Chapter 29 #3
“Athygli! Attention!” Gunnar’s voice cut through her mic. “All units, this is Captain Magnússon. Redirect to base immediately. Maintain altitude of 10,000 feet until clear of debris—adjust as necessary.”
Tobin followed Njáll’s lead, angling away from the growing plume of smoke and debris, her hands steady despite the adrenaline hammering through her veins.
She wasn’t as synced with Njáll as she was with Eddie, but reading his intentions came easily.
She worked the pedals while he controlled the cyclic, maneuvering them out of harm’s way.
An active eruption wasn’t part of the planned training, but Tobin monitored Njáll’s every move, determined to apply what she learned to future rescues scenarios.
She squeezed the collective and cyclic uncomfortably as the air reverberated with smaller explosions—molten fire erupting from the volcano’s rim in sharp, successive bursts.
Glancing to Njáll, then briefly over her shoulder, she saw Gunnar adjusting his helmet mic, switching to Bluetooth.
He was making a call—likely to coordinate with Icelandic officials.
“Take control, Tobin,” Njáll said, redirecting her attention. She looked at him. He was grinning, full of encouragement, and a little conspiratorial goading. With a nod, he added, ”You won’t get many opportunities to navigate an active eruption back home. Take advantage. Get us back to base.”
Tobin swallowed hard, trying to tamp down the thrill bubbling inside her—nearly as reactive as the volcano. She was about to fly through fire!
Not literally, of course—that was exactly the opposite of what she should do. But the thrill was the same. Especially as the volcano sputtered again, and ashy debris from the core of the earth began to rain down in concentric arcs.
She couldn’t help the cocky smile that spread across her lips as she hunkered down, hyperfocusing on the tactical navigation she was about to complete. Njáll sat calmly beside her, occasionally offering suggestions or tweaks to her maneuvers, but otherwise content to let her maintain control.
Tobin was just skimming the edge of the volcano’s proximal hazard zone when the bird rocked violently, spinning them with the force of the latest blast.
Mid-spin, she gasped and nearly dropped the cyclic in an effort to cover her mouth. A barrage of lava bombs pelted the area they’d just cleared. Two other helicopters, slower in their retreat, hadn’t been as lucky.
Tobin watched in horror as flaming projectiles pelted both aircrafts’ windshields. Her breath caught when one bird began leaking fluid —thick, inky smoke quickly joining the plume from the volcano.
The maydays crackled over her mic. The chopper was going down.
She turned sharply to Njáll, then Gunnar, awaiting instruction— heart pounding.
This escape had just become a rescue.
“Fokk!” all three of them said in unison.
The next few moments blurred as Gunnar barked orders into his mic, instructing the rest of the pilots to return to base.
Tobin and Njáll watched with bated breath as the crew aboard the compromised chopper skillfully guided it to the earth, finding a clear patch of ground not yet encumbered with flowing lava.
Then Gunnar hissed in irritation.
The heat from the eruption was warping the terrain. The ground beneath the chopper had begun to melt and slick over, transforming it into a sheet of black ice. The helicopter was sliding—fast—toward a river of lava.
This wasn’t practice anymore. They couldn’t just pull up the bird and reset.
“If that bird hits the lava, it’ll only have seconds before the fuel system ignites,” Njáll said, far calmer than Tobin felt.
She looked over her shoulder at Gunnar. He was frantically wiping anxious sweat from his brow, his eyes locked on the unfolding disaster, calculating.
“An explosion will damage our helo… at best,” Gunnar said hoarsely.
The implication of what would happen at worst lingered unsaid in the air between them.
“Well?” Njáll asked, looking between the two of them.
Tobin turned to Gunnar first. He stared into her eyes, answering silently with a raise of his scruffy brow.
She rotated her neck to meet Njáll’s gaze. The corner of her lips already curled into a determined smile.
“That’s what I thought,” Njáll said, matching her smile before turning forward.
“Have you ever landed in high-heat conditions?” Gunnar shouted into the mic. Tobin instinctively knew the question was for her.
“No, but I think I’m about to get more than I paid for with this course,” she said. “Why don’t you give me the crash course?”
She risked a brief glance over her shoulder and winked at him.
Then she laughed at herself.
He could scold her later.
Gunnar snorted, obviously less than humored by her pun. “The heat from the ground will alter air density and create updrafts. That means you’ll be coming in fast and heavy—while managing pockets of turbulence. Otherwise, we risk settling with power.”
“Is that all?” Tobin quipped, leaning into overconfidence—false bravado helped steady her nerves and racing heart. She was terrified—but there wasn’t time for that. Right now, she needed the confidence of a surgeon.
She laughed, almost maniacally, picturing her least favorite surgeon, Victor Vanders. She welcomed the surge of rage that hit her veins at the thought of his name, letting it drive her ambition and settle her hands.
“No,” Gunnar said stoically, startling Tobin from her faux arrogance and bringing her back to reality. “You’ll also have to fight visual disturbances from the heat haze. It’ll distort your depth
perception the closer you get to the ground.” “Oh,” she said, chastened.
“It’s okay, Tobin. We’ve got this. Besides…” Njáll stalled as he skillfully shifted the helicopter out of the path of another wave of lava bombs. He exhaled when the bombs dissipated, then continued, “… landing is the easy part. After that, we actually have to get out and rescue our friends.”
Tobin could hear the smile in his voice—he was trying to lighten the mood. But the humor didn’t land. It hit her all at once: she didn’t have a crew to send out once they landed.
She was the crew.
She tightened and relaxed her grip on the cyclic several times, her breaths controlled and purposeful as she maneuvered the pedals to assist Njáll.
“You have the controls,” Njáll said firmly from her right.
“I have the controls,” she confirmed.
No way was she going to refuse the chance to test her new skills—even if it meant testing and learning were, in fact, unfolding concurrently.
The volcano seemed to dare her, sputtering another batch of molten debris from the steady black plume around its gaping maw.
A familiar buzz of adrenaline slinked its way through her veins, and she hummed giddily to herself, slipping into the curated intensity of her captain persona.
With Njáll and Gunnar offering calm, intermittent instructions, Tobin used every ounce of her training and instinct to navigate the helicopter back toward the scorched, shifting earth.
Gunnar scanned the ground for a safe landing zone while Tobin and Njáll battled the flying debris and controlled the descent. He sighted a clear swath of land about fifty yards from the downed chopper. After a brief exchange over the comms, all three agreed—it was their only option.
The problem, they simultaneously noted, was the river of lava snaking toward the site. It would limit their time on the ground. And they already knew their takeoff was going to be tricky—thinner air and heavier cargo. Things were going to get bumpy.
The ground rushed up at them. The heated, lighter air bit into their lift, pulling them down faster than Tobin anticipated.
Overconfidence burned hot in her chest, replaced by a jolt of cold self-reproach.
She gritted her teeth and yielded the adjustments to Njáll, letting him counter the tricky updraft.
With the corrections in place, she stabilized their velocity, keeping them from free-falling onto the earth.
Tobin exhaled through tensely parted lips—frustrated by the near- miss, but immensely grateful for Njáll’s unpretentious correction. He truly was her brother—both by choice, and at-arms.
With barely three hundred feet between them and the earth, the chopper began to buck and jolt. “Hold her steady,” Njáll gritted through the turbulence. “You’ve got this, Tobin.”
His words were bolstering. She wrapped herself in their impenetrable warmth, controlled an exhale, and set them on the earth as gently as possible. Which—given the thermal chaos—meant not gently at all. They hit with a ferocious thud that rattled all three of them down to their molars.
No time to think. The moment they touched down, their classmates from the fallen bird were running toward them. Well—running was a bit generous. They hobbled and leaned into each other, frantic and unsteady, dragging themselves toward their rescuers.
“Thank fokking fok,” Gunnar bellowed. “They’re both alive and upright.”
She felt the familiar jostle as he flung open the passenger door and jumped out, racing toward the downed pilots. The wave of heat that punched into the cabin was staggering—searing her skin, forcing sweat to bead instantly and stealing her breath as she tried to fill her lungs.
She glanced at Njáll, who was also fighting for air, though he seemed far less rattled by it than she was. “Smarter for us to remain strapped in,” he said evenly. “He can handle the transfer—they’re both ambulatory.”
She nodded, relieved. She had no desire to set foot outside unless absolutely necessary.
The downed pilots reached their helicopter just as another impressive eruption sputtered from the volcano.
The earth shifted beneath them, and the chopper skidded a few feet—its ice-landing skids scraping for purchase on scorched earth.
Tobin swallowed the urge to cry out, but only by sheer force of will.