Cart is empty
Looks like you haven’t added anything to your cart yet
Sully walked the aisle twice, checking every seat. The fuselage was filling with black, freezing water. He grabbed a flashlight and went back. When he was certain the plane was empty, he waded to the door.
“My engine’s dead,” Skiles said, his voice tight.
The doors blew. Slides became rafts. Men in suits and women in heels waded into the ice. The river, which had tried to kill them, now held them gently. Ferries and police boats converged like guardian angels. Sully- Hazana en el Hudson
“When you factor in the human element,” he told the board, “the time to react, the shock… there is no airport.”
“Let’s go,” Sully said.
Then, silence again. The plane bobbed in the freezing current.
The river flows on. The city stands. And every time a plane flies low over the Hudson, New Yorkers look up and remember the day a captain refused to crash, and turned a river into a runway. Sully walked the aisle twice, checking every seat
Later, in a hotel room, he called his wife, Lorrie. She was sobbing on the phone. He stood by the window, looking at the city lights. His hands, finally, began to shake.