Blood Orchid (Holly Barker 3)

Ginny leveled off at a thousand feet and reduced power to cruise, then she moved her headset microphone close to her lips. “I’m going back to the Orchid Beach airport,” she said. The airplane was vibrating heavily.

“No,” Holly replied. “We can’t go there; it’s not safe. That’s what whoever was shooting at us will think we’ll do. Is there someplace else nearby?”

“There are half a dozen airports within a few minutes’ flight, but with all the vibration, I think the propeller must have been hit, and if that’s true, it could come off the airplane any time, and we’d be done for. Without the prop up front, the airplane’s balance would be so affected that we couldn’t fly; we’d be too tail-heavy.”

“Then let’s put it down on a road or something.”

Ginny was looking around now, and she swung the airplane onto a northerly heading. “There’s a disused World War Two training field a few miles north. I’m going for that.”

Holly sat in her seat and stared forward, searching for the airfield. Only her big sunglasses made it possible for her to keep her eyes open, with so much wind in her face. She glanced at the airspeed indicator: Ginny had slowed the airplane down to eighty knots, but that was still a lot of wind.

“There!” Ginny said, pointing just to the right of the airplane’s nose.

Holly spotted the three runways, set in a triangle, and a large hangar. “I’ve got the field.”

“You want to land it?” Ginny asked.

“No! You do it.”

Ginny laughed. “We’ll land in the same direction as at Blood Orchid; the wind direction and speed will be about the same.” Then the airplane began to vibrate even more. Ginny reached over, yanked out the mixture knob, and the engine stopped.

“What the hell are you doing?” Holly demanded.

“I think we were about to lose the prop,” Ginny replied, starting a turn toward a runway. “It’s still windmilling, but with no power, there’ll be less stress on it. Turn off the master switch.”

Holly switched it off. “Do we have enough altitude to make it?” Holly shouted, her headset no longer of any use with the power off. The airplane seemed awfully low to her.

“We’re about to find out,” Ginny yelled back. “Never mind the wind direction, we’re going for the runway straight ahead. Tighten your seat belt and brace yourself.”

Holly yanked on her seat belt until it hurt, then turned and held onto Daisy’s collar, then she braced against the instrument panel, elbow slightly bent, so the impact wouldn’t break her arm. It was becoming clear that they weren’t going to make the runway.

Ginny flew the airplane lower and lower. “Hang on!” she yelled as she flared.

The airplane was headed straight toward a drainage ditch about fifty yards short of the runway. Ginny began pulling back slowly on the yoke, and the stall warning horn began to shriek.

The airplane stalled and fell the last ten feet to the ground, landing with a noisy slam, then bouncing a couple of times. They came to a stop on the very end of the runway.

“Well,” Ginny said, “we made the runway.”

“A little late, though,” Holly replied. “I’m glad you were able to miss the ditch.”

Ginny pointed straight ahead: the propeller had stopped straight up and down, and the tip of the blade they could see was missing. “That accounts for the vibration,” Ginny said.

They got out and walked around the airplane. Daisy seemed remarkably unconcerned. Apart from the shattered windshield and the punctured window, there was a line of bullet holes running from just aft of the pilot’s seat upward and aft. Holly counted seven holes.

Ginny stood back and looked at her wounded bird. “What this airplane needs is a new windshield, new prop, new pilot’s window, and a lot of patching—plus a very thorough annual inspection. I think the engine is going to have to be torn down to see if there was any damage from that awful vibration.”

“All that sounds expensive,” Holly said.

Ginny nodded. “That’s what insurance is for, although I’m not sure how I’m going to explain this to the insurance company.” She climbed into the pilot’s seat. “Come on, let’s see if this thing will start.”

“Start?” Holly asked, alarmed. “You’re not going to try to fly it again, are you?”

“No, I’m going to try and taxi it over to that old hangar,” Ginny replied, pointing. “It beats pushing it.”

Holly got into the passenger seat. “Right. And anyway, somebody might be looking for us from the air.”

“The thought crossed my mind,” Ginny said, “although we’re both probably completely paranoid.” She flipped on the master switch, pushed in the mixture, cracked the throttle, and turned the key. The engine fired as if nothing had happened, and they began to move down the runway.