53
Peter
The tailwind weakens just as we’re about to begin our descent. I learn about it via a terse announcement from Anton.
Excusing myself, I carefully extricate myself from Sara’s embrace and head over to speak to him, grateful that he had the foresight to speak Russian.
My ptichka is worried enough as is.
Ilya and Yan are already inside the cockpit, with Yan crouched next to Anton, holding a computer.
“How much are we going to fall short by?” I ask without preamble.
“Not much,” Anton says. “If the wind speed doesn’t drop more, we might have enough for a hard landing—or we might not. It depends on how well this plane runs on fumes.”
“Are there any landing strips closer?” Ilya asks. “A wide road would do as well.”
“I can’t find anything like that on the map,” Yan says, and I se
