Dear SOFREP Community – We are honored to present an exclusive first look at the newest Cameron Curtis novel, Hard Contact, a Breed thriller. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. — GDM

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HARD CONTACT

By Cameron Curtis

Thirty tons of gold. One brilliant heist.

Excerpt from Chapter 12

I’m looking out the door as Ellison rights the helo. The missile flies past the countermeasures, its smoke trail white against the darkening sky. For a second, I allow myself to breathe.

“Another one!” Keller yells. “Seven o’clock!”

Ellison pitches the Sea Hawk in the opposite direction. Launches more countermeasures. This time, the machine does not respond quickly enough. A terrible crash knocks the helo to one side, and I’m thrown hard against the straps.

“Pressley Bannon,” the copilot calls, “this is Blue King Five. We’ve taken a hit off Ésperos.”

A voice crackles in my ears. It’s the Pressley Bannon. “Say status, Blue King Five.”

Ellison has straightened the Sea Hawk. “Keller, Reznick. Watch for more anti-air.”

The flight engineer and ASW technician release their belts and lurch to the door, looking down at the bluffs. Keller grips the articulated minigun on the starboard side. “Nothing yet,” he says. “I count three guys on the bluff with rifles.”

“If you get a clear shot, waste ’em.”

“Roger that.” Keller swings the minigun to the door.

“We got hit in the boom.” Ellison tests his stick and pedals. “I think we’re flyable. I’m going to try to put her down.”

“We’re flyable,” the copilot says into the radio. “We’re going to put her down. There are bad guys with rifles on the cliff.”

 

Ellison cranes his neck, looking for a landing spot. The terrain around Ésperos is rugged. Apart from the helipad, occupied by the Huey, the only flat ground in sight is the two-hundred-yard stretch of beach. The pilot aims to put it down as far from the gunmen as possible.

G3 battle rifles are effective to twelve hundred yards. I grip the edge of my seat. Given a choice between dying in a twisted airframe and dodging bullets, I’d rather dodge bullets.

Keller traverses the minigun and prepares to fire.

There’s an earsplitting crack behind us. It’s not an explosion. Something mechanical in the tail assembly broke. Some kind of catastrophic failure. Instantly, the Sea Hawk enters a clockwise spin.

“Mayday, Mayday.” The copilot doesn’t wait for Ellison. The pilot is wrestling with the controls. He’s got the left pedal jammed to the floor. The pedals control the pitch of the rear rotor, which counters the torque from the main set of blades. The clockwise spin suggests we’ve lost the stabilizer. The fact that Ellison’s foot is on the floor with no effect confirms it. “This is Blue King Five. We’ve lost the tail rotor. We’re going in.”

It’s impossible to describe the forces generated by an eighteen-thousand-pound helicopter that’s spinning at fifty revolutions per minute. You’re strapped to a giant animal that’s whipping you around, and you’re powerless to do anything about it.

Ellison is struggling to reach the power levers. “Shut them down, Greg! Shut them down!”

The torque from the main rotor is spinning us. The centrifugal force throws me forward against my straps. My eyes meet those of Keller, then flick to Reznick. They’re pinned on either side of the open door. The world whirls before my eyes. Images of blue ocean and black rock alternately flash past. In seconds, we’re spinning so fast the detail disappears. All I see through the door is a two-toned shutter—half black, half blue.

Ellison and the copilot struggle to switch off the Sea Hawk’s engines. If they kill the rotors, they’ll relieve the torque on the airframe.

“I can’t reach them!” The copilot is fighting G-forces many times his body weight.

“We’ve got to!” Ellison struggles to lift his gloved hand. It might as well be a mile from the power levers.

I shut my eyes. Carlyle’s voice rings in my ears. “Mayday, Mayday. Blue King Five. Going in, Ésperos beach.”

The world has become a blur. I’m pinned against the straps. There’s a terrific impact. For a brief instant, the insides of my eyelids flare bright red.

Then the lights go out.

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Pick up your copy of Hard Contact today!