Nelson Demille - The Quest

His only chance was to go into a dive-to get into the blind spot below the pilot and the door gunners. He’d have the dive speed he needed to possibly get beyond the accurate range of the machine guns before the helicopter pilot could position his aircraft to give one of his gunners a shot.

Vivian put her hand on his shoulder. “Frank?”

He asked Mercado, “Have you come to a decision, Henry? Run or follow this asshole to Gondar?”

Again, Mercado did not reply.

Purcell looked at the distant horizon. Lake Tana was coming up, and so was Gondar. It was possible, he thought, that the Ethiopian Air Force had already scrambled fighters or more helicopters to make sure they didn’t lose them. He was a few minutes away from having no options left.

Mercado said, “Run.”

“Okay…” He looked at his airspeed and altimeter and considered what to do, and how best to do it. His rate of descent in a dive would be greater than the Huey’s, and his airspeed, too, would be greater. But, as he said, he couldn’t outrun a bullet.

The helicopter was nearly hovering now, about three hundred yards away, and he saw the left door gunner making a sweeping motion with his arm, indicating that the Navion should pass and get in front of the helicopter on the approach into Gondar.

That was not what Purcell wanted to do, and it suddenly became clear to him what he needed to do. And he’d known this almost from the beginning.

He reached up and moved the plastic aiming disc on its flexible arm so that it was in front of his face.

Mercado asked in a forcibly controlled voice, “What are you doing ?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Are you insane?”

Purcell moved the switch under the instrument panel to the “Fire” position.

Vivian watched him, but said nothing.

The helicopter was less than two hundred yards away, and the door gunner kept waving his arm for the Navion to pass.

Purcell dipped his right wing as though he were going to bank right, and the helicopter pilot, who’d either seen this or heard from his left door gunner, slid his helicopter to the right to keep the Navion on his left.

Purcell pushed forward on the throttle and shoved his rudder hard right, causing the Navion to yaw right, with its nose now pointed at the helicopter. He lined up the helicopter in the red concentric circles of the plastic disc and pushed the firing button, praying that the electrical connection to the rocket pod was working.

The rocket shot out of the pod with a rushing sound and trailed a white smoke stream toward the Huey, less than two hundred yards away now.

Vivian let out a startled sound and Mercado shouted, “Oh God!”

The rocket went high over the helicopter, just missing the rotor shaft.

The door gunner seemed frozen behind his machine gun.

Purcell fired the second rocket, which went low, passing between the landing skids and the cabin, right under the door gunner’s feet.

The door gunner fired a long burst of rounds at the Navion and the tracers streaked over the Plexiglas canopy. Vivian screamed and dove onto the floor.

The helicopter pilot made the instinctive mistake of taking evasive action, which threw off the aim of his gunner and gave Purcell a better shot at the Huey as it tilted away from him and slipped sideways and downward. Purcell again kicked the rudder to yaw farther right, and pushed hard on the control wheel to lower the Navion’s nose. He kept looking through the plastic disc as the Huey again passed into the concentric circles. The door gunner fired again, and Purcell heard the unmistakable sound of a round impacting the aircraft. He pushed the red button once, then again, firing his last two rockets.

The first smoke rocket sailed through the open cabin, past the head of the door gunner, and the second rocket hit the Plexiglas bubble and burst inside the cockpit. Billows of white smoke poured out the hole in the bubble and through the open doors of the Huey.

The pilots were either injured or blinded by smoke, or something critical was damaged in the cockpit, and the Huey’s tail boom began swinging left and right.

Purcell did not change course and continued to fly straight at the unstable helicopter. He could see the door gunner through the billowing smoke, but the man, undoubtedly terrified, had let go of his machine gun and the barrel was hanging loose.

The Huey began a slow roll to the right, then suddenly inverted and dropped like a stone into the jungle canopy below, just as the Navion passed through the airspace that the helicopter had occupied a second before. There was a barely audible explosion behind them as Purcell gave it full throttle and began to climb hard.

Purcell turned off the firing switch, slapped away the plastic aiming disc, then said to Vivian, “It’s over.”

She rose slowly back into her seat.

He asked, “Mind if I smoke?”

No one replied, and he lit a cigarette, noticing that his hand was shaking.

He glanced at Vivian. Her skin, already pale, was now stark white. “Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“Henry?”

No reply.

Vivian turned in her seat. “Henry? Henry?” She leaned farther into the rear compartment. “Are you all right? Did you get hit?”

“By what?”

Vivian watched him awhile, then turned around.

Purcell kept the throttle open and the Navion continued to climb.

Mercado asked, “What happened?”

Vivian replied, “The helicopter… crashed.”

He didn’t reply.

Vivian looked at Purcell. “Now what?”

“Well… the French Somaliland option is again open. But that’s over two hours from here… and the Ethiopian Air Force may be looking for us shortly.”

Mercado seemed to be fully aware now, and he cleared his voice and asked, “Do you think the helicopter pilot had time to radio anyone?”

Purcell didn’t think the pilot even had time to piss his pants after the first smoke rocket went over his head. He replied, “I don’t think so. But the helicopter is now obviously out of radio contact, so Gondar will be looking for him, and for us.”

Mercado stayed silent, then said, “I don’t see that we have any option other than French Somaliland… or perhaps Sudan. How far is that?”

Purcell glanced at his flight chart. “The Sudan border is less than two hundred miles-maybe an hour-and-a-half flight. But the Ethie Air Force won’t hesitate to pursue over the Sudan border, though they probably won’t pursue over the French territory’s border.”

Mercado seemed to be thinking, then said, “I will vote for the French border.” He reminded everyone, “We will receive a better reception there than in Sudan.”

Purcell nodded, then glanced at Vivian. “Your vote?”

She had already thought about it and said, “Shoan. Can you land there?”

Purcell thought about that. The single-lane road was too narrow, with towering trees on both sides. The open pastures, however, were a possibility.

Mercado said, “I’m not sure I’m following you, Vivian.”

“You are, Henry.” She let them both know, “We are not leaving Ethiopia. We came here to find the Holy Grail.”

Mercado pointed out, “We are now hunted fugitives. We have just committed murder.”

Purcell corrected him. “I engaged a hostile aircraft.”

“Call it what you will, old man, if it makes you feel better as they put the noose around your neck.” He said to Vivian, “We need to get out of here.”

“We will, when we finish what we came here to do.”

Purcell was still heading east, toward French Somaliland, and if they decided to change course to Sudan, they had to do it soon, before Sudan became a longer flight than the French territory. He said to Vivian, “You have two choices, and landing in Shoan is not one of them.”