Black Rain

Back at the camp, Danielle returned to the satlink to apprise Gibbs of Polaski’s departure.

“Confirm they have departed,” he said.

“Affirmative,” she said. “Five minutes ago.”

There was an extended pause and then Gibbs said, “Understood. I’ll contact you at nineteen hundred with an update. Gibbs out.”

Danielle went to cut the link, reaching for the switch, and then paused as she remembered needing to speak with Gibbs about a bug in the defense system. The latest in a long line of electronic problems they’d been having. She grabbed her notes and pressed transmit.

There was no response.

She pressed it again. “Stuart, are you still online?”

She checked the display. Link terminated. Apparently, Gibbs had hung up.

She retyped her authorization code, pressed initiate and waited. Nothing happened, and then the display read: Link not established, please retry.

She tried again, only to receive a more ominous response: Authorization Invalid—Access Denied.

A knot began to form in her stomach. She exhaled in frustration and looked around for help, but Polaski was in charge of the beta test on the satlink and he was gone.

Hawker’s eyes swung forward. The black NOTAR had continued its turn and would soon be obtaining a position behind them. In an effort to prevent that, Hawker forced the throttle and dropped the nose. As the Huey picked up speed, he looked back for the other helicopter, but he couldn’t see it anywhere.

Polaski turned in his seat. “Are we in trouble?”

“We might be.”

Seconds later, a burst of tracer fire took away any doubt.

Hawker threw the stick over and dove toward the forest, five thousand feet below. The NOTAR followed, and despite the speed they’d picked up, it was closing in fast.

The NOTAR was two generations younger than the Huey. It was smaller, lighter and faster. Hawker could never hope to outrun it or outmaneuver it over the long run. And without weapons of their own, the situation seemed desperate—like being accosted on the street by an armed man: if they asked for something you gave it up, and if they didn’t ask, then you ran like hell and hoped you were lucky. As Hawker yanked the Huey into a hard left turn and dove toward the river; he hoped they were lucky.

“Who are they?” Polaski shouted, trying to be heard above the noise.

Hawker didn’t answer. The Huey accelerated rapidly. The needle on the airspeed indicator swung through the yellow arc and past the red line: a marking that pilots call Vne, for Velocity—Never Exceed. The speed was labeled that way for a reason. Beyond Vne the structural cohesion of the airframe came into question. As if to emphasize the point, the old Huey began shaking violently, rattling and threatening to come apart around them.

They dove to treetops and leveled off with the engine screaming and the craft shuddering under the strain, skimming across the canopy at 150 knots. Shells tore in from the left and Hawker cut toward them, forcing the NOTAR to overshoot. A higher clump of foliage loomed in their path and Hawker pulled up, hearing the skids ripping though its leaves. He dropped down behind and raced on.

“Look out,” Polaski shouted.

The NOTAR flashed over the top of them, firing and crossing from the right. A sharp pinging rang out through the helicopter like a metal rod held against a rapidly spinning fan.

Polaski’s eyes swung through the cabin, looking for damage. Hawker checked the gauges for the same thing. Polaski saw daylight pouring through a dozen holes in the side. Hawker saw the needles remaining where they belonged, everything functioning as it should. Even though the bullets had hit them, the helicopter was mostly empty space and the shells had passed right through without taking out anything vital.

Hawker watched the NOTAR making a wide arc, setting up for another strafing run. There was only one place left to go.

With the engine roaring and the airframe straining under the load, he cut back toward the river once again. The NOTAR followed, closing in rapidly.

The trees flew by beneath them, falling away, just as the black helicopter fired. Hawker dropped the Huey toward the water and turned to follow the river’s course. The NOTAR overshot, swung wide and curved back, moving in behind them and quickly closing the gap once again.

They were on the deck now, thundering along the riverbed. Two helicopters racing across the shimmering water, jinking and turning, with their rotor blades swirling overhead like a pair of massive dragonflies in a territorial dispute.

The twisting course gave the Huey some cover, but the trees lining the banks boxed them in like canyon walls, making their maneuvers more predictable to the other pilot. Hawker cut left but quickly ran out of space against the towering trees. He broke right, crossing in front of the NOTAR’s blazing guns and wincing as shrapnel ripped through the cabin.

“What are we going to do?” Polaski shouted. “Why are they attacking us?”