"We can stay near the mountains," Wendy offered. "Get as much distance as possible from Trebleski and hide in the ground clutter."
Can we go around Trebleski at MIT' "Not on the coastal side of the mountains," Luger told him, rubbing his one uncovered eye, "unless we turn around."
"So it's unlikely we'd make it to the coast," Elliott said.
"And that means we get out over the mountains in the dead of winter, hundreds of miles from any kind of friendly forces. We could try to evade but I wouldn't give us much of a chance of making it to the coast, much less into Alaska.
"General, are you saying that landing at a Russian military airfield, abandoned or not, is a better option?" Ormack said.
"We'd be surrendering. We'd be handing ourselves and this lane over to them. And I sure as hell wouldn't give us a snowball's chance in hell of making it out of a Soviet prison alive.
Elliott kept silent for a long moment, then: "Distance to that airfield, Patrick.
McLanahan already had the geographic coordinates of the field typed into his navigation computer. "Anadyr is eighty miles, five degrees left."
"Any radar circles around it?"
"Yes. "McLanahan said, studying his civil-aviation chart.
"Can't tell what they are but they've got something there."
"Wendy, any activity?"
Wendy Tork had been carefully studying her threat displays ever since McLanahan had first made his wild suggestion.
"Clear scope ever since Ossora Airfield."
"I've got no terrain on my scope for a hundred miles," McLanahan said, tuning his ten-inch radar scope in onehundred-nautical-mile range. "If there were any threat signals they're not being blocked by terrain. I can't make out the base, though."
"Okay," Elliott said, "you've all heard the arguments.
There's no guarantee that we'll get gas, oil or anything but our asses in a sling if we land at Anadyr. On the other hand it's possible that we could land this beast and walk away from it uninjured, steal a truck and have a better than even chance of evading toward the Bering Strait, where our chances of being rescued significantly increase. If you're a wild dreamer like Patrick you'll actually believe there's an outside chance of pumping this aircraft full of gas, restarting the number two engine and running it enough to lift off again, and, making it back to Alaska."
"Crazy," Ormack muttered. "If the base is occupied, we won't have any chance of taking off again-we'd flame out long before liftoff. If we can't find gas we're stuck a couple hundred miles from friendly territory on a Russian base. The Russians would get the Old Dog and we'd be trying to evade all the way back to Alaska. Fat chanc "Well, I can't have this crew bail out over the mountains," Elliott said.
"Chances of surviving the ejection itself are slim If we did survive we'd be faced with a three-hundred-mile hike across Siberia with the Red Army chasing us. I say we take our chances on solid ground, At least we'll be all in one piece to fight or run."
"I'm for it," Luger asked. "Hell, that base will be the last place on this earth they'd look for us, except down in Moscow.
"All right, General," Wendy said, closing her eyes in silent prayer, "let's try to land it."
Angelina shrugged. "Check. I don't know if I could get myself out of this damn thing anyway."
"I'm giving a crash course, anyway," McLanahan told her. "You may still have to do it. General, I'm clearing off upstairs. Dave, watch my scope for me."
Ormack agreed they really didn't have much choice, out the emergency landing checklists as McLanahan upstairs and knelt between Wendy and Angelina. He put his headset into the defense instructor's station and told the women to switch their interphones to the "private" position which allowed them to talk without bothering the rest of the crew.
"How are you warriors doing?"
Angelina nodded but looked almost as bad as Luger Because of the damage to the downstairs crew compartment McLanahan had been forced to transfer most of the available heat downstairs to keep Luger from going back into shock. Even with Wendy's borrowed jacket and thermal top, there was more protection then the rest of the crew had, Angelina was losing to the cold.
Her lips were purple, her eyelids drooped as if she were struggling to stay awake.
Her hands, in stiff, metallic firefighting gloves, were shoved deep inside her jacket for warmth.
Bomber defense was almost out of the question, McLanahan thought. It would be difficult if not impossible for Angelina to try to operate her equipment under these conditions. Landing was absolutely the only option.
"Hang in, Angie," he said.
"I'll be all right…"
McLanahan turned to Wendy. "How you doing?"
"Holding up. I could use a drink.
"Champagne when we get home… okay, you were taught this months ago, but let's go over it again. If we get attacked while trying to land, or if the pilots can't land this thing, we've got no choice but to eject. Listen carefully, watch the warning light and don't panic-but don't hesitate either.
There's a simple three-step system for using upward seatsjust remember, ready, aim, fire.
"The ready is to pull the safety pin out of the handle on your armrests, trip the handle release lever and rotate the handle upward.
Grab the front of the handle, not the middle or inside.
There's no hurry, do it smooth and easy. This equipment is old and it needs some care. The aim is like align. You shove your fannies deep into the back of your seat, press your back into the seat and push your head back into the headrest. After that lower your chin to your chest.
Think about a nice straight spine the whole time. Put your feet flat on the deck, knees together.
Put your elbows inside the armrests and brace your arms against the back. The fire is easy-grab both triggers inside the ejection handle and squeeze. Next thing you know, you'll be on the ground."
"What happens if it doesn't fire?" Angelina asked between shivers.
"Can you go over the emergency ejection sequence?"
"Don't worry about it. If necessary I'll pop your manual catapult initiator pull-out pins for you."
"You?" Wendy said, looking up at McLanahan. "How?"
"The chances of navigators surviving a downward ejection at less than two thousand feet is fifty percent. If we go below one thousand feet.
.. never mind what the book says…
our chances are about zero."
"But-" "Dave doesn't have an ejection seat," McLanahan them. "After the decision was made to get a second naviga requested that another ejection seat be installed. But there so much pressure to complete the testing that it somehow overlooked. "He tried a smile and flunked.
"I'll make sure crosshairs are on the runway so that the bombing COMPuter will help the pilots land the Dog, get Dave strapped in, then come back upstairs and strap in right here. I'll see to it that you get out if it's necessary to eject-" "Patrick, you can't-" "Can and will. End of discussion-" "Pat, we're fifty miles from Anadyr," Luger reported.
waited a few moments. "Pat?"
Wendy was shaking her head. He figured he should say something else but the words wouldn't come. He groped for the interphone wafer switch.
"What?"
"Fifty miles," Luger asked. "You okay?"
"Great.
"Strap in," Elliott called back. "Everyone back on watch. "McLanahan made his way slowly down the ladder, leaning over Luger's shoulder.
Luger was now in the left-hand navigator's ejection seat, studying the ten-inch radar set. "See it yet, buddy?" McLanahan asked. Luger switched the radar scope to fifty-mile terrain-mapping and was adjusting the video and receiver gain controls near his left knee, tuning the terrain returns on the scope in a search for the runway.