“Watch it! Incoming fire!”

Gunfire erupted all around them, like a swarm of angry wasps. Luke dove to the floor. Something cut a sharp path across his right shoulder. There was a slice, then stinging pain. Metal shredded. Glass shattered somewhere.

Luke crawled across the floor. He was hit in the shoulder. He could barely get a look at it. He looked at the three SAS guys who were still clipped in.

“How’s it look?”

One of them shrugged. “Flesh wound, Yank.”

The sudden roar of the Minigun was earth-shattering just above Luke’s head. He slid away, ears ringing instantly. The SAS guy, Gilmour, rode the recoil, arms bouncing, his face a blank inside his face mask. A burst of fire came from the barrel.

Luke watched out the cargo door.

Gilmour was dialed in. The pickup had passed beneath the chopper. A line of bullets strafed the back of it. The man on the truck’s heavy gun did a death dance and came apart like a straw doll. The back tires exploded and the welded metal over the back windshield punched in. The pickup rolled to a stop.

“Nice shooting, Gilmour.”

Gilmour raised a hand in reply.

Suddenly, another burst of machine gun fire hit the chopper. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. THUNK THUNK THUNK. Gilmour’s body jerked and he fell away from the gun. More glass shattered up front.

Luke hit the floor again.

Gilmour was with him, screaming. Luke crawled to him.

The rest of the SAS were already unclipping.

“Medic!” Luke shouted. “Medic!”

Instantly, the medic was there.

Gilmours’s teeth were gritted in pain. His eyes were wild and mad. His breathing was fast. “I got hit,” he said. “I got hit. Dammit to hell, man!”

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know. Everywhere.”

The medic cut open Gilmour’s jumpsuit. He felt beneath Gilmour’s body armor.

Gilmour screamed in pain.

“We’ve got to get this shit off him,” the medic said.

Luke looked at the two remaining SAS guys. He pointed at one of them. “You! Next man up! On the gun! Don’t get shot!”

Another burst of gunfire hit the chopper. More bullets ripped up metal.

“Stone!” the pilot yelled over the intercom. “We’ve got instruments down. We can’t keep taking hits like this. We’re going to lose this bird.”

“Take evasive action,” Luke shouted.

The chopper pulled up abruptly. It made a steep climb and banked hard to the left. The medic nearly fell over sideways. Luke clung to the floor, his fingers gripping metal slats. Another burst of gunfire came.

An alarm in the cockpit began to sound.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP…

The pilot’s disembodied voice said: “Too late. We’ve got mayday. A rotor’s been hit. It’s wobbling. It’s not going to hold. We either land or we crash, but we’re going down.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Uh… none.”