"no. sorry, but i'm waiting until he arrives or we both leave."
lochart shrugged, his spirit as drab as the day. as soon as he had arrived he had worked out mciver's tentative schedule: "freddy, mac was safe out of the kowiss system by eleven-twenty. say at the very outside he flies on for another half an hour, then another half an hour, maximum, to fake the emergency, land and get rid of kia, maximum an hour to get here, absolute max. at the very outside means one-thirty. my bet's he'll be here one to one-fifteen."
but it was after two and no mac yet and maybe no mac at all there's got to've been a foul-up. he studied the clouds, seeking answers in the weather, and refining plans and counterplans. empty drums were in a neat pile, another five still full. the drums had been brought here during routine runs to the rigs
and cached under tarpaulins and camouflaged with sand and seaweed. out to sea, barely visible, was a rig, high above the water level, perched on stilts.
he had had no trouble getting here from kowiss. as soon as they were airborne and it was safe, wazari had crawled forward. "best you stay under cover until we're launched into the gulf," lochart had said. but once they had landed, wazari had become very sick so he had changed his mind and told the others what had happened. now wazari had recovered and was accepted. but still considered suspect.
the shore stank of rotting fish and seaweed. wind, steady at about thirty knots, throbbed the rotor blades, still adverse to their planned escape route to kuwait. the murky ceiling had lowered, now down to about two hundred feet. but little of this registered on lochart. more and more his mind was pulled northward to tehran and sharazad while his hearing reached out over the wind and the waves for the sound of the 206. come on, mac, he prayed. come on, don't let me down. come on mac, don't let me down...
then he heard her. a few seconds to make sure, and he jumped out of the cabin, mouth slightly open to increase the strength of his hearing and directional ability. now ayre came out of his reverie and was beside him, both of them peering into the overcast, listening now, the engine growing louder, out to sea, then passing them by and lochart cursed. "he's missed us!"
"vhf?" ayre asked.
"too goddamn dangerous... not yet... he'll make another pass, he's too good not to."
again waiting, sound of the engines dying, dying, then the level holding. the engine sound grew. again the chopper made a pass and missed them and began to die away, then once more turned back. engine sounds growing and growing, then she came down through the murk half a mile up the beach, spotted them and began her approach. no doubt now that she was theirs, mclver the pilot and alone. they cheered.
in the 206 cockpit: mclver had had a very hard time finding the rendezvous, mud flats all looking the same, coastline the same, with conditions bad. then he had remembered the nonworking rig just offshore and had eased out to find it and, using that as a marker, had come inland.
when his skids were solid on the ground he muttered, "thank god for that," and exhaled, stomach aching and desperate to urinate, opened the cockpit door at once, and said over their questions, "sorry, got to pee. freddy, shut her down for me, will you?" lochart, who was closer, said, "i'll do her, mac."
"thanks." mclver had unsnapped his seat belt, scrambled out, and hurried under the blades for the nearest dune. when he could speak he glanced around,
saw ayre waiting for him, the others over by the 212s."my back teeth've been floating for an hour or more."
"i know how it feels."
mciver shook himself, zipped up, and noticed wazari. "what the hell's he doing here?"
"tom thought it best to bring him, safer than leaving him and he did help. we'd better get going, mac. we're all refueled. what about the 206?"
"we'll have to leave her." she was not equipped with long-range tanks and it would take too much time to rig a temporary inflight refueling system. even then, this adverse wind would gulp fuel and make the voyage not possible. mciver pointed out to sea, "i thought about parking her on the rig in the hope we could come back and pick her up, but that's a pipe dream. there's not enough space to land her and a 212 at the same time to pick me up. bloody shame, but there you are."
"no problem with kia?"
"no. he was a bit of a pain in the butt an " he whirled. behind them lochart had gunned the 206 and now she was lifting and backing away. "for god's sake, tom..." he bellowed and ran for the helicopter but lochart backed faster and hauled her up twenty feet. "tommmm!"
lochart leaned out of the cockpit window. "don't wait for me, mac!" he shouted.
"but you're almost out of fuel..."
"there's plenty for the moment i'll wait till you're gone then i'll refuel. see you in al shargaz!"
"what the hell's he playing at?" ayre said dumbfounded.
"sharazad," mciver said, cursing himself for forgetting. "he must've had fifty plans to take the 206, one way or another." then he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "tom, you'll screw up whirlwind for christ's sake! you've got to come with us!"
"they'll never make me a hostage, mac! never! it's on my head, not yours... it's my decision, by god. now push off!"
mciver thought a second, then bellowed, "land now, we'll refuel for you, save you trouble." he saw lochart shake his head, point at the 212s.
"i'm going back for sharazad," lochart shouted. "i)on't try and stop me or wait me out... it's my neck not yours... happy landings." he waved then moved away to safety down the beach, turned into wind facing them and landed. but the engines were kept up, ready for instant takeoff.
"no way to rush him," mciver muttered, furious with himself for not being prepared.
"we... we could wait till he runs out of fuel," ayre said.
"tom's too smart to be trapped." almost in panic mciver glanced at his
watch, his mind giddy. "bloody fools, me and tom." he saw all the others looking at him.
"whattre we going to do, mac?" ayre said.
mciver forced himself to think clearly: you're the leader. decide. we're terribly late. tom's decided after everything i said. that's his privilege. sorry but that means he's on his own. now think of the others. erikki's got to be all right. rudi and scragger and their lads're safe let's presume they're safe so get into the 212 and begin the next leg.
he wanted to groan aloud, the thought of having to nurse a 212 to kuwait at low level for the next two and a half hours plus almost crushed him. "bloody hell," he muttered. the others still watched him. and waited. "tom's going back to get his wife we'll leave him to it."
"but if he gets caught, won't that screw whirlwind?" ayre asked.
"no. tom's on his own. you heard what he said. we're leaving for kuwait as planned. everyone into freddy's 212, i'll take lochart's. off you all go and we'll stay low and close. radio silence until we're well across the line." mciver went for the other 212. uneasily they looked at one another. they had all noticed his pallor and all knew about his lack of a medical.
kyle, the short, lithe mechanic went after him. "mae, no point in going alone, i'll fly with you."
"thanks, but no. everyone in freddy's machine! come on, get with it!"
ayre said, "mae, i'll go and talk to tom. he must be crazy, i'll persuade him to come to kuw "
"you won't. if it was gen, i'd be just as crazy. everyone get aboard!" at that moment, the sound of two jet fighters at low level going through the sound barrier drowned the beach. the silence they left behind was vast.
"jesus." wazari shivered. "captain, if you'll have me along, i'll fly with you?"
"no, everyone with freddy, i'd prefer to fly alone."
"your nonlicense makes no odds to me." wazari shrugged. "insha'allah! i'll monitor the radio." he jerked his thumb skyward: "those bastards won't speak english." he turned for the 212 and got into the left seat.
ayre said, "it's a good idea, mac."
"all right. we'll stay close and low as planned. freddy, if one of us runs into trouble the other goes on." at ayre's look, "i mean any trouble." a last look at lochart, mciver waved again and went aboard. he was very glad not to be alone. "thanks," he said to wazari. "i don't know what'll happen at kuwait, sergeant, but i'll help all i can." he locked his seat belt and pressed engine start on number one.
"sure. thanks. hell, i got nothing to lose; my head's busting, i've had every aspirin outta the medical packs... what happened with kia?"
mclver adjusted the volume of his headset, pressed engine start on number two, checking fuel tanks and instruments as he spoke. "i had to do the emergency a little later than i planned landed about a mile from a village but it went fine, too fine, the bugger fainted and then i couldn't get him out of the cockpit. somehow he'd entwined himself in his seat and shoulder belts and i couldn't get him free. didn't have a bloody knife to cut him loose. i tried every way, pushing and pulling, but the catch had stuck so i gave up and waited for him to come around. while i waited i got his luggage out and put it nearer to the road where he'd find it. when he came to, i had the hell's own job getting him to leave the cockpit." mciver's fingers went accurately from switch to switch. "eventually i pretended we had a fire and jumped out, leaving him. that did it and he somehow got the catch undone and left in a hurry. i'd kept the engines running, bloody dangerous but had to chance it, and once he was clear, i rushed back and took off. scraped a rock or two but no sweat..."
his heart had been pounding, his throat dry at the frantic takeoff, kia clawing at the door handle, raving at him, hanging on, one foot on the skid, mciver afraid he would have to land again. fortunately kia's nerve failed and he let go and dropped back the few feet they were off the ground, and now mciver was free and away. he had circled once to make sure kia was all right. the last he saw of kia, he was shaking his fist and red with rage. then he had set course for the coast, hugging the undulating trees and rocks. and though he was safe, the pounding in his chest did not lessen. waves of nausea and heat began to sweep through him.
it's just the strain of the last week or so catching up, he had told himself grimly. just strain and trying to haul that bugger out of the cockpit, along with worries over whirlwind, and being scared fartless by the mullah's questioning.
for a few more minutes after leaving kia, he had flown onward. difficult to concentrate. pain increasing. controls unfamiliar. a spasm of nausea and he almost lost control so decided to land and rest a moment. he was still in the mountain foothills, rocks and clumps of trees and snow, the ceiling low and fairly thin. through a haze of sickness he chose the first possible plateau and landed. the landing was not good and that, more than anything, frightened him very much. nearby was a stream, partially frozen, the water frothing as it tumbled down the rocks. the water beckoned him. in bad pain he shut down, stumbled over to it, lay on the snow and drank deeply. the shock of the cold made him retch and when the spasm had passed he cleansed his mouth and drank sparingly. this and the cold of the air helped him. a handful of snow rubbed into the back of his neck and temples made him feel even better. gradually the pain lessened, the tingling in his left arm went away. when it
had almost gone he groped to his feet and, stumbling a little, made the cockpit, sank back in his seat.
his cockpit was warm and cozy and familiar enclosing. automatically he snapped his seat belt. silence filled his ears and his head. only the sound of the wind, and the water, no engines or traffic or static, nothing but the softness of the wind and water. peacefulness. his eyelids were heavier than they had ever been. he closed them. and slept.
his sleep was deep and barely half an hour and very good. when he awoke he was revitalized no pain, no discomfort, just a little light- headed as though he had dreamed the pain. he stretched gloriously. tiny sound of metal clinking against metal. he looked around. seated on a small mountain pony, watching him silently, was a youth, a tribesman. in a saddle sheath was a rifle and another was across his back with a bandolier of cartridges.
the two of them stared at each other, then the youth smiled and the plateau seemed to light up. "salaam, agha."
"salaam, agha." mciver smiled back, surprised that he was completely unafraid, somehow put at his ease by the wild beauty of the youth. "loftan befarmatid shoma ki hastid?" he used one of his few stock phrases: may i ask who you are?
"agha mohammed rud kahani," and then some words mciver did not understand and he finished with another smile and, "kash'kai."
"ah, kash'kai," mciver nodded, understanding that the youth was one of the nomadic tribes that spread across the zagros. he pointed at himself. "agha mciver," and added another stock phrase, "mota assef an, man zaban-e shoma ra khoob nami danam." sorry, i don't speak your language.
"insha'allah. america?"
"english. englishman." he was watching himself and the other man. helicopter and horse, pilot and tribesman, gulfs between them but no threat, one to the other. "sorry, i must go now," he said in english, then parodied, flying away with his hands. "khoda haefez, " good-bye, "agha mohammed kash'kai."
