“We’re losing another engine,” she told Chris.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” It was theoretically possible to fly the plane on one power plant – but only just. Breanna had never done it outside the simulator. “I think it’s time to land,” she told Chris.
“We can eject,” he suggested.
“Crew will never make it,” she said, dismissing the idea.
“I agree.”
She had miles of dry lake bed in front of her. All she had to do was get the wheels down. “Beginning descend,” she said, trimming and preparing her flaps. “Gear?”
“I don’t know,” said Chris, pulling on the manual control without noticeable effect. “We may have jammed the backup release or something in that descent.”
The instant Fort Two dipped into its dive, Sergeant Parsons felt deja vu hit him in the chest.
It was either that or the extra helping of bacon he’d had for breakfast.
No, definitely deja vu. He’d been aboard a stinking B-36 in what? 1962 maybe? ’63? Done the same damn thing.
Engines out, tearing up to shit.
B-36, now there was an airplane. Had to be before 1963, though. Damn things were retired in the late fifties.
Parsons hooked his thumbs against his restraints and waited for the pilot to regain control. He didn’t put a lot of stock in females in the military, let alone as pilots. But Rap was different. He knew she’d get the upper hand, sooner or later.
Greasy Hands thought back to the B-36 that had taken its nosedive. If he remembered correctly, the plane had been hit by a massive bolt of lightning and a serious wind shear.
So that wasn’t much help here, because they were flying in a clear sky. Still, the lights were out on the displays in front of him, so maybe it was a working model for what was happening here. Always good to have a working model when you were chewing into a problem.
The Convair had hydraulic controls – real controls, in his opinion. But something like this had happened in one of their E-3 testers, oh, five or six years before. Freak accident – pilot lost his flight computer. he’d been on autopilot and the damn thing went psycho, taking out the fly-by-wire system somehow. Had to go to manual reversion.
No, he was thinking of the two-seat A-10. It lost its hydraulic pumps and the pilot had to muscle it in.
The E-3 did loss its fly-by-wire system. Went to the backup. Not really a big deal. Landing gear was the only problem. Had to land on foam because the gear just wouldn’t unstick. Turned out one of the idiot computers had locked the doors. Damnedest thing. Sounded like all hell was breaking loose.
Nasty sound, metal on concrete. No way he wanted to hear that again, especially up close.
They figured out later that the only real problem was the damn fuses – if they simply bypassed the blown circuit breakers, the plane would have been fine. Instead, half of his people had spent nearly a month fixing the damn thing. Hell of a waste.
The Megafortress roller-coasted upward and pushed Greasy Hands back in the seat. Wouldn’t be long now before Cap’n Rap got her even. Then he’d go play with the breakers, just in case.
Parsons waited patiently for the plane to level off. As soon as the forces pushing against his ancient frame eased, the sergeant squeezed out of his seat restraints.
“Well, now, I’d appreciate you skippin’ forward an’ telling the captain that I’ll give her electricity as soon as I can,” Greasy Hands told the staff sergeant next to him as he started up to the defensive-weapon station.
Zen had just rolled out into the hangar area when he heard the alert. He looked up and saw the black hull of a Megafortress flashing out of the sun, obliterating the huge yellow disk. He pushed his chair back half a foot, then shielded his eyes; he knew even before he saw the engines it was Breanna’s plane.
She was obviously in trouble. The large black plane stuttered in the sky, its wings jittery as it took a wide bank above the base. The wings began to shake and it pulled off to the left, hanging in the air.
He could taste metal in his mouth. Zen pushed his wheelchair backward, tilting his head to watch as the big plane flew toward the mountains in the distance. A Phantom crossed from the south. For a second it looked as if it was going to plow right into the Megafortress. Then Zen realized it was flying about five hundred feet above the big bomber.
His accident a year ago had changed everything between them. He knew she tried. But he also knew it would only be a matter of time before she realized she couldn’t be with him, couldn’t really love half a man.
Still, he didn’t want to see her hurt.
The Megafortress continued toward the far end of the range. Zen realized there were a dozen people around him now, all staring up at the plane. Somebody said that it had lost its radio. Somebody else mentioned the Army tests and rumors about problems with Fort Two’s flight-control computer and the new power plants, and then everybody was talking. And then everyone stopped talking.
Zen cringed as an F-15 appeared from the east, angling toward the Megafortress. Perspiration ran down his back as the plane veered off just short of a collision.
How damn helpless I am, he though to himself.
Greasy Hands found Rubeo sprawled on the floor, his head half inside one of the computer units. Obviously the scientist had had the same idea he had.
“Excuse me, Doc,” said the senior NCO, squatting down. “What’s up?”
Rubeo backed out from under the access panel. “I’m trying to bypass the circuit breakers and feed the flight computer off the battery,” said the scientist.
Parsons nodded. It seemed to him the scientist sounded a tad less arrogant than normal, a pleasant development.
“If you let me take a look, I believe I can bypass enough circuit breakers to get the landing gear down and some of the instruments back,” Greasy Hands told him.
“By my guest.”
The sergeant slipped in under the panel. The solid-state regulator arrays snapped into the bus. Spares were lined up in a separate section at the right. Bing-bang-boing.
“The flight-computer panel is on the far left,” said Rubeo behind him.
“Aw, we don’t want the computer, Doc,” said Greasy Hands, pullin gout one of the long, thin plastic-encased assemblies. “That’s given us enough problems as it is.”
Knife had just taken off on his second orientation flight when he saw the Megafortress jerking into a wild, uncontrolled dive. He immediately called a range emergency, trying to clear traffic as he climbed up and out of the way. Banking back as he reached five thousand feet, Knife saw the black bomber level off, in obvious distress. Neither he nor the tower controller could raise it on the base or emergency frequencies.
Following toward the end of the range from the south as another plane cleared out of the way, Knife realized Fort Two was flying on two engines, just barely hanging in the sky. Its gear was still stowed, but it gave every impression of preparing for a crash landing on the dry lake bed.
That would be a mistake. It was rapidly running out of clear ground. Even with gear, brakes, and massive amounts of reverse thrust, it would run into the massive boulders that marked the craggy start of the mountain range.
He was too far off to do anything but watch.
The controls nearly pulled out of Breanna’s hands as the plane’s forward airspeed plummeted. The landing- gear door had snapped open and the gear assemblies were trundling downward.
“Jesus,” she said. The controls panels flickered back to life with instrument readings.
“Doc gave us back some electric power,” said Chris, quickly going over the flight data. “Gear have extended. Primary controls took over for the backups on the circuit.”
“I’m still on manual,” she told Chris. “And I’m staying there.”
“Roger that,” snapped Chris. “Our speed –”
“Sergeant Parsons says he’s going to try to get you electric,” yelped the staff sergeant, rolling onto the command deck as the Megafortress lurched almost straight down.
“I’d say he succeeded,” grunted Chris.
