CHAPTER 66
Cotton could see the ground rushing up to meet them at an alarming rate.
He kept raising the nose to lose airspeed.
He could not stall early. That would be disastrous.
Normally you eased down. Not this time. Just fly it into the ground.
What did the flight manuals say? A controlled crash involves landing in an unplanned location, often with compromised control of the aircraft.
Really? That was an understatement, to say the least. More of the manual flashed through his eidetic memory.
The primary goal is minimizing damage to the aircraft and ensuring the safety of passengers and crew.
Three main steps are involved. First, identify a suitable landing site, as flat and obstacle-free as possible.
Done.
Next, manage speed and descent so as to touch down as gently as possible.
Still working on that one.
Finally, configure the aircraft with flaps and landing gear down.
Done, or at least as best he could under the circumstances.
The good news?
This was doable.
Everyone knew about US Airways flight 1549, the “Miracle on the Hudson,” when Captain Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger struck a flock of geese shortly after takeoff, causing both engines to fail.
Sullenberger then executed a controlled water landing on the Hudson River, saving all 155 passengers and crew.
More of the flight manual came to mind.
A controlled crash is a testament to the skill, training, and composure of the pilot. Through quick thinking and decisive action, pilots can transform a potentially catastrophic situation into a survivable event.
Good to know.
Thankfully, the EMB was a modern aircraft, designed with multiple redundancies and fail-safes. It had a reinforced fuselage, energy-absorbing seats, and advanced avionics. All of which increased their chances of walking away.
He tightened his grip on the yoke, bracing himself for the coming impact.
The plane’s vibrations grew stronger, rattling his teeth, blurring his vision.
The plane tilted left, then jerked back violently to the right.
He fought to keep the wings level. More wisdoms from the past flashed through his brain.
Nothing more worthless than air above you or runway behind you.
You got that right.
Timing was everything.
They were less than a hundred feet from the ground and he tilted the plane left, trying to use the good main gear to cushion the initial impact.
He cut the engines and feathered the props.
The plane swayed from side to side as it drifted over the runaway, then bottomed out with a jolt.
The left wheels hit the concrete with a bone-jarring thud, skipping and bouncing on the foamed surface.
He fought to keep the nose high but, as friction stole speed, the plane slowed and the nose gear kissed the runway.
Sparks flew as metal scraped against the tarmac.
The screeching sound was deafening.
The EMB shuddered and groaned in protest. The props from the right engine shattered into pieces.
They careened down the runway, the emergency vehicles growing larger in the windshield.
Firefighters and medics were poised and ready to spring into action.
The plane began to slow, the vibrations lessening.
And they spun. Round and round.
Staying on the runway, plowing through the foam, the EMB seemingly reluctant to give up the fight. They continued to spin, the plane’s belly screaming off the concrete.
A final shudder, and they came to an abrupt stop.
Then silence.
His adrenaline rush began to fade, replaced by a profound sense of relief and fatigue that mixed with palpable tension. He turned to Ivan, who seemed equally drained but managed a weary smile.
“If you ever go to Disneyland,” he said, “now you know what an e-ticket ride feels like.”
The Russian nodded. “That was more than enough.”
Outside, emergency crews swarmed the EMB, assessing the situation as others sprayed the plane with more foam.
He unfastened his harness and stood. His legs felt like jelly, but he steadied himself and made his way to the exit door.
A quick glance back and he saw the codex was still safely strapped down, unharmed.
He released the latch, opened the exit door, and stepped onto the runway, his feet sinking into the foam. Emergency personnel rushed toward him, their faces masked by respirators, their eyes scanning for any signs of injury.
He shook his head indicating he was fine.
Ivan joined him.
They moved away from the wreckage.
The EMB, though battered and bruised, had held together with no fire, no explosion.
And they were alive.
Stephanie waited an eternity for a report on the landing. Her face was a mask of worry, her eyes searching for any confirmation of safety. The feed from the F-16 had stopped and all communications to Cotton had likewise been severed. He was either down with no power or they’d crashed.
“Colonel,” she said to the phone. “What’s happening?”
“They’re on the ground, in one piece. No fire. I’m told they are exiting the plane.”
She heaved a sigh of relief.
As did Cassiopeia.
Cotton had displayed extraordinary composure and expertise, turning what could have been a catastrophe into a manageable situation. But Stephanie knew that they owed their safety not just to his skill, but to everyone who had supported the mission.
“Thank you, Colonel, for all you did,” Stephanie said. “And to you too, Captain Malarkey.”
“Our pleasure,” the colonel said.
She ended the call.
Prime Minister de Ciutiis had stood silent during the entire event. No surprise. A person in her position faced life-and-death decisions every day. But she knew what was on this woman’s mind.
“The Czechs are expecting the codex to be delivered,” de Ciutiis said.
“And it will be. Once we deal with the Russians.”
“That was not the arrangement.”
“It is now.”
“This is a serious break of protocol. I would have never agreed to this if I had known your true motivations.”
“I have no motivations, besides the fact that one of my own was nearly blown from the sky. Only a handful of people knew that plane was there, you being one of those.”
“Are you implying I did something improper?”
“Not in the least. We know exactly the source of the leak, and that has to be dealt with before we release the codex.”
“The Czechs will not be happy.”
“They’ll get over it. We are not Sweden. I doubt they are going to challenge Washington.”
“It seems we have no choice, do we?”
“That is incorrect. Finally, through this whole mess, we actually do have a choice.”