Gregg Hurwitz - Minutes to Burn

Savage took a long drag off his cigarette and flicked it out the open door. He watched it fall, a red glowing dot twirling in the wind. "Good thinking," he said, just the right amount of sarcasm easing its way into his voice.

Below, a river fought its way around bends and over boulders, finally cascading down a twenty-foot drop. Savage couldn't hear the noise of the waterfall over the rotors of the Blackhawk, but he imagined it perfectly, sensing the pulsing water as if it were running through his veins.

Just a few hours ago, the guards had signed him out in full. Battery, cruelty to animals, assault with a deadly weapon, possession of illegal firearms-they'd all vanish if he agreed to participate in the mission, whatever it was. He had known that there was a shortage of U.S. troops with all the trouble down south, but until now, he'd had no idea how serious it was. He'd been in the Gulf, but the last war he'd seen action in was Nam. He hoped that he'd been targeted for his record; if they were trolling county jails indiscriminately for anyone with military training, then they were in a lot more trouble than he'd imagined.

The pilot swooped the helicopter so sharply Savage had to grab the rifle to keep it from sliding out the door. He handed it back to Walters silently, noticing the pilot's smirk in the reflection off the windscreen. The helo plunged again.

"Picked her up," the pilot said, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "She's heading south."

Walters raised his binoculars and located the grizzly sow. She was loping along the ridge about twenty yards back from the gorge. Her legs as thick as cannon barrels, she moved with astounding quickness, hammering over fallen trees and crashing through underbrush.

"Goddamnit, don't lose her," Walters said. He leaned forward, his hands clutching the pilot's seat.

"She hears us and she's hauling ass," the pilot yelled, his hands fisting the control stick, desperately trying to keep the bear in sight.

Walters pushed Savage aside and peered out the open door. He took aim, the rifle bobbing as the helicopter swooped and turned. He fired once and cursed, then struggled to unbolt the rifle.

Savage calmly leaned back against the side of the helicopter, spotting a distinctive gray patch on the bear's flank. Walters wobbled in his shooter's stance and fired another shot, reeling from the kick.

Savage sighed. "You planning on doing this thing anytime soon?"

"I can't get a clear shot through the fucking canopy!" Walters yelled.

"There's nowhere to set down," the pilot said.

Savage picked up a SPIE rig harness and went to work on it, pulling his large knife from the ambidextrous pouch sheath he kept laced over his right calf.

Chambering another round, Walters turned back to face Savage, who was slipping the harness over his shoulders. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted. Catching another glimpse of the sow, he hastily raised the rifle and fired.

Savage tied the harness to a thick, braided rope that was coiled on the floor beside him. The other end of the rope was secured to a carabiner, which he clipped to the helo rigging. Pausing to light another cigarette, he looked at Walters. "To kill a grizzly, you gotta hit it the right way. Face, lungs, or heart. Even the top of the head won't cut it. Got a skull like plate armor. You need a clear shot, and it ain't gonna happen with meat-stick up there swooping like a kite and the bear in full sprint beneath the tree cover."

"You heard the pilot-we can't set down anywhere. This is the best angle I'm gonna get. "

The Blackhawk pulled to a midair halt, quivering beneath the whirring rotors. "I lost her," the pilot said. "Fuck. I lost her." A blast of wind hit the helo, wobbling it.

"Do I have to do everything here?" Walters yelled. "You people only give me a twelve-hour window on the Blackhawk and now I'm supposed to navigate the thing too?" He threw the rifle down on the floor. Savage picked it up and angled it, eyeing the scope.

"Keep going south," Savage said softly.

The pilot looked over at Walters, unsure if he should obey the order. "What the fuck are you talking about, Savage?" Walters said. "We need to circle in and find her."

Savage dragged deep and dragoned twin streams of smoke through his nostrils. "We have about three minutes to head south to where that gorge ends in a cliff. That's the direction she was heading, and she's gonna follow the ridge. Now you can sit here like the pencil-pushing cocksucker that you are, or you can act like the man you wish you were. Just try to make up your mind sometime in the next ten seconds so I have at least a small chance of getting in position."

Walters bit the inside of his lip, staring at Savage. Savage returned the glare. "All right," Walters finally said. He waved a hand at the pilot and settled back in his seat. "Give the felon a go at it."

Savage set the rifle down and pulled himself up to a crouch. "I want you to trace the line of this gorge until it falls away at the cliff face. Pull about twenty yards off the lip when we hit it and hold steady."

"All right," the pilot said. "I'm not dipping lower than the top of the tree line, though. We're gonna have problems with the wind against the cliff, and there's nowhere to land down there if we need to back down."

"Just let me worry about that," Savage said.

The helicopter tilted forward and thundered down the gorge. Walters searched the woods for the bear but saw nothing except the waving firs. "I hope you know what you're doing, Savage," he said.

Savage tightened the modified harness around his shoulders and slid one arm loophole down over his waist as the helicopter shot along the ridge.

They passed the cliff and were suddenly out several hundred yards above a stone basin cut by a rushing river. The pilot swung the helicopter to face the line of trees at the edge of the cliff. Nothing was visible but foliage.

"How the fuck are you gonna get a shot here?" Walters said, his anger intensifying. "It's all foliage from this angle and we can't drop the helo any lower!"

Savage smiled around his cigarette and leaned backward out of the helicopter, grabbing the Win Mag with one hand. His tattered sock was the last thing to disappear over the side of the Blackhawk. Until the carabiner pulled tight on the rigging, it seemed from the helicopter that he'd gone over in a suicide dive.

Falling the twenty-foot length of the rope, Savage snapped to a halt. Flat on his stomach, he floated in a sniper's stance. Below him, the drop stretched for an eternity to the snow-dusted boulders. The rifle was positioned on his shoulder before he even completed the fall, his left eye on the scope.

The lower vantage opened up his line of vision tremendously; he could see a good distance into the forest between the trunks of the trees. The light was magnificent, filtering through the needles in thin, twinkling shafts.

He didn't doubt the Blackhawk; he knew from the Gulf that it could pull eight thousand pounds' suspension. He and the. 300 were child's play.

The crosshairs waited patiently, lined just above the peak of a small hill on which the sow should appear. It was a little over a quarter mile away from him.

Savage counted under his breath."Five…four…three…"The head of the grizzly appeared, and she looked ahead, rearing up to her full seven feet when she saw the helicopter. Savage spit the cigarette out the side of his mouth. "You're early," he growled, pulling the trigger.

The bullet caught her right through the roaring mouth, but Savage couldn't see the impact because the kick from the rifle sent him swinging back beneath the Blackhawk. He kept his eye on the scope though, checking for the slumped body on his backswing.

He dropped the rifle, bearing its weight on the sling around his neck, and started climbing hand over hand up the rope. He got a leg on the skid, then pulled himself into the helicopter. Walters and the pilot stared at him, speechless.