F-GZCP

Air France 447

All is going well. We had departed Rio at 7:30 PM local, it is now 2 AM UTC (or 11 Rio time). We are crossing the South Atlantic en route to France.

A storm appears on the horizon. The captain decides to stay the course and push through. This will be the first, in a series, of the crew's last mistakes.

The captain leaves the deck to go take a rest, and a less experienced captain comes to take his place. The least experienced of the three, the first officer, is at the controls as he navigates me through the storm. Soon, it starts raining; then hailing. My sensors freeze, I can no longer determine airspeed or altitude.

I disengage my auto pilot computers and alert the pilots that they are back in control by sending a few sharp beeps through the flight deck. It is up to them to manually fly me now. Though I can't help but display the incorrect information that I receive from the frozen sensors to the pilots.

The first officer at the controls almost instantly pulls back hard on my control stick to start climbing because of a perceived 500 foot loss of altitude. I have no choice but to comply.

One of my sensors thaws out, and I realise my mistake. I quickly start displaying accurate data. Now with accurate data, I sense we are about to stall, and instantly sound the stall alarm.

-STALL, STALL- My alarm rings out loudly. But the pilots, already disoriented by the faulty data they were just reading, do not believe me now.

My alarm rings, and goes unanswered, 58 times.

The senior captain is called back to the flight deck, though just getting back into the situation, he is understandably slow on the uptake and is just as confused as the other two pilots.

Having climbed from 35,000, to 38,000 feet in a short amount of time with my plummeting airspeed continuing to go unnoticed, I finally stall; and start my fall of 13,000 feet per minute towards the ocean below.

The pilot flying is still confused as the last of my stall alarms ring out. He continues to pull back on my control stick. I am powerless to do anything but comply. The pilot has the final authority.

20,000 feet: I am still falling; and fast. We have another minute and a half at best before I crash into the ocean. I wish I could say more to the pilots than some preprogrammed alarm! I would tell them to just nose over! Just nose over and throttle up! Have they not been taught how to recover from a stall! It's so simple! But in their state of seemingly incoherent thinking, they are doing the reverse of what should be done to save me. And themselves.

15,000 feet: I resign myself to my certain watery grave. I just wish everyone else didn't have to come with me.

Just below 10,000 feet: the senior captain realises the issue. He yells at the first officer to push the nose down. But the first officer is reluctant to do so. He is still confused as to what is happening. But it's too late anyway.

Seconds later, I impact the water. All 228 people aboard are killed. Along with myself, F-GZCP.

The time was 2:14 and 28 seconds.