Like Jane, Sue was finding out that pilots who on the ground were the pleasantest and most friendly flyers, were more than likely to be martinets when they were at the controls of a big passenger plane.
Sue took the rebuff good naturedly. Of course it was her job to keep the passengers from being alarmed.
Franklin Grove was the last of the emergency landing fields she saw, before the “soup” swallowed them and they looked out into a solid wall of rushing grey, so thick it almost hid the wings.
Passengers looked anxiously toward Sue, and one or two of them summoned her. To their questions, she replied as truthfully as she could that they had struck a bit of bad weather, but that the radio beacon was guiding the pilot and they expected to soon be out of the fog and into clear weather.
That explanation satisfied them for the first half hour, but after that Sue found herself in trouble and a rising fear gripping her own heart. The questions the passengers asked were more difficult to answer.
Why weren’t they out of the fog? They were late now getting into Chicago. Did the pilot know where he was? Why couldn’t they land and wait for the bad weather to clear?
Sue answered them as best she could and tried to remain calm, putting on the best professional manner of a trained nurse.
Her signal light glowed again and she went forward. The chief pilot looked years older.
“We’re in trouble,” he told her frankly. “I’ve lost my radio bearings and the gas is getting low. Have your passengers fasten their safety belts and see that there is no smoking. If we crash we don’t want any extra risk of fire.”
Sue returned to the cabin, hoping desperately that her face would not give away the gravity of their situation when she asked the passengers to put on their safety belts. She went from one to another, adjusting the belts, and informing them that they were about to land, but she didn’t add that it was likely to be a crash landing. When everyone was fastened to the seats, Sue reported to the chief pilot.