Bolstered by the sight of the helicopter, everyone ran harder, except Elliott. He watched as the others ran on. Survival had been all that mattered but now that it seemed more likely, his thoughts went back to Shavian. He couldn’t leave her. He wouldn’t.
Elliott was grateful when McNabb slowed the pace. At least, he was until he saw the look of bewilderment and alarm on the general’s face as he gazed at the chopper.
“Well,” McNabb said, “there are a lot of questions in my head but I’m going to start with… anyone know how to fly a helicopter?”
Elliott’s whipped his head around. “You don’t?”
McNabb shook his head. “Sorry, kid, not one bit.” Elliott’s heart sank, and he watched as every face fell… save one.
“What the-“ Aubrey breathed out, moving closer to examine it.
Elliott’s mind slowed long enough to examine the beast that squatted before them. It looked like an insect whose ancestors had defected to Eastern Europe and flown too close to Chernobyl. There were glass bubbles for cockpits and two bug-eyed protrusions above them and in the front and enough weaponry to single-handedly end a second Cold War. It was painted in a fading urban camo with a large red star on the side that Elliott couldn’t have identified positively.
The closer they got the larger it became. It had to be over six meters tall, and Roger looked up at the five- bladed rotor with his mouth agape. “This is… a little more helicopter than I’m used to,” Aubrey said weakly, looking absolutely tiny next to it. “But I think I might be able to fly it.” She brought herself under control and opened the only door on the side they faced.
Jaws fell all around. Had Elliott heard that right? Aubrey? Fly a helicopter?
“Well, flying is one thing,” McNabb quipped, “but all you’re going to do from there is blow the shit out of every goddamned thing for a ten block radius in any direction.” Aubrey looked around, squeaked and jumped back out.
“What the hell is all that?” she asked. “Where are the pilot controls?”
McNabb shook his head. “Other side, on the top. You opened the gunner’s door. This is an MI-24B gunship.” His hand brushed the red star. “Russian Airforce insignia,” he explained to Elliott’s baffled look. “This model was decommissioned in 1980.”
Roger’s face was skeptical. “Decommissioned Russian Airforce gunship?”
McNabb nodded absently, still staring up in amazement. “They call it a Hind, and there are so many reasons this shouldn’t be here.”
“As long as it still works I don’t really care about the specs,” Fipps added. They all followed Aubrey to the other side of the enormous chopper. “Can you really fly this thing?” he asked her.
Aubrey blinked a few times. “In the same way that the captain of an 1850s clipper ship can steer the Titanic. Principles are more or less the same but… some of the details could get… um… lost in translation?” She gulped, looking no more convinced that he was. Elliott didn’t like anything being “lost in translation” while aloft in an airborne tank, but he saw little choice.
Gamely, Aubrey took a deep breath and clambered up the side of the chopper and in through the pilot’s door. Elliott could see her examining controls inside, then she cleared her throat and leaned out.
“So uh… remember that whole ‘lost in translation thing?’ she said. “I now mean that literally. All the controls are in Cyrillic.”
“Are you sure?” Roger asked.
Aubrey huffed out the breath she was holding in exasperation. “Well, all the recognizable letters are backwards and everything else looks like complex editors’ marks so yeah, I’m pretty sure.” Roger pursed his lips at her.
“Can you understand what they mean?” Roger pressed her.
She clenched her jaw and restrained herself, if barely. She was a woman on the edge of panic and Elliott suddenly wondered if they were asking entirely too much of her. Their lives were in her hands.
“If I could read Cyrillic, it wouldn’t be lost in translation, would it?” she snarled. “But I think I can guess what everything is based on the trainers I’m used to flying.”
“You’re flying us around in what appears to be an antique missile silo. I’d prefer less guessing,” Roger snapped.
“Well if you know anyone who can read Russian-“ Aubrey started.
“I can,” Junie quipped. All eyes turned to her.
“You speak Russian?” Elliott said. “I had no idea.” He was beginning to think he could fill an ocean with the things he didn’t know about Junie Harkness.
“No, I don’t speak Russian,” she clarified and rolled her eyes. “I read Russian.”
“Well, that’s what we need, so up you go,” Roger proclaimed, boosting her up into the cockpit with Aubrey.
McNabb came to stand next to Elliott and in a quiet voice he said, “Someday you’re going to have to tell me where you found her.”
Elliott sighed. “Are you asking about the grenade-launching coffee tweaker who can conveniently read Russian when we need it or the beer-guzzling mouse who can conveniently fly a helicopter when we need it?” Without waiting for an answer, he said, “I found Junie in a coffee shop in a mall. But I don’t think she’s from there.”