He was laughing uncontrollably.
One part of his brain told him that what was happening wasn't at all funny, that he was experiencing a nerve overload. But that was not enough to make him stop laughing. His eyes started to water.
He lost vision, and that frightened him, and as suddenly as it had begun- the instant he pulled back on the wheel to pick up altitude-the hysterical laughter stopped.
And in that moment he saw a glow ahead. First it was a single, wide glow, and then, a moment later, it separated into two separate glows.
"We'll be landing in just a few minutes, ladies and gentlemen," Clete said. "Please put your seats in the upright position and check your seat belts."
"That's Santo Tome?" Ashton asked.
"I think so."
"You are an amazing man, mi Mayor!"
"Tell me that again when I get us on the ground," Clete said.
He steered to the right of the glow on the right, and two minutes later saw a small, very bright glow.
"I think that's the outer marker," he said. "The bonfire."
He leveled off at an indicated altitude of 2,000 feet and flew directly over the fire. He punched the button on his Hamilton and watched as the sweep sec-ond hand made its way around the dial. When the smaller dial showed that he had flown four minutes, he made a one-minute, 180-degree turn.
He could now see a faint line of small glowing spots stretched off at right angles to the wooden bonfire. He turned and carefully lined up with the "run-way." He flipped on the landing light switch, retarded the throttles, and low-ered the flaps to twenty degrees.
Where the hell is the little fire that's supposed to tell me where the wind is?
There it is! I'm flying into the wind!
This final approach looks perfect.
That's probably wishful thinking.
What I should do is fly around again and make sure I know what I'm doing.
But on the other hand, I'm not likely to make another accidentally perfect approach like this one if I do.
He reached up to the quadrant and pulled down the lever with the repre-sentation of a wheel on it.
He felt the additional drag immediately.
The green gear down and locked indicator light did not go on.
Christ, I'm going to have to go around!
I got this far, and now the gear's going to give me trouble?
The green gear down and locked indicator light came on as he flashed over the bonfire, his hand preparing to shove the throttles forward.
He took his hand off the throttles and put it on the wheel.
The wheels touched, and bounced him back into the air.
He flared again, and this time the wheels stayed on the ground.
He applied the brakes and felt the Lockheed start to skid.
He corrected, but not before he had left the "runway." Both lines of pots filled with gasoline burning in sand were to his left.