“Well… what we don’t do is continue on to Gondar Airport where a reception committee will be waiting for us.”
No one replied to that, then Mercado announced, “We need to fly to French Somaliland.” He asked, “Can we do that?”
Purcell glanced at his fuel gauge. “The fuel should not be a problem.” But they could have other problems with that idea.
Purcell saw that the helicopter had also reduced its speed to maintain the distance between the aircraft. He understood that the helicopter pilot wanted the Navion to follow him into Gondar.
Mercado suggested, “You may want to turn east now.” He reminded Purcell, “French Somaliland is that way.”
“Right.”
Vivian was slumped in her seat. She said softly, “It’s over. We never got a chance…”
Mercado said comfortingly, “We will come back.”
Purcell noticed that the helicopter had slipped to the right and was higher now, so that Purcell had a side view of it, and the pilot had a better view of the Navion.
Mercado said, “We have to turn east, old man.” He asked, “Can we outrun this helicopter?”
“Depends on too many unknowns…” Purcell said to Vivian, “Give me the binoculars.”
She gave them to him and Purcell focused with his left hand while he flew with his right. The helicopter was olive drab, definitely military, and on the side of the fuselage was a red star. He said, “It’s a Huey… UH-1D… saw a million of them in ’Nam…” In fact, this was the same type of helicopter that Getachu had used, and maybe it was the same one that had taken them to prison in Addis. He added, “His top speed would be about the same as ours.” He lowered the binoculars and said, “Also, I can see a door gunner.”
“A what?”
“A fellow sitting in the door opening with a mounted machine gun. Probably an M-60, and there is probably another one on the other side.” He added, “I don’t see anyone in the cabin, so General Getachu is not on board.”
No one replied.
Purcell noticed that the distance between him and the helicopter was again closing. He was barely doing seventy miles per hour, and the helicopter pilot, of course, could do zero if he wanted to, so Purcell was going to pass alongside that machine gun unless he turned.
Mercado said again, “You really need to turn, Frank.”
“Right… but I’m thinking this guy will follow us toward French Somaliland, and even if I can outrun him, I can’t outrun a stream of 7.62-millimeter machine-gun rounds.”
Vivian drew a deep breath. “Oh, God…”
Purcell continued, “Also, even if I could stay out of his machine-gun range, he will radio for support, and the Ethie Air Force might scramble some kind of fighter aircraft.”
Mercado processed all that and said, “We have no choice then… we must continue on to Gondar.”
Purcell told them, “I don’t think we’re going to be as lucky in General Getachu’s headquarters as we were last time.”
No one replied, but then Mercado said again, “We’ve done nothing illegal.” He had an idea and said firmly, “We will jettison everything that is incriminating — the camera, the maps, the photographs, the film… our camping gear — everything.”
Purcell replied, “That goes without saying, Henry. But I have to tell you both — Getachu knows, or will know, what we are doing here, and he will not hesitate to use any means that comes into his sick mind to get us to tell him everything he wants to know.”
Vivian put her hands over her face. “Oh my God…”
Purcell continued, “And if he also asks us about Colonel Gann, one of us will eventually say Shoan.”
Vivian was visibly shaken, but she sat up in her seat, took a deep breath, and said, “I would rather die trying to get away.”
Purcell agreed. “That would be preferable to what awaits us in Gondar.” He asked, “Henry?”
Mercado did not respond.
Purcell looked out the windshield and saw that he was only about five hundred yards behind and to the left of the helicopter. He could now see the left door gunner leaning out, attached to his harness, looking back at them, with the machine gun pointed at the Navion.
He slid the Navion to the right to get directly behind the helicopter, but the pilot also slid to the right, so his door gunner could keep them in sight. Purcell knew he couldn’t play this game with a highly maneuverable helicopter, so he maintained his position, but reduced his airspeed as low as he could without going into a stall. He needed time to think.
Vivian said to him, “Frank… we have to get away from him. Can you do that?”
He was already considering his options. If he made a sudden dive left or right, one or the other door gunners could easily blow them out of the sky. If he climbed, he could possibly pass over the helicopter, and if he kept directly in front of him and got some distance, the door gunners might not be able to swivel their guns that far to the front — but the helicopter pilot only had to swivel his aircraft to give one or the other of his gunners an easy shot at the retreating Navion.
His only chance was to go into a dive — to get into the blind spot below the pilot and the door gunners. He’d have the dive speed he needed to possibly get beyond the accurate range of the machine guns before the helicopter pilot could position his aircraft to give one of his gunners a shot.
Vivian put her hand on his shoulder. “Frank?”
He asked Mercado, “Have you come to a decision, Henry? Run or follow this asshole to Gondar?”
Again, Mercado did not reply.
Purcell looked at the distant horizon. Lake Tana was coming up, and so was Gondar. It was possible, he thought, that the Ethiopian Air Force had already scrambled fighters or more helicopters to make sure they didn’t lose them. He was a few minutes away from having no options left.
Mercado said, “Run.”
“Okay…” He looked at his airspeed and altimeter and considered what to do, and how best to do it. His rate of descent in a dive would be greater than the Huey’s, and his airspeed, too, would be greater. But, as he said, he couldn’t outrun a bullet.
The helicopter was nearly hovering now, about three hundred yards away, and he saw the left door gunner making a sweeping motion with his arm, indicating that the Navion should pass and get in front of the helicopter on the approach into Gondar.
That was not what Purcell wanted to do, and it suddenly became clear to him what he needed to do. And he’d known this almost from the beginning.
He reached up and moved the plastic aiming disc on its flexible arm so that it was in front of his face.
Mercado asked in a forcibly controlled voice, “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Are you insane?”
Purcell moved the switch under the instrument panel to the “Fire” position.
Vivian watched him, but said nothing.
The helicopter was less than two hundred yards away, and the door gunner kept waving his arm for the Navion to pass.
Purcell dipped his right wing as though he were going to bank right, and the helicopter pilot, who’d either seen this or heard from his left door gunner, slid his helicopter to the right to keep the Navion on his left.
Purcell pushed forward on the throttle and shoved his rudder hard right, causing the Navion to yaw right, with its nose now pointed at the helicopter. He lined up the helicopter in the red concentric circles of the plastic disc and pushed the firing button, praying that the electrical connection to the rocket pod was working.
The rocket shot out of the pod with a rushing sound and trailed a white smoke stream toward the Huey, less than two hundred yards away now.
Vivian let out a startled sound and Mercado shouted, “Oh God!”