The sharp scent of jet fuel stung his nostrils, mixed with the metallic tang of blood that hadn't yet been cleaned from the cabin floor. The old Beechcraft King Air 200, converted into an air ambulance, shuddered violently, as if its entire aluminum frame was trembling with fear. Outside the cockpit window, the explosion from the medical platform "The Ark of Geryon" still licked the Mediterranean night sky, creating reddish shadows that danced across Mateo Rossi's rigid face.
Mateo gripped the throttle with hands trembling from chronic exhaustion. He hadn't closed his eyes for seventy-two hours. His world now consisted only of dimly glowing analog needles and the unstable roar of turboprop engines. He had no radar. He had no satellite navigation system. He was flying blind through airspac
