His calloused hand reached down and almost touched the tips of her delicate fingers. Less than an inch was all that separated Miranda McClellan from salvation and certain death. In the frantic moments that seemed to linger like eternity on the blistering spring morning, the auspicious heiress knew her fate belonged just outside the grasp of the fair-haired man reaching for her.
“Faster!” he cried, clutching the plane’s door handle with his left hand while stretching perilously downward.
Miranda shifted her pace up another gear, but the expensive heels she had just purchased the day before hindered her progress like a flat tire.
“Come on! Hurry up!”’ he screamed once more as a bullet ricocheted off the landing gear.
The dilapidated aircraft began to slowly pick up speed while it taxied down the pothole-laden runway. A particularly cavernous crater bounced the plane airborne for a second, nearly vaulting Miranda’s rescuer from his tenuous perch.
“Jump now!” he pleaded after quickly regaining his balance.
Miranda found no other choice. She had to trust him or the next bullet just might find its mark into her slender body.
With the last burst of faith she could muster, Miranda leapt up and out. The man latched onto her wrist and pulled her toward him. One of her new red pumps flew off, then the other. He flung her into the cabin and slammed the door shut.
Miranda instantly gazed down at her bare feet as she slowly caught her breath. Kiki rushed to her side and held her for a moment.
“Oh Honey, I thought you would be killed,” the beautiful blond girl said as she brushed Miranda’s long dark locks away from her sweaty face. “That was so close! Are you hurt?”
Miranda coughed a couple of times and swallowed hard. “No, I’m fine.” She again stared at her naked feet. “I guess I was never meant to have those ruby slippers eh?”
The two girls snickered and hugged again. Miranda’s savior rolled his eyes and began to quickly make his way to the front of the plane.
“Thank you so much Sir,” Miranda yelled to the man before he reached the cockpit. “You definitely saved my butt today.”
He looked back and smiled at the emerald-eyed young woman. “My pleasure Ma’am, but we’re not out of danger yet.”
The plane took flight amid a barrage of gunfire.
Normally, the bold Red Cross painted on the plane’s fuselage would have saved it from such a savage assault. But the rebels attacking the tiny Filipino airport were an audacious bunch. Just the sight of their red-checkered ghuhtras wrought sudden panic in even the most docile of hearts. Their reputation for brutality flowed far in advance of a dreaded appearance. Blood always spilled profusely within minutes of their unwelcomed arrival. Death was their calling card and villagers trembled uncontrollably when the rebels departed from the cover of the jungle. The police force in the puny town of El Sol Rey was no match for the Muslim horde taking charge. Mass slaughter, mostly by means of public beheading, was inevitable.
The rebels always made sure to first seize hold of an airport, waterway, or any viable means of escape for those whom they would beat into submission. The morning’s attack of El Sol Rey’s single runway airstrip was well planned, although local authorities knew it was coming and bade foreigners to flee immediately. The two missionary support planes trying to escape were given only one hour’s notice of the coming assault.
Miranda looked out of a small window of the Cargocraft, a large, bulky plane donated by the U.S. Air force some fifteen years ago to Christian Relief International. As the pilot and the man who saved her circled around the open sea just off the coast, and well out of range of rebel fire, Miranda could see another, much-smaller plane, trying to take off from the airstrip. But as the other aircraft cleared the runway, it suddenly nosedived and burst into a ball of flames.
“Oh dear Lord no!” cried the pilot from the cockpit.
Miranda and Kiki stared with horror into each other’s eyes. They saw the rebel troops drive their jeeps off the runway below and head toward the fallen aircraft. Miranda noticed a celebration taking place, men waiving their guns overhead in triumph.
“That could have been us,” Kiki whispered.
“I know,” Miranda replied, nervous tears bathing her eyes as she looked up toward the man who’d saved her life just moments before. She saw him sigh and rub his temples. He felt Miranda’s gaze upon him, but didn’t look back.
“Let’s just get out of here,” he said. “There is nothing we can do for them now.”
The pilot somberly nodded in agreement and banked the airplane sharply left, into the slowly rising sun. Miranda held Kiki’s hand. Both girls started to softly weep. They were grateful to be alive.
