Altitude is pointless if it only gives us twelve extra minutes before we die.
« Soon- »
« If we increase the speed, we increase the airflow. If we can get the compressor to run fast enough, we might be able to remove enough contamination to attempt a new restart. »
» Be able to. «
« Yes. »
And what if you are wrong?
Mara looked through the windshield at nothing but darkness.
« If I’m wrong, we’ll meet the Atlantic Ocean a few minutes earlier. »
Barrett stared at her.
Mara reached for her shoulder harness.
Lock yourself up.
« Immediately. »
« No. »
His hands moved automatically.
Mara has sent the message to Atlas Cargo.
“Seven-Nine-One, Four-Four-Two. Inform air traffic control that we are initiating a rapid descent to restore engine speed.”
The cargo pilot hesitated.
“Four-four-two… understood.”
Mara lowered her head for a second.
Another cockpit flashed through her memory.
Rocket warning.
Rook.
The voice of Owen Rusk.
Raven, come home.
She opened her eyes.
Let’s see if you were right, Owen.
Then she pushed the nose down.
Flight 442 plummeted like a stone.
Passengers screamed when the deck tilted beneath them.
Drinks flew off the trays.
Phones slid across the floor.
The luggage compartments above the seats rattled.
June Calder clung to her folding chair as the emergency lights bathed the cabin in faint white streaks.
A businessman two rows away shouted: « We’re going to crash! »
June forced herself to answer.
“No. Stay lying down. Buckle up!”
She had no idea if that was true.
From the cockpit, Mara saw how their speed increased.
Two hundred and seventy knots.
Two ninety.
Three hundred.
Barrett mentioned the difference in elevation.
“Seventeen thousand.”
Engine rotation?
Still low.
Give it time.
“Fifteen thousand.”
The wind howled around the plane.
The aircraft frame vibrated differently now; it was not stalled, but it had come under tension.
Mara felt every vibration through the control column.
She had always been convinced that pilots misunderstood the expression « flying by feel ».
That did not mean that instruments had to be ignored.
It meant that thousands of hours on a plane became a second sense.
She could feel if the plane was struggling.
She could feel when turbulence stressed one of the wings before the indicator fully responded.
She felt the pressure increasing in the control panels.
Three hundred and fifteen knots.
Barrett leaned towards the display cases.
The rotation is increasing.
» How many? «
Left engine twelve percent.
» Right? «
« Ten. »
Mara kept her nose down.
Thirteen thousand feet.
Not enough.
We don’t have enough height anymore!
“Not enough!”
A light cloud of smoke curled out from under the panel.
Barrett hoestte.
The electric alarm remained in effect.
Twelve thousand.
Elf.
Three hundred and twenty-five knots.
Suddenly, a loud, cracking bang came from the left.
Barrett recoiled.
“What was that?”
Another series of sharp shots followed.
Mara looked at the motorcycle’s instruments.
« Rotation? »
Eighteen percent!
» Right? «
Sixteen and the counter is still running.
Starting selection.”
Barrett reached above his head.
His hand was missing.
Mara screamed.
“Do it!”
He regained his balance.
Selectors configured.
Fuel regulators in position.
Ignition order given.
Nothing.
Ten thousand feet.
Nine.
‘Come on,’ whispered Barrett.
Mara remembered another motorcycle.
One more night.
Her F-16 burned out behind her.
The oil pressure collapses.
Owen’s voice commanded her to go west.
She had told him to leave.
He hadn’t done that.
She had survived because someone else had refused to save themselves.
Not tonight.
Tonight, 271 people stood behind her who had never voluntarily put themselves in danger.
Eight thousand feet.
The temperature of the left engine has changed.
Barretts stem missing.
I have an infection.
A low rumble penetrated the cockpit.
Mara almost thought she was imagining it.
Next, the left engine started coughing violently.
Once.
Twice.
The engine began to accelerate.
It’s lightning!
« Let it stabilize. »
Six thousand feet.
The left engine was running at full throttle.
The electrical systems in the cockpit suddenly lit up.
Screens became brighter.
Mara cautiously began to lift her nose.
If she went too fast, she would overload the plane.
If they went too slowly, they would end up in the ocean.
Five thousand.
The right motor remained defective.
Barrett looked outside.
The sea appeared through the clouds.
Black.
Violent.
White foam crests visible in the moonlight.
Four thousand feet.
The left engine provided usable thrust.
Mara used power.
The plane responded slowly.
Come on.
Three thousand.
The rate of descent decreased.
The plane began to fly more evenly.
Twenty-five hundred.
Two thousand.
Mara pulled gently.
The vertical speedometer crept upwards.
Minus eighteen hundred.
Minus twelve hundred.
Minus seven hundred.
At an altitude of seventeen hundred feet above the Atlantic Ocean, Flight 442 stopped descending.
Barrett let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
Mara did not respond.
‘One motorcycle,’ she said.
One engine is enough.
For how long?
« As long as it benefits us in some way. »
She contacted Atlas Cargo.
Seven-nine-one, four-four-two.”
The answer came immediately.
“Four-four-two, go ahead.”
« We have restored the thrust of the left engine. The right engine remains defective. We are at an altitude of 1,700 feet. »
The cargo pilot said nothing for a few seconds.
And:
“Northstar Four-Four-Two… that is the best transmission I have heard in twenty years.”
Mara allowed herself one breath.
Only one.
They were still hundreds of kilometers from their original destination.
The recovered engine had swallowed volcanic material.
Smoke trails were visible in the electronics room.
Their plane had made an emergency landing at high speed.
And the nearest suitable airport reported that there were very strong coastal winds.
Barrett studied the navigation screen.
St. Brendan International lies one hundred and eighty-six nautical miles to the northeast.
Mara nodded.
The fictional airport on the west coast of Ireland had a runway that was long enough for them, and emergency services capable of handling a wide-body aircraft.
Barrett checked the weather forecast.
His relief vanished.
“Wind gusts of more than forty knots.”
» Naturally. «
Mara, one engine, contaminated systems, and such a crosswind?
They adjusted their course.
We have already done the impossible.
“What was that?”
Stay alive long enough to get a new problem.
For the first time that evening, Barrett actually smiled.
Weak.
But really.
Then he fixed his gaze on Mara.
I recognize that voice.
Which voice?
The one you used during the dive.
She looked at him.
I served with an Air Force pilot named Mitch Danner. He often talked about a woman in the Sixteenth Fighter Squadron.
Mara’s facial expression changed.
Barrett continued.
Nickname Raven.
Not now.”
She brought back a damaged F-16 after a missile attack.
« Captain. »
« Her right hand has died. »
Mara gripped the steering column more tightly.
Barrett stopped.
The answer was already written on her face.
‘My God,’ he whispered.
You are her.
Mara stared straight ahead.
« Nee. »
Barrett looked confused.
Mara spoke softly.
I am the pilot of flight 442.
The dawn began to take shape as a gray line behind the clouds.
No one on board flight 442 thought it was beautiful.
The remaining motor vibrated occasionally, and every vibration caused Barrett to stare at the screen.
Mara refused.
Unless a change occurred, fear was merely noise.
June stepped into the cockpit after she had received permission to do so.
Her face was pale.
How bad?
Mara cast a glance at her.
Better than twenty minutes ago.
That is not an answer.
This is the one I have.
June looked through the windshield.
« Have you restarted an engine? »
» A. «
She exhaled.
Passengers heard it coming back. Half the cabin started crying.
Mara nodded.
Prepare them for an emergency landing.
June’s facial expression tightened again.
“What is going on now?”
“Strong wind. One engine. Possible limitations on brakes and electricity.”
Anything else?
Mara thought for a moment.
« Nee. »
June smiled bitterly.
Good. I was afraid it would be complicated.
Even Barrett had to laugh.
The tension had dropped for three seconds.
Then a warning light appeared.
Malfunction in the fire detection in the right engine.
Barrett took an oath.
Mara inspected the data.
No confirmed fire.
It could be damaged wiring.
» Probably. «
June looked alternately at both of them.
I am going to get the hut ready.
Before she left, she placed a hand on Mara’s shoulder.
No matter what happens, they listen to you.
Mara watched as the door closed.
That made her more afraid than any warning.
People trusted her.
Owen trusted her too.
That thought had haunted her for seven years, because she had never understood why he had chosen her survival over his own.
Now she understood.
He did not have to choose between two lives.
He had protected the person who still had a chance to bring someone home safely.
Mara contacted St. Brendan Approach.
The traffic controller spoke quickly but calmly.
Northstar Four-Four-Two, emergency services are on standby. Runway Two-Seven available. Wind three-zero-zero with a speed of thirty-one knots, with gusts of four-four.
Barrett mumbled: « That is ugly. »
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