68
Miranda recalled that the Reflecting Pool was only two thousand feet long—the same length that her runway on Spieden Island had been.
Had been, because she’d had to extend it by half again to safely land the F-86 Sabrejet once it was given to her. Then more than that, in order to take off again.
Nothing was working right.
Time to trade maximum glide slope for minimum landing speed.
At a hundred and eighty knots, she extended the speed brakes and the flaps.
Then the battery failed.
Or switched out of the circuit.
She tried the Alternate Power switch with no luck.
Lowering the gear wasn’t happening.
She could try for a belly landing. But just this morning, Colonel Campos—with far more experience than she had—had chosen to eject a second time rather than ride his plane all the wa
