Rick corrected groggily. Wow! He had forgotten that power had its limitations, too. A tight turn meant pulling too many G's—too many times the force of gravity—for safety. "Sorry," he said huskily.
"It's all right. Feel your way."
Rick did so, for an ecstatic ten minutes, then, realizing that time was moving and he was burning fuel at a terrific rate, he asked reluctantly, "What now, sir?"
"Let's go home," Lipton said calmly.
Landing was the tricky part. He hurriedly read through the landing checkoff list, then started in. Flaps, throttle setting. Then, wheels down and locked. Air speed correct.
"Better keep flying speed," he thought grimly. "This bucket has the gliding angle of a brick."
For a moment habit almost fouled him up again, as he waited for the plane to "sell out," then he remembered that he had to fly it in. With an anxious eye on his air-speed indicator he gave it a little more throttle, then felt the struts compress as the wheels hit. He chopped the throttle and tried out the brakes with tender care. He didn't intend to flip them over through carelessness now. Gradually he brought the jet to a halt, reset flaps, and then rolled the plane back to their starting point. After he had killed the engine he just sat there, too limp to move. Then, slowly, and with vast relief, he started to get up.
Jerry Lipton, who had climbed out on the wing, reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Where are you going?"
Rick looked up in surprise. "I was getting out, sir."
"Stay put. I'm getting out. You're going for another ride."