read the messages again, drawing steadily on his pipe. A young man backed into the room, holding the door open with his leg as he maneuvered a tray bearing cardboard cartons of coffee. He handed a carton to the controller and set another down in front of Treleaven. The pilot ignored it.
“…ETA is 05.05 Pacific Time,” Burdick was saying with increasing exasperation. “I’ve a lot to do, sir… I’ll have to get on with it… I’ll call you… I’ll call you as soon as I know anything more… Yes, yes… G’bye.” Putting down the telephone, he blew out his cheeks with relief. Turning to Treleaven, he said, “Thank you very much for coming, Captain. Have you got it all?”
Treleaven held up the clipboard. “This is the whole story?”
“That’s everything we know. Now I want you to get on the horn and talk this guy down. You’ll have to let him get the feel of the airplane on the way, you’ll have to give him the landing check, you’ll have to talk him on to the approach, and — so help me! — you’ll have to talk him right down on to the ground. Can you do it?”
“I can’t perform a miracle,” said Treleaven evenly. “You know that the chances of a man who has only flown fighter airplanes landing a four-engine passenger ship are pretty slim, to say the least?”
“Of course I know it!” Burdick exploded. “You heard what I told Barnard. But do
“No,” Treleaven said slowly, “I guess not. I just wanted to be sure you knew what we were getting into.”
“Listen,” shouted Burdick angrily. “There’s a ship full of people up there, some of them dying, including the pilots. The biggest air disaster in years, that’s what we’re getting into!”
“Keep your temper,” said Treleaven coldly. “We’ll get nowhere fast by shouting.” He glanced down at the clipboard and then at the wall map. “This is going to be very tough and a very long shot,” he said. “I want that fully understood.”
“All right, gentlemen,” said the controller. “You are perfectly right to emphasize the risk, Captain. We fully accept that.”
“What choice is there?” Burdick demanded.
“Very well, then,” said Treleaven. “Let’s get started.” He walked over to the radio operator. “Can you work 714 direct?”
“Yes, Captain. Reception’s good. We can call them any time.”
“Do it then.”
The operator switched to transmit. “Flight 714. This is Vancouver. Do you read? Over.”
“Yes, Vancouver,” came Spencer’s voice through the amplifier. “We hear you clearly. Go ahead, please.”
The operator handed the stand microphone to Treleaven. “Okay, Captain. It’s all yours.”
“Am I on the air?”
“Go ahead now.”
Holding the stand microphone in his hand, its cable trailing to the floor, Treleaven turned his back on the other men in the room. Legs braced apart, he stared unseeingly at a point on the wall map, his cold eyes distant in concentration. His voice, when he spoke, was steady and unhurried, easy with a confidence he did not feel. As he began, the other men visibly relaxed, as if his natural authority had temporarily relieved them of a crushing responsibility.
“Hullo, Flight 714,” he said. “This is Vancouver. My name is Paul Treleaven and I’m a Cross-Canada Airlines captain. My job is to help you fly this airplane in. We shouldn’t have too much trouble. I see that I’m talking to George Spencer. I’d like to hear a little more about your flying experience, George.”
Behind him, the flabby folds of Burdick’s honest face had begun to shake in an uncontrollable spasm of nervous reaction.
SEVEN
SPENCER TENSED, shooting an involuntary glance at the girl in the seat beside him. Her eyes, in the greenish glow of the instrument panel, were fixed on his face. He looked away again, listening intently.
Treleaven was saying, “For instance, how many flying hours have you had? The message here says you’ve flown single-engine fighters. Have you had any experience at all of multi-engine planes? Let’s hear from you, George.”
Spencer’s mouth was so dry when he replied that at first he could hardly speak. He cleared his throat.
“Hullo, Vancouver. 714 here. Glad to have you along, Captain. But let’s not kid each other, please. I think we both know the situation. My flying up to now has been entirely on single-engine aircraft, Spitfires and Mustangs — I’d say about a thousand hours in all. But that was thirteen years ago. I’ve touched nothing since. Do you understand that? Over.”
“Don’t worry about that, George. It’s like riding a bicycle — you never forget it. Stand by, will you?”
In the Vancouver Control, Treleaven pressed the cutout button on the arm of the microphone in his hand and looked at a slip of paper the controller held out for him to read.
“Try to get him on this course,” said the controller. “The Air Force have just sent in a radar check.” He paused. “Sounds pretty screwed up, doesn’t he?”
“Yes — who wouldn’t be, in his shoes?” Treleaven grimaced reflectively. “We’ve got to give him confidence,” he said. “Without that there isn’t a chance. Whatever happens, he mustn’t lose his nerve. Keep it down, will you?” to the controller’s assistant who was talking on the telephone. “If this guy doesn’t hear me clearly he’ll be in trouble fast and there will be nothing we can do about it.” Then, to the dispatcher, “Okay. Make damn sure you don’t lose them on the air.” He released the cutout. “714. This is Treleaven. You are still on autopilot, right?”
“Yes, that’s so, Captain,” came the reply.
“All right, George. In a minute you can disengage the autopilot and get the feel of the controls. When you’ve had a bit of practice with them you are going to change your course a little. Listen very carefully, though, before you touch them. When you start handling the airplane the controls will seem very heavy and sluggish compared with a fighter. Don’t let that worry you. It’s quite normal. You’ve got a lot of airplane up there, so take it nice and steady. Watch your air speed all the time you are flying and don’t let it fall below 120 knots while your wheels and flaps are up, otherwise you’ll stall. I’ll repeat that. Make absolutely sure at all times that your air speed doesn’t fall below 120 knots. Now, one other thing. Do you have someone up there who can work the radio and leave you free for flying?”
“Yes, Vancouver. I have the stewardess here with me and she’ll take over the radio now. It’s all yours, Janet.”
“Hullo, Vancouver. This is the stewardess, Janet Benson. Over.”
“Why, it’s you, Janet,” said Treleaven. “I’d know that voice anywhere. You’re going to talk to George for me, are you? Good. Now Janet, I want you to keep your eyes on that air-speed indicator. Remember that an airplane stays in the air because of its forward speed. If you let the speed drop too low, it stalls — and falls out of the air. Any time the ASI shows a reading near 120, you tell George instantly. Is that clear, Janet?”
“Yes, Captain. I understand.”
“Back to you, George. Take this slowly and smoothly. I want you to unlock the autopilot — it’s clearly marked on the control column — and take the airplane yourself, holding her straight and level. George, you watch the artificial horizon and keep the air speed steady. Climb and descent indicator should stay at zero. All right. Start now.”
Spencer put his right forefinger over the autopilot release button on the control column. His face was rigid. Feet on the rudder bar and both arms ready, braced, he steeled himself for what might come.
“Tell him I’m switching over now,” he told Janet. She repeated the message. His hand wavered for a moment on the button. Then, decisively, he pressed it hard. The aircraft swung a little to port but he corrected the tendency gently and she responded well enough to his feet on the rudder bar. The vibration from the controls seemed to flow through his body like an electric current.
“Tell him okay,” he gasped, his nerves taut as cables.
“714 here. We’re flying straight and level.” Janet’s voice sounded miraculously sweet and calm to him.
