Page 55 of Coming In Hot
The first bullet flies wide, but the next one clips the tail rotor. I jerk the controls, diving the chopper to the side, the force knocking my stomach into my spine.
We climb quickly to gain altitude, but the shots keep coming. More than a few miss us, but not by much.
“GSC, This is Havoc. We’re taking fire,” I tell Milo. I wish we were back at headquarters with him, safe and sound. “Hold tight,” I tell Orson, my voice tight, my grip on the controls like a vice. “We’re not done here yet.”
I bank hard, trying to lose any pursuers. But I know what’s coming. This mission isn’t about getting supplies to people anymore. It’s about getting out alive.
And we’re not out of the woods yet.
The chopper bucks under me as I pull up, the tail rotor wobbles, and I can feel the shift in my bones. That bullet that clipped it? Not good. It’s a damn miracle we're still airborne.
“Hogan, Arlo, buy us some time!” I bark, eyes darting between the ground and the sky. If we don’t get some altitude, we're easy targets.
"On it," Hogan responds, moving with urgency. He crouches down beside Arlo and pulls the 50 caliber into position. The sound of gunfire erupts again, and I duck instinctively, though I know it won’t help.
“My Fitty gonna teach these boys some manners,” Hogan vows, his voice ringing through my comms.
“We’re too exposed!” Arlo shouts, firing off a burst into the tree line. The impact of the bullets hitting the ground below creates small puffs of dust, but it doesn’t seem to deter the shooters.
I can hear the roar of an engine in the distance. Reinforcements? Or just more hostiles? Either way, we don’t have the luxury of time to figure it out.
I yank the collective, pushing us into a sharp climb. The chopper groans in protest, but it holds. Barely.
“We need to get above them,” I mutter, teeth clenched, sweat sliding down my neck despite the cool air. “Can you hit them from here?”
Hogan’s face is grim as he adjusts his aim. “If they’re out in the open, maybe. If not, we’re in trouble.”
The shots are coming faster now. A bullet ricochets off the fuselage, causing me to jerk the controls instinctively, but I keep it steady.
“Get ready to move!” I shout to the rest of the team. The volunteers are quiet, wide-eyed, peering up at us like they’ve stepped into a war zone. Which, I guess, they have.
“We’re going to try and get clear,” I yell to the crew in the back. “Stay down, stay low!”
I swing the helicopter hard right, trying to break the line of sight from the gunmen below. The wind hits hard as I bank, the force making the chopper shake. We’re close to the ground now, the buildings getting closer, but I need to gain speed.
“We’ve got two targets on our six!” Orson shouts, and I curse under my breath. I can’t keep this pace up for long. We’re losing fuel, the tail’s damaged, and our altitude is too low.
“We need to ditch,” I growl, fingers tightening around the throttle. “Get back to the base, now!”
But even as I say it, I know the reality of that. Headquarters is miles away, and we’re not going to make it if we keep taking fire like this.
Arlo doesn’t wait for my next order. He fires off another round, sending a few shots into the distance. The gunfire tapers off for a moment, but I know it's just a breather.
“Go low, we’ll have to dodge through the buildings,” I shout.
Thankfully, they’re short and squat, no highrises or factories here in this remote part of the country.
Orson inclines his head. “I’ve got it.”
We dive, threading the needle between two buildings, narrowly missing power lines and rooftops. The noise of the rotors screaming through the air drowns out everything else. The feeling in my gut twists, a sharp, painful reminder of just how much danger we're in.
The comms buzz in my ear, and Milo’s voice cuts through the static. “Havoc, you need to get out of there. We’ve got backup en route, but you need to clear the area and head toward the extraction point.”
No fucking shit, kid! “Copy that,” I respond quickly, glancing at the damaged dashboard. “We’re not going to make it to the extraction point if we don’t get some fucking breathing room.”
Orson shoots me a determined look, jaw clenched hard. “Hold tight. We’ll be there in five.”
Five minutes? With the tail rotor barely holding on and rounds still flying at us? Not likely.
