Qusay saw that the pilot was being uncooperative and knew they were in big trouble.
"If you don't behave, I'll shoot," Marwan threatened.
What's the use of shooting? He's already prepared to drag us both to the Netherworld! Qusay thought to himself.
Seeing the pilot's right hand pressing down on the control stick, Qusay grabbed his arm with a skillful grappling move.
Suddenly, a violent jolt shook the aircraft. Marwan felt his footing give way and had to grab the cabin door to keep from falling.
Qusay dropped into a horse stance; fortunately, his lower body strength was solid. Out of necessity, he dislocated the other man's wrist.
Immediately, cold sweat poured from Sihadsan's forehead. His hand was immobilized, yet he still tried to use his arm to nudge the control stick.
"Go to hell!" Marwan steadied himself and struck the back of Sihadsan's head hard with his pistol, knocking him unconscious in his seat.
"You knocked him out! Who's going to fly the helicopter?" Qusay cried out in shock.
"He wouldn't have flown it properly for us anyway," Marwan replied.
Suddenly, a powerful crosswind hit, causing the Chinook to shudder.
Only then did the two realize that the helicopter had already left the ground.
"Land it first," Qusay said.
"I don't know how," Marwan said without hesitation. "Your Excellency Qusay, aren't you proficient in all weapons? The Military Region Commander told me so."
Damn it, I can drive armored vehicles and tanks because I'm from the army. Every profession is a world apart. You think flying a helicopter is like driving a go-kart? Just step on the gas and go?
Qusay was at a loss. A helicopter pilot needs theoretical study and simulator training. Even the fastest would take over a year before they could actually fly, and even then, an instructor would have to be right there, ready to take over the controls at any moment.
But now, he had to know how to fly one immediately—and such a large one at that. This was like signing up for driving school and having to drive a heavy truck on the highway the very next day, without even knowing which pedal was the gas or the brake. How was he supposed to fly this?
There was no other choice; he had to do it, ready or not!
Qusay sat in one of the pilot seats and looked down.
At his feet were two rudder pedals; pushing one would turn the craft in that direction, though it was best used in coordination with the control stick.
Between his legs was the cyclic control stick. Moving it forward, backward, left, or right controlled the pitch and roll. Moving it left or right alone would tilt the helicopter, and when combined with the rudder, it would turn.
Pushing it forward or pulling it back controlled forward and backward flight.
Of course, flying or hovering also required the collective pitch lever on the left. Raising the collective increased the lift of the rotors. When lift equaled gravity, it hovered; more lift meant ascending, and less meant descending. Used with the cyclic, it allowed for fast or slow forward flight.
This knowledge hadn't come from an instructor, but from military magazines he'd read in his spare time.
You only realize how little you know when you actually need to use it.
Now, he first had to land to pick up his brothers, and then, as an illegal pilot without a license, fly them back.
He had to learn, because Nilhe, lying on the ground with a broken leg, was waiting for medical rescue.
Qusay steadied his nerves.
First, lower the collective to descend.
With a thought, Qusay lowered the collective lever on his left.
Instantly, the massive Chinook seemed to lose all power and plummeted toward the ground.
In an instant, Marwan turned pale, feeling as if he were in an elevator with a snapped cable.
Qusay immediately pulled the collective back up.
This time, like a roaring beast, the Chinook broke its fall and surged upward.
Too much again!
Qusay had to lower the collective again, but with that bit of experience, he didn't use as much force this time.
Like a tamed wild deer, the helicopter was less violent this time. It stopped ascending and began a slow, wobbling descent.
Qusay didn't look at Marwan; the guy was probably scared out of his wits.
Thump! The left tire hit the ground first, while the right was still half a meter up. The massive hydraulic struts were forced down half a meter. Fortunately, the Chinook was large; if it had been a smaller Cobra, it probably would have flipped over.
Seeing the helicopter land, the Sidewinder Special Forces members waiting nearby didn't hesitate and filed in through the front ramp.
Two soldiers carried the seriously injured Nilhe into the cabin.
The cavernous cabin was large enough for a company of thirty-six men. With only a few of them inside, the cabin felt quite empty. It was as if this Chinook had been prepared specifically for them.
Qusay glanced at his comrades in the back and thought to himself, Brothers, we're going home now.
Qusay couldn't trust the unconscious Iranian pilot at all. He had him pushed to the rear cabin and tied up securely. Once they were back, he'd be handed over to specialists for interrogation to see if they could extract any information about the Iranian Air Force.
Through his recent maneuvers, Qusay had developed a feel for it. This big machine beneath him was like a pure young maiden; she had to be treated gently. If he was too rough, she would suddenly turn into a fierce shrew.
He slowly pulled the collective, and as the rhythm of the rotors overhead shifted, the Chinook rose slowly from the ground.
Next, it was time to adjust their heading.
Qusay didn't head directly south. Doing so might take them straight into the combat zone. This was an Iranian aircraft, and everyone on board was wearing Iranian uniforms; it would be a tragedy if they were shot down by their own side.
He chose to head west first to clear the marshlands before turning south.
The dozens of instruments before him looked like a dense spiderweb, giving Qusay a bit of a headache. He only recognized a few: the airspeed indicator, the altimeter, and the gyro horizon. These were very similar to the instruments he'd seen in fighter jet games. As for the rest, he didn't recognize them, even though they were labeled in English.
However, Qusay also knew that as long as those gauges weren't in the red, everything should be fine.
Thus, with his less-than-amateur knowledge, Qusay didn't dare fly high. He stayed only about twenty meters above the ground. This way, if anything went wrong, landing would be easier, but he couldn't fly too low either, or he might accidentally hit the ground.
Qusay was very lucky. At that moment, the two MiG-25s on patrol had finally turned back because they were low on fuel. Meanwhile, the six squadrons of Hinds were patrolling near the battlefield and hadn't noticed the Chinook flying erratically almost at ground level, dozens of kilometers away.
The soldiers in the cabin had all buckled themselves into their seats. Their captain was with them, after all; if anything happened, they would die with no regrets.
Qusay concentrated on piloting the helicopter in what he believed was the right direction, hoping the Chinook would cooperate and not betray his trust.