Stratton’s lack of response was not helping Jason’s growing concern one bit. ‘If you kill us you’ll be making a big mistake!’ the scientist shouted in desperation, suddenly convinced that the Russians intended to murder them.
The officer also found that comment amusing. ‘I really don’t give a damn who you are or what you’re doing here. I spent many years in England. I hate you people. You have become soft! You no longer know how to rule, yet you continue to play your little games. Your day has come to an end . . . yours in particular.’
Another patch of turbulence rocked the helicopter. This time all those standing lost their balance momentarily as the helicopter dipped and juddered. Jason found himself falling to the side, the Russian behind him unable to hold on.
The soldier holding Stratton let go to secure himself. The operative stared down at the passing ground far below, managing somehow to remain on the edge yet unable to move away from it. What he did next was the result of a keen survival instinct and a belief that the Russian officer intended to kill them, one way or another. Against these zero odds of survival he could see only one wild option left to him. Even if he succeeded they would all most likely die anyway. But dying trying was better than not trying at all.
Stratton reached out and grabbed the door gunner by the collar, lifted the man out of his seat and with every ounce of strength he had threw him out into the void. Stratton looked doomed to follow the screaming gunner but as he fell he seized hold of the butt of the weapon that had turned outwards on its mounting. His feet left the edge of the ramp, his body swinging outside the craft. He hung for a second, far above the tundra, dangling in the wind, the gun the only thing stopping him from falling. Gripping the trigger guard, he swung his feet back up to find the edge of the ramp, the barrel now pointing back inside the helicopter. The soldiers went for their guns. The officer, standing a few feet away, opened his mouth in horror at the sight. Stratton couldn’t stop himself from squeezing the trigger even if he had wanted to. He was holding on to it for dear life. The gun chattered to life with horrendous power and the first rounds punched through the officer, hammering his instantly lifeless body back into the craft. Stratton yawed the deadly machine gun on its axis, one side to the other. The rounds chewed up the cabin and those inside it. They tore through the bulkheads, ripped up boxes and shattered the craft’s small windows. He hit each soldier with several rounds, at such close range tearing each man to shreds, the bullets passing through several of them at a time.
The machine gun ate hungrily into the ammunition belt that shuddered out of the feeder box, the empty casings flying into the air.
Rounds spat into the thin wall at the front of the helicopter and through both pilots beyond it, shattering the blood-stained windshields. Sparks flew from the holed instruments panel. The dead pilots released the controls, flopping in their seats, and the power went out of the rotors.
The weapon went suddenly quiet as the last link of rounds was consumed. The Haze’s engines had ceased to scream and although the rotors still turned their power was greatly reduced. The most dominant sound was the wind rushing in through the back and out of the smashed windows on the sides and at the front of the helicopter.
Stratton had killed them all, every last one of them.
The aircraft began to rotate as the tail rotor came to a stop, the gradually increasing rate of spin making it difficult for Stratton to climb back inside. He reached along the top of the gun and pulled himself in far enough to grab the framework from where he could get onto the deck.
Only then did he think of his travelling companion. A quick scan around suggested he had fallen out of the craft but then he saw the scientist’s hands wrapped around one of the door struts, the rest of his body dangling in the air, nothing below him but the Russian countryside. Stratton scrambled over to the side of the opening, hooked his arm around the bulkhead and reached down for Jason Mansfield.
The turning motion was making it increasingly difficult for Jason to hang on.
‘Grab my hand!’ Stratton shouted.
Jason needed both hands just to hold on. To relinquish one seemed to him to be fatal.
‘Now!’ Stratton yelled, his own position more than tenuous.
Jason went for it, pulling himself a little closer and lunging towards Stratton. The operative did not fail him. He gripped Jason’s wrist, planted a foot firmly against the door frame and pulled back with all the strength he had left. Both men rolled into the cabin as the spinning Haze fell. Fuel came cascading down the bulkheads from bullet holes in the ceiling that had punctured the tanks. As if they didn’t have enough problems, the smouldering instruments panel ignited and flames burst into the cabin from the cockpit.
Stratton could not see the ground rushing up towards them but it was clearly happening. ‘Get ready to take the impact!’ he shouted.
‘I admire your humour!’
‘If it doesn’t hit nose down we can survive it!’
‘Have you done this before?’
Stratton looked up at the cockpit. ‘Not on fire!’
Jason’s confidence was not improved by the comment.
The flames licked down the walls and the cabin began to fill with smoke. Fuel dripped onto Jason’s arm and caught alight. He rolled frantically across the floor as he fought to extinguish the flames. Burning fuel splashed Stratton’s boots and trousers. They might be roasted alive even before the helicopter crashed.
The sudden impact was tremendous. The wheels and undercarriage of the huge copter collapsed beneath it, crushed into the ground. The violent contact ripped away the open rear doors and the tail collapsed, the smaller rotor crashing down into the hard-packed snow. A huge snowdrift absorbed a great portion of the impact. Yet the Haze had come down on the incline of a hill so it tipped and rolled onto its side. The main rotors buckled like straws and the heavy chopper’s momentum took it down the slope. The two men inside it had been thrown flat by the force of the landing, then, as the cabin turned over, they had rolled up the sides and into the flames. As the rotor hub sank into the snow the craft skewed round so that the rear opening led the way downhill. It slid along like a great whale with its mouth open.
Stratton and Jason tumbled down into the snow that was being scooped inside the opening. It helped to extinguish some of the flames on their clothing but not all of them. As Stratton looked out the back he saw some kind of wooden structure covered in snow. They were going to hit it. Whatever it was. Yet right now outside was far better than in. ‘Go!’ Stratton yelled, clambering to his feet. He ran across the bulkhead towards the opening. Jason was up and behind him, both of them still alight. As they reached the opening the helicopter struck the wooden framework which disintegrated and the back of the chopper abruptly dropped as if it had broken through something.
The sudden fall hurled Stratton and Jason out of the back of the mangled Haze. As they braced for the ground it did not arrive. Because they had missed it. It became instantly dark and they continued to fall, both still ablaze, the wind fanning the flames on their clothing as they dropped into utter darkness. Neither of them could remotely comprehend what was happening. It was as though they had died and were accelerating straight into hell.
They could see nothing in the pitch dark by the time they struck the water like a pair of flaming meteorites. The force hit them like a hammer blow and they plunged beneath the surface, arms and legs flailing in desperation, fighting for their lives. Stratton pushed the water behind him madly, stroke after rapid stroke in the direction he thought was up. As his lungs tightened he burst through to the surface, thrashing around for something to grab. He couldn’t see a damned thing. His hand brushed a rough-textured wall and he did his best to cling to it. Jason spluttered to the surface somewhere nearby, thrashing around and gasping for air.