Air traffic control in an unorganized skyway was an engineer’s worst recurring nightmare.
Fifty-one heavily armed capital warships hovering within two miles of a busy civilian harbor represented twenty-four thousand tons of uncoordinated moving mass.
Without strict height separation, glide-slope halls, and holding patterns, two drifting frigates could clip rigging, ignite unspent coal gas, and shower burning wreckage across the city below.
In aviation logistics, standard separation rules needed at least five hundred feet of upright clearance and one thousand yards of level spacing between heavy hulls.
When military officers tried to maneuver without air-pressure altimeter exact timing, mid-air collisions were certain.
War was dangerous, but amateur airmanship was far more lethal.
Giles Croft stood on the glass-enclosed watching deck of the main flight control tower. He held a dual-channel sound speaking trumpet.
Beside him sat Vespera Lark, her hands dancing across the brass tracking levers of the panoramic sky-plotter table.
