SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

“Do you, Rowdy?” Wei-Liu had brought her own boots, long underwear, and socks. “At least a few things fit,” she said ruefully as Rowdy used olive-drab duct tape to bind the baggy coveralls around her wrists and ankles. He also taped two liquid-filled plastic cylinders, each about eight inches long, to the outsides of her calves.

“What’re these?”

“Chem-light sticks, ma’am. So we can keep track of you.” She reached down to squeeze them, but Rowdy caught her hand. “Not yet, ma’am. Please don’t fuss with ‘em until we’re ready to go.”

“You’re the boss, Sergeant Major.” She pointed toward Shepard in his chute. “Am I going to wear one of those?”

“No, ma’am. You’re going to travel in tandem with the major.” Yates retrieved a harness set from the floor and helped Wei-Liu into it. He fitted the shoulder and chest straps first, then the leg straps. He cinched the waistband — but discovered something in the way. He poked at Wei-Liu’s ribs. “What the hell have you got on under there?”

“My tools. They’re in a shoulder pouch. I thought they’d be more secure that way.”

“Let’s adjust them.” Rowdy waited until she’d fitted the sack under her arm. Then he cinched the waistband once more, tugging until he was satisfied it was snug enough. He brought half a dozen more elastic keepers out of his pocket and secured all her loose webbing. Then he signaled for Wei-Liu to turn completely around for a visual inspection.

He was satisfied. “How does that feel, ma’am?”

She imitated Gene Shepard’s jumping motion. “Okay, I guess.”

“And now?” Yates grabbed the rear support straps of her harness in both hands, jerked Wei-Liu three feet off the ground, and shook her.

If he expected her to scream, she disappointed him. He set her down. “Anything feel loose, ma’am?”

“No — it’s all snugged up.”

1645. Ritzik peered over Marko’s shoulder at the flashing point of light on the computer screen. “Their progress still constant?” He wanted to be on the ground before any more Americans were killed, and his voice betrayed the anxiety.

“Has been for the last two hours, Loner. They’re heading north.” The Soldier tapped a series of numbers into his laptop and checked the screen. “About seven and a half, maybe eight hours from the bridge at the rate they’re going.”

“Finally — some good news.” Ritzik clapped his shoulder. “I’m going to suit up. If there’s any change, let me know.”

“You got it, boss.”

1655. They all looked, Wei-Liu decided, like alien Kung Fu artists in spacesuits. The men appeared to be practicing martial arts, moving their arms in slow, ritualistic motions, adjusting their stance, arching their backs. When she’d asked, Rowdy explained that they were miming their free-fall and HAHO emergency procedures: cutaways in case of partial or total malfunctions; corrective maneuvers in case of spins; reactive moves for premature brake release, or closed end cells on the chutes.

She watched, impressed with the men’s ability to move smoothly, given all they were carrying. The night-vision goggles attached to their helmets were taped down for the jump, giving their profiles a decidedly reptilian appearance. Then there were the oxygen masks, which were also held firmly to the helmets by bayonetlike lugs. From the end of the masks, a dovetail fitting led to an AIROX–VIII regulator assembly attached to a short oxygen delivery tube that descended to the dual oxygen bottles strapped just above the right hip.

Wrapped around the thick tube was the send/receive communications cable. One end of the cable was connected to the mike inside the O₂ mask and the helmet’s integrated headset. The other looped around to a pouch attached just above the O₂ package and plugged into the duplex miniature communications system that would allow them to talk to one another and the TOC simultaneously. A second, backup duplex system rode in a pouch on the right shoulder. Around each man’s left wrist, a thick Velcro strap held an illuminated, German-made QA2-30/G free-fall altimeter. On their right forearms, another pair of Velcro straps held a wide double unit: a secure wireless PDA with a GPS positioning module, which would help to guide them and also keep them updated on their target’s position.

Weapons were slung over the left shoulder, muzzles pointed downward, with loaded magazines inserted in the receivers and taped securely. More tape was used to wrap padding around the muzzle and the sights. Then the slings were tightened so that the butt of the weapon was safely above and behind the jumper’s armpit. If the gun shifted and ended up shoved into the armpit, a jumper’s shoulder could be dislocated, or even broken, by the sudden force exerted by the parachute’s opening shock. Todd Sweeney and Ty Weaver, the two snipers, carried Heckler & Koch MSG90 7.62mm sniper rifles in padded scabbards that rode behind their left shoulders. The rifles’ ten-power scopes, attached to their prezeroed quick-mount systems, were insulated from shock inside the fifty-pound, front-riding combat packs. Maybe.