tail; how bad, they would discover when he tried to pull out in a minute or less from now. It would be the moment of greatest strain. If anything critical gave way, they would continue plummeting in... Harris would have been glad of some help from the right seat, but it was too late for Cy Jordan to move there. Besides, the second officer was needed where he was---shutting air inlets, throwing in all the heat they had, watching for fuel system damage or fire warnings... Eighteen thousand feet... seventeen... When they reached fourteen thousand, Harris decided, he would start pulling out of the dive, hoping to level at ten... Passing through fifteen thousand... fourteen... Begin easing out now!
Controls were heavy, but responding... Harris pulled back hard on the control yoke. The dive was flattening, control surfaces holding, the aircraft coming out... Twelve thousand feet; descending more slowly now... eleven thousand... ten, five... ten!
They were level! So far, everything had held together. Here, the normal air was breathable and would sustain life, extra oxygen not necessary. The outside air temperature gauge showed minus five centigrade---five degrees below freezing; still cold, but not the killing cold of altitudes above.
From beginning to end, the dive had taken two and a half minutes.
The overhead speakers came alive. "Trans America Two, this is Toronto Center. How are you doing?"
Cy Jordan acknowledged. Anson Harris cut in. "Level at ten thousand, returning to heading two seven zero. We have structural damage due to explosion, extent unknown. Request weather and runway information---Toronto, Detroit Metropolitan, and Lincoln." In his mind, Harris had an instant picture of airports large enough to accommodate the Boeing 707, and with the special landing requirements he would need.
Vernon Demerest was clambering over the smashed flight deck door and other debris outside. Hurrying in, he slid into his seat on the right side.
"We missed you," Harris said.
"Can we maintain control?"
Harris nodded. "If the tail doesn't fall off, we may stay lucky." He reported the impeded rudder and stabilizer trim. "Somebody let off a firecracker back there?"
"Something like that. It's made a bloody great hole. I didn't stop to measure."
Their casualness, both men knew, was on the surface only. Harris was still steadying the aircraft, seeking an even altitude and course. He said considerately, "It was a good scheme, Vernon. It could have worked."
"It could have, but it didn't." Demerest swung around to the second officer. "Get back in tourist. Check on damage, report by interphone. Then do all you can for the people. We'll need to know how many are hurt, and how badly." For the first time he permitted himself an anguished thought. "And find out about Gwen."
The airport reports, which Anson Harris had asked for, were coming in from Toronto center: Toronto airport still closed; deep snow and drifts on all runways. Detroit Metropolitan---all runways closed to regular traffic, but plows will vacate runway three left if essential for emergency approach and landing; runway has five to six inches level snow, with ice beneath. Detroit visibility, six hundred feet in snow flurries. Lincoln International---all runways plowed and serviceable; runway three zero temporarily closed, due to obstruction. Lincoln visibility one mile; wind northwest, thirty knots, and gusting.
Anson Harris told Demerest, "I don't intend to dump fuel."
Demerest, understanding Harris's reasoning, nodded agreement. Assuming they could keep the airplane under control, any landing they made would be tricky and heavy, due to the large fuel load which in other circumstances would have carried them to Rome. Yet, in their present situation, to dump unwanted fuel could be an even greater hazard. The explosion and damage at the rear might have set up electrical short circuits, or metal friction, which even now could be producing sparks. When dumping fuel in flight, a single spark could turn an aircraft into a flaming holocaust. Both captains rationalized: better to avoid the fire risk and accept the penalty of a difficult landing.
Yet the same decision meant that a landing at Detroit---the nearest large airport---could be attempted only in desperation. Because of their heavy weight, they would have to land fast, requiring every available foot of runway and the last ounce of braking power. Runway three left---Detroit Metropolitan's longest, which they would need---had ice beneath snow, in the circumstances the worst possible combination.
There was also the unknown factor---wherever Flight Two landed---of how limited their control might be, due to rudder and stabilizer trim problems, which they already knew about, though not their extent.
For a landing, Lincoln International offered the best