It was straining forward, though; that much Mel could see, even through the blowing snow. But Tanya was right. The aircraft wasn't moving.
The snowplows and heavy graders had shifted closer together, their beacons flashing brightly.
"Hold it!" Mel said on radio. "Hold it! Don't commit that flight coming in to runway two five. One way or the other, there'll be a change in three zero status any moment now."
He switched the car radio to Snow Desk frequency, ready to activate the plows.

14

Ordinarily, after midnight, pressures in air traffic control relented slightly. Tonight they hadn't. Because of the storm, airlines at Lincoln International were continuing to dispatch and receive flights which were hours late. More often than not, their lateness was added to by the general runway and taxiway congestion still prevailing.
Most members of the earlier eight-hour watch in air traffic control had ended their shift at midnight and gone wearily home. Newcomers on duty had taken their place. A few controllers, because of staff shortage and illness of others, had been assigned a spreadover shift which would end at 2 A.m. They included the tower watch chief; Wayne Tevis, the radar supervisor; and Keith Bakersfeld.
Since the emotion-charged session with his brother, which ended abruptly and abortively an hour and a half ago, Keith had sought relief of mind by concentrating intensely on the radar screen in front of him. If he could maintain his concentration, he thought, the remaining time-the last he would ever have to fill-would pass quickly. Keith had continued