Chapter 11 #2
The comment made Marvel grin, breaking the worst of her fury over this madhouse. She said to the young man, “I really do need you to get down from my plane. Did you touch anything in the cockpit? Pull any levers or turn any knobs? Pick up anything loose, like my map?”
The guy backed down the ladder and hopped to the ground. “No, ma’am. Do you really know what all those gauges and gadgets do?”
She blinked, startled. “Of course. Couldn’t very well fly it if I didn’t.”
“Wow. I didn’t think women could remember all that.”
Marvel’s mouth opened. Closed. What was there to say in response to that?
Pancho rolled her eyes, declaring, “Trust me, if your mother managed to run a house and raise a family, she was plenty sharp-witted. She also had wisdom enough to know no one likes a big mouth who goes on about himself day and night . . . Plenty of women are just as smart as men. And some of us are smarter. We just have better manners.”
“I’m . . . umm . . . sorry,” the young man stammered, turning pink.
Marvel took pity on him. “Off you go. And don’t climb on any of the other planes. Don’t even touch them without permission from the pilot. Okay?”
The young man nodded and disappeared into the crowd. Marvel took a moment to enjoy the way several men appeared uncomfortable after overhearing her while their wives flashed knowing smiles at her.
“They promised us security,” Pancho hissed in frustration. “This is a circus.”
“It’s worse than a circus,” Marvel declared. “Ten times worse.” With a sigh, she climbed the ladder the young man had just vacated to pack up her gear and give the cockpit a once-over to make sure nothing had been messed with.
A loudspeaker crackled to life for the first time since Marvel had landed. “Folks . . . folks! Welcome!” a man addressed the crowd from a microphone. “If you will direct your attention to the east end of the field . . . coming in now is the very famous pilot Lady Lindy.”
The crowd cheered as Marvel looked up. The cherry-red Lockheed Vega was coming in fast.
And high.
And long.
Which normally wouldn’t be a problem. San Bernardino had a big, long landing field.
But today, only a tiny sliver of it was open for the planes to land on.
Marvel had touched down a few hundred feet down the runway like most airplanes normally would, and she’d had barely enough runway in front of her to come to a safe stop short of where the crowd and their parked cars stretched out, blocking a good half of its length.
The Vega was a big, heavy airplane. It carried a lot of momentum into landing and had a longer rollout distance than the other planes in the race.
Normally, pilots wanted to cross the runway threshold around twenty feet in the air, give or take a little, which gave them a margin of safety and ensured they actually landed on the improved surface of the runway itself.
On a short runway, pilots tried to land right at the runway threshold, which gave them the entire length of the runway to slow to a safe stop.
Most airfields marked runways in the middle of large grass fields.
Landing a little short of the designated runway threshold was typically no big deal.
Maybe the grass was a little longer there and the ground a little bumpier.
But today, the real estate near San Bernardino’s runway threshold was a solid wall of people. All the planes were coming in high. The other women were probably as spooked as she’d been about plowing into the crowd short of the runway. But the other planes weren’t Amelia’s heavy Vega.
Marvel held her breath, begging Amelia to just drive the plane into the ground, nice landing be damned.
“Don’t float. Don’t float,” she chanted under her breath.
“Power back early. Put it down. Descend. Descend!” She watched in horror as the Vega flew over the threshold a good forty feet in the air, twice as high as normal. Not good.
Amelia cut the throttle a second or two late, eating up more precious runway.
The nose started to flare, and Marvel groaned.
The Vega’s momentum was going to carry it easily halfway down the tiny strip of dirt if Amelia tried to execute a perfect landing.
Marvel reached up to grab the cross necklace.
“Lord, tell her to push the nose over and land now.”
Whether God heard her plea or Amelia finally caught sight of the end of the short runway with its dense crowd of spectators racing toward her, Marvel didn’t know and didn’t care. Amelia abruptly pushed the nose down and flew the Vega down hard onto the runway.
It wasn’t as hard a landing as Opal’s, but it still made Marvel wince at how uncomfortable that must have been for Amelia. The Vega decelerated faster than usual. Amelia must be standing on the brakes with all her might.
“Folks . . . folks . . . clear the end of the field!” the announcer yelled.
A cry went up, then screams. People began to scramble and shove in fear for their lives.
The screaming increased as people stumbled and fell in the ministampede.
Cars backed up hastily as the Vega roared toward them.
The plane devoured the remaining runway, its propeller promising to chiffonade anything or anyone standing in its path.
Marvel gasped, powerless to do anything but watch.
From behind her, she heard Pancho cry, “Sawdust for brains! The entire lot of them!” Marvel heard the same frustrated helplessness in her friend’s voice that she felt.
Amelia’s plane veered slightly left and right as she fought for control while standing on the brakes.
The plane’s momentum was too much, though.
It rolled into the newly formed gap the crowd had just made.
People continued to scramble to the sides as the plane finally slowed and came to a stop, not ten feet from the first cars.
Marshalers in their white jumpsuits ran after the Vega, waving their flags uselessly. It took a while for the officials to push the crowd back far enough for Amelia to have room to do a one-eighty turn and taxi back down the airstrip to the turnoff for the parking area.
Marvel heard the drone of another aircraft in the traffic pattern and groaned. Amelia had to clear the runway fast, or there was going to be a head-on collision between her and the next plane!
The marshalers must’ve realized the danger as well, for they took off running in front of the Vega and down the airstrip, with Amelia taxiing fast just behind them.
They reached the turn as the next airplane turned onto final approach and began its final descent to land.
They waved their flags urgently at the Vega.
Amelia took the turn off the runway recklessly fast, but at least she was now clear of the incoming plane. Barely. Yet another disaster had been averted in this string of near catastrophes.
“Stay back, folks. We have a few more planes left to land,” the announcer pleaded. “Well, now, ladies and gentlemen, you were promised excitement. I do believe we’ve delivered!”
“Where does he get off saying something like that?” Pancho demanded. “Making light of this mess when he should be on his knees thanking the Almighty that nobody’s died.” Then she added darkly, “Yet.”
Marvel nodded in agreement.
Pancho said, “And they think we women don’t belong around airplanes!”
Marvel smiled grimly. “You said it.” She climbed down to the ground, and Pancho joined her. They pushed their way through the crowds milling in the parking area to where Amelia was backing out of her cockpit, disappearing into the belly of her aircraft.
The crowd around them surged toward the Vega, hemming it in on all sides. They were saying things like, “I brought the family out to meet you,” and “Lost a day of work to be here,” and “We’ve been here for hours and hours,” and “You women need to be more grateful that we showed up.”
As if. Marvel shoved through the crowd beside Pancho, not taking no for an answer when people refused to yield.
She supposed it helped that she and Pancho still wore their leather helmets and goggles, and their faces were covered with grime and a light mist of oil from sitting behind their Travel Air engines.
She and Pancho used their bodies to make a tiny space in front of the hatch toward the back of the Vega’s fuselage.
The door swung outward, and Amelia jumped down, looking snorting mad. “What is this insanity?”
“Here now . . . excuse me, folks . . . excuse me, please!” Several men in suits pushed their way toward Amelia, who was pinned at the side of her plane by the crowd.
Marvel watched with interest to see who these newcomers were.
One of them boomed, “Welcome . . . I say welcome to San Bernardino, Lady Lindy. I’m Mayor R.
H. Mack, welcoming you on behalf of the San Bernardino Chamber of Commerce. I’m happy to meet you, Lady Lindy.”
Marvel sniffed, unimpressed. If this was the person responsible for this uncontrolled mob that had overrun the airfield, he had a lot of nerve showing his face to the three of them after nearly getting them all killed.
Amelia, scowling blackly, opened her mouth to speak to Mack.
Maybe he sensed her ire, or maybe he was just completely oblivious.
Either way, he turned his back on her before Amelia could give him a piece of her mind and launched into a grandiose speech to the crowd about what a great day this was for the city of San Bernardino and how humbled he was to have brought it to their fine city.
What a politician.
The crowd swelled as it became clear that some event was taking place over by the distinctive red Vega and its famous pilot.
Marvel leaned close to the other two women behind Mack’s back to murmur, “How are we ever going to get out of here?”
Amelia muttered back, “I’ve been through a few circuses like this. Our only chance is to stick with the bigwigs in suits. The crowd will part to let them through, and we stay right on their tails.”
Pancho grumbled, “I’d rather shoot ’em than follow ’em.”