16

Trans Ameiica Flight Two, The Golden Argosy, was ten miles out, in cloud, at ftfteen hundred feet.
Anson Harris, after another brief respite, had resumed flying.
The Lincoln International approach controller-with a voice vaguely familiar to Vernon Demerest, though he hadn't stopped to think about it-had guided them thus far on a series of courses, with gentle turns as they descended. They had been, both pilots realized, skillfully positioned so that a final commitment toward either of the two possible runways could be made without major maneuvering. But the commdtment would have to be made at any moment. Tension of the pilots grew as that moment approached.
A few minutes earlier, Second Officer Cy Jordan had returned to the flight deck, on Demerest's orders, to prepare an estimate of gross landing weight, allowing for the fuel they had used, and that remaining. Now, having done everything else necessary at his ffight engineer's

position, Jordan bad gone back to his emergency landing station in the forward passenger compartment.
Anson Harris, aided by Demerest, had already gone through emergency trim procedures in preparation for landing with their jammed stabilizer.
As they finished, Dr. Compagno appeared briefly behind them. "I thought you'd like to know-your stewardess, Miss Meighen, is holding her own. If we can get her to a hospital soon, I'm fairly sure she'll come through." Demerest, finding it hard to conceal his sudden emotion, had resorted to not speaking. It was Anson Harris who balf-turned and acknowledged, "Thank you, Doctor. We've only a few minutes to go."
In both passenger cabins, all precautions which could be taken were complete. The injured, with the exception of Gwen Meighen, had been strapped in seats. Two of the doctors had stationed themselves on either side of Gwen, ready to support her as they landed. Other passengers had been shown how to brace themselves for what might prove an exceptionally heavy landing, with unknown consequences.