Decisive Measures

by Decisive Measures (retail) (epub)

  She helped me fasten the strap under my chin, then fixed her own. I turned a little in my seat to look back into the crowded cab and it caused an agonising stab of pain to shoot down my arm. I gasped.

  Layla shot me an anxious look. ‘All right?’

  I nodded. ‘Let’s get this thing airborne.’ Reaching awkwardly across my body with my left hand, I stretched up and pushed the levers into ground idle. I waited until the fresh jolt of pain in my shoulder had subsided a little, then pressed the starter. There was an electric whine over our heads and the left engine began to turn over.

  I stared at the RPM gauge, waiting for it to reach double figures, then pushed the fuel switch. The engine roared and I repeated the process for the right engine. When both were running, I checked the gauges and warning panels, then pushed the control into flight idle. I raised the collective gently until the heli lifted on its springs, poised to take flight. I looked at Layla. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll do fine. Just don’t panic and keep listening to what I’m telling you. Even if we seem to be out of control, we can pull it all back together as long as neither of us panics.’

  I could see her hand shaking with the mechanical vibrations through the cyclic, and her knuckles whitened as she grasped it still more tightly.

  ‘Now, our first problem is to get out of this landslip without touching the sides. If we can do that, the rest should be a doddle. All we’ll have to worry about then is landing at Freetown. So, in a moment I’m going to raise the collective, and as I do so I want you to ease the cyclic forward a touch. Don’t move it to either side, just forward. There’s a fractional time lag before the heli responds, so don’t think it isn’t working and give it some more, or we’ll be heading down again rather quickly.’

  I turned my head to call into the back. Even that slight movement caused another wave of pain. ‘All right back there? Hold tight to the sides, we’re taking off in a second and it’s bound to be a rough flight.’ I heard the frail voice of Njama translating what I had said.

  ‘Right, this is it,’ I said, and raised the collective. ‘Cyclic forward a touch.’ As the heli began to lift, sluggish under its heavy burden, Layla moved the control forward. She hesitated and then nudged it forward again. ‘That’s too much,’ I said. ‘Wait for the response.’

  She corrected it, but the Huey clattered down again and bounced back into the air. Unrestrained by any harness, I was thrown up with it, and then crashed down again on to the seat, jerking the controls around in my hands. I bit my lip as a fresh burst of pain hit me.

  The Huey was airborne again, but beginning to drift left. ‘Ease it right a fraction,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not responding.’ Again she moved the cyclic further.

  ‘Give it time,’ I snapped. ‘Move it left.’ I saw the rock wall looming beyond her. ‘Left now!’

  She responded, but overcorrected and we began to drift towards the left-hand rock face. ‘Forward,’ I said, raising the collective again. The engine note and the beat of the rotors picked up, but we were now both dipping towards the rocky floor of the landslip and drifting dangerously close to its wall. ‘Now back and right again. Right!’

  We lurched away from the rocks and shot up into the air. I raised the collective to stop us from stalling, but Layla was already making a semi-instinctive correction, pushing the cyclic forward again. We hurtled down, caught the lip of the landslip with a thud that sent us bouncing back high into the air. The disc of the rotors scythed through the air by the right-hand rock wall, shredding the parched shrubs clinging to its face.

  ‘Left, left!’ I shouted. ‘Forward!’

  I raised the collective again and we lurched out of the mouth of the landslip. I heard Layla’s indrawn breath as she saw the land falling away below us. ‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘You’re doing great.’

  I risked a glance at her. Through the Perspex of her visor I could see her hair matted with sweat against her forehead. ‘Now we need to pick up some speed,’ I said, ‘and climb to clear the ridge. Just hold it steady and give it a little forward nudge.’

  This time I waited a fraction of a second before raising the collective, realising – not before time – that it was easier for me to adjust to her movement of the cyclic than the other way round.

  As I moved the controls, even above the thunder of the rotors, I heard the crack of gunfire. I looked down. ‘Shit!’ I said. ‘Rebels.’ The mountainside below us was black with soldiers. Bullets chipped fragments from the rocks around the mouth of the landslip and a moment later there was a whoosh, a crash and a starburst of smoke and flame as a round from an RPG streaked inches past the Huey.

  ‘Climb!’ I shouted. ‘Back and left on the cyclic. Back and left!’

  I yanked the collective upwards, twisting the throttle viciously as I stamped on the rudder pedal, swinging us round to face the cliff. There were cries and groans from the cab as the villagers were thrown around by the manoeuvre.

  Rounds continued to clang against the armoured underside of the heli. If the soldier with the RPG got his next shot on target, it would pierce the armour as if it were paper and blast us out of the sky.

  We had to put the ridgeline between us and the rebel gunner before he could get off another shot, but an even more immediate danger was now threatening us. Taking me at my word, Layla had made the most minimal movement of the cyclic. It was not enough. The rock face just below the ridge loomed in front of the cockpit, filling my vision. ‘Back on the cyclic! Back! Back! Give it more!’

  Slowly, ponderously, the Huey responded and the nose began to come up. Weighed down by the people in the cab, the engines were screaming as they strained to deliver the power I was demanding through the controls.

  Although we were climbing slowly, the ridgeline was rushing to meet us. Blue sky showed in the top half of the canopy, but the rest of my vision was filled with black, unforgiving rock. ‘We’re not going to make it,’ I yelled, trying to brace myself for the impact.

  There was a crash and a sickening lurch as the skids hit the rock just below the summit. More cries came from the back and I almost passed out with pain. As the heli tipped forward, and even before I had time to speak, Layla had begun to correct, forcing the cyclic back to counter the dip of the nose.

  There was another crash and a terrible scraping, gouging sound as the skids bit into the solid rock. The turbines climbed the octaves, shrieking at the strain imposed on them, then the Huey spun to the right and its momentum threw it clear.

  At once we were climbing almost vertically, still with the sound of bullets smacking against the metal skin of the heli. The screaming engines faltered at stalling point. ‘Forward, now!’ I said.

  The engines picked up again and we began to level, but rounds were still puncturing the fuselage. ‘Forward again. More.’

  The sounds of gunfire faded and stopped as we plummeted down the far side of the ridge, out of sight of our pursuers. I fought for control of the Huey and, as soon as we levelled, I piled on the power again, putting as much distance as possible between us and the ridgeline before any rebel soldiers reached it.

  I glanced at Layla. ‘You were fantastic,’ I said, as soon as I had got my breath back. ‘A natural pilot. Now let’s get out of here.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  We flew on into the west. Layla tried hard to hold the Huey in straight and level flight, but we still kept drifting from side to side as she corrected, recorrected and overcorrected the cyclic.

  ‘It’s got a mind of its own,’ she said.

  I could hear the tremor of fear in her voice. ‘You’re doing great.’

  After a few more minutes she was able to hold it within a five-degree arc of the direction I wanted us to be facing. We made slow progress, like a ship tacking into the wind, but with every minute we were cutting the distance separating us from Freetown.

  I got Layla to push the radio button and spoke to the tower at the airport. ‘Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Grizzly One. Pilot wounded, he
licopter overloaded, request immediate clearance to land. I repeat, immediate clearance. Over.’

  A voice cut through the hiss of static. ‘Grizzly One, this is Freetown tower. We have operational military traffic flying from here in support of a ground offensive. Request you divert to Conakry.’

  ‘Negative, tower. I have insufficient fuel and we’re close to falling out of the sky and so overloaded we can’t even hover. We’re coming in from the east, repeat east, and we’ll need a clear runway to set down. ETA five minutes. Over and out.’

  The radio squawked again at once, but I ignored it. ‘Here comes the tricky bit,’ I said to Layla.

  Almost as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I saw streaks of red and orange tracer stabbing up into the sky. ‘We’ve got to keep moving,’ I said. ‘And not offer a predictable target.’

  ‘You mean keep flying it the way I have been?’ she said. It was a brave attempt at a joke, but her voice cracked as she made it.

  We were at two thousand feet, a questionable range for an assault rifle, but well within range of anything heavier. The tracer bursts kept coming, lines of fire bright enough to show even against the afternoon sun. They began to get our range and the wavering lines cut through the sky towards us.

  ‘Push it right and forward.’ As I spoke, I hit the right rudder pedal and dumped the collective. The force of the diving turn pinned me against the side of the cockpit. I couldn’t stifle a yell of pain. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘But I’m all right, really. Now take it left and pull back.’

  I waited until I saw her hand start to move, then raised the collective. Each manoeuvre was greeted by a chorus of screams and cries from the back, for few of the villagers had any handholds and they toppled and slid from side to side as we threw the heli around.

  As we continued the evasion, Layla moved the cyclic to send us lurching upwards and downwards, and drifting from side to side in a way that even I could not predict. ‘If they hit us it’ll be sheer fluke,’ I said. ‘No gunner in the world could track this pattern.’

  If it was hubris, it got the punishment it deserved. A few seconds later, the orange fires of bursting flak flared up across our track. I stamped on the rudder and shouted an order to Layla, but even as she moved the cyclic I heard the tinny rattle of shrapnel against the fuselage and then a crack from the tail boom.

  I felt the tail of the heli begin to swing left. The tail rotor countered the torque from the main rotor. If it was damaged, the torque would force the body of the heli around. If it had been destroyed altogether, the heli would gyrate around its own axis until it hit the ground or tore itself apart.

  I stamped on the right rudder, trying to counter the swing of the fuselage. There was a heart-stopping pause before I felt it begin to slow. We began to make forward progress again, but if I relaxed the pressure on the rudder it immediately began to spin.

  My calf muscles were beginning to ache from the effort of holding down the rudder pedal, and I found it hard to concentrate on what Layla was doing with the cyclic. Our flight became ever more erratic, the Huey staggering across the sky like a drunk.

  There was another burst of flak, another rattle as shrapnel knifed into the fuselage and then the clamour of a warning siren.

  We had to contend with the smoky, choking stench of burning oil as the pressure gauge on the right engine registered a drop. Almost at once I heard it choking and banging. The altimeter began to unwind in jerks, dropping a few feet, levelling as the engine caught and fired smoothly again, then dropping once more as it spluttered and almost died.

  I stared straight ahead, ignoring the flak, willing the heli on towards the airport, now clearly visible ahead.

  I called the tower once more. ‘Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Tower, this is Grizzly One. Now losing oil, engine failure imminent. Please clear the airfield and prepare for crash landing. Over.’

  The flak faded away behind the heli and I saw below us the front line of the fighting. Nigerian armour was rolling along the airport road towards Freetown.

  Now safe from ground fire, I was torn between the need to keep enough altitude to reach the airport and the knowledge that if the engines failed at this height no autorotative landing on earth would save us.

  The heli steadied, rose a little and then dipped again. We lurched from side to side as Layla tried to correct with the cyclic. Fresh waves of hot pain jabbed through me as I was thrown around in my seat.

  The airfield perimeter was now less than a mile ahead, but the oil-pressure gauge had ceased to register, the engine was banging and clanking, belching filthy black smoke, and the smell of burning and hot metal was almost overpowering.

  The effort of forcing down the rudder pedal was making my leg shake and tremble. I let the pressure slip for a fraction of a second and the heli at once slewed sideways. I gritted my teeth and stamped down again, counting silently to myself as I tried to hold it down and faintness and nausea once more threatened to overwhelm me.

  I heard Layla’s voice from a long way off. ‘Hold on, Jack, we’re almost there. Hold on.’

  We were fifty yards from the perimeter fence when the right engine exploded into flame. The heli gave a sickening lurch. ‘Cyclic left. Left!’ I shouted as we slid sideways and downwards.

  Layla jerked it too far and we began to slip the other way. The perimeter fence loomed ahead of us. The drop had at least allowed a microsecond for the revs to build in the remaining engine. I squeezed another couple of feet of altitude from the feeble increase in power. Smoke began to fill the cockpit and the heat from the burning engine overhead was fearsome. If we didn’t get it down in the next few seconds we might be blown apart in mid-air.

  We had reached the fence. The heli jerked and almost stalled as it snagged the wire, then began to topple sideways. Spontaneously, I released the rudder pedal and kicked down hard on the opposite rudder. Driven by the torque, the tail boom whipped round. The force catapulted us clear of the fence, but the heli smashed down on its right-hand side, shattering the flailing rotors like toothpicks.

  I howled in agony as I was thrown across the cockpit and landed full on my fractured shoulder, on top of Layla. As the wave of pain ebbed away, I shouted ‘Out! Out! Out! Jump for your lives!’

  Black smoke swirled around us, and even through the visor of my helmet I felt the searing heat of the blazing engine. The steel case containing the diamonds had been crushed by the impact. Its twisted lid lay ajar and half a dozen diamonds glittered in the dust of the cockpit floor. I began scrabbling for them.

  ‘Stuff the diamonds,’ Layla said. ‘Leave them.’

  ‘You get out, I’m right behind you,’ I said. ‘Run. Get away from the heli.’

  As she dropped from sight down the side of the cockpit, the heli burst into flames. With the fire spreading and dense smoke filling the body of the Huey, the bruised and battered villagers scrambled for the cab door. They began to tumble out of it, falling the few feet to the concrete and crawling away from the heli.

  Coughing and choking, I fumbled with the steel case, then pushed at the cockpit door. It was stuck fast. Above the roar of the flames licking around the fuselage, I could hear Layla screaming for me to get out. I lay on my back, barely able to breathe for the stinking clouds of smoke enveloping me, and kicked out with my feet. There was a crack and an inrush of air as the door sagged open.

  Still clutching the steel case in my good hand, I launched myself outwards and fell heavily to the ground. I lay there winded, my clothes smouldering, until Layla helped me to my feet.

  ‘Did everyone get out?’ I said.

  She nodded. She helped me up and supported me, an arm round my waist, as I hobbled away from the stricken Huey. The villagers were strung out ahead of me in a ragged line across the concrete.

  I heard the clamour of a fire truck, but before it could reach the heli, there was a bang like a sonic boom. We were blown forward, hurled into the dirt as the blast wave flashed over us and burning fragments rained down around us. I looke
d back. The Huey was a smoking ruin, a tangle of black, twisted metal. Layla helped me up and we moved on again to the dirt and parched grass at the edge of the airfield. Then I sank down, resting my head on my good arm.

  Layla took my pulse and pulled off my helmet and laid a hand on my brow. Then she peeled back the dressing to examine my shoulder wound. ‘It looks all right,’ she said. ‘Do you feel OK?’

  ‘Never better.’ I began to laugh at the stupidity of my remark, but it ended in a choking fit. ‘My shoulder hurts like hell, of course, but thank God we all made it safely. You did a great job to get us here.’

  ‘Are you sure you feel all right? Your speech is slurred again.’

  ‘I’m fine. Just dog-tired.’

  I put my hand to my mouth, then pressed it against my shoulder, wincing as if another spasm of pain had hit me.

  She reapplied the dressing. Over her shoulder, I saw Colonel Pleydell marching over the concrete towards us, flanked by a posse from Decisive Measures.

  I let my head sink on to my chest and half-closed my eyes, waiting until I saw the colonel’s immaculately polished toecaps come to a halt in front of me before I raised my head again. ‘Sorry about the Huey, Colonel,’ I said. ‘Hope it’s insured.’

  He stared at me for a moment. ‘You left for Bohara three days ago. Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Engine trouble, Colonel. We were damn lucky I managed to patch it up enough to get back here at all.’

  He gave me a dubious look, then waved his hand towards Njama and the others. ‘Who the hell are all these people?’

  ‘Human beings. Refugees.’

  ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Rudi and the guys? They took off into the bush. Said they preferred to take their chances with the rebels than risk the flight back with me. Since I was coming back empty I took the opportunity of bringing these people with me.’

  It took him a full minute before the implications of Rudi’s disappearance hit him. ‘Where are the diamonds?’

  I handed him the steel case. He stared suspiciously at the battered lid, then knelt down, opened it and tipped out the diamonds to make a gleaming mound in the dust. He began counting them. When he straightened up again, his face was contorted with anger. ‘There should have been seventy-four diamonds in this case. Six are missing.’