Lion, Tiger, Bear j 39 eleven out of fourteen cylinders spewing black smoke. He ran the throttle up slowly, checked the cylinder head temperatures, then eased off when the wounded engine found its sweet spot. Manifold pressure up a bit, Bea had an additional thirty-five percent thrust. God bless Pratt and Whitney! she exclaimed. VicCoir el R-1830 is as tough as the plane.Thats what I read anyway.He pulled out his knife, cut the straps, then pulled what was left of the copilot out of his seat one chunk at a time; his stained kepi fell off his head. The oil-leaking port engine became weaker, sputtering. The fuel pressure gauge died, the line severed. Its packed up, were going in. Help me with the yoke. Bea adjusted her trim, goosed the power up a tad on the remaining engine, and aimed for a narrow valley between two wind-blown plateaus. Tell those wankers back there to get down on the floor, from Oui, madame. He leaned back and caught eyes with a stocky New Zealand corporal. He used his hand up and down. Get down!The men did so. Weaving, pitching, hydraulic pressure weak, she kept the wheels up for a belly landing in the desert northeast of the lake. Just once Id like to land a crate in good fettle… They hit hard, the rocky desert terrain unforgiving. The fuselage snapped in half just behind the trailing edge of the wingscargo crates, mail, medical supplies, men, and bodies were scattered behind like so much confetti. At the bottom of a large, reddish rocky plateau, a stepped iammada, the front fuselage came to an abrupt halt, sand and stone filling the cockpit.