Every day, 1.8-million people take airline flights in the United States. A handful of those flights are interrupted by engine problems or other mechanical glitches, but they usually are nothing more than an inconvenience to passengers. Occasionally, a plane comes perilously close to disaster and pilots take heroic action to save the lives of the everyone on board.

By BILL ADAIR

WASHINGTON -- When the lights suddenly went out on TWA Flight 24, Capt. Burke Edwards was afraid the plane was on fire.

That would explain why everything electrical in the MD-80 jet, including virtually all the instruments, had suddenly stopped working. The radios were dead. The computer screens were blank. Even the backup instruments were gone.

Co-pilot Patrick Foreman said a silent prayer: "God, just get me on the ground. Please don't let me screw up."

The pilots weren't sure they would make it to Billings, Mont., which was the nearest airport. Edwards wondered if they would have to land the big jetliner on Interstate 90.

Because of their extraordinary effort to land safely, Edwards and Foreman tonight will be among four pilots honored by the Air Line Pilots Association for "superior airmanship" in preventing a catastrophe. Their emergency landing last December is a reminder of the many incidents that occur every day without fanfare. They saved the lives of 99 passengers, but there wasn't a peep about it on CNN.

Most airline problems don't make the news. Take Monday, for example.

The Federal Aviation Administration does not keep a nationwide total, but in just one FAA region -- which includes Texas, Arkansas, Oklahoma and New Mexico -- there were 17 incidents ranging from an an engine failure to unruly passengers.

It was a routine day. No crashes. No injuries.

"What this tells you is that in almost all incidents, the system works as it is intended to work," FAA spokesman Paul Turk said. "No single event should put a flight in any special jeopardy."

'Nothing in the book'

The TWA plane had 104 "souls on board" -- the industry term for the total number of passengers and crew -- as it left Seattle for St. Louis on Dec. 16.

Foreman, 36, a TWA pilot for three years, was handling the controls for the late-night flight. Edwards, 40, a 17-year veteran with the airline, was handling the radio duties.

When they were at 33,000 feet over Montana, the lights flickered and the entire plane went dark.

The McDonnell Douglas MD-80 was about seven years old and was equipped with "glass cockpit" displays, which use computer screens instead of the old-style gauges. The screens suddenly went blank.

The pilots quickly discovered their backup electrical system did not work. The plane had emergency instruments for situations like this, but they, too, were crippled because they relied on the backup electrical power.

The pilots determined the plane was not on fire, but they also found that the manuals and emergency checklists were of little help. The plane's designers apparently never anticipated a complete loss of electrical power.

"There is nothing in the book about what to do, so you have to write the book as you go along," Edwards recalled Tuesday.

He managed to get enough backup power to use one radio, but air traffic controllers said the TWA plane had disappeared from their radar scopes. Without power, the plane was not sending its transponder signal to radar sites.

Finally, a controller in Billings found a blip that he identified as Flight 24.

They descended rapidly.

"We were going to land on the nearest piece of concrete," said Edwards. "We were fully prepared to land on the interstate highway beneath us."

Praying and worrying

As Foreman descended, he alternated between feelings of fear, disbelief and the occasional prayer.

He thought about his wife, Anne, and his two young children. He also had a strange thought about what would happen if he crashed: If this thing goes in, how am I going to be seen in the media?

The pilots discussed how Foreman should land -- whether he should use the brakes and how fast the plane should be going at touchdown. In past accidents, pilots have been criticized for failing to communicate with each other. But Foreman and Edwards were practicing the modern technique known as "crew resource management," where they discuss options and agree on a solution.

Foreman prepared the MD-80 for landing. He did not have full use of the plane's flaps, the panels that provide extra lift for takeoffs and landings, so he would have to land much faster than normal -- about 200 mph instead of 140 mph.

He managed to touch down at the ideal spot -- the beginning of the 10,000-foot runway. Once the wheels were down, Foreman blasted the thrust reversers, which directed the jet engines forward to slow the plane.

The plane stopped with room to spare.

Edwards told Foreman, "That's the best landing I've ever been through."

Dangerous drag

American Eagle Flight 3215 was just another hop for Capt. John Vreeken and First Officer Elizabeth Hallworth. The Los Angeles-to-Monterey, Calif., trip was their sixth flight of the day last Dec. 11, scheduled to take about an hour.

Then, 14,000 feet over the Pacific coast, the pilots felt a thud.

Their instruments said both engines in the Saab 340 plane were operating normally, but they could tell something was wrong with the left propeller.

Vreeken looked out the window and saw it turning, but a gauge said it was not producing thrust. That meant it was being turned not by the engine, but by the speed of the plane. It was causing a dangerous drag that made the aircraft awkward to fly.

They tried to neutralize the propeller by changing the angle of the blades, but they would not move.

Less than a minute later, they heard three ominous chimes as the plane's master warning light flashed a bright red. Vreeken knew he had to land quickly.

He was scared. He felt adrenaline rush through his body and worried that he might make a mistake and kill everyone on board. That's all it would take. One mistake.

He radioed urgently to air traffic controllers.

"Oakland Center, we are declaring an emergency," he said.

The controllers said the closest airport was Paso Robles, which was about 15 miles behind them.

It took more strength than normal to fly the plane, but Vreeken found he could still control it. He relied on the autopilot for most of the descent because it automatically adjusted the rudder to compensate for the crippled engine. In the meantime, Hallworth talked with controllers and went through the emergency checklists.

They turned back, but found themselves in the clouds, unable to see the airport. By the time they got beneath the clouds, Vreeken could see the town's fire trucks rushing toward the airport.

They touched down without difficulty, but the pilots were worried the left engine might be on fire.

Vreeken was relieved when an airport official radioed that there was no sign of fire. Just a lot of oil leaking from the engine.

In his fear, Vreeken's legs were shaking so much that he worried he might not be able to step on the brake pedals. But he stopped the plane and everyone got off safely.

Hallworth said the harrowing nature of the incident didn't strike her until all the passengers were safely off the plane. That gave her a chance to think about what happened.

"You realize, "Wow. What if?' "

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