Robert shivered suddenly, wishing for his sport coat, which he’d put on Rick Barnes, the injured airline CEO.
Robert nodded, checked his watch, and motioned for them to follow.
Dan and Britta moved out, followed by Graham Tash, Steve Delaney, and Dallas Nielson, all of them once again trudging toward the sunlight now streaming over the eastern horizon.
The smell of the sparse jungle in the early morning hours was foreign to all but Dan, who had experienced it before in a far more dangerous time. The cool air, heavy with humidity, melded with the numbing effect of walking as a welcome salve on everyone’s psychological wounds.
A chorus of birds chirped and sang in the growing light, the songs echoing from all angles. The low banana trees mixed with taller trees that rose to fifty feet — not the impenetrable canopy of the tropical rain forests to the south, but a jungle nonetheless, replete with mosquitoes and huge flies.
“Wait!” Robert’s voice rang out as a command, and he held his hand up.
“What?” Dallas asked.
“Sh-h-h!” he replied, cocking his head, listening intently. “I hear something.”
The lights of Da Nang were almost in view down the mountainside in the distance, and the noise was coming from that direction. The faint sound of… something… began to assert itself, the volume growing louder, transitioning to a low-frequency hum of intermittent thumps that Dan recognized immediately.
“Choppers!” he said, excitement driving his voice. “At least one helicopter!”
“Maybe they are aware we’re here,” Dallas said.
The sound of the onrushing helicopter was growing by the second.
“He’s coming from the Da Nang area. Has to be a rescue effort!” Dan added.
“We’re not that far from the crash,” Robert said. “I’d say let’s turn around and get the hell back there.”
“Damn right!” Dallas replied. “But no need to rush, Robert. Once they find the crash, they’re not going to go away.”
The helicopter flashed overhead suddenly as the survivors turned to follow, increasing their pace behind the journalist as he retraced their steps through the jungle.
It took fifteen minutes of forced marching before the distinctive sounds of a hovering helicopter became audible. The helicopter was moving, apparently circling over the crash site looking for survivors.
“He’s… obviously found the main wreckage…” Robert said, puffing slightly as he hurried them along.
The intermittent image of the American-made Huey could be seen in the early light through the trees as they approached the area where the 747 had first struck the tops of the vegetation. Initially, Robert had led them along a primitive path that kept them in the jungle, but parallel to the path of wreckage. They moved back along the same route now as fast as they could.
“Look, I’m going to sprint ahead,” Dallas said over her shoulder as she pulled abreast of Robert. “Y’all follow at a rational pace. I’ll make sure they know where everyone is.” She broke into a run, leaping over branches and snags as she closed the distance to the clearing that held the remains of the cockpit and upper deck.
When less than a hundred yards remained between Dallas and the edge of the clearing, she slowed to a walk and glanced behind her. The others were too far back to be seen. She looked forward again, relieved to see the helicopter touching down. There were still bushes and trees between her and the clearing, but Dallas could make out several figures as they jumped from the sliding door of the Huey and moved toward the wreckage of the upper deck. She blinked in the growing light, trying to focus the image, wondering why Vietnamese rescuers would arrive at a crash site wearing business suits. No matter. She would ask them, if they spoke English.
Where are the stretchers? Dallas thought in puzzlement. Maybe this was just an advance crew, and the main rescue would follow in a few minutes. She was within fifty yards now, and heard the sound of a female voice in the distance — obviously Susan Tash, indecipherable but distinctive under the sound of the helicopter’s idling engine and swishing blades.
Dallas rounded the last berm between the wreckage and a row of banana trees at the edge of the clearing. She could see the men standing amid the wreckage, yelling something to each other. Good! Dallas thought. They’ll get the injured guy out of there quickly, before waiting for more choppers to arrive.
But something ahead wasn’t right, and Dallas stopped without fully knowing why, keeping herself behind the row of trees.
Two of the men were hauling something out of the wreckage, handling it roughly and carelessly, which made no sense. What is that? Dallas wondered. It was hard to see. The men were on the other side and the wreckage blocked her view. She could hear Susan’s voice, yelling, it seemed, as if she were angry about something.
At last the men reappeared around the wreckage, still pulling the object, which finally coalesced into a recognizable shape. My God! That’s the injured airline guy! What in the world are they doing?
The two men reached the Huey and shoved a limp Rick Barnes inside.
Dallas glanced behind her, but there was still no sign of the others. She looked back at the clearing, noting two other men in the wreckage. There was a flash of yellow to the left, and Dallas realized with a chill of terror that now Susan Tash was being hauled bodily from the cabin, protesting loudly and trying to fight the crewmen who were holding her. The other two men returned from the helicopter to subdue her, grabbing Susan by the feet and shoulders and carrying her to the open door of the machine, where they tossed her in like a sack of flour.
Dallas sank to her knees in the undergrowth, completely confused and desperate to remain out of sight. She saw one of the men stand back and draw a pistol, pointing it at Susan, and she could see Susan cower in the corner as she looked around at the motionless form of the injured airline chief who had been her patient. There were sounds in the jungle vegetation behind her, signaling the approach of the others; the trees effectively screened their presence from the men in the clearing. She moved in tighter behind a large group of ferns, watching the men jump back aboard the helicopter, one of them sliding into the pilot’s seat. The engine power increased, and the noise washed out all possibility of being heard. Dallas turned and motioned frantically to the others. Robert saw her first and acknowledged her signal with a worried expression, as he brought the others toward her.
The helicopter was lifting off and moving away, gaining altitude slowly.
“What’s happening?” Robert asked, as he came up beside Dallas.
“Get down!” she said.
Dr. Graham Tash was beside her now, wearing a puzzled expression. She grabbed his arm, pulling him down as she motioned the others to get down as well.
“Susan’s in the chopper. They pulled her in along with Barnes.”
“Okay… but why are we hiding?”
Dallas looked at him, unsure what to say. She could hear the Huey circling overhead. They would be safe beneath the trees, but if they moved into the clearing…
Graham took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him. “Dallas, what’s wrong?” There was a frightened, feral expression on his face.
“They handled both Susan and Barnes very roughly,” Dallas said, jumping up and out of Graham’s grasp. She moved forward and motioned for him to follow. Together they carefully moved closer to the edge of the clearing.
The helicopter was hovering directly over the wreckage of the upper deck and cockpit, sitting motionless perhaps two hundred feet in the air.
“I don’t understand,” Graham said. “What are they doing?”