The rocket went high over the helicopter, just missing the rotor shaft.
The door gunner seemed frozen behind his machine gun.
Purcell fired the second rocket, which went low, passing between the landing skids and the cabin, right under the door gunner’s feet.
The door gunner fired a long burst of rounds at the Navion and the tracers streaked over the Plexiglas canopy. Vivian screamed and dove onto the floor.
The helicopter pilot made the instinctive mistake of taking evasive action, which threw off the aim of his gunner and gave Purcell a better shot at the Huey as it tilted away from him and slipped sideways and downward. Purcell again kicked the rudder to yaw farther right, and pushed hard on the control wheel to lower the Navion’s nose. He kept looking through the plastic disc as the Huey again passed into the concentric circles. The door gunner fired again, and Purcell heard the unmistakable sound of a round impacting the aircraft. He pushed the red button once, then again, firing his last two rockets.
The first smoke rocket sailed through the open cabin, past the head of the door gunner, and the second rocket hit the Plexiglas bubble and burst inside the cockpit. Billows of white smoke poured out the hole in the bubble and through the open doors of the Huey.
The pilots were either injured or blinded by smoke, or something critical was damaged in the cockpit, and the Huey’s tail boom began swinging left and right.
Purcell did not change course and continued to fly straight at the unstable helicopter. He could see the door gunner through the billowing smoke, but the man, undoubtedly terrified, had let go of his machine gun and the barrel was hanging loose.
The Huey began a slow roll to the right, then suddenly inverted and dropped like a stone into the jungle canopy below, just as the Navion passed through the airspace that the helicopter had occupied a second before. There was a barely audible explosion behind them as Purcell gave it full throttle and began to climb hard.
Purcell turned off the firing switch, slapped away the plastic aiming disc, then said to Vivian, “It’s over.”
She rose slowly back into her seat.
He asked, “Mind if I smoke?”
No one replied, and he lit a cigarette, noticing that his hand was shaking.
He glanced at Vivian. Her skin, already pale, was now stark white. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“Henry?”
No reply.
Vivian turned in her seat. “Henry? Henry?” She leaned farther into the rear compartment. “Are you all right? Did you get hit?”
“By what?”
Vivian watched him awhile, then turned around.
Purcell kept the throttle open and the Navion continued to climb.
Mercado asked, “What happened?”
Vivian replied, “The helicopter… crashed.”
He didn’t reply.
Vivian looked at Purcell. “Now what?”
“Well… the French Somaliland option is again open. But that’s over two hours from here… and the Ethiopian Air Force may be looking for us shortly.”
Mercado seemed to be fully aware now, and he cleared his voice and asked, “Do you think the helicopter pilot had time to radio anyone?”
Purcell didn’t think the pilot even had time to piss his pants after the first smoke rocket went over his head. He replied, “I don’t think so. But the helicopter is now obviously out of radio contact, so Gondar will be looking for him, and for us.”
Mercado stayed silent, then said, “I don’t see that we have any option other than French Somaliland… or perhaps Sudan. How far is that?”
Purcell glanced at his flight chart. “The Sudan border is less than two hundred miles — maybe an hour-and-a-half flight. But the Ethie Air Force won’t hesitate to pursue over the Sudan border, though they probably won’t pursue over the French territory’s border.”
Mercado seemed to be thinking, then said, “I will vote for the French border.” He reminded everyone, “We will receive a better reception there than in Sudan.”
Purcell nodded, then glanced at Vivian. “Your vote?”
She had already thought about it and said, “Shoan. Can you land there?”
Purcell thought about that. The single-lane road was too narrow, with towering trees on both sides. The open pastures, however, were a possibility.
Mercado said, “I’m not sure I’m following you, Vivian.”
“You are, Henry.” She let them both know, “We are not leaving Ethiopia. We came here to find the Holy Grail.”
Mercado pointed out, “We are now hunted fugitives. We have just committed murder.”
Purcell corrected him. “I engaged a hostile aircraft.”
“Call it what you will, old man, if it makes you feel better as they put the noose around your neck.” He said to Vivian, “We need to get out of here.”
“We will, when we finish what we came here to do.”
Purcell was still heading east, toward French Somaliland, and if they decided to change course to Sudan, they had to do it soon, before Sudan became a longer flight than the French territory. He said to Vivian, “You have two choices, and landing in Shoan is not one of them.”
“How do you know you can make it to a border before the Ethiopian Air Force shoots us down?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then land. In Shoan. How far is it?”
“Maybe… twenty or thirty minutes.”
She pointed out, “Colonel Gann is there. Waiting for us. The black monastery is down there, also waiting for us.”
Purcell thought about that. Vivian was crossing the thin line between bravery and insanity — or obsession at best. But she made good arguments.
He was about three thousand feet above the ground and climbing. Airspeed was a hundred miles per hour in the climb, but he could get a hundred fifty in a descent. He banked right and the Navion began turning south.
Mercado asked, “What are you doing?”
“We are landing in Shoan, Henry.” To be completely honest, he added, “Or we will die trying.”
“No!”
Vivian turned in her seat. “Yes!”
Vivian and Henry looked at each other for several seconds, and Purcell could imagine Vivian’s green eyes staring into Henry’s soul.
He heard Henry say, “Yes… all right.” He added, “We have come a long way to find the Grail, and we are too close to turn back.”
Vivian reached out and touched Henry’s face, then turned in her seat and stared out the windshield as the Navion picked up a southwesterly heading toward Shoan and began descending.
She turned her head toward Purcell and looked at him until he looked at her. She said softly, “I love you.”
“You love anyone who gives you your way.”
She smiled. “What is best for me, is best for us.”
He didn’t reply.
They continued their rapid descent and Purcell said, “Shoan, about ten minutes.” He added, “I will attempt a landing.”
Vivian said, “That’s all I ask of you.” She let him know, “You can do it.”
“We are about to find out.”
He cut his power and began a gradual descent toward the village, which was now visible in the distance.
If he let his imagination go, and if he excluded the surrounding jungle, the fields of Shoan could be upstate New York where he first learned to fly as a young man. His mother had said flying was dangerous and urged him to pursue something safer, like writing.
“I am glad to see you smiling.”
“I used to write for my high school newspaper and the hometown weekly. I majored in journalism in college. My mother wanted me to have a safe job.”
She smiled and said, “I’ve read only one article that you wrote. Are you any good?”
“My mother thinks so.”