Free Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) by Colin Gee

bird was first to land
    On the airstrip’s perimeter, crowds of Marines, Army personnel, and Sailors gathered to watch the show, the genuinely curious mixing with those of more ghoulish nature, all having been drawn by tannoyed announcements and the frantic deployments of meat wagons and fire trucks.
    “Necessary Evil’ did a low pass, gathering vital information to pass on to the wounded ‘Miss Merlene’.
     

     
    “Dimples-nine-one, received. Dimples-nine-eight, over and out.”
    Jones had opened the radio to the intercom so that Crail could get the information direct from ‘Necessary Evil’.
    What he heard was encouraging and he continued his descent with increased confidence.
    The other B-29 circled lazily above as ‘Miss Merlene’ deployed her undercarriage.
    An F4U Corsair, scrambled from Futenma to act as an observation plane, slipped in closer to inspect the landing gear.
    “Dimples-nine-eight, Roughrider-five-one. Gear is down, starboard inner tyre appears deflated, over.”
    Burnett’s board and Crail’s display both showed that the gear was locked.
    Crail spoke briefly on the intercom and Jones relayed his words.
    “Roughrider-five-one, Dimples-nine-eight, confirm only one deflation on starboard gear, over.”
    The Corsair came in closer, level with the gash in ‘Miss Merlene’s’ starboard side, and close enough to get a really good look at the two starboard wheels.
    As he did so, Blockridge already had his head out, making his own assessment.
    “Dimples-nine-eight, Roughrider-five-one, confirm, inner tyre definitely damaged and appears deflated. Outer tyre appears undamaged and to pressure, over.”
    “Roger, Roughrider-five-one, out.”
    Crail thumbed his mike.
    “Remember, we’re a cut-down Silverbird with weight already shed, boys. I’m going for a standard landing. I’ll just protect the starboard gear some. Standby for landing. Merlene’ll get us home, Boys. Good luck.”
    The weary B-29 steadily ate up the remaining yards, Crail and Nelleson gently nursing the wounded ‘Miss Merlene’, throttles set, flaps set, descending as if on a formal landing exercise with the Squadron commander stood behind them, assessing their technical abilities.
    Blockridge’s report was in agreement with that of the fighter jock, and the two pilots had already agreed a way to mollycoddle the starboard gear.
    Both men were sweating.
    In fact, everyone was sweating, and not because of the temperature in the aircraft.
    The B-29 slid over the top of the base security fence, the control tower operative’s voice a constant on their ears.
    “Here we go, George.”
    The left gear touched and then decided to part company with Mother Earth once more.
    No words were spoken.
    The assembly caught the runway a second time, and Nelleson eased back on the throttles.
    Crail held the right wing up as the airspeed started to disappear.
    He gently dropped the damaged wheel set down, and the single inflated tyre kissed the ground beneath.
    The ‘feel’ of the aircraft was good, but a lot of the nine thousand feet had already been consumed in the extended manoeuvre.
    ‘Now then, sweet Merlene, look after us all, baby.’
    Crail let the assembly take the full weight.
    Not one breath was taken from glasshouse to radar position.
    ‘You beautiful girl!’
    “OK, let’s stop the airplane!”
    Power was put on full to the three remaining engines, and reverse pitch applied to the propellers.
    Both men put pressure on the brakes, increasing it slowly as they grew more confident in the starboard undercarriage.
    Behind them, a posse of emergency vehicles jockeyed for position, their engines screaming as they fell behind the fast-moving aircraft.
    The audience, which had swollen to over two thousand, shouted, clapped, whistled, prayed, or combinations of all of those, as the stricken bird rolled down the runway towards the rapidly approaching point where runway became unstable and uneven ground.
    The rear section, propped by