Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97134 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Carter bit his lip. “You don’t have to be sarcastic—”
Before I could respond, the plane started to dive, and everyone, including me, started screaming.
16
Carter
Riggs pulled back on the plane’s steering wheel thing, and the plane leveled out just a little. We were still losing altitude, but less like a missile intent on screaming to our deaths in the Venezuelan jungle… and more like a ticking time bomb, hurtling toward possible death somewhere in Colombia.
“Good job,” I told Riggs, patting his shoulder and hoping he couldn’t tell how badly my hands were shaking. “Excellent. Really. That’s a neat trick to have in your back pocket. Thank God for your military training, huh?”
Riggs shot me a raised eyebrow over his shoulder. “The Marines do not train us to fly planes, Duchess. This neat trick was a hundred percent thanks to Alan Riggs. My dad’s favorite forced family-bonding activity was making us watch Iron Eagle and Top Gun and every other ’80s military movie ever.”
“Aw. That’s adorable.”
Riggs rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, there were serious limitations. I have a basic idea of how to keep the plane going straight, that’s all. And if I were flying a SuperHornet and needed to blow a MiG out of the sky while doing a barrel roll like a total douche, obviously I’d be all over that too.”
A snort-giggle escaped me before I clapped a hand over my mouth to shut myself up. I still had gallons of adrenaline flooding my system, but somehow William Riggs could make me laugh under even the darkest circumstances. That was the real trick, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t something he’d been taught; it was just an essential part of his personality.
Riggs’s lips pulled up when he saw my smile before he shook his head and got serious. “I don’t know where I’m going or how to orient myself when I can’t read the dials. And as far as I recall, they never showed Maverick landing, which is why I need Hux to get me a copy of How to Land a 40-Year-Old Russian Plane For Dummies, baby. As in, now.”
“Right! Shit. Right.” I unbuckled my belt and scrambled on the floor for the Horn, which I’d fumbled when the plane had dropped.
Meanwhile, Riggs called Buck forward and pointed toward the handgun, which was lying on the floor under the bench.
“You know how to use that, right? And you understand that shooting guns on planes is not advisable unless our lives are in danger? Okay, then. Your job is to keep an eye on the prisoners back there. Pat them down for weapons and keep them quiet.”
“You got it, Chief!” Buck assured him.
I found the Horn under my seat, buckled myself back in, and started frantically typing.
KevsCuz: Hux??? This is Carter Rogers again. Did you find a manual?? A translation?? ANYTHING?? Riggs isn’t sure how to navigate and I’m pretty sure we’re still descending.
HogMasterHux: Motherfucker. I told that idiot to learn Russian, but nooooo. He had to learn PASHTO, even though we don’t even take assignments in Afghanistan anymore!
I had a pretty good idea why Riggs would want to know how to communicate with people in Afghanistan, but I bit my tongue.
HogMasterHux: Believe it or not, this stuff is not widely available on the internet. Especially not in English. I’ll do the best I can. Can you try to find the altimeter?
A frisson of panic zinged up my spine. “Riggs, Hux says to find the altimeter.”
“Which one’s the altimeter?”
KevsCuz: Which one’s the altimeter?
HogMasterHux: The one that looks like it’s measuring altitude.
Gah.
I clutched the Horn tighter as I stared at the control panel, which looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. It wasn’t like on a car where there were maybe four or five gauges. There were at least three or four dozen, with more switches and levers on the ceiling. I was confident some of them were duplicates for the pilot and copilot.
Maybe figuring out the altimeter by process of elimination would have been a fun logic puzzle to figure out while sitting with a glass of wine in front of the fire on a rainy afternoon, but trying to do it while hurtling through the sky was significantly less fun. I hated that I had so little control over this. I couldn’t even google the answer for myself.
My Horn buzzed with a new message.
HogDocKev: Hey! Hi. It’s me. Kev. Aka, THE GUY YOU DON’T NEED, who also happens to be the guy who crafted the tricked-out HOG that’s enabling you to have this convo. I’m gonna head back home to UNNECESSARYVILLE in a minute, but first would you like me to explain how to fly and land the Antonov?
I blinked down at the display in shock.
KevsCuz: No way!! You know how to fly an Antonov?? Yes!! Hell yes.