“Who are they?” Polaski shouted, trying to be heard above the noise.
Hawker didn’t answer. The Huey accelerated rapidly. The needle on the airspeed indicator swung through the yellow arc and past the red line: a marking that pilots call Vne, for Velocity—Never Exceed. The speed was labeled that way for a reason. Beyond Vne the structural cohesion of the airframe came into question. As if to emphasize the point, the old Huey began shaking violently, rattling and threatening to come apart around them.
They dove to treetops and leveled off with the engine screaming and the craft shuddering under the strain, skimming across the canopy at 150 knots. Shells tore in from the left and Hawker cut toward them, forcing the NOTAR to overshoot. A higher clump of foliage loomed in their path and Hawker pulled up, hearing the skids ripping though its leaves. He dropped down behind and raced on.
“Look out,” Polaski shouted.
The NOTAR flashed over the top of them, firing and crossing from the right. A sharp pinging rang out through the helicopter like a metal rod held against a rapidly spinning fan.
Polaski’s eyes swung through the cabin, looking for damage. Hawker checked the gauges for the same thing. Polaski saw daylight pouring through a dozen holes in the side. Hawker saw the needles remaining where they belonged, everything functioning as it should. Even though the bullets had hit them, the helicopter was mostly empty space and the shells had passed right through without taking out anything vital.
Hawker watched the NOTAR making a wide arc, setting up for another strafing run. There was only one place left to go.
With the engine roaring and the airframe straining under the load, he cut back toward the river once again. The NOTAR followed, closing in rapidly.
The trees flew by beneath them, falling away, just as the black helicopter fired. Hawker dropped the Huey toward the water and turned to follow the river’s course. The NOTAR overshot, swung wide and curved back, moving in behind them and quickly closing the gap once again.
They were on the deck now, thundering along the riverbed. Two helicopters racing across the shimmering water, jinking and turning, with their rotor blades swirling overhead like a pair of massive dragonflies in a territorial dispute.
The twisting course gave the Huey some cover, but the trees lining the banks boxed them in like canyon walls, making their maneuvers more predictable to the other pilot. Hawker cut left but quickly ran out of space against the towering trees. He broke right, crossing in front of the NOTAR’s blazing guns and wincing as shrapnel ripped through the cabin.
“What are we going to do?” Polaski shouted. “Why are they attacking us?”
“I have no idea,” Hawker shouted back, answering both questions at once, as he whipped the helicopter into another turn.
For a moment the river widened, giving them some space, but up ahead a narrow stretch loomed. With the throttle fire-walled, the Huey raced toward it, aiming for the center of a thin, wooded island around which the river spilt. He turned at the last minute, shooting down the left side of the tall woods, while the NOTAR went right. Two seconds to pass the island, and Hawker broke hard to the right, turning toward the NOTAR and trying to force it into the trees on the bank of the river.
But the NOTAR slowed and Hawker was forced to climb out over the trees or cross right in front of the waiting guns. He pulled back on the collective and the Huey edged the treetops, safe, but only for a moment.
The NOTAR came up behind them with its guns blazing.
Cannon shells ripped into the tail and ran up to the engine housing. A horrible scream of wrenching metal drowned out all other sounds as something in the turbine ripped itself apart. The shuddering helicopter thundered forward, shaking violently and careening out of control.
Hawker tried to stabilize the craft, but with the hydraulics out his efforts achieved nothing. The craft was little more than a projectile now, an object answering only to the laws of physics. It nosed over in a declining ballistic arc, twisting to the right and trailing a dark plume of smoke.
The gap between helicopter and jungle shrank rapidly and the Huey slammed into the forest, shattering tree limbs, rotor blades and Plexiglass. The canopy of trees shuddered from the impact and then closed, swallowing them up like a stone heaved into the ocean.
CHAPTER 25
Back at the base camp, most of the group had reluctantly gone to work, spreading out across the clearing to begin various tasks. Danielle and Verhoven remained at the command center, privately discussing the sudden loss of communications.
“Someone jamming us?” Verhoven asked.
Danielle didn’t think so. She was receiving a response from the network. And though the response continued to indicate that her authorization code was invalid, it meant the signal was getting through and then being rejected. A software failure seemed more likely, either in her system or the one back in Washington. But software could be fixed, and that meant communications could be restored relatively easily. She saw no reason to break radio silence.
“I’ve done all I can on our end,” she said. “They have a check-in scheduled for nineteen hundred tonight. They should notice the problem then and be able to fix it. If they can’t they’ll radio us with instructions on the proper frequency, and we won’t have to give away our position.”
“What did I tell you about this bloody technology,” Verhoven said. “No damn good half the …”
Verhoven’s voice trailed off and he turned to the east. Danielle followed his gaze and heard the sound of a helicopter approaching low across the trees. Hawker had left only an hour before. She wondered why he was coming back.
Verhoven stood up. “Damn!”
An instant later the NOTAR burst out from above the trees and shot across the camp, traveling from east to west.
One look at the armed helicopter was enough. Danielle lunged for the alarm and the air horn went off just as the black, egg-shaped helicopter reached the far side of the clearing and began to pitch up so it could swing back toward the group.
“Hit the smoke!” Verhoven shouted.
Danielle did as he asked and the canisters around them fired in sequence, but as the helicopter finished its turn and came back toward them she realized that smoke wouldn’t be enough. She grabbed her own rifle and began to run.
Verhoven caught her. “Wait.”
“For what?”
“One second!”
The NOTAR had swung through a half circle, gathering speed as it lined her and Verhoven up. Lowering its nose, it disappeared behind the thickening cloud.
“Now!” Verhoven yelled.
They dashed to the right just as the helicopter fired and a spread of lethal cannon fire tore through the spot they’d just left. The craft followed, sweeping through the gathering smoke, dispersing the cloud in its wake.
Verhoven spun around, dropped to a knee and fired, but the helicopter banked and fired into the tents to the south, shredding the thin nylon before passing by. Danielle watched in horror as one of the porters crawled out and collapsed.
By now the other members of the expedition were running toward the center of camp just as they’d practiced—an act that would bring them into the heart of the danger. As the helicopter circled around for another run, she was certain that they’d all be killed.
In a fury, she fired her own rifle, trying to lead the approaching craft. Verhoven did the same, and as shells from the AK-47s whistled through the air, the helicopter pulled up, crossing the camp and flying out over the jungle without hitting anyone else.
It tracked that way for several seconds before turning and following the curved line of the trees, circling the perimeter like a shark.
Danielle noticed Verhoven looking toward the jungle. “We’ll never make it,” she said.
He seemed to agree. “The temple, then,” he said. “It’s our only chance.”