That day, Novia Air flight 9C247, carrying 162 people, took off from a Mumbai runway on a calm night. No one knew it was about to become one of the most ill-fated flights in the airline’s history.

Seat 19C was occupied by Arnav Singh (38), who had previously worked as an aircraft maintenance engineer for six years before changing professions. A normal, experienced man, not easily frightened.

But just 25 minutes after the plane reached cruising altitude, Arnav began to notice something that no other passenger had noticed.

Two air hostesses:

Priya – 25 years old

Meera – 27 years old

Both air hostesses behaved strangely:

Their faces were pale, they were constantly looking at their watches and making rapid hand gestures, as if calculating something or on a countdown.

They didn’t look like they were serving passengers, but rather like they were facing a death they already knew they were facing.

Arnav’s suspicions grew when he saw:
Meera quickly opened the overhead locker in the crew cabin.

She took out a small brown package, then placed it back.

Her hands were shaking as if she’d just committed a crime.

Arnav approached and asked in a low voice with a serious tone: “Is there a technical fault or a change in cabin pressure? I think you both look very worried.”

Priya, startled, took a half-step back, biting her lip, and simply replied: “Please go back to your seats.” There was deep despair in her eyes, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

A demand for an immediate landing—which the pilot crew refused.

Arnav’s heart pounding, he sat down in his seat. He pressed the air hostess call button and demanded: “I request you to inform the cockpit immediately. There are unusual signals in the cabin. I suspect a serious problem.”

Ten seconds later, the intercom at Arnav’s seat rang. The co-pilot, Akash, said calmly: “There is no warning from the system. The altitude will not be reduced. Passengers are requested to remain calm.”

Priya, standing nearby, was in tears upon hearing this. Arnav understood:

The cockpit is completely unaware of what is happening.

Only the two air hostesses know what they are facing.

And they cannot reveal it at any cost.

30 minutes later – the flight has become hell

The cabin lights suddenly went out and then came back on. The seats began to shake violently. Several passengers began screaming.

And then… Flight 9C247 began plummeting from an altitude of approximately 10,000 meters. Without warning. Without warning. Just a free fall, like an elevator cable snapping.

Oxygen masks began to fall down with a thud. A woman leaped from her seat and hit the ceiling, blood pouring from her forehead. Screams, prayers, and the cries of children mingled.

Amidst the chaos, Priya knelt on the ground, clutching her head in her hands, and sobbed: “We didn’t want to! They forced us… I’m sorry, everyone…” Her statement only intensified the panic in the cabin.

Arnav stormed the crew’s luggage compartment.

Without waiting a moment, Arnav slammed the door of locker number 4, where Meera had placed the item just moments before.

A fist-sized brown package, with a small red light wire glowing inside, as if a countdown was underway.

Arnav shouted to the entire plane…

Arnav Singh had experienced many forms of fear in his life. As an experienced engineer, he had repaired burning turbines, endured the stress of landing in bad weather, and even once nearly died trying to prevent a large oil container from exploding. But the fear of this moment was deeper than any metal failure or mechanical malfunction. It was the fear of human malice, of deliberate destruction.

The plane’s body was still vibrating, but it was no longer in an uncontrolled dive—it had suddenly shifted into a terrifying, violent instability. The plane would rise sharply, then fall back with a jolt, as if some invisible, giant hand was forcefully shaking it. The air in the cabin was thinning, and everyone not using oxygen masks felt a pounding headache and blurred vision. This was the beginning of hypoxia, a lack of oxygen at high altitude.

Arnav shouted: “It’s a barometric fuse! It’s set to altitude! This isn’t a bomb, it’s a pressure gauge!”

The announcement was almost lost in the cabin noise, but it reached Meera. The 27-year-old air hostess, who had been crying on the floor, looked at Arnav. Her eyes no longer held despair, but a final, burning truth.

Meera crawled toward Arnav, her voice trembling despite her oxygen mask: “It’s… it’s a pressure-sensitive fuse, sir! They said… they set it to activate when it went below 8,000 meters! It was just a warning… just one… but now… now it’s starting to fall!”

Arnav turned the package over with anger and determination. It was brown, about the size of a phone, with a small, clearly visible dial in the center. The needle on the dial was rapidly dropping below 10,000, and now it was at about 9,200 meters.

“It’s connected to an altimeter!” Arnav shouted, his engineer’s mind fully at work. “When it reaches the 8,000-meter mark, it will activate something!”

Meera ran to the cabin door, where Priya was still in a state of shock. “Priya! Cockpit! Tell them, 8,000 meters! Stabilize altitude immediately! Remind them of Nordica protocol!”

This word—Nordica protocol—sent a sudden sensation through the cockpit’s internal network. This was a secret code used by some airlines in the event of a terrorist or forced hijacking, where the cabin crew needed to communicate information verbally but could not clearly state it. It meant: “There is a depressurization device on board. Immediately stabilize altitude and initiate emergency procedures, but do not announce it on the radio.”

The Cockpit: Akash’s Decision

The flight’s co-pilot, Akash, 35, was a calm, rational man. The main pilot, Captain Vijay, was an experienced man who had been trying to calm the turbulence for the past 30 minutes, believing it was only a severe weather disturbance.

When Meera’s voice broke through, Akash suddenly felt a glint in his eyes.

Meera (on the intercom, trembling): “8,000 meters… Nordica! Captain… Please! Nordica!”

Captain Vijay was stunned: “What the hell is Nordica? Akash, what’s going on? We have to straighten this wing!”

Akash pressed the small lock on the cockpit door, temporarily sealing it. “Sir, calm down. Mira knows what she’s talking about. The Nordica protocol is real. It means we have a pressure-sensitive explosive or destructive device. And it will activate at 8,000 meters.”

Captain Vijay’s experienced face suddenly turned pale. “…and we’re at 9,100 meters right now. That means our initial dive was just a test. It was their way of threatening to do it.”

Akash slowly began to handle the flight controls. “This isn’t a technical fault, sir. This is a new method of hijacking. They wanted us to dive, and if we don’t stabilize above 8,000 meters, then….”

Captain Vijay picked up the microphone, but not for ground communication, but for the cockpit speaker. “Attention, this is Captain Vijay. We have now regained control. The plane is not completely stable, but it is now stable at 8,500 meters. We will not descend below this altitude. All crew, prepare for emergency landing procedures. Keep passengers calm.”

He looked straight at the sky. “We need at least 90 more minutes in the air to get back to Delhi. In the meantime, we must neutralize that thing.”

The Cabin: The Final War of Engineering

Arnav Singh took off his engineer jacket. He called Meera and Priya over. The two air hostesses now had only hope in their eyes—a man who had understood their secret signals.

Arnav pointed to the packet. “This isn’t a bomb, it’s much more dangerous than that. It’s an altitude-sensitive trigger. They knew we were in the air and wouldn’t have any equipment at this altitude.”

Meera gasped: “They said it was just an explosive mechanism to open a cargo hold. They threatened us that if we didn’t put it in the locker, they would hurt our families. It would just be a small explosion to open the cargo hold and….”

Arnav (screaming): “Cargo? For what? Drugs? Gold? Or worse?”

Priya: “They didn’t tell us! It’s just… it shouldn’t go below 8,000 meters.”

Arnav took the brown package in his palm. It was cold and heavy. He saw that the red wire was connected to a small, simple circuit board.

“Look,” Arnav said, “this dial is a simple barometer. It measures the outside air pressure. As the air pressure increases (meaning the altitude decreases), the needle moves toward the 8,000-meter mark. When it reaches that mark, it completes the circuit and explodes.”

Arnav looked around. He needed what every engineer treasures: tools.

“Mira, I need something: small, thin things—like paperclips, a hard plastic card. And most importantly—I need rubber. As much rubber as possible!”

Mira and Priya, despite their fear, immediately sprang into action.

Mira brought a small plastic scissors handle from the first-aid kit.

Priya took off her watch strap; it was a mixture of soft leather and rubber.

Arnav positioned himself on an empty seat, using his engineer’s wits.

Phase One: Buying Time

“We have to fool this barometer,” Arnav said. “We have to make it think we’re still at cruising altitude, no matter what altitude the captain flies at.”

They cut pieces of leather and rubber with scissors. They tried gluing these pieces around the circuit board, preventing air pressure from seeping in—it was a temporary, imperfect seal. They put the brown packet in a thick plastic bag and sealed it.

“This won’t work!” Arnav despaired. “The pressure is still leaking out. This plastic is only buying time for a few minutes!”

Phase Two: Mechanical Intervention

The needle on the dial was rapidly approaching 8,700 meters, as the plane still hadn’t fully stabilized. Arnav knew they had to stop the mechanical force that was pushing the needle down.

He tore off a small, thin piece of plastic card. Slowly, with utmost care, he slipped the piece of plastic under the needle.

“Mira, keep your eyes here,” Arnav’s voice was now calm and focused. “If the needle goes below 8,500 meters, let me know. I’m stopping it manually.”

This was a dangerous maneuver. A little too much force, and the needle could break, instantly shutting off the circuit—or, the plastic piece could dislodge. With every jolt in the plane, Arnav’s hand would shake, and the frightened screams of the passengers would make him uneasy.

Arnav knew he couldn’t sit like this for 90 minutes.

The Ground Team: The Horrible Truth

The ground crew at Mumbai airport were now fully awake. The Nordica protocol was a dire warning. He immediately woke up the CEO of Novia Air and set up an Emergency Situation Room.

Pratap Bose, the security chief, shouted: “We need a secured corridor for 9C247. All flights between Delhi and Mumbai should be routed to fly above 8,500 meters. If they go below 8,000 meters, then….”

A young air traffic controller (ATC) gasped and handed over a note. “Sir, we have received information about Novia Air’s cargo manifest. Flight 9C247 was carrying some electronic components from Lahore to Kolkata. Those components… they belonged to a government lab for DRDO.”

Pratap Bose’s eyes widened. DRDO (Defense Research and Development Organization)?

A security analyst shouted, announcing: “We’ve received an anonymous threatening email from Pakistani intelligence! They used the code 9C247! They said that if we don’t release three Pakistani terrorists we captured in Kashmir, a ‘pressure-sensitive data wipe’ device in the cargo hold will be activated, causing….”

Pratap Bose immediately interrupted. “Data wipe? What nonsense!”

The analyst said in a horrified voice: “No, sir. This isn’t a data wipe. It’s a codename for aviation security. The real name is… it’s an electromagnetic pulse (EMP) generator.”

The hall fell silent.

EMP (electromagnetic pulse). This wasn’t an ordinary bomb. It was a device that, when activated, would burn to ashes all nearby electronic and electrical systems.

Pratap Bose clutched his head. “If that thing activates on the plane… it will instantly knock out all of the plane’s navigation, communication, and engine control systems. It will turn into an iron coffin at an altitude of 10,000 meters! And even if we survive, it will activate over Mumbai, knocking out the electronic grids of the airport and millions of people around it.”

On the ground, they had no choice but to wait for this terrifying hijacking—they just had to wait.

The Final Attempt: Breaking the Circuit

At 9C247, Arnav’s wrist was starting to ache. He had been holding the needle with his hand for about 30 minutes. The plane was now approaching Delhi, and Captain Vijay’s voice came from the cockpit: “Passengers are informed that we will soon enter Delhi airspace. We must prepare for a safe landing. The crew must follow the co-pilot’s instructions.”

It was a clear message: we were about to descend.

Arnav’s eyes widened in panic. The plastic card wouldn’t work anymore. As the plane descended from 8,500 meters to 8,000 meters, the pressure would increase, and nothing would stop the needle.

“Meera, Priya! I need foil! As much aluminum foil as I can get!”

Meera quickly ran to the galley and gathered all the foil from the remaining food trays.

Arnav took a deep breath. “If I cut this circuit, it might stop working. But if the wire is connected incorrectly… it could explode as soon as it’s cut.”

It was a 50-50 bet. As an engineer, he knew the danger of short circuits.

Priya folded her hands in prayer. “Arnav sir… I trust us.”

Arnav wrapped his hands in foil—it was a rudimentary Faraday cage, capable of momentarily absorbing any EMP shock, if it were to activate. He also covered himself under a small sheet.

The plastic handle of the scissors still worked. Arnav noticed two small, brown wires on the side of the package. He knew one wire would be positive, and the other negative. If he cut them both at once, a spark might occur.

Using the pointed end of plastic scissors, he carefully cut the negative wire first.

Nothing happened.

The needle on the dial was still slowly moving toward 8,400 meters.

Now it was the turn of the positive wire. With his hands wrapped in foil, Arnav pressed that last wire with the pointed edge of the scissors.

There was a loud ‘click’ sound.

A brief jolt of electricity was felt throughout the cabin for a moment. The red light went out. The needle stopped.

It was a momentary failure, not a complete failure. Arnav felt as if someone had squeezed his heart.

Suddenly, Meera yelled: “Sir! It’s back on! Green light!”

A small, new green light was now shining on the brown packet, blinking rapidly.

Arnav looked at the dial nervously. “No! They installed a backup circuit! The green light means it’s getting ready to ignite! We have a minute, maybe less!”

Arnav Singh threw the scissors in his hand. Now he needed to destroy the device, not break the circuit.

Arnav screamed: “Priya! A blanket! And Meera, an empty drink can!”

Priya threw a blanket over him. Meera brought an aluminum can.

Arnav closed his eyes. “If it’s an EMP, we have to dissipate it with water. And we have to absorb its power.”

Arnav used his last bit of engineering wisdom. He wrapped the blanket around his hand, and with all his strength, stuffed the brown packet inside the aluminum can.

Then, he wrapped the can tightly in a blanket and placed it inside the empty seat, creating an improvised safety zone.

At that very moment, a deafening, booming sound reverberated through the plane—but it wasn’t an explosion, but rather a rapid electrical ignition.

A bright blue light emerged from within the blanket, which immediately went out.

The entire cabin shook again with a jolt. The sky outside plunged into complete darkness as all the plane’s exterior lights went out near Delhi.

The EMP had been activated.

Arnav woke up from under the blanket. His ears were ringing. He knew they hadn’t prevented the device from activating, but had merely limited its energy.

The Final Landing

In the cockpit, Captain Vijay and co-pilot Akash felt a series of shocks simultaneously.

“System failure!” Captain Vijay yelled. “All our screens are off! The altimeter is off! The fuel indicator is off! Communications are out!”

The plane had turned into a floating glider, completely dependent on manual control.

Akash immediately tried to contact Air Traffic Control (ATC), but received no response.

“Sir, our altitude is unknown! We must switch to Final Visual Approach! We are below 8,000 meters!”

Outside, the night lights of Delhi were clearly visible. Captain Vijay put his 30 years of experience to work.

“Okay, Akash! On the visual gauge! I can see the runway lights! Check the engines!”

Akash checked the engines. Fortunately, the engine controls and throttle levers were still mechanically connected, protecting them from the EMP shock.

“The engines are running, sir! But we are completely out of navigation!”

Captain Vijay said firmly. “Passengers, you’re still alive because of that brave man and those air hostesses. Now, do your job!”

Using all his strength, he began manually bringing the heavy plane down, without any electronic assistance.

Flight 9C247, after nearly 90 minutes of terror, touched down on the runway at Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International Airport. It was a rough landing, but the plane held on.

When the doors opened, Pratap Bose and the security team immediately rushed inside.

Arnav Singh handed the blanket and aluminum can to the security team. The brown packet had burned, but the EMP shock was limited to the plane’s electronic systems.

Mira and Priya were tearfully embraced, thanking them for their courage and use of the Nordica protocol.

Pratap Bose placed a hand on Arnav’s shoulder. “Mr. Arnav Singh… you not only saved 162 people. You also saved Delhi from a major electronic blackout and a national disaster.”

The Conclusion

It was later discovered that the device was actually a pressure-triggered EMP generator, secretly placed in the cargo hold. The device’s purpose: to force the flight to descend below 8,000 meters. If it had activated, it would have destroyed all the plane’s control systems, causing it to crash, and with it, a massive EMP shock would have knocked out all communications and radar in Delhi’s airspace.

Arnav’s immediate recognition, and Mira and Priya’s courageous cooperation, averted that catastrophe. They used their engineering acumen—not to cut the circuit, but to limit the energy.

Flight 9C247 will forever be etched as a terrifying chapter in Novia Air’s history, one that three heroes—an engineer and two air hostesses—survived at the risk of their lives.