Be careful what you wish for…
Chapter Thirty-Two
The light aircraft’s engine hummed in the sweeping sand-filled expanse of the Erg of Bilma. The volume increasing with every second. Sam searched the bluish-white sky behind the three of them for the first sign of the machine. He wished Tom hadn’t gotten so far ahead. Not that it mattered, Tom could hear as well as he could, and would have already taken action. Sam watched as the tiny aircraft, no more than a four person, single engine plane, broke the horizon of a distant sand dune.
It was flying at approximately a thousand feet he guessed. Much too low for a charter plane in the process of ferrying passengers in-between oasis towns. That meant it was searching for something — it was looking for them.
He looked at Zara and yelled, “Hide!”
Zara slid down the crest of the sand dune. Sam followed her. Each of them shimmied their bodies side to side until they were mostly consumed by the sand. Anything to deceive the pilot and spotters. He looked directly at her. If the pilots spotted anyone it would have been him, and not her. She looked like she blended into the sand.
Her eyes were wide, but showed no fear. “Do you think this will work?”
“I doubt it.”
Sam heard the constant hum of the engine reduce pitch. The pilot had seen something and was taking the aircraft down to get a better look. The aircraft sounded like it was coming in close enough to land, although Sam knew there was no way any pilot could be coaxed to put a plane down in such deep and undulating sand. He took a deep breath and buried his face in the sand — as the aircraft flew mere feet overhead of the sand dune.
He rolled to his side and saw the plane’s fixed undercarriage was so low he could have almost jumped up and grabbed it. A moment later the engine increased pitch and the aircraft climbed.
“Damnit!” Sam said as he threw off his backpack and removed the AK-47 he carried slung over his shoulder.
Sam loaded the 32 round magazine into the bolt and took aim at the aircraft, which was already becoming a tiny dot in the sky. He cursed himself for not preparing to shoot earlier. It would have been an easy shot as the damned aircraft flew overhead at a few feet above his head. Now it climbed rapidly, making it nearly impossible to hit. There was no doubt they’d been spotted. No other reason for the plane to maneuver as it had.
If there was any doubt in his mind about the pilot’s intentions, they were crushed when the pilot released a thick trail of smoke as he climbed. The bastard was making an arrow into the sky. The aircraft then circled and began descending in a line next to the first one.
Sam didn’t wait to see what the pilot was trying to write. Either way, it was obvious he was trying to draw a target on their back so that the hoard of pursuers would find them. Sam firmly shoved the butt of the AK-47 into his shoulder. He closed his left eye and lined up the front sight block with the aircraft’s windshield using his right eye.
His breathing naturally fell into a rhythm.
Inhaling slowly.
Exhaling slowly.
On the first natural respiratory pause — the moment when the diaphragm naturally relaxes and the lungs neither inhaled nor exhaled — Sam squeezed the trigger. He emptied the entire 32 round magazine at the cockpit. The shots went wide and the pilot continued to control the aircraft. It was an impossible shot and he’d missed. The aircraft angled out of its dive and headed toward Zara and him.
Did the pilot have access to a machine gun?
It seemed unlikely. Otherwise the pilot would have simply shot them when he first had the chance and claimed the prize all for himself. Sam’s eyes locked onto the pilot’s face. He was still too far to make out any real image, but the eyes looked focused and the aircraft was coming straight at them. His mouth, if that was even what Sam was seeing, appeared fixed in a sinister grin. Zara was already running along the sand dune and so, Sam dived down it — trying to increase the distance between the two of them.
And then he heard the staccato of shots being fired.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sam rolled over and took a deep breath in. He looked at the aircraft now past him. It flew level and parallel to the sand dune. It’s right wingtip no more than ten feet from the dune. His shoulder was sore, where he landed, but he felt all right. He touched his face and the back of his head and then looked at his hands. There was no blood. His head was okay. He then ran his hands over his torso, hips and legs. Still no blood. He stood up. His shoulder hurt, but he could move it all right. Nothing that would kill him. He shook his head. Unable to imagine how any pilot would miss a shot like that, and then it struck him exactly how a pilot could miss such a shot.
“Zara!” He ran diagonally up the sand dune toward her.
She stood to meet him. “I’m okay.”
He reached her, wrapping his arms around her. It was half an embrace and a panicked desire to see where she’d been hit. He ran his hands over her shoulders and back. Then withdrew from her and looked at her face.
“Turn around,” he said.
“Why?”
“I need to see if you’ve been shot.”
“I haven’t!”
He walked around her, checking her out. She looked okay.
She smiled at him. “I’m okay, Sam. But it’s nice to know you care.”
He grinned suddenly. No longer looking at her. He watched as the aircraft’s right wingtip clipped the side of the sand dune and slid down the steep decline. Sand tore through its prop, and over the wings. It skidded until finally coming to rest four hundred feet away.
Sam said, “Tom must have fired those shots!” He then picked up his AK-47, loaded another 32 round magazine, and looked at the downed aircraft. “Come on Zara, let’s go.”
She said, “I hate to burst your bubble, but there’s no way you’re going to be able to repair it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
He ignored her comment and kept running.
Sam left deep footprints in the sand dune as he followed the trail the aircraft left when it skidded down the dune. The entire front end of the aircraft was buried in sand. A mangled arm of the propeller raising out from the sand, the only evidence of the engine below. The windshield was mostly buried.
He lifted the AK-47 and aimed it toward the door.
“Anyone alive in there?” he shouted.
No response.
Zara placed her hand on his shoulder. “He took a big hit when the nose plowed into the sand. I don’t think we’re going to find him alive.”
Sam nodded. Hoping she was right. He then spotted Tom running toward them. He waited until Tom arrived. No reason to get shot by a near-dead pilot out of impatience.
He heard Tom’s heavy breathing approach. “Nice shot, Tom.”
“Thanks.” Tom looked at the wrecked aircraft. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing by the looks of things. We’re trying to work out whether we have a live pilot or not here. Do you want to cover me, and I’ll find out what?”
Tom raised his weapon and aimed at the door. “Go for it.”
Sam stepped forward and unlatched the door handle. The sand was keeping the door wedged shut. He dug away a bundle of the sand using his hands only until he could open it a little. “If you’re alive in there, I want you to know, we’re going to get you out of there. But I’d really appreciate not being shot in the process.”
No response.
“If you know what I mean…” Sam said.
He pulled heavily on the door and it opened right up. Inside the cockpit looked intact. The electronics were lit up and the radio was still receiving some sort of static. The pilot hadn’t fared so well. His legs had taken most of the energy as the front end of the aircraft slammed into the sand, sending his femurs, the long bones in his leg, into his torso. Surprisingly, his face looked untouched. His eyes were open wide staring vacantly ahead.