Free to Read: "In the Midst of a Crumbling World"
“Life imitates art.” It’s a familiar phrase, one people commonly ascribe to good coincidences. But then there are times when life imitating art is horrible.
When I was 21, I wrote “In the Midst of a Crumbling World” as a prologue to a novel I could never finish. I don’t know what inspired it, but it’s been living in my virtual trunk for a long time.
Until now.
The situation in Afghanistan brought this story back in my mind front and center. Something I never thought possible is playing on CNN. It’s tragic and haunting.
That said, here’s “In the Midst of a Crumbling World.”
In the Midst of a Crumbling World
by Thomas Broderick
Yoshiyuki Souma dragged his fingers across the metal table, forming three parallel lines of grease and sweat on the otherwise pristine surface.
The small, windowless room where he sat contained only one fluorescent ceiling light. It was barely enough to illuminate the eggshell white walls. As a result, everything took on the color of faded asphalt.
Two Caucasian men in their late thirties entered the room. Unlike Yoshiyuki’s collared shirt and khaki pants, they wore dark suits. Their chairs emitted a loud screech as they pulled them back to sit. The taller of the two placed his leather briefcase on the table.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Souma,” the man with the briefcase said. “My name is Jeremy Hopkins. I am an investigator with the National Transportation Safety Board. This is Francis Jones.”
“I represent the Boeing Company, manufacturer of the 787-8 model aircraft that you piloted thirteen months ago. My company’s interest in this matter should be clear to you, Mr. Souma. One of our aircraft was involved in the loss of life of over three hundred people.”
“Was it really that many?” Yoshiyuki asked. “No one had told me.”
“Yes,” Jones replied, his voice becoming softer. “About a dozen criminologists went over your plane in the month after it landed in San Francisco. Boeing aircraft have been involved in many...unfortunate incidents over the decades. However, this is the first time one of our planes has caused such a significant loss of life where every passenger and crewmember survived.”
Hopkins rubbed his chin, working out frustration on his stubble rather than Jones. “You saved the lives of five-hundred-and-twenty people, Mr. Souma. They owe you everything. Before we go any further today, I want to know if you’re comfortable speaking in English. We’re both fluent in Japanese. If you’d…”
“No, it is all right,” Yoshiyuki interrupted. “Since my arrival in the United States, I have become much better at English. I had to learn it to become a pilot, as well.”
“All right then, if you’re comfortable with it.” Hopkins pulled a digital audio recorder from his briefcase and placed it on the center of the table. “As you’ve probably heard, the government has been interviewing pilots who brought refugees to the United States.”
“Yes, I have read it in newspapers.”
“Before we begin,” Jones said. “You are under no threat of prosecution. Anything you tell us today will not change that fact.”
“Here’s the letter from the attorney general,” Hopkins added, retrieving a document from his briefcase and passing it to Yoshiyuki. Printed on thick paper, it was written in both English and Japanese. “I’ve heard that Delta picked up your contract from the now-defunct Japan Airlines Company.”
Yoshiyuki nodded. “They’ve guaranteed me a job. Consultant, I think.”
“Let’s get started.” Jones switched on the recorder. “This is deposition S-600812. Today is February 17th, 2026. In accordance with the Pan-Asian Refugee Act of 2025, all parties involved will receive a transcript of this deposition. My name is Francis Jones, head legal counsel for the Boeing Company.”
“Jeremy Hopkins. National Transportation Safety Board investigations division.”
“Yoshiyuki Souma,” Yoshiyuki said after Jones gestured to him. “Pilot for Japan Airlines. Former.”
Hopkins cleared his throat. “Mr. Souma, you reported normal flight conditions to the tower at SFO during your approach. I’d like to play a portion of the tower audio log from right after you landed.”
Yoshiyuki nodded.
Hopkins took out his laptop at set it at the end of the table. The computer flickered to life, and Hopkins opened an audio file. Placing the recorder next to the speaker, he hit PLAY.
The computer’s speakers crackled. “We have touchdown of JAL 321,” one of the traffic controllers reported. For a moment, joyous cheering overpowered the cacophony of voices.
“Tell the pilot to clear the runway immediately. Fifteen other aircraft are requesting an emergency landing.”
“JAL 321, the ground crew reports hydraulic fluid leaking from your wheel wells. Please report the readings on your gauges.”
“Gauges show no change.” Yoshiyuki’s mouth twitched at hearing his own voice.
“Then what the hell’s staining the runway? Where’s the binoculars?”
Yoshiyuki’s hands began to twitch.
“Oh, Jesus…”
Hopkins stopped the audio and closed the laptop.
“We all know that what leaked from the plane wasn’t Skydrol Five.” Jones leaned forward in his chair. “Please tell us everything from the beginning, starting when you arrived at Haneda International Airport on December 23rd, 2024.”
Yoshiyuki took a deep breath. “I arrived at the monorail station serving the airport at 3:00 PM. A police officer was waiting for me. He told me that as the prime minister had announced an...emergency, and that he would take me to the plane. We walked down maintenance hallways to avoid the crowds. No security, no procedures. I guess it no longer mattered.
“After about two minutes, he must have heard something on his earpiece...”
“That the mob had overrun security,” Hopkins interrupted. “Excuse me. Go on.”
“I guess so. The policeman never told me. He grabbed my arm so hard I had a bruise for over a week.” Yoshiyuki touched his left bicep. “He made me run the last two, three hundred meters. Though we were running, I could hear them becoming louder. The pounding. The screaming.
“When we came out of the hallway, into the terminal, I did not see anyone. Everything looked normal, peaceful. The officer would not let go, though, and as we both ran through the gate, I knew why. I could hear them. They were very close.
“They had already entered the jetway when he threw me in the plane. I fell, and a stewardess slammed the door behind me. Before I could stand up, their fists beat against the hull. The sound drowned out their voices.” Yoshiyuki’s hands, resting on the table, had turned white.
“Let’s take a break.” Hopkins smiled. He switched off the recorder. “Mr. Jones, could you get Mr. Souma a bottle of water?”
“Sure. I think I saw a case down the hall.”
Yoshiyuki’s hands had unclenched by the time Jones returned. He gladly accepted the bottle and took a small sip.
The interview resumed.
“When we stopped,” Hopkins said, “you had just entered the plane.”
“Yes. It took five minutes to complete safety checks on the essential systems. When we pulled back from the gate…” He swallowed another mouthful of water. “We started seeing people.” The corner of Yoshiyuki’s right eye started to twitch.
“Mr. Souma,” Hopkins said. “Are you referring to the people who overran the airport’s perimeter?”
Yoshiyuki’s voice became strained. “They were just standing there. I could not understand.” He rubbed his sweaty palms back and forth. “They were not crying or speaking. It was like they did not want us to go. Their faces – I saw it. I know that makes no sense.
“When I made the final turn onto the runway…”
“Go on,” Jones said, placing some tissues in front of Yoshiyuki. “It’s all right.”
“I do not know why I did not see them until they were in front of me. There were so many. I could barely see the asphalt for the first fifty meters.”
“Did you warn them?” Jones asked.
“Of course, I did!” Yoshiyuki’s eyes widened. “I throttled the engines with the brakes engaged. I took it up to half power. When the engines screamed, the people screamed right back. They crowded in together to where I only saw faces. After a few seconds, the tower crew ordered me to take off.”
“That’s when you told the passengers to close the windows.” Jones spoke slowly. The two investigators already knew the story’s ending. The pilot needed only to put words to the horror the SFO ground crew had discovered in his aircraft’s wheel wells.
“I did not want them to see what was about to happen.” Yoshiyuki’s voice ended in a stutter. “After a stewardess told me that the windows were closed...”
“Yes?”
“There were sixteen full planes behind me. I had no choice.”
Hopkins and Jones said nothing, giving the pilot a moment to add any further statement. Yoshiyuki remained silent.
“One last thing,” Jones said. He bit his bottom lip before continuing. “Once the plane began moving, did the people try to run away?”
“No.” At last, tears began to fall from Yoshiyuki’s eyes.
“That’s enough for us,” Hopkins said, turning off the recorder. “You may leave now, Mr. Souma. Thank you.”
The pilot stood slowly. He made his exit in near silence, soiled tissues grasped in his right hand.
“Well,” Jones said once he was sure that Yoshiyuki was out of earshot. “That’s that, then.” The two men prepared to leave.
“You’re an asshole, Francis.” Hopkins slipped the digital recorder into his inner coat pocket. “But we got what we came for.” With his finger on the light switch, he paused. “First, it was the captain from Nagoya. Then Kobe, Hiroshima, Sendai, Sapporo...”
“And now, Tokyo. I’m sure tomorrow will be the same, or almost the same, when we talk to the first pilot out of Shizuoka. To be perfectly honest with you, Jeremy, I’m getting tired of this as well. Pilots, flight attendants, survivors, all saying the same god damn thing about what happens when a pilot unwilling to let his passengers die meets the end of the world.” Jones took a deep breath while undoing his collar button.
Hopkins waited for Jones to collect himself. “Well then, let’s get on with it.” He flipped off the light and shut the door behind them.
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