Mason was fighting at the controls. An assault of orange flame and shrapnel forced him into evasive action - again. He pulled the chopper back in a dramatic pitch to the east, not realising in the confusion of smoke and fire how perilously close he'd brought them to the fuel farm. On the run, Morgan saw it all. He waved frantically at Mason to pull away to the north, in the direction of the water tanks, as far from the fuel farm and the advancing rebel mortar barrage as possible.
"Get out of there, Steve! Get out of there!" Morgan yelled. "Christ!" screamed Mason.
Arena was forced to her knees by the sudden change in direction, and braced herself against the back of the cockpit. Most of the others were screaming. "Stay calm, everyone," she cried. "Hold on. Steve will get us out of this!" At least she hoped he would.
Back at the controls, Mason searched desperately for a way out, and found it in a clear corridor that appeared for a second through the dense, pitch-black smoke. The Puma's engines screamed. The tail rotor spun wildly against the security fence enclosure of the fuel farm, sending great showers of sparks for hundreds of metres across the compound and storage tanks. At any moment, the sparks would ignite the fumes. Mason's response was drilled precision. He thrust forward hard on the cyclic stick, dropping the nose and raising the tail, instantly propelling the endangered aircraft straight ahead. Frantically, he pumped the tail rotor pedals to spin the aircraft's tail to starboard, simultaneously advancing the power levers to the STOP, and manipulating the collective to increase power and lift. In a nanosecond he had the aircraft clear of the fuel storage enclosure and was racing forward in a direct line for the water tanks, his heart kicking wildly in his chest.
Morgan and Sewa were running for their lives when the first bursts of small arms fire from the rebels suddenly broke through from beyond the burning building and strafed the ground at their feet.
"They're on top of us, Sewa," Morgan yelled. "Get yourself on-board.
I'll try and keep the bastards back. Go! Go!"
"Sir!" Sewa called breathlessly, without looking back, propelling his long body as rapidly as possible away from the danger. "Come on, Sir!" he yelled, still running.
Morgan dropped behind the cover of a burning vehicle hulk, laying down rapid bursts of fire with the AK at the approaching rebels. It was difficult to see them, through the confusion of smoke and dust, but Morgan saw two take direct hits, killing them instantly and slowing the advance of the others. They were too used to fighting the poorly-trained conscripts of the Malfajiri army, he thought. As soon as heavy, accurate fire was thrown back at them, they panicked and scattered. With a succession of lethal bursts Morgan held them back, firing magazine after magazine, covering Sewa as he ran. Then, reloading with a fresh 30-round clip, he was on his feet again, hot on Sewa's heels, leaping over the trail of destruction that littered his route all the way back to the hovering chopper.
Mason found a depression in the ground, a concealed spot by the water tanks to set down. Through the chaos, he could just see Sewa and Morgan racing towards him. ] use 20 more feet, he willed them on. They would be on-board in seconds.
"If they don't make it this time, then leave them," a trembling voice cried out.
All heads immediately turned to the voice. It was Turner, calling from the press of terrified evacuees.
"You've got a nerve!" Arena yelled, her contempt shared by all. "If it wasn't for you, we would have been our of here long ago, and Alex and Sewa wouldn't be stuck out there."
John Stanley, Senior Foreman and possibly the biggest man on the site, reached through the tangle of huddled bodies from the back corner of the cargo hold and grabbed what he could of Turner's shirt collar. "Say another word and you'll be out there, you pompous twat! If we leave anybody behind, it'll be you."
Turner folded himself as far back into the cargo hold, and as far away from Stanley as he could, clutching his laptop to his breast. His eyes darted from face to face, searching for support. There was none.
Morgan caught up with Sewa. They were running neck and neck. The open cargo door beckoned them.
"We're there, Sir! We're there!" Ten feet to go.
Five feet.
Morgan and Sewa were rocketing forward. Three feet.
As they reached for the door, welcoming arms were outstretched to pull them inside to safety. A smile broke out across Sewa's exhausted face. He reached out for John Stanley's huge paw.
Suddenly, a hail of machine-gun fire erupted from the rebels. Rounds saturated the air in squadrons. It was all too close. Sewa fell down, and Morgan went down with him.
CHAPTER 23
Mason could see the rebels closing fast upon the burning carcass of the buildings, firing wildly as they advanced on the run. There definitely looked to be a company's worth, 100 or so men, maybe more, all heavily armed and headed straight for the helicopter. Already on borrowed time, Mason knew if he waited another second, he would almost certainly be killed and with him dead at the controls, the others would be slaughtered.