3
It was late afternoon and the sandwich Amos had managed to cram down at noon was long since burned off. His gut was growling as loud as his helo’s Rolls Royce turbine engine.
“Gotta get me a dinner bag on the next refuel, even if I have to eat from it like a horse.” He told Drew—an idea which didn’t sound all bad. Flying this close to fire took intense concentration and burned up the calories. It took both hands to fly an MD 520N to fire. Finding the third hand to hold a sandwich was tough.
They hovered low over a creek they’d found not far from a winery they were trying to save, loading up water as fast as they could.
“I’m thinking something to hold it, like a large wooden clip,” Drew radioed back on their frequency. They always jumped a second radio away from the command frequency
