Thirty foot. Twenty. Ten. Brace yourselves!
Flaps fully down, engine throttled back to barely above stalling speed,
Roger Cuddlesworth fought to balance the torque of the single engine and the gusting wind.
Both wheels touched together. running smoothly across the packed sand.
Then disaster struck, a patch of soft sand or perhaps a rock, one wing pitched into the sand and the aircraft started to spin.
Roger fought to control the aircraft, preventing it from flipping over and finally came to a standstill, half sunken in the waters of the English Channel.
As the aircraft came to a halt, rocking gently in the waves, Roger Cuddlesworth, his face pale and his jaw clenched against the pain, ordered everybody out.
Lieutenant FitzWindsor, being nearest to the door, was first out, he appeared unhurt, but his companion, Lieutenant Lovesett was bleeding badly from a scalp wound.
With room to manoeuvre, Clara set about splinting the Colonels obviously broken leg, assisted by Greeves, his useless arm tucked into his jacket.
"What about you Roger" She asked.
" Not too good " He responded. "Arms are pretty useless, and I think I`ve cracked a few ribs"
A new face appeared at the door, A farmer, working nearby, with a young lad, about twelve, alongside Lieutenant FitzWindsor. Together they got the Colonel out and into the dunes, returning to tend to the pilot.
Clara had barely started to strap Rogers arms, when an attractive brunette, incongruously dressed in a black evening gown suddenly appeared to help her.
Together the two young ladies attended to Rogers injuries, interrupted only by the arrival of an ambulance from nearby Nouvion. Closely followed by the local Gendarmerie.
As the convoy moved away to the local hospital, Roger looked back at the aircraft, It was obvious she would never fly again, He,with a bit of luck, would.
They always said a Good landing was one you could walk away from.