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For the first time, Jurgens turned his eyes from the instruments and gazed out the windows. He could just make out an F-15 fighter flying alongside about two hundred yards away. As he watched, the pilot switched on his navigation lights and waggled his wings. Two other aircraft in formation followed suit.
Jurgens reset his radio to a military frequency.
"Where did you guys come from?"
"Just cruising the neighborhood for girls and spotted your flying machine," answered Hollyman.
"Anything we can do to assist? Over."
"Got a towrope? Over."
"Fresh out."
"Thanks for hanging around, out."
Jurgens felt a small measure of comfort. If they fell short of Key West and had to ditch, at least the fighters could stand by and guide rescuers to their position. He turned his attention back to the flight indicators and idly wondered why Houston hadn't put him in communication with the Key West Naval Air Station.
"What in hell do you mean Key West is shut down?" Mitchell shouted at a white-faced engineer standing at his side, who was holding a phone. Without waiting for an answer, Mitchell grabbed the receiver. "Who am I talking to?" he demanded.
"This is Lieutenant Commander Redfern."
"Are you fully aware of the seriousness of this situation?"
"It has been explained, sir, but there is nothing we can do. A fuel tanker crashed into our power lines earlier this evening and blacked out the field."
"What about your emergency generators?"
"The diesel-engine power source ran fine for about six hours and then failed from a mechanical problem. They're working on it now and should have it back in service in an hour."
"That's too damned late," Mitchell snapped. "The Gettysburg is two minutes away. How can you guide them in on the final approach?"
"We can't," answered the commander. "All our equipment is shut down."
"Then line the runway with car and truck headlights, anything that will illuminate the surface."
"We'll do our best, sir, but with only four men on flight line duty this time of the morning it won't be much. I'm sorry."
"You're not the only one who's sorry" Mitchell grunted, and slammed down the phone.
"We should have the runway on visual by now," said Burkhart uneasily. "I see the city lights of Key West but no sign of the air station."
For the first time, a faint gleam of sweat appeared on Jurgens' brow. "Damned odd we haven't heard from their control tower."
At that moment, Mitchell's strained voice broke in. "Gettysburg, Key West station has a power outage. They are making an effort to light the runway with vehicles. We are directing your approach from the east to land on a westerly heading. Your runway is seven thousand feet. If you overshoot you wind up in a recreation park. Do you copy? Over."
"Roger, Control. We copy."
"We show you at 11,300 feet, Dave. Speed 410. One minute, ten seconds and six miles to touchdown. You are go for full manual, over."
"Roger, going to manual."
"Do you have the runway on visual?"
"Nothing yet."
"Excuse the interruption, Gettysburg." It was Hollyman cutting in on the NASA frequency. "But I think my boys and I can play Rudolph to your sleigh. We'll go ahead and light the way, over."
"Much obliged, little buddy," said Jurgens gratefully.
