by E. R. Torre
Still no reply.
“This just isn’t our day!” she yelled. She turned to her side and spat out blood. It hit the floor and mingled with other drops of blood. Curious at this sight, she looked up. For the first time, she noticed her co-pilot. His face was pale and he held on to his bloody right knee.
“Frank?”
Frank gritted his teeth and managed a ghostly smile.
“Forgot to put on my Goddamned seat belt,” he muttered. “Don’t worry about me. Get this bird down in one piece.”
“Easier said than done,” Samantha replied. “We need to find a clearing and I can’t see a fucking thing.”
“Two o’clock,” Frank said, his voice was hoarse. “Small area. Better than nothing.”
Samantha leaned forward and looked in that direction.
“I don't see it.”
“It’s there,” Frank assured her.
Samantha eased the controls to the right. The helicopter shuddered. The engine sounded increasingly ragged.
“I hope you’re right,” Samantha said. “If we’re lucky, we’ve got maybe thirty seconds before the engine gives up.”
Samantha pushed the controls forward and sent the Little Charlie on an easy descent. The tops of the palm trees thrashed against the chopper’s landing gear.
“I’m still not seeing it,” Samantha muttered.
“It’s there.”
Samantha shook her head. The chopper moved forward at a crawl, and for a moment Samantha considered coming to a complete stop and descending straight down. The forest, however, was thick with tall palm trees. Going down in this dense area could be fatal. The whirling rotors would splinter when they hit the trees. Shrapnel would fly in all directions, with a high likelihood at least some of it would slice through the body of the chopper and into whichever unfortunate occupant was in their way. If the fuel tanks ruptured, there was a risk of a fire or explosion. Even ignoring all that, there was the danger of the fall itself. The physical effects on a human body falling anything more than two stories straight down could be devastating.
No, Samantha realized, she would have to hope Frank was right and there was a clearing coming up.
For the sake of her passengers, for the sake of everyone, she hoped he was right.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The clearing appeared.
Even though her complete attention was on the terrain below and she kept the helicopter’s forward speed at a crawl, she very nearly overshot her target.
“Good eyes, Frank,” she said.
Samantha turned the helicopter clockwise, allowing for a more comfortable fit into the tight, empty space.
“We’re going to make it, Frank.”
Frank Masters nodded. The pilots smiled but, as the chopper descended, the controls grew increasingly sluggish. The vehicle’s engine rattled noisily and the acrid smell of burnt rubber and oil filled her interior. The computer panels before Samantha flashed, all desperately seeking her undivided attention. Each and every one of them warned of imminent, catastrophic failure.
Samantha slid her tongue along her lower lip. She felt a painful, jagged cut just inside her mouth that oozed blood.
Bit your lip, did you? She thought. If that’s the worst injury I come away with, I’ll take it.
“We’re going to make it,” Samantha muttered. “We’re going to fucking make it.”
She pushed the intercom button and said, in an even, steely voice: “Brace for emergency landing.”
In the passenger compartment, the Bad Penny passengers glared out the windows. They saw very little of the outside world thanks to that same rain and darkness that inhibited Samantha’s perceptions. All on board, however, felt the helicopter’s slow descent. General Spradlin stared forward, eyeing the various passengers, his face a mask of neutrality, as if the events of the moment were already in the past and the results a foregone conclusion.
While the other passengers tried to contain their panic, Becky noted the General’s cool demeanor. She met his neutral stare with one of her own. They watched at each other for what seemed a lifetime before Becky looked away. Unlike General Spradlin, she really was scared.
Very much so.
The fear Samantha felt, on the other hand, was dissipating by the moment. Despite the increasing loud metallic groans coming from the chopper’s engine, they were a little over thirty feet from the ground. The landing might be a little hard, Samantha knew, but everyone would walk away from this.
She eased the chopper’s throttle, decreasing the rotor velocity and torque. The chopper lowered. Twenty feet. Ten.
Samantha managed a smile.
They would make it. They would—
A chilling groan came from the tail section of the helicopter. In that moment, the rear blades split off, slicing a jagged line across the lee side of the chopper. Despite Samantha’s best efforts, the Little Charlie spun in a wild circle. The chopper’s tail smashed against several palm trees and the body of the helicopter dropped the final ten feet like a rock.
It hit the jungle floor with a loud crash, sending sparks and smoke throughout the craft’s interior.
Samantha, her entire body numb with pain, nonetheless reached for the controls and quickly hit a series of switches. The Little Charlie’s engine coughed one final time before dying. The clipped rotors above her slowed. In moments, they would be still.
“We made it,” Samantha whispered, as if speaking this truth too loudly might invalidate it. Nonetheless, she looked out the front window to make sure. When she saw the ground, she let out a relieved breath. “We made it.”
She unbuckled her belt and reached to her right, to grab a small fire extinguisher fastened to the side of the control panel. She stood up and eyed her co-pilot, who was still in his seat, his hands pressed against the bloody injury on his leg.
“I should try to reach Bad Penny again,” she said.
“Don’t bother,” Frank replied between gasps. His voice lowered to a whisper. “Something’s happening.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure,” Frank said. “We’ll talk when we’re out of here, OK?”
Samantha considered Frank’s cryptic words. If I didn’t know you better…
“OK.”
She helped Frank up and, with his arm around her shoulder, helped him out of the cockpit and into the passenger compartment.
Samantha was relieved to see her passengers were getting to their feet and moving around.
“Any injuries?” she asked.
No one replied, but Samantha nonetheless gave each passenger a quick look. A couple of passengers reached for their luggage.
“Forget all that shit,” Samantha yelled. “Someone grab Frank and get him out of here. Everyone else, reach under your seats and grab all the first aid kits or emergency flashlights. If you don’t find any, don’t waste time searching. This bird might still go up and everyone needs to be off.”
General Spradlin rushed to Samantha’s side and took Frank from her arms. Samantha handed him her fire extinguisher as well. Spradlin glanced at her co-pilot’s injury before addressing Samantha.
“You need to get out, too,” he said.
“There’s another first aid kit and a PCOM in the cockpit,” Samantha replied. She licked her bloody lips and added: “Now get your ass moving. Sir.”
General Spradlin pulled Frank through the passenger compartment. The outer hatch was already open, and Alicia Cunningham and Dan Thompson stepped out. Samantha hurriedly returned to the cockpit.
She fell to her knees beside Frank’s chair and reached for the compartment below it. She pulled out two cases, one white and filled with first aid supplies, the other a dark green metal box with black letters labeling it a PCOM, or portable communicator. The device was, essentially, a military cell phone. Samantha checked to make sure it was in its case within the box before getting back to her feet. As she did, she noticed something on the floor. It was a small black rectangular object. It lay next to her
co-pilot’s foot pedals. Had something fallen off the control panel? Samantha frowned. No, the object looked cheap, like a small novelty flashlight, the type usually found on the end of key chains, not a part of a Seahawk’s sturdy control panel.
Samantha grabbed it. The object was plastic and had two buttons, one black and one red. It was no flashlight. If anything, it resembled some kind of remote control, the type you use to open a garage or turn on a TV or…
Samantha’s suppressed a gasp.
…or something you use to set off an explosive.
For several seconds, Samantha remained on her knees, staring at the object in her hand. The only way it could be here is if Frank had it on him and dropped it. And if Frank had it…
Samantha shook her head.
Later, she thought.
She pocketed the remote control and returned to the passenger compartment. She was the last person still aboard the helicopter.
The passengers gathered a safe distance away from the downed Seahawk. They flashed lights in Samantha’s direction and the pilot followed them until she joined the group. They were all there, huddled together under a swaying palm tree.
“Didn’t any of your mothers tell you it’s not safe to stay under a tree during a thunder storm?” Samantha said.
Doctor Evans let out a laugh.
“It would be quite ironic to survive this crash only to die of electrocution,” he said. “Quite ironic.”
The passengers glared at Samantha and the Doctor. Dan Thompson’s teeth were chattering. His hands were thrust tight around his midsection. Doctor Evans noted his discomfort.
“How are you, soldier?”
“Fall knocked the shit out of me,” Thompson replied. “Otherwise, I’m alive.” He noted the wrecked craft. “Who the fuck am I to complain?”
“That goes for all of us,” General Spradlin said. “With the possible exception of our co-pilot.”
Samantha walked to the center of the group. Sitting on the jungle floor and propped up by the palm was Frank Masters. His face was pale, his leg a bloody mess.
“Oh, Frank,” Samantha said.
“You should see the other guy,” he said.
“I’m not going to lie, it’s pretty bad son,” General Spradlin said. “Doctor Evans should take a look.”
“I don't think that's necess—,” Frank began.
“Of course it's necessary,” Spradlin said.
“Sir, I really don't think—”
“Cut the macho bullshit,” Samantha said.
“I don’t need him.”
“What the hell’s the problem with you men?” Samantha hissed. “You face bullets for your country but when it comes to seeing a Doctor, you’re jelly.”
“Begging your pardon, General,” Doctor Evans intruded.
“Yes?”
“I'm a scientist, not a medical doctor,” he said. “There’s very little I know about treating injuries.”
“You're all we have,” Spradlin replied. He turned back to Frank. “You have no problem with him giving you a look, do you?”
Frank relented.
“Fine,” he said.
“I hope I don’t make things worse,” Doctor Evans said.
The elderly man grabbed a first aid box from Alicia Cunningham and opened it. He removed a pair of scissors and carefully cut away a strip of Frank’s pant leg. When he was done, the injured knee was exposed. The skin around the knee was torn and bloody. Shattered bone ripped through that skin.
“It’s broken,” Doctor Evans said.
“What a surprise,” Frank said. He let out a weak laugh.
“How did this happen?” Spradlin asked.
“I broke it when the lightning hit the chopper,” Frank replied. The smile on Frank’s face disappeared. “If it hit.”
“What do you mean, if it hit?” Howard Bartlett said.
Frank’s jaw tightened.
“We made it down safely and are only a couple of hours walk from home base,” Frank said. “We should be glad, right?”
No one said a word. They had Frank’s undivided attention.
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong,” Frank continued. “Someone’s been jamming our communications.”
“What is he talking about?” Howard Bartlett said. He looked at General Spradlin. “What’s going on here?”
Dan Thompson pulled the soldier back.
“Easy,” he said. “General?”
The remaining passengers all faced General Spradlin. The General reached for the PCOM case Samantha held. He opened the metallic green box, removed the PCOM device, and accessed the code for Bad Penny. After dialing, he pressed it to his ear.
“This is General Spradlin calling Bad Penny. Do you read, Bad Penny?”
His only answer was static.
“This is General Spradlin calling Bad Penny,” he repeated. “Do you read me, Bad Penny?”
More static. General Spradlin frowned and pressed several buttons. He switched the device to a general communication mode.
“This is General Spradlin of the U.S. Armed Forces. Does anyone out there read me?”
They waited several minutes, but there was no response.
“Nothing,” General Spradlin finally said.
“Same as I got,” Frank said. His eyes drifted to his wound. Doctor Evans was wrapping the injury in gauze. “Someone, anyone should have answered your calls. From the east coast of the United States to any of the islands, someone should have replied.”
“He’s right,” Samantha agreed.
“How long have we been jammed?” General Spradlin asked.
“We were talking to Bad Penny maybe five minutes before we crashed,” Samantha said. “After that, we got absolutely nothing.”
“But even that transmission was strange,” Frank said.
“Strange? How so?”
“We were talking with a man named Lombardo at the Bad Penny control tower,” Frank said. “Captain Aron and I’ve known him for a few years now. We’ve talked to him hundreds of times before. But the guy I talked to while on approach to Bad Penny…that guy sounded like Lombardo, but he sure as hell didn’t talk like Lombardo.”
“What do you mean?” Alicia Cunningham asked. “You think it wasn't him?”
“He sounded distracted,” Samantha said.
“It was more than that,” Frank said. “He didn’t remember the bet.”
“Bet?” General Spradlin asked as he put the PCOM device back into its carrying case.
“Nothing important,” Frank said. “Silly stuff. But something he should have remembered. Only he didn’t.”
“If it wasn’t this Lombardo guy you were talking to, then who was it?” Alicia persisted. “Why would anyone bother to fake you guys out?”
“That’s the million dollar question,” Frank said.
“Maybe we’re overthinking this,” General Spradlin said after a few seconds. “Maybe this device is just malfunctioning. Do we have any other communication device? Any at all?”
“Other than the chopper’s radio and that PCOM, none with us right now,” Samantha said.
“What about cell phones?” Doctor Evans asked. “Anyone have any?”
“Bad Penny forbids personal cell phones on base,” Jennie Light said.
“That’s that,” General Spradlin said. He shook his head. “We've been through a hell of a lot in a very short amount of time. The good thing is that we survived the crash and are close to the base. Once we get there, we’ll figure the rest out.”
His words did little to ease the passenger’s worries. Some of the passengers, in fact, looked even more worried. But if General Spradlin noted the darkening mood around him, he didn’t show it. He patted Doctor Evans on his shoulder.
“How’s our patient?” he asked.
“He needs to get to a clinic, quick,” Evans said. “Best I can do is immobilize and bandage the leg. Needless to say, he won’t be able to put any pressure on it.”
“We’ll have to carry him.
”
“On the plus side, we’ve got plenty of pain killers,” Doctor Evans said. “The trip to Bad Penny shouldn’t be too uncomfortable for you, Captain Masters. I’m assuming there’s a stretcher somewhere inside the chopper?”
“Yes,” Frank said.
“Good,” General Spradlin said. He eyed the chopper. The smoke coming from her engine had lessened considerably. “Do you suppose it’s safe to return?”
“If she hasn’t blown yet, there’s a good chance she won’t,” Samantha said. “But we shouldn’t push our luck.”
“Good advice,” Spradlin said. He pointed to Alan Robinson and Samantha. “You two come with me. Let's get that stretcher.”
General Spradlin, Alan Robinson, and Samantha Aron stumbled across the field and to the helicopter while the others waited behind. Spradlin led the trio, his flashlight cutting through the darkness like a missile. Soon, they stood before the still smoldering wreck of the Little Charlie.
“Hello again,” Samantha muttered. The Seahawk was a cranky old thing, but reliable. Even in the end.
Alan Robinson wiped rain from his forehead. It continued to come down heavily, punctuated by distant bursts of lightning.
“Shine the light over here,” Robinson said. He pointed to the crumpled tail section of the Seahawk. Because of the way she landed, it rested only six feet from the ground. A still smoking basketball-sized hole ripped through the otherwise smooth metal plate that made up her body. Samantha leaned in to take a look. She noted the serrated edges at the point of impact protruding outwardly.
“Allow me,” Robinson said. He brushed past Samantha and ran his hand around the outer hole.
“Give me the light,” Robinson said. Spradlin handed him the flashlight. Robinson aimed it into the hole and continued his examination.
As he did, Samantha reached into her jacket pocket and grabbed the black remote control device she found in the cockpit. She bit her already swollen lip, cursing silently as she did, and wondered if she should tell General Spradlin about the device she found in the cockpit. Her mind was a whirl of conflicting thoughts. The remote control device could have been used to detonate a small explosive, something capable of creating the hole in the tail section. If this was the case, it meant Frank, her co-pilot and longtime friend, was the one who brought the chopper down.