All it takes is a quick look down at the difference between our airspeed and our groundspeed to tell that Fall is here again. Despite pushing through the air at 410 knots we are managing barely 300 knots across the ground. The great river in the sky is pushing us backwards at over 100 knots. Below the Kentucky countryside slowly crawls by below a scattered layer of puffy white clouds. Recent heavy rains have turned the fields green and the rivers brown. From our vantage point at 26,000 feet the rolling hills flatten towards the distant horizon and our destination of Lexington.

It is day 3 of 4 and my first 4 day trip in a while. Reserve life means that I mostly fly a patchwork of sick calls and maintenance flights. This week I am covering for a captain who called in sick. The FO I’m flying with tells me that this other captain has some sort of chronic condition and has temporarily lost his medical, causing me to realize for about the thousandth time how thin a reality this job can be.

Today started in Akron with a deadhead down to Charlotte after a short 10 hours of rest. From there we picked up our aircraft and pointed the nose to the north west and Lexington. Once we have deposited our passengers in Bluegrass Country we will turn around and head back to Charlotte and then on to Charleston, WV and the end of our day. On paper this day is very easy. Throw in gusting winds and bumpy rides and it has the potential of rapidly lengthening into infinity.

ATC gives us a descent to a lower (hopefully less windy) altitude. The mileage to go distance slowly clicks down to a number of less than 100. Today, we’ll get there, it just might take a while.

To say the visibility is restricted is a huge understatement. The dark concrete of the runway fades into the gray mist just 500 feet in front of us. I can see two runway centerline lights and the hint of a third one creating a hazy glow somewhere in the clouds in front of us. Despite the weather we’ve been cleared for takeoff and I take a quick glance at the FO before reaching up and flipping on the strobe lights. He seems ready to go, intently starting out into the swirly fog, as if trying to will it to part.

I push of the thrust levers and after a slight delay feel the plane start to lurch forward. The centerline lights in front of us start to roll towards us, giving the sense that they are moving and we aren’t, which in a sense is true. At 80 knots everything is looking ok. Despite spending literally hundreds of hours in this seat the controls feel different and it takes all of my concentration to keep the plane tracking on the runway centerline.

At 100 knots the controls start to feel light and I sneak a look down at my primary flight display where the speed tape is rapidly sliding down the screen. The bugged references for our reject and rotation speeds come into view at the top just as I look back up into the gray void we are heading into. The FO calls out V1 and I take my right hand off the thrust levers and put it on the yoke. We are going flying now no matter what happens. And I have a pretty good sense of what is about to happen. Just as we blast through 145 knots and the FO calls out “rotate” I hear a bang from somewhere behind us. The plane seems to hop to the right and I realize our day just got really bad.

Even before I can think about it I find my left foot pushing in the rudder pedal to get the nose back to the center line. As soon as it’s there I gently start pulling back on the yoke to get the nose off the ground. The runway centerline lights I’ve been following turn to red, announcing we are nearing the last third of the runway. I don’t give that much thought though as I am struggling with the unfamiliar feel of the controls. Even with the rudder kicked over we are slipping sideways and despite the fact I’m (mostly) keeping the wings level we are still turning away from the runway heading and away from the protected departure corridor. I take deep breath and adjust the pressure my left foot is holding on the rudder.

My FO finally calls a positive rate of climb and we get the gear up to reduce the drag. At 400 feet I call for him to engage the heading mode. Despite the gear now being up we are barely climbing and I divide my attention between trying to keep the wings level, enough rudder in and the very small number showing on our rate of climb indicator. We finally claw our way through 600 feet above the ground and I call for the autopilot. With George now keeping the wings level and the pitch constant I am free to concentrate on keeping the rudder set and the big picture.

That big picture isn’t very good. We are barely climbing and our right engine is showing no rotation. The good news is, as of yet there is no indication of fire. I quickly compartmentalize that thought and go back to watching the altitude tape on my primary flight display slowly, very slowly, slide by. At 1000 feet off the ground I command the autopilot to level off. We are out of immediate danger, and airspeed becomes more important that gaining altitude. As the plane accelerates I call for the flaps to be retracted and then once at a safe airspeed I reengage the climb command.

With the flaps retracted and the rudder set correctly we are now managing almost 1000 feet per minute. I take a deep breath and get started with the procedure to get the dead engine secured and plan a course back to Charlotte, where fortunately the weather has improved enough for us to land. The FO runs through the appropriate Emergency Checklist while I work with the approach controller to get us headed back towards the airport and on an approach.

Due to the damage to the engine (the bang I heard coupled with the lack of rotation immediately after the shutdown) I have no plans to try to restart it. That means we’ll be shooting an approach with just one engine. This ends up being very similar to having both engines but requires a bit more power and constant adjustment to the rudder as you change power settings. With the engine secured and the checklist complete the FO is back on the radios and coordinating our vectors towards the instrument approach. Once everything is set I brief the approach and then turn the plane towards the runway somewhere out in the gray mist.

I have a “Casey At the Bat-esq” moment and think somewhere the sun is shining. Somewhere the sky is blue. Somewhere the wind is gently rustling through the trees. That nice day is in fact just a few hundred feet away, outside the flight simulator we’ve been strapped into for the past two hours. But inside the box, in our digitally rendered cloudy and gray world the FO and I are using every bit of skill, knowledge and luck to get our crippled airplane back on the ground in one piece.

Through the rain splattered glass of the windshield the runway is growing larger at an alarming rate. I glance over at the FO who is concentrating on the rapidly approach pavement, the fingers of his left hand flexing on the thrust levers. He’s got a good reason to keep the speed up. We are racing a heavy rainstorm to the field and despite being delayed out of Greensboro 30 minutes earlier it looks like we might actually win the race. This is only the second leg I’ve flown with him and the first he’s actually been the pilot flying, but from what I’ve seen so far I trust him to get the plane slowed in time to land.

The radar is showing a swath of red and yellow returns just a few miles to the south. The good news is we are landing to the West which gives us a good escape path to the North if stuff starts to deteriorate and we need an out. At 5 miles out the plane in front of us, still visible despite the increasing amount of rain streaking up the windshield, touches down on the wet pavement. I glance down at the Traffic Display and see there is another aircraft just 2 ½ miles behind us. ATC has told everybody to go as fast as possible for as long as possible.

The FO takes a quick look at the speed number which is holding steady at 230 knots and the distance to the runway number which is rolling quickly backwards and decides it’s time to start slowing. He pulls the thrust levers back to idle, pulls the flight spoilers all the way out and as the speed starts to bleed off calls for 8 degrees of flaps. Before I can even move the lever two clicks down he’s calling for the flaps to 20 degrees. With the flaps and slats moving back off the wing the speed quickly evaporates but as we pass through 1000 feet and he’s forced to stow the spoilers we are still moving faster than we should be. I rest my hand on the landing gear handle and he takes the hint. Seconds later the 3000 PSI of hydraulic pressure holding the gear up is released and the wheels drop into the rain filled skies below us.

With the gear out the plane quickly decelerates and the FO calls for 30 degrees of flaps as the speed decreases to 170 knots. The last of the flaps follows as we descend through 500 feet. The southern horizon blurs and then turns a dull gray, flecked with yellow streaks of lightening as the storm approaches the southern edge of the field. The windsock, just to the left of the runway, motionless until now, slowly starts to rotate around to the north and extend. We’re at 200 feet now and slowed back to our approach speed. There’s a slight burble of air as we pass through 50 feet and then, as I flip on the windshield wipers the main wheels settled on to the pavement.

The FO deploys the reversers as soon as the nose wheel hits the ground and the wheel brakes come on soon after. We’ve got a plane right behind us and despite the fact that I hate when pilots slam on the brakes after a nice landing, in this case it is 100% justified. We slow through 80 knots and the FO stows the reversers. Through the rain that is now streaming down the windshield despite the wipers on high I can see the runway exit approaching on the right. I match the brake pressure the FOs has on the foot pedals and then let him know I’ve got the controls.

We clear the runway and turn towards the ramp. Back on final, visible through the heavy rain now falling, are the landing lights of the 737 that was behind us. They touchdown and then disappear in a cloud of water vapor as their thrust reversers deploy. I turn my attention back to the ramp where the Lightening Detection System lights are still showing yellow. We just might get our passengers off the plane before the heavy weather hits.