“Yes. Just now.”
“See if you can find anything that indicates… I don’t know how to say this, but there may be a way to manually control the runway lights there by clicking the radio.”
“Do we have a radio we can use?” Robert asked.
Dan hung his head. “Damn! No, we don’t. Forget that.”
“Down one thousand, at two thousand three hundred,” Robert said.
“Steve, start pulling her back to level flight, which will be about three to four degrees nose-up on the attitude indicator. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Steve replied.
“Dallas, are we still aiming directly at that beacon?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Can you see anything that looks like an airport?”
“I — not yet, but we’re aiming the right way.”
“Okay. Airspeed?”
“Two hundred sixty,” Steve said.
“I’m going to slow us down now, Steve. She’ll take larger corrections with the yoke, and will seem a bit more sluggish.” He pulled the two throttles for the engines on the right wing back and changed the rudder trim and the pitch trim, keeping a hand on the yoke to feel what Steve Delaney was doing. Thirty seconds crawled by like an eternity.
“Airspeed?” Dan asked again.
“One hundred ninety,” Steve said.
“Altitude, Robert?”
“Level two thousand feet.”
“Exactly?”
“Dead on.”
“Great job, Steve! Keep her there a bit longer. John? How far out?”
“Seventeen miles.”
“Okay. The field is at sea level. At seven miles out we need to start down at no more than seven hundred feet per minute. Robert? You understand that?”
“Yes.”
“If you see a descent rate greater than seven hundred to eight hundred feet per minute, tell Steve to pull it back a hair. You’ll be talking directly to Steve, and I’ll be helping. Steve? Even if you feel me moving the controls, you hang on and keep on flying. I might make corrections, but do not let go! Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Airspeed?”
“One hundred seventy,” Steve replied.
“I’m going to try to get flaps out. Robert? See the flap position gauge up here?” Dan waved his finger at the appropriate gauge. “See the two needles?”
“Yes.”
“If they start to split apart, yell ‘STOP FLAPS!’”
“Okay.”
“Okay — Flaps One.” Dan moved the flap handle to the first detent. “Steve? The airplane is going to want to jump up a bit and climb, so I’m toggling in some nose-down trim.”
“Okay.”
“Flaps Five.” Again he moved the handle, and the sound and feel of the giant 747 flaps moving into position rumbled through the cockpit.
“Robert, are the needles pointing to five?”
“Yes, Dan. Together.”
“Okay. Flaps Fifteen. John? How far from the airport?”
“Fourteen miles.”
“Altitude?” Dan asked.
“Still steady at two thousand,” Robert answered.
“And airspeed?”
“One hundred fifty,” Steve said.
“Dan!” Dallas broke in. “I can see what looks like runway lights up there.”
“Good! Is there a series of flashing white lights leading to the runway lights, or any patch of white approach lights?”
“Yeah, something like that,” Dallas responded.
“So, we’re still headed right for the end of that runway?”
“Looks like it,” Dallas said.
“Keep helping Steve to aim right at it. Now for the landing gear.”
Dan held his breath as he moved the gear handle to the Down position, but the sound of the gear moving out of the underbelly and into position was unmistakable.
“How many green and red lights do I have up here?” Dan asked, his hand on the appropriate gear light panel.
“All green, Dan. No red,” Robert said.
“Hallelujah!” Dan replied. “How far, John?”
“Eleven miles.”
“How does it feel, Steve? Are you pushing or pulling to keep level?”
“I’m pulling.”
The sound of the trim wheel operating filled the cockpit for a moment as Dan toggled it nose-up. “How about now?”
“That’s better.”
“If you let go, does the nose go down or up?”
“It pretty much stays the same.”
“And airspeed?”
“One hundred thirty.”
“Oops!” Dan pushed the throttles up and changed the rudder trim. “Now, tell me when we reach one-forty. We want no less than one hundred forty knots.”
The cabin chime rang again with Britta on the other end.
“It’s flaring up, Dan. It’s really burning out there.”
“Strap in, Britta. We’ll be on the ground in… three minutes.”
“Okay. I’m just behind the cockpit on the upper deck, Dan.”
“Okay.” Dan replaced the handset in his lap. “Miles to the field?”
“Eight miles,” John Walters said.
“Okay, folks. We’re gonna do this!” Dan said, pumping as much energy into his voice as he could in an effort to convince himself.
“Dan, there’s lightning ahead. Looks like a storm’s on the other side of the airport, and when it flashed, I was able to see the airport and the runway.”
“Okay, Dallas. Now, Steve… the object will be to keep a steady descent and not try to flare. Just keep her aimed at the runway, and when we’re down to a hundred feet or so, just make very, very gentle left-and-right movements to keep her between the lights on the runway. She’ll touch down hard, but it’ll be okay. This is a tough bird. She can take it.”
“All right,” Steve replied.
“The wings must be level on touchdown, understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Distance?”
“Seven miles,” John Walters said.
“Okay, Steve, start her down. No more than seven hundred feet per minute. I’m going to nudge the power back and change the trim slightly.”
“Okay.”
“John? Give the GPS to Robert, show him how to read mileage, and strap in.”
“I’ll stay here.”
“NO! There’s no other seat for you.”
“Six miles. I’m staying, Dan.”
Dan hesitated, then nodded. “Your choice, John. Thank you. Altitude?”
“Down eight hundred feet per minute, at one thousand eight hundred feet.”
“Got it. Dallas? Start your call-outs now.”
“Heading is three-five-zero degrees, speed one-fifty.”
“And John? Attitude?” Dan asked.
“Ah… plus one degree. Is that how you want it?”
“Yes!” Dan replied. “Distance now?”
“Five miles,” John Walters said.
“Dallas? Are we lined up with the runway, or are we angling to it?”
Steve answered before she could reply. “It’s angling off to the left — maybe twenty degrees left. WHAT DO I DO?”
“Okay, Steve. Carefully, gently bank the airplane to the right ten degrees, then turn back gently just before the runway comes into alignment. Understand?”
“I… think so.”
“Turn NOW! Keep it gentle! Robert?”
“Yeah, uh, down eight hundred, and… altitude fifteen hundred.”
“Heading three-six-zero,” Dallas added. “Steve, turn it back left now.”
“Okay,” Steve replied.
“Airspeed, somebody?”
“One-forty-five,” Dallas said.
“There!” Steve Delaney said. “I’m lining up! It’s good!”
“Robert?” Dan prompted.
“Down six hundred, altitude twelve hundred,” Robert replied.
“Attitude, John?”
“Plus one degree.”