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The January cold bit through the cockpit glass like a wolf at the glass. Captain Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger, his hair the color of a winter sky, ran the final checklist. To his right, First Officer Jeff Skiles worked the switches. Routine. After thirty years, everything was routine.
The impact was a thunderclap of shattering plexiglass and mangled metal. The smell of roasted fowl and jet fuel flooded the cabin. Then, the silence that followed was worse than the explosion. Both engines had gone quiet. Sully- Hazana en el Hudson
“My engine’s dead too,” Sully replied. He reached for the emergency manual, but his mind was already three steps ahead. New York’s skyline drifted past the nose. The towers of Manhattan were silent witnesses. The January cold bit through the cockpit glass
On the ferry, wrapped in a blanket, a passenger grabbed his arm. Her lips were blue. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You saved us.” Routine
Sully watched the computer pilots try. They crashed into a neighborhood every time.