Corey flinches, astonished, relieved and euphoric all at once. He has no idea how it happened — then he sees the Harrier punch through the wall of orange flames and knows exactly.
Burning chunks of the black chopper tumble towards the ocean, trailing thin ribbons of smoke behind them. Corey watches them fall, notices something, far below, leans to get a better view but loses sight of it under the shuttle’s wing.
He looks up as the rasp of the Harrier’s engine cuts across the soundscape. It approaches off the shuttle’s port side.
Something catches Judd’s eye to the left. He turns and looks out the windscreen. ‘What the hell?’
It’s a Marine Harrier, 30 metres away. The pilot is slumped in his seat. Behind him sits another guy. He unclips his oxygen mask and grins.
‘Severson?’
He gives Judd a wave.
‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
Corey drops down from the viewport. ‘He destroyed the chopper!’
Severson nods as if he heard what the Australian said.
The hand Rhonda holds to her wound falls to her lap. Judd turns to Corey, nods at her. ‘Keep pressure on the wound.’
Corey kneels beside her, presses her hand to the wound. ‘How’re you going?’
She doesn’t respond, her eyes now closed. He leans close to her, listens, then turns to Judd, grim. ‘She’s hardly breathing, mate.’
Judd takes in the dreadful tableau, tries to solve this life-or-death problem. If they ditch in the ocean Atlantis will sink immediately. The shuttle isn’t designed to land on water, nor float on it. Even if they could get out of Atlantis before it sank and inflate the life raft it wouldn’t help. Rhonda’s too badly injured.
Judd looks across at the Harrier. Could he transfer her to the jet? He spends five seconds thinking about the logistics before he realises it’s crazy.
He notices Severson pointing. He turns, follows the gloved finger towards the horizon. ‘That’s it.’
Corey sees it too. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘There’s no choice.’ Judd finds a headset on the floor, pulls it on, plugs it in, works the radio’s controls.
In Flight Control on the island of aircraft carrier USS George W Bush, the radar operator notices a blip on the radar screen before him and speaks into his headset: ‘Inbound, this is the USS George W Bush. You are approaching a US naval ship, please identify —’
‘George Bush, this is space shuttle Atlantis. We request permission for immediate landing.’
The radar operator looks up and scans the crowded room, sure somebody’s playing a joke on him. ‘Say again?’
‘This is astronaut Judson Bell aboard space shuttle Atlantis. We request immediate landing with all precautions. We are inbound, time critical with no capability for go round. Please advise.’
The operator stares at his screen, speechless.
‘What is it?’ His immediate supervisor stands behind him, gently sips a mug of coffee.
‘We have an aircraft on approach that identifies itself as the shuttle Atlantis.’
The supervisor spits the coffee back into his mug then speaks through a cough: ‘Get a visual.’
The radar operator hits a button, barks into his headset: ‘We need a visual on an inbound from the south-west.’
At the far end of Flight Control beside a panoramic window the ensign hears the order through his headset. He pushes binoculars to his eyes and scans the sky to the south-west.
‘Hell, no.’ He yanks the binoculars from his eyes, blinks hard, then puts them back. ‘We have a space shuttle inbound. It’s — I think it’s gonna land on deck!’
There’s a pause, then every alarm on the boat sounds.
51
‘Atlantis, you are cleared for landing.’ The radar operator’s voice buzzes in Judd’s headset.
‘Copy that.’ Judd works the controller, tips Atlantis into a steep bank, lines it up with the distant carrier and the runway that cuts diagonally across its deck.
There’s no technology to help him. No autoland system, no laser guidance, and that 180-metre runway’s a whole lot shorter than the 3000 metres the shuttle usually lands on. Most importantly he must forget about the hash he made of his last landing in the simulator and use what he’s learned since then.
He stops, thinks. What has he learned?
He turns to Corey. ‘You said something, when we looked at the stars, about flying. It was — insightful.’ The Australian stares at him blankly. Judd’s hands go Rubik as he tries to recall what it was. ‘Something about believing you can trust the machine or, I can’t remember exactly —’
‘I believe I can and I trust the machine won’t break.’
‘Yes! That’s it. Thank you.’ Judd turns back to the windscreen, locks eyes on the carrier and whispers to himself: ‘I believe I can and I trust the machine won’t break.’ Saying it makes him feel better.
Corey holds Rhonda’s wrist. ‘Her pulse is weak.’
Judd nods, speaks into his headset: ‘USS George Bush, do you copy?’
The operator’s voice buzzes in his ears: ‘We read, Atlantis.’
‘We request immediate medical assistance once on deck. There’s an astronaut on board with a serious bullet wound to the right shoulder. Lost a lot of blood. Blood type is O negative.’
‘Copy that.’
‘We’ll be on deck within ninety seconds. Is the barrier net in place?’
‘We’re working on it.’
‘Copy that.’
What they’re working on is raising the overrun barrier net. A large net slung across the runway, it’s only used in emergencies. Efficient crews can have it up and ready in three minutes, though Judd hasn’t given them that much time. Of course it might not matter. The barrier net is designed to catch relatively light jets, not 100-tonne spacecraft.
Judd needs to slow Atlantis down as soon as it hits the runway, otherwise it’ll just roll off the end and drop into the ocean, barrier net or not. His options are limited. He can deploy the drogue parachute in the tail. It’ll help, but won’t be enough. He can open the tail rudder’s air brake. Again, it’ll do some good but won’t get the job done. He can apply the wheel brakes. They’ll do their bit too, but won’t make that much difference. Even together these things won’t stop a shuttle in 180 metres. He needs something else.
Work it backwards.
He uses his crazy Grandpa Bernie’s theory and thinks about what comes before the end of the carrier’s runway.
The arrestor cables. Three cables that lie across the runway and catch hold of a landing jet’s tail hook.
‘Of course.’ Judd silently thanks his long-dead grandpa and scans the cabin. ‘Where are the hooks?’ One lies on the floor behind his chair. He points at it. ‘Grab it.’ Corey reaches, nabs it. ‘Where’s the rope?’
The Australian nods to it. ‘Around your waist.’
Judd looks down, sees it. ‘Oh, right. How strong’s this stuff again?’
‘It’s 44-mil Dynamica. Breaking strength’s about 140000 kilos.’
Judd glances at it, skeptical. ‘Really?’
‘Thought it was better to be safe than sorry so I got the strong one. Cost a bit more but —’
‘Okay.’ Judd undoes the rope, passes it to Corey. ‘Tie the rope onto the hook.’
Judd turns back to the windscreen. The USS George W Bush rocks on the blue-green ocean before him. The sea is rough and choppy, the wind gusting, white tops visible everywhere.