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“How long is this flight?” she demanded unevenly.
“Too long for all of us, ma’am,” Curtis drawled in his best good-ole-boy tone.
“God, was it this bad flying up from Cusco?”
“About on par with what we’re fightin’ right now, ma’am. Y’all jess’ kick-back and try to relax now, hear?”
The Night Stalker pilot had the sickest ironic humor Lauren had ever encountered. She’d be shitting her pants if she was up in the cockpit right now. She heard the blades thunking, heard more power being fed to them by the copilot who played intricately with the overhead throttles between the seats. They would be climbing from sixty-five hundred feet to twelve thousand feet. She noticed that, one at a time, the pilots were putting on oxygen masks. So did the air crewman.
“Where’s our O2?” Lauren demanded.
“None to give out to you, ma’am. But don’t you worry yore pretty little head, though. Hypoxia only begins to occur at ten thousand feet and above. We’re climbin’ to twelve-five but it’s only for twenty minutes. Hypoxia don’t really start makin’ your brain funny and helpin’ you make poor decisions for about thirty minutes. So, you’re safe. You might feel a tad dizzy, but that’s all. It will wear off fast once we got your boots back on the ground.”
She felt Alex laughing. It rumbled through his chest, beneath her ear and cheek.
“Captain, has anyone ever accused you of being a sadist in the air?” Lauren growled.
Chuckling, Curtis said, “Yes, ma’am, many a time. It’s just part of the perks you get flyin’ with us loco, Texan, Night Stalker types. We’re a well-known group among ’em,” and he chortled indulgently, enjoying every second of this ride.
Alex laughed again. Lauren didn’t think it was funny. How long was this even, straight flight going to last?
“Very funny,” she muttered.
“You do know, ma’am? Our Night Stalker motto?”
“No, I’m not aware of it, Captain Curtis. What is it?”
“Death waits in the dark.”
Both pilots laughed hilariously and uproariously, as if it were an inside joke.
Alex was howling right along with them.
Lauren scowled. “You’re all a bunch of sick bastards,” was all she’d mutter.
Her helmet phones erupted with even more roars of hearty, high-hilarity laughter.
And then, the Hawk hit a wall of clear air turbulence. Lauren felt the g-forces shift violently within the bird. It felt as if invisible hands were tearing her out of Alex’s arms. It was so powerful that she cried out, her grip loosening from around his waist, fingers ripped away from his belt. She was being flung toward the door.
The bird flailed.
Blades chugged.
Engines roared, and then screamed.
Lauren slammed into the door, nearly knocking herself out. She saw stars behind her tightly-shut eyes.
The helicopter floundered, on its side, sliding sideways through the air. She was pinned against the door. No one could move, the g-forces too much.
She heard the captain grunt, “…great balls of fire…”
They were out of control! The blades were shuddering and chopping. The Hawk was trembling, as if being torn apart by unseen hands out in the darkness.
Suddenly, they were level again!
Giving a cry of relief, Lauren collapsed against the deck, panting for breath. Her pounding heart felt like it was going to tear out of her chest. Adrenaline was surging through her. She had thought the door would give way, and she’d be hurled out into the darkness, falling God only knew how many thousands of feet to her death.
“Lauren.”
