“Mark,” Vern called over the radio. “I’m going to take this one a bit high. Jeannie, hang back and let’s see what my drop does. I don’t like the way this wind pattern is forming.”
“Roger that.” Jeannie might be a better pilot, he hated to admit. She was a bloody natural. But his six years of service flying and four years specifically on wildfires to her two on fires made him a better flier when it got ugly. And this looked like it might be shifting toward ugly.
“Hang on,” Steve called from his usual seat in the back of Emily’s helo. “Let me send the drone in ahead of you.”
Vern held back and waited for the tiny craft to come zipping down from whatever section of the fire it had been observing. Less than a minute later, the tiny cross shape, six feet long with a ten-foot wingspan, zipped
