The other man chuckled. “Let me guess: he’s late.”
Nick nodded. “A bit.”
“They’re always late. Got all the time in the world to let you rookies stew.” His eyes narrowed as he looked Nick up and down. “You reckon you’ll pass? It’s not an easy test, you know.”
Nick gave him a half-smile. “I know.”
He didn’t correct the guy, no doubt realizing the last thing Jannie felt like doing was getting into a friendly conversation and answering a bunch of questions.
Again, Jannie heard the distinctive buzzing of a prop and looked up, shifting from foot to foot. Maybe this time? A moment later, what came into view was definitely not a blue Baron.
“It’s a V-tail Bonanza,” she said, not bothering to conceal her disappointment.
And it was red.
One of the men guffawed. “Ohhh, shiiit.”
Nick looked at him questioningly.
The man pointed around his can of Pepsi, a wide grin splitting his face. “That there’s your FAA guy, comin’ in right now.”
Jannie cast him a doubtful glance. “It is?”
“Yup.”
“We were expecting a blue Baron.”
The man watched the little red plane descend and float for a very long time before the wheels softly touched down. “The one who flies the Baron is Everett. Not the one who’s here.” He slapped his knee. “That’s Newell in that red V-tail. You’re screwed, boy.”
•
Nick had warned Jannie that the Designated Pilot Examiner would ask her, as he put it, “any fucking thing he wants.” She was prepared for the knowledge part to take a while but not more than three hours. By the time he finished firing question after question at her, she understood why the elderly gentleman had snickered. Lucky for her, a lot of what the examiner asked wasn’t newly learned, and Nick had thoroughly grilled her during their practice sessions.
Newell’s expression revealed nothing, but Jannie knew she had done well. Now she was nearing the end of the three-plus-hour flying part, and still, his reactions and expressions remained neutral.
Jannie adjusted her opaque glasses and focused on the instruments before her. All she had to do was land the airplane, and she was done.
She checked the needles. Good, perfectly aligned. The descent rate was six hundred feet per minute, approaching minimums, and Jannie waited for the examiner to call the runway in sight.
“Minimums … minimums,” the electronic voice announced.
Jannie waited.OK, Newell, any day now.
“Cow on the runway!” Newell called. “Go around, go around!”
Jannie blinked.
Oh, OK.
She wasn’t landing yet, it seemed.
Muscle memory kicked in.Power up, pitch up, flaps to approach.
Speed looked good, and she climbed through four hundred feet. She moved the lever to get the flaps back up, pushed the navigation switch toon, and let the autopilot fly the missed approach.
It felt like an eternity, but she did it.
“Well done,” Newell said, sounding like a robot.
