/It really helps to have watched the movie before reading this ;)

Airport ´79 – The Concorde

The Conclusion

Chapter One – The Alps Dead Ahead

Captain Paul Metrand grimaced as the sound of a sharp voice penetrated the haze surrounding his brain. Awareness came to him gradually, he registered a seeping coldness that seemed to chill him to the bone and then the smell of aviation fuel, all mixed together with vomit and broken bottles of beer and whiskey from the cabin. He fought to open his eyes and moaned at the effort. Draped over the yoke he stared dumbstruck at the broken windscreen before him and at the snow in his lap. It took him a moment to remember. Then suddenly Captain Joseph Patroni's sharp voice came through loud and clear from the cabin behind him, telling the passengers to calm down. Paul groaned as he realized that the aircraft had been buried beneath the snow and that all the exits had been rendered inoperable. Basically, they were trapped.

Although he was an experienced pilot a slight feeling of panic took hold of him. He didn't want to die like this. A small voice at the back of his mind urged him to get his wits together and act like a professional. To get out of the chair and take command of the situation like he was supposed to do. It wasn't Patroni's flight – it was his. He slowly straightened in his chair, his frozen fingers fiddling with the release feature of the seatbelt.

Paul sucked on a breath as he struggled out of the chair and brushed off the snow of his uniform. "Come on, Peter, let's go," he said with more determination than he felt.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the flight engineer, Peter O'Neill, snap out of his daze and slowly rose to follow as he made it out in the cabin. Paul worriedly let his eyes roam over the cabin and let out a sigh of relief as he finally spotted Isabelle, the head stewardess, among the terrified passengers. The woman looked pale, her young face tinged with a ghostly pallor. However, as their eyes met she seemed to relax and a small, although forced, smile appeared on her lips.

Then suddenly a voice rang out from above, cautioning them about a ladder being lowered.

Paul cast a hasty glance over his shoulder and saw that the cabin crew in the rear section was already struggling to evacuate the passengers via another ladder. He gently told the passengers sitting closest to the ladder, that was now being lowered into the forward section, to move aside and then reached up to grab it. The evacuation, although it was quite taxing, went surprisingly well as all the passengers quickly lined up and climbed to freedom, one by one.

'This is new,' Paul mused as he helped them. 'I've never trained for this scenario.'

Young and old began to file out of the aircraft but it was a slow and time consuming process. The already stressed hull of the aircraft was creaking forebodingly and the fumes of jet fuel was almost overpowering when the last passenger left the airliner.

By the time Paul heaved Isabelle up, by giving her a push on her butt, his arms trembled and his uniform shirt was soaked from the falling snow. Exhausted he shared a solemn look with the flight engineer who nodded as Paul indicated that he should go next. Peter didn't waste any time climbing to freedom.

"Go, "Joseph said seriously as he threw a quick glance toward the rear section of the aircraft.

Paul hesitated and then quickly followed Peter. The cold air chilled him to the bone as he was helped on top of the aircraft and he found that his teeth had started to clatter as he shrugged into a jacket handed to him by one of the rescuers. He leaned forward to give Joe a hand as the older captain appeared in the hole, climbing the last steps. Relieved to see him, Paul grabbed the other man's arm in order to help him up.

"If everyone is out in the rear sector then we're all out," Joe stated.

Paul was about to say he was glad all the excitement was over when the closest rescue worker hastily got up from his crouched position.

In English, with a slight Swiss accent, the man shouted that the roof was collapsing and that everyone had to get away from the plane.

The hair at the back of Paul's neck rose at the statement as he knew what would most likely happen if the construction of the Concorde was compressed. "Quickly!" he urged. "The fuel tanks are up front, they'll explode!"

Everyone scattered, heeding his warning, and Paul struggled to get away as his expensive low shoes lost grip in the snow. He pushed Joe forward before him as he felt the surge of adrenaline course through his exhausted body. After covering a distance of a few meters he heard a rumbling sound quickly followed by a shockwave that echoed off the mountains.

"My goodness, Paul," Joe mumbled seriously as he stared at the remains of the shiny new Concorde.

Paul chuckled as he placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward to catch his breath.

Isabelle quickly detached herself from the crowd of passengers nearby and ran to him, putting her arms around him, a small sob escaping her lips. "Paul," she whispered, her voiced tinged with worry and anxiety to the extent it broke his heart to hear it.

"I'm fine Isabelle," he whispered softly to her as he straightened and put his strong arms around her slender body.

It was then the cheering started among the onlookers, rescue crew and passengers alike, as they realized that it was over. Some whistled while others clapped their hands. Everywhere stood people with a smile on their face.

"It's over," Paul said reassuringly to Isabelle as two rescue workers appeared next to them.

"You are so cold," she whispered worriedly.

"Captain, ma'am," one of them began politely. "Please come with us."

Paul glanced around to talk to Joe and Peter only to realize that they'd already been taken away.

The rescue workers gently guided them to a waiting car, one of them jumping into the front passenger seat as soon as Paul and Isabelle were seated in the back. It was a quick ride and ended within two minutes outside a three story house with a red cross at the entrance.

Paul pursed his lips into a thin line to keep his teeth from clattering as a waiting nurse and another rescue worker appeared outside to help them out of the car.

"We're fine," he began, his French accent more pronounced than usual. It always grew thicker when he was annoyed or upset. He didn't want to be poked and prodded, asked what today's date was or if he remembered his name and so on. All he wanted was a hot bath at the nearest hotel, and to have a nice dinner alone with Isabelle in peace.

"Let me be the judge of that, captain," a stern male voice returned.

Paul looked toward the entrance and spotted a fiftyish, slim man, in a doctor's coat. The man didn't look like he would take no for an answer, and it didn't sound like it either, as he made his way toward them. His dark hair was speckled with grey at the temples and a slightly suntanned skin spoke of much outdoor activity.

"I've got a call from the International Flight Investigation Centre in Europe. A man called Henri Davies is apparently on his way here to talk to you. Meanwhile I have been instructed to complete a full examination of the flight crew."

Paul sighed wearily. 'IFIC or NTSB', he thought glumly. It didn't matter the name of the investigating organization, he wasn't looking forward to their interviews.

"By the look on your face it seems you know what's going to happen?" The doctor said.

Paul shivered from the cold but refrained from wrapping his arms around his body. "Where are our colleagues?" he asked.

"Your flight engineer, Mr. O'Neill, is being tended to by my staff. Captain Patroni is currently arguing with my wife," the doctor said with a twinkle in his eyes and then added; "He's one stubborn American."

"Cabin crew?" Isabelle asked worriedly. "Are they all right?"

"Don't you worry about them, they appear a little cold and shaken by the events, a few bumps and bruises, otherwise I'd say they're doing just fine." the doctor said reassuringly. "Now, get inside."

In resignation Paul took the lead with Isabelle close to his side. Inside there was a flurry of activity and people seemed to be everywhere. He recognized some of the passengers sitting dazed and tired in a waiting room and saw the rescue worker that had been helping them up from the plane as he walked by. The young and kind nurse that had accompanied the doctor at the entrance gently placed a hand on Isabelle's shoulder.

"Please come with me," she said in a friendly manner.

The head of the cabin crew hesitated, her arm hooked around the captain's. Right now Paul was her rock, she was still shocked by the accident and was unwilling to part from him.

"Come on, Isabelle," Paul said softly, trying to keep his teeth from clattering, as he tilted his head to look at her. "Let go of me. I'll come and get you later."

She swallowed, her eyes begging him not to let go.

"Isabelle," he encouraged softly. "It'll be fine."

The normally strong and certain flight attendant resigned and slowly turned to follow the waiting nurse. When she'd taken a few steps she glanced over her shoulder, looking stricken and lost for a moment but then, after a few encouraging words from the nurse, she straightened and followed her into another room.

He watched her leave and saw the tears threatening to spring from her eyes. She was upset and worried. Truth to be told he wasn't entirely comfortable either with everything that had been going on lately.

"A fling, captain?" The good doctor asked as he reappeared at his side.

Paul narrowed his eyes slightly, giving the man an indignant look, wondering for a brief moment if it was him or every captain that was being generalized. Many people assumed that being a pilot was a glassy job that didn't require much but carried great opportunities to travel. They also believed that the job title was an asset when it came down to getting women. A captain had a woman waiting for him at every destination. At least that was the general stereotypical picture. He had to admit that he hadn't been an exception, in fact he'd been pretty stereotypic in his early career life. However, lately he'd gotten time to think, to reflect upon his life and what he really wanted out of it. Yesterday he hadn't been able to sleep, instead he'd watched Isabelle snuggle next to him, her head on his chest and her hands gently draped over his torso. It was with a chilly realization that he'd finally understood the reason why he'd ran from Isabelle the first time and tried to keep away from her. He was afraid of commitment, afraid of responsibility, afraid of his own conflicted feelings.

When he'd found out that Isabelle would be on the same flight over the Atlantic two days ago he'd been filled with cautious joy and they'd taken up where they'd left off. At first he'd planned on leaving it at that but after the whole incident with the drone and the mad dash toward the ocean, he knew he needed something more. He needed Isabelle.

"Captain?" the doctor asked, a note of concern in his voice.

Paul blinked, taken back from his reverie. "My fiancée," he said without doubt.

"My mistake, my apology," the doctor offered softly yet his voice carried authority. "I'm Doctor Franz Horst."

"Captain Paul Metrand," he returned as they shook hands.

Doctor Horst grimaced. "You are cold, captain, and soaking wet if I'm not mistaken. Come this way," he said and gestured kindly toward an examination room. "My wife and I run this practice together in cooperation with the rescue workers. I have to say, its mostly skiing accidents that occur here. It's not every day an aircraft lands here, they usually fly over."

Paul nodded as he walked into the room. With a faint smile on his blue tinted lips he said sarcastically; "Would you believe me if I said this was my last resort?"

"My apologies, captain, I didn't mean for you to take it as implication of something it was not meant to be. I guess I'm a little shocked myself," the stern doctor said, his voice softer.

Paul was about to deliver a rather stinging remark but refrained from it as a junior doctor entered the examination room with an apologizing smile on his face.

Doctor Horst raised an eyebrow at the man and then nodded appreciatively. "Good of you to join us, Doctor Vesta," he quipped. "Now, let's get Captain Metrand out of his uniform and warm him up," he ordered before turning to the pilot who was now sitting on a gurney trying to unbutton his uniform shirt with shaky fingers.

"Shouldn't you take care of those who really got injured," Paul asked as annoyance crept into his voice.

Horst scrutinized him sympathetically for a moment as the younger doctor gently helped the captain out of his sodden clothes. The pilot before him was exhausted, the collarbones was already showing signs of bruising from where the straps had held him in place and there was a faint line of blood trailing his left temple down to his ear.

"Captain," he began seriously, albeit his voice was kind and friendly, his words carefully weighted. "I don't like the bluish tinge to your lips or the clamminess of your skin. Nor do I like the beginnings of the bruising on your upper chest-" he paused for a moment and then glanced over at his younger colleague. "I want an x-ray of head and chest as soon as possible. Call me the minute you have them," he said in a no nonsense tone before nodding to his patient and headed out the door.

Paul stared after him but he didn't have the energy to even remark about the sudden departure of the leading doctor, not seeing the worried look he was given by the younger man. "Tell me is he always that-" he trailed off looking for the right word. "Uptight?"

The junior doctor smiled amusedly. "Actually, captain, I think you've made quite an impression on him."

OOOOOO

To be continued

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