we don’t have time for that. And I know where the wind’s blowing from. Trust me?”
He thought she was amazingly calm and promised himself he’d try to control the anxiety in his voice from now on.
“Trust a girl? I’d have to think about that-if I had the time.”
“Ready?”
“Let’s do it.”
The moment he heard the words come out of his mouth, a strange calmness settled over him. The rocking of the aircraft, the uncertain picture through the windscreen-none of it mattered. He was going in for a landing, and when something this big stared you in the face, when there was absolutely no choice left, you faced it with as much calm as you could. Like a man about to be executed.
Kallie’s voice sounded gentle but firm, as if she was holding his hand. “You’re nicely established on the downwind, keep it going until I ask you to turn to the left. OK, time to do a couple of prelanding checks. Don’t waste time responding unless you can’t do any of them.”
She didn’t need to ask him to check that the fuel selector was on the Both tanks setting. It was now or never.
“Check the mixture is on Rich.” She paused, giving him time. “Check the magnetos are on the Both mark.” She could see his head dipping as his fingers traced her instructions. “OK, Max. Good. You’re doing really well. Now, reduce your power to a steady ninety knots.” She had already cut back her own speed and watched as Max’s plane slowed. The boy was getting it right. He was listening and doing what was being asked of him. Maybe they were in with a chance after all. “Max, find the lever and lower the flaps to ten degrees.”
The trailing edge of the wing showed the gap when the flaps lowered.
“How you doing, Max? Have you done everything?”
“Yeah. Everything. All the checks.”
“Here we go. We’re going to make a crosswind turn ninety degrees to the runway.”
Max followed her, and the runway lay to his left. Now he could see everything. The strip was flanked by a couple of buildings: one of them looked like a workshop area, the other was just a tin-roofed shack. There were men standing at the door, one of them wearing a lurid yellow T-shirt and red baseball cap.
In the center of the field a civilian jet was parked next to a smaller plane with twin propellers. Near the white-painted jet half a dozen men, bare-headed and dressed in black, were gazing up at him. Everyone was looking up at him. He was the center of attention. All eyes on him. He hoped he wouldn’t make a mess of it. He’d never live it down.
If he lived.
Outside the bar, Tobias’s can of beer hovered between his chin and his lips. Van Reenen chewed an unlit cigarette and Mike Kapuo’s unblinking eyes were locked on to the two aircraft, now only a few hundred meters away. The one below the other seemed to be wobbling.
“The landing gear on those Cessnas is made from spring steel,” van Reenen said, to no one in particular.
Kapuo and Tobias dared a glance away from the unfolding drama.
“What does that mean?” Tobias asked.
“Anything other than just about a perfect touchdown, and he’ll be bouncing from here to kingdom come,” he said. “That might just finish off that kid with a fractured skull. And he’s too low. I hope she can see it. Come on, Kallie, tell him. Tell him,” he muttered to himself.
Pilots talk in feet, Max thought in meters, but his eyes told him he needed to be higher. Should he pull up? The wind was being difficult, a rush across the ground, a swirl at rooftop height. Whatever happened, Max did not have the skill to start side-slipping the plane. He had to come in dead straight.
“You’re getting a little low, Max, apply a touch more power. Keep her level, a little more power, come on.”
That was how you did it. Don’t pull up, just “a touch more power.” That was it.
Max didn’t take his eyes away from the ground as he reached out, pushed the throttle in, heard the engine pick up and then her voice telling him that was better, and that he could slowly reduce power again.
Couldn’t she make her mind up?
“You’re about thirty feet off the ground, Max. Twenty-five. Remember after touchdown to keep the plane straight.
Use your rudder, do
Her voice was now a continuous assurance. Calm, even, steady. Almost tender. “Ten feet above the runway, start reducing power and be sure not to let the nose drop.”
Max couldn’t see the runway anymore, it had slipped below the propeller, and it felt as though the plane was sitting back on her tail. The bloody wind snatched at him.
“Keep it straight! Don’t drop that wing. You are just about to touch down.”
The hum of tires on concrete vibrated through his seat.
“Great, you’re down, keep it straight and close the throttle completely!”
He pulled the lever all the way out. The propeller began to slow.
“Your tail wheel is on the ground, you can apply brakes gently. Well done! Raise the flaps and taxi in. Looks like you’ve got a welcoming committee.”
Max saw Kallie’s plane soar upwards to come around again and make her own landing. Mother Earth. Solid, unyielding. Welcome home, everybody.
The engine died, the last gasp of fuel spluttering, and then silence. For a moment he couldn’t move, but then he saw the men running from the jet; they were dressed in assault gear. Then someone yanked open the door and eager hands reached in for him.
“All right, son, bit of a blinder, eh? Good one.”
A cockney accent. What was its owner doing here? He didn’t have time to figure it out.
“My mate’s in there-” Max began.
Another man. Scottish. “Aye, don’t you worry about him, we know he’s hurt.”
The men passed him from one to the other down the line, until he stood clear of the plane and watched as one of them clambered in and began easing!Koga out.
Someone familiar looking was walking towards him. Max stared. It couldn’t be. Mr. Peterson!
“No!” Max yelled, turning back to the soldiers who had put!Koga on to a folding stretcher. He hadn’t gone through all of this to fall into Peterson’s hands.
One of the men grabbed him, not roughly but with enough strength so that Max knew he couldn’t compete with him. Everything seemed to give way inside him. He’d lost. Max almost cracked up.
It made no sense.
Kallie’s plane landed and stopped in a very short distance; Mr. Peterson was standing in front of him, a big smile on his face, and the men in black were carrying!Koga to the twin-engined plane, where a man with a wild beard sat in the cockpit, shouting for them to hurry.
The world had finally gone mad.
Max went down on his knees.
He saw Mr. Peterson frown, saw his mouth shaping his name.
And couldn’t stop himself falling into blackness.
25
Something moved in the darkness.
He was sitting cross-legged, as if he were a small boy in school assembly, except that there was no one else
