"Landing data VREF 40."

"VREF 40."

"Approach briefing completed."

"Completed."

And so on through the rest of it. It's honestly soothing. "All right. I guess we should go get a good look at our runway, now."

"I guess so. Broadcast our intentions, we'll go swing around and get a look."

"This is emergency aircraft Southwest Airlines 8684. We're descending to flight level 60 to go get a look at the lake we plan to land on. We have nine thousand pounds of fuel remaining and a hundred seventy five souls on board. We're going to pass over what looks like a small town, turn on a heading of forty and then on a heading of one hundred, pass over our intended landing site, and then hold at that altitude while we finalize our plans to land."

"Technically we also now need to call a fuel emergency as we anticipate landing below our minimums."

They'd have had to call an emergency soon anyway for the water landing but it's darkly amusing that, technically, this became a fuel emergency first. "Right. Mayday, mayday, mayday, we're anticipating an emergency landing over the water at below our minimum reserve fuel. Southwest Airlines 8684." 

"All right, let's take her around."

There is an enormous dragon making lazy laps in the sky above Vellumis. The laps are, to be clear, blindingly fast, once you account for how big and distant the dragon is, but they're still somehow managing to look lazy.

In a sense, of course, this is very threatening. Dragons do not tend to circle your cities because they are in a friendly mood. 

But in another sense, it is - weirdly non- threatening? Because a dragon you're unprepared for is a catastrophe, but a dragon you're prepared for can be driven off, if all of the most dangerous people who you consider allies have time to arrive and observe and prepare. So either the dragon is confident it can take the most powerful people Vellumis can call on, or it's not here to kill them. Which raises the question of what it wants.

Vellumis is the capital of a civilized country. They do a Sending to the dragon and ask. 

The dragon does not answer. 

No one can keep up with the dragon on its flight, but they can get briefly close enough to see it. It's shielded with its own powerful magic from every divination they think to try. It is copper and blue. 

On its side are painted words. Someone gets a look at them with Comprehend Languages up and returns to report that the dragon reads 'South. West. Air. Lines.'

Ominous.

And then the dragon descends. The civilians flee into the castle keep, if they can, and cower in terror, and three hundred archers are assembled on the walls to fire magic arrows when the dragon gets close. They are protected against electricity, because the people of Vellumis know how blue dragons work, and also against fire and acid and ice, because the bluecopper dragon would not be the first dragon to think of employing a ruse.

The dragon, on this pass over the city, roars a terrible roar that can be heard from a great distance, and does not pass quite low enough for it to be wise for the archers to fire.

"Is that a castle?"

" - sure looks like it." He spends a minute trying to think of possible explanations. "...I've got nothing."

"I'm going to disengage the autopilot and fly this manually. Keep a look out for rocks, or changes in coloration in the water, anything that might suggest we want a different part of the lake for our landing site."

He's still squinting out the window. "Those are some pretty big sailboats."

"You figure the lanes the boats travel in will be clear of rocks and obstructions, and sufficiently deep? Because that sounds better than guessing if we found a deep enough part of the lake."

"Sailboats have a pretty shallow draft. I'll look where they seem to be, especially if the boats seem to be being careful of their route in a way that suggests there are rocks, but I don't think it's sufficient." 

"Descending to flight level 40, disengaging the autopilot." And he sweeps out over the lake.

Unfortunately neither of them are lake experts. There aren't visible rocks sticking out of it, at least, except over in the distance near an island. The surface is flat and glassy, with only a bit of wind. "Landing parallel to the wind, so that looks like it'll be facing east."

"Not much wind, not much waves."

"All right. I'm going to climb and hold while we configure the plane to land and confirm that the cabin is ready."

The cabin is nearly ready. They've helped people extract their life vests from under their seats and they've distributed the kid life vests to all of the kids and she's gone on the PA to give the safety briefing about an emergency water landing to an unprecedentedly attentive audience. They've told everyone to identify their nearest exit and told the people in the back to plan on exiting through the middle doors and the people in front of the wings to plan on exiting through the front. The Miracle on the Hudson is making their lives a lot easier. Everyone knows that this happens sometimes and that everyone was okay. Of course, half the reasons everyone was okay don't apply this time, but you take what you can get.

A lot of people are crying. A lot of people are praying. Some are probably in shock. They walk the parents with young kids through how to brace the young kids for impact. 

Scared people are not very bright. And they're not very good at learning. So the thing flight attendants are trained to do in a real emergency is - sure, to give as much of a talk as there's time for, to walk down the aisle identifying people who have problems and getting them ready, to remind them of the pre-flight briefing. But people will remain scared and confused and they won't reliably do what you told them to do. And the most important thing for them to do is brace themselves so that their heads don't smash into the seat in front of them in the sudden deceleration.

The thing you do, when the cabin crew communicates that the emergency landing is imminent, is you start chanting, at the top of your lungs. "Brace! Brace! Brace!" On some airlines, it's "Brace! Brace! Brace! Heads down, grab your ankles!" You chant that until the plane is slowing safely down.

It's terrifying, if you're used to the cheerful customer service voice. It is not at all complicated. It is impossible to overthink. It works even on people who are confused and scared. 

The flight crew of Southwest Airlines 8684 goes around securing everyone's life vests and confirming that the people in the emergency exit rows have the upper arm strength to operate the door and they remind everybody that plane crashes are actually totally survivable! And they wait to hear that they're at 500 feet and it's time to stop reasoning with people and start chanting at them. 

"Flaps 30."

        "Flaps 30."

"Flaps 40."

        "Flaps 40."

"Can you think of anything we're missing?" 

They've completed the checklists, except the parts that have to be done on their final approach to the water. They've touch-rehearsed the whole thing a second time. They're down to three thousand pounds of fuel. They've reported the intended location of the ditching on the radio. They've had a glass of water and stretched their legs. 

At some point there's nothing to do but land your airplane. 

"They say any landing you walk away from is a good landing."

"I have some bad news for you."

"I was gonna add, any landing you paddle away from is a good landing too."

"Engine bleed air switches both off?"