She stood. We land in a few minutes. God be with all of us. She moved on and Margaret Voss bowed her head. And for the first time in longer than she could remember, she prayed for someone other than herself.
"40 mi," Kalin said. "You should have the field visual. I've got it. " Ethan's eyes locked onto the burning cross of light in the distance. I've got the runway. Okay.
Okay, sweetheart. Come on. Come to me. He wasn't talking to Calin. He was talking to the airplane the way he used to talk to his Viper.
Low and steady coaxing. You've been so good. Just a little more. Just hold together a little more. 35 mi.
Beginning descent. Beginning descent. Ease the power back. Gentle watch that number two. The engine surged.
Coughed. Ethan's hand danced on the throttle feather light. Easy, easy, baby. Don't quit on me now. Not now.
The engine caught, steadied. Ethan let out a breath he'd been holding. Good girl. 30 mi, 12,000 ft. We're high.
We're going to be high the whole way because I can't use flaps to slow down. So, we're going to come in fast and steep and it's going to feel wrong to every instinct you have. And you're going to trust me anyway. 25 mi. Kalin, talk to me.
25 mi, 11,000 ft. Air speed 220 knots. Too fast. Bringing it back. Ethan eased the throttles, watching the number two like a hawk.
The whole airframe was buffeting, now shaking, groaning. An airplane never meant to fly this way. Being flown this way by sheer stubborn will. Come on. Come on.
And then without warning, the number two engine flamed out. Not a surge, not a cough, a flame out. The engine note dropped away entirely, and the airplane yawed hard to the right, and every alarm in the cockpit went off at once. Engine failure number two. Calin screamed.