The Spirit Banner

by Alex Archer

  At the same time, the helicopter came dangerously close to smashing into the edge of the canyon. Only the quick action of the pilot as he yanked back on the stick kept the aircraft from becoming an early casualty of the fight.

  Annja watched it lift up and out of the narrow confines of the canyon, knowing beyond a doubt that it would be back.

  She knew that she didn't want to be there when it returned.

  Annja glanced at the far side and realized this was their chance. The helicopter attack had thrown the Mongol formation into chaos. They were far too concerned with helping their wounded to watch the fugitives on the bridge.

  If they were quick enough, they might just make it across, Annja thought.

  Her gaze met Davenport's and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

  Annja threw herself into motion, doing all she could to get across the remaining third of the bridge without being hit by gunfire from Ransom's men or being seen by the Mongols.

  Fate chose that moment to step into the fray.

  The next plank looked sturdy enough, but it gave way the moment Annja stepped solidly onto it. She plunged downward, her leg sinking deeper into the hole while she scrambled frantically for a purchase to stop her fall.

  When she had, she found herself trapped, her leg pushed through the shattered plank all the way up to midthigh, the other one bent at the knee, while she clutched frantically to another plank several feet ahead.

  "Annja!" Davenport cried, the fear looming large in his voice.

  "I'm okay," she answered, fighting to stop her heart from popping out of her throat.

  That had been too close.

  But Davenport hadn't seen her fall; he hadn't even been looking in her direction, Annja discovered, as she twisted around to look at him.

  Instead, his attention was captured by the sight of the helicopter thundering toward them in an attack run from above.

  Time slowed.

  Annja could hear the pounding of her heart mixing in counterpoint with the thunder of the helicopter's rotors, the two booming in syncopation. She could feel the gentle breeze from the evergreens caressing her face, teasing her nose with the smell of pine laced with the stink of aviation fuel. She could see Davenport's mouth open, could hear his furious scream, as he threw himself toward her.

  As the helicopter dove toward them, Annja closed her eyes.

  The 12 mm slugs went off with a roar, cutting through the bridge like a knife.

  For just an instant Annja and Davenport hung in space, the bridge around them seemingly intact.

  Then the badly damaged structure broke in two and plunged downward, taking the two of them with it.

  Davenport's hand brushed against her own and instinctively she grabbed for it, catching him about the wrist just as they started their fateful plunge.

  The bridge fell in two sections. The far edge carried the two of them away with it. Their weight sent it hurtling toward the cliff face below where the Mongols were now firing what seemed like everything they had at the passing chopper.

  Annja had time to think this is going to hurt, and then she was slamming against the side of the chasm with what felt like bone-crushing force.

  Miraculously, Annja did not let go of Davenport despite the impact.

  She gritted her teeth in pain; her arms screamed in agony with the weight they were suddenly supporting, but she refused to let go.

  Do. Not. Let. Go, she told herself.

  When they stopped moving, Annja was hanging by one leg upside down in the remains of the bridge with Davenport slung beneath her, the only thing connecting them their mutual holds on each other's wrists.

  He looked up at her, the fear bright in his eyes.

  "Don't drop me," he said in a whisper.

  Annja couldn't even find the energy to speak against the pain roaring through her arms.

  She knew they couldn't stay like this for long…

  * * *

  I N THE HELICOPTER , Ransom leaned forward with eager anticipation.

  "Did you get them?" he asked.

  Santiago peered anxiously through the windscreen and then shook his head.

  "They're hanging on the remains of the bridge, about fifteen feet below the rim."

  "Make another run. This time don't miss."

  Ransom's voice was filled with savage satisfaction.

  Before the pilot could carry out his employer's orders, however, the helicopter came under fire again from the Mongols on the cliff's edge. Arrows, spears and bullets smacked into the frame and the windscreen. The pilot reacted accordingly, doing what all pilots did when their aircraft was in pressing danger.

  He got the heck out of there.

  "Where are you going?" Ransom screamed, spittle flying from his mouth in his fury.

  "Sir! We're under attack. I'm—"

  "I don't give a rat's ass what you think, you idiot! Get us back down there. Now!"

  Wordlessly, the pilot spun the helicopter around and made another run at the spot where Annja and Davenport were hanging on for dear life.

  * * *

  A NNJA SAW DEATH COMING for them down the length of the chasm.

  Just another few seconds and the chain gun would let loose again. At that range, it would be hard for them to miss.

  She knew their options had just been severely limited.

  If they stayed here they were going to be killed.

  She had to do something and she had to do it quickly!

  All this flashed through her mind in the space of a split second as she weighed options and tried to determine the best course of action.

  Annja looked down toward the water far below.

  It was an extreme long shot, with probably less than a one in a hundred chance of survival, but that was still better than their odds of staying where they were. Even if her arms managed to remain firmly in their sockets, something that was looking less and less likely by each passing second, that helicopter would rip them apart the moment it started shooting again. She didn't know why it hadn't done so already.

  There really was only one choice open to them.

  Mind made up, Annja looked down at Davenport and found him looking up at her, the fear etched across his face.

  "Brace yourself!" she cried.

  Annja reached into the otherwhere with her free hand and drew her sword. Davenport's eyes widened at the sight of it, then they got even bigger as she swung the weapon toward the guide rope on her right.

  The rope parted with an audible snap.

  Davenport opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was was lost in the roar of the oncoming chopper and the howl of the wind in her ears. Twisting the other way, Annja lashed out with the sword a second time.

  The blade cut through the other guide rope, sending them and the short section of bridge they were attached to plunging toward the roaring river far below.

  * * *

  R ANSOM WATCHED IN satisfaction as Davenport and Creed dropped into the chasm, their forms quickly disappearing in from view in the mist and spray from the river far below. He would have preferred to blow them all to hell himself, but he'd settle for this if he had to. Besides, the idea that they were likely conscious for the entire fall only added to his glee at their demise.

  He looked up, intending to share his congratulations with Santiago, and froze.

  Behind his second in command was a window, and through it he could see one of the Mongol warriors rushing out of the woods with something long and slender in his hands. As Ransom watched, the warrior knelt and pointed the tube directly at the helicopter.

  For just a moment their eyes locked.

  Then the warrior pulled the trigger and the Soviet-produced rocket-propelled grenade, an RPG-7, sent a high-explosive antitank warhead, commonly known as a HEAT round, spiraling up toward them.

  Ransom didn't even have time to shout a warning.

  The warhead struck just as the cockpit proximity alarms began blaring, tearing through the tail boom, seve
ring the tail rotor and sending it spinning off into the chasm below.

  Without the tail rotor to keep the aircraft flying straight, it began to rotate around itself, the main rotors spinning it about like a child's toy top gone suddenly, drastically, out of control.

  Inside the chopper both Ransom and Santiago braced themselves with hands and feet against the nearest solid surfaces as the pilot sought frantically to get control of his aircraft, something that just wasn't going to happen with a gaping hole where the tail rotor used to be.

  The sky whipped past once, twice, three times, and then Ransom had an excellent view of the forest coming up quickly outside the same window he'd looked through before.

  With a thunderous crash, the helicopter slammed into the treetops, skittered along for several hundred yards as its main rotor slashed everything before it and then plowed into the ground with all the force of a missile.

  * * *

  R ANSOM REGAINED consciousness slowly. One eye was crusted shut with what he thought might be dried blood, but the other one worked just fine, and in the dim light he could see that he was hanging upside down from his harness in what was left of the helicopter. His chest hurt where the straps had yanked themselves tight on impact, and his left arm felt like the Jolly Green Giant had been playing tug-of-war with it, but other than some minor cuts and bruises, he was intact, as near as he could tell. He had blood in his hair and on his shirt, but he didn't know if it was his own or someone else's.

  There seemed to be only one way to find out.

  With a shaking hand, he reached across his chest and tripped the harness release mechanism.

  Ransom fell onto what had once been the interior ceiling of the aircraft with a thud and a flash of pain. He lay still for a moment, catching his breath, but then pulled himself to his knees. From that position he was able to look around the cockpit.

  The windscreen was gone, torn away by the shards of one of the rotors. So, too, was the pilot's head, though his body was still strapped in place, his hands on the controls.

  Santiago seemed to have fared better. Ransom couldn't see all of him but what he could see didn't appear to have any major bodily damage, nor was he leaking a pool of blood onto the floor.

  The wreck was filled with acrid-smelling smoke and the stink of aviation fuel, so Ransom decided it was best to get out of it as soon as possible.

  On hands and knees he crawled over to the edge of the wreck where he could see a wide band of sunlight shining in. The hole was just big enough to crawl through if he got down on his stomach and wriggled in. He did just that.

  Feetfirst, he pushed himself through the opening and into the clean air outside.

  When his head at last passed through the gap and he sat, up he found himself surrounded by the Mongol warriors he'd seen back at the pass.

  He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, felt something slam into the side of his head and then darkness snatched him in its icy grip.

  39

  For what seemed like the longest time, they fell.

  Annja managed to hold on to Davenport for the first few seconds of their drop, but then his weight started to pull her off center and she had no choice but to let him go. It was for his safety, as well as hers. If they hit the water horizontally, rather than vertically, neither of them would survive. They were already taking a huge chance as it was.

  She had a moment to wonder what would happen to Roux and Garin if she didn't survive the fall, and then her feet hit the water, the impact freeing her from the troublesome plank and plunging her deep into the river's icy depths, the shock of the water's temperature nearly driving the breath from her lungs. She clamped her jaws tightly shut in response. The current took her immediately, tossing her about like a leaf in the wind, twisting and turning her until she didn't know which direction was up.

  Her jaws ached from the effort of keeping her mouth shut as her lungs kept trying to tell her brain that she needed air and that she needed it now, but she knew it was all over if she gave into that urge. Still, she couldn't hold out much longer.

  Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, her head broke the surface of the water and she sucked in great gasps of air. Almost immediately the rapids sucked her under again.

  She caromed into something unyielding, a rock, or a tree maybe, she didn't know, nor did it really matter; what mattered was fighting her way to the surface again. The water was close to freezing and it was rapidly leeching the warmth from her body. She had already lost a lot of the feeling in her feet and lower legs and she knew her arms would go next. Once that happened, she wouldn't have any means of keeping herself above the flow and it would only take the river a few minutes to finish the job the cold had begun.

  She didn't have much time left.

  The current twisted her body around and sucked her under again. She was shoved violently to one side and her head struck something solid. This time she wasn't so lucky. The impact left her dazed, robbing her of her sense of direction, and she felt herself spun around, unable to right herself.

  Her thoughts were fuzzy, her vision distorted, and she couldn't remember what she was doing here. She was in the water, that much she knew, but why? How had she gotten here? What was she looking for? Why was she struggling so hard? Maybe she should just relax a little, relax and rest, let the water carry her in its embrace wherever it wanted to go, rest and relax…

  She crashed into something for the third time, the pain jarring the deadly fuzziness from her thoughts for just a second, but a second was long enough. As she rebounded from whatever it was she had hit she lashed out with her hands and managed to grab hold of it. She was hanging there, fighting to hold on, her fingers all but frozen, when a hand reached down out of nowhere and seized her wrist.

  It was a good thing, too, because less than half a second later she lost her grip and would have plunged right back into the deadly current.

  She was only barely conscious as she was dragged out of the water and dumped onto a rocky beach. She remembered a figure looming over her, a flash of eyes dark as slate, and then the darkness claimed her and she knew no more.

  * * *

  A NNJA REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS abruptly, uncertain of where she was or what she was doing there. She remembered the chase through the forest and how Ransom's men had shot at her and Davenport. She remembered the rush across the bridge and the fear she'd felt as they had been caught between Ransom's men on one side and the Mongol warriors on the other. She remembered the helicopter attacks and the bridge and the long fall into the water and…the water!

  She had to get out of the water!

  Annja surged up off the bed she was lying on, fear setting her heart to pound like a jackhammer, and would have scrambled away from wherever she was if a strong pair of hands hadn't reached out and grabbed her just below the shoulders.

  The position brought back other memories and she gasped out, "Mason?" in surprise and wonder.

  The man who had been patiently sitting next to her for the past few hours, waiting for her to wake up, shook his head. "No, it's not Mason," Davenport said gently. "Mason's gone."

  Memories of all they had been through crashed over her like the tide and it took her a few moments before she could find her voice.

  "Where are we?" she asked. "How did we get here?"

  Davenport shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. When I came to, I found you lying there unconscious. There's a guard at the door who won't let us leave, but I haven't seen anyone else."

  Annja swung her feet off the bed and sat up, realizing only as she did so that she was naked beneath the blanket. She made a quick grab for the covering and managed to keep from exposing herself, but only just.

  "What the heck happened to my clothes?" she demanded.

  Davenport blushed. "Sorry. Meant to warn you about that."

  He got up and crossed to the center of the room where a metal stove sat framed by two orange posts. Annja let her gaze follow them upward to where they
met a roof made from a lattice of wooden strips covered with what looked to be layers of canvas and felt. The walls around them were constructed the same way, but instead of the plain, undecorated fabric used in the construction of the roof, these were covered with designs in bright, rich colors.

  Clearly they were in a ger, the traditional tentlike home used by the nomadic Mongols for centuries.

  Her clothes were neatly folded in a pile on the low table that stood near the stove. Davenport carried them over to her and then turned his back while she carefully dressed.

  As she did so, she took a thorough look at her injuries and tried to make an accurate assessment of her condition. She was bruised and battered, but otherwise hadn't suffered any broken bones in their unorthodox escape attempt. Her head hurt and when she reached up she discovered a thick bandage wrapped around her skull. Must have hit it on something while I was in the water, she thought.