Just hold together a little more. 35 m beginning descent. Beginning descent. Ease the power back. Gentle watch that number two.
The engine surged. Coughed. Ethan's hand danced on the throttle feather light. Easy. Easy, baby.
Don't quit on me now. Not now. The engine caught. Steadied. Ethan let out a breath he'd been holding.
Good girl. 30 mi, 12,000 ft. We're high. We're going to be high the whole way because I can't use flaps to slow down. So, we're going to come in fast and steep and it's going to feel wrong to every instinct you have and you're going to trust me anyway.
25 mi. Kalin, talk to me. 25 mi 11,000 ft. Air speed 220 knots. Too fast.
Bringing it back. Ethan eased the throttles, watching the number two like a hawk. The whole airframe was buffeting, now shaking, groaning. An airplane never meant to fly this way. Being flown this way by sheer stubborn will.
Come on. Come on. And then, without warning, the number two engine flamed out. Not a surge, not a cough, a flame out. The engine note dropped away entirely, and the airplane yawed hard to the right, and every alarm in the cockpit went off at once.
Engine failure number two. Calin screamed. Ethan, we lost number two. We lost it. I've got it.
I've got it right. Rudder, help me write, rudder. They both stood on the rudder pedals, fighting the yaw, the airplane trying to twist itself out of the sky. We're single engine now. We're single engine.
That's fine. I've flown single engine. We can do this on one. Kalin, don't let go. Keep it coming.
Keep the nose where I put it. We're descending too fast. I know. We're not going to make the runway. We're going to make the runway.
Ethan's voice was pure iron, pure command, the voice of a man who had been in the valley of the shadow of death before and walked out the other side and knew the way. 20 mi. Give me a number, Kalin. Air speed 190 and falling altitude 8,000. We're okay.
We're on profile. One engine's plenty. Just hold what you've got and believe me. The airplane shuddered, dropped caught. 15 mi talk.
15 mi 6,000 ft. 185 knots. Ethan, the runway. It looks so short. It's long enough.
It's exactly long enough. 10 mi. Now we're committed. This is the approach. This is the one.
There's no going around on one engine. So, this is it. This is the whole ball game. Delaney. He raised his voice toward the door.
Get embraced. Brace for landing. Brace now. Behind the door, Delaney's voice rang out through the cabin, sharp and clear. Brace.
Brace. Heads down. Stay down. Brace. 217 people folded forward over their knees.
Walter Hensley pulled little Tyler's head down and covered the boy with his own body. Margaret Voss bent over hands laced behind her neck and whispered, "Please God, let him land it. Let that good man land it. In the cockpit, Ethan Carter had eyes for nothing in the universe but the runway growing now rushing toward them. A strip of light on the edge of the frozen world.
5 mi, Kalin called. 4,000 ft 180. Gear down, Ethan said. Manual now. Kalin threw the lever.
Nothing. Her heart stopped. It's not the gears, not gravity extension. The red handle pull it. She grabbed the emergency handle and hauled with both hands and everything she had.
And somewhere beneath them, the landing gear fell free of its own weight and locked with a heavy blessed thunk that they felt in their spines. Gear down and locked, she cried. Three green. That's my girl. 3 mi air speed.