Chapter Text
***
2018
Steve pulled into his driveway. Resting his head against the steering wheel, he tried mustering the energy to finish the last part of his journey. He’d been in too many time-zones in too few days.
After the mission to rescue Joe, he and Junior had returned to Camp Lemonnier for multiple debriefings. Then there was a flight from the Horn of Africa to Germany where Joe had been transferred to a military hospital. Once Joe was well enough, he’d be questioned at length about his time in captivity to help with current operations.
Once he was finished in Germany, Steve caught a lift between Rammstein and Pearl Hickman for another round of debriefings. It would be nice to change into a t-shirt and jeans after wearing fatigues. And get some down time.
Junior decided to visit his mom. It’d been an emotional ordeal for them all.
Killing the engine, Steve noticed the Camaro in the driveway. It was late. But he and Danny had texted throughout the mission. Steve had kept him in the loop about returning.
It was weird to admit, but it felt good having someone keep tabs on him. Waiting. Promising a home cooked meal after a week of MREs.
Forcing himself out of his truck, Steve grimaced as the tender muscle across his upper ribs stretched. He rubbed at the area where his vest had stopped a bullet. Another close call.
Grabbing his duffle from the passenger seat, he stood outside breathing in the warm night air.
Looking up, Steve gazed at the night sky. He spotted the familiar four-star, kite-shaped constellation he and his father would search for when they went rock climbing. Hanaiakamalama.
“You know, son, Hawaii is the only place in the U.S you can view these.” His father had smiled at him. “It’s special.”
Taking a shuddering breath, Steve looked from the sky to his house, to the Camaro. Swallowing, he shook his head, too exhausted to think and dissect the confusing things inside his head.
He wiped at his burning eyes and forced himself onto the porch. Punching the code to his alarm, Steve opened the door and walked inside.
“That’s far enough,” a voice called out.
Steve froze.
Two men walked out from Steve’s dining room and pointed M4’s at him. A third man came down the stairs.
Steve spotted Danny sitting in his loveseat. A fourth person stood guard over him, the barrel of his weapon aimed at Danny’s head.
Danny looked at Steve with his lips pursed, his whole body coiled in tension. “I’m sorry. They were waiting when I arrived.”
Steve studied Danny, other than being pissed off, he didn’t look injured. Thank God. Steve nodded at him, letting Danny know there was no need for apologies before he glanced over at the intruders. “What do you want?”
One of the men from the dining room gestured at Steve with his weapon. He must be in charge, Steve surmised.
“Drop the duffel and put your hands in the air.”
“That’s my line.” But Steve lowered his stuff and raised his hands. “All right. Now, let him go.”
Danny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no.”
The lead gunman shook his head. “No, we’ll all going for a ride.”
Steve studied the intruders. They were all well-built and dressed in black BDUs. The leader was in his late 40’s with a crew cut. He had a large, misshaped nose that looked like it’d been broken a few times.
They screamed professionals. Steve knew he couldn’t give them more of an advantage by relocating him and Danny. He had to stall. “You’ll get more cooperation by telling me what this is all about.”
“Joe White,” the Leader said.
“What does this have to do with Joe?” Danny asked. He was giving Steve time to think, to strategize a plan.
Steve was unarmed; his SIG was in his duffel. Danny usually left his weapon in the lock box of his car. That left hand-to-hand verses four armed men. Not great odds, but he and Danny had gone up against worse.
“Joe White has information we need.”
Steve spotted a ball point pen on the coffee table. “Then why don’t you talk to him?”
The Leader glared at Steve. “Because he’s at an army hospital in Germany.”
“Is that right?” Steve asked.
There was a butter knife on the dining room table. Maybe Danny could reach it. Steve telegraphed his thoughts by keeping his head still and moving his line of vision toward the table.
Danny followed his cue, following with his eyes toward the table and back. He blinked in acknowledgment.
“You just spent the last seventy-two hours with Joe White. You know exactly where he is,” The Leader said. He obviously had contacts.
“Actually, I spent most of my time on planes,” Steve said. “But, you already know that.”
“You were the last person with White and we need to know everything you two talked about.”
“We were kind of busy,” Steve said. “And to be honest, Joe doesn’t tell me anything. He’s secretive like that.”
“You’re one of the few people White trusts.”
Danny raised his eyebrows and snorted. Steve worked his jaw, calculating his next move. He glanced at Danny who stared at him. They would do a silent three count.
“Oh, and nice try with the diversion tactics,” the Leader said. “But we don’t plan on giving you the opportunity to use them.”
Steve caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He slammed an elbow into the sternum of the man behind him.
Danny leaped out of the loveseat, grabbing the rifle from his captor, and pointing it at the ceiling. It went off twice.
Steve lurched toward the coffee table to grab the pen when someone crashed into his side and slammed him into the wall. Steve elbowed his attacker in the jaw and drew his fist back to finish him off.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Danny punch his attacker in the face.
Something cold and metal touched the side of his neck. All of Steve’s muscles seized as an electric current went through his body.
***
Afghanistan
2003
Steve was dead on his feet. In the last nineteen hours, he’d had a pre-mission briefing, an op, and debriefing. Then he’d written his after-action report. He wanted to face-plant in his bunk, but his CO had requested to see him.
A scorching breeze assaulted his face. Steve wiped at his eyes and fought back a cough from breathing in the swirling dust. His TAC vest felt heavy over his fatigues. But he had no intention of getting shot by a sniper, so he left it on.
Carrying a half-empty gallon of water, Steve entered Commander Brooke’s tent and walked up to his desk. An oscillating fan in the corner circulated stale, hot air.
Brooke sipped coffee from a dented metal mug. He was in his early forties with a trimmed beard and zero hair on his head. “At ease, Lieutenant.” He flipped through Steve’s AA report. “So, thirty clicks into enemy territory, you encountered a goat farmer, gained intel from him, and used it to locate your target’s village.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You had no idea if you were dealing with a non-combatant. He could have led you in circles or right into bobby-trapped compound. Hell, he could have been a Taliban solider on his way home or part of a scouting operation.”
Commander Brooke stared at Steve and waited for him to speak.
“His clothes were old and sewn together. He didn’t wear boots and when I shook his hand, his fingers were not calloused from firing a weapon.”
“He could still have posed a threat to your team.”
“I made an assessment based on our location and my observations of the subject. Given that our target has moved from village to village and that the terrain was very poor for cover and concealment. I determined using the farmer was worth the risk.”
Steve was confident about all his choices during the op. They had very little intelligence of the area and needed to make some headway.
Commander Brooke finished his coffee and put his cup on his desk.
“It would seem your risk assessment was accurate,” Brooke said in a flat tone that was hard to decipher. “I’ve sent the maps and observation points for cover and small arms range of local security measures of the village to command. They’re drafting a raid plan for tonight.”
A wave of adrenaline rushed through Steve. “I could brief my team. I recommend a full platoon and –”
“We’ve got another assignment for you, Lieutenant McGarrett,” someone said from the back of the tent.
Steve recognized that voice. The hair along the back of his neck stood up. Turning around, he stood at attention. “Sir.”
“At ease,” Joe replied.
***
Since Steve’s first deployment, he’d only seen Joe in passing a few times when they were at the same base or during certain classes. Steve trained with new equipment and practice drills between deployments. Home had been bedrolls or barracks for the last two years.
Ten months ago, he and Joe had both taken different parts of a large operation in Iraq. Then Steve had been sent to Afghanistan.
Ever since Joe completed his master’s degree, his career had taken off into clandestine operations. He’d taken the right tests, worked with right agencies and earned a higher rank.
Scuttlebutt was that Joe had planned several covert operations in northern Afghanistan to go after high-ranking Taliban leadership. In the last two years, they had only run into each other a few times.
“It’s good to see you again,” Joe said as they searched for a jeep.
“Same here,” Steve replied with a smile.
***
Steve walked with Joe inside the main command tent. They both stood around a table with various satellite maps and recent thermal imagery spread over the surface. Commander Brooke joined them, as did several others Steve worked with.
Lieutenant Cabral was the CIA liaison Steve worked with the most. Next to her was Petty Officer Bowen, team logistics specialist, and a seasoned vet. He obsessively chewed on a piece of gum.
Steve glanced at the map, noting the boundary between Afghanistan and Pakistan. He also took note of several intelligence dossier folders with top secret clearance stamped on them.
“I know everyone here just completed a successful night op, so I won’t keep ya long,” Joe began. “You’ve been selected to plan a recon mission to locate the whereabouts of a training camp run by Musa Asadi, the Taliban’s lead bomb maker.”
Joe handed Steve and the others the folders. Steve flipped through the intelligence on Asadi. It was painfully thin.
“As you know,” Joe continued. “During the last four weeks there has been an escalation in violence north and south of Kabul.”
Steve was well aware; he’d led six recon and three direct fire missions in the last month.
“The Taliban have increased their use of roadside IEDs and suicide bombings attacks. Not only that, they’ve been picking up new tricks from the insurgents in Iraq and gotten their hands on more high-powered explosives.” Joe scanned everyone around the table. “The death toll has climbed to unacceptable levels. And we’re going to locate this bomber’s death school and help take it out.”
“What is the level of intelligence on the current target?” Steve asked.
“Minimal.”
This would need to the first of maybe half a dozen ops. They would collect data for all missions planning. Weather conditions were a must with the summer season. Not to mention mapping the trafficability for teams on foot.
Steve started calculating the amount of photographic equipment they would need to carry to help sketch out new maps and the number of sensors to plant.
He was thinking at least seven days to record the terrain and gather data. An eight-man platoon would rotate between surveillance and security. He was already mentally picking out team members. Given how deep into the mountains they would need to go, entering by horseback might be the best option.
“This will be a two-man mission consisting of myself and Lieutenant McGarrett,” Joe announced.
Steve’s head’s shot up. “Sir?”
Bowmen and Cabral looked taken off guard. It was hard to surprise the CIA.
“We’ll parachute in, infiltrate by foot, and move at night,” Joe said to the team.
That didn’t jive in Steve’s head and he wasn’t afraid to say so. “Given the lack intelligence, I think performing a series of zone recons would collect the most data.”
“Normally, I would agree with your assessment, but given the classification of this op, a two-man team is all that is being authorized.”
Steve studied Joe’s face, but his expression was neutral. Glancing back at the maps, Steve studied the satellite imagery. Realization dawned. “The training base is in Pakistan.”
“We like to think of it as the outskirts,” Joe hedged. “The Pakistanis wouldn’t put a base within their territory, but they would allow it within a mile of their border.”
“Shit,” Bowmen cursed. “That’s gonna to make insertion tricky.”
“Insertion will need to be ten miles out.”
Bowmen glared at Joe. “What about communications?”
Joe shook his head. “Minimal. Radio commendations are iffy given the terrain.”
“And escape and evasion plans?” Steve asked.
“Still in the planning stages,” Joe said.
“I have concerns,” Cabral spoke up for the first time. She had enough pull to put the brakes on the mission or at least punt it back to command. “The nearest airbase is four hundred miles away. Not to mention back-up.”
Joe didn’t flinch. “I understand. We’ll work together on options.”
“All right, we’ll re-convene at 1800 hours. I want everyone involved in last night’s mission to get some sleep. I’m talking a full eight hours,” Brooke glared at all of them. “Now go eat, get a couple of helpings while you’re at it. And I’ll see everyone back tomorrow.”
Steve glanced at the maps and back at Joe who started speaking with Brooke in the far corner of the tent. Cabral was on her satellite phone at the other end.
Bowmen glanced at Steve as he walked away. Based on his tense posture, he wasn’t a hundred percent behind this. Logistics officers had their finger on the pulse of all operations; their job was to supply personnel with tools for success.
Walking outside into the desert, Steve didn’t think he would get much sleep.
***
The air in Steve’s tent felt like a wall of heat. Steve sat on his bunk bed flipping through previous reports on the recon area. He shared the space with three other men, but they were out on maneuvers, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts.
It was early morning. He’d only managed a few hours of sleep.
The flap to his tent moved and Joe walked in carrying two thermoses of coffee. He handed the first one to Steve. “Figured you had some questions. Thought I’d come by and answer them for you.”
Steve waved the folder at him. “I’ve never seen such a razor-thin intelligence package before.”
“Hence the need for recon.”
“I agree, but we need deep recon. That means a larger platoon, one that can go in for longer periods of time. We can’t conduct the proper number of patrols to create a true zone map.”
“I agree.”
Steve’s forehead wrinkled. “Then why are we doing it?”
Joe released a heavy breath. He looked tired. “Because there isn’t sufficient evidence to support one.” He sipped his coffee. “This is the eighth possible location for Musa Asadi. Our intel for his current whereabouts is based on a CIA asset. This op is sanctioned by the Special Activities Division.”
Most of Steve’s work was directed by the Joint Special Operations Command who oversaw all Special Forces. But SAD was for military operations considered not viable or politically feasible. Unconventional warfare. Mostly unsanctioned, dangerous missions.
Joe looked at Steve with open frankness. He didn’t speak to him like a subordinate. “I picked you for this mission for your ability to think under pressure.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. He’d never been selected for any black ops before.
“Steve. You’ve led over twenty successful special recon missions in the last few months. You have talent for analysis. Not to mention leading your team out of some hairy situations when surveillance turned into direct action. Even a few snatch and grabs when the opportunity presented itself. I only want the best on this.”
“Why are you leading it?” Steve could be as equally frank. “Usually JSOC frowns at sending anyone with an oak leaf out into the field.”
“I’ve been on Musa Asadi’s tail for two years and I know this intel is good. I personally helped flip this asset; he’s come through for me on four previous missions. If we can locate this bomber’s training camp, we’ll destroy his ability to train others and prevent further bloodshed.”
Joe rarely allowed his emotions to slip through, so it caught Steve’s attention when he spoke with such passion.
“Something happened, didn’t it?”
Joe swallowed and looked away before he stared back at Steve. “I did. I lost some good men, not to mention several Afghan families. Innocent victims who happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. SAD wants this guy, but we’re spread too thin, Steve. They green lit this mission based on my word.”
And Joe trusted him. He wanted Steve to have this back.
Steve nodded. He didn’t need further explanation. “Okay. If this means we can strangle this recent insurgency, I’m all in.”
***
2018
Steve‘s stomach churned and someone was using a jackhammer on the back of his skull. He groaned.
“You awake?”
That was Danny’s voice. But Steve was in Nigeria…no Afghanistan.
“No, you’re in a very empty room with me.”
Had he said that out loud? Steve rubbed at his temple. After some of the fuzziness in his head abated, Steve realized two things: he was lying on a hard surface and his head was cradled against something soft and warm.
Fingers kneaded circles at the base of his neck. It felt so good. Soothing. He started succumbing to the tenderness.
“Hey, hey. Don’t go back to sleep.”
Danny had that tight, worried tone to his voice. It was Steve’s job to keep him from sounding like that.
It was a struggle, but Steve forced his eyes open, only to realize that Danny was peering over him. Oh. Steve’s head was pillowed in Danny’s lap. “W-hat happened?”
“Let's see. You went off to play Rambo in Nigeria. You managed to come home in one piece. Good job. And being the amazing person that I am, I thought maybe you’d like some homemade lasagna. I was greeted by a goon squad as soon as I stepped inside.” Danny moved his head back and forth in thought. “Oh, and a few minutes after you walked through the door, you got zapped by a stun gun.”
God, it was hard to think. Using his hands, Steve pushed up until he was in a sitting position. “Are you okay?”
“Other than being kidnapped? Yeah, I’m fine.” Danny stretched out his legs and rolled his neck. “They made me help carry you around. You’re heavy by the way. Maybe you should lay off all the butter in your coffee.”
Steve leaned his back against the wall. His muscles were stiff from the mission and resulting tazing. He glanced at Danny to verify he really was uninjured. He was dressed in black t-shirt and jeans. It looked like he’d been running his hands through his hair, but other than that, he appeared okay.
“Did they identify themselves?”
“They weren’t very talkative, but one of the guys called the one in charge Collins.”
Steve didn’t know a Collins.
“They left us this.” Danny pulled out a walkie talkie from his jeans pocket and gave it to Steve. “They tossed it to me without a word.”
Steve turned it over. It was a cheap two-way radio. He fiddled with the channels, but he only got static except for channel three which was silent.
“I’ve already played with it. Nadda.”
Steve returned it to Danny. Leaving a remote means of communication hinted that their captors did not intend to interact with them in person. Or worse, the plan was to keep them imprisoned for a longer period of time. Both prospects were not good.
He glanced around their surroundings. They were in a vacant room with no facilities, food or water.
“There isn’t much to see,” Danny said with a frown. “The room is about fifteen by ten feet. There’s one door in and out. It’s kind of weird.”
“Weird how?”
“It’s like a door on a ship.”
That got Steve’s attention. “Like a hatch?”
“Kind of.”
Steve stared up at the ceiling.
“We’re not in a shipping container,” Danny said. “If feels like we’re in a factory or a warehouse. There are plenty of air vents, so we won’t die from lack of oxygen.”
It was a thorough assessment of the room. Using the wall, Steve stood up, bracing his chest with his arm to support his bruised muscles. “I don’t like it.”
Danny got to his feet with a groan and twisted his back left and right. He narrowed his eyes at Steve. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” Steve stared at the tiled floor. The ceiling was about nine feet high. There could be cameras in the vents, but they were too high to inspect.
“I don’t see any film projectors,” Danny said in a voice almost too soft to hear.
Steve didn’t admit that his mind had gone there. Wo Fat was dead. “I don’t think this is a similar situation.”
Steve did another circle around the room. He stopped in front of the door and traced his fingers over the metal surface.
“You know,” Danny began. “I was doing pretty good during this whole thing. I kept my cool when you told me you were going to join some SEAL mission, when you are, in fact, not an active SEAL anymore.”
“Neither is Junior.”
“Seriously? You’re using that as an excuse? Because he was jumping out of airplanes like only six months ago. You on the other hand have been in the reserves since I met you.”
“I’m not denying that. And I did call you.”
“Yes, you did and that is a good job. But while you learned how to pick up a phone, you did so while on your way to the base.”
“It’s not like you could have come with me. And I texted you, we texted.”
“We did indeed text.”
Steve walked passed him to conduct another survey of the room. “Then, what’s the problem?”
Danny threw up his hands. “Are you sure you were in Naval Intelligence?” He glared at Steve as he prowled. “No matter how many times you walk in a circle the room hasn’t changed.”
“Good recon requires multiple surveys of the environment.”
“It’s still a square room.”
Steve went over to the door again. There was no door knob just a silver plate to push it open. He placed both his palms flat and pushed hard to no avail.
“Oh gee, maybe I should have tried opening that while you were taking your cat nap.”
Annoyed, Steve shoved his shoulder against it to see if it would give. It didn’t. But it aggravated his sore chest.
“Okay, what was that? And his time, don’t deflect the question.”
Steve wasn’t sure what Danny was talking about until he realized he’d been rubbing at is sternum. “That was me being careful.”
“Careful how?”
“There was a situation. Shots were fired, and I took a bullet to the vest. It’s just a bruise.”
“Oh, is that all. I’m glad you didn’t add any new holes to your collection.”
“We need to come up with a plan.”
Danny must have agreed because he stopped arguing. “We don’t have any weapons, or cover.” He glanced at the door. “We don’t have anything to pry that open.” He looked up at the vents. “Those are only large enough for a bird to fit through.” Clicking with his tongue, he walked around the room. “Okay, so if we can’t escape, that leaves what? Surprise, right?”
“Like an ambush.”
“Yeah, like an ambush.” Danny turned in an exaggerated circle. “Although we’re lacking a place to hide.”
“But it’s not always about concealment. It could be about luring your enemy into the kill zone.”
Danny opened his mouth and whistled. “Your mind is a terrifying place.”
“Yeah, well.” Steve gazed into the distance…. “It’s pretty terrifying when you’re the one caught off-guard.”
***
2003
It was always best during planning and preparation to pick out the same teams for both the recon and direct-action phase. This way everyone gained more familiarity with the area. Steve made sure that the aircrew used for the jump and the helo pilots for the extraction sat during the briefings.
Usually there were several alternatives in infiltration and exfiltration methods using ships, inflatable boats, and helicopters. Steve and Joe only had one means of going in and out after the insertion.
Bowmen almost chewed a whole pack of gum in frustration. “Damn dessert.”
But they still reviewed approaches and means depending on weather forecasts. Bowmen had cursed about that, too.
Steve studied the woefully inadequate terrain maps. There was some foliage for cover, but the mountains would wreak havoc with their radios. They would probably need to use the natural topography and dig foxholes for concealment. Steve mulled over what supplies they would have to ditch in favor of maneuverability.
Cabral chewed on her bottom lip. “The latest chatter is that Musa Asadi may be on the move soon.”
Joe narrowed his eyes at her. “Based on what?”
“Based on another agency investigation into his money guy,” she said. “Rumor is that whoever is helping to finance his bomb-making is trying to arrange a meet.”
“We can’t let him slip through our fingers.” Joe looked over at Steve. “The weather looks to be in our favor for the next several days.”
Dust storms increased during the summer. It was already late May.
“Let’s review the jump again,” Steve said, with Joe’s agreement.
***
Sometimes during a clear night, Steve went outside at night to look up at the sky and take in millions of glittering stars. He automatically looked for a reddish one around the horizon, but it was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s beautiful a night,” Joe said, standing beside him.
“Yeah,” Steve agreed, releasing a heavy sigh.
“I’m always amazed at the different constellations out here.” Joe looked over at Steve in consideration. “When’s the last time you went home?”
Steve frowned, thinking. He didn’t want to admit out loud how long it’d really been. The weeks and months piled on fast. And before Steve knew it, he’d spent all his leave training.
“You’re on your third deployment. You’ve gone back at least once, haven’t you?”
Steve searched the sky again. Joe was right, he didn’t recognize the patterns. A pang of guilt filled his chest “Not yet.”
Joe wanted to say something, Steve could tell, but they had an equipment check soon.
Now wasn’t the time for such talk.
***
Jumping near the border of Pakistan depended on minimal detection. There was little turbulence as the C-130 cruised at thirty-thousand feet.
Steve breathed through his mask as the flight surgeon asked him random questions to check for alertness. Given the cold temperatures and high altitude, he and Joe were at risk for hypoxia.
Steve double and tripled checked all his straps, the gauges on the computer at his wrist. He made sure his face mask and helmet were snug.
An alarm rang through the bay of the plane. Gomez, a member of the air crew, held up his fingers. They were four minutes out. The light that signaled when to jump was red.
Joe whirled his finger and Steve turned around for him. Joe yanked on Steve’s pack, verifying everything was secured. Steve did the same for him. There were never too many safety checks. High Altitude, High-Open, parachute jumps were risky, but they were the best way to avoid enemy detection.
Steve and the flight crew had reviewed the math several times. He and Joe would hop out at 6,000 meters, deploy their chutes, and drift to the landing site 20 kilometers downwind from where they initially jumped out of the plane.
Steve breathed in through his nose and out his mouth. In and out. Slow and calm.
Another alarm echoed through the plane. Two minutes.
Steve waddled toward the line painted on the deck of the plane. All his survival equipment was stored in a rucksack attached between his legs. He would release it seconds before landing.
The flight surgeon and Gomez secured their safety straps, so they couldn’t fall out of the plane. Gomez gave Steve and Joe the thumbs up and began opening the plane’s bay door, triggering a warning alarm.
The door lowered, wind whipped through the bay of the plane. Joe walked over first. Steve followed him and inched closer down the ramp, watching the red light. Waiting.
Thirty seconds.
Steve placed a hand on the back of Joe’s shoulder. He would follow Joe out, so they would land on the ground close to each other.
The light flashed green.
Joe took several steps down and leaped.
Steve ran down the ramp and dived into a hundred mile per hour freefall.
Adrenaline surged through his body. It felt like his heart might explode from beating so fast. Air rushed around him as he plummeted.
Ten, twenty, thirty seconds. He drew his cord. The resulting force of the air catching the opening parachute, slingshot his body like a bungee cord.
His rate of velocity went from over a hundred miles per hour to twenty. He would be sore for days.
Steve hung in mid-air, his parachute billowing above him as he piloted his descent. HAHO jumps were long; this one would last another eighteen minutes. Every minute was a calculation. Speed and wind direction. Steve continued adjusting his turns to remain on target.
Peering down, he floated above Joe, watching him for navigational signals. They should have been in a tighter group. When they landed, they would be a good fifty feet from one another.
It was 0450 hours. Given the lack of detail on the terrain, they didn’t want to risk a night jump. By the time they would land, the faint hints of dawn would provide them with enough light to land safely.
Ten minutes.
It would be peaceful if Steve didn’t have to make minor adjustments every thirty seconds. Blobs became foothills, shapes trees. He needed a flatter surface.
Six minutes.
Steve was planning out the landing in his head. Finding the perfect spot, how to roll when his boots touched the ground. The fastest way to gather their gear, store and conceal their chutes.
Three minutes.
There was large swatch of trees to the west that Steve had course-corrected for, but there were random ones scattered throughout the drop-zone. Too spread apart, too dry and short for the imaging to pick-up.
Joe seemed to like a certain spot, adjusting course. Steve followed his commanding officer.
Two minutes.
Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat.
Shit. They were being fired upon. Where was it coming from?
Sixty seconds.
Steve tried pin-pointing the direction of the shots. Another volley was aimed in his direction. And another. Two or three shooters. It was hard to tell how Joe was faring…Steve watched him land forty feet away.
Steve was still a sitting duck.
He yanked hard on his lines, trying to catch the wind and glide in the opposite direction. But he was becoming a bigger target. The gunfire continued as the ground started getting closer and closer.
Rat-a-tat.
Fuck. A sudden hot-white pain engulfed his shoulder.
Steve lost precious seconds and he blinked against the sudden confusion. He tried adjusting his lines, tried guiding his chute, but his arm didn’t work right. His head felt fuzzy, his vision blurred.
His parachute was a like a flashing neon sign.
Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat. Rat-a-tat.
He’d get shot to pieces if he didn’t do something. He was over a small growth of trees. They would help break his fall.
Steve yanked on his both emergency cords, ditching his chute.
He dropped like a rag doll.
The ground and trees were rushing up to—whack. Pain lanced up is leg; branches smacked him in the face, his chest, his arms….
Something smashed the back of his skull and everything went black.
***