by Grey, Helen
The center was stowed with not only a dozen or more duffel bags, but ladders, chainsaws, and other tools, all strapped down to rounded hooks embedded in the flooring. Likely thousands of pounds of firefighting equipment, tools, and gear that would be dispersed to arriving firefighters as they arrived from local and distant regions such as myself and Matt. I saw that about seven firefighters already sat inside. It would be a tight squeeze, but then, it always was.
I shrugged my backpack off and took one of the red canvas seats slung side-by-side with narrow metal legs that lined either side of the chopper. Sitting in the canvas seats was something like sitting in a camp chair, but I certainly didn't mind. Comfort was the last thing on my mind. The all-metal interior of the craft reverberated the sound of the rotors so loudly that I felt my teeth vibrating with their power.
Nods were offered in greeting but that was about it. I quickly buckled myself in, although I saw several firefighters who hadn't. I surmised that it would take only minutes to reach the base camp. In a matter of seconds, the other two firefighters from Arizona had climbed in behind us, and mere moments after that, the door was closed and the Chinook lifted off the ground.
For a few alarming seconds, the Chinook wavered from side to side as it lifted off and the wind swept underneath it, lifting the nose up. I gasped and clamped my hands tightly around the straps of my backpack, now situated between my feet.
The aircraft banked and I held my breath, trying to look through one of the small windows opposite me to orient myself for balance. That didn't help, so I took a deep breath and just stared down at my feet. Soon we were flying over foothills, covered with forests of pine. Then the smoke and ash began to obstruct my view. The Chinook banked a couple of times and slightly rolled to portside as yet increasingly powerful gusts of wind, some of it likely propelled by the fire and heat, pummeled the craft. I clenched my jaw and held my breath each time, my stomach rising to my throat in fear. I had never liked roller coaster rides, and right now, felt like I was on a doozy.
Matt sat beside me, eyes closed. He couldn't possibly be sleeping, could he? I doubted it. Like me, he was probably thinking of the coming hours and days. His face remained expressionless. I wondered what he was thinking. Unlike my thoughts, which were focused on the way the Chinook handled the winds, his were more than likely on the fire spreading below, spreading at pace with the gusting winds, whipping up fire tornadoes, jumping lines and the glowing embers carried hundreds of feet to spark a new line of fire even as the embattled firefighters gave their all to create and hold their fire lines.
The guy sitting next to Matt shouted something into his ear, and he passed it along to me. We’d be approaching base operations in about ten minutes. I nodded and then passed the message along to one of the guys that had come from Arizona. I wished I could see outside the window more. I caught occasional flashes of sky, darker smoke, and occasionally, when the aircraft banked to the left, treetops and jagged mountainsides. The ride was turbulent, and the further we flew the more it jostled. The updraft from the mountain range, plus the drafting and winds whipped up by the fire made the ride rougher with every minute that passed.
Within several minutes, I was literally bouncing in my seat. I had to grasp the metal rails on either side of my knees. Most of the others had done the same, including Matt. My heart pounded, so fast that I felt the pulse throbbing in my throat. I was sure my eyes were as wide as saucers. I began to feel nauseated with the turbulence. I had nothing with which to adjust my sense of equilibrium. The wind buffeted the craft, which I knew took some doing. The Chinook was designed to operate in high altitudes, different climates, and crosswind conditions that prevented many other helicopters from flying.
Still, this was a pretty rough ride. I don't think I'd ever experienced such turbulence in a Chinook before, and as it began to rock slightly from side to side, as if the pilot was trying to maintain level flight, I began to grow concerned. I glanced at Matt, saw his eyes open, and thought surely that he had also noticed. To my dismay, I saw glances cast among several of the other firefighters on board as well. I was somewhat relieved to find I wasn't the only one who was probably a bit anxious. One of the other firefighters near the front row of seats on the other side of the aircraft was quite pale and looked like he was about ready to puke.
Suddenly, the nose dipped down. Sharply. A cry of alarm escaped my lips, and although nobody could possibly have heard me over the sound of the rotors and engine, I glanced up at Matt in embarrassment. He hadn't heard. I knew better than to doubt the experience of the pilots and copilots of these things, but I also knew that sometimes the environment, altitude, and climate conditions could outweigh the skill of even the most experienced pilot.
I could do nothing but hang onto the metal bar, grasping it so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I felt a moment of relief as the pilot corrected and lifted the nose, but an updraft push the nose up too far. Once again the pilot corrected, but the aircraft began to roll to the right.
What the hell was happening?
I knew flying over mountainous terrain was difficult, what with canyons, craggy outcroppings, tall mountain peaks, and of course, the wind currents that made navigation difficult. Still, with every second that passed, I began to feel more alarmed.
Base operations couldn’t be that much further, so I could only hope and pray that we would put down sooner rather than later, especially with the current wind conditions. Every second felt like an entire minute. Time seemed to stop.
Suddenly, I heard a shrill buzzing sound and my head whipped toward the cockpit. I could barely see the right and left shoulders of the pilot and copilot, but what I saw between them caught my eye.
Shit!
A red light flashed on the instrument panel.
The Chinook vibrated even harder and began to yaw, as if trying to rotate around its center of gravity. Nearly impossible in a Chinook. The side-to-side motion was horrifying. It felt like the tail rotor was trying to get ahead of the front rotor, like sliding on ice in a vehicle… completely out of control. Still, I knew that helicopters, especially big ones like the Chinook, were not as susceptible to yaw as other aircraft, and the pilot shouldn't be having this kind of trouble.
Bang!
I jumped as something hit, followed by the sound of metal hitting metal. It was a shearing, crunching, grating sound that came from the rear of the aircraft to my left. Had something happened to the rear rotor? I didn’t know and not knowing was horrible. I glanced at Matt, saw him looking in the same direction, his expression as frightened as mine.
We dipped and rocked, thrown violently to the side.It was all I could do to stop my scream. The nose was up one second, tail up the next. It felt like I was in a dryer, being thrown and rolled in every direction.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
The pilot was desperately trying to maintain control of the helicopter, but he couldn’t. Our chopper was in serious trouble.
I couldn’t stop the scream that erupted from my throat when the nose dipped even further and we rolled severely onto our starboard side. I heard sounds, loud scraping sounds. It was like something hit the side of the aircraft. Then to my horror, it sounded like the tail rotor blades hit something.
Hard.
The Chinook jolted violently. One of the firefighters who hadn't buckled himself in was thrown from his seat. He landed hard on the floor and cried out as he reached his arms up to shield his head. We grabbed for him, trying to pull him back but we were thrown violently up and down and lost our grips. The man rolled. The sound of him hitting the metal frame at the rear of the helicopter was sickening. He didn't move.
The next second, the Chinook rolled so far that I was flung forward, arms dangling, only my seatbelt holding me into my seat. Matt grabbed onto me, pulled me toward him, fighting the gravity that tried to pull me down.
I wasn't the only one who screamed this time. Men dangled. Equipment crashed and rolled and hit. The shouts of alarm an
d fear from other firefighters joined mine, at least those who had breath enough to scream.
I looked over at Matt and saw in his eyes what I already knew.
We were going to crash.
End of Part 2
To Be Continued in Part 3…
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Helen Grey is the author of the hot alpha military romance series "Serving the Soldier".
Her passion is to write steamy erotic romance and she loves hot billionaire bad boys. Lucky for her, these two go perfectly together... Find out how in her books!
Table of Contents
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Book Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
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Table of Contents
Copyright and Disclaimer
Copyright and Disclaimer
This book was a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Helen Grey
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.