Two Blackbirds by Garry Ryan Page A

flew north and west to the Avro Factory at Chadderton. Its massive rectangle of attached buildings was visible from at least twenty miles out.
    Thirty minutes later, Sharon was hefting her gear through the back door of the Lancaster as she maneuvered her way along the obstacle course leading to the cockpit. A mechanic followed her inside and waited while she got herself settled in the pilot’s seat.
    â€œI expect you’ll find this one is lighter than the others you’ve flown. The mid-upper turret has been removed, and so has some of the armour.” He handed her the paperwork, she signed off, and he made his way out the back. She began her preflight checks. After finishing, she looked up through the canopy that was a greenhouse of Perspex. It allowed the sunshine to warm this autumn day.
    She looked out her side of the canopy and slid open the side window when she spotted the mechanic near the nose of the Lancaster. She said, “Clear!” then began the process of starting each of the four massive Merlin engines.
    Within ten minutes, she was headed north again, this time to the west coast of Scotland.
    Sharon felt herself easing into the familiar routine of checking the sky for other aircraft with momentary glances at the instruments to ensure that all was well with the Lancaster.
    When Glasgow was on her left and the North Sea on her right, a routine check of her gauges revealed a potential problem: the starboard engine on the inside was running hot. She looked right and saw the upper wing behind the engine was slick with a sheen of oil.
    She checked the engine’s oil pressure gauge. It was lower than the pressure on the other three engines. I’m about an hour from Inverness. Do I land at Glasgow or carry on?
    She took another glance at the gauges for the starboard engine. The temperature gauge nudged into the red. The oil pressure continued its gradual drop that promised to end at zero.
    Sharon took a long, slow breath to calm her nerves and began to shut down the engine before it could overheat and catch fire. She feathered the prop and stopped the oil-starved engine.
    By the time she had dealt with the emergency, Glasgow was out of sight and behind her. The Lancaster seemed quite content flying on three engines, and she kept a close eye on the gauges for the remaining engines. If I lose another one, I’m definitely going to have to find a place set down right away.
    Her eyes continued to sweep the horizon and check the gauges, sweep the horizon and check the gauges, sweep the horizon and check the gauges for the next forty-five minutes. She spotted the familiar tongue of land sticking out into the North Sea. Then she recognized the lopsided cross of RAF Lossiemouth’s runways. This baby is running just fine; no need to get on the radio. Jerry will be listening in. She throttled back and began her pre-landing checklist.
    She dropped the first stage of flaps, adjusted the controls and began to sweat as the Lancaster made her earn her pay for the second time that day. Sharon checked the circuit for other aircraft, saw none, and decided the best option at this point was to use a long, straight approach. She lowered the landing gear. The radio crackled in her ears: “Lancaster on long finals. Are you declaring an emergency?”
    The controller must have spotted the feathered prop. She flicked the send switch. “Negative.”
    She concentrated on the landing. You really don’t want the excitement of doing a touch-and-go on three engines.
    The Lancaster touched down on its main gear. Sharon kept the tail up, then lowered it gently and was relieved that the tail wheel hadn’t decided it was time to wobble. A wobbling tail wheel was a decidedly unpleasant experience in a Lancaster. It made the ship shudder from stem to stern.
    Using the outboard engines and brakes, she taxied to the largest hangar and shut down. After she finished her checks, she raised her head to see that