FALLEN | The Devil of Caracas

Chapter 1 | Nightmares and Daydreams

Her gut drops as she falls from the sky. Spinning. She cries mayday into her headset. She's focused. Terrified. Fighting to balance the machine. The ground draws closer. The craft rolls to the left. She braces.

Metal crunches against stone. Dirt flings in the air. The rotors smash into the ground, snapping to pieces as the windshield fractures against the barrage of rocks and dust beating against it. Sliding down the hill, she continues to brace herself with no more than her harness keeping her seated. The cockpit shakes, violently, filling with dirt and dust as small pieces of rock pelt her body. There's nothing more she can do - only ride it out.

Lexi grits her teeth and holds tight until the craft finally comes to a halt at the bottom of the slope. Dust covers her line of sight. Her right hand still grasps the control stick and her left hand clutches the harness. The ear bursting sounds are now replaced by a deafening silence.

She just crashed a $5.9 million United States Army UH-60L Blackhawk.

The chopper rests on its left side, placing her up in the air, on the right side of the cockpit. She looks to her left, toward the ground. Her copilot is slumped against his side of the craft. He's not moving. Lexi finally lets go of the stick and grabs her harness with both hands. Gravity pulls her to the left, fighting to drag her out of the seat. She attempts to call to her partner. Nothing comes out. Still in shock, she struggles to utter a word. She clears her throat, coughing out the dust, and tries again.

"Rick," she mutters hoarsely. No response. Lexi strains to see him through the settling dust. Her eyes catch the crimson blood on the windshield. She looks down at her left arm. More blood. Then she touches her face and pulls away to see the same red blood on her gloved fingertips. But it's not hers.

She looks back to her copilot. "Rick, please- please get up," she begs more desperately. Still nothing.

Lexi begins to shake. The adrenaline recedes from her body, leaving her veins cold and her limbs weak. What now? Tears collect in her eyes, as her mind and body attempt to process the emotions and sensations of what just happened. She takes in short gasps of air, which her lungs immediately reject, kicking out the dust.

The coughing fit subsides. Lexi then tries to assess her situation, fighting back her tears. The muscles in her neck and shoulders are tight - whiplash. Everything hurts. She hears the distant clack, clack, clack of gunfire coming from the raging battle on the other side of the hill. The bright sun roasts the helicopter, raising the temperature above one hundred and five degrees Fahrenheit. Attempting to ignore the ache in her neck and the sweat soaking her body, she looks toward the rear of the craft. Lexi observes the massive hole in the left side of the chopper, ripped open by the RPG. 

The crew is missing. Her gunner and medic were either thrown out or decimated in the explosion. Evidence of more blood, indicate the possibility of the latter. 'Maybe they're alive' Lexi thinks to herself. 'Maybe they dropped out just before we hit the ground.' Or is she alone?

No. She's not alone. Lexi's heart drops, when her mind finally catches up; she's an American pilot in a hostile country, surrounded by men who would have no greater pleasure than to decapitate her on camera. They would then submit the footage to Al Jazira for her widowed father to witness the final moments of his only daughter.

As if on cue, Lexi looks up to see her greatest fear becoming a reality. At first, she only sees a few shapes through the smoke and dust. But there's no denying what those shapes bring with them - certain death.

"Shhhit!" Exclaims Lexi, drawing out the word. "Shit, shit, shit." The figures move toward her with purpose. She guesses they're about four hundred feet away and closing quickly.