Flight of Aeroflot 03

Among the passengers on the Aeroflot Ilyushin-62 jetliner that inaugurated U.S.-Soviet air service last week was TIME Correspondent Jerry Hannifin. Here is his report:

Aeroflot teams had worked on the 122-passenger plane for three weeks. A select crew was picked, including Pilot Boris Egorov, 48, a veteran who holds the rank of Meritorious Flyer of the U.S.S.R. There were also four of the prettiest--all things being relative--stewardesses in Aeroflot's big (248,000 route miles) system. The stewardesses' first names were Maya, Gay, Lena and Natasha.

The flight began at Moscow's modern Sheremetyevo International Airport, where Aeroflot Official Aleksandr Besedin briefly spoke of a "new era" for the 46-year-old state airline, which has round-the-world aspirations. Then followed a wonderful Cossack sort of rush for the shining blue and white Ilyushin transport. Pilot Egorov had finished his session in Aeroflot's "prophylaxis" office, where, as all Aeroflot flyers must before every flight, he had taken a brief medical and psychiatric examination, and was making a walk-around inspection of the big aircraft. The 97 passengers crowded up the ramp, where their tickets were carefully scrutinized first by a stewardess, then by a Soviet border guard--who, for some mysterious reason, turned three people back.

Caviar, Tea or Vodka? At 10:55 a.m. Moscow time, Egorov fired up his four rear-mounted engines. Less than 20 minutes later we were airborne, cruising at 34,000 ft., doing 560 m.p.h. The tourist section, frankly, turned out to be roomier and more comfortable than tourist in most European and some American airlines. The six-across foamrubber seats had arms that lifted to provide a little extra room; pulling down the translucent smoked-plastic window shades was like putting on dark glasses. Soon after takeoff, the stewardesses came down with refreshments--tea from a family-sized aluminum pot, fruit juices, mineral water and, of course, vodka. Because it was an inaugural flight, there were quantities of red and black caviar, commemorative bronze medallions and favors--Dior's Diorissimo for the ladies, Eau Sauvage for the men.

There were, to be sure, a few oversights. Somebody forgot to put life jackets in the neatly stenciled "life jeiket" containers under each seat. Other regulations were stretched in the happy excitement. As the plane whizzed toward Greenland, some passengers were invited up to the roomy cockpit, which looked familiar except for the Cyrillic script on the dials, and allowed to take pictures (which is forbidden over Russia proper).

Somehow, Some Way. After 11 hrs. and 40 min., including a stop at Montreal, a stewardess announced that we had arrived over New York on time, and everyone buckled up for landing. Over the cockpit radio, however, Kennedy control was explaining that there were serious traffic delays (because of the tower workers' slowdown). Pilot Egorov also was told that his flight could be given priority for an almost immediate landing. He politely declined, radioing that "Aeroflot Zero Three will go in turn like the rest." In that case, said control, our plane's turn would come in two hours.

We waited an hour and 35 minutes while Egorov made precise turns in the bright sky until finally somehow, some way, somebody down there mercifully did something to get us out of the jam. Landing orders crackled over the radio. Heaving at the controls--Soviet planes have no power boost--Egorov swung out of the holding pattern, popped his dive brakes, flattened out and bored straight for J.F.K. We flat-hatted over Long Island, made a sharp turn to a little-used runway and touched down at about 220 m.p.h.--much faster than the Boeing 707's 175-m.p.h. landing speed--and as smooth as butter.

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