David Golemon - Primeval

Ryan was struggling with the dying plane. The river ahead looked shallow in too many places and the bends in the Stikine looked to be too close together for a straight in landing.

"Goddamn it, there's no place to set this bitch down!" he said through clenched teeth as the wheel assembly started shaking in his hands. "We have to turn around and land in the deepest part of the river in front of the fishing camp."

"Hey, buddy, I don't know if you noticed or not, but there seemed to be some not-so-nice people back there shooting bullets at us!" Mendenhall said, feeling really out of place without a weapon; so he did the next best thing — he pulled his seat harness as tight as he could.

"Colonel, I have to come back around, I suggest you clear those people from the beach!"

Collins didn't answer, he knew Ryan had to do what he had to do and didn't bother the navy pilot with what he really wanted to scream out— Are you nuts! Instead, he reached down and tossed everyone fresh magazines.

Everyone in the cabin was tossed to the left side of the plane as Ryan turned the Grumman for everything the old girl was worth. The one remaining engine screamed at full power as the other burned through its wing mounts. The smell of burning wood and its smoke started to fill the cabin and the cockpit. Still, the old seaplane responded as Ryan completed the turn just as the colonel and the others opened up again on the approaching beach.

Ryan knew a catastrophic failure was only a second away when he heard the loud crack of the wing header just above them.

"Oh, shit!" Mendenhall yelled as he heard the same horrifying crack. "That didn't sound good at all."

Ryan pushed the wheel all the way forward, bleeding off altitude as fast as he could, even threatening to bury the Grumman's nose into the river below. They were being raked by machine-gun fire but not at as heavy a volume as before thanks to Collins and the others. However, Ryan knew that was the least of their problems at the moment.

The seaplane flared out, nose up just as its right-side wing float was shot free. It fell off and struck the water and then bounced up into the fire-damaged wing, creasing it along the line of bolts that held it together with the fuselage. The old plywood structure was not meant to sustain that much damage or debris impact, and so, just as the boatlike prow of the seaplane hit the river, the right-side wing let go, shearing off at the cockpit. The seaplane hit and spun in the water, the left-side float hit and dug into the fast-moving river and, even though the Grumman was traveling in the same direction as its southern flow, the float dug in and then tore free, but before it did, it was like sticking a ball bat into a large fan — the plane spun, tearing off the remaining wing and smashing the fuselage into two pieces. As quickly as they had hit the water, the old collector's item was in pieces.

As Deonovich saw the destruction before him, he stood from behind the tree where he had taken cover. He shook his head at the tenacity of whoever was inside of the destroyed plane. It had been surprising that his antagonists had put up such a quick and terrible defense. He looked around and saw that three of his men were down and one other was injured.

"Remarkable," he mumbled as he stepped toward the Stikine to watch the debris of the seaplane as it started its run down river. "Utterly remarkable."

As the Grumman rolled over onto its back, the tail section and most of the cabin sped by the cockpit in an out-of-control rush down the Stikine. Inside the cabin, Collins had had the M-16 he was holding smash into his shoulder as he was firing, coming near to separating it. As the water rushed inside, he saw Sarah as she fell from what had been the cabin's floor. In a flash, he saw the Frenchman grab her and then they both vanished in the rush of water. Collins knew that Sarah could be in no better hands other than his own.

"Charlie!" Everett shouted.

Collins looked around as the cabin slid completely under the rushing water. He still held the M-16 in his right hand as he used his feet to push off of a shattered rib strut. He felt the river grab him as soon as he was free of the cabin. He felt another, and then another person slam into him as he fought to get to the surface.

"Goddamn it, those bastards are still shooting at us!" Everett shouted as he surfaced, and then his words were cut short when he swallowed a mouth full of water.

Jack felt the rocky bottom of the river and tried to gain what balance he could. He felt a strong arm pull him fully back into the water. It was Punchy Alexander; he had both hands free and was pulling Jack as close to shore as he could get. All around them, geysers of water were shooting skyward as bullets from upriver struck all around them.

"Did anyone get Charlie out?" Jack shouted.

"Hell, I don't know, but if we don't get to the bank we're going to get our asses shot off," Alexander screamed.

As Jack and Punchy gained the shore, he heard an M-16 open up somewhere in front of them.

"That damn Frenchman is fast, him and that little girl are giving us cover fire. Now let's go, Jack!"

Jack stumbled as he gained the rocky shoreline and fell, Punchy continued pulling him. "It would help if you got up and used that damn weapon in your hands."

Jack realized he still held the M-16 and quickly rose to his feet just as three rounds narrowly missed his head. He saw Everett start firing from a prone position ten yards away. He quickly aimed at anything that didn't look like a tree upriver and opened fire.

"There's only one left," Henri Farbeaux called from the tree line to Jack's left. "And he's decided to call it quits."

Collins stood and saw a lone man shove a large Zodiac into the water and then jump in. Collins aimed and fired, but the man was too fast as he started the large outboard motor and streaked upriver, bouncing over the rough surface.

"Son of a bitch used his remaining two men as a shield, stupid bastards." Punchy stepped up to Collins and looked him over. "You've got a pretty good gash on your forehead, old friend," he said as he turned and made sure the boatman wasn't making a return trip.

"You all right?" Jack asked Alexander as he wiped blood from a six-inch gash just into his hairline.

"Nothing a seamstress can't mend," he answered with a grimace as he pushed down a large rip in his right pants leg. Blood was soaking through the wet material in a pretty good spread.

"Short Stuff, get over here and see if you can give Punchy a hand before he bleeds to death. Henri, Carl, let's see if we can find the doc, Mendenhall, and Ryan."

"Goddamn it, Jack, we flew right into that one. We must be getting old," Everett said as he pulled the magazine from his weapon and looked in it. It was empty so he tossed it onto the rocky shore. "I'm out, so if that bastard tries again, I have to chuck rocks."

"Well, this is the place for it," Farbeaux said as he and Sarah joined them at the river.

Collins saw Sarah was fine, a little bruised, but intact. Henri was the same except for three large scratches to the left side of his face. He nodded his head at the Frenchman in thanks for pulling Sarah out of the plane.

"I don't give your professor Ellenshaw much of a chance, Colonel," Farbeaux said as he checked the number of rounds in his own weapon.

They all turned at once when they heard someone coming from the tree line.

"Whoa, hold your fire! We didn't survive that magnificent crash just to get shot by our friends!" Ryan said as he, Mendenhall, and none other than Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw the Third held up their hands.

Jack shook his head when he saw his people, happy as hell they had made it through.