38
The spring afternoon was warm, comfortable, and smelled of growing things. Low dogwoods offered bright pink and white blossoms along the airport perimeter road.
And it all left Holly feeling like mud along a stagnant billabong.
Holly leaned with her butt against the C-38’s wing, facing the wreckage of the Condor.
In the few hours they’d been gone, Fort Campbell Army base had mobilized. A pair of Black Hawk helicopters, capable of lifting five tons at a time, were now above the site. The sparks of at least ten different welders were burning their way through the aircraft’s remains. You couldn’t just drag ninety tons of airplane and another forty-five tons of burned up helicopters aside to clear a runway—you had to remove it in manageable pieces.
Each section the welders sliced free
