A bright white line stretched across the darkness.
“Shannon, Flight 602 established final.”
“Flight 602, cleared to land Runway 24. Wind two-five-zero at eleven. All emergency services standing by.”
Marcus keyed the radio.
“Copy.”
Two percent.
The nose drifted right.
Marcus corrected gently.
Nothing.
Then too much.
The aircraft rolled left.
He eased the opposite direction, resisting the instinct to fight aggressively.
“One thousand feet,” Foster called.
The runway filled more of the windscreen.
“One percent.”
Marcus said nothing.
“Five hundred.”
The hydraulic indicators dropped.
Zero.
Foster looked at him.
“We lost both systems.”
The yoke suddenly felt dead.
The aircraft began drifting right.
Marcus’s hands moved immediately to the throttles.
“Differential thrust.”
Foster looked at him.
“On a passenger jet?”
“We don’t have another steering system.”
Marcus increased power slightly on the right engine and reduced the left.
The nose moved.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
“Four hundred.”
Marcus adjusted again.
The jet corrected left.
“Three hundred.”
They were nearly aligned.
Then a crosswind pushed the nose.
Foster’s voice rose.
“We’re drifting.”
“I see it.”
Marcus increased asymmetric thrust.
The aircraft turned.
“Two hundred.”
The centerline moved beneath them.
“Hundred.”
Marcus reduced power.
The aircraft dropped.
“Fifty.”
Marcus whispered something Zoe had heard him say before difficult things without ever knowing where he learned it.
“Bring me home.”
The main landing gear struck the runway.
The impact shook the aircraft from nose to tail.
Several overhead compartments burst open in the cabin.
People screamed.
Marcus kept his eyes forward.
The nose gear slammed down.
They were on the ground.
But the airplane was still moving at more than one hundred sixty knots.
Foster tried the brakes.
Nothing.
“Brake pressure gone.”
Marcus had already guessed.
“Reverse thrust?”
“Limited response.”
The end of the runway was rushing toward them.