“Because they haven’t spent three years in a simulator with a combat pilot,” Wes said gently. “You know the language, Brooke. I need someone who does.”
My knees went soft.
“I promised myself I’d never sit in a cockpit again,” I whispered.
“I know.” Wes’s voice cracked. “I made the same promise, kiddo. I haven’t flown fighters since the day your dad went down. I’m not even supposed to be in this seat tonight. I swapped shifts with another first officer. Maybe that’s a coincidence, and maybe it isn’t. But I can’t do this without you.”
I looked at the instruments. Half the screens showed amber warnings I recognized, and the others showed things I didn’t.
Then I thought about the people in the cabin. The woman with the baby. The old couple holding hands.
A pilot never leaves people behind.
“Where do I sit?”
They buckled me into the jump seat behind the center console and clipped a headset over my ears. It was too big and slid down against my cheeks. A flight attendant named Dolores brought a binder and set it in my lap with trembling hands.
“Abnormal checklist,” she said. “The captain says start with the one called Total Hydraulic Failure.”
I opened the binder. The pages were dense, and my eyes blurred.
Breathe, I told myself. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. My father said that about everything: flying, chess, riding a bike.
“Reading,” I said, and my voice shook. “Total Hydraulic Failure. Item one. Control column and rudder pedals. Verify response.”
“Minimal response,” Captain Pruitt said.
“Item two. Flaps and slats. Use alternate extension if available.”
“Alternate extension is armed,” Wes said. “It’ll take time to deploy.”
“Item three. Landing gear. Gravity extension required.”
“That’s going to be loud,” Wes muttered. “Brooke, you’re doing great.”
I hadn’t known I was holding my breath.
Behind us, I could hear the cabin through the open door. Muffled voices. Someone crying. A flight attendant’s calm announcement, repeating the same instructions over and over, as if saying them enough times could make them true.
“Where are we landing?” I asked.
“Gander,” Captain Pruitt said. “Newfoundland. Long runway, emergency crews on standby, and they’ve handled worse. We’re about ninety minutes out.”
“Can we make it?”
Neither of them answered right away.
“Yes,” Wes said at last, and he looked back at me over his shoulder. “But we’re going to need every one of us.”
The next hour was the longest of my life.
I read checklists until my throat ached. I called out airspeed every thirty seconds. When it drifted up, I said so. When it dropped, I said so. Wes adjusted the thrust levers with tiny movements, one engine up, the other down, nudging the nose left or right like a man steering a ship with his fingertips.
At one point the airplane rolled thirty degrees to the right.
My heart leaped into my throat.
“Bank angle!” I shouted. “Thirty degrees right!”
“I’ve got it,” Wes said, and the right throttle slid back while the left surged forward.
Slowly, the wings leveled.
“Good call,” Captain Pruitt said. His face was gray with strain, and sweat ran down his temple. “That’s exactly what I need. Keep talking to us.”
“Altitude holding at eleven thousand,” I said. “Airspeed two hundred and forty. Heading three-three-zero.”
“Brooke.” Wes’s voice was careful. “You’re doing exactly what your dad would have done.”
I swallowed hard.
“Do you think he’d be proud?”
Wes laughed once, rough and wet.
“Kid, your dad used to talk about you on every single deployment. He had your drawings taped up inside his helmet bag. He told me you’d be a better pilot than both of us someday.” He shook his head. “He never said it in front of you, because he didn’t want you to feel pressure. But he thought you were the best thing he ever did.”
My eyes stung, and I let the tears fall, because there wasn’t time to wipe them.
“Airspeed two-thirty,” I said, and my voice only shook a little. “Trending down.”
When the lights of Gander appeared beneath the clouds, I almost didn’t believe them.
A thin line of white stretched across black land, flanked by pulsing red and blue where emergency vehicles waited along the runway. It was so small. It looked like a bandage laid across the whole dark world.
“Tower says the winds are favorable,” Captain Pruitt said. “Runway three-zero. Ten thousand feet of pavement. We’re going to need all of it.”
“Gravity extension on the gear,” Wes said. “Brooke, read me the next item.”
My hands were shaking so badly the page rattled.
“Landing checklist,” I said. “Gear. Gravity extension handle, pull.”
Wes pulled.
A deep mechanical thump rolled through the floor, and a green light blinked on, then another, then a third.
“Three greens,” Captain Pruitt breathed. “Gear’s down and locked.”
“Flaps alternate extension,” I read.
“Selecting.”
The nose pitched slightly. The sway deepened, then steadied.
“Speed’s too high,” Wes said. “We’re going to touch down fast. It’s going to be rough, and we won’t have any brakes except what the engines give us.”
“Reverse thrust,” I said. “That’s what Dad would use.”
“Exactly.”
