SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

The troops pulled the arming pins from their ARR assemblies, performed buddy checks, then signaled Yates with upturned thumbs.

“PRICE check,” the sergeant major growled into his mike.

Wei-Liu turned to find Ritzik and shrugged when she caught his eye.

Ritzik reached around and brought them face-to-face. “It’s an acronym we use to examine our O-two systems: pressure, regulator, indicator, connections, and emergency equipment.” He tapped each element on her gear as he spoke the word. “You’re good to go, ma’am.”

31,500 Feet Above Kumblun, China.

1810 Hours Kazakhstan Time (2010 Hours Local Time).

Ritzik checked the global-positioning-unit readout on his PDA, then shifted screens to make sure the convoy was more or less where it should have been. It was. He pressed his transmit button and said, “TOC, Skyhorse Element.”

“Skyhorse, TOC.” Roger Brian’s voice was five-by-five.

“Sit-rep, Dodger.”

“No news. Are you getting picture?”

“Affirmative. Anything from home base?” Ritzik would have liked to hear that Langley was finally doing its share of the work.

“Nothing new.”

So much for interagency cooperation. “What’s the imagery?”

Dodger said, “No changes. Changii is quiet. No other developments.”

“Roger that. Skyhorse out.”

Ritzik changed frequencies so he was on the insertion element’s net. He looked up the aisle. Talgat emerged from the cockpit, his arm extended, his thumb upraised.

There were less than sixteen minutes to go.

He looked at his men as they ran their hands over one another’s web gear, weapons, and combat packs, checking and double-checking. Until now, they’d been quiet, each one lost in his own thoughts. That was SOR They’d been preparing themselves mentally for the challenges: working out emergency scenarios, running flight sequences, dealing with the absolute certainty of the uncertainties that make up the practice of warfare.

Now they’d become decidedly animated: their eyes were wide, their respiration shallow but accelerated. It was the body’s way of dealing with the imminent physical dangers: depressurization, the shock of subfreezing air, the blackness of the void outside the aircraft’s hull, the total aloneness of HAHO insertion.

Like them, Ritzik’s breath was thin. There was a knot in his gut, too, and his sphincter was tight — all normal reactions prior to the stress of combat. He could feel the beat of his heart, rushing, and he fought to control it. There’d be enough time for a huge adrenaline surge once they’d exited the plane.

29,500 Feet Above Subexi,

China. 2019 Hours Local Time.

Talgat came aft, his O₂ bottle dangling from the waist strap of his harness. He threaded his way past the Soldiers and made his way to the rear door of the aircraft. He straddled the curved metal sluice. “Time to depressurize,” he called out, and reached for the door handle.

From the middle of the aircraft, Rowdy shouted, “Talgat. Tokhta—stop. Qozghama—don’t move!”

The Kazakh froze.

Quickly, Yates unplugged from the prebreather, thrust his O₂ hose connector into the jump bottle’s regulator, and pushed aft. He withdrew the demonstrator seat belts, looped one of them around the back strap of Talgat’s harness, then pulled it tight. Then he buckled the male end of the second belt to the buckle end of the loop and ran the loose end to the closest seat, where he snapped it into a seat-belt buckle. He slammed Umarov on the chest. “Now,” he shouted. “Now you’re safe.” He motioned to the Kazakh, instructing him where to stand. “Stay there — and open the door when I give you the signal, okay?”

Umarov saw that Yates had taken him out of the door’s path and gave the American a thumbs-up. “Maqul—okay.”

27,500 Feet Above Tashik Tash,

China. 2023 Hours Local Time.

Now Yates’s eyes turned to Ritzik. The major had attached his harness to Wei-Liu’s, and he had to contort his body so that he could be seen clearly. Yates shouted, “We’re ready, Loner.”

They heard the change in turbine pitch as Shingis throttled back to slow the aircraft down. Ritzik took a quick glance at his GPS. He focused on the coordinates, calculated, raised his arms above his head, and held all ten gloved fingers up where everyone could see them. Then he folded one finger, and then another, and then another, and another. When his left hand displayed only four, Rowdy turned, pointed toward the rear as if he were leading a cavalry charge, and screamed, “Talgat—go!”

The Kazakh threw the thick handle to the left. The door blew inward, smashing into the rear bulkhead. The loss of heat and pressure was immediate, palpable. Wei-Liu’s ears popped painfully. She saw Rowdy, Gene Shepard, and the one they called Goose wince, too. The plane vibrated violently from the stress to its airframe. It bucked and twisted left, then right, before regaining level flight. The noise from the three rear-mounted engines was overwhelming.