Blessed weight pressed down on him and his stomach stopped complaining. The ninety seconds of deceleration seemed longer; it made him jumpy to know that the Earth was rushing up at them and not be able to see it. But at last there came a slight bump and his weight dropped suddenly to normal. "Grounded," announced the pilot, "and all in one piece. You can unstrap, sports."
Presently a truck arrived, swung a telescoping ladder up to the hatch, and "they climbed down. On the way back they passed a great unwieldy tractor, crawling out to retrieve the rocket. Someone stuck his head out of the tractor. "Hey! Harry-why didn't you land it in Kansas?"
Their pilot waved at the speaker. "Be grateful I didn't!"
Matt was free until mess; he decided to return to the observation trench; he still wanted to see a ship land on its jet. He had seen winged landings of commercial stratosphere rockets, but never a jet landing.
Matt had just found a vacant spot at the trench when a shout went up-a ship was coming in. It was a ball of flame, growing in the sky, and then a
pillar of flame, streaking down in front of him. The streamer of fire brushed the ground, poised like a ballet dancer, and died out. The ship was down.
He turned to a candidate near him. "How long till the next one?"
"They've come in about every five minutes. Stick around."
Presently a green flare went up from the control tower and he looked around, trying to spot the ship about to take off, when another shout caused him to turn back. There again was a ball of fire in the sky, growing.
Unbelievably, it went out. He stood there, stupefied- to hear a cry of "Down! Down, everybody! Flat on your faces!" Before he could shake off his stupor, someone tackled him and threw him.