RAF Cheddington 1700 hours

"Traffic control wants you to put her down on that old landing strip you see coming up on the right." William estimated. "Three miles out. About fifteen degrees,"

Julia squinted to see what he pointed to. It looked like an old, disused part of the RAF complex. She frowned. "Guess they don't want us messing up their pretty runways now, do they?"

William knew she was not being flippant. Aside from not getting shot down, landing was going to be the hardest part. Both of them knew the state of the tyres and landing equipment.

"William? I only have enough petrol for one try at this. I had to weigh speed versus distance." Julia had been tapping her gauges. The top speed of the Ryan-M1 airplane was about 125mph with roughly a 400-mile range, but that was with a full tank and in perfect flying conditions. They'd had less than three-quarters of a tank when they took off, all the petrol William could scrounge, and there was really not much left but fumes. Banging on the gauge did not improve anything.

"You can do this, Julia. Get us down and let us walk away, eh?" William squeezed her shoulder again.

Julia waggeled her left hand, showing off her 'engagement' ring, then put both hands back where they belonged. She needed all her concentration now. Speed. Altitude. Angle of descent. Wind direction on the ground - look at the windsocks. She had no idea how long the runway was. The only thing she could do is guess that it was too short for modern aircraft, bombers or fighters, perhaps even for newer reconnaissance aircraft.

Well, it's all I have, so 'it's as long as it is long', as my old teacher used to say.

Julia pushed everything out of her mind to handle the plane, getting herself to feel as one with the Ryan M1. Gently, she rolled the wings enough to line up with the landing zone, fixing a spot on the strip in her windshield for reference. Then she throttled the engine while pulling back on the control without climbing. She watched as her airspeed fell to 90 knots, getting the plane's nose to the right angle for a glidepath. She kept adjusting the attitude and speed to keep her glidepath level, and let the plane sink slowly towards a landing, speed about 70 knots. She felt elated when the end of the runway was in sight and absolutely thrilled when her wings passed over the marker skimming a good ten feet off the ground, coaching herself these last few hundred feet.

You can do this...almost there...

Julia's heart raced while she kept her concentration. She exhaled and pulled the throttle all the way out and eased back on the yoke to keep the nose up, trying to slow her speed more, hoping to float downward and take a little bounce before powering down and applying the brakes.

Almost there...

There was nothing William could do. He was in the unusual position of having no role to play. Julia was in charge of their fate. As far as he could tell she was a competent aviatrix….After all she got them this far, leaving him nothing but to sit tight and trust. And pray. William opened his eyes as the Lady Julia descended elegantly to the ground.

The landing gear wheels touched down and immediately the right one blew out, sending the plane wheeling right, wing grinding and splintering into the earth. It was a miracle the whole thing did not flip, but by the time the plane stopped moving, the metal was crunched and wrinkled, the right wing was gone and the fuselage sat, tipped sideways in a muddy ditch off the side of the runway and spewing smoke.

Oh, zut! William immediately unbuckled himself to get to Julia.

"Julia! Julia! Are you all right?" He reached for her, getting her out of her harness, helping her to get out of the cockpit and away from the plane. Both of them got their gear torn on pieces of metal on the way out and wet feet from the ditch before ending up on a piece of shaded grass where he could examine her. Julia seemed a little wobbly, so he checked her for any injuries, especially to her head. "Julia! Look at me?" he asked, feeling happy when she looked back and smiled. "Here…" He gave her a handkerchief to put pressure on the slice on her cheek. It did not look serious.

"Thank you. Well, William, we walked away, didn't we? Do you suppose those B-17 boys will treat us to drinks at the pub?" she joked with him, waving at the bomber tipping its wings before making their own landing approach. She stroked his head, letting him know she was all right. "I'm fine, William. Nothing a strong drink won't fix," she assured him. "How are you?"

He laughed and kissed her. "Julia, you were brilliant. Marvelous! Amazing!" Behind her, he saw the ground crew coming over to take care of the wreckage of the Ryan-M1, an ambulance and a staff car. He waved them over, wanting to get Julia sorted and him to Bletchley ASAP. The ground crew went to work on the plane. Oddly, William saw the staff car cut the ambulance off, rolling up on them and, more surprisingly, disgorging four Military Police officers who marched right over to where William and Julia were on the grass.

William tried to stand, but before he could get on his feet, one of the MP's dragged him upright. "Captain William Murdoch. You are coming with us."