that he had returned across the border to Israel.
David skimmed over the ridge of broken rocks, sucking in his own belly
as though to lift the Mirage bodily over the hungry teeth of granite,
and ahead of him lay the fields. He could see women working in one of
the orchards, stopping and turning to look at him. So close that he
could clearly see the expressions of surprise and apprehension on their
faces.
There was a man on a blue tractor and he jumped out from his seat and
fell to the earth as David passed only feet above his head.
All fuel cocks closed, all switches off, master switch off, David went
into the final ritual for crash-landing.
Ahead of him lay the smooth brown field, open and clear. He might just
be lucky enough, it might just come Off.
The Mirage was losing flying speed, her nose coming up, the airspeed
needle sinking back, 200 miles per hour, 190, 180, dropping back to her
stalling speed of 150.
Then suddenly David realized that the field ahead of him was latticed
with deep concrete irrigation channels.
They were twenty feet wide, and ten deep, a deadly hazard, enough to
destroy a Centurion tank.
There was nothing David could do now to avoid their gaping jaws. He
flew the mirage in, touching down smoothly.
Smooth as a tomcat pissing on a sheet of velvet, he thought bitterly,
aware that all his skill was unavailing now. Even Barney would have
been proud of me. The field was rough, but the Mirage settled to it,
pitching and lurkin& shaking David ruthlessly about the cockpit, but she
was up on all three wheels, losing speed handily, her undercart taking
the strain. However, she was still travelling at ninety miles an hour
when she went into the irrigation ditch.
it snapped her undercart off like pretzel sticks and she nosed in,
struck the far bank of concrete that sheered through metal like a
scythe, and sent the fuselage cartwheeling across the field with David
still strapped within it. The wings broke away and the body slid on
across the soft earth to come to rest at last, right way up like a
stranded whale.
The whole of David's left side was numb, no feeling in his arm or lethe
straps had mauled him with their rude grasp, and he was stunned and
bewildered in the sudden engrossing silence.
For many seconds he sat still, unable to move or think. Then he smelled
it, the pervasive reek of Avtur jet fuel from the ruptured tanks and
lines. The smell of it galvanized him with the pilot's deadly fear of
fire.
With his right hand he grabbed the canopy release lever and heaved at
it. He wasted ten precious seconds with it, for it was jammed solid.
Then he turned his attention to the steel canopy breaker in its niche
below the lever. This was a tool specially designed for this type of
emergency. He lifted it, lay back in his seat and attacked the Perspex
dome above his head. The stink of jet fuel was overpowering, filling
the cockpit, and he could hear the little pinging and tinkling sound
