-Wow! — “Rambo” said enthusiastically. — What would be happening if their border patrol did not sleep? An international scandal!
We turned back, jumped over the river, flew over a wide beach between the harsh river and a steep cliff.
— 851, do you observe — on top of the cliff is the “swallow’s nest”? — the leading helicopter enquired. — Seems to me, we have arrived… Now to the left, go up through the gorge…
A few seconds of silence… and the leading helicopter suddenly said:
— You shoot too closely, 851! It was right next to me.
— I did not shoot — with a look of astonishment, the commander of 851 replied.
All of us looked up and forward. At the top of the cliff that was falling into a valley at a peculiar angle, a gleamed blaze fire was coming up with white smoke balls.
— Shoot, commander! — “Rambo” said pointing excitedly.
— They are marking the land, — the commander replied and, at the same moment, almost immediately between the leading helicopter and us, just to the left a little bit, a pair of explosions flashed. The “leading” flew through the smoke hearing how the sands were rubbing, against windows; then “the leading” has turned to the left and started descending down into the gorge.
— I told you — they are working on us! — “Rambo” shouted and his eyes sparkled; his moustache also stood up.
— “The second”, be careful, we have been targeted! — Bozhko reported. But the chopper silently disappeared behind the corner.
— From where are they shooting at us? — the commander asked, turning his head around. — Maybe, the Iranian border patrol finally woke up and came to their senses.
— Yes, over there! — the flight engineer F. and co-pilot shouted in one voice, pointing their fingers at the direction of “a swallow’s nest”.
— Yes, they flagged the target and here we are, — the commander said, directing the machine into the gorge.
The helicopter climbed up, zigzagging around the steep cliff. At the top, there was a woman with a bucket of water, who quickly covered her face with her elbow. There was also a lonely bald man with a beard in his black toe-length robe, who was watching how the Soviet helicopter was emerging from the gorge.
— The eagle! — Bozhko pointed out at him, when the helicopter levelled up with the bearded man, and gave a friendly wave from his opened blister. — Salam-hello, dear!
The flight engineer F. turned his head and looked at the bearded man. He noticed the shining sun on the shaved bald head. He saw how the man threw away his cloak and rested on his shoulder a green pipe with a heavy conical tip and directed it straight into the flight engineer’s forehead…
Time has stopped…
Slowly, the small spurts around the tip have formed smoky rings, which were curving like mushroom’s caps around the tube. The flight engineer F. heard the distinct hissing — he watched with interest how a white spray with a green pipe is slowly approaching one side of the helicopter, he saw how the tip — with two kilograms of death — is slowly rotating, screwing into the air…
The grenade was launched — the flight engineer F. thought slowly. — How to report to the commander, how to formulate it? Work or shoot? Bazooka or our RPG (see “Terminology and Glossary — Editor)? But maybe it is not a grenade after all? And why do I feel so calm, why is everyone so quiet?
The helicopter almost stood unmoved. Then the board technician estimated the distance — no more than twenty metres to the bearded man (he saw the shabby part of the grenades), and, considering the speed of the grenade, calculated that it took no more than a quarter of a second from the moment of the shot to his warning.
— He is shooting, commander! — the flight engineer F. yelled, pointing on the right.
And from this moment the time went fast. The commander turned his head to the left, threw a pitch, moved the handle forward — the helicopter boomed down. The grenade passed over the tail, hit the opposite wall of the gorge, the air burst out with flapping and stretching sounds that pressed down the helicopter.
The commander rearranged the machine for a horizontal flight, and then started drifting up.
— “Second”, these friends worked on us once again, holly-molly!
— 851, we do not need it, let’s go to another place, do not overstay, you will run out of fuel.
— Turn back! — “Rambo” screamed — They must be punished!
— I know that, — the commander growled.
The roaring machine flew out of the gorge, hanging for a moment, and then turned back to the spot with a deep heel, heading straight into the “swallow’s nest”. “Rambo” was having fun and kept shooting non-stop from his seat. The flight engineer F. opened fire with his machinegun — and could see his tracers in the shadow of Duval. Two shadowy figures were running across the yard… The commander pulled the trigger, and rockets went forward fluffing plumage steel. Their smoky tails closed visibility, but the flight engineer F. noted how the “swallow’s nest” was covered with black and red flame. Something was cracking, exploding like a handful of caps thrown into the fire. Yet he could see, how the rockets tore apart the Iranian border…
— You wanted — you got it! — Bozhko said with a deep satisfaction, and, without looking back, they followed the leading helicopter.
— Yes, — the commander said. — this man lured us to this country, so we will be killed here. He got what he deserved. I just do not understand why they have not got us? After all, we were thrown on the plate, in a direct vision of this suicidal killer. Frol, let’s confess, is your machine bewitched?
— No, — flight engineer F. said. — This is not me… Before I enlisted the army, my Mom put spell on me to protect against evil. Back then I laughed…
— What a fool of you if you were laughing. I believe in this — the commander said. — Pass our thanks to your mother.
— “Second”, — he returned to business, — deal with the gunner. He framed us again. Check him out, or he will do it again.
— I copied that, 851. He will be punished. And now we will be landing in the same place to collect a weapon — we need to bring home something.
… We were going down into some huge funnel, spirally descending to a depth of thirty metres. It was like a blue ground pipe — it could be a gigantic azurite shaft or could be an entrance to the Dante’s hell. Crowded on each level, people were greeting us by the lifting their weapons. At the bottom we found all kinds of historical weapons and barrels that could be taken: English, Spanish, Chinese, even — from the American gangster era of Prohibition. Slowly, we climbed out of this crater, dragged behind a tail of dust, and left. The flight technician F. was confused who were these subterranean inhabitants; most likely they were one of the friendly gangs, whose friendship could be exchanged for numerous gifts.
Now we were flying without calculating out route. We were short of fuel. We jumped over the mountain, slid down the hill, and accelerating to 250, we were leaving behind the noise of our own engines and the whistling of blades.
Then the leading helicopter suddenly voiced:
— Guys, we have to stop in one place…
— I have no fuel left, my engines are going to stop soon! — Bozhko exclaimed.
— Okay, then you go home, but I will detour for a while! — and the “leading” turned right.
The second helicopter kept flying straight. We crossed the road, ran into a lonely ridge but we had no fuel left to do manoeuvring around this ridge and we simply started climbing.
— I do not recognise the area, — suddenly the commander said. — Did we follow the map? What if we jump over the pinnacle ridge and there will be no Herat!