The other important POV in On A Wing and A Swear. No additional plot, just for funsies.
It's mid-morning, and Mitch's shift is going well. He's currently on Tower West, clearing takeoff and landings on the active runways on this side of the airport. He slides the flight strip for the American 777 that just took off from 36 Right over to his In Flight column, drags the Qantas 787 that's leaving DFW's airspace over to the Departure icon so she's TRACON's problem, and accepts an incoming Lufthansa A340 from Approach into his list for 36 Left.
Then he smiles at the strip that's now at the top of his list for 36 Right. He always likes it when he can be in charge of one of Scott's departures or arrivals. He puts some extra warmth and a smile into his voice as he says "American 909 Heavy, 36 Right, line up and wait."
"36 Right, line up and wait, American 909 Heavy," Scott says, obviously also smiling.
Most people would probably find it a weird way to say goodbye, but it works for them.
Mitch is pretty sure that'll be the last transmission Scott will make himself. He texted earlier to say it would be his take-off, which means his captain will be handling the radio once they're lined up. Mitch will miss hearing him acknowledge the take-off clearance, but he also knows Scott's in his element when he's Pilot Flying, so the thought of him doing what he loves best is almost as warming as his voice.
Mitch double checks the sequence. Scott needs to wait until the incoming Embraer is down to avoid causing wake turbulence for the smaller plane. Then he can take off, with the A340 down next, then the Delta A320 behind Scott can depart.
"Air Canada 7527, wind 330 at 4 knots. 36 Left, cleared to land."
"Cleared to land 36 Left, Air Canada 7527." Oh, nice deep voice there, bud.
"Lufthansa 438 Heavy, slow to 180 knots. Traffic three miles ahead of you. You're number two for 36 Left, cleared to land."
"Slowing to 180, cleared to land 36 Left, Lufthansa 438 Heavy," a German accent confirms.
Mitch should have known everything was progressing too smoothly, because a minute or so later Scott, who Mitch wasn't supposed to hear from again, says, "Hey, Tower? American 909 Heavy. We've got a pedestrian sprinting across the grass out here. He's about to cross 36 Left, coming from the west."
What in the ever loving fuck? "You always know how to brighten my day, American 909." Okay, first priority: wave off the Embraer. "Air Canada 7527, go around."
"Going around, Air Canada 7527."
Good. One imminent problem solved. Mitch eyes the flight strips in front of him. He's got a bit of breathing room. "Supe? We've got a runner on 36 Left!"
Waseem, the shift's supervisor, nods acknowledgement and starts rapidly speaking into his headset.
Vincint, sitting three consoles away working Ground, whips his head around to look at Mitch and then out the window to the west. "You gotta be kidding! How'd he get over the fence?"
Does that matter right now?
"He's crossed 36 Left and is heading for 36 Right," Scott says.
"Thank you," Mitch says. Waseem will get them security, but maybe Mitch will get lucky and they're already listening. "Any ops vehicles on the channel?"
Or not. He switches his second channel to Ground so he can hear what's happening over there.
"Ops 3 and 4," Vincint is saying. "Intruder on 36 Left near Alpha. Switch to Tower West frequency at 134.9."
"Show 36 Left as closed. Switching to Tower, Ops 3 and 4."
Mitch wonders if the dickhead running across the field realizes how many people's day he's fucking up. "36 Left is closed," he confirms to Ops 3 and Vincint on Ground before switching to repeat it on Tower. Okay, next priority, the incoming A340. "Lufthansa 438 Heavy, landing clearance cancelled. Fly missed approach heading."
"Missed approach, Lufthansa 438 Heavy."
Time to get the Embraer off his plate and onto TRACON's. "Air Canada 7527, continue climbing to 4000. Contact Departure 118.55."
"4000 and switching to 118.55, Air Canada 7527," the deep voice responds. "He, uh, he was right in the middle of the runway."
Mitch winces, mostly internally, as he pictures what might have happened if Scott hadn't noticed the intruder. Pedestrian versus narrow-body jet wouldn't end well for either of them. Worst case scenario, the Embraer not only takes damage, but loses control trying to avoid him or due to hitting him, leading to a major accident with up to 80 people at risk.
Mitch has no doubt the Air Canada's pilots are also picturing that potential outcome. "I'm sorry about that," he says, letting his sympathy leak into his voice. "See you back in a few when we've figured this out." Then it's back to business. He needs to know what's happening. "American 909 Heavy, what can you see?"
"He's still running, almost to 36 Right now. Looks like he's heading straight across, about 300 yeards ahead of us." There's a moment's pause, and then Scott, more hesitantly, says, "Uh, scratch that. He's heading our way now."
"Must be your irresistible charm." Mitch really needs to find himself a spouse who can stay the fuck out of trouble, because this one obviously can't. Where the hell is security? "Ops 3, you up yet?"
"Ops 3, we're on Bravo heading for 36 Left. ETA two minutes."
Well, look who hasn't been paying attention to the chatter. "Ops 3, our visitor is now heading for the planes on the south end of 36 Right." You know, Mitch thinks but doesn't say. Airplanes. Those things it's the literal primary purpose of the airport to protect? Especially that one in particular. "Wanna hurry it up a little?"
"On our way to 36 Right, Ops 3 and 4."
Great. Mitch glances over his flight strips, but Approach has obviously been notified that something's going on because nothing else is entering his landing queue, and thus no one else needs immediate direction. He'll need to hand the American 777 off in another minute or so, but it's not as urgent as--
"He's going under us! Shut do--" Scott yells, cutting himself off mid-sentence as Mitch presumes he transitions from informing Tower of the situation to internal emergency procedures.
Just to be sure, Mitch says "American 909, shut down your engines!" which is partially blocked by Ops 3 ordering, "American plane on 36 Right, shut down both engines!" at almost the same time.
Mitch stands and peers out the window down the runway. He can't tell from here if the safety spirals on the front of Scott's engines are slowing, but since Dickhead doesn't get either sucked in or blasted away despite his colossal lack of self-preservation instinct, he presumes Scott's flight crew has worked fast enough.
Dickhead continues under Scott's plane and Mitch can no longer distinguish him from the undercarriage, so he sits back down. Hurry the fuck up, Ops.
Another glance at his terminal tells him he can't delay handing off the American 777 heading for Hong Kong any longer. "American 125 Heavy, contact Departure, 118.55."
"Going over to Departure, American 125 Heavy. Uh, good luck?"
Yeah. "Gonna be a long day."
"Sounds like it!"
"This is American 909," Scott finally says. "We've shut down our engines, but we've lost sight of him for now. We think he ran under us, but we don't know what happened next."
Honestly, Mitch can't tell either.
"Uh, this is Delta 1021. He's...I think he's trying to climb onto your nose gear?"
"Wonderful," Scott says, and Mitch can hear the annoyance and a hint of residual stress in his voice loud and clear. "Tower?"
"I'm on it," Mitch assures him, even as he wonders if he actually is. He shoots an urgent look at Waseem, who nods at him from where he's pacing a few stations away, muttering into his headset as he coordinates getting more airport cops into play.
"Tower, Ops 3. Show 36 Right as closed."
36 Right is definitely closed, although Mitch supposes he hasn't actually announced that yet. "36 Right is closed. He's apparently under the American 787 at the threshold."
"Copy, Ops 3."
Copy faster.
"Delta, can you see what he's doing?" Scott asks. He's not really following procedure, talking directly to another plane on Tower's freq, but Mitch wouldn't call anyone out for doing so in this situation, least of all Scott. Besides, he's also curious.
"Not really," she answers. "He's kind of behind-- oh, wait. He's jumped off the gear and is now moving back and towards your right side." She's silent for a long moment, then adds, "I always thought those noise abatement chevrons on a Dreamliner's engines looked cool. But it turns out they make pretty good handholds, too."
Oh shit. That's not going to go over well.
"He's climbing our engine?" Scott asks, voice rising in pitch every word of the sentence. "How??"
"He's nimble!" Delta 1021 says, dryly. "And he's made it up on your wing."
Jesus Christ. Mitch is going to be stuck filling out reports all fucking day. And that's after they disentangle the mess this is making of the schedules. He's glad he's not on Clearance right now, although his turn at helping clean up is coming. He flips his terminal to view Approach's workload and winces at how many planes are entering holding patterns above them. With half their main runways closed, the issue has probably spread far enough through the system that it'll start screwing up departure clearances at LAX, JFK, O'Hare, Miami, and Philly any moment now. All for one asshole climbing a fence and then a plane.
"They don't pay me enough for this. Seriously," Scott whines.
"I hear you!" Delta responds.
Okay, Mitch gets their frustration and agrees this isn't what they're paid to deal with, but also? Fuck them. He's seen Scott's bank statements and he brings in almost twice what Mitch makes. And while a Delta A320 pilot isn't going to bank what an American 787 one does, unless she has both a crack and a gambling habit, she's unlikely to be struggling either. "While I'm getting out my tiniest violin to empathize with the insufficiencies of your top tier pilot salaries, can I get an actual situation report?"
"Our flight attendants report he's dancing on our right wing, American 909," Scott says dully.
"Of course he is." What the fuck else did Mitch expect? "Ops 3, status?"
"We're approaching the situation aircraft. Suspect is indeed up on the wing. More personnel and equipment are on the way."
Mitch can make out Scott's plane and the fact that there's something person-sized moving on the wing that shouldn't be there, but he can't really tell what's happening. The person seems to be prone now though, and out on the far edge of the wing.
"This is Delta 1021," Delta 1021 says. "American, he's, um. He's gotten on his belly and shimmied out as far as he can get. Looks like he's...well, stroking your wingtip."
"...Excuse me?" Scott says, and oh, that's his incredulous how-the-fuck-is-this-my-life-right-now voice. Mitch hasn't heard it come out this strongly since the last television interview after Flight 6226.
"I think he owes your plane dinner and a movie," Delta 1021 adds.
Oh, Mitch likes her. He tries to contain his laughter while he waits for Scott's response.
"That is disturbing," is what comes through after a long moment.
Mitch bets it is. Scott bought himself a little Cessna Skylane six months ago, and he turns into a growly possessive bitch the second anyone goes near his baby without permission. While the Dreamliner Scott's currently sitting in doesn't belong to him, it's his responsibility for the duration of his trip, and it's a much bigger and prettier baby than the Skylane. He's got to be feeling similarly.
You'd think Scott being a growly possessive bitch on the regular would be annoying, and it generally is in the moment, but Mitch often enjoys the fallout once they get back home.
"Mitch, I've got squad cars, a fire truck and those stairs Ops asked for coming," Vincint says over his shoulder. "They're on Foxtrot crossing Whiskey Lima."
Mitch glances out the window. Yup, there they are. "Perfect, thanks." He hit his transmit button. "Two more response vehicles as well as a fire truck and a set of stairs are 90 seconds out, American 909." He smirks. "Try to hold onto your virtue just a couple more minutes."
Or until you get home from Peru and can express to me how you really feel in a way that I'll feel for days.
Scott doesn't seem to have made the same mental connection though, because all he says is, "Wow."
That's okay. Scott doesn't have to be aware of his possessive tendencies for Mitch to appreciate the side benefits.
"I had no idea this flight came with a show," Delta 1021 says. "I should have packed popcorn."
This is so going to end up on Youtube. Maybe Mitch will make himself some popcorn before reliving the experience. Depending on how the rest of the day goes, it'll probably be even funnier in retrospect.
Airport security, firefighters, and the cops get Dickhead corralled while Mitch coordinates with Ground, Tower East, Approach, and Departure to reroute some flights to the other half of the airport based on line order and who has what fuel remaining. Vincint and Waseem already have a runway sweeper doing it's thing on 36 Left, and there's another on its way to help once the coast is clear.
Finally, Ops 3 zooms off with Dickhead contained in the back seat, and it's time for Mitch to end this shit show. "Okay folks," he says, cracking his knuckles and rolling his neck around in preparation for a long afternoon. "We're going to sweep the runways and any taxiways he crossed and then hopefully get everyone moving again in just a few minutes." He's going to overstep his authority with this next question, but he couldn't give less of a fuck. "American 909 Heavy, you're heading back to the gate, right?"
He better be.
It takes a moment, but then Scott comes back with, "Tower, American 909 Heavy. We're going to request a tow back to the gate so we can have a full inspection done."
Good boy.
"Good call," says Delta 1021, and Mitch decides he still likes her.
Great. Now that he's sure no one is going to be atypically reckless, all he needs is for Scott's heavy ass to get the fuck off his threshold before the sweepers clear the runway for reopening. "Okay. Let me know when your company's got your tug on the way. Ground will expedite them out to you."
"That's sweet of you," is Scott's response, in that super saccharine tone he saves for letting Mitch know he's onto his real motivations. Mitch should never have married someone who can read him so well.
Although there are side benefits to that, too, come to think of it.
Okay. Sweeping is almost complete on 36 Left and taxiway Alpha is also underway. Vincint's given him a heads up that American Tug 4 will be coming out of the apron to fetch Scott in just a few minutes, and he's sent Mitch a preliminary ordering for the built up departures that are lucky enough not to need rerouting. Sadly for Delta 1021, it looks like she's missed her window and they'll have to find somewhere to put her while she gets a new approval from Clearance. Judging by how amusing she found all this, she'll probably think it's worth it.
"Hey, Tower?" Scott's voice says. "American 909."
Uh oh, now what? "Go ahead."
"You're going to owe me a really fancy dinner for this when I get back."
None of this is Mitch's fault. Why on earth would he owe Scott anyth-- oh. Oh, the whole Youtube thing. It's been a while since they ended up on a recording together, but when they do it usually becomes a thing. The hilarity of this means it's going to go more viral than most, which never goes smoothly for Scott.
Shit. Steakhouse, definitely. Maybe that place with the nice lobster bisque. Good thing Mitch's salary is well above average too.
"Copy that."
:)