A glance up at the cliff showed a tongue of flame now reaching out to grab where the chopper had hovered only moments before.
Now that he was safe, the adrenaline rush kicked out hard. He’d fought fires from California to Alaska, and he’d photographed them in Brazil, Russia, and a dozen other places. He’d never before had his hands shake so badly that he couldn’t even open the bag to make sure the cameras were okay. All he could do was clench it to his chest and let the shakes run through him.
***
“Yeah, Ground Command. This is Hawk Oh-two, I got him. You can release your crew to the next site.”
Jeannie Clark clicked off her mike and the one-word acknowledgment came right back. She was bummed. She’d finally found a flaw with her beautiful new Firehawk. Well, almost new. The machine had done a couple tours in Iraq first, but it had been totally renovated, repainted, and reconfigured with a big belly tank for dumping retardant on wildfires. It was new to her. Her boss and MHA’s lead pilot, Emily Beale, had only just certified her in this type last month. And the chopper was also new to Mount Hood Aviation’s “Hoodies,” one of the country’s premier firefighters-for-hire contractors. It was only the second load-rated Type I helicopter in their inventory.
Until recently, she’d only been certified in the midsize Type II Twin Huey 212 and the tiny Type III MD500, both much-lower-capacity crafts. The Firehawk was built on the Sikorsky Black Hawk frame and could lift a massive thousand gallons of retardant or water, about four and a half tons. That could make a serious dent in a blaze except when Mama Nature was really kicking up her heels with Papa Fire. That was what her Australian friend Dale always called them, as if they were part of his Aboriginal Dreamtime creation mysticism. She’d looked up the expression and it wasn’t, but she’d kept using it even after coming to America. People always looked at her cross-eyed when she used it, so she now kept it to herself.
The thing was, with her MD500, she could have scooted right onto that cliff edge instead of hovering out in space. Had to give the guy some points—at three hundred feet up a cliff, he’d jumped right out with no hesitation. That said something about guts, or desperation. She’d half expected him to freeze and die there. Even three more seconds and she’d have had to bug out and leave him there to burn.
Available at fine retailers every Sept, 2014
More information at: www.mlbuchman.com
Copyright 2014 Matthew Lieber Buchman
Published by Buchman Bookworks
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof,
may not be reproduced in any form
without permission from the author.
Discover more by this author at: www.mlbuchman.com
Cover images:
Handsome Tony
© Hammerin Man | Flickr
Wildfire © U.S. Fish and Wildlife
Service Southeast Region | Flickr
Dog Tags Four
© Lightpainter | Dreamstime.com
Other works by M.L. Buchman
The Night Stalkers
The Night Is Mine
I Own the Dawn
Daniel’s Christmas
Wait Until Dark
Frank’s Independence Day
Peter’s Christmas
Take Over at Midnight
Light Up the Night
Firehawks
Pure Heat
Wildfire at Dawn
Full Blaze
Angelo’s Hearth
Where Dreams are Born
Where Dreams Reside
Maria’s Christmas Table
Where Dreams Unfold
Where Dreams Are Written
Dieties Anonymous
Cookbook from Hell: Reheated
Saviors 101
Thrillers
Swap Out!
One Chef!
SF/F Titles
Nara
Monk’s Maze