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Hohendorf had come out of afterburner, but kept the throttles at MAX DRY. Engine power was well down, but he was able to hold at 280 knots. The wings were spread fully forward and the aircraft seemed to have settled down. CSAS, the command stability and augmentation system, was still on line. If it held till touchdown, he’d be very pleased indeed.

Even as he thought that, the engines both went out simultaneously. One moment they were on; the next, they were not. The sudden dying of their comforting background noise was more unnerving than the birdstrike itself had been.

“That’s it, Wolfie,” Hohendorf said. “We’re gliding home.”

The ram air turbine had popped out, giving them sufficient hydraulic power to operate the tailerons. But there would be no relight. To make sure, Hohendorf went through the procedure; but the engines did not respond. Given the thumping and grinding noises that had come from them, this was not altogether surprising.

He informed Selby, while Flacht warned November One. GCA was ready to talk them down, while Selby played watchdog. The aircraft had become as basic as it could get without actually falling out of the sky.

Gingerly, Hohendorf put the Tornado into a glide that he hoped would lose height at a rate that would take him to the runway threshold by the time flying integrity was finally lost.

The wings, flaps and slats, extended before the loss of main power, developed sufficient lift to enable him to come close to the correct angle. In a silence broken only by the rush of air over its airframe, the Tornado ASV glided steeply earthwards, maintaining flying speed, the wings and LERXes working together.

Selby’s aircraft followed at a safe separation, but close enough to warn of any new danger.

“You’re holding well, Axel,” he told him. “Attitude looking good.”

Hohendorf did not acknowledge. It was unnec
essary to do so. Peering through his reddened screen, he could catch only the most fleeting of glimpses of the outside world. He was totally dependent upon Ground Control and Selby’s aircraft for guidance.

At ten miles out, Ground Control gave him a new heading. He turned the aircraft, watching the standby attitude direction indicator carefully.

“Maintain,” came from the ground. “Shallower if you can.”

He couldn’t. The glide continued. ADI starting to waltz. Stabilise.

“Wheels down,” came another directive. “Runway at 2.5 miles.”

He reached for the lever with the wheeled shape at its end. Nothing happened. Calmly, he reached farther left to the emergency landing gear lever, tucked away near the stores jettison panel.

It worked. With relief, he heard the wheels come down. The resultant drag caused some reduction in airspeed and he steepened the glide to compensate. Watch that pitch angle!

“All wheels down,” came from Selby. “Do you have confirmation?”

“Three greens,” Hohendorf acknowledged.

He was trying to keep stick movements as minimal as possible. This was not the time to slip into pilot-induced oscillations, and lose control through over-correction.

“You’re doing nicely, Axel,” Selby said. “Perfectly in line with the runway.”

“If only I could see it.”

Oh God. In his mind he was seeing Morven’s face. Did that mean he was going to die? Seconds ticking.

No!
He was not going to be taken away from her.

“Fifty seconds to touchdown,” advised Ground Control.

“All right, Axel, start bringing the nose up. You’re almost there.
Don’t
change direction. Your nose is perfectly lined up.”

In the back. Flacht maintained his silence. It was going to be a narrow thing but there was nothing he could do now, and Hohendorf did not need further distraction. He was completely confident in Hohendorf’s piloting skills. They would get down. He was sure of it.

GCA was keeping out of it too. Having guided him safely home, it was now up to the chase aircraft and Hohendorf. Strategically positioned about the airfield, the crash services waited.

Jason had gone to the tower to watch and to monitor the situation. Inglis had gone too. They could see the growing specks that were the two Tornadoes, coming in over the Firth. One was slightly higher and behind the other, which seemed at a suicidally steep angle. The entire control room was holding its breath.

“He’s got guts,” Inglis muttered to Jason in a
voice so low, it was as if he thought Hohendorf could hear him.

Jason nodded, eyes fastened upon the aircraft. “It’s a flatter angle he needs really, just at the moment.”

“Threshold coming up, Axel,” Selby warned. “Let’s have the nose up, past the horizon. That’s it. Get ready for the flare. Make it good.”

Hohendorf complied, feeling for the change in the aircraft, checking flying speed, judging the flare so that as the nose came up and speed began to decay, the aircraft would sink reasonably gently onto the blessed surface. One chance only. One chance, one chance …

“Threshold!” Selby called. “Height’s good. All yours.”

Hohendorf brought the nose up further. Oh God. Where was the runway? If they touched too soon they’d dig in and cartwheel. An age seemed to pass as the aircraft sank, reaching with its wheels for the hard ground. 150 knots and 15 alpha.

Bump, squirt. They were down! Down, down, down. They were staying down. The gear was locked. No collapse. Hold the nose up. Hold it as long as possible. Let the aircraft decide.

The nose came down as lift decayed, met the runway in an almost leisurely manner. Hohendorf began braking immediately. There was sufficient hydraulic pressure to operate the system. The aircraft
came to a halt. The readied cables and erected barrier were not needed.

Hohendorf gave a long sigh as he turned off everything left to be switched off, leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes briefly.

Flacht said: “I don’t want to hurry you, Axel, but much as I like it here, I think we should leave …”

“Wolfie,” Hohendorf said, “we made it. We’re alive.”

“I’ll kiss you later. Shall we go? What if there’s no power left to raise the canopy? What if an engine catches fire? Besides, all the blood up there is giving me the creeps.” There was a raising lever in Flacht’s cockpit, but he hardly dared touch it. “What’s more, the crash crews will want to clear the runway for Selby and McCann.”

“Right as usual, Wolfie.” Hohendorf pulled at the jack handle. The canopy hissed softly upwards, tearing at entrail residue that had glued itself to it.

“Ugh!” Flacht peered at the smear marks on the aircraft as normal daylight again flooded in. He began to swiftly release himself from the airplane.

The first of the crash crews had arrived and were staring at the Tornado.

“What were you trying to do, sir?” someone called up to Hohendorf. “Wipe out the entire bird population up here?”

“I missed a few. Better luck next time, I suppose.”

They were all grinning their relief as he and Flacht climbed out. It would not have been much fun trying to salvage what would have been left of them, had his landing failed. Welcoming hands patted them on their shoulders as they walked towards the vehicle waiting to take them off the runway.

Hohendorf paused once to look back at the Tornado. It already had people swarming all over it, preparing for a tow to a repair hangar. It seemed disdainful of the humans, as if it knew it had done well.

In the control tower, Jason and Inglis had picked up binoculars to view the final stages of the landing. Inglis lowered his, but Jason was still focused on the aircraft as it was towed away.

“Astonishing airmanship,” Inglis began. “Hohendorf deserves a medal. He saved us an aircraft, not to mention two lives. Something for Selby too. He called those final shots perfectly. Hohendorf trusted him implicitly and had he misjudged it, we would have been scraping an unholy mess off the runway.”

Jason took the binoculars away from his eyes and nodded. He felt the same way.

“I had earmarked them as Flight Commanders,” he said, giving the binoculars to an air traffic control assistant to put away. “Tom Wells and two more instructors from the OCU have been standing in, but Helm and da Vinci are going to need them
more than ever soon, to work on the new intake for the second squadron. I’d thought of giving one flight each to Hohendorf, Selby, and Bagni.”

“When?”

“Sometime in the autumn.”

“A good time as any,” Inglis said. He drew Jason to one side. “Whatever it is you feel goes on between those two,” he continued, “it is clear they work very well together. So it can’t be as serious as you think.”

Jason said nothing.

Hohendorf and Flacht met up with Selby and McCann in the squadron coffee bar.

“Well hi, my main man,” McCann greeted Hohendorf exuberantly. “Was that some flying, or was it? You guys had my guts in jelly, I can tell you.”

Hohendorf smiled, held out a hand to Selby. “Mark … thank you. I needed you, and you were there.”

Selby shook the hand, his own smile coming slowly. “Part of the service. Glad you made it, Axel.” He paused. “Are you going to tell Morven?”

“Not unless you think I should.”

“It would worry her, especially after what happened to Richard and Neil.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Hohendorf said.

Selby nodded slowly. “Then it’s settled. She’ll not hear about it from me.”

“Nor from me.”

But Morven did hear of it.

She met with Hohendorf for his leave as had been planned. After he’d parked the car, they set off with their backpacks for the Speyside Way, the day pleasantly warm for the long but easy walk along the river. She had brought food as promised, and he’d complemented that with a bottle of fine wine.

They walked for an hour on the wide path, through lush hedgerows and woodland, towards Fochabers. From time to time, dark pods among the gorse bushes that bordered the path would explode with sudden sharp reports, scattering their seeds in all directions.

Hohendorf ducked mockingly. “We’re under rifle fire.” He smiled at Morven. “I’m not tired yet. How about you?”

“I can go on as long as you can,” she said. “Perhaps longer.”

But she did not return his smile. She had been subdued ever since they’d met, and this disturbed him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

They walked on in silence. He shrugged. For his part, Hohendorf was enjoying the magnificent Spey-mouth scenery. Now and then, he paused to look
down upon the river. The path had climbed to nearly two hundred feet above the valley. Each time he lingered, she continued walking, and he had to lengthen his stride to catch up. They went through Fochabers without stopping and eventually, their path took them to a sign that recommended the view. He turned to gaze out across the valley. Below them, a lushly green island seemed to swim in the waters of the Spey.

“Let us stop here, Morven,” he said. “We can eat, and I want to talk to you.” He leaned against a wooden railing to watch her.

She came to a halt, reluctantly it seemed. He looked about him, found a likely spot at the base of one of the numerous Scots pines, away from the path.

“We’ll have our picnic here,” he told her and, taking off his pack, sat down.

She joined him, and rested her own pack next to his.

His eyes were upon her, but she looked away.

“Please tell me what is wrong,” he urged. “We have walked a long way, most of it in silence. I thought this was to be a happy time for us.”

It seemed ages before she answered. Then her tone was bitter. “Why didn’t you tell me you nearly died last week? And don’t try to deny it.”

He was utterly surprised that she knew. How had she found out? Surely, Selby would not have gone back on his word?

“Who told you?” he countered.

“Not Mark.” She said it coldly. “He doesn’t think I’m worth the truth either … I found out by sheer chance. I was in a pub up here and I heard two airmen talking. They were drivers, and one of them was going on about someone carrying out a landing without engines, after a birdstrike. He described the state of the airplane in graphic detail.”

“That doesn’t say I was the one.”

“He said, and I quote … ‘It was the German bloke, wasn’t it? The one with the Porsche.’ And his friend said: “Yeah. That’s the one.” They had their wives with them.”

“They should not talk so much.”

“There was more. They said how you and your navigator would have been scraped off the runway, if you had made a mistake.”

“But I didn’t.” He spread his hands. “And Mark was very helpful too.”

“I suppose you both made a pact not to tell me.”

“There was no need to cause worry …”

“What do you mean ‘no need’?” she said furiously. She hit him suddenly on the chest. “Don’t you dare do that to me again! Don’t you dare treat me like some helpless little silly….” She kept hitting him until he put his arms about her. She laid her head against his shoulder. “Oh Axel … you could have died.”

“But I didn’t … Look—I’m very much alive.”

Her head came up. Her eyes moistened as she stared at him. “How can you joke about it?”

“I am not joking. You must believe me. We had a little luck. It could have been very different; but that is the reality … the difference between living and dying. It is the razor’s edge. For everyone, actually, but mostly they don’t notice. The car misses them, the stone falls a moment after they pass. On one side … life, and on the other … death. The razor cut well for us that day.”

Her eyes searched his. “I must be crazy. I have a brother who’s a fighter pilot. You’d think I’d have known what to expect by now, wouldn’t you?”

“And to make life even more difficult, I am married—although I would hardly call it that—and your brother does not like me. We are both crazy.” Hohendorf smiled at her. “This means we are well suited.”

“You’re talking too much,” she said, and kissed him.

After a while, he said: “Your brother’s not so bad. He stayed with me all the way. I think Wolfie and I would have had a very difficult time without his help.”

“There. You see? He must like you a little bit.”

“I would not go so far,” Hohendorf said cautiously.