They all saw the captain’s foot stomp the metal grate platform. It was time for the light. Quimpo held up the Streamlight, aiming at the point that Graber’s outstretched arm was reaching for. The driver slid closer to the slow- moving jet, just…close…enough…
There it was. A one-inch vertical slit, dead center in the circle. It came closer, or the Humvee slid left — Sean couldn’t tell. But it was close enough. The tool-like key was gripped solidly in his right hand, and he moved it toward the slit, aiming and hitting the solid door the first time, and connecting perfectly on the second try.
“What is it?” Hadad stood at the buzzing sound.
Show time. “Son of a bitch!” Hendrickson reached across the console. He and Buzz were tapping and playing with the same switch. A light was flashing near it.
“What?” Hadad’s tone was calmer. He had almost become accustomed to setbacks, and for a second he wondered if Abu had been right. Maybe they should have waited for… No! The timing would be completely off. The purpose would not be achieved, and his brothers would have died in vain.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry.” Buzz turned his head as the captain continued to fiddle with the control. “Just our ram air turbine. It gives us power if the engines cut out on us.” He turned away then quickly back. “It ain’t surprising, considering what she’s been through.”
“Will it fly?”
It was Hendrickson’s turn. “She’ll fly, but if we need the RAT we’re going to be out of luck, unless it resets.”
Hadad sat back. Allah. Allah. Not now, when I am so close.
Graber waited until two of his teammates clambered up onto the platform before pulling on the key. Once turned it functioned as a handle, allowing the cargo door to be hefted upward. This was the manual method, of course, the usual way being to use the built-in hydraulic lifters. The necessary equipment to do that was a luxury in this case, requiring brute force to be used.
“Ready?” Graber shouted above the engine noise, getting nods from Antonelli and Quimpo.
He made sure the handle was turned fully, then pulled. The door cracked, then came outward and up giving an eighteen-inch clearance for entry. Sean maneuvered his head under the big door and felt for a handhold on the floor of the cargo deck. The perforated floor provided many, and he hefted himself up through the opening, which Antonelli had made even larger.
He was in. The viewpoint looking down was impressive. The driver of the Humvee looked straight ahead, gauging his speed perfectly against that of the aircraft. “Let’s go! Move! Move!”
Quimpo came next, and by the time he was fully in, McAffee and Anderson were atop the platform.
“Don’t drop that thing,” the major joked to Antonelli as Joe was pulled into the hold. McAffee followed the civilian in immediately. Two of the team then held the door from the inside as the biggest Delta trooper slid through the opening.
Joe slid back, away from the door to give the soldiers room, and came up against something solid with his back. His quarry.
The first vehicle pulled away and the second spurted forward into the precise spot. It took under two minutes to get the remaining Delta men aboard, then the Humvee slowed, turned abruptly, and joined its partner in a dash to the darkness of the taxiway behind.
Graber, Antonelli, and Quimpo found handholds on the door and pulled it down to the closed position. “There’s supposed to be an inner handle here,” Sean yelled above the rumbling.
“There.” Quimpo had the light on the black twist handle.
“Got it.” Antonelli gripped it and turned it back to vertical. That would release the outer key they had used. It would be lying on the pavement now.
“We’re in.” McAffee said, then gave the order to get ready.
The Maiden had to travel a near complete squared oval, much like the Indianapolis speedway, before she would be back in position to take off. First she crossed the runway on which she had landed, and then a parallel runway before coming left on the far taxiway. Then another left brought her back to her takeoff point, a spot she had traversed in the opposite direction a while before. The tug swung left one final time and positioned the 747 at her start point.
“This is it,” Buzz commented. The tug pulled away forward and turned off the runway at the first crossway.
“Fire-wall it and forget, I guess,” Hendrickson suggested. There was no procedure for anything like this. Taking off with three engines, overloaded, and with no flaps; they’d either write the aviation history books or fire-ball into a cane field.
“One, two, and four all show nominal.” Buzz looked at the overhead console. “Safety systems are ready.”
The captain looked up, too. Right above was the switch that, when thrown, would require the greatest acting job by any pilot since Jimmy Stewart.
And the tires. Hendrickson remembered about those. The four blown right mains would mean even more difficulty. “We’re going to need to compensate for the tires.”
“Rudder and nose wheel, as long as she holds.” Buzz didn’t know if it would. The flat tires would add friction on the right side, making the aircraft want to steer in that direction. Rudder to the left and manual steering would have to work, otherwise they would find mud and grass less than halfway down the runway.
“You know, Buzz, in my craziest dreams I could have never thought this up. Never.”
The old Marine smiled. “Something to tell the grandkids about.”
The captain looked around the cockpit, for no real reason he realized. It just seemed the thing to do. “As ready as we’ll ever be.” Ever? Now or never.
Once again the throttle hand of each pilot held the lever, Buzz backing up the captain. In one quick motion they pressed the handles forward against the built-in resistance. It was a quicker acceleration than normal, which bounced the 747’s nose up and then down as she gained speed.
“Fifty.”
Hendrickson had only one plan to get his baby airborne: pull the stick into his crotch at the end of the runway. It would be close. Without the flaps they would need to be going in the neighborhood of 200 knots to get up with just the elevators to point the nose skyward. With a 25-knot head wind — if it was still blowing — they could do it with 180 knots, their normal takeoff speed with systems functioning fully.
Buzz tweaked his column left with taps to keep the Maiden straight. It was working, even without using the nose wheel.
“One-twenty.” They were passing the halfway point, gaining speed. The faster they went, the more lift the wings generated. As that happened there was less pressure on the main gear, which allowed the blown tires to actually rise up off the pavement and spin somewhat freely. That reduced the friction and allowed for more speed and less worry about keeping on the centerline.
“One-fifty. She’s doing it! She’s doing it!”
Hadad heard the number two’s excitement, but he already knew they would make it. It had been difficult. More difficult than he had imagined, but he had been successful. He laid the Uzi on his lap and reached into the left breast pocket. The click came first, and then he let his thumb rise for the last time. He massaged it on his forefinger, and set about clearing his mind for the journey that would begin at the end of this one.
The three-quarter mark shot by as Buzz called out 170 knots. The captain brought the stick fully back into his gut as fast as the built-in resistors would allow. The nose came up around them.
“One-ninety!”
If he had calculated correctly the end would be right…