SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

Indeed, even now, things could go terribly wrong. A nighttime thermal could lift them willy-nilly thousands of feet above the desert floor. The wind could shift, or increase beyond the twenty-knot maximum for safe landings. Wind shears or microbursts — short-lived downdrafts — could slam the jumpers into the desert floor at fifty miles an hour. A sudden dust devil could corkscrew them into the ground. And then there was ground turbulence. It could be caused by anything from a ragged tree line to a ridge of sand dunes. Ground turbulence was similar in many ways to the roiling air caused by jet aircraft when they take off or land. That powerful vortex behind them can — and sometimes does — cause smaller aircraft following too close behind to invert and crash.

3,500 Feet Above Xinjiang Autonomous Region,

China. 2151 Hours Local Time.

Ritzik could make out the dunes below clearly through his NV. He scanned the area to the southeast. There was scrub brush and more dunes, with an occasional clump of wind-stunted trees. Directly to the south, he picked out an unpaved, rutted road moving almost due east-west. That would be the smugglers’ track leading from the bridge. He steered slightly south, then turned eastward, flying parallel to the pathway. He’d pick out a landing zone away from the road, far enough from the bridge and causeway so there was no chance they’d be spotted.

Altitude: 1,800 feet. Ritzik adjusted his trim and went to half brakes, decreasing his airspeed to about ten miles an hour but increasing his descent rate. He steered a wide left-hand turn, his altitude dropping quickly now. Now he was flying crosswind. Ahead and below, he could pick out a series of brush-topped dunes. As he crossed over the top of them he could sense a change in the canopy as he hit the mild ground turbulence. He descended to fifteen hundred, fourteen hundred, thirteen hundred feet. Off to his left, half a kilometer away, he picked out the narrow causeway that stretched from the bridge across the soft marsh leading away from the Yarkant Köl. And then he worked the brakes once more and began a wide, flat right hand turn that would take him on the downwind leg of his approach.

Altitude: 1,000 feet and coming down rapidly. Ritzik released the brakes to slow the descent speed. But, with the wind behind him now, his ground speed accelerated. He dropped his arms and slowed down as he brought the parachute into a second right hand turn. Now he was on the base leg. His altitude was about eight hundred feet. He was concentrating now on picking out the best possible landing zone — didn’t want to come down in the marsh, or hit the crest of the dunes. Off to his right, he saw one possibility: a slight depression perhaps two hundred feet across. At its far end was a clump of vegetation; to its left, six hundred feet away, half a dozen ragged, windblown trees.

Altitude: 300 feet. The head wind had picked up. He raised his arms, reducing the brakes. Off to his right was a small row of dunes. The Ram Air canopy reacted, buffeting Ritzik and Wei-Liu.

Altitude: 200 feet. He reached down with his left hand and hit the quick release on his combat pack. It fell away. As it reached the end of its tether, the shock bounced the two of them violently. Then, quickly, he eased both toggles up into the full flight position. Their airspeed quickened, but the rate of descent slowed, giving them a more gentle angle of attack.

Altitude: 60 feet. One hundred yards straight ahead, Ritzik saw that what had appeared from a thousand feet to be a clump of vegetation was in fact a wall of thornbushes perhaps five feet high that crowned the far rim of the depression. They represented instant pain and suffering. He’d flare well in front of them. Wind speed appeared to be constant from the way it was hitting his face.

Ritzik shifted in the harness, flexing his legs. “Stand by. At about fifteen feet I’m going to flare — bring us to a nice, gentle landing. We’ll touch down and walk away as if we were stepping off an escalator.”

Wei-Liu’s head bobbed up and down. “Way to go.”

Altitude: 15 feet. Ritzik eased both of his toggles downward, applying full brakes. The Ram Air slowed to almost a complete stop. Their soles were perhaps ten feet off the ground, when the entire left hand side of the parachute folded in half. “Oh, shit—” Instinctively, Ritzik released the toggles to allow air back into the cells. It didn’t happen and they dropped like rocks.

“Uhhhh.” Wei-Liu went down hard, Ritzik crumpling on top of her like a linebacker. He hit the quick releases and freed himself, then rolled to his right and released the chute straps. He pulled himself onto his knees, then rolled onto his side, pain shooting from his left ankle up his leg.

He crawled back to Wei-Liu and rolled her onto her back. “You okay?”

All she could do was suck air.