SPENCER TENSED, shooting an involuntary glance at the girl in the seat beside him. Her eyes, in the greenish glow of the instrument panel, were fixed on his face. He looked away again, listening intently.
Treleaven was saying, “For instance, how many flying hours have you had? The message here says you’ve flown single-engine fighters. Have you had any experience at all of multi-engine planes? Let’s hear from you, George.”
Spencer’s mouth was so dry when he replied that at first he could hardly speak. He cleared his throat.
“Hullo, Vancouver. 714 here. Glad to have you along, Captain. But let’s not kid each other, please. I think we both know the situation. My flying up to now has been entirely on single-engine aircraft, Spitfires and Mustangs — I’d say about a thousand hours in all. But that was thirteen years ago. I’ve touched nothing since. Do you understand that? Over.”
“Don’t worry about that, George. It’s like riding a bicycle — you never forget it. Stand by, will you?”
In the Vancouver Control, Treleaven pressed the cutout button on the arm of the microphone in his hand and looked at a slip of paper the controller held out for him to read.
“Try to get him on this course,” said the controller. “The Air Force have just sent in a radar check.” He paused. “Sounds pretty screwed up, doesn’t he?”
“Yes — who wouldn’t be, in his shoes?” Treleaven grimaced reflectively. “We’ve got to give him confidence,” he said. “Without that there isn’t a chance. Whatever happens, he mustn’t lose his nerve. Keep it down, will you?” to the controller’s assistant who was talking on the telephone. “If this guy doesn’t hear me clearly he’ll be in trouble fast and there will be nothing we can do about it.” Then, to the dispatcher, “Okay. Make damn sure you don’t lose them on the air.” He released the cutout. “714. This is Treleaven. You are still on autopilot, right?”
“Yes, that’s so, Captain,” came the reply.
“All right, George. In a minute you can disengage the autopilot and get the feel of the controls. When you’ve had a bit of practice with them you are going to change your course a little. Listen very carefully, though, before you touch them. When you start handling the airplane the controls will seem very heavy and sluggish compared with a fighter. Don’t let that worry you. It’s quite normal. You’ve got a lot of airplane up there, so take it nice and steady. Watch your air speed all the time you are flying and don’t let it fall below 120 knots while your wheels and flaps are up, otherwise you’ll stall. I’ll repeat that. Make absolutely sure at all times that your air speed doesn’t fall below 120 knots. Now, one other thing. Do you have someone up there who can work the radio and leave you free for flying?”
“Yes, Vancouver. I have the stewardess here with me and she’ll take over the radio now. It’s all yours, Janet.”
“Hullo, Vancouver. This is the stewardess, Janet Benson. Over.”
“Why, it’s you, Janet,” said Treleaven. “I’d know that voice anywhere. You’re going to talk to George for me, are you? Good. Now Janet, I want you to keep your eyes on that air-speed indicator. Remember that an airplane stays in the air because of its forward speed. If you let the speed drop too low, it stalls — and falls out of the air. Any time the ASI shows a reading near 120, you tell George instantly. Is that clear, Janet?”
“Yes, Captain. I understand.”
“Back to you, George. Take this slowly and smoothly. I want you to unlock the autopilot — it’s clearly marked on the control column — and take the airplane yourself, holding her straight and level. George, you watch the artificial horizon and keep the air speed steady. Climb and descent indicator should stay at zero. All right. Start now.”
Spencer put his right forefinger over the autopilot release button on the control column. His face was rigid. Feet on the rudder bar and both arms ready, braced, he steeled himself for what might come.
“Tell him I’m switching over now,” he told Janet. She repeated the message. His hand wavered for a moment on the button. Then, decisively, he pressed it hard. The aircraft swung a little to port but he corrected the tendency gently and she responded well enough to his feet on the rudder bar. The vibration from the controls seemed to flow through his body like an electric current.
“Tell him okay,” he gasped, his nerves taut as cables.
“714 here. We’re flying straight and level.” Janet’s voice sounded miraculously sweet and calm to him.
“Well done, George. As soon as you’ve got the feel of her, try some very gentle turns, not more than two or three degrees. Can you see the turn indicator? It’s almost directly in front of your eyes and slightly to the right, just by the panel-light shield. Over.” Treleaven’s eyes were closed with the effort of visualizing the cockpit layout. He opened them and spoke to the dispatcher. “Listen. I’ve got a lot of work to do with this man in the air, but we ought to start planning the approach and landing while there’s plenty of time. Get the chief radar operator up here, will you, and let me talk to him.”
Very gingerly Spencer extended his left leg and eased the control column over. This time it seemed an age before the aircraft responded to his touch and he saw the horizon indicator tilt. Gratified, he tried the other way; but now the movement was alarming. He looked down at the ASI and was shocked to see that it had dropped to 180 knots. Quickly he eased the control column forward. Then he breathed again as the speed rose slowly to 210. He would have to treat the controls with the utmost respect until he really understood the time lag; that was evident. Again he tried a shallow turn and pushed at the resisting weight of the rudder to hold it steady. Gradually he felt the ship answer. Then he straightened up, so as to keep approximately on the course they had been steering before.
Janet had lifted her eyes momentarily from the instrument panel to ask in a small voice, “How is it?”
Spencer tried to grin, without much success. The thought passed through his mind that this was rather like his days on the Link trainer all over again, only then nearly sixty lives did not hang in the balance and the instructor was not more than a few feet away in the same room. “Tell him I’m on manual and doing gentle turns, coming back on course each time,” he said.
Janet gave the message.
“I should have asked you this before,” came Treleaven’s voice. “What kind of weather are you in up there?”
“It’s clear where we are right now,” answered Janet. “Except below us, of course.”
“Uh-huh. You’d better keep me informed. Now, George, we have to press on. You may hit some cloud layer at any time, with a little turbulence. If you do, I want you to be ready for it. How does she handle?”
Spencer looked across to Janet. “Tell him — sluggish as hell, like a wet sponge,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Hullo, Vancouver. As sluggish as a wet sponge,” repeated Janet.
For a few brief seconds the tension at Vancouver Control eased and the group standing round the radio panel exchanged smiles.
“That’s a natural feeling, George,” said Treleaven, serious again, “because you were used to smaller airplanes. You’ll have to expect it to feel even worse when you really throw her around up there, but you’ll soon get used to it.”
The dispatcher cut in, “I’ve the radar chief here.”
“He’ll have to wait,” said Treleaven. “I’ll talk to him as soon as I get a break.”
“Right.”
“Hullo, George,” called Treleaven. “You must avoid any violent movements of the controls, such as you used to make in your fighter airplanes. If you do move the controls violently, you will over-correct and be in trouble. Is that understood? Over.”
“Yes, Vancouver, we understand. Over.”
“Now, George, I want you to try the effect of fore-and-aft control on your air speed. To start with, adjust your throttle setting so as to reduce speed to 160 and cruise straight and level. But watch the air speed closely. Keep it over 120. The elevator trim is just to your right on the control pedestal and the aileron trim is below the throttles, near the floor. Got it? Over.”
Spencer checked with his hand, holding the plane steady with the other and with braced legs. “Right. Tell him I’m reducing speed.”
“Okay, Vancouver, we’re doing as you say.” Time ticked away as the speed slowly dropped. At 160 George adjusted the trim tabs and held up his thumb to Janet.
“714 here, Vancouver. 160 knots on the indicator.”
Treleaven waited until he had struggled out of his jacket before speaking. “Right, George. Try a little up and down movement. Use the control column as carefully as if it were full of eggs and watch the speed. Keep it at 160. Get the feel of the thing as you go along. Over.” He put the microphone down. “Where’s the radar chief?”
“Here.”
“At what range will this aircraft show on your scope?” queried Treleaven.
“Sixty miles, thereabouts, Captain.”
“That’s no good for a while, then. Well,” said Treleaven, partly to himself, partly to Burdick, “you can’t have everything at once. I’ve had to assume that he’s still heading in a general westerly direction. Next call, though, we’ll check his heading.”
“Yeah,” said Burdick. He offered a cigarette, which the pilot refused.
“If he’s stayed on the same heading,” continued Treleaven, looking at the wall map, “he can’t be that much off course, and we can straighten him up when he gets in our radar range. That Air Force check is a help.”
“Can’t he come in on the beam?” asked Burdick.
“Right now he’s got enough to worry about. If I try to get him on the beam, he’ll have to mess around with the radio, changing frequencies and a lot of other stuff. I’d sooner take a chance, Harry, and let him go a few miles off course.”
“That makes sense,” Burdick conceded.
“Here’s how we’ll handle it,” said the pilot. He turned to the radar chief. “I’ll do the talking. He’s getting used to me now.”
“Right, sir.”
“As soon as he shows up on your scope, you can feed me the information and I’ll relay it. Can you fix up a closed circuit between me and the radar room?”
“We can take care of that,” said the dispatcher.
“How about the final approach?” asked the radar chief.
“We’ll handle that the same way,” said Treleaven. “Directly we’ve got him on the scope and he’s steady on course, we’ll move to the tower. You report up there and we’ll decide on the runway and plan the approach.”
“Yes, sir.”
Treleaven picked up the microphone but waited, his eye catching that of the controller, who was replacing a telephone in its cradle.
“Dr. Davidson is downstairs,” the controller told him.
“What does he have to say?”
“From the information we’ve got he agrees with the diagnosis of the doctor in the plane. Seemed to wonder at first if it could be an outbreak of botulism.”
“What’s that, for Pete’s sake?”
“Some very serious kind of food poisoning, apparently. Shall we get the doctor up here and put him on the air?”
“No, Mr. Grimsell. It’s more important right now to fly this airplane. We’ll leave it to them to call for medical advice if they want it. I don’t want Spencer’s mind distracted from the job if I can possibly help it. I should have Davidson stand by in case he’s needed.” Treleaven spoke into the microphone. “Hullo, George Spencer. Don’t forget that lag in the controls. Just take it steadily. Do you understand that?”
There was a pause. Then, “He understands, Vancouver. Over.”
To Spencer it seemed as if the airline captain must have read his thoughts. He had moved the column slowly forward, and then back again, but there had been no response from the aircraft. Now he tried again, easing the stick away from him. Imperceptibly at first, the nose of the aircraft began to dip. Then, so suddenly that he was momentarily paralyzed with shock, it plunged downwards. Janet bit hard on her lip to avoid screaming. The ASI needle began to swing round… 180… 190… 200… 220. Putting all his weight on the column, Spencer fought to bring the aircraft back. In front of him the instrument panel seemed alive. The climb-and-descent indicator quivered against the bottom of the glass. The little facsimile of a plane on the artificial horizon had depressed its port wing and remained in that position, frighteningly. On the face of the altimeter the 100-foot hand whirred backwards; the 1,000-foot hand less quickly but still terrifyingly fast; while the 10,000-foot needle had already stopped, jammed at its nadir.
“Come on, you slug, come on!” he shouted as the nose at last responded. He watched the three altimeter needles begin with agonizing slowness to wind up again, registering gradually increasing height. “Made it!” he said in relief to Janet, forgetting that he was overcorrecting.
“Watch it — watch the speed,” she exclaimed.
His eyes flicked back to the dial, now rapidly falling again. 160… 150… 140. Then he had it. With a sigh the aircraft settled down on to an even keel once more and he brought it into straight and level flight.
“Jeeze, that was nasty,” he muttered.
Janet was still checking the ASI. “160. That’s all right now.”
The door to the flight deck opened behind them and Dr. Baird’s voice called, “What’s wrong?”
Spencer answered loudly, not removing his eyes from the panel, “Sorry, Doc. I’m trying to get the feel of her.”
“Well, take it as easy as you can, will you? Things are bad enough back here. How are you doing?”
“Fine, just fine, Doc,” said Spencer, licking his lips. The door closed again and Treleaven’s voice came on the air. “Hullo, George Spencer. Everything okay? Over.”
“All under control, Vancouver,” replied Janet.
“Good. What’s your present heading, George?”
Spencer peered down. “Tell him the magnetic compass is still showing about 290 and I’ve been keeping fairly steady on that.” She did so.
“Very well, George. Try to stay on that heading. You may be a little out, but I’ll tell you when to correct. Right now I want you to feel how the ship handles at lower speeds when the flaps and wheels are down. But don’t do anything until I give you the instructions. Is that clear? Over.”
Janet got Spencer’s nod and asked Treleaven to proceed.
“Hullo, 714. First of all, throttle back slightly, not much, and get your air speed steady at 160 knots. Adjust your trim to maintain level flight. Then tell me when you’re ready. Over.”
Spencer straightened himself and called over, “Watch that air speed, Janet. You’ll have to call it off to me when we land, so you may as well start practicing now.”
“It’s on 190,” Janet recited. “200… 190… He said 160, Mr. Spencer.”
“I know, I know. I’m going to throttle back a bit.”
He reached out for the throttles and eased them back. “What is it, Janet? What’s the speed?”
“190, 180, 175, 170, 165, 155, 150… That’s too low!”
“I know. Watch it! Watch it!”
His hand nursed the throttle levers, almost caressing them into the exact positioning to achieve the speed he wanted. Janet’s eyes were riveted on the flickering needle of the dial.
“150, 150, 155, 160… it’s steady on 160.”
Spencer puffed out his cheeks. “Phew! That’s got it. Tell him, Jan.”
“Hullo, Vancouver. Our speed is steady on 160. Over.”
Treleavan sounded impatient, as if he had expected them to be ready before this. “Okay, 714. Now, George. I want you to put on 15 degrees of flap, but be careful not to make it any more. The flap lever is at the base of the control pedestal and marked plainly: 15 degrees will mean moving the lever down to the second notch. The flap-indicator dial is in the center of the panel — the main panel. Have you got both of those? Can you see them? Over.”
Spencer located the lever. “Confirm that,” he told Janet, “but you’d better do it. Right?”
She acknowledged to Vancouver and sat waiting, her hand on the lever.
“Hullo, 714. When I tell you, push it all the way down and watch that dial. When the needle reaches 15 degrees, pull the lever up and leave it at the second notch. You’ll have to watch and be ready for it. Those flaps come down in a hurry. All clear?”
“We’re ready, Vancouver,” said Janet.
“Right. Go ahead, then.”
She prepared to depress the lever, then jerked her head up in alarm.
“The air speed! It’s down to 125.”
Spencer’s eyes flicked over to the air-speed indicator. Then desperately he pushed the control column forward. “Call it off!” he roared. “Call it off!”
The lurch of the aircraft brought their stomachs to their mouths. Janet almost crouched in front of the panel, intoning the figures.
“135, 140, 150, 160, 170, 175… Can’t you get it back to 160?”
“I’m trying, I’m trying.” Again he levelled off and jockeyed the controls until the ASI had been coaxed back to the reading required. He passed his sleeve hurriedly over his forehead, afraid to remove his hand from the column for long enough to get out a handkerchief. “There it is. 160, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s better.”
“That was close.” He sat back in his seat. “Look, let’s relax for a minute, after that.” He managed to muster up a smile. “You can see the kind of pilot I am. I should have known that would happen.”
“No, it was my job to watch the air speed.” She took a deep breath to steady her pounding heart “I think you’re doing wonderfully,” she said. Her voice shook slightly.
It was not lost on Spencer. He said quickly and with exaggerated heartiness, “You can’t say I didn’t warn you. Come on, then, Janet. Let’s get going.”
“Hullo, George,” Treleaven’s voice crackled in the earphones. “Are your flaps down yet?”
“We’re just about to put them down, Captain,” said Janet.
“Hold it. I omitted to tell you that when the flaps are down you will lose speed. Bring it back to 140. Over.”
“Well, I’ll be —!” Spencer ejaculated. “That’s mighty nice of him. He cut it pretty fine.”
“It’s probably hectic down there,” said Janet, who had a very good idea of the scene taking place at the airport. “Thank you, Captain,” she said, transmitting. “We’re starting now. Over.” At a nod from Spencer she pushed the lever down as far as it would go, while Spencer watched the indicator carefully.
“Right. Now back to second notch.”
With infinite caution he cajoled the ASI needle until it rested steadily at 140.
“Tell him, Janet”
“Hullo, Vancouver. Our flaps are down 15 degrees and the air speed is 140.”
“714. Are you still maintaining level flight?”
Spencer nodded to her. “Tell him, yes — well, more or less, anyway.”
“Hullo, Vancouver. More or less.”
“Okay, 714. Now the next thing is to put the wheels down. Then you’ll get the feel of the airplane as it will be when you’re landing. Try to keep your altitude steady and your speed at 140. When you are ready — and make sure you are ready — put down the landing gear and let the speed come back to 120. You will probably have to advance your throttle setting to maintain that air speed, and also adjust the trim. Is that understood? Tell me if you are doubtful about anything. Over.”
“Ask him,” said Spencer, “what about propeller controls and mixture?”
At Janet’s question, Treleaven said in an aside to Burdick, “Well, this guy’s thinking, anyway. For the time being,” he said into the microphone, “leave them alone. Just concentrate on holding that air speed steady with the wheels and flaps down. Later on I’ll give you a full cockpit check for landing. Over.”
“Tell him, understood,” said Spencer. “We’re putting down the wheels now.” He looked apprehensively at the selector lever by his leg. It seemed a much better idea to keep both hands on the column. “Look, Janet, I think you’d better work the undercart lever and call off the air speed as the wheels come down.”
Janet complied. The arrest in their forward flight was so pronounced that it was like applying a brake, jerking them in their seats.
“130, 125, 120, 115… It’s too low.”
“Keep calling!”
“115, 120, 120… Steady on 120.”
“I’ll get this thing yet,” Spencer panted. “She’s like the Queen Mary.”
Treleaven’s voice came up, with a hint of anxiety. “All okay, George? Your wheels should be down by now.”
“Wheels down, Vancouver.”
“Look for three green lights to show you that they’re locked. Also there’s a pressure gauge on the extreme left of the center panel, and the needle should be in the green range. Check.”
“Are they on?” asked Spencer. Janet looked and nodded. “Better tell him, then.”
“Yes, Vancouver. All correct.”
“And say she still handles like a wet sponge, only more so.”
“Hullo, Vancouver. The pilot says she still handles like a sponge, only more so.”
“Don’t worry about that. Now we’ll put on full flaps, shall we, and then you’ll have the proper feel of the aircraft on landing. You’ll soon get the hang of it. Now follow me closely. Put full flap on, bring your air speed back to 110 knots and trim to hold you steady. Adjust the throttle to maintain the altitude. Then I’ll give you instructions for holding your height and air speed while you raise the landing gear and flaps. Over.”
“Did you say 110, Captain?” Janet queried nervously.
“110 is correct, Janet. Follow me exactly and you’ll have nothing to worry about. Are you quite clear, George?”
“Tell him, yes. We are putting on full flap now.”
Once more her hand pushed hard on the flap lever and the air speed started to fall.
“120, 115, 115, 110, 110…”
Spencer’s voice was tight with the effort of will he was imposing on himself. “All right, Janet. Let him know. By God, she’s a ton weight.”
“Hullo, Vancouver. Flaps are full on and the air speed is 110. Mr. Spencer says she is heavier than ever.”
“Nice going, George. We’ll make an airline pilot of you yet. Now we’ll get you back to where you were and then run through the procedure again, with certain variations regarding props, mixture, boosters, and so on. Okay? Over.”
“Again!” Spencer groaned. “I don’t know if I can take it. All right, Janet.”
“Okay, Vancouver. We’re ready.”
“Right, 714. Using the reverse procedure, adjust your flaps to read 15 degrees and speed 120 knots. You will have to throttle back slightly to keep that speed. Go ahead.”
Reaching down, Janet grasped the flap lever and gave it a tug. It failed to move. She bent closer and tried again.
“What is it?” asked Spencer.
“Sort of stiff. I can’t seem to move it this time.”
“Shouldn’t be. Give it a good steady pull.”
“It must be me. I just can’t make it budge.”
“Here. Let me.” He took bis hand off the column and pulled the lever back effortlessly. “There, you see. You’ve got to have the touch. Now if you’ll just rest it in the second—”
“Look out!” she screamed. “The air speed!”
It was 90, moving to 75.
Bracing himself against the sudden acute angle of the flight deck, Spencer knew they were in a bad stall, an incipient spin. Keep your head, he ordered himself savagely — think. If she spins, we’re finished. Which way is the stall? It’s to the left. Try to remember what they taught you at flying school. Stick forward and hard opposite rudder. Stick forward. Keep it forward. We’re gaining speed. Opposite rudder. Now! Watch the instruments. They can’t be right — I can feel us turning! No — trust them. You must trust them. Be ready to straighten. That’s it. Come on. Come on, lady, come on.
“The mountains!” exclaimed Janet. “I can see the ground!”
Ease back. Ease back. Not too fast. Hold the air speed steady. We’re coming out… we’re coming out! It worked! It worked! We’re coming out!
“105, 110, 115…” Janet read off in a strangled tone. “It’s completely black now. We must be in fog or something.”
“Get the wheels up!”
“The mountains! We must—”
“Get the wheels up, I said!” The door to the flight deck crashed open. There were sounds of crying and angry voices.
“What are they doing?” came a yell from a woman.
“There’s something wrong! I’m going to find out what it is!”
“Get back to your seat.” This was Baird’s voice.
“Let me through!”
The silhouette of a man filled the doorway, peering into the darkness of the flight deck. He lurched forward, grabbing hold of anything to keep himself upright, and stared in petrified disbelief at the back of Spencer’s head and then down at the prostrate figures of the two men on the floor. For a moment his mouth worked soundlessly. Then he impelled himself back to the open doorway and gripped the jamb on both sides as he leaned through it.
His voice was a shriek.
“He’s not the pilot! We shall all be killed! We’re going to crash!”