In all the excitement, no one saw the parachutes floating to the sea behind the ball of fire and smoke of the wreckage. By the time the rescue boats and helicopters surrounded the largest portion of the wreckage, the two survivors were floating in the water two miles away, waiting for darkness.

Two men in pilot�s suits and parachute straps pulled themselves onto the quiet, dark beach, exhausted, and rolled onto their backs on the sand. They gasped for air and lolled about on the white grains, which, lighted by the full moon, seemed nearly as bright as noon on a cloudy day. Flotsam and jetsam from the crash danced lazily around them in the sleepy breakers. Finally, the younger man stood and tested his legs on the soft sand, then extended a hand to pull his partner to his shaky feet.

�Denby owes us big time,� the first one said.

�That�s twice we got his butt out of a sling,� the second one said.

�Let�s go grab a beer in town before we leave, sir.�

�Okay, Ray. You�re buying.�

�Yes, sir,� he said, and the two soggy pilots slogged across the dunes toward the village.