Captain Tammie Jo Shults - Nerves of Steel (Young Readers ): The Incredible True Story of How One Woman Followed Her Dreams, Stayed True to Herself, and Saved 148 Lives

Nerves of Steel Young Readers Edition

2019 Echo Four Fourteen, LLC

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Shults, Tammie Jo, 1961- author.

Title: Nerves of steel : the incredible true story of how one woman followed her dreams, stayed true to herself, and saved 148 lives / Captain Tammie Jo Shults.

Description: Young readers edition. | Nashville, Tennessee, USA : Thomas Nelson, [2019] | Includes bibliographical references. | Audience: Ages 8-12 | Audience: Grades 4-6 | Summary: The amazing story of pilot Tammie Jo Shults, adapted for young readers! Tammie Jo worked hard, had faith, stayed true to herself, and overcame every obstacle on her journey to becoming a navy pilot. Years later, those lessons served her well as she was put in the right place at the right time to safely land a crippled plane and save 148 lives-- Provided by publisher.

Identifiers: LCCN 2019034271 (print) | LCCN 2019034272 (ebook) | ISBN 9781400215317 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781400215300 (paperback) | ISBN 9781400216673 (epub)

Epub Edition September 2019 9781400216673

Subjects: LCSH: Shults, Tammie Jo, 1961---Juvenile literature. | Air pilots--United States--Biography--Juvenile literature. | Aircraft accidents--United States--Juvenile literature.

Classification: LCC TL540.S476 A3 2019 (print) | LCC TL540.S476 (ebook) | DDC 363.12/4092 [B]--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019034271

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019034272

Printed in the United States of America

19 20 21 22 23 PC/LSCC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Mfr: PC/LSCC / Crawfordsville, IN / October 2019 / PO #9553792

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To the brave hearts aboard Flight 1380, and to the extraordinary team of professionals that supported us that day, both in the air and on the ground.

He, who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,

In the long way that I must trace alone,

Will lead my steps aright.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, TO A WATERFOWL

CONTENTS

April 17, 2018

New Yorks LaGuardia Airport is a bit tricky for airline pilots. LGA, as we call it, can be like quicksandeasy to get stuck in. Fortunately today is not one of those days, and it looks like my first officer and I are going to escape the LGA trap without any worries.

Our plane pushes back from the gate on time, and we taxi out to runway 31 and are cleared for takeoff without having to pause. Its First Officer Darren Ellisors turn to fly, so I get us lined up and give him the controls. He pushes the throttles up, and were off. The city quickly falls away below us. We point our nose southwest and settle in for a four-hour flight to Dallas Love Field in Texas. What a beautiful day to fly!

But about twenty minutes into the flight, as we climb to 32,500 feet over eastern Pennsylvania, this beautiful day turns ugly.

BOOM!

Something explodes like an artillery shell, and it feels like our plane has been hit. A quick look at the cockpit gauges tells me our left engine is dead. This isnt good, but its manageable. (Ive been practicing single-engine failures in the flight simulator for twenty-four years.)

A fraction of a second later, not good becomes not good at all. The jet, a Boeing 737700, quickly rolls off to the left. The nose jerks hard and drops into a dive. Darren and I both lunge for the controls. Something more than an engine failure has happened, but what? Then a bone-jarring shudder runs through the aircraft. Chaos takes over.

The air pressure plummets, and Darren and I cant breathe. Just as the air is sucked out of our lungs, the air-conditioning system pulls gray smoke into the cockpit. A sharp pain pierces our ears. A deafening roar floods our heads. We cant hear anything else. The plane vibrates so hard that our instruments become a crazy blur. An incredible, invisible power continues to pull our 737 toward the earth. Weve never practiced this in the simulator.

First, we need our oxygen masks.

Amid the confusion, time seems to slow down. I cant see, I cant hear, and I cant breathe. My heart races, but my thoughts become very clear: This isnt the first timeIve been in an out-of-control aircraft. It isnt the first time Ive flown without all the information I need. It isnt the first time Ive brushed up against disaster.

This is a good newsbad news situation. The bad news first: Im not sure the left wing can take much more of the abuse caused by the exploded engine and its damage. This might be the day I meet my Maker face-to-face.

The good news? Were still flying. Its time to get to work.

My earliest memories are of wide-open skies. Big and blue, they sprawled over the small town of Farmington, New Mexico, where I was born in 1961. The gorgeous sun set and the bright moon rose over high, flat mesas that looked as if theyd been painted with watercolors. I guess most of my memories are of what was above me because when youre little, youre always looking up.

I looked up to my parents first. As I started school, they moved our family to a five-acre farm near Florida Mesa, Colorado, in the southwest corner of the state. Dad worked there as a grader operator, building country roads and making ski slopes for a nearby resort. My dad was tall and could whistle like no one else I knew. These were superhero qualities in my eyes.

Mom was always cooking or canning our homegrown vegetables, milking cows, or feeding chickens. She also sewed most of my sisters and my clothes. If we needed a tractor driver while we loaded hay, then she drove the tractor too.

Dwight was my older brother by thirteen months. Sandra, my sister, was born a year and a half after me. From the beginning, we knew Sandra wasnt like everyone else. But we didnt know until she was nine that she had cerebral palsy, a disorder that affects a persons muscle movements and brain development.

Mom and Dad sold the cream from our cows milk to buy piano lessons, a true luxury, for Dwight and me. The day we got our piano was the first day we heard our mom play. It was drop-your-lunch-pail beautiful, even to a first grader.