Page 12 of Colton in the Wild
Everything she’d ever learned raced through Hetty’s mind. She’d been through the drill countless times, her flight instructors shutting the engine off and leaving it to her to get them down safely. She’d done it multiple times, on both land and water. It wasn’t as catastrophic as civilians thought it would be—an engine failing. Of course, it was a bit easier when you’d known the instructor beside you would take over if need be.
But still, it wasn’t like they were in a helicopter, after all. An airplane without a functioning engine became, in essence, a glider. A not particularly efficient one, true—and the pontoons of a floatplane made it even worse because of all the drag—but a glider nonetheless. A machine designed to fly. Which meant they had time. Not much, but some.
Her mind raced, assessing. They were, or had been, at about five thousand feet. As she had already said to herself, floatplanes didn’t have the best glide ratio, but there was currently no headwind to slow them down further. But distance wasn’t really the concern, since they were essentially over their destination landing spot.
Minimum descent rate.
She chanted the words as she tried to restart the engine. No good. She banked slightly as they lost elevation. Tried again. No go. She couldn’t figure out what had happened, but time enough for that once they were safely down. Since they were directly over what had been their intended touchdown location anyway, she decided to use the momentum they had left to land safely, with enough left, hopefully, to get them ashore. They had the inflatable kayak on board to use if they had to, but she would prefer not to have to use it.
I’d prefer to have my engine still running!
She gave it a third and last try, with the same result. That decided the issue. She would have to land this ungainly glider without power.
Hetty adjusted her approach heading so that they’d be aimed straight for the small beach that helped make this such a popular spot. There would be no turns after the last visual reference. She’d touch down as close to it as she could and still have room for the drag of the water to slow them enough.
When she was set, when they were committed, she said to Spence, “Call it in. I have a feeling we won’t be going back the same way we got here.”
She saw him reach for the radio. It was the last thing she saw other than the controls and the water below as they dropped. They were going to hit faster than usual because they’d need the speed to be sure they had enough flare, so she adjusted to make sure the pontoons didn’t dig in and flip them. She talked to herself, running through her mental checklist continuously, so focused, she only vaguely heard Spence on the radio talking to RTA.
The touchdown was a jolt, but not that much stronger than usual. The slowdown was immediate, the water dragging them quickly. She adjusted the flaps to maintain as much momentum as possible. When they’d reached a safe enough speed, she dropped the rudders, although she was happy to see she’d judged that about right and they were headed straight for the beach.
She concentrated on keeping the Cessna straight, since she couldn’t maneuver with anything but the rudders and what forward motion they still had left.
Hetty thought back to the last time she’d been here. They had been tied up to the small dock then. But she didn’t have the option for that kind of finesse this time. She’d walked the beach here regularly, just in case, to see if there were any changes she needed to know about. That precaution paid off now because, unless there had been a new rockslide in the interim that had sent something big rolling all the way down, the beach was wide enough and smooth enough that this should work.
She spared a split second to be thankful RTA had gone for pontoons tough enough to withstand some grinding, because they were going to hit that beach. She thought it with an inward smile, a combination of pride in the organization she worked for and, to be honest, a little pride in herself for pulling this off rather neatly. They would run out of speed a little short of grounding, but not by much.
She turned her head to tell Spence he was going to have to get a little wet, but he was already moving. A moment later, he was thigh-deep in the ice-cold water, without even a wince. He’d grabbed the tie-off rope and used it to pull the plane the last few feet. And he made it look easy, although she knew that essentially towing even a floatplane was no simple task. Sometimes she forgot just how strong he was, even though she knew. She’d certainly watched him enough times; the way he hefted the big supply crates, the way he climbed when out on a hike, the way he—
Stop it!
She wrote off her sudden veering into forbidden territory to the at-last-ebbing adrenaline. What she needed to be thinking about right now was what had gone wrong, not the very apparent physical prowess of Spence Colton.
Hetty felt the shift when the plane was a land creature once more. She picked up the radio to notify RTA they were safely down, and after the relieved congratulations, got the news she’d expected—with all aircraft out on excursions, they were there until morning.
She shut down everything, clambered out and down to the port pontoon, walking to the front end and hopping off, getting only her boots wet. As opposed to Spence, whose jeans were wet past his knees as he tied the Cessna off to a large, heavy-looking log half buried on the beach. He leaned into it as if to make sure it would hold, then straightened and turned.
As soon as she was on the beach, he ran at her, startling her. He caught her in those strong arms she’d just been admiring and, with an almost wild-sounding laugh, he lifted her up and spun her around.
“You are the best, Cap’n Amos!”
She started to laugh herself but it died in her throat. Died because he’d planted an enthusiastic kiss on her cheek. Because he’d planted a kiss on her cheek and that’s not where she wanted him to kiss her.
“We’re alive,” she managed to get out with difficulty because he was still holding her tightly. “It could have been worse.”
“Sure,” he said, laughing with what she recognized as an aftereffect of an adrenaline spike. “We could have been in a helicopter.”
Despite her nervous state—from his embrace, not the landing—she mastered her usual response. “That’s why I fly the machine that wants to fly, by design, and not the one that wants to tear itself apart with opposing forces.”
He laughed again, joyously. Then he let go of her. And, contrarily, she now regretted the loss of his touch, when mere moments ago she’d been silently wishing he’d let her go.
She bit the inside of her lip as she confronted once more the clash of her feelings about the man.
“You radio home we were down and okay?”
She nodded. “They copied and reminded me we’re…stuck. Until morning, at least.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Spence said as if it didn’t bother him at all. “Everybody’s out, even Dad and Uncle Will, on their own trip.”
