The Drop

Dusty had taken many, many flights in his life…but none like this. The visibility was so bad that he was flying with instruments, just like he would during a storm, but the winds were too quiet for him to actually be moving through a storm. The air was also uncomfortably thick with smoke and ash. Even with the extra filters on his intake systems, he could feel his engines laboring under the on slot of the dirty air. Behind him, Cabbie sounded even worse, but if the C-119 was uncomfortable he never gave any indication of it.

"Bearing's check." The older plane's voice broke Dusty's focus for a moment.

"Target should be 48 nautical miles out, bearing 12 degrees Southeast by East."

There was a pause as Cabbie listened to the navigation beacons around them to confirm Dusty's calculations. "Correct." There was a note of pride in the old plane's voice which Dusty felt was a little bit misplaced, but who was he to argue with a bit of praise. "Next, what is our ETA."

Dusty scrunched his face a bit, this involved some math that he usually got to ignore during races, when his job was simply to travel between two points as quickly as his engine would allow him. Alright, they were moving at 160 knots…just under Cabbie's normal cruising speed so that the older aircraft would have extra power available if they ran into an emergency. Time would equal distance divide by speed…so 45 divided by 160 would equal 28 minutes and some change. Rounding up to give them some wiggle room. Dusty cleared his throat. "ETA about 30 minutes."

Cabbie gave a little bit of a sigh at his imprecision but didn't make too much of a fuss. "Well, what should we do with this information?"

"Um…" Dusty replied completely drawing a blank.

"We should probably call the IC." Cabbie said with a bit of a chuckle. "The town we are heading to help will probably not have the ability to communicate with us via radio, so it is best to let our IC know what our ETA is so that his people can notify the town that we are on our way via phone."

"Ah…" Dusty exclaimed as he started to process the new pieces of information. He hadn't ever considered that he wouldn't be able to talk to the people on the ground because most of the vehicles he interacted with were either aircraft or worked around airports, so they were equipped with air-to-ground radios. But, the vast majority of vehicles, including the vehicles they were currently working on rescuing, would

"Now would be a good time to make that call." Cabbie gently suggested.

"Rodger that." Dusty cleared his throat, took a deep breath, then switched radio channels to call back to the Incident Command Center to give them an update on the planned drop.

The sky was dyed dark red with smoke and ash, but even in the gloom, it was clear that there would be no more sleep in Radiator Springs until after the fire swept through. Even if Red and the other were convinced their preparations had been enough, the sheer feeling of dread would not have let them doze. The various vehicles chose to do whatever small tasks they could think of to protect their home. Flo focused on keeping her fellow citizens fed. Sarge and Fillmore lead the effort to try to clear away anything that could burn. Red did his best to soak down every building.

As they worked the smoke kept getting thicker and thicker, and even with the glow of their headlights it was getting challenging to see what they were doing. Eventually, the Sherrif started to pull residence who were struggling in the smokey condition and sending them back to the safety of the firehouse. They, after all, didn't have the time to try to manage someone's injuries if they lost a tire or slipped into a gully. The Mercury Cruiser's eyes allowed his eyes to slid across his fellow residence, then close for a moment for a quick prayer that everything would be okay.

Cabbie kept up a slow-paced, comforting banter as the two aircraft cut across the sky, but the old plane quieted as they approached their destination giving Dusty the opportunity to scan the ground for their target. They crossed over a mountain range and felt the turbulents of flying over the active fire before they dipped into the wide expanse of empty-looking scrubland. Dusty turned his full attention to trying to locate any possible sign of civilization…a building, a road, a transmission line, anything that would help guide them into town. Then, out of the smoke, the faint outline of a well-worn dirt path could be seen slicing its way across the desert. Dusty banked slightly to a line the path of his flight with his new landmark.

"You spotted it. I see." Cabbie rumbled from just behind him.

"Yes." Dusty replied not daring to look away.

"Good, now follow it in, but make sure that you don't get too close to the ground. It is easy to focus too close to the road you are following, then get disoriented and hit something in the smoke."

"Roger that." With that Dusty let the radio channel lapse again into silence so that he could focus his full attention on finding Cabbie a safe path to Radiator Springs.

The town itself seemed to appear out of the smoke like magic. One moment there was simply another stretch of empty desert, then there was a town. Taking a deep breath, Dusty prepared to complete a maneuver that Chief Ranger had talked about when he had first gotten certified, but which hadn't actually been part of his SEAT training.

The thrum of aircraft engines cause everyone in Radiator Springs to look up in hope that relief had help had arrived in time. The cars peered through the smoke trying to spot something…anything…then Sarge let out a cry and pointed out the outline of a small aircraft's white belly. A moment later the outline of a second, much larger plane appeared out of the haze following the path the smaller plane had cut.

"That must be a lead plane and tanker." The Sheriff mutter quietly as his eyes followed the aircraft in the sky. "Now to see where they will decide to drop…"

They watched as they circled the town once, twice, then took a much bigger look as the big aircraft seemed to line up to empty his load. But even from the Sheriff's inexperienced position, the drop looked all wrong. Instead of laying down a thick carpet of red retardant across the scrubland on the west side of town, the aircraft seemed to be leveling off to drop its load across the relatively barren patch of land off to the side of Mater's junkyard.

The old car nearly swore as he watched the aircraft's back hatch open, but he swallowed those curses when he noticed what the aircraft was dropping. The planes flying over their town were not a tanker and its lead, they were a Jump plane and their lead. Instead of dropping one load of retardant, they were air dropping in some badly needed horsepower.

Beside him, Red actually burst into tears of relief as he watched the bright yellow parachutes bring two additional firefighters to their town. As soon as their tires touched the ground, Red was making an all-out sprint to greet them. It didn't take long for everyone else in Radiator Springs to join him. Everyone was curious to learn more about the pair of vehicles that had been set to rescue them.

The pair did not disappoint. The two little vehicles were painted bright red, orange, and gray, with white numbers painted on their canopies. The smaller of the two wielded a blade and sported the number 25. The larger one wore the number 55, a heavy blade, and a slag-eating grin. Rolling forward on well-built treads, the larger vehicle easily picked Red and the Sherrif out of the gathering crowd and parked himself in front of them.

"HELLO, MY NAME IS AVALANCHE." The dozer thundered at the gathered vehicles. "SO, WHO HERE IS IN CHARGE?"