Ellis turned around and braced himself for the impact.
The pilot was on the cabin floor at his feet, clutching his throat. Anatoly had fallen full-length in the middle of the cabin. Jane was crouched in a corner with her arms enclosing Chantal protectively. The trooper, too, had fallen, but he had regained his balance and was now on one knee and raising his Kalashnikov toward Ellis,
As he pulled the trigger, the helicopter's wheels hit the ground.
The impact threw Ellis to his knees, but he was ready for it and he kept his balance. The trooper staggered sideways, his shots going through the fuselage a yard from Ellis's head, then he fell forward, dropping the gun and throwing out his hands to break his fall.
Ellis leaned forward, snatched up the rifle and held it awkwardly in his manacled hands.
It was a moment of pure joy.
He was fighting back. He had run away, he had been captured and humiliated, he had suffered cold and hunger and fear, and he had stood helpless while Jane was slapped around; but now, at last, he had a chance to stand and fight.
He got his finger to the trigger. His hands were bound too close together for him to hold the Kalashnikov in the normal position, but he was able to support the barrel unconventionally by using his left hand to hold the curved magazine, which jutted down just in front of the trigger guard.
The helicopter's engine stalled and the rotors began to slow. Ellis glanced into the flight deck and saw the gunner jumping out through the pilot's side door. He had to gain control of the situation quickly, before the Russians outside gathered their wits.
He moved so that Anatoly, who was stretched out on the floor, was between him and the door; then he rested the muzzle of the rifle on Anatoly's cheek.
The trooper stared at him, looking frightened. "Get out," Ellis said with a jerk of his head. The trooper understood and jumped out through the door.
The pilot was still lying down, apparently having trouble breathing. Ellis kicked him to get his attention, then told him to get out, too. The man struggled to his feet, still clutching his throat, and went out the same way.
Ellis said to Jane: "Tell this guy to get out of the helicopter and stand real close with his back to me. Quick, quick!'
Jane shouted a stream of Russian at Anatoly. The man got to his feet, shot a glance of pure hatred at Ellis and slowly climbed out of the helicopter.
Ellis rested the muzzle of the rifle on the back of Anatoly's neck and said: "Tell him to have the others freeze."
Jane spoke again and Anatoly shouted an order. Ellis looked around. The pilot, the gunner and the trooper who had been in the helicopter were nearby. Just beyond them was Jean-Pierre, sitting on the ground and clutching his ankle: he must have fallen well, thought Ellis; there's nothing much wrong with him. Farther away were three more soldiers, the captain, the horse and Halarn.
Ellis said: "Tell Anatoly to unbutton his coat, slowly take out his pistol, and hand it to you."
Jane translated. Ellis pressed the rifle harder into Anatoly's flesh as he drew the pistol from its holster and reached behind him with it in his hand.
Jane took it from him.
Ellis said: "Is it a Makarov? Yes. You'll see a safety catch on the left-hand side. Move it until it covers the red dot. To fire the gun, first pull back the slide above the grip, then pull the trigger. Okay?''
"Okay," she said. She was white and trembling, but her mouth was set in a determined line.
Ellis said: "Tell him to have the soldiers bring their weapons here, one by one, and throw them into the helicopter.''
Jane translated and Anatoly gave the order.
"Point that pistol at them as they get close," Ellis added.
One by one, the soldiers came up and disarmed.
"Five young men," said Jane.
"What are you talking about?"
"There was a captain, Halam and five young men. I only see four."
"Tell Anatoly he has to find the other one if he wants to live."
Jane shouted to Anatoly, and Ellis was surprised by the vehemence of her voice. Anatoly sounded scared as he shouted his order. A moment later the fifth soldier came around the tail of the helicopter and surrendered his rifle as the others had.
"Well done," Ellis said to Jane. "He might have ruined everything. Now make them all lie down."
A minute later they were all lying face down on the ground.
"You have to shoot off my handcuffs," he said to Jane.
He put down his rifle and stood with his arms outstretched toward the doorway. Jane pulled back the slide of the pistol, then placed its muzzle against the chain. They positioned themselves so that the spent bullet would go through the doorway.
"I hope this doesn't break my fucking wrist," said Ellis.
Jane closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
Ellis roared: "Ow, fuck!" At first his wrists hurt like hell. Then, after a moment, he realized they were not broken—the chain was.
He picked up his rifle. "Now I want their radio," he said.
On Anatoly's order, the captain began to unstrap a large box from the horse's back.
Ellis wondered whether the helicopter would fly again. Its undercarriage would be destroyed, of course, and there might be all sorts of other damage underneath; but the engine and the main control lines were on top. He recalled how, during the battle of Darg, he had seen a Hind just like this one crash twenty or thirty feet, then lift off again. This bastard ought to fly if that one did, he thought. If not ...
He did not know what he would do otherwise.
The captain brought the radio and put it into the helicopter, then walked away again.
Ellis allowed himself a moment of relief. As long as he had the radio, the Russians could not contact their base. That meant they could not get reinforcements, nor could they alert anybody to what had happened. If Ellis could get the helicopter into the air, he would be safe from pursuit.
"Keep your gun aimed at Anatoly," he said to Jane. "I'm going to see whether this thing will fly."
Jane found the gun surprisingly heavy. Aiming at Anatoly, she kept her arm outstretched, for a while, but soon had to lower her arm to rest it. With her left hand she patted Chantal's back. Chantal had cried, off and on, during the last few minutes, but now she had stopped.
The helicopter's engine turned over, kicked and hesitated. Oh, please start, she prayed; please go.
The engine roared into life, and she saw the blades turn.
Jean-Pierre looked up.
Don't you dare, she thought. Don't move!
Jean-Pierre sat upright, looked at her, then got painfully to his feet.
Jane pointed the pistol at him.
He started to walk toward the helicopter.
"Don't make me shoot you!" she screamed, but her voice was drowned by the increasing roar of the engines.
Anatoly must have seen Jean-Pierre, for he rolled over and sat up. Jane pointed the gun at him. He lifted his
hands in a gesture of surrender. Jane swung the gun back toward Jean-Pierre. Jean-Pierre kept coming.
Jane felt the helicopter shudder and try to lift.
Jean-Pierre was close now. She could see his face clearly. His hands were spread wide in a gesture of appeal, but there was a mad light in his eyes. He's lost his mind, she thought; but perhaps that happened a long time ago.
"I will do it!" she yelled, although she knew he could not hear. "I will shoot you!"
The helicopter lifted off the ground.
Jean-Pierre broke into a run.
As the aircraft went up he jumped and landed on the deck. Jane hoped he would fall out again, but he steadied himself. He looked at her with hate in his eyes, and gathered himself to spring.
She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.
The gun crashed and bucked in her hand.
She opened her eyes again. Jean-Pierre was still standing upright, with an expression of astonishment on his face. There was a spreading dark stain on the breast of his coat. Panicking, Jane pulled the trigger again, and again, and a third time. She missed with the first two, but the third seemed to hit his shoulder. He spun around, facing out, and fell forward through the doorway.