16
There was no crunch and cry of rending metal.
A shattering crash sounded from the cockpit. Then a scream that could only be human as the helo lurched badly.
Some body memory had Ivy diving into the cockpit even faster than Crew Chief McShea.
The windshield was gone. Juarez was dead. He had to be with half of a model jet smashed into his chest.
His copilot had his hands still on the controls, but he was screaming from a face half torn off by one of the model’s wings.
She slapped the seatbelt release on Juarez and tried to yank him clear. He outweighed her by at least double. McShea reached over her shoulder and grabbed Juarez’s collar. With a single yank, he hauled the pilot across her lap and into the back.
Diving into the seat, Ivy grabbed the controls. No time to move the seat
