A circle, as bright yellow as a tennis ball, surrounded the helicopter.
“Let’s go,” Remington said, leaning more closely. He watched with interest as Briggs’s aircraft suddenly veered out of control and locked rotors with the nearest Sea Knight on the left. Both aircraft fell to the ground like broken birds. “Briggs’s craft was one of those that went out of control.”
“Yes, sir.” Foster nodded. “I’ve got a list of the others. I can isolate their cameras, too, if you want.”
“We’ll see. For now, run the footage from the interior camera in Briggs’s helo backward. Frame by frame from the impact. You can cross-reference the time-date stamp on the videos, can’t you?”
“Yes, sir. That won’t be a problem. All the cameras and transmission equipment were calibrated for exact timing.” Foster shifted nervously.
“What is it?” Remington asked.
“It’s these cameras, sir. The ones used in the helos and by the ground teams? They shoot four thousand frames a minute. Even if you go back thirty seconds, that’s two thousand pictures to look at. Frame by frame is going to take some time.” Foster sounded apologetic. “Didn’t mean to interrupt, sir. Just thought you should know.”
Remington nodded. “I needed to know, Private. Can you sort the frames?”
“Sure.”
“Let me see every hundredth frame.”
Bending to the keyboard, Foster entered the parameters of the search. A new window opened on the monitor, filling with the frozen image of the interior of the Sea Knight’s cockpit.
The camera had been mounted inside the helicopter’s cockpit roof and peered over the pilot and copilot’s shoulders, cutting them out of the picture and not giving a clear indication of what had happened that had made the helo break formation. On normal operations, the Sea Knight carried a crew chief and a mechanic in addition to the pilot and copilot. During hot drops that entailed possible engagements with hostile ground forces, the mechanic was replaced with two door gunners.
Remington guided Foster by voice, flipping to every hundredth frame. Onscreen, the view changed dramatically as the Sea Knight had pitched and yawed in the air. One of the nearby helicopters hung in mid-destruction, the flames and debris hurtling from the craft as steel bent and ripped loose. A hundred frames back, the helo was struck by another helicopter. The copilot’s face in the other aircraft was frozen in surprise, one hand pushed to the glass as if to ward off the other helo.
Four pictures—four hundred frames—back, the captain figured out what he was looking for. “Stop here.” Remington gazed at the screen, then tapped it. “Can you reimage this? Zoom in and blow it up?”
“Sure.” In seconds, the picture grew larger and larger at Remington’s direction.
“Do you see it?” Remington stared at the image and felt a cold gust of wind across the back of his neck. He knew that feeling was only his imagination, though. There wasn’t a cold wind anywhere in their vicinity.
Foster studied the picture and shook his head. “I see the helicopter that Briggs’s aircraft ran into.”
“Here.” Remington ran his finger over a section of the screen. “Look here and you can see a reflection of the copilot in the Plexiglas.” The image looked like a grayed-out photograph against the Plexiglas. “What do you see in the seat next to him?”
“The seat is empty,” Foster said in a hollow voice.
“Yes,” Remington said.
Foster worked the keyboard, pulling up and scanning Wasp’s crew lists on the left monitor. “No, sir,” the private said. “That seat wasn’t empty. At least, it wasn’t supposed to be empty. Lieutenant Briggs was definitely aboard that aircraft. The copilot was Sergeant Julian Mahoney.”
Keen-edged interest sharpened Remington’s focus. “Go back a hundred frames.”
Foster did. The seat remained empty.
Three hundred frames back, passed in increments of one hundred, the view inside the cockpit changed, and the reflection of the interior wasn’t displayed against the Plexiglas. Four hundred frames back, the seat was still empty when the reflection formed against the Plexiglas again. A hundred frames back from that point, Lieutenant Briggs, looking dangerously cool despite the immediate pressure he had flown into, sat in the seat with his hand on the control yoke.
“There he is,” Foster said.
“Yes,” Remington agreed. “Now we roll forward, Private. By tens.” Thirty frames later, Briggs’s seat was empty. After a frame-byframe search, Foster located the two frames in sequence that showed the Marine helo pilot had been in his seat, then gone. Except for the pile made by a uniform, headgear, and boots. The helicopter had gone out of control from that moment and swiftly collided with the nearby helicopter to start off the string of destruction that had rained from the sky.
“Put up both frames,” Remington said in a calm, controlled voice. “Side by side. I want to look at them.”
Foster tapped keys. The two frames popped into view.
Remington studied the two digital images. Except for the fact that Lieutenant Briggs was missing and his uniform was on the seat, the scenes didn’t look different in any way.
Somewhere between the two images, Lieutenant Briggs had managed to strip off his clothing and gear and leave a helicopter 338 feet above an LZ in hostile territory. Remington thought about that, wondering if the lieutenant’s body would turn up on the battleground. He glanced at the corporal’s clothing in the nearby chair and felt certain there would be no body.
When Dockery’s hand relaxed in his, Goose felt certain the man had died. However, when he checked the corporal’s pulse, he found a flicker of life. The anesthetic had flooded his nervous system and left him limp on the shard of metal that had ripped through his body and now supported him. Dockery’s eyes remained open, but Goose doubted the man saw anything.
Goose released Dockery’s hand. God, look over him. Keep him safe till I can get help here, or take him home with You if that’s what You feel is best. Whatever was done needed to be done quickly.
Pushing himself to his
