They came from different parts of Canada, followed different paths into aviation, and met in the cockpit on what should have been just another routine flight. By the end of that night, what passengers would later say about them carried more weight than any formal tribute.

The Air Canada Express CRJ-900 that collided with a fire truck at LaGuardia Airport late Sunday had two pilots onboard. Both lost their lives when the aircraft struck a Port Authority vehicle on the runway. They were the only fatalities in a crash that sent dozens to the hospital and left an entire airport in shock.

In the days that followed, more became known about who they were — not just their roles, but their journeys.

The captain, Antoine Forest, came from Coteau-du-Lac, a small town in Quebec. His path into aviation wasn’t immediate or easy. He started by flying bush planes and training as an aircraft maintenance engineer, working his way through different roles before eventually becoming a captain. Over time, he built experience step by step, moving through companies and positions until he reached the cockpit of a commercial jet.

Outside of flying, his life appeared just as full. Photos and posts showed someone who embraced the outdoors — hiking, climbing, sailing — someone who didn’t separate work from passion, but lived fully in both.

He was 29.

Beside him sat first officer Mackenzie Gunther, at the beginning of his own aviation career. He had graduated just a few years earlier with a degree in aviation technology and entered the industry through a structured training pathway. Before that, his background was grounded in practical work — ramp operations, seasonal labor — the kind of steady progression that often goes unseen behind professional titles.

For him, this flight was part of what was still a new chapter.

His school lowered flags in his honor. His loss felt deeply within a community that had watched him work toward this moment.

What happened in the final moments of that flight has been pieced together through passenger accounts and air traffic control audio — fragments that, together, form a timeline that is both precise and unsettling.

Passengers described the moment of impact in simple, raw terms. A jolt. A loud bang. The feeling of the plane sliding unexpectedly. At first, confusion. Then fear.

One account, shared after the incident, stood out. A passenger recalled hearing that the pilots may have attempted reverse thrust in the final seconds — an instinctive action that could have reduced the force of the collision. Whether confirmed or not, the belief itself speaks to how those onboard understood what happened.

In their eyes, the pilots were not just part of the event.

They were the reason more lives were not lost.

The audio recordings from the ground add another layer.

What begins as a routine exchange quickly shifts into something more urgent. A separate aircraft had declared an emergency due to an odor in the cabin. Crews were trying to find a gate. Space was limited. Communication became more complex. Plans were being adjusted in real time.

Emergency vehicles were dispatched.

Discussions moved quickly — where to park, whether to evacuate, how to manage the situation without a gate available. At one point, a suggestion was made to bring stairs to the aircraft in case passengers needed to exit on the tarmac. The crew, however, appeared to prefer waiting for a proper gate, even as time pressure increased.

Then, in the recording, the tone changes.

Instructions remain calm, but there is a subtle shift — more urgency, more coordination, more moving parts. At one moment, a vehicle is addressed directly:

“Truck 1.”

Seconds later:

“Truck 1, stop.”

What follows is not clearly heard.

Then the rhythm breaks.

When the audio resumes, the language is different. Shorter. Heavier.

“There’s an incident on the field.”

“Yeah, we saw it.”

From that point on, operations slow, then stop entirely. Aircraft are held in place. Movements are suspended. Controllers begin managing not just traffic, but the aftermath.

One exchange, near the end of the recording, carries a weight that lingers longer than any technical detail.

“I messed up,” one voice says quietly.

The response comes almost immediately.

“No man, you did the best you could.”

It’s a simple sentence, but it captures something difficult to measure — the human reality behind systems that are designed to function with precision.

On the ground, the scene reflected that shift from control to crisis.

The fire truck was visibly damaged, pressed against the front of the aircraft. Emergency responders surrounded the area. The airport shut down. Flights were grounded. Passengers were left waiting, confused, searching for information.

Some had been just minutes away from takeoff. Others had already boarded, only to be told to deplane hours later. For many, the scale of what had happened only became clear through news updates and scattered reports.

One traveler described sitting on a plane that attempted to depart twice before stopping abruptly both times. After hours of waiting, passengers were asked to leave the aircraft, told there was an issue — possibly an odor — though the full truth wasn’t immediately known.

By the time she reached the terminal, the airport was filled with emergency vehicles.

“It’s scary,” she said later. “You never know if it could have been one of us.”

That sentiment echoed across the terminal and beyond.

Because what the recordings, reports, and timelines show is not just how the incident happened, but how quickly a controlled environment can shift into something else entirely.

A routine landing.

An unrelated emergency.

A series of decisions made under pressure.

A final warning.

And then, impact.

In the end, the details will continue to be examined — by investigators, by officials, by experts. But for those who were there, and for those now learning about the two men in the cockpit, the story carries something more immediate.

Two pilots who took different paths to get there.

A moment where everything changed.

And a belief, shared by those who walked away, that in those final seconds, someone was still trying to protect them.