FS Pax! Can't shoot me down!

I didn't realize that Oakland airport KCCR was a war zone!

Fortunately the runway I took off on was in direct line with KSFO's runway, albeit not in use!

Everything was going well, I did a combat take-off of 2,600 ft/min, and I thought I was out of the danger area when that horrible sound of alluminum popping signified a hit. Both Hydraulic indicators spun down quick and the plane pitched left. I shoved the noise forward to attempt to regain control, I thought it was all over, I don't know how one shell took out all three of my 737-300's hydraulic resevoirs...the F-15 has a leak detector and will automatically shut down any of it's three systems that is leaking, apparently my 737 doesn't have that, no time to concentrate on that now, somehow she's still flying!

Pitching it over gave those damned AA-Gunners a beautiful shot at my belly, and with one shot, hit both of my generators...but not the engines?!?! By this time I'm cruising through the California skies at well over 300 knots and I get away, just in time to call an emergency and barely have time to contact KSFO before all electrical on the aircraft shuts down. Did I mention this is at night?

So I have to pray that Oakland Center knows what to do and clears a path for me into San Fran International, the path looks clear. I have a cloudy view of the runway lights of San Francisco's leftmost Westward runway, I couldn't be choosy. Later I found out that the right runway is longer, but who knew, I didn't have the luxury of a radio or the time to figure that out!

By this time, I'm trying to read my standby instruments by flashlight, and I realize that there is no standby horizontal situation indicator...great...a fully loaded 737, 119 passengers, and 17,000 lbs of fuel, and no ILS!

I get to within ten miles or so of the airport(KCCR and KSFO are 26 miles apart) and I decide it's a good time to lower the flaps...flaps need hydraulic pressure, I have none...scratch the flaps.

Jimmy, my copilot looks over at me and says, "You smell gas?" I say I don't, but I do, "Go put the gear down!" I scream at him, and he proceeds to pump the gear down, it takes him all of nine miles, just in time for him to jump into the seat and strap himself in.

I now realize why this runway isn't active, as I crableg my ever lightening 737 at a 45 degree angle towards the centerline, there has to be at least 15 knots of crosswind.

I set autobrakes to max, and pray that they use a seperate hydraulic system than the flight controls, which I wonder how are still working, albeit sluggishly.

I tap the left main on the runway and it feels solid, so I let the other one down, they both hold, the spoilers, hydraulically activated, stay nessled in their empty fuel tanks otherwise known as a wing. With all of our might, Jimmy and I hold back on the yoke to keep the nose up as the autobrakes light the fuel that was on the tires. The nose wheel meets the ground, and the nose keeps sinking, maybe Jimmy shoulda given it one more pump!

We slide a few hundred feet on the nose, the sparks ignite whatever fuel isn't burning already. With a final groan, our flaming vessel gives up her inertia.

I owe that guy over at Center a bottle of Scotch, five huge fire trucks have been racing tandem beside us ever since touchdown and at the exact moment we stop, our plane is dowsed in fire retardant.

The engines flame-out, at first I think it's from the spray, but then I look at the guage that I didn't want to look at the whole flight, yep, out of fuel in both tanks!

The flight attendant remains calm as slides deploy on four exits of the aircraft and 119 terrified people dive out of the smoldering plane.

I slap Jimmy on the back and we climb out of our seats, the first news reporters show up as a paramedic is attending to a cut on my arm. I say it was nothing, after all, any pilot could fly a 737 out of fuel, with no electrical, and only the back-up hydraulics 26 miles and only get a scratch on his arm...

...It's only later that I find out that only the left tank was hit, but the transfer pump saw fit to pump the right tank into the left tank, and thus we almost ended up in the bay. They blamed that one on me, and I got to buy 17,000 lbs of JP-8.

...I was also blamed for a flapless landing, although I definitely remember lowing their control, blame Boeing if they didn't actually go down.

...and to top it all off, a few of my Mormon passengers complained that they were delivered to San Francisco instead of Salt Lake.

I really need to stop playing with FS Passengers, it's gonna get me killed!