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“Not there,” Mickey called over the radio and watched as Robin pulled to a hover a hundred feet above the airport.
The Dawson City Airport in the heart of the Yukon Territory was a mile-long strip of gravel beside the Klondike Highway that was itself alongside the Klondike River. The airport was the one flat stretch in a bowl of rounded, pine-covered hills. The field had two white soft-sided, half-cylinder hangars, a Dumpster, and an airport terminal that couldn’t hold more than ten seats. At the far corner of the field was a fueling station.
The C-23 Sherpa and the DC-3 smokejumper planes had already delivered their cargo to the fire and were parked along the side of the airstrip between the terminal and pop-up hangars.
“Why not?” Robin was in the lead as they arrived and had starte
