SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

“I don’t think we have any other option — except making a run for it right now.” X-Man’s voice was tense. Half an hour ago he’d maneuvered himself and Sam to one of the bullet holes and he’d sneaked a look through the canvas. There were mountains out there in the distance, he reported. Big, jagged snowcapped peaks. God, how he’d love to ski them. But not now. There’d be no skiing in X-Man’s life for the foreseeable future.

How far are the mountains? Kaz wanted to know. Good question. Maybe a hundred miles; maybe fifty miles; maybe thirty miles. It was difficult to tell.

The convoy had jolted to a halt some quarter of an hour earlier. The Americans waited, trying to listen in on the terrorists’ conversation. But it was nigh on impossible to hear anything over the growl of idling diesel. After no one looked in on them after about ten minutes, X-Man and Sam rolled to their right again, up against the frame supporting the canvas where a round had punctured both wood and canvas. Sam ended up with a splinter in his cheek. But he was able to grab a quick peek. The pair of them crabbed back and leaned up against Kaz. “We’re on a slope leading down to the bank of a huge river,” Sam said. “Or maybe it’s a lake. From what I can tell, the water’s at least a mile wide.”

Kaz asked: “Swimmable?”

“I didn’t see any rapids,” Sam said. “But there’s no way to tell the strength of the current — or even if there is a current.” He paused. “Look — we can’t go now. It’s still light. We’d be caught.”

“I think if we could make it to the water, we’d have a chance — even now,” X-Man said. “Frankly, Sam, we’re better off in the water than we would be trying to get away on foot tonight — harder to track, and better concealment than the scrub and dunes we’ve been traveling through.”

“You’ve got a point, X. But only if we can stay warm.” Sam worried about hypothermia. The temperature at night dropped to close to freezing, and he didn’t like the idea of being wet, cold, and out in the open. “I want to take a better look at that water.”

“Let’s do it, then.” The pair of them made their way back to the canvas and Sam pressed his cheek against the rough material.

“Hey,” X-Man whispered urgently, “watch—” And then the rear gate of the truck was dropped with a violent clang. Two IMU goons saw what Sam and X-Man were up to. They vaulted inside, grabbed the three Americans, and threw them off the truck onto the hard desert floor.

12

20 Kilometers Northeast of Almaty, Kazakhstan.

1630 Local time.

the drop element began to suit up. The first layer was clothing: lightweight, German thermal underwear, French green, windproof Gore-Tex coveralls, Russian body armor, thick socks, and Adidas GSG-9 boots. Over the coveralls, each man wore a wide, nylon web belt around his waist. Suspended from it on the right side was a flapped and taped pistol holster, which was secured by two elastic straps fastened tightly around the thigh. On each man’s left thigh, another flapped, taped pouch held three AK-74 magazines.

The chutes came next. The flight would take less than an hour, so they’d enter the aircraft fully geared up. The ten men worked in pairs. The chutes were final-checked for visible defects. Then the harnesses were let out and the chute assemblies laid out on the floor, pack trays facing downward.

Rowdy Yates picked up Gene Shepard’s chute by the lift webs attached to the canopy release assembly. “Okay, Shep — let’s see if this sucker fits like it’s supposed to.”

Shepard bent his knees and leaned forward, assuming a mock-high-jump position. Yates settled the chute on Shepard’s back. Shepard threaded the chest strap, cinched it tight, and fastened it securely. As he finished, he called, “Right leg strap, Sergeant Major.”

Yates passed him the strap. Shepard ran his fingers over the webbing, making sure it wasn’t kinked. Then he inserted it through one of the kit-bag handles, cinched it tight through the turnbuckle, and fastened it. Shepard repeated the process with the left leg strap. Then he stood erect.

Yates said: “Check your canopy release assemblies.”

Shepard tapped the hollows of his shoulders. “They’re good, Rowdy. You can snug up the horizontal adjustment straps.”

“Wilco.” Yates fiddled with the webbing. Then Shepard threaded the long, flat waistband through its turnbuckle and snugged it tight. Finally, he took half a dozen elastic “keepers” from Rowdy Yates and used them to secure all the loose ends of the webbing. The sergeant major rapped Shepard on the back. “Feel okay?”

The tall, lanky first sergeant bounced up and down on the balls of his feet and tried to roll his shoulders to shake the parachute loose. He couldn’t. “Great. Now let’s get you dressed.”

“Gimme a minute.” Yates looked over at Wei-Liu, who’d been observing the two men. “I think you need a tad of tailoring, ma’am.”