51, Helicopters

“Flying this thing is better than sex!”  Pilot Porter pulled back on the cyclic stick and maneuvered the helicopter as easily as if she were leisurely brushing her teeth.  The machine responded to her commands and glided gracefully through the pitch black night.

“Better than banging professional athletes?”  Agent Death gave her friend a big grin but the massive facial microphone jutting out from her flight helmet hid her teeth.  She was strapped in the copilot chair of the Russian Kamov KA-60 chopper and was enjoying seeing her friend smiling and having fun.  “Didn’t you bang a couple of defensemen from some NHL team a few years back?”

“Not at the same time!” Porter laughed.  Flying felt like power and freedom flowing through her body like a prolonged orgasm.  The exhilarating sensation reminded her of her life’s purpose.  She belonged in the air.

American army special agent Mikayla Doniak was on the ground standing in an airstrip radio tower with some of Porter’s Russian airmen friends.  The four men all spoke decent English, they enjoyed their beautiful female American guest, and they were flirting voraciously with Doniak whenever she wasn’t communicating via encrypted digital radio to her friends in the air.  Between flirting with these good looking men and hearing Porter express her current joy, Doniak was definitely having a good day.  Her voice filled Death and Porter’s ears.  “Porter, you never told me about hooking up with hockey players!”  Doniak had headphones on and knew their conversation was private, but she wondered if the men around her knew enough American slang to know that she was referring to having sex.  

“Sorry about that, Mickey, I must’ve forgotten to tell you that story.  Just believe me, hockey players have incredible explosive stamina.”  

“I’ll bet!” Doniak joked.  She watched the blip from the helicopter on the radar bounce on and off the screen as Porter kept the chopper hovering at an altitude that their radar could barely pick up but other radar stations around the Moscow area wouldn’t detect.

“Yup,” Porter said randomly.  “This is better than sex.  What a machine.”  She hadn’t even come close to pushing the helicopter engines to see what it could really do, but she was impressed at how easily it maneuvered in the cold, night air.  She clicked a button that opened up a different encrypted communications channel that reached the four airmen in the radio tower as well as Doniak.  “Hey Boris, mind if I take this up to five hundred meters?”

Her friend Boris grunted.  He spoke the worst English of the four men, but he was still understandable.  “No wan knows vee have thees heelehcoptar, Porter,” as he rolled the ‘r’ on the end of her name from his thick Russian accent.  “You might ah-lurt meeleetary radar alarms.”  He paused and shrugged.  “If you want to alert meeleetary, fly high, but then, don’t park back here.  Fly away and we come get heelehcoptar deeferrent day.”  He looked at his friends and said something in Russian that made them laugh.

The four men had no idea that Mikayla Doniak could speak perfect Russian, and they all glanced at her.  She had been smiling the whole night from flirting so she kept her poker face, but she understood and appreciated that the four men all thought Porter was bat shit crazy too.

“Thanks, Boris.  I won’t stay up there long.  I just want to feel what these twin turbine engines can do.”

Doniak watched the blip on the radar accelerate upwards aggressively, almost other worldly.  She knew Porter was an ace pilot with anything that flew, but watching the blip made her wonder if she was watching a video game.  Her imagination drifted to what agent Death must be feeling like getting jerked around by the aggressive helicopter with insane G forces.  She looked at the cutest boy closest to her named Maxim and pointed to the radar screen.  “Max, that helicopter is unbelievably fast.”

Maxim grinned widely at her, clearly attracted to the gorgeous American woman who sat only feet from him.  He looked at her perfect eyelashes and blushed.  His English was much better and his accent wasn’t nearly as thick as Boris’.  “The military theenks helicopter got shot down in Croatia acceedent, but we save it and we,” he paused, looking for the word in English, “how you say, modify?”

“You modified the engine?”

“Yes!” the man enthusiastically replied.  “Two engines, and we give more power.  Much, better power.  Not too much weight, I think, becahz no weapons or ammunition.  Very fast.  Porter will like.  Our mechanics say is safe to fly, but has so much power, scares us who fly helicopters.”

“Mickey, come in.”  Agent Deaths’ voice sounded like she was out of wind.

“Talk to me, Death.”

“We have our Porter back.  She’s happy as fuck.”

“Good work, friend.  I hope you don’t puke from Porter yanking you all over the sky!”

Doniak wondered if she should put a move on Max later but was distracted from her flirtatious thought as her wrist watch buzzed to alert her to a phone call.  She grinned, took her headphones off and rested them on the radar screen, then lifted the watch to her face.  “Doc, where in the fuck have you been for the last day?”

Dale O’Connor didn’t skip a beat.  “Drinking.  Hey, quick question for you.  Porter wouldn’t happen to be in the air right now by chance, is she?”

Doniak crinkled her brow.  Blacktide, Death, Porter nor Doniak had talked to O’Connor for a day, so technically he shouldn’t have had any idea that they were hanging out at an airstrip.  “Um, yes, she is.  Can I ask why you’re asking?”

“Damn.”  Doniak could hear O’Connor’s lips suck a sip from a drink as ice clinked against the edge of a glass, then he told her, “I bumped into Connorvich.  You know, my demolitions drinking buddy?  He brought me to a military airstrip to meet his pilot friend but the guy was in the air when we got here.  He hasn’t landed yet.”

Doniak, Death and Blacktide had been hanging out with Porter in a hotel room while consuming large amounts of processed sugar and crying over boys.  Porter had an imaginary crush on the Russian military pilot whom she’d never met, nor did she know that his name was Portavich.  This psychological state of mind had put her into a deep depression.  Her friends had finally sugared her up enough to talk her into meeting up with some Russian airmen friends of hers to get her back in the air.  They knew that if she could fly something, anything, her mental health would start to recover.  The four ladies had completely forgotten and ignored touching bases with O’Connor.  Now he was checking in to say that he was meeting the Russian pilot whom Porter had a crush on and had put her in the awful mental depressive state to begin with.

Doniak’s brain started connecting the dots.  “Wait, so you’re telling me you just happened to bump into your drinking buddy?”

Doniak heard O’Connor take another sip from his drink.  His voice was calm.  “Yup.  I don’t have his number or e-mail or anything.  The universe puts us together.  I’ve told you this before.”  He said this as passionless as if he were discussing a documentary on the evolution of grazing animals.

“Doc, don’t make me kill you!”  Doniak felt her blood pressure start to rise.

“Well, I’d rather put a drink in your hand than die by it, but if you’re gonna kill me, make it quick.”  His dry humor didn’t even get a chuckle out of his friend.  “Look, let’s cut to the chase here.  I’m at a military airstrip in their radio tower and their systems just flashed at us like an alien ship shot straight up out of the outskirts of Moscow.  So either someone fired off a rocket, or Porter is behind the wheel of something really, really fast.”

“Wait, you saw a blip on a radar screen and assumed it was Porter?”  Mikayla Doniak believed her friend but couldn’t process what he was saying. 

O’Connor chuckled.  “I didn’t see shit.  I was drinking.  Connorvich told me what was up when they all started yelling and pointing at their screens.  I had a bad feeling it was Porter.”

Doniak kept her cool.  “Hmmmph.  Well your instincts were right.  It’s Porter.”

“Cool.  Let her know that Portavich is in an attack chopper and he’s headed her way to investigate.”

Doniak felt her heart start to race.  “Hold on, so you’re telling me that the Russian pilot guy is flying towards Porter right now?”

“I just told you everything, Mickey.  Look, Connorvich is gonna introduce me to Portavich when the guy lands, but this super fast radar blip has everybody on edge.  I called you right away cuz I knew it had to be Porter.”

“Shit.”  Doniak tried to think fast.  “Thanks for the call, Doc.  I’m still gonna kill you.”

“Suit yourself.  I’ll be drinking if you need me.”  O’Connor was taking another sip as the call terminated.

As soon as Doniak had lowered her wrist from her mouth, Porter radioed to check in with the tower.  “Hey Mickey, there’s a dot on my radar that’s coming in hot in our direction forty clicks out.  It’s too slow to be a jet, but it’s too fast to be civilian.  It’s gotta be military.”

Doniak didn’t want Porter to slip into her depression again, so she thought quickly.  “We just got a call to ask if we fired off a rocket.  Radar screens are lighting up all over the place.  They’re sending a military chopper to check it out.  Get your ass grounded, Porter.  We’re gonna have to sneak out of here when you land.”

Porter was chipper as she responded.  “I don’t want to bring any attention to my friends.  I’m gonna fly north for ten clicks, then sneak back under the radar.  Don’t worry about me.”  Something in Porter’s voice changed.  “Wait a minute.”

Doniak could tell that Porter was processing whatever it was that she was seeing from her own equipment.  She was getting nervous with her pilot friend.  “Porter, there’s no time.  You gotta get low and get out of there!”

“Something is fishy, Mickey.  I don’t get it.”

“Please do us all a favor and get under the radar NOW.  Please?”

“Mickey.  My radar screen is saying they’re sending a big chopper my way going fast, like an Alligator or something.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I know you gotta get low, now!”

Doniak could hear the confusion in Porter’s voice.  “An Alligator is the name for a Ka-52 attack helicopter.  But there’s no way a pilot could fly one that fast.”  Porter paused, then said, “I need to check this out.  Something seems off about this, I’m telling you!”  

“Porter, not now!  Just get out of there!”  Doniak’s heart was racing.  Team Whiskey had a rough year in Russia already and the last thing she wanted was more trouble, especially with their air force.

“Mickey, the blip is as big as a freighter, but it’s flying too fast to be a transport.  I swear it’s an Alligator, but it’s going way too fast.  I mean, crazy fast.  That can’t be right.  The only person I know who could fly one at that speed is me, except for maybe…” Porter’s voice trailed off.  Then, even over the loud helicopter engine noise, Doniak could hear Porter gasp.  “It’s him.”

Doniak knew she was screwed.  Irrational Porter was soon to take over.  “Porter, please, get out of there!  Now!”  

Porter was chipper and back to her normal self, but Doniak could hear the crazy in her voice.  “Mickey, how do I ask him if he wants to race again?  I don’t speak Russian!”

“For the love of everything holy, please don’t do this, Porter.  Please!”

The crazy took over.  Porter’s voice had an element of demon in it.  “Mickey!  Hear me!  I’m begging you!  I need this!  How do I ask this man if he wants to race?  Help me!”

“Porter, you pulled this shit on the highway and it fucked you up for weeks.  Please don’t do this!”

“Fine.  I’m signing off of this encrypted channel and I’ll be asking him over their open military frequencies in English.”  Porter terminated their connection and the encrypted radio line went silent.

Mikayla Doniak gave up and muttered under her breath, “O’Connor, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

In the air, agent Death had heard it all and the gravity of their situation was sinking in.  This was no longer a joy ride in a friends’ helicopter.  They were being chased by a military attack chopper.  “Porter, you gotta get us out of here.  Doniak’s telling you the truth.  They saw us, it was a bad idea to fly this high.  You gotta get us low, NOW!”

Porter reached out to the control panel and flipped a switch.  Even over the raging volume of the helicopter engines, agent Death could hear the comm link between them go silent.  Porter looked at her friend and shrugged.  The microphone on Porters’ aviator helmet covered her face, but Death could see the pilots’ evil grin.

Porter reached out and flicked a few different buttons on the control console.  Death could see Porter’s lips moving but couldn’t hear anything.  She tried to make eye contact again with her friend but the pilot was now talking with someone on her own comm channel and smiling from ear to ear as the helicopter hovered.  “Porter!” Death yelled, but to no avail.  She yelled her name again and again, but she might as well be in a submarine.  Porter was in her own little world.  

Death looked at the control panels and desperately tried to figure out which switch Porter had just clicked to shut off her comm.  The controls, knobs and buttons all had Russian words and used the metric system.  Death knew that Porter didn’t speak or read Russian, but somehow Porter just knew how to fly things, as if by magic.  Death tried to reach out to touch Porter’s arm to get her attention when the helicopter violently took a nose dive and sped towards the ground.  Death yelled out, “fuhhhhhck!” at the top of her lungs but couldn’t be heard over the roar of the engines.

In the distance, two demolitions experts sat in a Russian air force military radio tower and watched two blips on their radar screen start to dance around each other like a high tech game of Pong as one man poured himself another whiskey on ice while the other poured himself another straight vodka on ice.