23
Vern listened for the signal, unsure what it would be.
He pulled up the collective until the helo was practically dancing on her wheels.
The signal was a hard punch on his arm from behind, which worked fine. With the escalating gunfire—the bright flashes of rounds pinging off the military-grade laminate windows—he couldn’t be sure of hearing a hand slap on the hull.
He was so tensed for flight that the punch made him jerk up on the collective. They bounced five feet straight up before he regained control. He had planned on easing upward inch by careful inch to get clear of the courtyard.
Through the helo’s foot-well windows he could see people spilling into the courtyard, bearing machine guns and pistols that flashed with fire. A few in military uniforms, others in ragged street cl
