UAAG CH2

The blue and white ERJ-190 airliner pierced the night, streaking across the sky amidst the clouds and mist.

Sparks spluttered faintly from beneath the aircraft’s left wing. Within the pitch-black gash atop the wing, amidst the endless darkness, flickered a wisp of dark red, like a fire beast dormant deep within the ashes. Every flicker throttled the breath, suffocating.

At an altitude of ten thousand feet, hurricane-force winds of 430 knots blasted into the breach of the wing, yet failed to extinguish the fiery glow.

The plane had stabilized.

But the immense roar droned on, pounding against the cranial cavity, shaking the world before the eyes into blurred phantoms.

Inside the cabin, the sound of weeping rose and fell. Trembling with fear, passengers embraced, their tears the only outlet for the terror in their hearts.

To prevent sudden weightlessness, a flight attendant gripped the seat backs tightly with both hands as she made her way to the forward cabin.

Picking up the interphone, she spoke in a low, hoarse voice, first contacting the pilots. After receiving approval, the cockpit door opened from the inside, and she entered quickly.

The light dimmed instantly. Unlike the passenger cabin, the cockpit had no strong light source. In the near-total darkness, only the dense array of instrument panels emitted a glow, resembling a night sky spread out, sprinkled with diamond-like stars.

The crew was professionally trained; the flight attendant dared not approach the instruments, standing at a distance and speaking loudly—

“The cabin situation is stable. Thirteen people are injured, two of them seriously, but there is no immediate threat to life.”

“Visible from the passenger windows, there is a gash on the upper surface of the left wing and firelight underneath. It is suspected that the engine is damaged and debris has cut into the wing.”

The captain turned around, his voice rising: “You suspect engine damage cutting the wing?”

The flight attendant was stunned: “No, no, a passenger said it.” A pair of black eyes full of conviction and determination surfaced in her mind, and she became firm: “Captain, there is an active-duty pilot in the cabin requesting to assist in the cockpit. The pilot gentleman said he is ready at any time if needed. He is proficient in all current aircraft models…”

“You said he is proficient in all current aircraft models?”

In the darkness, a strange male voice interrupted the flight attendant. As if only just realizing there was a third person in the cockpit, she looked down and immediately saw the man squatting behind the engine controls.

He was truly squatting, his figure merging into the night. His hands held the two throttle levers of the engines. When he turned sideways and looked up, half his face was obscured by shadows. His nose was so thin and high, as if carved by a knife, that it exuded an air of almost callous indifference.

It was hard to imagine seeing a third person in an airplane cockpit, let alone someone so scruffy yet incredibly handsome. His black hair looked as if he had just woken up and run his fingers through it a few times to tidy it; a few unruly strands fell before his eyes, every hair revealing the same detachment and nonchalance as its owner. His clothes were slightly wrinkled, his eye color somewhat dark, and a flash of white light occasionally passed his slender neck—

It was a pair of Bluetooth over-ear headphones, currently draped casually around his neck.

This excessively superior appearance made the flight attendant forget to speak for a moment until the co-pilot swore irritably.

“Holy shit! Someone’s making jokes at a time like this. Proficient in all current aircraft models? Does he think he’s God!”

This sentence was like thunder, instantly sobering the flight attendant and chilling her heart.

The disaster had happened so suddenly that she had forgotten—how could anyone in this world be proficient in all aircraft models!

Training an excellent pilot is an arduous and lengthy process.

Basic courses take about two years, followed by at least four months of flight training. Even with a pilot’s license, one cannot fly an airliner immediately. For example, to fly this ERJ-190, one would need to undergo six months of specific type rating training: a full six months just learning this ERJ-190 aircraft.

In other words, a pilot sitting in the pilot’s seat of this ERJ-190 has undergone at least three years of long study.

And that is limited to just this one aircraft.

Being toyed with in such an anxious situation, even an experienced captain couldn’t keep a good face: “Passengers will never know what kind of hurdle comparable to climbing Mount Drina the people in the cockpit are facing right now.”

The flight attendant felt her mouth go dry. Just as she was about to apologize, she heard a voice say indifferently: “I actually know a pilot who is proficient in all current aircraft models.”

“Mr. Patrick?!” The co-pilot looked at him in shock.

The flight attendant also followed the voice and looked down, but the Asian man who had made the astonishing statement had already turned his head back, leaving her only the back of his head. He manipulated the throttle levers with focus, his voice flippant, yet somehow the three people in the cockpit felt he seemed extremely serious.

“There is an air force pilot in China who seems to be like that.” Pausing for a syllable, he added casually: “But it doesn’t matter. Three people in the cockpit are enough. Whether he’s lying or telling the truth is unimportant. Too many people means conflicting opinions and inability to perform; just a burden.”

He said softly and casually: “He doesn’t need to come.”

The man’s tone was calm and casual, yet carried a command that brooked no refusal, born of long-held authority. The flight attendant didn’t feel anything was wrong and subconsciously turned to return to the cabin. Only after turning did she remember that the captain should be the one truly controlling the fate of this plane.

Surprised by her own reaction for a moment, she looked up at the captain.

Unexpectedly, the captain nodded and said, “Listen to Mr. Patrick.”

Patrick?

Who exactly was he?

Filled with confusion, the flight attendant left the cockpit.

As she left, she heard the captain say to the co-pilot: “Situation temporarily stable. Set transponder to emergency code 7700. Open the Flight Operations Manual and check items related to Number 1 engine damage.”

The co-pilot quickly repeated the captain’s words, followed by the rustling of pages turning as he scanned the index.

“Page 137.”

It was that Mr. Patrick’s voice!

The flight attendant exclaimed in her heart.

The co-pilot said in surprise: “It really is on page 137!”

The captain picked up the radio and pressed the switch: “Mayday Mayday Mayday, American Airlines Flight 2186, calling Boston…”

The cockpit door closed tightly behind her, but the doubts in the flight attendant’s heart were like Pandora’s box, quietly opened—

Who exactly was this mysterious Mr. Patrick?

The flight attendant quietly returned to the cabin and explained the situation to Fu Cheng in a low voice.

Originally prepared to go to the cockpit to assist, Fu Cheng was slightly surprised to hear his request was rejected by the captain. He shook his head and said, “Follow the captain’s arrangements.”

The flight attendant bowed earnestly: “Thank you.”

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

The ERJ-190 is a small short-haul airliner produced by Embraer in 2002. It can land safely even with one engine out. The plane slowly approached Boston Logan International Airport amidst unsettling tremors. Through the small porthole, the ground grew closer and closer.

Suddenly, two chimes sounded in the cabin, followed by the captain’s announcement.

“Good evening, passengers. This is your captain, Stephen Ge. We’ve had a minor issue with the aircraft, but please rest assured, we are working hard to control the plane. We will be landing at Logan International Airport in four minutes. Please fasten your seatbelts and assume the brace position.”

As his voice fell, the flight attendants sat in their jumpseats and shouted in unison:

“Bend over, heads down, grab your knees!”

The passengers in the cabin lowered their heads in panic and assumed the brace position.

These were the four minutes that would determine their fate. The three minutes before takeoff and the eight minutes before landing are known as the “Critical Eleven Minutes,” during which 80% of air crashes occur.

Fu Cheng lowered his head and quietly hugged his knees.

The passengers around him didn’t know that these were very likely the last four minutes of their lives, but he did. He closed his eyes, trying to see his life flash before him like in the movies. But what appeared before his eyes was only a boundless expanse of white, and a figure hidden at the end of that long whiteness, forever unclear.

Countdown three minutes…

Countdown two minutes…

Countdown one minute…

5, 4, 3, 2—

“Boom—”

The plane smashed heavily onto the ground, the cabin filled with screams and cries.

It smashed onto the runway, but it wasn’t flattened into a meat patty. After violent shaking, the plane taxied forward. Fu Cheng jerked his head up to look out the window; the flashing lights of fire trucks and police cars lit up both sides of the runway.

Airport media standing at the end of the runway were already prepared, with spotlights, long-lens microphones, and cameras all in place.

Sweating profusely, the reporter spat as he shouted excitedly into the camera: “It’s landed! Safely landed! American Airlines Flight 2186 has now successfully landed at Logan International Airport; it’s still taxiing—”

Forty minutes later, Fu Cheng led the little girl by the hand off the plane.

Leaving the crowded area, the girl’s mother thanked him repeatedly as she took the child from Fu Cheng’s hands.

“Thank you, big brother!”

Fu Cheng waved his hand and turned to leave.

Walking under the tall floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the terminal, Fu Cheng gazed from afar at the plane hidden in the dark night. The fire on the wing had long been extinguished by fire trucks, and the injured passengers had been taken away by ambulances. Now, a group of people surrounded the plane, preparing to investigate the cause of the accident.

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

Fu Cheng withdrew his gaze, only to see several men in black suits wearing work badges walking towards him.

Fu Cheng stopped, surprised.

He hadn’t expected the NTSB (National Transportation Safety Board) people to arrive so quickly.

The two parties passed each other like parallel lines that would never intersect.

The other party didn’t notice Fu Cheng.

Fu Cheng looked back at these people.

He still had things to do in Boston and no time to linger. So he strode away.

After the NTSB investigators arrived at the accident scene, they immediately began collecting evidence and taking photos. Some entered the interior cabin, while others went to the runway to photograph the tire tracks for evidence.

The person in charge of this incident was a tall man with brown hair. Hearing the words of the on-site staff, he said in surprise: “He was on this plane too?” Then, guided by the staff, he passed through the crowd, walked through the jet bridge, arrived at the terminal, and saw the man standing with his back to the floor-to-ceiling window, hands in his pockets.

“Patrick.”

The man lowered his head listening to music, not responding.

“Patrick!”

He walked in front of the other party, finally attracting his attention.

The man took off his white Bluetooth headphones, raising his long eyebrows: “Lovince? You’re in Boston?” He revealed a rather mocking smile, “Oh, you finally got packed off to the Boston branch?”

If he didn’t have some friendship with the man before him and know that this was just his personality, Lovince had no doubt he would smash this man’s handsome face with a punch.

“I just happen to have business in Boston.”

The man wore a black mask and had white headphones hanging around his neck. He had been leisurely listening to music just now, looking nothing like someone who had just experienced a terrifying air disaster.

Lovince knew well not to have any expectations for the man before him, nor could he force him to be polite and remember to take off his mask when talking to others. But what he found intolerable was: “What are you eating?”

The man took off his mask with one hand, chewed vigorously a few times, and said lazily: “Chewing gum.” After a while, he felt like adding another sentence: “Can’t you tell?”

Lovince: “…”

Deep breath.

“Patrick, I heard you were also on this plane and even 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 the gum before chatting with me, I might be happier—happier than meeting an old friend.”

“Then can you change that sentence?”

Lovince: “Huh?”

The man raised his hand and pointed behind him. Lovince followed his gaze.

『NO SMOKING』

It wasn’t that the airport didn’t have smoking rooms; they just weren’t open to passengers.

Lovince took the man to the crew-only smoking room. Because he needed to conduct some investigative questioning, he asked the others in the smoking room to leave. He skillfully took out a beautiful metal cigarette case from his pocket, pressed the side with his finger, and a cigarette popped out.

The man pulled out the long cigarette, took out the lighter he had casually swiped from the security check bin earlier, and lit it.

Amidst the curling smoke, he narrowed his eyes slightly, his deep eye color dyed pitch black.

Lovince: “First of all, congratulations, my friend. You survived this air disaster.”

“Are there victims?”

“No, it was a successful landing. No victims.”

Slender, long fingers lightly gripped the thin cigarette. He said nonchalantly: “I will never let my name be staged in front of me.”

Lovince didn’t react immediately. He opened his mouth, speaking Chinese surprisingly fluently: “Zhuo Huan?”

Zhuo Huan glanced at him: “English name.”

Lovince blankly read out the English name of the person before him: “Reid Irvin Patrick…?”

Zhuo Huan chuckled, his voice low and magnetic.

Lovince recited his name a few times, then suddenly froze: “R.I.P?!”

Rest In Peace—

May the deceased rest in peace.

Never seen anyone curse themselves like this!

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