Race saw the flash of brown shoot across in front of his face before he even heard the whistling sound.
Then, just as Nash pulled the trigger on his pistol, a miniature explosion of blood flared out from the Army colonel's forearm as it was penetrated by a primitive wooden arrow.
Nash's gun-hand was knocked sideways and the SIG dis charged wildly to Race's left. Nash roared with pain and dropped the pistol just as a volley of about twenty more arrows rained down all around them, killing two of the Army crewmen instantly.
The wave of arrows was quickly followed by a blood curdling battle-cry that ripped through the early-morning air like a knife.
Race spun at the sound and his jaw dropped at the sight that met him.
He saw all of the natives from the upper village all the adults, fifty of them at least—-charging out from the trees to the west of Vilcafor. They were shrieking wildly as they rushed forward, brandishing whatever weapons they could muster— bows, arrows, axes, clubs—and they wore on their faces some of the angriest expressions Race had ever seen in his life.
The charge of the natives was nothing short of terrifying.
Their fury was intense, their anger almost tangible. Frank Nash had stolen their idol and now they wanted it back.
Abruptly the crack of M-16 gunfire rang out from somewhere close behind Race.
A couple of the helicopter crewmen had opened fire on the Indians. Almost instantly, four of the natives at the front of the rushing horde were hit. They stumbled and fell, crashing face-first in the mud.
But the others just kept on coming.
Nash—now with an arrow lodged in his right forearm, complete with a ragged piece of his own flesh dangling from its point—turned instantly and, with his people behind him, abandoned the village and made for the two Army choppers.
Race hadn't even moved. He just stood there in the centre of the street, rooted to the spot, staring dumbstruck at the horde of charging natives.
Then suddenly someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulder.
It was Renee.
'Professor, come on!' she yelled as she dragged him toward the empty Super Stallion on the other side of the village.
The Army people reached their choppers.
Nash, Lauren, Marty and Copeland leapt up into the rear compartment of the Black Hawk II at the same time as the chopper's two crewmen threw themselves into the pilot's and gunner's seats.
The Black Hawk II's rotors began to turn instantly.
Nash looked out from the rear compartment, saw Race and Renee running for the Super Stallion.
He yelled to the crewman manning the chopper's rear- mounted Vulcan minigun. 'Take out that chopper!'
As the Black Hawk II's rotors whipped into overdrive and the big helicopter slowly began to lift off, the copilot jammed down on his trigger and a blazing barrage of gunfire blasted out from the Vulcan.
The hail of gunfire that assailed the Super Stallion was shocking in its intensity. It pummelled the reinforced walls of the helicopter with thousands of bullet holes, each the size of a man's fist.
And then—just as Race and Renee were coming toward it—the Super Stallion exploded into a billowing ball of flames.
The two of them dived to the ground a split second before a storm of burning-hot metal whizzed over their heads, shooting out in every direction. Two stray shards of red-hot metal, however, slammed into Renee's shoulder, sizzling on contact. She roared with pain.
'Now take them out!' Nash yelled, pointing down at Race and the injured Renee.
The Black Hawk II was about fifteen feet off the ground now, rising quickly into the sky. The gunner immediately whirled the massive Vulcan around and drew a bead on Race's skull.
Blare!
The crewman's head snapped violently backwards, shot right between the eyes.
Nash spun around in surprise, searching the ground below for the source of the shot that had killed his gunner.
And he saw him.
It was Doogie.
Crouched on one knee over by the moat with a stolen lqavy MP-5 pressed against his shoulder, aimed directly up at the Black Hawk II! Behind him stood Gaby Lopez.
Just then Doogie loosed another shot and it pinged off the steel roof above Nash's head.
Nash yelled at his pilot, 'Get us the fuck out of here!”
With his arm looped underneath Renee's good shoulder, Race scrambled for the ATV.
The crowd of natives was now standing underneath the two Army helicopters, shouting angrily at them, waving their sticks, firing their arrows in vain at the armoured underbellies of the flying steel beasts.
Race leapt up onto the back of the ATV, yanked open the small circular hatch set inside it and helped Renee
