radioed.
“Selecting emergency undercarriage now,” Seagrave answered, his voice still calm. His left hand dropped down beside his seat and he pulled the U/C selector button on the floor. “Just another day on the job,” he muttered to himself. But Liz caught it and understood. Like most fighter pilots, Seagrave would rather die than sound bad. Now it was a question of maneuvering as smoothly as possible while getting back around for landing. They entered downwind. He kept talking on the intercom to reassure his passenger. “Flying is a bit more demanding since the artificial feel and autostabs have quit. But it’s no big deal.”
“I have you in the binocs,” the tower radioed. “Your undercarriage appears down and locked.”
“How encouraging,” Seagrave answered. “But I still have a red.” He turned final and again gently yawed the aircraft, hoping gravity might perform some magic. It did, and the offending light turned to green. Then it blinked red to green and back. “Do make up your mind,” Seagrave groused. “No need to amuse the spectators with a gear-up landing.” As if on cue, the light turned steady green. The runway, finally clear of the demonstrators, loomed up in front of them. “Crossing in now, one seventy-five, ease back gently, gently, one fifty-five, one fifty, ah, there we are.” It was a picture-perfect landing. He eased the nosewheel onto the runway. “Brake chute now, Liz.”
Her hand flashed out and pulled the handle, straight and smooth as he had told her. The chute popped out from the base of the vertical stabilizer and snapped open. He tapped the brakes, depleting the last of the pressure accumulator. They stopped on the runway, still going straight ahead. Seagrave’s right hand danced on the console. “HP fuel cocks off.” The engines died of fuel starvation and spun down. Seagrave keyed the radio. “Cranthorpe tower, Lightning One is down. We’ll need a tow back to dispersal. Thanks for the help. Good show all round.” He peeled off his oxygen mask and smiled to Liz. “Ground crew will have to use a hand pump to open the canopy. I hope you don’t mind waiting.”
Liz reached out and touched his cheek. Her hand was warm. “That was the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“You were brilliant. And that entitles you to say the three magic words: ‘Cheated death again.’”
“Cheated death again,” she repeated.
The car carrying the three CAA officials reached the Lightning at the same time as the ground crew. The crew piled out of the van and quickly installed ground locks on the landing gear. Once the gear was secure, two men fitted a hand pump to the socket on the left side of the fuselage, just aft of the wing’s trailing edge. One man pumped furiously, and the canopy slowly opened while Shanker and Eric climbed out of the service van. Shanker gave Seagrave a thumbs-up. “You did good,” he shouted.
The CAA headman jumped out of his car, his face bright red, and started shouting the moment Seagrave climbed down the boarding ladder. “This aircraft does not carry a certificate to fly, nor were you authorized to fly!”
Seagrave ignored him and helped Liz climb down, her legs still a little weak. “Are you okay?” Seagrave asked.
“Perfect,” she answered.
Seagrave walked around the jet with Shanker and Eric, examining it for damage. One of the ground crew was looking in the left main gear well. “Here’s the problem. A gland let go when you retracted the gear. Never happen if the system were exercised regularly.”
“It’s the same with us,” Shanker said. “You got to keep ’em flying once or twice a week or they turn into hangar queens.”
The CAA headman was livid with rage as he trailed after Seagrave. “What’s your name? What are your qualifications? Who gave you permission to operate this aircraft? Why did you take off? What speed were you going when you flew down the runway? What was your height? What do you
“Selecting emergency undercarriage now,” Seagrave answered, his voice still calm. His left hand dropped down beside his seat and he pulled the U/C selector button on the floor. “Just another day on the job,” he muttered to himself. But Liz caught it and understood. Like most fighter pilots, Seagrave would rather die than sound bad. Now it was a question of maneuvering as smoothly as possible while getting back around for landing. They entered downwind. He kept talking on the intercom to reassure his passenger. “Flying is a bit more demanding since the artificial feel and autostabs have quit. But it’s no big deal.”
“I have you in the binocs,” the tower radioed. “Your undercarriage appears down and locked.”
“How encouraging,” Seagrave answered. “But I still have a red.” He turned final and again gently yawed the aircraft, hoping gravity might perform some magic. It did, and the offending light turned to green. Then it blinked red to green and back. “Do make up your mind,” Seagrave groused. “No need to amuse the spectators with a gear-up landing.” As if on cue, the light turned steady green. The runway, finally clear of the demonstrators, loomed up in front of them. “Crossing in now, one seventy-five, ease back gently, gently, one fifty-five, one fifty, ah, there we are.” It was a picture-perfect landing. He eased the nosewheel onto the runway. “Brake chute now, Liz.”
Her hand flashed out and pulled the handle, straight and smooth as he had told her. The chute popped out from the base of the vertical stabilizer and snapped open. He tapped the brakes, depleting the last of the pressure accumulator. They stopped on the runway, still going straight ahead. Seagrave’s right hand danced on the console. “HP fuel cocks off.” The engines died of fuel starvation and spun down. Seagrave keyed the radio. “Cranthorpe tower, Lightning One is down. We’ll need a tow back to dispersal. Thanks for the help. Good show all round.” He peeled off his oxygen mask and smiled to Liz. “Ground crew will have to use a hand pump to open the canopy. I hope you don’t mind waiting.”
Liz reached out and touched his cheek. Her hand was warm. “That was the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“You were brilliant. And that entitles you to say the three magic words: ‘Cheated death again.’”
“Cheated death again,” she repeated.
The car carrying the three CAA officials reached the Lightning at the same time as the ground crew. The crew piled out of the van and quickly installed ground locks on the landing gear. Once the gear was secure, two men fitted a hand pump to the socket on the left side of the fuselage, just aft of the wing’s trailing edge. One man pumped furiously, and the canopy slowly opened while Shanker and Eric climbed out of the service van. Shanker gave Seagrave a thumbs-up. “You did good,” he shouted.
The CAA headman jumped out of his car, his face bright red, and started shouting the moment Seagrave climbed down the boarding ladder. “This aircraft does not carry a certificate to fly, nor were you authorized to fly!”
Seagrave ignored him and helped Liz climb down, her legs still a little weak. “Are you okay?” Seagrave asked.
“Perfect,” she answered.
Seagrave walked around the jet with Shanker and Eric, examining it for damage. One of the ground crew was looking in the left main gear well. “Here’s the problem. A gland let go when you retracted the gear. Never happen if the system were exercised regularly.”
“It’s the same with us,” Shanker said. “You got to keep ’em flying once or twice a week or they turn into hangar queens.”
The CAA headman was livid with rage as he trailed after Seagrave. “What’s your name? What are your qualifications? Who gave you permission to operate this aircraft? Why did you take off? What speed were you going when you flew down the runway? What was your height? What do you
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