Scarecrow Returns

IF THE sight of the Antonov perched on the lip of the waterfall was incredible, the sight of it falling down the face of the waterfall was just astonishing.

It fell nose-first in an almost perfect swan-dive, falling at exactly the same speed as the water falling around it, and for a moment, one might have been convinced it would swoop upward at the last second and soar to safety, but that didn’t happen.

The Antonov hit the churning white water at the base of the mighty waterfall with a great splash and plunged underwater.

The plane’s glass nose shot underwater, its pointed tip penetrating the surface like an Olympic diver, shooting downward in a rush of bubbles.

It was only the wings of the plane—or more specifically, the engines on them—that brought it to a halt: a bone-jarring, deadly halt. The plane’s cockpit had traveled about twenty feet under the surface when the wing-mounted engines hit the surface and the plane’s downward journey stopped instantly.

The experience of the two berserkers in the cockpit was utterly unique: as the plane hit the ocean’s surface, sea water rushed up at them through the shattered forward windows, a great foaming rush of it; but their downward inertia took them the other way and they were flung with terrible force down into the surging water.

In the hold behind them, Schofield sat with his back to the plane’s steel forward wall, flat against a flight seat, with the groaning Champion gripped tightly in his arms.

After firing into the landing-gear lever, he had leapt into the seat and quickly buckled the seat belt.

The shuddering impact of the plane against the ocean’s surface jolted him sharply, but the seat absorbed much of the shock and the belt held him tight. Champion was almost shaken from his grip, but somehow he managed to hold her.

But it wasn’t over yet.

The worst was still to come, for the Antonov around him was now vertical, bobbing in the ocean water.

Then, with horrifying speed, it began to sink.