Chavez motioned the group after her, wanting to vacate the area as soon as humanly possible.
The vague lawnmower hum suddenly grew louder, bursting into the clearing as a Hughes OH-6 Cayuse (Little Bird or Killer Egg), skimmed in at treetop level and descended toward the grass, thirty meters away. Commonly called a “Loach” for its designation as a Light Observation Helicopter, or LOH, in Vietnam, the egg-shaped chopper was completely blacked out with both pilots wearing NVGs. Absent the thumping roar of a normal helicopter, the Loach was so quiet that Chavez hadn’t heard it at all until moments before its arrival. Even then, it had been impossible to tell from which direction it came until an instant before it cleared the trees. Closer inspection revealed it had several modifications from a regular Loach — an extra main rotor blade, four tail rotor blades instead of two, a large baffled muffler under the tail boom. An infrared camera the size of a bowling ball hung off the bird’s nose, imperative for guiding the pilots as they navigated narrow canyons and craggy mountain passes with no running lights. This one, an MH-6 variant, had two horizontal platforms resembling black boogie boards, one on each side at the base of the doors like stubby wings.
“Looks awfully small,” Chavez said as they helped carry Lisanne’s blanket roll across the grassy hummocks.
“There were supposed to be two,” Yao said, floundering in the spring mud, grunting in his effort to keep his corner of Lisanne’s blanket roll straight and level. “We brought them in on a C-130. That last phone call on the boat was to tell me one of them had crapped out after it was off-loaded, leaving us with limited space for an evacuation. I’m not sure what the problem was, but I thought I might have to see you guys off and then hoof it back to the village — blend in, adapt, overcome, that kind of shit.”
Chavez chuckled despite the situation. “Two is one and one is none,” he said — one of Clark’s favorite quotes. “We’ll fit. If these guys are like the Loach pilots I know, they’d strap us to the skids before they left one of us behind.”
Yao turned as he walked, head to one side. “Hmmm. Don’t be too sure. Their mission is to get Medina back. The rest of us are expendable.”
The MH-6 copilot leaned out of the left-side door, waving them forward.
“Let’s go! Let’s go! Let’s go!” He tapped his headset. “Multiple aircraft heading this way from the south at a high rate of speed. ETA eight minutes.” He twisted in his seat, pointing east. “We need to be behind that mountain in six.”
“Copy that!” Chavez helped feed Lisanne into the side door while he listened for further instructions.
“We took the seats out in the back, so you’ll go four on the floor,” the copilot continued. He pointed to Chavez and Ryan with a knife hand. “You and you buckle in on the outside platforms for balance. There are a couple of parkas in the back to keep you from freezing your asses off!”
The pilot took his left hand off the collective long enough to wave it in a circle over his helmet. “Let’s haul ass!”
Lisanne went in first, followed by Adara, who refused to leave her side, and then Medina. Yao made sure they were harnessed in. Chavez did one last quick-check of his team before turning and securing his own harness. The copilot watched like a hawk, and the moment Chavez’s buckle snapped into place, he turned and gave a thumbs-up.
Chavez glanced at his watch as the Loach lifted off, pirouetting as it rose to point its nose to the east. Less than four minutes to cross the trees and reach the shadow of the next valley. As if the pilot read his mind, the chopper’s engine grew louder and its nose dipped, shooting forward toward the mountains. Chavez looked back one last time, to see the feeble beam from Mamut’s boat moving north across the black void of Kanas Lake.
