The sun had turned Amos' white hair back to the flaming red of his youth.
I looked down at my watch. It was six fifteen and we were about two hundred miles out over the Pacific.
"Better turn her around and take her back, Amos," I said. "I don't want it to be dark the first time we put her down."
"The term in the Navy, captain, is 'Put her about'." The radioman grinned at me.
"O.K., sailor," I said. I turned to Amos. "Put her about."
"Aye, aye, sir."
We went into a gentle banking turn as I bent over the radioman's shoulder again.
Suddenly, the plane lurched and I almost fell over him. I grabbed at his shoulder as the starboard engineer yelled, "Number five's gone bad again."
I pushed myself toward my seat as I looked out the window.
The engine was shooting oil like a geyser.
"Kill it!" I shouted, strapping myself into my seat.
The cords on Amos' neck stood out like steel wire as he fought the wheel on the suddenly bucking plane.
I grabbed at my wheel and together we held her steady. Slowly she eased off in our grip.
"Number five dead, sir," the engineer called.
I glanced out at it.
The propeller turned slowly with the wind force but the oil had stopped pouring from the engine.
I looked at Amos.
His face was white and perspiration was dripping from it, but he managed a smile.
"We can make it back on five engines without any trouble." "Yeah."
We could make it back on three engines, according to the figures. But I wouldn't like to try it.
I looked at the panel.
The red light was on for the number-five engine.
While I was watching, a red light began to flicker on and off at number four.
"What the hell?" It began to sputter and cough even as I turned to look at it.
"Check number four!" I yelled. I turned back to the panel.
The red light was on for the number-four fuel line. "Number-four fuel line clogged!"
"Blow it out with the vacuum!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" I heard the click as he turned on the vacuum pump.
Another red light jumped on in front of me.
"Vacuum pump out of commission, sir!"
"Kill number four!" I said. There was no percentage in leaving the line open in the hopes that it would clear itself.
Clogged fuel lines have a tendency to turn into fires. And we still had four engines left.
"Number four dead, sir!"
I heaved a sigh of relief after ten minutes had gone by and there was nothing new to worry about.
"I think we'll be O.K. now," I said.
I should have kept my big fat mouth shut.
No sooner had I spoken than the number-one engine started to choke and sputter and the instrument panel in front of me began to light up like a Christmas tree.
The number-six engine began to choke. "Main fuel pump out!"
I threw a glance at the altimeter.
We were at five thousand and dropping.
"Radio emergency and prepare to abandon ship!" I shouted.
I heard the radioman's voice.
"Mayday!
Mayday! Cord Aircraft Experimental.
Going down Pacific. Position approx one two five miles due west San Diego.
I repeat, position approx one two five miles due west San Diego.
Mayday!
Mayday!"
I heard a loud click and the message began over again.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.