Okay. She was breathing again. Actually breathing. What do you need from me? I need your hands on this too because I have not flown anything this big in my life.
I flew fast and light and mean. This is a whale. So you know this airplane. I know how to keep a broken airplane in the sky. And between the two of us, we make one pilot who can do this deal.
Deal. Read me the hydraulic pressure. Green systems at She swallowed. It's at 1,400 and falling. Normal's 3,000.
Ethan's jaw tightened. How fast is it falling? About 100 a minute. He did the math without wanting to. 14 minutes until the green system was dry.
And when it went dry, half his flight controls went with it. The nice ones, the responsive ones, the ones that made a whale fly like it wanted to be flown. We've got a leak, he said. Somewhere in the green line. Nothing we can do about it from up here.
So, we plan around it. He keyed the radio. Kalin, get me a frequency for anybody. Shanwick gander. Anybody who can hear us and pull up the nearest field that can take this airplane.
I need pavement and I need it long. Her fingers flew across the console. Nearest suitable field is. She stopped. Her face fell.
It's Greenland. Kanger Lusuakok or the military field at Thuli. Everything else is behind us or too far. We're closest to She checked again. There's a runway.
It's long enough. But it's Thulyle. It's a US military installation. It's Arctic. The weather up there is how far?
210 mi. How long at this speed? 3540 minutes. Ethan looked at the hydraulic gauge again. 14 minutes until the green system died.
40 minutes to a runway. He'd be flying a crippled airplane handc cranked with half his controls dead for 26 minutes over open Arctic water before he ever saw pavement. "Okay," he said, and his voice didn't change at all. And that steadiness was the bravest thing Calin Brooks had ever heard. "That's fine.