Page 56 of Coming In Hot
Arlo takes out the most persistent gunman, and we’re able to limp out of the region with our tails between our legs. The foundation that sponsors the volunteers has a clinic not far from here.
The beige stucco building comes into view, and I breathe the first deep breath in an hour. “Hold on!” I shout, pushing the controls hard, throwing us into a sharp right turn.
“Fuck!” Orson curses, and I hear the volunteers cry out. Some are praying, some are silent, too terrified to speak.
“Orson!” I shout, my voice intense. “Get ready to bail if we go down!”
The engine sputters. The rotor is failing.
I pull the chopper upward, fighting against gravity, against everything that’s wrong with this mission.
We’ve got one chance to land this bitch without succumbing to a fiery crash. The impact of touching down jolts every bolt and screw loose, and my teeth as well. My body goes rigid as the chopper slams into the ground, and for a split second, I think we’re about to cartwheel into a heap of twisted metal and flames.
But somehow, by some twisted miracle, the bird holds together. The rotor blades screech as they scrape the earth, and the rear end swings out in a dizzying arc before hurling to a stop with a gut-wrenching thud. I grunt, my body slamming against the straps as the momentum throws me forward.
The world spins for a moment, but I force my eyes open, trying to focus.
“Everyone okay?” I rasp, teeth gritted, heart hammering.
Orson’s voice comes through the headset, gruff but steady. “I’m good. That was... too close, though.”
I take a quick breath, checking my gauges. The engine's still running, the chopper’s intact—somehow. We’re not going anywhere without a hell of a lot of repairs, but we’re on the ground now. Safe, for the moment.
“Yeah, I hear you,” I mutter, pulling off the helmet and tossing it aside, trying to shake the fog in my head. “But we’re not out of the woods yet. We need to get these volunteers out of here and find a ride home.”
The team scrambles out, and I give one last glance at the chopper’s busted tail rotor. It's a miracle it even managed to land. “I need a fucking vacation,” I bitch.
Orson’s laughter rumbles through my headset. “Hell, Havoc. You just got back.”
Yeah, well, I’m definitely ready again.
I push the thought aside, refocusing on the task at hand. The situation’s far from ideal, and there’s no time to daydream about downtime or a warm beach somewhere. We’ve got a mission to finish and people to protect.
Arlo catches up to me, rifle in hand, scanning the perimeter. “We get the volunteers to safety first, then we figure out how to get the hell outta here. Sound good?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, adjusting the strap on my pack. “Let’s move out.”
We head toward the small structure, the rest of the team falling in behind us, moving with purpose. The dust from the crash still clings to my skin, the scent of burnt metal and oil wafting through the air, but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters right now. Not the bruises, not the fatigue, not the fact that I’m pretty sure I won’t make it through this without at least one more near-death experience.
What matters is getting these people to safety.
I glance back at the chopper, the once-pristine bird now a crumpled wreck. Jax’s face flashes through my head like a pulse. He’d flip his fucking shit right now if he could see my ride. He hasn’t said as much, but I know he’s worried about me now that he knows the risks I take. If I get through this and manage to drag my sorry ass back to Black Mountain, I swear I’m gonna take that man out to dinner again. And this time, when I make my move, I’m not taking no for an answer.
Orson bumps my shoulder, snapping me back to the mission. “Focus, man. We’ll talk about your vacation plans later.”
Right. Focus.
I give a tight nod, the sound of my boots crunching on the dirt louder than anything else around us. It’s all a blur—the constant tautness in the air, the nagging thought that at any second, things could go from bad to worse.
But I’m here, and I’ve got a job to do.
Because for the first time in years, I’ve got a reason to get back home in one piece.
* * *
Being called into Jace Hampton’s office feels like being summoned by the principal. As head of Greystone’s Cairo headquarters, Jace has the final say on everything, and I can’t shake the feeling that he has a lot to say about the helicopter incident.
“Pharo,” he grumbles, “shut the door behind you.” Jace slides his glasses off and pinches the bridge of his nose. He sounds exhausted, and the stacks of papers scattered across his desk might explain why.
