Fic: Spin Recovery, Part Thirty-Two

[jeriendhal]

“You have the aircraft.”

“I have the aircraft,” she confirmed. He let go of the control stick, his hand hovering over it a moment as the Harvard wobbled. Then their flight path straightened out again, steady and true.

“Oh, blessed Holy Den Mother, thank you.”

Rufus brought up the flaps and landing gear. “Care to try a few maneuvers?” he asked.

“Let me get some more altitude underneath us first, please.”

They rose lazily up to 2,000 meters, pulling on oxygen masks while Rufus ran her through the meanings of the various indicator dials on Hazel’s control panel and the aircraft’s tolerances. Fortunately they had been relabeled into Vulpine from the archaic human tongue, so she easily caught on. “It’s hard to believe that this thing is being controlled by my muscles alone, without actuators or hydraulics,” she said.

“Yes,, I think we missed something, going straight from wood wings to fly-by-light controls. Ready to do some maneuvering?”

“Yes.” Without waiting for a go ahead, she pulled the control stick to the left, bringing the Harvard into an easy, two-minute turn. “Woo! She really wants to turn, doesn’t she?”

Rufus could hear the grin in her voice and it lightened his heart. “She needs a gentle touch, otherwise she’ll bite you on the tail. Now let’s try a coordinated turn, with you on the stick and me on the pedals.”

“F.A.B. Turning right.” They banked right, Rufus pressing down on the rudder pedals while she minded the ailerons, the effort smoother than the first turn she had made on her own. Then she straightened their flight path out.

“What are you doing?”

“This!” Rufus grabbed for the padded edge of the control panel as she snap rolled the Harvard onto its right wing, then upside down, then its left wing, and finally upright again. “Oh, I love this dear bird!”

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Oh, we’re coming near home.” Hazel dipped the wing down and Rufus could see the rocky hills of the Northeast Sector below them, little turret homes rising up from underneath the green canopy of spade trees. A maintenance tech stood on a platform at the top of one of the windmill generators and gave them a cheery wave.

“It’s lovely down there,” Rufus said.

“Yes, I’d forgotten just how lovely,” she replied. “When I grew up there all I could think about was getting away. It was too poor, too provincial. I wanted to see the stars. I had to lose my leg to realize how dear it was to me.”

“Yes. That’s something I’d forgotten as well.” As frustrating as his mother could be, as the web of duties around him were, it had taken Hazel’s cry for help in the hospital to realized what those duties meant. They looked up to him, the commoners to the Farmer Noble, to set things right when events looked determined to go wrong. “Duty” was only burden because it was the weight on their hopes that he carried on his shoulders. Holy Den Mother, please forgive me for taking so long to figure that out.

A voice over the com snapped him out of his reverie. BTD ATC to VH129 X, please maintain your present heading and altitude.

“VH129 X to ATC, message received. What’s the problem?”

He could have sworn he heard a smile in the air traffic controller’s voice as she replied, Prepare for military inspection. Two fast movers approaching your six o’ clock. BTD ATC out.

“Military inspection? What are they talking about?” Hazel asked

“I don’t know,” Rufus said, a bit confused himself. The question was answered though, when he caught sight of two thin, silvery needle shapes in the rear facing mirrors mounted around the cockpit, rapidly approaching their aft quarter. In short order the little Harvard was flying in formation with two Bright Claws, two-seat, top of the line star fighters each easily twice the ancient trainer’s length and capable of traveling at least thirty times its top speed in an atmosphere.

The pilots waved while their WSO’s raised personal cameras and snapped a few shots. Rufus waved back, while Hazel kept her hands steady on the control stick and eyes on the instruments. He felt briefly sorry for the pilots of those fighters. They were having a devilishly hard time trying to keep steady with the ancient trainer at this speed, their flaps at full extension and engines nearly at idle as they fought to prevent a stall.

“Are you all right, Hazel?” he asked.

“She’s flying smooth,” she answered. “I’m doing better than they are at maintaining this speed.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She spared a glance towards the modern fighters, whose engines could carry them out into space and the stars beyond. “I’m all right, Rufus, really. It hurts, but not as bad as I thought it would. Does that make sense?”

“I feel much the same.”

Her voice brightened. “Why don’t we show those flyboys what this thing can do?” She brought the Harvard’s nose up, pulling up above the surprised fighters and then banking into a hard turn. The Bright Claws turned to match her, as she did a four point snap roll, showing off the trainer’s wings and belly to the delighted fighters.

“I’m going to open up the throttle again. I want to try an Immelman.”

“Go for it. Let’s show them what this bird can do!”

The radial engine roared as she opened the throttle wide and put them thirty degrees nose down, building up momentum energy before she pulled the stick back to her belly, bring their aircraft into a steep climb that shoved Rufus back against his seat. The Immelman was one of the most ancient of maneuvers, designed to revese a fighter’s course quickly by doing a half-loop before rolling the aircraft right side up again. He raised his eyes up to the canopy, watching at the sky traded places with green earth over his head.

They were almost at the top of the loop when all at once there was a loud bang in the direction of the Havard’s nose, then suddenly dark lubricant coated the cockpit windows while the engine began roaring and banging. Hazel let out a shriek as a piece of the cowling tore loose and shattered the front windscreen. Then suddenly the wind was roaring in the cockpit as flames poured from the engine and the little fighter began tumbling out of the sky.

Rufus flipped down the magnetos, killing the engine, then punched the actuator for the halon fire extinguishers mounted in the engine. They hissed and doused the flames as he pushed another control and feathered the blades of the propeller. All the while he was shouting into his microphone, “Emergency, emergency, emergency! BTD ATC, this is VH129 X, we are declaring an emergency! We have had total engine failure and are in an uncontrolled spin!”

“Shit! I can’t see!” Hazel yanked up the visor of her helmet, covered with lubricant from the engine, and raised her free hand to shield her eyes from the wind blasting the cockpit. The Harvard rolled back over onto its belly as it tumbled out of the sky, nose down and tail high as it spun counter-clockwise around its z-axis, out of control.

Rufus shoved his foot down hard on the left pedal, trying to slow their rate of spin. It was no good, they had lost too much of their energy in the climb and now their horizontal speed was too slow to get enough air over the rudder. “Hazel, put the nose down! We’re stalled out!”

VH129 X, rescue vehicles are enroute to your position. Can you restart your engine? the air traffic controlled called out.

“Negative, ATC! Total engine failure, we cannot restart! We are attempting to regain flight control.”

Hazel growled and push the control stick down and to the right, trying to judge the correct angle that would bring the nose down so they could translate their rapidly declining altitude into forward momentum that would bring them up past stall speed again. Outside the windows the earth and sky spun around sickeningly, forcing Rufus to turn his eyes away from the spectacle and keep them focused on the flatlining needles that told the tale of their dying ship.

“Come on you lousy worthless…” she growled. Then suddenly the Harvard’s nose was pointing down as their airspeed crossed the stall threshold and their rate of spin slowed. She brought the nose up gradually, keeping it at a ten degree down angle to maintain forward velocity. “What happened!” she shouted back to him.

“We must have thrown a cylinder,” Rufus said. He turned his attention back to the com. “ATC, we regained flight control but we still do not have engine power and are descending.” He glanced at his instruments. The altimeter showed them to have about 600 meters, but at their present rate of descent they’d run out of air underneath their wings in less than three minutes.

“Rufus, we are not going to make it back to the airport,” Hazel said, her voice tight with tension. There was a roaring crack in the sky, as the Bright Claws circled around them like worried geese, helpless to intervene, only able to serve witness to either their survival or destruction. “Should we bail out?”

“Not enough altitude now,” he said. “We’re going to have to belly land in a field.” They had passed over the rough hills of Hazel’s home district and now were cross neat triangular fields of cob stalks.

“Do you want the controls?”

“No, this will take both hands on the stick and you’ve got the better view up front.”

“Okay.” She squinted her eyes into the wind and put gripped the control stick.

“ATC this is VH129 X. We are going to attempt a belly landing. Are you tracking us?”

We’re locked on to your position and are receiving updates from those two Bright Claws. The Den Mother’s blessings on you, VH129 and good luck.

“Thank you, ATC.”

“Call out the altitude for me, Rufus,” Hazel ordered.

“Three hundred-fifty.” He felt the left wing dip slightly as she lined up with the approached cob field. “Three hundred. Keep the nose up about five degrees on final, we don’t want to dig in and flip.”

“Right. Don’t back seat drive.”

“Two-fifty. Two hundred. One-fifty…” At fifty meters he dropped the flaps. The Harvard popped upward for a moment with the increased lift, but then slowed and fell again. “Forty. Thirty. Twenty. Ten…” Then suddenly there were yellow cob stalks snatching at the wings and nose, then a giant suddenly kicked Rufus hard in the seat of his pants and they plowing through the stalks like an enraged grass chaser. The aircraft turned a bit as one the wings dipped into the dirt, but by that point they had slowed enough that it didn’t matter. Then they were at rest, Rufus’ ears ringing from the sudden silence.

“Let’s get out here!” Hazel declared, shoving the canopy open and pulling her safety harness off.

“Agreed.” Rufus clambered out onto the wing and helped her out. Hazel wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her out with his good arm and carried her through the cob stalks, trying to get as much distance between them and the potentially explosive fuel still remaining in the Harvard. A hundred meters away he stopped and set her down carefully on the dirt service road that edged the field. “Are you all right?”

Hazel huffed out a breath. “I’m going to be horribly sore this evening, but I’m all right.” She slammed her fist into the dirt. “Bloody hell!”

“What’s the matter?” Rufus covered his ears a moment as one of the Bright Claws dropped out of the sky with a roar of its ventral thrusters, setting down at an intersection of roads a few hundred meters ahead of them.

“That’s the second time I’ve crashed what I was piloting!”

“Not your fault in either case, I should point out. The cylinder head must have had a weak point.”

“Oh, quit being a suck up.”

The two crewfolk from the Bright Claw came running up, young males, both in their twenties, the pilot carrying their fighter’s emergency kit under his arm. “Holy Den Mother bless!” he exclaimed upon seeing them.

“Well, any landing you can walk…” Rufus began to say.

“ATC! ATC! Get those damned rescue vehicles down here now!” the pilot cried out into his com mike in panic. “They’ve had their legs and arms cut off!”

Rufus looked at Hazel. Meeting his gaze, she began snickering. He choked back a laugh. Then they were both rolling on the ground, laughing their heads off while the Bright Claw crew looked down at them like they were lunatics.

“Heh! My da is going to kill me for this!” Hazel gasped, trying to stifle further giggles.

“So will my mum, but she’s lost her veto on keeping me from flying,” Rufus said, catching his breath, the poor crewfolk still goggling.

“Sir, what’s going on?” the pilot asked, dumbfounded.

“Just showing a vixen a good time,” Rufus told him.

“Oh, did you ever,” Hazel replied. Then she rolled on top of him, pinning his arm over his head and gave him a deep kiss.

TBC

Comments

[lennan.livejournal.com]

That was the most beautiful thing I've read in a while. XD Man, I could see those images and their joy at being aloft. =D

And it was pretty weird reading about an old fighter plane as being ancient. Weird, yet completely cool. =)

[sraun]

Oh, that poor emergency crew! {crocodile tears}

Are you missing a word here? "A maintenance stood on a platform"

[jeriendhal.livejournal.com]

Heh.

Fixed the typo. Thanks!

Great

[mjkj.livejournal.com]

He indeed showed her a great time...

...and obviously she will show him some also... *grins*

Great work again, keep it up =)


mjkj