CHAPTER 76
Shelley kept the engines just below redline the whole way in. She flew beeline straight without a wiggle, not a wasted yard.
Why waste time if you’re going to face the gallows? The Comanche cried the whole way and she closed her heart to it. The turbines weren’t overheating, not quite, so screw them. Maybe if she pushed a little harder, she’d drive it to pieces. First a turbine blade would go, a little piece, ever so small. No bigger than the palm of her hand. It would bounce and rattle, cast about for two or three hundred revolutions. Perhaps as much as a tenth of a second. Then others would splinter against it, two, ten, thirty. Within five seconds the whole engine. Then shrapnel of a blowout would slice into the rotors, pierce a fuel tank, shred through the passenger seats.
