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No longer restrained by the inertia reel in the ejection seat； he grasped the stick with his right hand and stretched across with his left to the gear handle and slapped it down。
Now for the flaps。 He was lying across the center console； trying to keep his head out of the wind blast as be felt for the flap lever beside the throttle quadrant。 Leave the throttles alone。 Get the flaps down to thirty degrees。 Fumbling； he pulled the lever aft。
Toad was overcorrecting with the stick as he fought to keep the wings level； first too much one way； then too much the other。 Goddamn； those peckerhead pilots do this without even thinking about it。
There！ Gear down and locked。 Flaps and slats out； stabilator shifted。 Hallelujah。
He glanced up at Rita。 She had shit and blood and gore all over her face and shoulders。 Feathers。 They were everywhere！
Her helmet…it was twisted sideways。 Using glances； he tried to wipe off the worst of the crap with his left hand as he concentrated on holding the plane straight and level： 140 knots now； 8；300 feet on the altimeter。 Conditions in the cockpit were a lot better。
Were there any mountains this high around here？ He couldn't remember； and he couldn't see over the top of the instrument panel； bent over the way he was。
First things first。 He twisted her helmet back straight。 The face shield was shattered； broken； but it had protected her face and eyes from the worst of the impact
She was dazed。 She damn well better e out of it quick； because he sure couldn't land this plane。
Her right eye was covered with goo； whether hers or the bird's be couldn't tell。 He wiped at it with his gloved fingers。 The bird's。
Her left eye was clear but unfocused； bunking like crazy。 〃C'mon； Rita baby。 I can't keep flying this thing！〃 In his frustration he shouted。 She couldn't hear him。
Back to the panel： 135 knots。 Maybe he could engage the autopilot。
Yeah； the autopilot。 If it would work。 He jabbed at the switches and released the stick experimentally。 Yeah！ Hot damn！ It engaged。
He devoted his attention to her。 Cuffed her gently； rubbed her cheeks。 She shook her head and raised her right hand to her face。
He got himself rearranged in his seat and held his mask to his face。 〃Rita？〃 Nothing。 No sound in his ears。 Now what？ He had forgotten to plug the cord to his helmet back in。 He did so。 〃Goddamnit； Rita；〃 he roared。 〃Snap out of it。〃
Someone was talking on the radio。 He listened。 He could hear the words now。 It was Grafton。 Toad keyed the radio mike。 〃We took a bird hit。 Rita's a little dazed。 We're going to land at Fallen when she es around。〃
〃Understand you took a bird。 Where？〃
〃Right in the cockpit； CAG。 Hit Rita in the head。 We're going to Fallen when she es around。 Now I'm leaving this freq and calling Fallen on Guard。〃 Without waiting for a reply； he jabbed the channelization switches and called Fallen tower。 〃Fallen tower； this is Misty 22 on Guard。 Mayday。 We're fifteen or twenty mites out。 Roll the crash truck。〃
Which way are we heading？ 120 degrees。 He tugged the stick to the right and settled into a ten…degree turn； which the autopilot held。 Fallen was off to the west here somewhere。 He craned to see over the instrument panel in that direction。
〃Misty 22； Fallen tower on Guard。 Roger your Mayday。 e up。。。〃 and the controller gave them a discrete frequency。
Hey； stupid； look at the radar。 He examined it。 Be patient； Toad； be patient。 You're doing okay； if only Rita es around。 And if she doesn't； well； screw it。 You can figure out some way to eject her right over the runway； then you can hop out。 Too bad those penny…pinchers in the puzzle palace never spent the bucks for a mand ejection system for the A…6。 But you can get her out somehow。 It's been done before。 There…that must be the base there； just ing onto the screen from the right。 He waited until it was dead ahead； then pushed the stick left until the wings were level。 Now he dialed in the Fallen tower freq and gave them a call。
Rita was using her right arm to get her left up to the throttle quadrant。 〃Toad？〃
〃Yeah。 You okay？〃
〃What…〃
〃Bird strike。 All that goo on you is bird shit and gore。 Relax； it ain't you。 Can you see？〃
〃I think…right eye's blurred。 This wind。 Left is red…blood…can't see。。。〃
〃Okay。 I got the gear and flaps down and we're on autopilot motoring toward Fallen。 After a while or two you're gonna land this thing。 Just sit back right now and get yourself going again。〃
She rubbed at her face with her right hand…
The autopilot dropped off the line。 Automatically she grasped the stick and began flying。
〃See；〃 exclaimed Toad Tarkington triumphantly； 〃you can do it！ All fucking right！ We're almost home。 Raise your left wing。〃 She did so and he resumed his monologue； only to pause occasionally to answer a question over the radio。
Rita Moravia flew by instinct； her vision restricted to one eye； and that giving her only a blurred impression of the attitude instruments on the panel before her。 It was enough。 She could feel the plane respond to her touch； and confirmation of that response was all she needed from her vision。 Needed now。 She would need to see a lot better to land。 The wind…it was part of the problem。 The wind wasn't ing into the plane through the shattered quarter panel at 140 knots…the closed cockpit prevented that…but it was ing in at an unfortable velocity and temperature。
Cold。 She was cold。 She should slow some more。
She tugged at the throttles with her left hand。 Her arm was numb： her fingers felt like they were frozen。 The power levers came back； though the engine…RPM and fuel…flow tapes were too blurred to read。 Still she turned her head and squinted with her good eye。 She could make out the angle…of…attack stoplight indexer on the glare shield and trimmed to an on…speed condition。
For the first time she looked outside； trying to see the ground。 Just a blurred brown backdrop。 But Toad could get her lined up。
She tried to make her left thumb depress the ICS button； and after a few seconds succeeded。 〃Where are we？〃
〃e left about twenty degrees and start a descent to。。。 oh； say； six thousand。 Can you see？〃
〃I can see to fly。 Can't see outside very well。 Get me lined up and all and I think I can do it〃
Toad got back on the radio。
She made the heading change and only then retarded the throttles slightly and let the nose slip down a degree or so。 One thing at a time。 She had once had an instructor who liked to chant that to his students； who were often in over their heads。 When it's all going to hell； he used to say； just do one thing at a time。
The plane sank slowly； the altimeter needle swinging counterclockwise with about the speed of an elevator indicator。 So they had all day。 Go down slow and you have an easy transition at the bottom。 Go down too fast and。。。 As she sat there she continued to blink and flex her left arm。 Doesn't feel like anything's broken； just numb。 Maybe the world's most colorful bruise on my shoulder； some orange…and…purple splotch that will be the envy of every tattooed motorcyclist north of Juarez。
She was hurting now。 As the numbness wore off she was hurting。 Her face felt like someone had use