David Golemon - Primeval

The leader of the group gestured for the man holding Marla to take her to the old woman.

"Finish this business and let's get back to camp, we have wasted enough time here."

The man smiled and then started pulling Marla toward the store.

"Wait," the man said as he held up a hand. Then he cocked his head to the right as if he were listening for something. "Throw both of them in the freezer and then come back out here."

The man stood with a struggling Marla squirming in his grasp waiting for an explanation.

"Move, you fool, we have company."

As the men listened, they heard the sound of an aircraft as it approached from beyond the bend in the river. The leader, Gregori Deonovich, saw something that made him blink. An old-fashioned seaplane, the likes of which he had not seen since he was a child came around the bend in the Stikine, its large wings tilting so far over that it looked in danger of hitting the rushing river only thirty feet below it.

"Take them inside. We may need them if something unexpected comes of this."

The man ran, dragging Marla with him and then he gathered up the old woman with surprising strength.

Without shouting one order, Deonovich sent his men scattering. They immediately took up firing positions but he knew they had moved too late as the Grumman seaplane fell lower to the river — he couldn't believe his bad luck, the plane was going to land at the fishing camp. He actually saw the man piloting the old craft wave a greeting, and then lower it as fast as he had raised it.

"Bring that aircraft down!" he shouted.

Suddenly, five automatic weapons opened fire on Alice Hamilton's antique Grumman, and as they emptied magazines into the plywood frame, the Russians became more than happy as they saw large pieces of wood flying off the seaplane as it started falling for the river below.

Deonovich smiled as he knew the plane couldn't maintain its integrity with the large caliber rounds slamming into it.

"Sorry, my friends, this is the wrong day to come and fish this end of the river."

Ryan released the autopilot with little fear. He had disengaged the new system Alice had installed several times during their long flight just to get a better feel for the ancient Grumman. Will Mendenhall, suffering from a severe backache and stiff neck from his rotten sleep in the cabin, had gratefully spelled Collins to keep Ryan company on the last leg of the flight into the fishing camp.

"Well, here we go, hang on back there," Ryan called out as he reduced power to the two Pratt & Whitney engines. The Grumman started to ease itself from the sky as Jason watched out of his side window at the approaching Stikine River far below.

"Damn, that has to be the most twisted river I've ever seen. You sure you can land this thing without cracking up?"

"Come on, man, when a navy pilot can't land on water, something's wrong, wouldn't you think?" Ryan said, smiling as he pumped down the hydraulic wing flaps while using his other hand to turn the large rudder. "It's not like we're coming into a hot LZ or anything."

"Hey, I thought you only landed on carriers. Have you ever landed in the water before?"

"No, in the navy we call that crashing," he said as he again looked out of the side window and saw some men on the riverbank below. He raised a gloved hand and waved, and then he saw what those men were carrying and dropped his hand. As the Grumman made its shallow dive, there were several loud thumping noises.

"What in the hell was that?" Will yelled over the loud engines.

"Take evasive action, Ryan, we're taking ground fire!"

Mendenhall heard the call from the rear cabin and knew it was Captain Everett who had shouted, but at first he couldn't comprehend what he said.

"Did he say…?"

Before Will could get the whole question out of his mouth, heavier caliber rounds slammed into the windscreen, and then he heard some more pinging and whacks coming from the two engines above.

Ryan struggled to add power to the two engines and started pumping the flaps back as the seaplane started to rise back into the air. He managed a look out of the side window, a single bullet passed through the glass and just missed his head, but it did tear the twin throttle controls on the upper control panel out of his grip as they both sheared off and went flying into Mendenhall. The engines were now at full power and unless Ryan cut the fuel off, they would crash into the trees or the river at full speed.

Ryan cursed and tried to look through the shattered glass. What he could make out was several men down below up on the riverbank kneeling and firing into the seaplane.

"We have men on the ground, a dozen feet from the river," he shouted for the benefit of the colonel and the others in the back.

Jack and Everett beat everyone into action as thirty holes stitched themselves through the plywood hull of the flying boat. Three would have hit Sarah if she hadn't had two rolled-up sleeping bags piled in front of her; still, the powerful rounds knocked the wind out of her as goose down went flying in all directions.

Collins started throwing camping gear everywhere as Everett joined him, unceremoniously throwing Charlie Ellenshaw into the small aisle. The Grumman lurched and went almost upside down and then righted itself, throwing Jack and Everett off their feet. Jack stood and grabbed the first M-16 from the plastic container that had been buried under the rest of the gear. He threw the short-barreled M-16 over his head, not caring if it hit anyone. Sarah, finally getting her wind back into her lungs, ducked as an arm shot out and took the airborne automatic weapon. As she turned, she saw Henri Farbeaux holding the weapon and then throwing himself over three folded tents as he quickly smashed out one of the small round portholes that lined the side of the aircraft.

"Here, Punchy," Jack shouted as he threw him another M-16. "I expect you remember how to use one of these," Collins said as he reached for another just as a red hot round tore through his jacket at the shoulder.

"If I don't, I better remember damn quick," Alexander said as he didn't bother to smash out one of the portholes, but instead sent several 5.62 millimeter rounds through the glass before throwing himself prone and opening up at anything along the fast moving riverbank.

Everett took a weapon and slammed home a magazine. "Jack, I don't think someone down there is all that impressed with Alice's plane."

Collins heard a loud creak and then a bang as one of the engines froze up. When he looked up, he could actually see the holes in the upper cabin where engine parts had blasted through the wood.

"We're hit!" came a shout from the cockpit.

"Ryan really has a way of stating the obvious," Collins said as he started slamming the butt plate of the M-16 against the thin marine plywood hull. It only took about six hits before he had a hole large enough for he and Everett to fire from.

"Alright, give 'em hell," Everett screamed above the damaged engines.

Deonovich was satisfied when he saw the starboard engine of the seaplane burst into flames just as the rising Grumman went flying past at a hundred feet and climbing. The Russian saw large chunks of wood careen into the air as his men continued to pour accurate fire into the old wood of the plane. Then his expression quickly changed as something caught his eye. He knew he must be imagining the sight he was witnessing: The ancient aircraft was actually returning fire. That observation was quickly punctuated and verified by thirty rounds striking the rocks and gravel of the riverbank. Two of his men screamed in shock and fell backward onto the ground, two holes each in their chests.

Deonovich decided that retreating to a covered position was probably the healthiest choice he could make in the next few seconds as the aircraft continued a withering return fire at their antagonists. Whoever these people were, they surely were not your ordinary fishermen.