At half past six on a Friday evening in January, Lincoln International Airport was open, but it was having serious problems.

The airport, together with the whole of the Midwestern United States, had been hit by the worst storm in years. It had already lasted for three days. Now troubles, like spots on a sick, weakened body, were beginning to break out everywhere.

A truck carrying 200 dinners was lost in the snow somewhere on an airport service road, and so far the search for it had been unsuccessful.

At least a hundred flights were delayed, some by many hours.

Out on the airfield, runway three zero was out of use. It was blocked by an Aereo-Mexican plane which lay sideways across it. The front wheels were stuck in the deep mud which lay under the snow near the edge of the runway. Aereo-Mexican had tried hard for two hours to move it, but without any success. Now they were asking TWA to help them.

The loss of runway three zero made the work of Air Traffic Control even more difficult than usual. With 20 planes waiting to land, they were delaying take-offs. The airfield seemed to be full of waiting planes. Inside the main passenger terminal, too, there were crowds of impatient people waiting beside their piles of luggage. Even the large notice on the roof of the terminal - LINCOLN INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - was hidden by the snow.

Mel Bakersfeld was surprised that the airport was still open. Mel was the Airport General Manager. He was a tall, powerful man. At the moment, he was standing by the Snow Control Desk, high in the control tower. Usually you could see the whole airport from here. Only Air Traffic Control had a better view.

Tonight you could see only a few lights. This was an unusually hard winter. The storm had started five days ago in the Colorado Mountains, and then swept across a large part of the United States. It brought strong winds, freezing cold and heavy snow.

Maintenance men with snowploughs were clearing the snow as it fell, but by now many of them were terribly tired. The storm seemed to be winning.

Danny Farrow was at the Snow Control Desk, talking to the Maintenance Snow Centre by radio phone.

'We're losing ground. I need six more snowploughs out there.'

'Oh sure, sure,' an angry voice replied. 'Six more snowploughs! And where do you think they're going to come from? Any more stupid ideas?'

'We sent four ploughs out to find that truck,' Danny said. 'If they haven't found it yet, they'll just have to try harder.'