earth.
They were still twenty-thousand feet above the ground, plummeting at supersonic speed, head first, toward Alcatraz.
At two thousand feet, the transport tube shook violently as a large braking parachute deployed below Victor’s feet. Looking to his right, he could see the head-up image of Kenslir’s tube, its chute deploying as well.
Their rate of decent slowed dramatically.
>>>HERE IT COMES<<<
At five hundred feet, the tube suddenly burst apart, separating into two halves. Victor was now flying through the air, his rifle case held onto his vest by the safety strap. The ground was rushing up at an alarming rate, and Alcatraz was looking very, very big.
At two hundred feet, the parachute on Victor’s back billowed out and he was jerked around, his feet swinging down below him, his head now up. His rifle was aimed upwards, pulled by a cable connected to his chute harness so the stock hung at his waist level. Victor wrapped his arms around the weapon, holding it close against his chest.
>>>USE YOUR LEGS!<<< Kenslir cautioned.
Seconds after his main personal chute had deployed, still fifty feet above the ground, Victor felt his himself detach from his chute. He was in free fall.
Victor braced for impact as the ground rushed up to meet him. His stone feet, wrapped in leather and ballistic nylon boots, smashed into the parade ground on Alcatraz’s southern tip, sending up a spray of dirt and grass. Victor tumbled forward and barely caught himself.
Beside him, Kenslir had landed more gracefully, staying upright on his feet. In one fluid motion, his rifle, a magazine-fed USAS-12 autoshotgun, already tucked against his shoulder. He spun in place, sighting down the barrel, quickly surveying the area for any sign of their prey.
Victor fumbled with his rifle, glad it was attached to him by a strap. Despite hours and hours of training, he held the autoshotgun at waist level.
>>>ALL CLEAR<<< Kenslir texted.
***
In Miami, on the twelfth floor of Argon Tower, everyone in Detachment 1039's Command Center breathed a sigh of relief. High speed combat drops were always a source of anxiety for the Detachment, even after years of doing them.
“Holy shit,” Jimmy said, his face pale. “That’s how we deploy?” He wasn’t sure if he was gripping Josie’s hand tighter than she was gripping his.
“Not always,” Captain Smith said. “That’s our immediate response method. We don’t use it often.”
“What about the plane?” Colonel Phillips asked. He noticed that on one of the displays the aircraft was still proceeding west, gradually climbing to 35,000 feet.
“It’ll meet up with a refueling tanker over the Pacific then swing north for a return flight over Canada, where it’ll refuel once more. It should be back to base in a few hours.”
Phillips was impressed. “In my day we rode in the back of Blackbirds—but we sure as hell didn’t jump out of them.” He still remembered the confining pressure suit he’d had to wear on those special flights. Of course, these aircraft weren’t two-seater Blackbirds. They were single seat, A-12 interceptors, officially decommissioned years ago, but which the Detachment had managed to transfer back from NASA—and which had been extensively modified.
The four members of the Detachment stood in the back of the Command Center watching quietly as the mission continued. A dedicated spy satellite was directly over the prison, following Kenslir and Victor Hornbeck’s progress as they swept north, toward the exercise yard.
“Has anyone ever been hurt on one of these drops?” Josie asked. She’d thought her heart was going to explode watching the transport tubes plummet toward the ground after the multi role, MA-12 released them. Even though they were just green dots on a computer display, it had made her terrified.
“Colonel’s broken a leg once or twice,” Captain Smith said. “Nothing that slows him down though.”
Josie paled at the idea and held
They were still twenty-thousand feet above the ground, plummeting at supersonic speed, head first, toward Alcatraz.
At two thousand feet, the transport tube shook violently as a large braking parachute deployed below Victor’s feet. Looking to his right, he could see the head-up image of Kenslir’s tube, its chute deploying as well.
Their rate of decent slowed dramatically.
>>>HERE IT COMES<<<
At five hundred feet, the tube suddenly burst apart, separating into two halves. Victor was now flying through the air, his rifle case held onto his vest by the safety strap. The ground was rushing up at an alarming rate, and Alcatraz was looking very, very big.
At two hundred feet, the parachute on Victor’s back billowed out and he was jerked around, his feet swinging down below him, his head now up. His rifle was aimed upwards, pulled by a cable connected to his chute harness so the stock hung at his waist level. Victor wrapped his arms around the weapon, holding it close against his chest.
>>>USE YOUR LEGS!<<< Kenslir cautioned.
Seconds after his main personal chute had deployed, still fifty feet above the ground, Victor felt his himself detach from his chute. He was in free fall.
Victor braced for impact as the ground rushed up to meet him. His stone feet, wrapped in leather and ballistic nylon boots, smashed into the parade ground on Alcatraz’s southern tip, sending up a spray of dirt and grass. Victor tumbled forward and barely caught himself.
Beside him, Kenslir had landed more gracefully, staying upright on his feet. In one fluid motion, his rifle, a magazine-fed USAS-12 autoshotgun, already tucked against his shoulder. He spun in place, sighting down the barrel, quickly surveying the area for any sign of their prey.
Victor fumbled with his rifle, glad it was attached to him by a strap. Despite hours and hours of training, he held the autoshotgun at waist level.
>>>ALL CLEAR<<< Kenslir texted.
***
In Miami, on the twelfth floor of Argon Tower, everyone in Detachment 1039's Command Center breathed a sigh of relief. High speed combat drops were always a source of anxiety for the Detachment, even after years of doing them.
“Holy shit,” Jimmy said, his face pale. “That’s how we deploy?” He wasn’t sure if he was gripping Josie’s hand tighter than she was gripping his.
“Not always,” Captain Smith said. “That’s our immediate response method. We don’t use it often.”
“What about the plane?” Colonel Phillips asked. He noticed that on one of the displays the aircraft was still proceeding west, gradually climbing to 35,000 feet.
“It’ll meet up with a refueling tanker over the Pacific then swing north for a return flight over Canada, where it’ll refuel once more. It should be back to base in a few hours.”
Phillips was impressed. “In my day we rode in the back of Blackbirds—but we sure as hell didn’t jump out of them.” He still remembered the confining pressure suit he’d had to wear on those special flights. Of course, these aircraft weren’t two-seater Blackbirds. They were single seat, A-12 interceptors, officially decommissioned years ago, but which the Detachment had managed to transfer back from NASA—and which had been extensively modified.
The four members of the Detachment stood in the back of the Command Center watching quietly as the mission continued. A dedicated spy satellite was directly over the prison, following Kenslir and Victor Hornbeck’s progress as they swept north, toward the exercise yard.
“Has anyone ever been hurt on one of these drops?” Josie asked. She’d thought her heart was going to explode watching the transport tubes plummet toward the ground after the multi role, MA-12 released them. Even though they were just green dots on a computer display, it had made her terrified.
“Colonel’s broken a leg once or twice,” Captain Smith said. “Nothing that slows him down though.”
Josie paled at the idea and held
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