“Then sit down in that seat and help me or we may not make it very far,” he told her.
The nun watched Hanley try reading the fuel and oil pressure gauges. He said, “I’m looking for signs the plane had been hit by the gunfire, but I’m having trouble focusing.” He tried turning to look at the left engine, but he grimaced and stopped turning. “Look for smoke coming from the engines, will you?” he asked.
Sister Marie Claire looked at the right engine and saw nothing out of the ordinary. She climbed from her seat and peered out the left window, her hand braced against the top of the instrument panel, her body pressed against the American’s. He moaned from the pressure. “There is a small line of smoke, a wisp, coming from the engine, from the side I can’t see,” she told him.
After she moved back to the seat, she again saw Hanley leaning close to the instrument panel. She saw him close his eyes and open them, wait a second, then squint, trying again to see the gauges.
“I still can’t see them clearly,” he told her. She watched him struggle, tears welling in her eyes, seeing him blink rapidly, clearing his vision. “I can see it. Shit, we’re losing pressure,” he said from between gritted teeth.
“I think our heading is correct and our altitude was near two thousand feet, which is good enough,” Hanley said, “but I’m worried less about the plane’s stability and more about flying on one engine. I’ve never had to do that. The Beech can do it, but it changes everything and I’m not certain I could manage the changes. I don’t think I can last much longer and keep you and the children safe.”
“Here, let me look at you.” The nun pulled at Hanley’s shirt as he shifted to his right to give her more room to maneuver. She tugged until the shirttail came out of his pants. Just below his ribs was a small hole with blood seeping from it. Pushing his shoulder forward, she saw a slightly larger hole in the middle of his back near his spine. Blood was also leaking from the exit wound, but faster, his lower back a smear of red. Turning, she went to the cargo hold where she retrieved some cotton, gauze and antiseptic cream. Back in the cockpit, she wiped the areas as best she could, smeared on antiseptic and stuffed cotton, covered in the cream, into the wounds. Hanley grunted hard when she did, but stayed awake. “That is all I can do for now,” she declared.
***
The pain was overtaking him and he had to concentrate. Hanley was scared, hopelessly scared, death-row inmate scared, he thought. He wanted to see Elizabeth again, to hold his granddaughter, to have a drink with Rocky.
“You’ve jumped off the fucking building,” he said to himself. The pain in his back was turning to numbness in his hips and legs. He could still move them, but for how long?
They’d been in the air for twenty minutes. He was running close to one-hundred-and ninety-five miles per hour airspeed, the limit for flying without excessive vibration. With the engine damage and the children, Hanley didn’t want to risk any additional speed. They were approximately seventy miles southwest of Kosti. That left roughly four-hundred-and-thirty-five miles to the airstrip near Mapuordit. He knew he wouldn’t make it. He would have to put the plane down somewhere. The trick would be in judging his own condition and he knew that was a big risk.
“Listen, this won’t work for much longer. We need to get to a place where I can land and you can get help. I want to fly for as long as I can, but I’m afraid I won’t be the best judge of how long that will be. You have to help me. We need to identify a place near a town or village where we can land. You’ll have to help me think of where, watch my condition and then help me land. Not asking a lot, is it?” Hanley wanted to smile, but couldn’t. He coughed and the pain made him twist and sit up straight, then coughed again. The nun caught him under his right arm to support him.
Suddenly, Hanley’s vision cleared a bit and the pain subsided. Shaking his head, he checked his gauges and saw the oil pressure in the left engine was still falling, but slowly. He said, “For some reason I’m feeling a bit better.” He looked at the nun, seeing her clearly for the first time since leaving Kosti. Her face was drawn and white. She looked grief-stricken. He said, “This was not your fault. When I looked at the soldiers, I didn’t see any of them shooting at the plane. I saw the blast from one of the big buildings on our right, but I couldn’t see who was firing. I don’t think it was the soldiers. Maybe it was a security guard-who knows.”
As he said this, she began to weep uncontrollably, burying her face in her arm against the plane’s window. “For the rest of my life, I will be haunted by this day. I will never forgive myself for Jumma,” she said.
Hanley said, “I knew what I was getting myself into, but Jumma, Jumma was a mistake. I should have insisted that Jumma stay behind. You were too close to the deal. I should have intervened.” He shifted in his seat and his right foot began to go numb. He tried to move his toes, but couldn’t tell if they moved or not. “It was bad luck, that’s all,” he said. “Stupid, never fair, wish it hadn’t happened bad luck. Whoever fired that gun could have been in the bathroom when we landed, heard the plane, ran out and started shooting.”
He saw her wipe her eyes with her skirt. “I need to take your pulse,” she said. Taking his wrist, she felt for his pulse and
