The warship sways hard left. Judd works the controls, keeps Atlantis aligned with its runway. Then the boat heaves right. He chases it, keeps it lined up.
Corey threads the rope through the eye in the shank of the hook and whispers: ‘The weasel comes out of the hole and runs around the tree and jumps into — into —’ He stops, has no idea where the weasel jumps next.
‘Done yet?’ Judd says it without turning.
‘Getting there.’ Corey tries not to panic and starts again: ‘The weasel comes out of the hole and runs around the tree and jumps into — into — the —’
‘The hole! The weasel jumps into the hole!’
Corey stares at the half-tied knot. For the life of him he can’t see it. ‘What hole?’
Judd glances back at him. ‘The one in front of you.’
‘Where?’
Judd points. ‘There!’
‘I can’t — oh, there.’ Corey pushes the rope into the hole, pulls it tight — and it’s a knot! He’s overjoyed. ‘I did it! I did it —’
‘Good, now do it again!’ Judd points. ‘The chair. Tie the other end around it.’
Corey nods, loops the rope around the point where the second-row chair bolts to the floor.
Judd turns back to the controls, checks the airspeed. They’re coming in too hot. He doesn’t want to fly over the ship so he needs to slow the shuttle, but not too much. If he washes off too much speed they’ll be too low and slam into the carrier’s hull. So he works the controller, feathers the spacecraft’s angle of attack, pulls up the speed brake and bleeds the speed. Atlantis’s nose pulls up and it slows. Then keeps slowing. If it stalls it’ll just belly-flop into the ocean. He drops the nose and it quickly picks up speed again. Judd’s landed jets on carriers more than two hundred times so he knows the forces at play. If he comes down fast and hits the deck too hard the spacecraft will snap in two and he won’t have to worry about trying to stop it rolling off the end of the runway because everyone on board will be dead.
The enormity of what he’s trying to do suddenly overwhelms him. To land something this big on an aircraft carrier without engine power is — impossible. There’s no way he can do it. No way anyone can do it.
He freezes. Brain lock. Just like in the simulator.
A hand squeezes his arm. He turns. Rhonda’s face is drained of colour but her eyes are open and meet his. ‘You can do it. I know it.’
Her voice is barely a whisper and she only says those seven words, but it’s the first time she’s ever reassured him and it means more than she will ever know. He nods, then turns back to the windscreen.
He tightens his grip on the controller and focuses on the carrier. The runway looms before him, sways left. He corrects for it then reaches up, flicks a switch on the panel above. The landing gear lowers and locks with a clunk below him. It bleeds a little speed but not enough. They’re still travelling too fast. He pulls up Atlantis’s nose, washes off some of its velocity, then drops the nose and lets it run.
‘— and into the hole!’ Corey pulls the rope tight and knots it around the base of the chair. ‘Done!’
Judd eyes are locked on the ship. ‘Get to the viewport.’
Corey moves to it. ‘Then?’
‘When you see the drogue, throw the hook over the back of the wing.’
‘Okay!’ A moment. ‘What’s a drogue?’
‘Big parachute. You’ll know it when you see it.’
Corey nods and scales the rear instrument panel, pushes through the viewport.
The carrier is close. Judd works the controller, caresses Atlantis onwards, whispers his new mantra: ‘I believe I can and I trust the machine won’t break.’
His eyes flick to the end of the runway. A group of men works on either side but the barrier net isn’t up. He can’t worry about that now. He needs to get this thing down.
The carrier sways right. Judd finesses the controller, corrects the spacecraft’s trajectory, pulls up the nose, washes off some speed, then lets it run. It’s the only way to fly it that works. ‘I think I’ve nutted this out.’ He glances at Rhonda. Her eyes are closed and her head has rolled to the side. He takes it in, stricken. ‘Hold on, babs, we’re almost there.’ She doesn’t respond.
He turns back to the windscreen. The carrier is right in front of him. He works the controls, repeats his mantra: ‘I believe I can and I trust the machine won’t break. I —’
The ocean surges and the deck rises sharply, takes him by surprise. ‘Hold on!’
Atlantis’s rear wheels spank the deck. Everyone is jolted forward. The airframe shudders and groans but doesn’t break. Judd reaches, flicks two switches.
Wind roars. Corey stands through the viewport, twirls the hook above his head like he’s a cowboy about to rope a steer.
The rudder splits and the chute explodes from the tail. That’ll be the drogue.’ Corey launches the hook with everything he’s got, shouts at it as it flies: ‘Go!’
The hook arcs across the wing, trails the blue rope behind it, then drops fast, thumps into the trailing edge of the wing. ‘No!’ Then it bounces up and over the edge and drops out of view.
Judd brings Atlantis’s nose down with another shuddering jolt. The airframe convulses, but doesn’t break. He looks down the runway; the barrier net is not up. He has less than 120 metres to stop this spacecraft before it dives into the ocean.
He plays the controls. Flaps up full. They wash off some speed but not enough. Drogue parachute deployed and tail-rudder air brake full open. They help but only a little. Wheel brakes on full. They screech in protest but don’t stop the spacecraft. It’s all down to Corey’s rope.
The hook slams into the runway. It bounces over the first arrestor cable, grazes over the second — and snags the last.
The rope stretches tight. Atlantis convulses. ‘Yes!’ Corey’s elated. The rope snaps and whips back at him. He ducks as it slashes overhead.
Atlantis jolts — and races onwards. It’s slower, but not that much. Corey pivots in the viewport, looks down the runway to the surging ocean beyond.
Judd watches the end of the runway speed towards him, just 25 metres away. Men still work on either side but the barrier net’s not up. ‘Better get ready to swim —’
The barrier net flies up. It’s only six metres high but it’s there. Atlantis’s front landing gear ploughs into it and the spacecraft shudders and slows — but keeps moving. The net stretches and Atlantis reaches the edge of the deck. Judd can see nothing but the roiling sea before him.
The front landing gear drops over the side of the ship and the shuttle’s underside slams into the edge of the deck. Thermal tiles grind and tear as it slides towards the water below.
The net stretches. Atlantis shudders — then stops.
‘Out! Now!’ Corey jumps down from the viewport as Judd pivots out of his chair and undoes Rhonda’s belts. ‘Grab her shoulders!’
Corey does it as Judd takes her legs and leads him down the ladder to mid-deck. He goes to work on the front door, unlocks the hatch faster than he’s ever done it before, swings it open.
The hatch is just two metres off the deck. Directly to the right is an abrupt drop to the roaring ocean. To the left two sailors look up at him, stunned expressions on their faces. Judd shouts at them: ‘We need doctors now!’
One shouts back: ‘They’re on the way.’
‘Quick! Get close!’ The sailors move forward as Judd picks up Rhonda’s legs. Her face is bleached white; there’s blood everywhere. Judd eases her through the hatch and the sailors take hold of her, turn, run her towards a gurney that’s being hustled across the tarmac by a three-member medical team.