No Highway (11 page)

“I’ve shut down the inboard engines,” he said at last.

“That should help it,” Mr. Honey said. “But you ought to go back while there’s time. Really you should.”

Samuelson smiled brightly and confidently, more for the benefit of the stewardess than for Mr. Honey. “Oh, I don’t think so,” he remarked. “I think we’re quite all right.”

He ushered Mr. Honey forward out of the luggage bay, and went forward up the aisle himself to the flight deck. Mr. Honey stayed at the aft end of the cabin with Miss Corder, scrutinising the structure of the fuselage so far as could be seen by reason of the cabin furnishings; he opened the doors of the toilets and investigated the methods of staying the bulkheads, peering at everything through his thick glasses.

He was behaving very oddly, Miss Corder decided. She came to him, and said, “I should go back to your seat, sir. I’ll bring you the Ovaltine in a few minutes.”

“I’ll go in just one moment,” he said meekly. “Let me have a look at your stove first.” Thinking to humour him she showed him into the galley and began to explain the operation of the various switches and ovens to him, but she found he was not interested in that at all. He examined very carefully the methods of fixing the unit to the floor and the fuselage side; then he was through, and went back to his seat.
She brought him a tray with his Ovaltine and biscuits a few minutes later, full of a queer, detached pity for him in his self-induced trouble. He seemed so very helpless.

She said quietly, “I’ve brought you your Ovaltine, Mr. Honey. Do you like these sweet biscuits? I’ve got some oatmeal ones if you’d rather have those.”

He said quickly, “Oh, thank you so much. These will do splendidly.”

She smiled down at him. “Would you like a little drop of rum in the Ovaltine to help you sleep?”

“Oh no, thank you. I never take spirits.”

“All right. Drink it: while it’s hot. I’ll come back presently and take the tray.”

The Reindeer moved on steadily across the starlit sky, alone in space above the overcast seen dimly far below, shrouding the black, empty wastes of sea. In the quiet cabin Mr. Honey sat sipping his Ovaltine, gradually relaxing with the warmth and comfort of the drink. His hands ceased to fiddle nervously, the tight, set muscles round about his mouth relaxed, and the feeling of a tight band round his forehead eased a little. He no longer sat tense waiting for the first movement of the aircraft that would herald the steep dive to their destruction; his ears were no longer strained to hear the first crack from the tail that would be the beginning of the sequence.

It now seemed to him that he could take things as they came. There were six hours more at least to go before they came to Gander; it seemed to him most probable that they would all be dead before that time was up. The thought did not now appal him as; it had. Death came to everybody in its time; it had come to Mary earlier than they had dreamed it could. If now it came to him, well, that was just one of those things; he had a simple faith that somewhere, somehow after death he would catch up with Mary once again and they would be together.

He was saddened and distressed for Elspeth. But Elspeth was twelve years old; her character was formed for good or ill; it would not alter her so much if now he had to go. Materially he knew that she would be looked after by the Ministry; she would get as good an education as if he had lived. I am almost ashamed to record that for all the little homely pleasures that make the life of a child happy, he put his trust in Shirley and myself. I do not think he quite thought that we should adopt his daughter, but he did think very certainly that we should never let her suffer the lack of
a home life; he thought that when he caught up with his Mary he could tell her that their daughter would be happy. I hope we should have lived up to his expectation of us. I don’t know.

Miss Corder came to take away his tray. She bent to him, and asked, “Would you like another cup? I’ve got some more hot milk all ready, if you’d like it.”

He said, “No, I’ve done excellently, thank you.” He blinked up at her through his thick glasses. “It’s been terribly kind of you to take all this trouble.”

She smiled at him, “Oh no, sir. I’m so sorry you’ve got all this worry on your shoulders.”

This dark, kind girl would go too, when it happened. “Are you married?” he enquired.

She stared at him in wonder; surely he wasn’t one of those? She laughed. “Me married?” she said. “No.”

“That’s a good thing,” he said quietly. “Nor am I. There won’t be a lot of trouble over us.”

The meaning of his words got through to her in a short pause. She hesitated for an instant, not knowing how to take it. She reached for a rug. “Let me put your chair back for you and put this over you,” she said. “Then you’ll probably get a little sleep.”

She helped him to arrange his chair and tucked the rug around him; then she took the tray and went back to the galley. A quarter of an hour later she said to the other stewardess, “I’m going up to the flight deck. Keep an eye on No. 11 for me, will you—Mr. Honey. I think he’s asleep.”

“That’s the boffin? Is he liable to cut his throat, or anything?”

Miss Corder said, “No, he’s not. He’s just a little, worried man, that’s all. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I just want to tell Dobson how he’s going on.”

Mr. Honey lay relaxed in his reclining chair. He did not want to sleep, so little time was left he had no use for that. His mind drifted to the accident as it would happen, objective and dispassionate. He began to calculate in his head, as he had calculated all his working life.

The download on the tail in this condition he knew to be about 6,000 lb. Assuming half of the tail failed only, leaving the rest of the plane intact, that meant a nose-down pitching moment of, say, 300,000 lb.-feet. He did not know the power of the one remaining elevator, but he guessed it might provide one half of that. The balance of the nose-down moment would be satisfied by an increase of speed, by diviner till the
forces came in equilibrium. He figured for a time and came to the conclusion that a diving speed of 420 m.p.h., attainable at perhaps 7° of flight path to the horizontal, would be somewhere near it. With the maximum control that would be left to him, the pilot would not be able to do better for them than to dive at over four hundred miles an hour until he hit the sea.

He wondered what would happen when they hit. At that small angle they might well bounce up again and not plunge straight in, though there seemed to be a likelihood that the wings would be torn off. They might bounce once or twice, reducing speed each time. The impacts and decelerations would be very violent. After that the fuselage might float for a few moments before sinking; if anybody had survived the crash they might be able to get out into the sea, to float about in lifebelts till they died of cold. There was only one chance in a million that there would be a ship in the vicinity that could help, even if anyone got out.

He put all thought of safety from him; when it happened he would die. Now that he had become used to the idea he did not mind about that much; his mind was filled with memories of Mary. His life since Mary died had not been happy; he had no great ambition to hold on to it. Mary had gone before him; somehow, somewhere he would catch up with her again. Again they would go on hiking on long summer days over the Hog’s Back, drink beer in little pubs together after the day’s march, make love, go Morris dancing together with little bells and ribbons at the knee, buy a new enlarger and play with it together, go to the pictures and see all their favourites, David Niven, Monica Teasdale …

Monica Teasdale …

He thought ingeniously that it would be something to tell Mary when he met her, that he had seen Monica Teasdale in the flesh; she would be thrilled. His young wife was very real to him still. His mind dwelt on the actress, on her parts that they had seen together in the years gone by, on the pleasure she had given Mary. And suddenly it seemed to him to be important that the actress should be saved in the disaster that was coming to them all. He could not meet his Mary and tell her that he had neglected to do what was possible for Monica Teasdale, whom she had loved so well. All his knowledge must be used to save Miss Teasdale’s life, or at any rate to give her a fighting chance of survival. He knew one place within the aircraft where a passenger could
survive the impact with the water when it came. If then she drowned, well, that was just too bad, but with his knowledge he could get her through the crash.

He leaned up on one elbow and turned to look across the aisle to where the actress was reclining. She was not asleep, she was lying there awake, smoking a cigarette. There was an empty seat beside her.

He turned back his rug and got up, and moved down the aisle to her, and said, “Please, Miss Teasdale, may I talk to you for a few moments?”

The shadow of a frown crossed her face; one travelled by air to get away from all that sort of thing. She had been at rest before this uncouth little man with the weak eyes had come to bother her. Then her professional charm took over and she withdrew herself within its mantle, and spoke the phrases she had used so often that they came mechanically. Half of her, at least, could go on resting while she said, “Why certainly, I’d be pleased.” She spoke with a slight mid-Western accent.

He sat down beside her and plunged straight into his story. “Miss Teasdale, my name is Honey. I’m a research worker at the R.A.E.—the Royal Aircraft Establishment—that’s the British experimental station for aeroplanes at Farnborough, you know. I’ve been doing some experiments recently on the tailplane of the Reindeer aircraft—that’s this aircraft that we’re travelling in now. I’m afraid we’re all in rather a dangerous position.”

She said impassively, “Is that so?” She noted his nervous movements, his excited urgency. It was a nuisance that she had attracted an unbalanced fan; in her career she had had that before, several times. She lay listening to him with one part of her mind only, waiting for an opportunity to be delivered from the nuisance of this wretched little man, making a soothing comment now and then.

Miss Corder, coming down into the cabin from the flight deck, was surprised and concerned to see that Mr. Honey’s seat was empty. She spotted him immediately talking to the actress and her lips tightened; she should have thought of that. Unbalanced people always made for actresses. As she approached them Miss Teasdale raised her eyebrows slightly in appeal; the stewardess stopped by the double seat and to her horror heard the actress say lazily:

“Mr. Honey, can’t I use the Ladies’ Toilet? It seems more kind of suitable.”

He said earnestly, “You see, the galley stove is up against the bulkhead of the other one, and that makes the bulkhead firm——” It was at that point that Miss Corder touched him on the arm, and said, “Mr. Honey, I’m sure Miss Teasdale wants to get some sleep. Will you come back to your own seat?”

He stared up at her, hurt and affronted. “I’ve been trying …” He glanced at the actress; she lay impassive and uninterested, her face a mask of indifference. “I’m sorry,” he said with some dignity. “I was only trying to help.”

“I’m sure you were,” Miss Teasdale said. “Some other time, perhaps …”

Without a word Mr. Honey got up and went back to his seat, his face crimson. Miss Corder followed him, and tucked the rug around him once again. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said quietly. “You mustn’t go alarming other passengers, Mr. Honey. Will you promise me not to do that again? Promise to stay quiet in this seat?”

He said bitterly, “If you say so. There’s one place in this aircraft where a human body would be safe in the deceleration of a crash. I was trying to tell her what to do if things look bad. But if she doesn’t want to know, I can’t do more.”

The girl said, “If I get you a small pill to help you get some sleep, will you take it?”

He said, “No, I don’t want that.”

“Will you promise not to talk to any of the other passengers?”

He knew that she was doing her duty; he knew that she was doing it with kindness and with tact. He warmed towards her in spite of the role of prisoner and warder that they were assuming. “All right,” he said. “I won’t talk to anyone again.” He glanced up at her thoughtfully. “What’s your name?”

She smiled down at him. “Corder,” she said. “Marjorie Corder. What do you want to know that for?” It was her object to make him talk, to get his mind on something different from the accident he thought was going to happen.

He said quietly, “You’ve been very nice to me, Miss Corder. I’d like to do something for you. Will you listen if I tell you what I was trying to tell Miss Teasdale?”

She said, “Of course I will. But after that, will you try and get some sleep?”

He motioned to the empty chair beside him. “Sit down there for a minute.”

She hesitated, and then sat down on the edge of the seat, turned towards him. “What is it?” she asked.

He said evenly, “I think this aircraft’s going to crash in the next hour or so. You don’t, nor does Captain Samuelson, nor anybody here. But I know more about it than the lot of you, and that is what I think. When that happens, there may be about three minutes from the time when you first know that something has gone wrong until the moment that we hit the sea.”

He paused. “We shall most of us be killed,” he said quietly. “We shall die with the deceleration of the crash. There’s just one place to go to where a person could avoid that, and get out unhurt into the sea in a lifebelt. That doesn’t give much chance for living, even then, but it’s a better chance than all the rest of us will have. If I tell you where to go and what to do, will you do it?”

She said, “Mr. Honey, all this isn’t going to happen, really it’s not. But if it did, I’ve got my jobs to do.”

He said, “If I tell you, will you listen?”

She nodded.

He said. “You must go into the Gentlemen’s Toilet and sit down on the floor facing to the tail, with your back against the forward bulkhead and your head back in contact with the bulkhead, too. I was trying to tell this to Miss Teasdale, but she wouldn’t listen. Get a pad of something—a towel or a blanket, and put it behind your head. The stove behind that bulkhead will hold it firm for the instant of the crash, and your body will be well supported. If you do that, you’ll live through the impact. You must have your lifebelt on. When the machine comes to rest, before it sinks, pull down the emergency hatch in the toilet roof, and get out at once. Don’t stay to try and help the rest of us, or you’ll be trapped and drown. Get out immediately the motion stops. There’s just a chance you may be picked up when dawn comes.”