"I've just picked up a Mayday," Jackson yelled. "From somewhere in this
quadrant. I think we've located our bogey, and he's in trouble." He
banked the Seahawk, trying to get a fix. "Not surprising with these
seas." He gave the instruments a quick check. "They can't be far away.
Andy, anything happening on IR?"
"Nothing to write home about. There's--Jesus! It looks like . . ." He
glanced out the cockpit window. "The hell with the IR. We've got a
visual on this baby. He's right down there." He pointed. "See it? Let's
take her in and see what we can see."
"You've got it." Jackson hit the collective and banked, heading down.
Yep, he thought, no doubt about it. There was an emergency flare. Maybe
the fuckers had capsized. Maybe there was a God.