“Okay. You pray. I’ll fly. Later we’ll switch.”
Lisa looked at Hollis’ hands on the controls. This was a different Sam Hollis from the one she’d known in Moscow or in the Charm School. It struck her that he belonged in this aircraft, and she recalled what Seth Alevy had said to her at Sheremetyevo Airport about the world of pilots: They were a different breed, but she thought she could love him just the same.
The voice said again, “Your fuel reserves are nearly gone,” then, “Make preparations to terminate your flight.”
No one spoke for some minutes, then O’Shea said, “Hey, did you hear about the Aeroflot pilot who ran low on fuel crossing the ocean and dumped fuel to save weight?”
No one laughed, and O’Shea said, “It’s funnier on the ground.”
Hollis looked at the instrument panel clock. It was 6:59. Sunrise was in twenty-three minutes, after which time the freighter was to turn off its landing lights, making it indistinguishable from any other freighter in the area. At their present speed they could cover about sixty kilometers before sunrise. But for the last ten minutes of the flight they would have to reduce their speed to eighty kph, according to the instructions. Hollis said to O’Shea, “Our options are two: We can decrease speed, conserve fuel, and we’ll probably make it to our rendezvous, but it will be well after dawn. Or we can increase speed and our rate of fuel consumption, which is the only way we could possibly make our rendezvous before dawn. Of course, if we increase fuel consumption, we may not get that far. What’s your professional opinion, Captain?”
O’Shea replied as though he’d given it some thought. “I’m betting that there’s more fuel left than we think. That’s just my gut feeling. I say full speed ahead.”
Mills said, “I vote to cut speed and conserve fuel. Our primary obligation is not to get to that freighter before dawn — it’s to get out of the Soviet Union, and out of the reach of the KGB. I want to make sure we reach the gulf. I’d rather go into the drink than have them get their hands on us. We know too much.”
Hollis replied, “You have no vote, Bert. This is a technical matter. But your opinion is noted. Lisa?”
“I’m with Bert. I’d rather drown than run out of gas over land.”
Hollis nodded. “Should we wake Brennan for his opinion?” Hollis heard the sound of popping bubble gum, followed by Brennan’s voice saying, “We dead yet?”
Mills replied, “We’re working on it.”
Brennan stretched and cleared his throat. “Hey, Colonel, glad to see you up and around. How you doing?”
“Fine. I’m a general.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Hey, did we do a tit for tat on them, or what? I mean to tell you, we kicked some ass. Right?”
“Right. Did you hear our problem?”
“Yeah. That’s a tough one. Whatever you guys decide is okay with me.”
Hollis wished everyone was as unopinionated.
Brennan added, “I hate flying. Glad we’ll be down soon.”
O’Shea said, “Your call, General.”
The disembodied voice said again, “Your fuel reserves are nearly gone. Make preparations to terminate your flight.”
“Full speed ahead.” Hollis pushed forward on the cyclic stick, dropping the craft into a nose-down attitude, and simultaneously increased the throttle and adjusted the collective stick. The airspeed indicator rose to 180 kph with a corresponding rise in ground speed. Hollis said, “Never believe a Russian.”
They continued north. The fuel warning light glowed steady red, and the recorded voice gave its warning in the same indifferent tone. Hollis had always thought that these cockpit recordings should get shriller each time they came on. But tape players did not fear death.
O’Shea called out, “Look!”
Hollis, Mills, Lisa, and Brennan looked to where O’Shea was pointing. Slightly to starboard of their flight path, on the black distant horizon, they could see a faint glow. Hollis announced, “Leningrad.”
O’Shea said, “About twenty klicks. Maybe seven minutes’ flight time.”
Hollis looked at the clock. It was 7:04. Eighteen minutes to sunrise. If they got to Pulkovo in seven minutes and changed heading, they would get to the lighthouse in about another five minutes. Then a ten-minute flight to the rendezvous point with the freighter. That sounded like twenty-two minutes.
O’Shea said, “We’re racing the sun now, General.”
Hollis replied, “I thought it was the fuel gauge. You’re confusing me.”
O’Shea smiled grimly.
Hollis increased the craft’s speed to two hundred kph.
O’Shea observed, “We’re operating at full power at the end of a long flight. Do you trust these turbines?”
Hollis glanced at his instruments. The turbine outlet temperature was redlined, and so was the oil temperature. “Never trust the reds.” Hollis called back to Brennan, “So what made you come back for this, Bill?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Seth Alevy said you were in trouble. That’s why Captain O’Shea volunteered too. Right, Captain?”
“Right.” O’Shea said to Hollis, “I want you to reconsider my evaluation report.”
“I’ll think about it.” Hollis began a long sloping descent. O’Shea said to him, “How many hours of rotary wing do you have, General?”
Hollis glanced at the clock. “Counting the last thirty minutes, one hour.”
O’Shea said, “Seriously.”
“I don’t know… ten or twelve. Is this a test?”
“No. I’m just wondering who should put it down.”
“If it’s a power-off landing in the freezing gulf, you can do it. If it’s power on, on the deck of the freighter, I’ll do it.”
“Okay.”
The Mi-28 continued descending, and Hollis noticed its ground speed bleeding off, indicating increasing headwinds. At five hundred meters its airspeed was still 200 kph, but its actual speed relative to the ground, which was the speed that mattered, was not quite 130 kph. Hollis knew they were encountering those infamous winter winds from the Gulf of Finland, winds so strong and steady that they sometimes caused the gulf to rise as much as five feet, flooding Leningrad. He thought about heavy seas and their freighter rising, falling, rolling, and pitching in them.
Hollis could now see the main arteries leading into the city and saw some predawn traffic below.
Leningrad. The most un-Russian city in Russia. A city of culture, style, and liberal pretensions. But a city where the KGB was reputed to be particularly nasty, a counterweight to the westward-looking populace. Hollis had sometimes liked Leningrad and felt some sense of loss as he flew over it for the last time.
O’Shea said, “I think that’s the Moscow highway down there. So Pulkovo should be to port.”
Mills said, “I haven’t heard the recording for a while.”
Hollis replied, “I think he gave up on us.”
O’Shea said, “Is that it?” He pointed out the left side window.
Hollis looked and saw the familiar blue-white aircraft lights. “Yes.” He added, “That was a remarkable piece of land navigation, Captain.”
“Thank you, sir. I tried to allow for wind drift, but I wasn’t sure how much we were being blown off our heading.”
“Apparently not enough to miss a whole city.” Hollis banked left as he increased the rate of descent. The altimeter read two hundred meters, and he leveled off. He estimated he was a kilometer south of Pulkovo’s tower, and he took a heading of 310 degrees. They were so low now that Hollis could make out passengers in a bus below. He saw a few factories slide by and saw a train speeding away from the city. To the north, the great city of Leningrad seemed to grow brighter minute by minute as it wakened from its long autumn night.
O’Shea said, “I think I see the gulf.”