Ted & Me by Dan Gutman Read Free Book Online

I’ll find a way out of this.”
    When I looked in his eyes, I didn’t see panic. Just the opposite, in fact. It was like a sense of calm had come over him. Most people freak out when they’re in a stressful situation. With Ted Williams, the stress seemed to focus his attention on solving the problem at hand. I may have been about to die, but for some reason I felt safe with him at the controls.
    My nose and ears were stuffed up, but I could still smell something burning. Jet fuel? Were the tires on fire? Or was it something else? I tried to regain my composure. I looked out the window at the water on the left. Ted was looking out there too.
    â€œIt’s frozen,” he said. “I’m not jumping outta this thing onto ice. I’d break every !@#$%! bone in my body. Not this boy.”
    On the right side, I saw another American bomber pulling up alongside us. He was so close, I could see the pilot making frantic hand gestures at Ted.
    â€œWhat’s he saying?” I asked.
    â€œHe says I’m leaking fuel,” Ted replied. “We’re not gonna be able to make it back to base. We gotta land somewhere else.”
    The pilot of the other plane signaled for Ted to follow him. Ted replied with an OK sign and turned in the same direction.
    â€œCan anybody hear me?” he shouted into the radio. “I’ve got a wounded duck. One of my fuel lines has been hit.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

    The pilot was signaling for Ted to follow him.
    â€œThis is an F-9 Panther with a centrifugal-flow engine,” Ted explained. “When it gets hit, the tail usually blows off. If that happens, you’ll get sucked out of there. And if the fuel pools at the bottom of the engine, you can kiss your !@#$%! good-bye, ’cause we’re gonna blow up.”
    â€œOh, great!” I said, cursing my luck. “What are you gonna do?”
    But it was obvious what he was going to do. The other pilot went into a steep climb, and Ted followed him. Clouds were shooting past the window like signs on the highway.
    â€œHe’s taking me higher,” Ted said. “Fire can’t burn in thin air. If we get high enough, we can glide 30 or 40 miles without the engines. Then maybe we can find a place to land.”
    The altimeter said we had leveled off at 25,000 feet. Ted took off his oxygen mask and told me he was going to turn off the hydraulics and try to steer manually.
    â€œCan you land it?” I asked.
    â€œWe’re gonna find out, now aren’t we?” he replied. “In case I can’t, it’s been nice knowing you, Junior.”
    I said a silent prayer and tried to adjust my position so that I would be able to absorb the biggest possible impact when we landed. I noticed a trickle of blood coming out of Ted’s right ear.
    â€œThere’s blood coming out of your ear,” I told him.
    â€œI know,” he replied. “It happens at high altitude. It’s my sinuses.”
    We followed the other plane for a few minutes and then the pilot turned slightly. Ted followed. We were slowly coming down. I didn’t say anything.
    â€œWe crossed the border,” Ted said. “We’re in South Korea now. At least nobody will be shooting at us anymore. He’s leading me to another base. Looks like Suwon. K-13.”
    We continued gliding down, much more slowly. It was strangely quiet without the engines roaring. I wasn’t sure if Ted had turned them off or if we had leaked all our fuel. I just hoped we had been high enough to glide all the way down. Ted was pulling on the stick like he was trying to hold on to a bucking bronco.
    â€œThe !@#$%! flaps don’t work,” he said. “The wheels won’t come down. If one of the wings comes off, we’re finished. You holding on to anything, Junior?”
    â€œYeah.”
    The altimeter was dropping. 7,500 feet. 5,600 feet.