Two bodyguards, who'd been standing in the center of the fuselage, got sucked out the back of the plane.
The plane jolted hard and Virginia came down on her hands and knees.
Climbing to her feet, she ran for the cockpit, through the bar, past the doors.
Brandon was in the co-pilot's chair, trying to hold the erratic thing steady. Against all odds, without the tail, somehow, impossibly, he was keeping them level.
"What's happening?" he yelled, voice laced with fear to his core.
"Down," Virginia said.
"What?"
"Take us down."
"What?"
"Fast."
He wasn't reacting fast, and she didn't have time to explain. She gripped the yoke over his hands and lifted it hard. The plane dipped down like a ride at a theme park. She kept her hold on the column as her body flew towards the ceiling.
The plane grew even louder, shakier.
"AHHHHHH!" Brandon roared.
Virginia lost grip on the yoke and her body flew up and hit the ceiling.
The plane felt like it would tear at the seams, like they were putting too much pressure on it. Virginia knew it wasn't so. It would make it. But not if it got hit by another RPG.
"What's going on?" Brandon yelled, which she could barely hear over everything.
He began to level out the plane. The noise decreased as Virginia fell back to the floor, landing on Chad's dead body.
"The second group," she said. "Your buddies. Trying to shoot us down."
"What?"
"It's why they wanted the coordinates, Brandon."
"But why?"
"They're terrorists. It's what they do."
"Why in the air?"
"Shooting down a plane in the air drives home a point."
"Don't mess with us."
"Exactly."
Virginia slid into the pilot's chair.
"What do we do?" asked Brandon.
But he already knew, because they were both looking at the radar. The blip that was the other plane was moving closer, on their tail.
"It's bigger than us," Virginia said.
"We can't outrun them."
"And we're missing the tail of the plane."
Brandon wiped sweat from his forehead.
"Switch the controls to me," said Virginia.
"I'm a better pilot."
"Switch the controls. I was only getting warmed up earlier."
Virginia could have switched the control over herself, but she wanted him to participate, to keep him engaged. He was still in shock over Chad, and he looked like he might begin hyperventilating. She needed him to feel some relief of burden here, some passing of the torch, because she'd need his help piloting this thing.
Virginia took hold of the yoke, and Brandon waited a beat, looking at her, wiping some sweat from his forehead. Then, he clicked a button, and she felt the yoke go tight, the power of the beast switching into her hands. She kept an eye on radar as she dipped the plane down, more gently this time.
*****
A gunshot sounded off and clipped the edge of the seat, just above Jake's head. So they still wanted to fight. Were probably blaming Jake for the other plane. Who knows?
Jake's main priority was getting a parachute from the overhead bins. He and Virginia could share one.
"Hey," he yelled to the men as loud as he could. "We need to work together."
"Not enough parachutes."
Jake had only said that to draw them out. Hearing the man's voice, Jake knew where the man was. Center-right. And Jake rose from behind his cover. Aimed his gun. As long as he was faster he would win.
The man stood there, gun aimed, nearly at Jake.
Before the man could even twitch, Jake fired.
Blood erupted from the man's chest.
Then Jake rolled to his right, came up at the back of the center aisle.
Two men rose from behind seats.
Jake took the one who'd made the most progress in his rise. Hit him through the head. These men were less than thirty feet away—perfect range for his pistol. A cheeky Beretta. Graphite-steel.
Then Jake moved down the aisle at a fast pace. Arms extended, gun ready. The semi-automatic piece held lightly in his hands.
Jake took a shot at a seat behind which he knew a man was hidden.
Then Jake came to the first line of seats where two of the warlords were seated, strapped in. He stopped there, looked them over, made sure they didn't have weapons. Clinging to their armrests, the color was drained from their faces.
A picture of their fortunes crossed his mind.
They had a lot to lose if this plane went down—a lot to lose if they couldn't get a parachute.
The man that was head-glitching behind the seats went for it. Rose up, trying to take aim. Jake shot him through the chest twice, and he went down. Too easy.
There were more bodyguards left, crouched. Some had already gotten ahold of parachutes and were probably seated beside their bosses. Ready to tandem jump. If they saved their bosses, they would be in for great compensation, no doubt.
Jake stood there, watching carefully, arm extended, gun hot. He was afraid that the moment he reached for an overhead bin and took his eyes from the fuselage, he'd get shot.
Then he realized there was a much simpler way.