'Cooper sure is giving her everything he has,' Woods said in awe. 'He'll melt her down, using the tubes like that.'
He stared into the west, where the ship had vanished. His cigarette forgotten, burned down and scorched his fingers.
Out of the tail of his eye he saw Jimmy Andrews, the Express photographer.
'Did you get a picture?' Woods roared at him.
'Picture, hell,' Andrews shouted back. 'I can't shoot greased lightning.'
The ship was coming back again, its speed slowed, but still traveling at a terrific pace. For a moment it hung over the horizon and then nosed down toward the field.
'He can't land at that speed,' Woods yelled. 'It'll crack wide open!'
'Look out,' roared a dozen voices and then the ship was down, its nose plowing into the ground, leaving in its wake a smoking furrow of raw earth, its tail tilting high in the air, threatening to nose over on its back.
The crowd at the far end of the field broke and stampeded, trampling, clawing, pushing, shoving, suddenly engulfed in a hysteria of fear at the sight of the ship plowing toward them.
But the Hello Mars IV stopped just short of the police cordon, still right side up. A pitted, battered ship — finally home from space — the first ship to reach Mars and return.