d
instructions about a safe corridor to return to the ground, where it
would not be shot at. As soon as the air was thick enough for the
control surfaces to bite, the autopilot steered into the safe corridor.
It began the slow, tedious process of landing safely. The ground was
still a long way down. The kinetic and potential energy of the ship, if
instantly transformed into heat, was enough to flash the entire ship
into vapor. This tremendous store of energy had to be dissipated without
harm to the ship and its occupant.

Major Harry Lightfoot, fighter pilot, lay collapsed in his couch,
exhibiting somewhat less ambition than a sack of meal. He relaxed to the
gentle massage of his gee-suit. The oxygen control winked reassuringly
at him as it maintained a steady flow. The cabin temperature soared, but
he was aware of it only from a glance at a thermometer; the air
conditioning in his suit automatically stepped up its pace to keep him
comfortable. He reflected that this might not be so bad after all.
Certainly none of his ancestors had ever had this comfortable a ride
home from battle.

After a while, the ship had reduced its speed and altitude to reasonable
values. The autopilot requested, and received, clearance to land at its
preassigned base. It lined itself up with the runway, precisely followed
the correct glide-path, and flared out just over the end of the runway.
The smoothness of the touchdown was broken only by the jerk of the drag
parachute popping open. The ship came to a halt near the other end of
the runway. Harry Lightfoot disconnected himself from the ship and
opened the hatch. Carefully avoiding contact with the still-hot metal
skin of the ship, he jumped the short distance to the ground. The low
purr of a motor behind him announced the arrival of a tractor to tow the
ship off the runway.

"You'll have to ride the tractor back with me, sir. We're a bit short of
transportation now."

"O.K., sergeant. Be careful hooking up. She's still hot."

"How was the flight, sir?"

"No sweat. She flies herself most of the time."

THE END

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pushbutton War, by Joseph P. Martino

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