Jeremy waved for Miranda to kneel beside him near the starboard sponson. The fuel tanks for the VH-92A Superhawk were outboard of the main passenger cabin. The streamlined extensions to either side were fifteen feet long, and both two feet wide and high. The landing gear folded up into the very rear of the sponson. The rest was fuel, four hundred gallons per side.
“The other side was gouged open by a cash register. I found nine dollars and thirty-seven cents in assorted change caught in the wheel well. That’s what caused the spill all along the fire path that we followed in.”
Miranda nodded. It made sense; the scarred and scorched line across the concrete was undeniable.
“But look at this side. I found it just before you arrived.”
The helicopter leaned heavily above them and the floodl
