Chapter 2 Chapter 2 Flying Alone

For a moment, Brian was confused about the situation and what he could do.Even later, when his brain started working and he was able to see what was happening, he still couldn't do anything.His hands and arms seemed to be filled with lead, and he couldn't move at all. Immediately, he changed his mind and thought, it would be great if nothing happened at all. "Asleep," he screamed inwardly, looking at the pilot, "you're just asleep. Damn it, open your eyes at once and steer the plane with your hands and your feet on the pedals!"— However, nothing happened. The pilot was as motionless as a dead man.His slack head swayed from side to side only when the plane encountered an unexpected turbulence in a small gust of turbulence.

Fortunately, there are planes. For some reason, the plane was still flying.A few seconds passed, a minute passed, and the plane was flying fine, as if nothing had happened.This made Brian feel more at ease.He must do something, must do something!But what to do? help. He must call for help. He touched the pilot's chest with trembling fingers.I really don’t know what to do! He knows that there seems to be some first-aid procedures, where heart patients need to be given mouth-to-mouth artificial respiration and their chests are pressed. What is called “cardiopulmonary resuscitation”? How to do it.Anyway, you can't just do it to the pilot! You see, he's still in the pilot's seat with his seatbelt on.Brian touched the pilot lightly with his fingertips, felt his chest, but felt nothing, no heartbeat, no breathing.Does this mean that the pilot is almost dead?

"Please," Brian begged, not knowing what to ask, or whom to ask, "please..." At this moment, the plane began to shake again, because it hit a stronger air current.Brian felt the nose of the plane sinking!Not that kind of dive, but a slight dip, and the angle of the dip increases the speed of the ship.He knew that if the angle was slightly off, the plane might end up crashing into the jungle.For now he could see the jungle on the horizon ahead of him, whereas a moment ago all he had seen was the blue sky. In any case, he had to keep flying.Having to fly the plane, he had to save himself.The pilot couldn't be counted on, he had to do something.He has to try to fly the plane.

He sat back in his seat, stared straight ahead, put his trembling hands on the controls, and put his feet lightly on the rudder.He didn't know which book he had read: Pulling up the joystick can make the plane go up.You have to keep pulling the joystick all the way back.He tugged on the joystick, and it immediately turned toward him.Simple, too simple.I saw the plane, originally speeding up and going down, but now it was going up suddenly.This blow made Brian's stomach churn, and it was extremely uncomfortable.He resisted, and pushed back the joystick, who knew that he pushed it too far, and the nose of the aircraft was below the horizontal line again, the horsepower increased, and the plane made a small dive.

Damn, over pushed. He pushed the stick back again, this time with much lighter force, and the nose floated again, still too far, but not as violently as last time.It seems that it has to go down a little bit more, it's too bad, it's overdone again, and then hit it back a little bit.It's very simple!The front end of the hood finally stabilized.When he aligned the hood to the horizon, the plane seemed to be flying fairly smoothly.When he firmly grasped the joystick, Brian, who had been holding his breath from the beginning to the end, finally let out a long breath, Phew, now it's time to think about what to do next.

The sky was clear and blue, with big chunks of clouds here and there.He looked out of the window for a while, wishing he could see some town, little village, but there was nothing.There are only stretches of jungle, endless green, and more and more lakes, but where will the plane fly to? He was flying, but he didn't know where he was, let alone where he was going.He leaned over to the plane's dashboard and studied the dial carefully, hoping to get some help, such as finding a compass or something.It's really complicated here, with numbers and lights everywhere, flickering and mixed.On the top of the instrument panel, there is a light showing the number 342, and another light next to it shows 22.Further down are a few rows of dials, which seem to show the dynamics of the wind, such as rotation and movement.There was a dial with a needle pointing to the number 70, and he guessed, just guessed, it might be an altimeter.So this device tells him the height from the ground level, maybe the height from the sea level?Fortunately, he had read about altimeters, but he couldn't remember where and what he read.

Slightly to the left, to the lower left of the altimeter, he saw a small rectangular control panel with a lighted dial and two buttons attached to it.His eyes flicked two or three times before he caught sight of a line of unusually small writing on the metal plate: "Transmitter 221."This made him suddenly realize, aha, he finally figured it out, this is a radio receiving device! Oh, radio.certainly!Saved!He has to use it.The pilot had, had used the radio just now (he wouldn't tell himself that the pilot was dead, he couldn't even think about it), yes, he wanted to use the radio then.

Brian looks at the pilot.The earphones were still hanging on his head, tilted to one side, the pilot's body was squeezed into the seat, and the microphone switch was still clipped to his belt. To get the headset, Brian had to get it from the pilot.Hands had to be reached to remove the headset from the pilot's head, or he couldn't use the radio to call for help.He had to reach out... His hands began to tremble again.He didn't want to get close to the pilot, let alone touch him.But there is no way, he has to go!Must get headphones!He took his hands off the controls, gently and cautiously, to see what would happen to the plane.The plane is still running normally and smoothly.

Good, he thought, let's do it now.He turned and removed the headset from the pilot's head.He also had to keep an eye on the plane in case it descended.The earphones are still in place, but the microphone switch is still clipped to the pilot's belt, and oh, hell, the big guy is still crammed in the seat.It's a little tricky to pull it out.When pulling the microphone switch, his elbow touched the joystick, and he pressed it heavily, and the plane immediately sank slightly.Brian quickly grabbed the joystick and pulled it back, hell, too hard again.The plane started bouncing up and down again, my God!Stomach churned violently, and finally managed to control the situation.

OK, done!He tugged on the microphone cable again, and managed to pull it out.He puts the earphones on for a second or two, then pulls the small microphone up to his mouth.That's what pilots used just now.Then, he pressed the switch on his belt and blew into Mike. He heard the sound of his own breathing in the earphones. "Hello? Is anyone listening? Hello..." After repeating it two or three times, he stopped and waited.But apart from his own breathing, he didn't hear any echo. Panic struck again.He had been afraid, had fought against the fear in his heart, tried not to think about what had happened.But now, panic came again.He started screaming into the microphone, over and over.

"Help! Can someone help me! I'm on a plane and I don't know... don't know... don't know..." He began to cry aloud, and as he cried he slapped the plane's control stick, pushing it down and pulling it back.But nothing could be heard in the microphone except his own crying.His own cries came into his ears again, which was simply a great mockery of him. Here's the microphone!He suddenly remembered one thing.He had occasionally used the personal radio in his uncle's van.You have to switch the mic off to hear people talking.He reached for his belt and flipped the switch. At first all he could hear was a hiss of radio waves.Suddenly, through the noise and interference, a voice popped out. "Who's calling the ground conning tower? I repeat, turn off your microphone—you're covering my signal. Over." The sound stopped.Brian pressed the microphone switch hard and shouted desperately: "I heard it! I heard it! It's me, it's me!..." Then, he turned off the switch again. "Got it. I got your signal." The voice became very weak and intermittent. "Please describe your current difficulties and orientation. Also, at the end of each call, say 'over.'" Explain my difficulty, Brian thought, God, my difficulty. "I...I'm on a plane, the pilot...he can't fly the plane anymore. But I can't fly the plane. Help me, help..." Before he could end the call, he hastily turned off the microphone. After a pause, there was another reply. "Suddenly your signal was cut off and I could barely pick it up. I understand...pilot...you can't fly a plane? Can you? Over." Brian could barely hear now, with noises and distractions coming from his ears. "It's true, I can't fly. The plane is still flying, but I don't know how long it will fly. Over." "...No signal. Your location? Flight number...location....Bi." "I don't know my flight number, I don't know my bearings. I don't know anything. That's all. Over." Now, he had to wait quietly, but there was no reply.For a moment it seemed to him that he heard a few words in between the noise, but it could have been static.Two minutes, three minutes, ten minutes passed, the plane roared, Brian was still listening attentively, but he couldn't hear anything.So he flipped the switch again. "I don't know the flight number. My name is Brian Robertson. We're flying from Hampton, New York. We're going to the oil fields in Canada to meet my dad. I don't know how to fly a plane. The pilot..." He let go of the mic, his voice trembling.He felt like he might start screaming at any moment.No! He took a deep breath and continued, "Is anyone listening to me? Anyone who can help me fly this plane please answer me!" He turned off the mic and heard nothing but the hiss of the headphones.He kept calling for help repeatedly, crying and yelling at Mike for half an hour, but he couldn't hear anything.Disappointed, he tore off the headset and tossed it aside.It seemed hopeless.Even if it is connected, what can they do for me?Tell me to be careful?snort! despair. He could only try to guess the dials again.He thought that at least he had to know which one represented the speed, and it should be the one with the light showing 160.But he didn't know if that meant 160 miles an hour, or kilometers, or if it just indicated the plane's speed in the air, not its ground speed.He knew that the speed in the air was different from the speed on the ground, but he didn't know how to convert it. He began to think back to the books he had read about flying: how wings work, how propellers push planes through the air.However, those superficial knowledge can't help him at all. Now, no one can help him. An hour passed.He picked up the earphones and tried again, knowing that was the only thing he could hope for now.However, there was no reply.He suddenly felt like a prisoner in a small cell, still hurtling through the air at 160 miles an hour toward—oh, he didn't know where—say toward some Fly in direction until... This is where the problem lies!until where?until the fuel runs out.Once the fuel is exhausted, the plane will fall. There should still be a while. Or, he should put off the throttle and let it drop now.He knew the pilot pushed on the throttle to accelerate.Then if he took off the throttle, maybe the engine would slow down and the plane would go down. The following are his options.He could wait for the plane to run out of fuel and drop; if he didn't want to wait, he could push the throttle and let it all end sooner.He might get farther by doing nothing and waiting for the fuel to run out—the problem is that he doesn't know where he's going.When the pilot had a heart attack, he once touched the stick to turn the plane, but Brian couldn't remember how much or how he got back on course.Because he didn't know the original route at all, he could only guess that the display with 342 on it might be a direction indicator.He didn't know where he was, and he didn't know where he was going, so it made no difference whether he fell now or later. The instinct of survival opposed him to turn off the engine immediately and immediately fell.He vaguely felt that the current heading of the plane was wrong, and he might be flying in the wrong direction.But he still couldn't convince himself to turn off the engine and chose to fall immediately.At least, he was safe now, much safer than falling—the plane was still flying steadily, and he could still breathe.If the engine stopped, he would have to fall immediately. So he let the plane fly, maintaining altitude, and kept trying to make contact with the ground.He also figured out a set of calling procedures: Looking at the small clock embedded in the dashboard, he left a brief message to the ground every ten minutes: "I need help. Is anyone listening?" Between contacts, he did his best to prepare for the impending fall.Once the fuel is exhausted, the plane will begin to descend.This is what he guessed: without the propeller propulsion, he had to lower the nose to maintain the flying speed——he seemed to have read these somewhere, otherwise it was a blessing.It makes sense anyway.He had to lower the nose to maintain airspeed and then, just before impact, raise the nose again to slow the plane as much as possible. Seems to make sense.Slide down, slow down, land. landing. He had to figure out the terrain when he landed.The problem was, he hadn't seen a clearing since he'd started flying over the forest.There seemed to be some swamps, but there were jungles scattered throughout.There are no roads, no paths, no open spaces. Only the lake.It reminded him that the lake could be used as a landing point.If you fall in the jungle, it is tantamount to a dead end.Because once it falls, the large trees will tear the plane to pieces. It seemed that he had to land on a lake.No, it has to be by the lake.He had to descend to the edge of the lake, slow down as much as possible so that the plane just stopped on the shore and did not fall into the water. "Easier said than done," he thought to himself, "how hard it is done!" Easier said than done.Easier said than done!These words and the roar of the engine turned into a rhythmic tune.Easier said than done. Impossible to do. He repeatedly called the ground 17 times, and he was not idle in every ten-minute interval, working non-stop to prepare for the landing.Meanwhile, he looked at the pilot again, touched his face, oh, this guy's skin is so cool.It's cold and hard, shouldn't it be dead?Brian returned to the dashboard dejectedly.Fight, can only fight!He fastened his seat belt, got into position, and went through the landing procedure in his mind over and over again. When the fuel ran out, he had to lower the nose of the plane and head for the nearest lake, trying hard to get the plane over the water.OK, that's all he could think of.Let the plane fly close to the water surface.Also, when the plane was about to land, he had to pull back on the control stick hard to slow down and reduce the impact. The images of the landing steps played over and over in his head like a movie.The plane ran out of gas, gliding, crashing, landing—that's all he'd seen on TV anyway.He tried his best to imagine, tried his best to prepare. However, when he tried to make contact with the ground for the 18th time, the engine suddenly howled without warning and turned off.There was a sudden silence, only the sound of the propeller spinning and the whistling wind passing through the cockpit. Bryan lowered the nose of the plane and spat it out with a whoosh.