Cold Fire

obviously struggling to conceal her own fear from her daughter. “Just turbulence, an air pocket.”
    They were dropping fast.
    “You're gonna be okay,” Holly told them, leaning past Christine to make sure the little girl heard her reassurances. “Both of you are going to be okay if you just stay here, don't move, stay right in these seats.”
    Knifing down … a thousand feet … two thousand …
    Holly frantically belted herself in her seat.
    … three thousand … four thousand …
    An initial wave of horror and panic gripped the passengers. But that was followed quickly by a breathless silence, as they all clung to the arms of their seats and waited to see if the damaged aircraft was going to pull up in time—or tip downward at an even more severe angle.
    To Holly's surprise, the nose slowly came up. The plane leveled off again.
    A communal sigh of relief and a smattering of applause swept through the cabin.
    She turned and grinned at Christine and Casey. “We're going to be all right. We're all going to make it.”
    The captain came on the loudspeaker and explained that they had lost one of their engines. They could still fly just fine on the remaining two, he assured them, though he suggested they might need to divert to a suitable airfield closer than O'Hare, only to be safe. He sounded calm and confident, and he thanked the passengers for their patience, implying that the worst they would suffer was inconvenience.
    A moment later Jim Ironheart appeared in the aisle, and squatted beside Holly. A spot of blood glimmered at the corner of his mouth; he had evidently been tossed around a little.
    She was so exhilarated, she wanted to kiss him, but she just said, “You did it, you changed it, you made a difference somehow.”
    He looked grim. “No.” He leaned close to her, put his face almost against hers, so they could talk in whispers as before, though she thought Christine Dubrovek must be hearing some of it. He said, “It's too late.”
    Holly felt as if he had punched her in the stomach. “But we leveled off.”
    “Pieces of the exploding engine tore holes in the tail. Severed most of the hydraulic lines. Punctured the others. Soon they won't be able to steer the airplane.”
    Her fear had melted. Now it came back like ice crystals forming and linking together across the gray surface of a winter pond.
    They were going down.
    She said, “You know exactly what happened, you should be with the captain, not here.”
    “It's over. I was too late.”
    "No. Never—
    “Nothing I can do now.”
    "But—
    A flight attendant appeared, looking shaken but sounding calm. “Sir, please return to your seat.”
    “All right, I will,” Jim said. He took Holly's hand first, and squeezed it. “Don't be afraid.” He looked past her at Christine, then at Casey. “You'll be all right.”
    He moved back to row seventeen, the seat immediately behind Holly. She was loath to lose sight of him. He helped her confidence just by being within view.
     

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    For twenty-six years, Captain Sleighton Delbaugh had earned his living in the cockpits of commercial airliners, the last eighteen as a pilot. He had encountered and successfully dealt with a daunting variety of problems, a few of them serious enough to be called crises, and he had benefited from United's rigorous program of continuous instruction and periodic recertification. He felt he was prepared for anything that could happen in a modern aircraft, but he found it difficult to believe what had happened to Flight 246.
    After engine number two failed, the bird went into an unplanned descent, and the controls stiffened. They managed to correct its attitude, however, and dramatically slow its descent. But losing eleven thousand feet of altitude was the least of their problems.
    “We're turning right,” Bob Anilov said. He was Delbaugh's first officer, forty-three, and an excellent pilot. “Still turning right. It's locking up, Slay.”
    “We've got partial hydraulic failure,” said Chris Lodden, their flight engineer. He was the youngest of the three and a favorite of virtually every female flight attendant who met him, partly because he was good-looking in a fresh-faced farmboy way, but largely because he was a little shy, which made him a novelty among the cocksure men on most flight crews. Chris was seated behind Anilov and in charge of monitoring the mechanical systems.
    “It's going harder right,” Anilov said.
    Already Delbaugh was pulling the