United States, southern New Mexico
On this particular morning, the place was nearly void of outside activity, for the temperature had already climbed into the low nineties, driving everyone indoors who didn't have a good reason move about. In fact, the only movement at all was at the last hangar in the line, Fairskies Aviation. A small door at the end of the building opened and a young woman stepped outside. Almost anyone would have said she was beautiful, for she was tall and slender, with long auburn hair hanging gracefully in a braid reaching almost to her waist. A plain white t-shirt covered her ample figure, tucked into a pair of brown shorts. Long, deeply tanned legs suggested she was used to being out in the sun and the leather hiking boots were far from new.
A face appeared in the office window and the man watched as the woman made her way to a small plane parked nearby. It was not so much her beauty that had pricked his interest, but what she was carrying, a black leather gunbelt, with two automatic pistols. A strange thing indeed for so pretty a lady to be carrying.
* * * * *
"Tower," said the voice on the radio. "Cessna two-three-bravo-charlie, at Fairskies, ready for Taxi."
Inside the glassed-in area at the top of the control tower, Oliva Franklin looked up from her paperwork and got to her feet. Sure enough, the small plane was right down at the end of the flight line, it's propeller turning.
Franklin keyed her microphone. "Cessna two-three-bravo-charlie, taxi to runway two-seven." Runway two-seven was a five thousand foot (1538m) strip of asphalt facing due west.
"Roger," replied a feminine voice, confirming the instructions. "Two-seven."
From the top of the tower, Olivia watched the small aircraft seem to disappear in the heat reflected from the asphalt. With nothing else to occupy her attention, she glanced down at the flight plan filed by the plane's pilot, a woman a from England. Well, she was heading into the middle of nowhere, a small dirt airstrip over 100 miles to the southwest, almost to the Mexican border. Why in the world would anyone want to go there?
Franklin picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. A grimace followed when she realized it was cold. Her headset cord snaking behind her, she crossed to the coffeepot for a refill. She had just returned to the console when the radio came to life.
"Tower, Cessna two-three-bravo-charlie, ready for takeoff." The English accent was unmistakable.
Franklin swung up her binoculars. The small plane had turned the corner and was holding just short of the active runway. She keyed her microphone. "Two-three-bravo-charlie, tower. Cleared for takeoff."
"Clear to go," came the reply from the overhead speaker.
As she watched, the small aircraft swung out onto the runway. There was a slight hesitation and then the plane started to move. A moment later the wheels broke free and the plane began to climb.
Franklin keyed her microphone one last time. "You have a nice flight, ma'am."
"Thank you, tower. Have a good day."
Olivia noted the departure time in her log and watched the plane climb into the clear blue sky. It turned left, toward the southwest, and disappeared a few minutes later. Franklin turned to her other duties. It was one more in an endless stream of landings and departures and soon forgotten.
* * * * *
Another person had watched the small plane depart. Sitting just outside the airport fence was a dark blue van, it's engine running to keep the temperature comfortable for the man inside.
Once the small plane disappeared, he opened his cellular phone and punched in a series of numbers.
"It's Timmons," he said once the call when through. "I followed her to a small airport just outside the city, where she rented a plane." A pause. "Ah, yes, just a second." He pulled a small slip of paper from his pocket. "A Cessna, side number two-three-bravo-charlie. When she took off, she turned southwest. So it looks like she may be headed just where you expect."
He listened for a moment. "Right, sir. Call me if you need anything else."
* * * * *
Three quarters of an hour later the small plane was seventy miles to the south. The flat, barren desert below was gradually giving way to more rugged terrain as the aircraft entered the foothills of the mountains.
Even at 5000 feet the heat from below was quite noticeable. The woman in the left seat of the aircraft tried to ignore it as she studied the map spread across her lap. The rose-colored sun glasses hid a pair of intelligent brown eyes set into her tanned, oval face. The autopilot was flying the plane and from the map it looked like another thirty minutes should put her at her destination. Hopefully, the guide she had hired would meet her at the airport. After all the endless weeks of planning, it was good to finally get started.
A tiny trickle of sweat ran down her forehead. With a sign of exasperation, she threw the map onto the seat next her. The cooling system must not be working quite right. Either that or it was bloody hot down in the desert. Probably both. Reaching over her shoulders, she pulled off the while t-shirt, revealing a blue-green leotard underneath.
Lara Croft was an interesting woman to say the least. An adventurer, an archaeologist and a thrill-seeker all rolled into one, she was a beautiful woman that men found easy on the eye. Approaching her was another matter entirely, however, as many had learned to their dismay. For the woman in the leotard and shorts was as dangerous as she was beautiful.
Indeed, she was an expert with many types of weapons. Especially with handguns, as evidenced by the silver-chrome nine-millimeter pistols on the seat next to her. In the storage compartment, with her other supplies for the expedition, were an assault rife and a grenade launcher. She had encountered many enemies in her past trips, both human and non-human, and experience had taught her to come prepared. Especially when she knew that others were interested in the same prize.
* * * * *
The small plane passed over a range of jagged hills and proceeded into the mountains, headed for a narrow pass in the higher ground ahead. On the other side of the mountain range was Croft's destination.
Alex Kimble grunted with satisfaction as he watched the small plane pass a mile south of him. Just as the boss had predicted. Now all they had to do was kill her. A simple task, really. But Alex was not a fool and a healed-over scar on his right leg bore ample evidence of a previous encounter with the auburn-haired woman.
"All right," he said to the pilot next to him. "Let's do it."
The flyer, a man named Jacobs, nodded and pushed the stick forward. The rotor blades of the helicopter tilted and the MD500 broke from its hover and began to accelerate away from the cul-del-sac where it had been hiding.
Strictly against the law, this particular helicopter was armed. A pair of fifty-calibre machine guns were lashed to the landing struts. It was a jury-rig to say the least, but Alex had had very little notice and he had improvised the best he could. There were three men sitting behind him, too, each armed with an automatic weapon. All in all, it should be enough, even for Lara Croft.
"Swing in behind her," Alex told the pilot. "Once we get close enough, we'll finish it."
The small plane flew into the mountains and the helicopter closed the distance on the slower civilian aircraft. Kimble had chosen this spot after a long look at the map. The mountain pass was fairly narrow and there was little room for maneuver. Croft would have to fly straight and level…a perfect target.
The small plane grew in size and Alex looked back over his shoulder at the men behind him. "We do it as briefed," he told the men over the intercom. "If you get a shot, take it. I want one splashed plane and one dead woman. Then we can all go home."
* * * * *
In the small plane, Lara had disengaged the autopilot and was flying the plane herself. She trusted the autopilot, but the passageway through the mountains was narrow and curved several times before she would reach open country again.
Passing a massive rock outcropping, the plane broke into the sunshine. The terrain was really rugged here, but beautiful nevertheless. Maybe she could return sometime and do some climbing, that cliff to her left looked like a good...
Movement below attracted her attention. A small herd of deer ran effortlessly down the canyon floor, apparently started by the noise of the plane. With a grin, Lara pushed the stick forward, deciding to give them a closer look.
Doing so probably saved her life, for had she continued on her former course, the Cessna would have been overtaken by twin streams of machine gun fire. As it was, she was startled by the tracer shells that flashed just above her cockpit. Glancing around, she was stunned to see a helicopter closing her, its guns firing.
There was no room to turn, the canyon walls were too close. All she could do was dive and jinx a bit from side to side. Not very good choices. She pushed the stick further forward, trying to think of some way to avoid the gunfire and very much aware that the small plane was not certified for acrobatics. Too much maneuvering might pull the wings off.
She felt a shudder as the plane was hit by gunfire. She continued downward and just then the canyon widened slightly, giving her more room for maneuver. She broke quickly left and pulled the stick into her stomach as much as she dared.
It was a good tactic, for the helo was moving fast and couldn't turn quickly enough to follow. Unfortunately, Lara hadn't seen the machine gun protruding from the left passenger door and her quick move brought the small plane directly into the gunner's line of fire.
A few seconds later, the cockpit was filled with crashing noises as bullets tore through the thin skin of the civilian aircraft. More than 20 rounds hit the plane, but the gunner had neglected to lead to target sufficiently and the damage was behind her. The back of plane with all her extra weapons and supplies was hit repeatedly. The rear windows were blown out and one round punched a large hole in her laptop computer before exiting the bottom of the plane.
Instantly Lara felt a lost of control. She dared a quick glance at the tail. All the pieces were still there, but the aircraft still felt sluggish. She looked back to the front…and saw the steep rock wall.
She had no choice to but turn again. She rolled left and yanked the stick back into her stomach, holding her breath at the groans of protest from the injured aircraft. The small plane cleared the shear rock face with less than fifty feet to spare. And when it came out of the turn, the helo was right in front of it.
The Cessna was less than a thousand feet above the ground, when Lara Croft pushed the stick forward again. But it was too late, for the chopper's machine guns were already firing. She threw herself down as far as she could in her seat, trying to hide behind the console...
The plane passed under the helicopter and fell toward the ground. When Lara looked up, a sixty-mile an hour wind hit her in the face, coming through the destroyed windshield. She was going down, no doubt about it. Only question was where.
To her great relief, she saw a small clearing in the otherwise hilly terrain and guided the lifeless aircraft toward it. She eased back gently on the stick, trying desperately to keep the plane in the air.
The plane fell out of the sky just as she passed over the edge of the clearing. She landed very hard, cracking the right landing gear in the process. Miraculously, it held and the plane careened across the meadow, bumping and jolting as she tried to keep it under control.
Lara hit the brakes and the plane began to slow down. It looked like the meadow was long enough to complete the rollout, then she had to get out of the plane fast, because the chopper would surely return to finish the job.
She would have brought the plane to a successful landing had it not been for the hole. Hidden in the tall grass, the hole was deep and wide and the right wheel ran into it at forty miles an hour. The already-damaged strut broke and the wheel came off. Instantly the plane slewed sideways, the right wingtip hit the ground, and the aircraft cartwheeled end over end, finally ending up on its back.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Smoke continued to pour from the engine. From another part of the fuselage, aviation fuel gushed from the ruptured fuel tank and splashed on the ground below. The strong stench of the fuel was everywhere and a small spark would turn the remains of the aircraft into a fireball.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, there was movement at pilot's side door. The door handle turned freely, but door wouldn't open, apparently damaged in the crash. A few seconds later, there was a thump at the door. Then another. And another.
On the fourth such thump, the door popped open, finally yielding to Lara Croft's repeated kicks. A leather backpack flew out of the opening, followed soon by a pair of hiking boots and a somewhat rumpled young woman, the black gunbelt in her hand. Blood dripped from her arms and head as she staggered to her feet, still shaken by the crash. She turned back to the plane and yanked open the storage compartment. The supplies she had stowed so carefully were a tangled, shot up mess, but she had to get them out quickly before…
The whop-whop-whop of rotor blades filled her ears. Without so much as a glance in that direction, Lara grabbed the backpack and ran for her life...
A small crevice in the hillside provided a potential hiding place and she made her way quickly towards it. Behind her, the roar of machine guns broke the morning stillness. Bullets kicked up the ground behind her running feet and ricocheted off the rocks as she dived behind the nearest large object she could find. Taking a deep breath, she buckled on her gunbelt and struggled quickly into her backback.
For a moment the gunfire ceased, though the sound of the helicopter was very loud as it echoed back and forth between the canyon walls. Lara risked a look and was just in time to hear the machine guns again. Twin lines of tracer ammunition hit the ground just short of the broken Cessna. There was another burst of firing as the chopper pilot corrected his aim. This time he was right on target and numerous shells hit the ruined aircraft. A third burst of gunfire set the plane on fire and a few seconds later there was a flash and a roar as the fuel tank exploded.
With a heavy heart, Lara watched her faithful laptop and thousands of dollars worth of supplies engulfed in the flames. The helicopter landed and four armed men jumped out. Then the helicopter lifted into the air and turned toward her.
She broke for the crevice in the hillside, the ground around her exploding as bullets tore into it...
The end.
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Author's note:
Some time ago, Eidos had a contest, encouraging people to send in suggestions for a new Tomb Raider adventure. I wrote such a proposal for them and submitted it. The story you have just read is the opening cut-scene to the adventure I proposed. The thing has been floating around in my head for quite a while and since I never heard anything from the contest, I thought that maybe you, at least, would enjoy looking at it.
If you'd like to see the full proposal I made to them, click here. Then use your browser's BACK button to return when you're finished. Enjoy.
Use your BACK button, or click here to return to the Lara home page.
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