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there was nothing wrong. He pressed gently on the cyclic stick and toed the
right tail-rotor pedal to bring the nose around. As the Hughes wheeled to
the right the man called Bradley said sharply, What do you think you re
doing? No course changes till I say
Just like that, just as Jesse neutralized the controls to steady the
Hughes on its new course, the engine stopped. There was no preliminary
loss of power or change of sound: one second the Allison turbine was
howling away back there and the next it wasn t. Just in case nobody had
noticed, the red engine-out light began blinking, while the warning horn at
the top of the instrument console burst into a pulsating, irritating hoot.
Immediately Jesse shoved the collective all the way down, letting the
main rotor go into autorotation. Under his breath he said, Damn, eduda,
how come you always cut it so close?
What? What the hell? Bradley sounded more pissed off than
seriously scared. What s happening, Ninekiller?
Jesse didn t bother answering. He was watching the air-speed needle
and easing back on the cyclic, slowing the Hughes to its optimum speed for
maximum power-off gliding range. When the needle settled to eighty knots
and the upper tach showed a safe 410 rotor rpm he exhaled, not loudly,
and glanced at Bradley. Hey, he said, and pointed one-fingered at the
radio without taking his hand off the cyclic grip. Call it in?
Negative. Bradley didn t hesitate. No distress calls. Maintain radio
silence.
Right, Jesse thought. And that flight plan we filed was bogus as a
tribal election, too. Archaeologist my Native American ass.
But there was no time to waste thinking about spooky passengers.
Jesse studied the desert floor, which was rising to meet them at a
distressing rate. It looked pretty much like the rest of Egypt, which seemed
to consist of miles and miles and miles of simple doodly-squat, covered
with rocks and grayish-yellow sand. At least this part didn t have those big
ripply dunes, which might look neat but would certainly make a forced
landing almost unbear-ably fascinating.
Get set, he told Bradley. This might be a little rough.
For a minute there it seemed the warning had been unnecessary.
Jesse made a school-perfect landing, flaring out at seventy-five feet with
smooth aft pressure on the cyclic, leveling off at about twenty and bringing
the collec-tive back up to cushion the final descent. As the skids touched
down he thought: damn, I m good.
Then the left skid sank into a pocket of amazingly soft sand and the
Hughes tilted irresistibly, not all the way onto its side but far enough for the
still-moving rotor blades to beat themselves to death against the ground;
and things did get a little rough.
When the lurching and slamming and banging finally stopped Bradley
said, Great landing, Ninekiller. He began undoing his safety harness. Oh,
well, any landing you can walk away from is a good one. Isn t that what you
pilots say?
Jesse, already out of his own harness and busy flipping switches
off there was no reason to do that now, but fixed habits were what kept
you alive thought of a couple of things one pilot would like to say. But he
kept his mouth shut and waited while Bradley got the right door open, his
own being jammed against the ground. They clambered out and stood for a
moment looking at the Hughes and then at their surroundings.
Walk away is what we got to do, I guess, Bradley observed. He took
off his mesh-back cap and rubbed his head, which was bald except for a
couple of patches around the ears. Maybe to compensate, he wore a bristly
mustache that, combined with a snubby nose and big tombstone teeth,
made him look a little like Teddy Roose-velt. His skin was reddish-pink and
looked as if it would burn easily. Jesse wondered how long he was going to
last in the desert sun.
He climbed back into the Hughes Jesse started to warn him about
the risk of fire but decided what the hell and rummaged around in back,
emerging a few minutes later with a green nylon duffel bag, which he slung
over his shoulder. Well, he said, jumping down, guess we bet-ter look at
the map.
Grandfather s voice said, Keep going the way you were. Few miles
on, over that rise where the rock sticks out, there s water.
Jesse said, Wado, eduda, and then, as Bradley looked strangely at
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