Air Crash Investigators Chapter 2

Amidst the swirling white clouds, a blue and white ERJ-190 passenger plane broke through the night and crossed the sky.

Faint sparks flew out from under the left wing of the plane. In the dark crack above the wing, a flickering dark red light was mixed in the endless darkness, like a fire beast lurking deep in the ashes. Every flash of light strangled people's throats and made them suffocated.

Ten thousand feet in the air, a hurricane-force wind with a speed of up to 430 knots blew into the gap in the broken wing, but it failed to put out the fire.

The plane stabilized.

But the huge roar was buzzing, hitting people's skulls, and the world in front of them became a blur.

There were cries one after another in the cabin. They were trembling and hugging each other in fear. Only tears could vent the fear in their hearts at the moment.

In order to prevent the plane from suddenly losing weight, the flight attendant held on to the seat with both hands and walked to the front cabin of the plane.

Picking up the phone, she spoke in a hoarse voice and contacted the pilot first. After getting approval, the cockpit door opened from the inside and she walked in quickly.

The light suddenly dimmed. Unlike the cabin, the cockpit of the plane had no strong light source. In the almost dark environment, only the densely packed instrument panels were emitting light, more like the night sky, spreading out an entire night sky and sprinkled with diamond-like stars.

The crew members have received professional training. The flight attendant did not dare to approach the instrument. She just stood far away and spoke loudly - "The cabin situation is stable. Thirteen people were injured, two of whom were seriously injured but not in danger of life."

"Looking out the passenger window, I could see a gap on the upper surface of the left wing and flames on the lower part. I suspect the engine was damaged and debris cut through the wing."

The captain turned around and raised his voice: "Is it the engine damage that you speculated, cutting the wing?"

The stewardess was stunned: "No, no, it was a passenger who said that." A pair of black eyes full of faith and determination appeared in her mind, and she became firm: "Captain, there is an active pilot in the cabin who requested to come to the cockpit for assistance. The pilot said that he is ready to serve at any time if needed. He is proficient in all types of aircraft in service..."

"You said he is proficient in all the aircraft models currently in service?"

In the darkness, an unfamiliar male voice interrupted the stewardess. She seemed to have just realized that there was a third person in the cockpit. She lowered her head and saw the man squatting behind the engine.

He was really squatting, his figure disappearing into the darkness. With his hands on each of the two throttle levers of the engine, he looked back with his head tilted to the side, half of his face was blocked by the shadow, and because his nose was too thin and tall, as if it was cut by a knife, he exuded a sense of indifference.

It was hard to imagine seeing a third person in the cockpit, a man who was obviously unkempt but very handsome. His black hair seemed to have just woken up and was casually combed and tidied up. A few strands of hair fell unruly in front of his eyes, and each strand of hair revealed the same alienation and carelessness as its owner. His clothes were slightly wrinkled, his eyes were slightly dark, and a white light occasionally flashed from his slender neck - it was a head-mounted Bluetooth headset, which was casually put on the neck by the owner at this moment.

This overly superior appearance made the flight attendant forget to speak for a moment, until the co-pilot angrily swore.

"Holy Sh!t! Someone is still making such a joke at this time. Mastering all the models in service? Does he think he is God?!"

This sentence was like a thunderclap, which instantly woke the flight attendant up and made her heart chill.

The disaster happened so suddenly that she actually forgot how there could be someone in the world who is proficient in all aircraft models!

Training an excellent pilot is a long and arduous process.

It takes about two years to learn the basic course, followed by at least four months of flight training. Having a pilot's license does not allow you to fly a passenger plane. To fly the ERJ-190, for example, you need to undergo six months of specific aircraft training: a full six months, just learning about the ERJ-190 passenger plane.

In other words, the pilot who can sit in the cockpit of this ERJ-190 has received at least three years of long training.

This is limited to this one aircraft.

Being teased in such an anxious situation, even an experienced captain would not be in a good mood: "The passengers will never know what kind of difficulty the people in the cockpit are facing at this moment, which is comparable to climbing Mount Drina."

The stewardess felt a dryness in her mouth. She was about to apologize when she heard a voice say calmly, "I do know a pilot who is proficient in all types of aircraft in service."

"Mr. Patrick Zhuo?!" The co-pilot looked at him in shock.

The flight attendant also looked down at the sound, but the Asian man who made the shocking statement had already turned his head away, leaving her with only the back of his head. He was concentrating on manipulating the throttle lever, and his voice was frivolous, but somehow the three people in the cockpit felt that he seemed extremely serious.

"There is an air force pilot in China, it seems so." He paused for a syllable, and then casually said: "But it doesn't matter, there are enough people in the cockpit with three people, whether he is lying or telling the truth is not important. Too many people will cause different opinions and will not be able to perform well, and will only be a burden."

He said lightly and casually, "He doesn't have to come."

The man's tone was calm and casual, but because he had been in a high position for a long time, it carried a hint of an order that could not be refused. The stewardess did not think it was wrong and subconsciously wanted to return to the cabin. As soon as she turned around, she remembered that the captain was the one who really controlled the fate of the plane.

She was surprised at her reaction for a moment, then looked up at the captain.

Unexpectedly, the captain nodded and said, "Just listen to Mr. Patrick Zhuo."

Patrick Zhuo?

Who is he?

The flight attendant left the cockpit, feeling confused.

Before leaving, she heard the captain say to the co-pilot: "The situation is temporarily stable. Call the 7700 emergency code and open the Flight Operations Manual to check the damage to the No. 1 engine."

The co-pilot quickly repeated the captain's words, and then there was the sound of flipping pages as he looked through the catalog.

"Page 137."

This is Mr. Patrick Zhuo's voice!

The stewardess exclaimed in her heart.

The first officer was surprised and said, "It's really on page 137!"

The captain picked up the radio and pressed the switch: "MaydayMaydayMayday, American Airlines Flight 2186, calling Boston..."

The cockpit door was tightly closed behind her, but the doubts in the stewardess's heart were like Pandora's box, which was quietly opened - who is this mysterious Mr. Patrick Zhuo?

***

The flight attendant quietly came to the cabin and whispered the situation to Ethan Fu.

Ethan Fu was prepared to go to the cockpit to assist, but was surprised to hear that his request was rejected by the captain. He shook his head and said, "I will follow the captain's instructions."

The stewardess bowed earnestly: "Thank you."

Unable to enter the cockpit, all he could do was to protect himself and those around him as best he could.

The ERJ-190 is a small short-haul aircraft produced by Embraer in 2002. It can land smoothly even if one engine fails. The plane slowly approaches Boston Logan International Airport in an unsettling tremor, and through the small window, the earth is getting closer and closer.

Suddenly, two warning tones sounded in the cabin, followed by the captain's announcement.

"Good evening, passengers. I am the captain of this flight, Stephen George. Our plane has a minor problem, but please rest assured that we are working hard to control the plane. The plane will land at Logan International Airport in four minutes. Please fasten your seat belts and take anti-collision posture."

After the voice fell, the flight attendants sat in the safety seats and said loudly:

"Bend over, lower your head, and hug your knees!"

The passengers in the cabin lowered their heads in panic and took anti-collision postures.

These are the four minutes that determine fate. The three minutes before takeoff and the eight minutes before landing are called the "dangerous eleven minutes", and 80% of air crashes occur at this moment.

Ethan Fu lowered his head and hugged his knees quietly.

The passengers beside him didn't know that these were most likely the last four minutes of their lives, but he knew. He closed his eyes, trying to watch a life revolving around him like in a movie. But all that appeared before his eyes was an endless expanse of white, and a figure hidden at the end of the long whiteness that could never be seen clearly.

Three minutes to go...

Two minutes to go...

One minute left...

5, 4, 3, 2---

1.

"boom---"

The plane crashed to the ground, and the cabin was filled with screams and cries.

It crashed on the runway, but it didn't turn into a meat pie. After a violent vibration, the plane slid forward. Ethan Fu suddenly raised his head and looked out the window. The lights of fire trucks and police cars lit up on both sides of the runway.

The airport media standing at the end of the runway were already ready, with high-intensity lights, long-cannon microphones, and cameras all in place.

The host, sweating profusely, spit out saliva excitedly at the camera: "It's landed, it's landed safely! American Airlines Flight 2186 has landed smoothly at Logan International Airport and it's still taxiing---"

Forty minutes later, Ethan Fu got off the plane holding the little girl's hand.

Leaving the crowded place, the girl's mother thanked him repeatedly and took the child from Ethan Fu's hands.

"Thank you, brother!"

Ethan Fu waved his hand and turned to leave.

Walking under the tall French windows of the terminal, Ethan Fu looked at the plane disappearing into the darkness. The fire on the wing had long been put out by the fire truck, and the injured passengers had been taken away by ambulances. Now a group of people gathered around the plane, ready to investigate the cause of the accident.

The last night of the Independence Day holiday is destined to be a sleepless night.

Ethan Fu retracted his gaze and saw several men in black suits and work badges walking towards him.

Ethan Fu stopped and was surprised.

He didn't expect the NTSB (National Transportation Safety Board) to arrive so quickly.

The two sides passed each other, as if they were parallel lines that would never intersect.

The other party did not notice Ethan Fu.

Ethan Fu looked back at these people.

He had things to do in Boston and had no time to stay, so he strode away.

***

After the NTSB investigators arrived at the accident scene, they immediately took photos of the scene for evidence collection. Some of them entered the cabin of the aircraft, and some went to the runway to take photos of the tire marks on the runway for evidence.

The person in charge of this incident was a tall man with brown hair. After hearing what the on-site staff said, he was surprised and asked, "He is also on this plane?" Then, under the guidance of the staff, he walked through the crowd, crossed the jet bridge, came to the terminal, and saw the man with his back to the floor-to-ceiling window and his hands in his pockets.

"Patrick Zhuo."

The man lowered his head and listened to the music without responding.

"Patrick Zhuo!"

He walked up to the other person and finally attracted his attention.

The man took off his white Bluetooth headset and raised his long eyebrows: "Lovince? You are in Boston?" He showed a rather sarcastic smile, "Oh, you were finally sent to the Boston branch?"

If he didn't have some friendship with the man in front of him and knew that he had this kind of personality, Lovens had no doubt that he would smash the man's handsome face with one punch.

"I just happened to be in Boston on business."

The man was wearing a black mask and a pair of white headphones around his neck. He was listening to music leisurely just now. He didn't look like he had just experienced a terrible plane crash.

Andrew knew that he couldn't expect anything from the man in front of him, nor could he force him to be polite and remember to take off his mask when talking to others. But what he couldn't stand was: "What are you eating?"

The man took off his mask with one hand, chewed vigorously for a few times, and said lazily: "Chewing gum." After a while, he thought of it and added: "Can't you see it?"

Andrew: ...

Take a deep breath.

"Patrick Zhuo, I heard that you were also on this plane and entered the cockpit to assist with the landing? Perhaps we can find a place to chat. Of course, if you are willing to spit out your chewing gum and chat with me, I might be happier, happier than meeting an old friend."

"Can you change that sentence?"

Andrew: "Huh?"

The man raised his hand and pointed behind him, and Lovens looked over.

『NOSMOKING』

It’s not that there are no smoking rooms in the airport, they are just not open to passengers.

Andrew led his men to the smoking room for the crew. He asked the others in the smoking room to leave because he had to conduct some investigations and questioning. He skillfully took out a beautiful metal cigarette case from his pocket, pressed his finger on the side, and a cigarette popped out.

The man took out a long cigarette, took out the lighter he had just taken from the security box, and lit the cigarette.

In the smoke, he narrowed his eyes slightly, and his deep pupils were dyed black.

Andrew: "First of all, congratulations, my friend, you survived this plane crash."

"Are there any victims?"

"No, it was a successful landing, there were no casualties."

His thin fingers gently held the thin cigarette, and he said lightly: "I will never let my name be performed in front of me."

Andrew didn't react for a moment, then he spoke, speaking Chinese fluently: "Patrick Zhuo?"

Patrick Zhuo glanced at him: "English name."

Andrew blankly read the English name of the man in front of him: "Reid Irvin Patrick Zhuo...?"

Patrick Zhuo laughed, his voice was low and pleasant.

Andrew read his name several times, and suddenly froze: "R.I.P?!"

RestInPeace---

rest in peace.

I've never seen anyone scold himself like this!