A young girl was hunched over a helicopter control panel, holding onto a radio and seat, fingers white as she held on tightly, the helicopter spinning out of control, a rapid beeping sounding, alerting the crew of a malfunction or damage to the chopper.

"Chopper 803, going down. I repeat-"

"Camo stop!" A man behind her shouted, grabbing her shoulder. The blades of the chopper had an uneven beating pattern, still nearly deafening. "Prepare for crash landing!"

She looked desperately back at the radio in her hand, and the two men behind her, one holding her shoulder, the other struggling to stay standing as he grabbed parachutes. She nodded her head once, and dropped the radio,  turning to the back cabin, the spinning and rapid descent causing her to feel nauseous. She glanced out the window and had to think fast. They had only minutes.

'We'll never make it. We're going too fast, and the parachutes will only get caught in the blades.'

"Damien, Dad! Stop!" She yelled finally, her mind speeding faster than the crashing helicopter.

The two men froze, looking at her confused.

"No time to explain! Get down!"

A last-minute glance at out the window finalized her decisiondecision. She grabbed the two by the arms and pulled them down, burying the bags and softer equipment around them.

'If I'm right, we'll barely survive. But only if we land... '

The thought trailed off, panic taking over. She pushed out of the padded area, signaling the others to stay put as she took the helicopter controls. The chopper was spinning, like a wild dancer, round and round, the nose first, then the tail, over and over, out of control.

'At this altitude and speed, if we hit wrong, we have no chance.'

She pulled at the controls, praying they would catch and the mad dance of metal through air would halt. She barely got the helicopter upright as it hit the ground. Her bet was on the shock absorbers taking the brunt of the hit, and the padded equipment taking the impact for the others. She was out in the open, no seat belt to hold her in place, no padding between her and the steel of the chopper. But she was well aware of this. It was impossible for her plan to work as well as for her to be safe. Sometimes, risks had to be taken.

'Better two survive than none.'

On impact, she felt the helicopter feet snap, the metal crunching, her body collapsing like a lifeless doll as the speed stopped suddenly, the helicopter meeting the ground. Her vision was blacking out, the dust and sand blowing in through the holes in the hull, covering the inside with a layer of dirt, thickening as time went by. Nothing stirred.