," he said in a lighter tone as he began to walk away.

"Well, thank you for flying with Federation World Airlines," Joe hollered after him.

Paul shook his head, unable not to laugh, as he gently slapped his co-pilots shoulder. "Now, find me some light so I can enjoy this thing," he said nodding toward the cigar in his left hand.

"Would the flare gun do?" Joe asked mischievously.

"I think you've played enough with that as it is," Paul pointed out.

"Here," Peter said as he produced a lighter. "I told you, you couldn't do without me."

OOOOOO

AN: I don't know, blame it on my bad taste in movies. I can't explain why but I love this movie. I love Paul and Isabelle, they have so much potential. Anyway, I own nothing connected to the movie. This is a fanfic after all. And when it comes to flying I know absolutely nothing.