“Eighty-two miles, Colonel.” “Brick, get me the tower.”
A moment’s silence, then, “Tower on freak four, ma’am.”
“Misawa tower here. Report your—”
“ABL-1,” she interrupted. “We’re on final. One engine out and left main gear won’t deploy.”
Karen could hear voices chattering in the background. She remembered the old story about a pilot telling the control tower that his engine was dead and his controls weren’t responding. “What should I do?” the panicked flier asked. And the control tower calmly responded, “Repeat after me: ‘The Lord is my shepherd…’ ”
At last, the voice from the control tower replied coolly, “Abort your final approach and orbit the field until you’ve burned off your fuel.”
“Can’t do it!” Christopher snapped. “We’re damaged. I don’t know how long this bird’ll hold together. I’m going to dump our fuel.”
“Negative. Environmental regulations forbid—”
“Screw the environmental regs! We’re shot up and bouncing around up here like a kid on a trampoline. I’m dumping our fuel and coming in!”
Colonel Christopher clicked off the connection with Misawa and turned to Kaufman. “Open ‘em up, Obie.”
With a grim smile, Kaufman reached for the fuel tank controls. “What about the stuff for the laser? They got anything left in their tanks?”
Harry had decided to let Monk out of the lavatory. The big engineer, his face somewhere between surly and sheepish, sat in the bucket seat next to Wally Rosenberg.
“Strap in good,” Harry said tightly. “It’s going to be a rough landing.”
“Like it ain’t rough already,” Delany muttered.
It was getting even rougher, Harry thought. It was difficult to click his safety harness shut, the plane was stuttering around so badly.
“Hartunian!” The overhead intercom speaker cracked like a rifle shot. “Blow out the fuel in your tanks. Pronto!” Colonel Christopher’s voice.
Harry stared at the speaker grill above him. Then he turned to Wally Rosenberg. “You heard the lady,” he said, unclicking his harness. “Let’s get it done.”
Rosenberg reluctantly got to his feet.
“I’ll go,
“Stay here,” Harry said. “Wally and I can do it.”
The plane lurched so badly that Harry jolted into little Taki Nakamura’s lap. Rosenberg banged against the bulkhead.
“Oof!” said Takamura. “Watch it.”
“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. Getting to his feet, he grabbed for Rosenberg’s arm. “C’mon, Wally. Pronto, the lady said.”
Rubbing his shoulder, Rosenberg grumbled, “Of all the gin joints in all the towns—”
“Never mind the wisecracks,” Harry said. “Let’s get the job done.”
“Fuel’s all dumped, Colonel.” Hartunian’s voice sounded over the intercom.
“Get back in your seat and strap in tight,” said Colonel Christopher. “We’re going in. It’s going to be rough.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Karen Christopher was as scared as she’d ever been in her life, but once again she felt an icy calm engulfing her. It was as if she were somewhere else, somewhere in an ethereal world, watching this slim woman who looked just like her wrestling with the controls of the massive jumbo jet.
ABL-1 was shaking badly now. From somewhere in the plane’s innards something was banging, like a wild beast trying to get out of its cage. Hold together, baby, Karen cooed silently to the huge airplane. Just a few more minutes. I know you’re hurt, but just hang together for a little bit longer. Just a little bit—
As they broke through the bottom of the clouds she could see the runway lights strung out straight and beautiful like a guiding arrow leading her to safety, glistening wet with rain.
“The runway!” Kaufman shouted.
We’re on the nose, Karen saw. Got to thank Jon for getting us through the soup and lined up exactly right. Now comes the tough part, the real test. She remembered the old adage: Flying is the second most exciting thing a person can do. Landing is the first.
“Full flaps,” Kaufman said. “Speed on the button.”
Nothing in the fuel tanks but fumes, she knew. If we break up on the runway we won’t burst into flames. Not a big fire, anyway. Maybe some, but not so much we won’t be able to get out. We’ll be okay if I can get her on the ground without tearing her apart.
Gently, gently, Karen eased the big plane onto the runway, kissing the concrete with the right main gear so smoothly that for an instant she wasn’t certain the wheels had actually touched the ground. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a long line of fire trucks standing by along the edge of the runway. And two ambulances. They don’t expect to pull many of us out, she thought.
Bring the nose down, she told herself. Kaufman was babbling something, but she paid no attention to her copilot. The plane was rolling along the runway now on its nose and right main gear. Losing speed. No thrust reversing, Karen told herself. Not enough fuel left for that.
She pressed on the brakes and the plane slowed with a screeching, squalling shriek. And the battered left wing dipped toward the ground.
“Hang on!”
The wingtip caught the concrete and the outboard engine nacelle smashed into the ground in the next instant. Christopher felt herself lurch painfully against her harness straps, her head thrown forward and then snapped back against the seat back with a thump. The plane was grinding against the concrete, slewing to the left, tilted at a crazy angle. The cockpit was shaking, bouncing, slamming her sideways, back and forth with a roaring, tearing, groaning noise like a monster truck being smashed and squashed by car crushers.
And then it stopped. The cockpit filled with gritty, dusty fumes as Christopher sat there, totally wiped out, too weak to lift her arms.
But only for a moment. “Hartunian!” she yelled at the intercom microphone. “You okay?”
“No broken bones… I think.”
“You and your people go out the forward hatch with us.”
“Yes, ma’am!” came the heartfelt reply. Kaufman was already getting out of his chair. Karen heard the wail of sirens approaching.
Kaufman reached over and helped her to her feet. “Helluva landing, lady. Helluva landing.”
“Thanks,” she said, feeling weak in her knees. “Now let’s get out of here before something blows up.”
“So you’ve never been married?” asked Zuri Coggins Sitting across the narrow table from her, Michael Jamil shook his head as he swallowed a mouthful of well-done hamburger, loaded with ketchup.
“No,” he said at last, reaching for a paper napkin from the dispenser at the end of the table, where it abutted the wall. “My parents picked out a wife for me when I was in undergrad school, but by the time I graduated she had gone off to school herself and she met a guy there and married him instead.”
Coggins watched him dab self-consciously at his lips. The diner was almost empty this late at night; only one other couple in the booths, and one policeman sitting at the counter, munching a doughnut.
“No serious relationships since then?” she probed.
He smiled self-deprecatingly. “I didn’t have a serious relationship then, Zuri. You didn’t go to bed with your fiancee. Not in my neighborhood. Wasn’t done.”
“But since…?”
He started to look uncomfortable. But he replied, “I’ve had a few girlfriends. Nothing serious.” He hesitated,
