Nighthawk

40

Joe felt a strange oscillation through his hands. The Air-Crane was swaying one way and then the other as they headed for the landing area.

“Is that thing moving?” he called out.

“It’s trying to,” Paul said. “It’s torquing to the right and then swinging back to the left. Each time, it moves a little more.”

Joe understood instantly. The downwash created by the six-bladed rotor overhead was a minor tornado. That airflow was catching the Nighthawk’s vertical stabilizer. It pushed the tail to the left and that swung the nose of the aircraft to the right. When it could twist no more due to the tension on the lines, it swung back in the other direction. A movement that was slowly becoming circular.

The Nighthawk continued to sway as they crossed the shallows and then the muddy, barren shoreline. A hundred yards ahead, on higher, firmer ground, Joe saw Urco waving a makeshift flag.

Outlined by tall grasses, the spot Urco had found was flat, rocky and almost circular. It looked like a natural landing pad.

Joe continued toward it, ignoring the yellow temperature light that had come on once again and working the rudder pedals to keep the Air-Crane stable.

Finally over the clearing, he turned the nose into the wind and hovered.

“Come to the right,” Paul said.

“How far?”

“Ten feet.”

Joe eased the Air-Crane over to the right, staring through the clear Plexiglas foot well at the ground below.

“That’s it,” Paul said. “Let her down slowly.”

“No time for that.”

Joe relaxed the pressure on the controls and allowed them to descend, trying to lower the Nighthawk gracefully and quickly. It was a partial success. The craft hit with a minor crunch, landing harder than Joe had hoped. The lines went slack and the strain on the engine was reduced.

“Nighthawk on solid ground,” Paul said.

“Cut it loose.”

Paul disconnected the line and metal cable fell to the ground.

The Air-Crane rose upward in response. Freed of all the weight, it felt nimble. Joe powered back as soon as he could, but the yellow warning lights continued to glow. “We need to get on the ground or we’re going to void our warranty.”

Easing away from the Nighthawk, Joe aimed for the far edge of the clearing and brought the Air-Crane down for a landing.

The wheels hit with a trio of thumps. Joe powered down to idle but kept the engine running until it had cooled enough to bring the temperature down.

“Hot damn,” Paul said. “Let’s go take a look.”

Joe checked the temperature gauge one last time. It was settling nicely. A second light that would warn of metal shavings in the oil system had never come on. The engines were undamaged. One break in their favor.

He shut everything down, unbuckled his harness and followed Paul out the door. Cutting across the clearing, they found Urco, crouched beneath the aircraft’s nose, clearing mud from the landing gear. He looked up as they approached.

“How’d we do?” Paul asked.

“Excellent,” Urco said. “Exactly as I hoped you would.”

There was something odd about the response. Before Joe could put his finger on it, he saw movement in the tall grass. His first thought was that it was Kurt and Emma coming up from the beach, but, instead, a handful of men pushed through the high grass and out into the clearing. They held weapons in their hands, rifles and shotguns.

Joe turned to make a break for it. But it was too late. A second group of men had come in from behind them.

“Don’t fight,” Urco said, standing up and leveling a pistol in Joe’s direction. “There’s no need for you to die.”