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Page 396
hoped to God they had someone at Site X capable of repairing the autopilot. He didn't fancy facing a return to Montreal horsing this heavy motherfucker all the way.
"Alpha Bravo, this is Site X approach control. You are slightly below glide path, on course, eight miles from touchdown. Do not acknowledge any further transmissions from approach control."
"Hold the bitch, Flight." Ahlgren released the control yoke and flexed his arms and shoulders for a moment, then clutched the yoke firmly. "Okay, I have her. Gear down."
The plane buffeted as the wheels extended, destroying aerodynamic integrity. Ahlgren said sharply, "Make sure all the sheep are belted in back there. It's getting rougher."
Pilot Officer Winthrop flashed the seat belt warning light in the passenger bay.
"Alpha Bravo, Site X approach control. You are below the glide path, repeat, below, five miles from touchdown. Be advised we are showing wind sheers on radar."
Ahlgren advanced the throttle quadrant to forty percent power. He turned on the landing lights, hoping for a sight of the ground. The altimeter showed 800 feet. The Starlifter was still in heavy cloud and rain.
"Lights ahead," Macpherson said. "Looks like a ship. It's the Trudeau. We're low, skipper."
The lighted ship, indistinct in the mist, disappeared under the nose. Ahlgren advanced the throttles to fifty percent, but the descent continued. Son of a bitch, Ahlgren thought. Ice. Lots of it.
"Alpha Bravo, approach control. You are too low. Do you read? Power up and go around again." The tone changed to one of sudden alarm. "Alpha Bravo, go around. I say again, go around!"
Ahlgren, a veteran pilot with ten thousand hours in the air, muttered a curse and swept the throttles forward to the stops. The aircraft surged forward and upward, until it struck the wind sheer. The right wing dropped steeply. The pilots reacted

 
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