The same volley that had also hit the strut had shattered a fiberglass wing float. Austin jammed the stick as far forward as it would go, and the ultralight dropped like a run-away elevator and tilted dangerously, the plane thrown off- balance by the loss of the float. Austin had to compensate by leaning his weight to one side. He flew out to sea until he was out of range, then put the plane into a turn that took him parallel to the shore.
The swimmers had hit the sand on their bellies when the gunfire broke out. Now they were up again and running along the water's edge. He picked out a slim, dark-skinned woman and two men, one short and the other tall. As they ran, they glanced over their shoulders, trying to keep an eye on the Gooney, only to see the mounted men crest the dune with swords raised. Spurred on by the new threat, the trio dug their feet in, but it was impossible to run faster in the soft sand. The mounted men would make short work of die defenseless runners caught between them and the deep blue sea. The open expanse of beach offered no shelter. It was a perfect killing field.
The horsemen spurred their mounts and galloped along the dune to outflank their prey. Austin reached into an emergency chest behind his seat and pulled out the Orion 25- millimeter signal kit for offshore boats. He fit one of the 10,000-candIepower Red Meteors into the pistol launcher. Then he cranked up the throttle to full speed. Wobbling dangerously because of the damage, the Gooney hurtled toward the beach at sixty-five miles per hour.
The runners dove onto their bellies again as the ultralight buzzed overhead like a large, angry hornet. Austin was operating on pure reflex, more machine than man. Holding the control stick between his knees, he leaned around the curved Plexiglas sheet that served as a windshield and sighted on the center of the mounted line. He squeezed the trigger and the flare streaked toward the horsemen like a miniature comet.
The awkward angle of the aircraft threw Austin's aim off. The missile struck the dune a few feet below the grassy crest and exploded in a bright scarlet shower. The horses nearest to the fiery burst reared in panic. Those animals that managed to maintain their calm lost it as the plane grazed their heads like a giant buzzing insect.
Austin made a quick turn for a second run. The chaotic scene atop the dune reminded him of the famous Picasso mural, Guernica. It was hard to know where the horses ended and their riders began. He smiled grimly and slid an- other flare into the launch gun. Again he came in, attacking from the rear this time.
A ragged hole surrounded by a lacework of cracks appeared in the windshield. One of the riders had gotten off a lucky shot. Austin felt the bullet whistle by his ear. He made a superhuman effort to keep a grip on his concentration as he aimed the pistol and squeezed the trigger.
The second flare streaked toward the confusing mass of horse and human bodies and slammed into a rider with a burst of red phosphorus. He fell from his horse and was dragged off with one foot still caught in the stirrup.
The beach flashed by in a blur, and again Austin was out to sea. He came around at an angle until he was behind the dune once more. The grass was on fife and black smoke billowed into the sky. Riders who had been thrown by their mounts were trying to roll out of the way to avoid being trampled. Others had dismounted and held tightly to the reins as they tried to calm the terrified animals. The horses bumped into one another, and the contact only served to increase their terror.
A lone horseman broke away from the others and spurred his mount into a gallop. Kaela and her friends heard the thunder of hooves and turned to see the rider bearing down on them with sword held high. Austin swung around until he was facing the horseman. He brought up the flare gun, but had a problem keeping it steady for proper aim. Instead, he put the Gooney into a low dive that took him a few feet above the heads of the runners and aimed directly at the horseman, a big man with a flowing red beard. At the last second, Austin pulled up. The float missed the man's head by inches. The horse whinnied in terror and broke into a wild run. The rider struggled to hang on as the horse took matters into its own hooves, climbed the dune and chased after the other riders, who had lost their stomach for the at- tack and were galloping for the woods.
Meanwhile, Austin was fighting a losing battle to keep the damaged plane level. He sat half out of the cockpit, like someone hiking out on an angled sailboat, gritted his teeth – and braced himself for the hard landing that he knew was coming.
5
KAELA DORN HELD her breath as the strange little aircraft plunged from the sky in a spiraling tailspin. At the last second, the plane swung up in a wild G-force swoop. It soared and dipped like a kite on a string, then leveled off, although the wings quivered and the aircraft pitched and yawed as if it were on an invisible roller coaster.
The pilot finally brought the plane under a semblance of control and put it in a landing glide. He held it steady, but before he could touch down, the left wing dipped sharply and dug into the soft sand. The wing snapped off where it joined the fuselage and the plane slammed into the beach at an angle, skidding several yards before it came to a jarring halt, tail section high in the air. The engine shut down, and the beach was suddenly quiet except for the lap of waves and the crackle of burning grass.
The reporter and her colleagues stared like zombies at the plane wreck. They were too exhausted to move, drained by their swim to shore, still panting from the run for their lives. Kaela was in the best shape of the three, and her legs felt like putty. When the stubby plane had first appeared, they hadn't known whether it was friend or foe, but there had been no question as to the intentions of the horsemen with their wild yells and drawn swords: They had been out for blood. The plane looked like a bird that had flown into a fan, and it seemed impossible that its pilot could have escaped without harm, but someone moved in the cockpit. The pilot got one leg, then another over the cockpit combing and climbed out.
He seemed to be all right as he walked around the aircraft, hands on hips, inspecting the damage. He kicked a buckled wheel as if he were checking out a used car and shook his head. Then he turned to the television crew, gave them a friendly wave, and started in their direction, walking with a slight limp.
Lombardo and Dundee moved in and stood protectively at Kaela's sides. She was more interested in appraising the stranger. He was tall, slightly over six feet, and the broad powerful shoulders of a nightclub bouncer filled out the navy sweatshirt. He wore tan shorts, and his muscular legs looked as if they could propel the husky body through a brick wall. As he came closer, he removed his baseball cap to reveal his steel gray, almost platinum hair. His bronzed face was unlined, except for laugh crinkles around the eyes and mouth. She guessed his age at around forty. Dried blood dripped down one cheek and soaked the bandanna around his forehead. The aircraft landing must have been hair-raising, yet he seemed as if he were coming off a game of tennis.
"Good afternoon," he said, with a wide grin. "Are you folks okay?"
"Yes, we're fine, thank you," Kaela replied warily. "What about you? You're bleeding."
He touched the wound absentmindedly. "It's only a little cut. I'm still in one piece, more or less." He jerked his thumb at the battered ultralight. "Wish I could say the same for my transportation. They just don't make them like they used to. You don't happen to have a roll of duct tape?"
Kaela ventured a smile. "Your plane has gone beyond the duct tape stage," she said. "I believe the term insurance people use is totaled."
The stranger grimaced. "I'm afraid you're right, Ms.- "
"Dorn. Kaela Dorn. This is my producer, Mickey Lombardo, and his assistant, Hank Simpson. We're with the Unbelievable Mysteries television series."