"Thousand feet a minute."
Darmstadter nodded, then reached over his head for the trim wheel and lowered the nose. After that, he retarded the throttle just a hair.
There was time to reconsider his first alarmed conclusion that Dolan was , having a heart attack. That had been, he decided, a fear reaction. What was i wrong with Dolan was what Dolan had told him: an attack of indigestion. He probably had them often, for he was carrying the bright red indigestion medicine with him.
Dolan said something, and Darmstadter missed it.
"Excuse me?"
"I said it must have been Canidy's goddamned steaks," Dolan said, leaning , over to make himself heard over the roar of the engines.
"Every time I eat', charred meat, it does it to me." | Darmstadter nodded. | He was right back to Dolan was having, had had, a heart attack. He'd smelled Dolan's breath when the older man had leaned over. Whatever was in that bottle, bright red or not, usually came in a narrow-necked bottle with a label reading "Sour Mash Bourbon."
"You better sit it down," Dolan said, leaning over again and sending Dam1 stadter another cloud of bourbon fumes. Then he slumped back against the |
cushions of the pilot's seat and took another healthy swallow of "indigestion medicine."
Darmstadter reached for the microphone and put it before his lips.
"Cairo, Army Four Three Three."
A voice with the unmistakable tones of Brooklyn came over the earphones.
"This is Cairo, go ahead, Army Four Three Three."
"Army Pour Three Three, a B-25 aircraft, is passing through niner thousand about thirty miles north of your station. Request approach and landing."
"Four Three Three, Cairo. The winds are from the north at ten, gusting to twenty. Visibility is unlimited. The altimeter is Two Niner Niner Niner. Descend to three thousand feet and report when you have the airfield in sight."
"Cairo, Pour Three Three. Understand three thousand," Darmstadter said, and hung his microphone up.
Then Dolan's voice came over his earphones, and he turned and saw that he had his microphone in front of his lips.
"Cairo," Dolan said.
"Four Three Three. Four Three Three is Ninth Air Force flight Four Zero Five. Acknowledge."
Darmstadter wondered what the hell that meant. It didn't surprise the Cairo tower.
"Four Three Three," the operator with the Brooklyn accent said, "Cairo.
Roger your Flight Four Zero Five."
Darmstadter could see three large pyramidal structures to his left.
My God, those are the pyramids!! The real ones!
And then he
looked to his left and picked up his microphone again.
"Cairo, Four Three Three, I am at four thousand five hundred. I have the field in sight."
"Pour Three Three, Cairo. Maintain present course and rate of descent.
You are cleared as number one to land on Runway Three Four. The altimeter is Two Niner Niner Niner. The winds are from the north at ten, gusting to fifteen.
Report on final."