Navigation in the mountains was all about landmarks, triangulating one peak against another gave a plane’s location. Over the ocean, there were no visual pointers and Jay was triangulating to radio sources.
By now they had flown into the new day and in all directions they could see the haze grey where the sky and horizon merged. Occasional specks of white trailed behind boats, but they were the only indications of life.
The directional receiver in the nose had located four radio sources. The angles to these tallied with Jay’s mental arithmetic on air speed and wind direction. “Come about two degrees south.” She told Reed. The plane banked lightly and the rest of the wing followed. They had been describing a shallow zig-zag about their plotted course. “The wing drop tanks are almost empty. I will empty them and release them. No point in wasting fuel dragging them.”
“We must be nearing the point of no return.”
“We just passed it. I only hope we can keep our feet dry in this direction.”