pause, then a new voice. "This is Chicago Center supervisor. Captain, Trans America Two, I heard your last transmission. Please understand we're doing everything we can. Before you came into our area we had a dozen people working, clearing other traffic. They're still doing it. We're giving you priority, a clear radio frequency, and a straight-in course for Lincoln."
Demerest barked, "It isn't enough." He paused, holding down the mike button, then continued. "Chicago supervisor, listen carefully. A straight-in course to Lincoln is no good if it ends on runway two five, or any runway except three zero. Don't tell me three zero's out of use; I've heard it already, and I know why. Now, write this down, and see that Lincoln understands it too: This airplane is heavily loaded; we'll be landing very fast. As well as that, we've structural damage including unserviceable stabilizer trim and doubtful rudder control. If we're broutzht in on two five, there'll be a broken airplane and dead people before the next hour is over. So call Lincoln, mister, and turn the screws. Tell them I don't care how they do it---they can blow apart what's blocking three zero if they have to---but we need that runway. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Trans America Two, we understand very well." The supervisor's voice was unruffled, but a shade more human than before. "Your message is being passed to Lincoln now."
"Good." Demerest held the transmit button down again. "I have another message. This one is to Mel Bakersfeld, airport General manager at Lincoln. Give him the previous message, then add this---personal from his brother-in-law: 'You helped make this trouble, you bastard, by not listening to me about airport flight insurance. Now you owe it to me and all others on this flight to climb off your penguin's butt and get that runway clear.' "
This time the supervisor's voice was doubtful. "Trans America Two, we've copied your message. Captain, are you sure you want us to use those words?"
"Chicago Center," Demerest's voice slammed back, "you're damn right you'll use those words! I'm ordering you to send that message---fast, and loud, and clear."
PART THREE Chapter Thirteen
ON THE GROUND control radio in his speeding car, Mel Bakersfeld could hear airport emergency vehicles being summoned and positioned.
"Ground control to city twenty-five."
Twenty-five was the call sign of the airport fire chief.
"This is city twenty-five rolling. Go ahead ground."
"Further information, Category two emergency in approximately thirty-five minutes. The flight in question is disabled and landing on runway three zero, if runway open. If not open, will use runway two five."
Whenever they could, airport controllers avoided naming, on radio, an airline involved in any accident, or a potential one, The phrase "the flight in question" was used as a cover. Airlines were touchy about such things, taking the view that the fewer times their name was repeated in that kind of context, the better.
Just the same, Mel was aware, what had happened tonight would get plenty of publicity, most likely worldwide.
"City twenty-five to ground control. Is the pilot requesting foam on runway?"
"No foam. Repeat, no foam."
The absence of foam meant that the aircraft had serviceable landing gear and would not require a belly landing.
All emergency vehicles, Mel knew---pumpers, salvage trucks, and ambulances---would be following the fire chief, who also had a separate radio channel to communicate with them individually. When an emergency was notified, no one waited. They observed the principle: better to be ready too soon than too late. Emergency crews would now take up position between the two runways, ready to move to either as necessary. The procedure was no improvisation. Every move for situations like this was detailed in an airport emergency master plan.
When there was a break in transmissions, Mel thumbed on his own radio mike.
"Ground control from mobile one."
"Mobile one, go ahead."
"Has Joe Patroni, with stalled aircraft on runway three zero, been advised of new emergency situation?"
"Affirmative. We are in radio touch."
"What is Patroni's report on progress?"
"He expects to move the obstructing aircraft in twenty minutes."
"Is he certain?"
"Negative."
Mel Bakersfeld waited before transmitting again. He was heading across the airfield for the second time tonight, one hand on the wheel, the other on the microphone---driving as fast as he dared in the continued blowing snow and restricted visibility. Taxi and runway lights, guidelines in the dark, flashed by. Beside him on the car's front seat were Tanya Livingston and the Tribune reporter, Tomlinson.
A few minutes ago, when Tanya had handed Mel her note about the explosion aboard Flight Two, and the flight's