"James Clavell - Whirlwind" - читать интересную книгу автора (Clavell James)

his rage burst. "infidel!" he bellowed at the airplane that now was almost over the lip of the mountain, leaped to his feet, and grabbed his gun, slipped the safety and let off a burst, then corrected and emptied the magazine.

"satan!" he shrieked in the sudden silence.

when the first bullets splashed the chopper, the young pilot, scot gavallan, was momentarily paralyzed and he stared stupidly at the holes in the plastic canopy ahead. "christ almighty..." he gasped, never having been fired on before, but his words were drowned by the man in the front seat beside him whose reactions were honed and battle fast: "hit the deck!" the command roared in his headphones.

"hit the deck," tom lochart shouted again into his boom mike, then, because he had no controls of his own, he overrode the pilot's left hand and shoved the collective lever down, cutting lift and power abruptly. the chopper reeled drunkenly, instantly losing height. at that moment the second burst sprayed them. there was an ominous crack above and behind, somewhere else a bullet howled off metal, the jets coughed, and the chopper fell out of the sky.

she was a 206 jet ranger, one pilot, four passengers, one in front, three in the back and she was full. an hour ago scot had routinely picked up the others back from a month's home leave at shiraz airport, fifty-odd miles southeast, but now routine was nightmare and the mountain rushed at them until just over a ridge the earth tumbled away miraculously and the chopper sank into a depression, giving him a split second of respite to get back air power and partial control.

"watch out for crissake!" lochart said.

scot had seen the hazard but not as quickly. now his hands and feet slid the plane into a shuddering swerve around the jutting outcrop, the left skid of the

undercarriage caught the rocks a glancing blow, howled in protest, and once more they plunged away barely a few feet above the uneven surface of rocks and trees that fell and reeled up again.

"low and fast," lochart said, "that way, scot no, that way, over there, down that crest into the ravine... are you hit?"

"no, no, i don't think so. you?"

"no, you're fine now, drop into the ravine, come on, hurry!"

scot gavallan banked obediently and fled, too low and too fast and his mind not quite normal yet. there was still the taste of bile in his mouth and his heart was pumping. from behind the partition he could hear the shouts and curses of the others in the back above the roar of the engines, but he could not risk turning and said anxiously into the intercom, "anyone hurt back there, tom?"

"forget them, concentrate, watch the ridge, i'll deal with them!" tom lochart said urgently, his eyes searching everywhere. he was forty- two, canadian, exraf, ex-mercenary, and now chief pilot of their base, zagros three. "watch the ridge and get ready to evade again. hug the deck and keep her low. watchittt!"

the ridge was slightly above them and it came at them too fast. gavallan saw the fang of rocks directly in his path. he just had time to lurch around it when a violent gust shoved him perilously near to the sheer side of the ravine. he overcorrected and heard the obscenity in his earphones, got back control. then ahead he saw the trees and the rocks and the sudden end to the ravine and he knew they were lost.

abruptly everything seemed to slow down for him. "christ al "

"hard apart... watch the rock!"

scot felt his hands and feet obey and saw the chopper pirouette the rocks by inches, slam for the trees, ride over them, and escape into free air.

"set her down over there, fast as you can."

he gaped at lochart, his insides still churning. "what?"

"sure. we better take a look, check her out," lochart said urgently, hating not having the controls. "i heard something go."

"so did 1, but what about the undercart, it might be torn off?"

"just keep her weight off. i'll slip out and check it, then if it's all right, set her down and i'll make a quick inspect. safer to do that; christ only knows if the bullets chopped an oil line or nicked a cable." lochart saw scot take his eyes off the clearing to glance around at his passengers. "the hell with them for crissake, i'll deal with them," he said sharply. "you concentrate on the landing." he saw the younger man flush but obey, then, trying to contain his sudden nausea, lochart turned around expecting blood splashed everywhere and entrails and someone screaming screams drowned by the jet engines

knowing there was nothing he could do until they reached sanctuary and landed, always the first duty to land safely.

to his aching relief the three men in the backseat two mechanics and another pilot were seemingly unhurt though they were all hunched down, and jordon, the mechanic directly behind scot, was white-faced, holding his head with both hands. lochart turned back.

they were about fifty feet now, on a good approach, coming in fast. in the clearing the surface was stark and white and flat with no tufts of grass showing through, the snow banked high at the sides. seemingly a good choice. easily enough room to maneuver and land. but how to judge the depth of snow and the hidden level of the earth beneath? lochart knew what he would do if he had the controls. but he did not have control, he was not the captain though he was senior. "they're okay in the back, scot."