QUAI KOTAL. SULAIMAN MOUNTAINS. SOUTHERN AFGHANISTAN.
Part of the trick to a successful short-field takeoff was to let the plane rev up while stepping on the brakes. Zahra had seen Mani do it many times before, but always while operating on dirt or grassy field. Never on river rocks, which resulted in slight forward movement as the tundra tires slid over the stones under the power of the Pratt & Whitney PT6A-140 turboprop.
“Looks like the goggles give us about five hundred feet of visibility,” he said, applying twenty degrees of flaps for added lift during the takeoff run, before releasing the brakes. “Here we go.”
The Caravan lurched forward, gathering speed.
The plane trembled for about fifteen seconds, until Mani applied just enough rear pressure on the yoke to transfer some of the weight from the tires to the wings. Another twenty seconds and he tugged harder, and the Cessna leaped into the surrounding darkness.
Mani left the flaps in place while cutting back power, since they would not be climbing much this night. They entered a slow flight, which the airspeed indicator marked at ninety knots, or half the Cessna’s cruising speed, but it was required to negotiate the tight turns ahead.
Before that, however, they needed to clear a very narrow section of the canyon, which he had apparently managed on the way in.
Even with the night vision goggles it was difficult to see that far ahead, but they could not risk turning on the halogen landing lights. This had to be stealth all the way, lest they wish to paint an X on their backs.
Mani banked the wings almost thirty degrees while applying opposite rudder, presenting a narrower wingspan while adding power to offset the loss in lift.
“Easy now,” he whispered, as dark green walls rushed by. They were cruising at just a hundred feet over the bottom of the canyon, working the delicate balance between power and drag to hold airspeed and altitude. This required constant minute adjustments of all control surfaces and power settings while he slowly nursed the airplane through the narrow pass—even more so as the ravine turned, compounding the problem.
“So this is what I missed,” she mumbled, gripping the sides of her seat as he increased the angle of bank to forty-five degrees, adding more power and rear pressure on the yoke, which he achieved by working the elevator trim.
“Almost done,” he whispered, covering another five hundred feet before the canyon widened to almost a hundred feet, allowing him to level out the wings. But as he did so, muzzle flashes erupted high above them.