Chinook
Page 25
“You’ll also want to switch off any cross-tank transfer pumps or that leak is going to empty the plane of fuel faster than a possum up a gum tree.”
Now that she’d pointed it out, he could see the dribble, okay, the fair gush of petrol going the wrong way.
“Oh, one more thing.” She dumped the parts of a handgun into his lap, then reached forward and patted the head of the man seated in front of her.
He cringed as if he’d just been whacked by a hammer—a ruddy farrier’s one. For shoeing Budweiser Clydesdales.
“I didn’t really want to give that back to your air marshal. He seems inclined to want to shoot me.”
“Happen much?”
“Not anymore.” She offered a luminous smile.
“How—”
No time for finding out how she knew any of that.
“You—”
Nor how she’d disarmed an air marshal.
“ATSB structural specialist on loan to the NTSB,” she answered his first question at least.
On the Australian and the Yanks’ Transportation Safety Boards? That explained a hell of a lot.
Definitely time to get back to report to the captain.
“You’re with me.” He shoved to his feet.
Or tried to.
She hooked onto his belt and used it to slam him back into the seat before he was half out of it.
“What?”
“Don’t want to scare the B&S unless you’re into a dog’s breakfast,” and her broad Strine was back.
He looked up the long aisles.
A Bachelor and Spinsters Ball was a common dance party in rural Australia—a fun and typically very big gathering. Maybe not as many as were presently on the plane but on a good night…maybe. It wasn’t only singles who came out for a B&S Ball dance.
And a dog’s breakfast was always a proper mess.
Right-o, he’d leave the passengers to their quiet sleep and free-movie pacifiers.
He did his best to smile at the blonde and rose as normally as he could.
She smiled back like she hadn’t a care in the world.
***
“Dani. It’s me. I have a tag-along,” he looked at the pieces of the air marshal’s gun that he’d carried up the aisle. “I’m the one with the weapon. We’re good as Vegemite.”
He ignored the blonde’s snort of laughter.
It was today’s agreed-on safe word. Without it, Captain Dani Evers wouldn’t have opened the door.
There was a sharp snap as the cockpit door’s three heavy bolts unlocked.
He swung it open and flinched when he saw the captain’s sidearm aimed to just behind him. Quint hadn’t known that Dani was one of the thirty percent of airline pilots who now flew armed. He showed her the gun parts, not that he had a clue how to put them together, then moved for his copilot’s seat and dropped them into a cup holder.
Dani lowered her aim just enough to center on the blonde’s chest as soon as he was out of the way.
“Clean as if I showered just last Thursday.” The blonde didn’t flinch. Instead, she did a slow turn with her hands out, like she was a runway model for airplane disasters, then shut the door behind them.
“Who is she and why is she in my cockpit? And how bad off is my engine?”
“Bad. Gone.”
“Explain.”
He just waved a hand at the woman.
She sat in the jump seat located just behind and to the left of his own righthand seat. She slipped on a headset, then propped her feet up on the end of the central radio console that ran between his and Dani’s positions as if she was kicking back at home to view a program on the telly.
Dani offered the blonde one of her patented Looks of Death.
The feet went away. Experience had taught him that Dani Evers’ Look of Death could scorch a pushy guy in a pub right down into a puddle on the beer-stained floor. He could almost feel the blonde shrug as if it was no big deal.
However, in keeping with her stated background, she launched into her observations, explaining the status to Dani in a way that was detailed, concise, and rattled off like the professional she claimed to be.
Quint buckled in and cut the fuel flow to the left wing.
Dani looked at him in question when she described the damage to the wing.
He nodded that it looked exactly as bad as the assessment made it sound.
Dani’s semi-eyeroll was her version of a violent curse—not something you did when the cockpit voice recorder was listening. It was one of the many reasons he liked flying with Captain Dani Evers. No games; there was never any question about what she was thinking.
He watched the fuel gauges for a minute to make sure the flow had stopped, and tried not to feel incompetent just listening to the passenger.
“You’ve got an ETOPS-330 rating on this jet,” she reminded them as she finished her analysis. “Three hundred and thirty minutes of Extended Operations flying time on a single engine. All that right ripper ability won’t be doing you a spec of good if the wing comes a cropper first.”
“We’re eighty minutes past Hawaii,” Quint checked the charts. Then glanced back at the blonde.
She was staring at the Escape Rope cubby beside the overhead breaker panel. There was one on each side so that, in the event of a crash blocking the cockpit door, he and Dani could open a side window and descend safely.
It had always been an academic bit of knowledge from training—maybe not anymore.
After a long study, she turned back to him.
“I might just be chucking a wobbly,” she was perhaps the least berserk person he’d ever seen, “but I don’t think you have reaching-Hawaii kind of time. And eighty minutes past Hawaii means that Howland Island is the next nearest watering hole, two hours the other way—that’s if you want to be landing on a deserted sandy beach and curling up in a watery sleepout with Amelia Earhart. Howland’s the place she never reached in the end. Leaves you but one squat to plant your tush.” She stopped, not telling him where, of course.
Quint had to search around a bit until he found Johnston Atoll. The island was abandoned and the runway closed, which was why it hadn’t shown up right away as an alternate field. It was less than twenty minutes away. It would take them that long to descend seven miles—unless they lost the wing, then it would be much faster. More like ninety seconds, which wouldn’t end well.
Technically, Johnston wasn’t available for any kind of landing. But nine thousand feet of decommissioned US military-grade runway compared with crashing into the ocean when their wing fell off wasn’t a contest for him. He’d argue with the Yanks’ FAA after he’d survived. Better, he’d let Dani do it; she was the Captain after all.
“How sure are you?” Dani asked as Quint put Johnston on the center screen, then flipped the radio to the satellite frequency for their airline’s emergency mechanic.
“Personally, I’m surprised we’re still aloft.” The blonde recrossed her legs the other way as if she had nothing better to do. He did notice that despite her apparent ease, she’d put on the jump-seat’s full five-point seat harness: lap belt, shoulders, and the crotch belt from the front edge of the cushion to the central clasp that any mere tourist would have missed.
“Who the hell are you?” Quint felt as if he should know. But even thinking about her being in a totally unexpected place, he couldn’t account for her.
“Sergeant Holly Harper, retired from the Oz Special Air Service Regiment. At your service, mate. Wondered when you were going to ask.”
Quint could only stare at her.
Couldn’t even blink.
SASR were the elite special operators of the entire Australian military. Which explained why she was so calm in a crisis.
What it didn’t explain was…Holly Harper?
“Christ. I thought you were dead.”
“Close a few times, maybe more than a few, but not yet. Why were you thinking that?”
It would take far too long to explain.
He turned to Captain Evers.
“We’re going down, Dani. We need to get on the ground fast.”
Because if there was anyone who knew about surviving, it was Holly Harper.
About the Author
USA Today and Amazon #1 Bestseller M. L. “Matt” Buchman started writing on a flight south from Japan to ride his bicycle across the Australian Outback. Just part of a solo around-the-world trip that ultimately launched his writing career.
From the very beginning, his powerful female heroines insisted on putting character first, then a great adventure. He’s since written over 60 action-adventure thrillers and military romantic suspense novels. And just for the fun of it: 100 short stories, and a fast-growing pile of read-by-author audiobooks.
Booklist says: “3X Top 10 of the Year.” PW says: “Tom Clancy fans open to a strong female lead will clamor for more.” His fans say: “I want more now…of everything.” That his characters are even more insistent than his fans is a hoot.
As a 30-year project manager with a geophysics degree who has designed and built houses, flown and jumped out of planes, and solo-sailed a 50’ ketch, he is awed by what is possible. More at: www.mlbuchman.com.
Also by M. L. Buchman
* also in audio
Thrillers
Dead Chef
One Chef!
Two Chef!
Miranda Chase NTSB
Drone*
Thunderbolt*
Condor*
Ghostrider*
Raider*
Chinook* (Mar 2021)
Havoc* (April 2021)
White Top* (May 2021)
Romantic Suspense
Delta Force
Target Engaged*
Heart Strike*
Wild Justice*
Midnight Trust*
Firehawks
Main Flight
Pure Heat
Full Blaze
Hot Point*
Flash of Fire*
Wild Fire
Smokejumpers
Wildfire at Dawn
Wildfire at Larch Creek
Wildfire on the Skagit
The Night Stalkers
Main Flight
The Night Is Mine
I Own the Dawn
Wait Until Dark
Take Over at Midnight
Light Up the Night
Bring On the Dusk
By Break of Day
and the Navy
Christmas at Steel Beach
Christmas at Peleliu Cove
White House Holiday
Daniel’s Christmas*
Frank’s Independence Day*
Peter’s Christmas*
Zachary’s Christmas*
Roy’s Independence Day*
Damien’s Christmas*
5E
Target of the Heart
Target Lock on Love
Target of Mine
Target of One’s Own
Shadow Force: Psi
At the Slightest Sound*
At the Quietest Word*
At the Merest Glance*
At the Clearest Sensation*
White House Protection Force
Off the Leash*
On Your Mark*
In the Weeds*
Contemporary Romance
Eagle Cove
Return to Eagle Cove
Recipe for Eagle Cove
Longing for Eagle Cove
Keepsake for Eagle Cove
Henderson’s Ranch
Nathan’s Big Sky*
Big Sky, Loyal Heart*
Love Abroad B&B
Heart of the Cotswolds: England
Path of Love: Cinque Terre, Italy
Where Dreams
Where Dreams are Born
Where Dreams Reside
Where Dreams Are of Christmas*
Where Dreams Unfold
Where Dreams Are Written
Science Fiction / Fantasy
Deities Anonymous
Cookbook from Hell: Reheated
Saviors 101
SF/F Titles
The Nara Reaction
Monk’s Maze
The Me and Elsie Chronicles
Non-Fiction
Strategies for Success
Managing Your Inner Artist / Writer
Estate Planning for Authors*
Character Voice
* * *
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Copyright 2021 Matthew Lieber Buchman
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author.
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Cover images:
Forest fire, Pinus pinaster, Guadalajara, Spain © jalonoshu
MH-47G Chinook © DoD
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