Whiskey Delta – Chapter 14

“Sure, we want to go home. We want this war over with. The quickest way to get it over with is to go get the bastards who started it. The quicker they are whipped, the quicker we can go home.”

-General George S. Patton

Braun blinked hard as soon as the light hit his face. The wind filled the tiny space and sent everything that wasn’t pinned down flapping. Even through the helmet and the mike in his ear, he could hear the terrible roar all around them.

All the while, the unrush of cold. Through all the layers, he felt the stab of icy wind…

“Fifteen seconds,” the voice in his ear said, equally cold. Ahead of them, the airman in his black uniform raised his fist. As a unit, they stepped into position and eyed him and the light on the other side of the door. It shined a bright red, soon to switch to a terrifying green.

Don’t lose it now, don’t lose it now. He repeated the words over and over in his mind. He knew that the second he got out of the door, things would be okay, after about ten seconds of unbridled panic. All he needed to remember was to keep his sphincter clenched until then. Nothing worse than descending to Earth with a wet stain in your pants.

“Ten seconds,” the voice said.

Braun took a deep breath. He could see from the movement of chests around him that they were doing the same. He looked back to see how those behind him were faring. He couldn’t tell much by looking at Braun and the two newbies, but Whitman was breathing fast and he was shifting back and forth. It was like his legs were being humped, one horny dog for each leg. Those in front seemed to be doing better, but he knew they had done this before.

“Five seconds.”

The suited figure raised his fingers. He began to count down, looking in the direction of the light. Dezba began counting in his head…

Four… three…two… one!

His heart rate increased and he felt his face flush with heat. The light turned green and the aviator began whirling his finger round in a circle.

“Go! Go! Go!”

Everybody moved as one. There was no holding back, not when the pack began to march forward, embracing the hard wind that was sweeping through their fatigues and offering to scoop them up.

The ramp ended in a few steps, and his feet touched air. He instinctively held his breath and expected to fall, but instead, he felt lifted…

They were floati ng on air. His boots fell behind him and his head thrust forward. The sky knew how to position him so he would fly. The wind rushed by his helmet and he could feel the outer edges of his fatigues flapping. And yet he felt totally still. No indication, other than the rapidly dropping dials on his wrist, that he was actually falling.

He looked around at his squadmates. Just about all them were looking at each other, the Earth below, and shaking their heads around with extreme excitement. He knew how they felt. It was truly amazing. The only one who seemed perfectly still was Dezba and Saunders. He understood that as well. Nothing seemed to shake the former anymore, which was sometimes worrisome. And the latter was the only one amongst them that had done this so many times that it could be conceivably mundane for him.

“Watching you on the feed, squad, you’re looking good. Keep one eye on each other and the other on the Landing Zone.”

Braun looked down at their objective. It was barely visible, but the flares formed four tiny specks of incendiary light. From their current vantage point, it looked directly below. But they wouldn’t know for sure if they were lined up with it until they were practically upon it.

He checked his altimeter again. The dials were still dropping fast. Five thousand feet in just a few seconds, at least that’s what his watch indicated. In truth, it felt like an hour had passed. Time had a way of thinning out and slowing down at this height. They had been told to expect that much. At this rate, they’d be to deployment height by lunch.

“Ten thousand feet, squad. Keep that formation tight.”

Just a reminder, he noted. Nobody had broken their formation, and they still appeared to be heading straight for the target zone. Good to know the new boss lady cared so much. It would keep him warm when she finally pushed them from a plane over LA, into the depths of the Whiskey’s biggest enclave on the West Coast.

Alas, the Mage seemed to trust her with their lives. That had to count for something…

“Five thousand, squad. Get ready to pull!”

Everyone grabbed hold of their rip cords. Any second now, they would be deploying their chutes and yanked upwards by the competing force of air resistance. Then it was just a quick decent to the hard, hard ground.

Tuck and roll, he reminded himself. Nothing worse than a shattered ankle or broken femur. The only thing worse than being hobbled and becoming Whiskey food was being incapacitated in a training exercise. No glory there, just a lot of bad jokes at his expense.

“Ready… ready… pull!”

He yanked the cord and saw the others do the same. Their chutes began to stream from their packs, and he felt the terrible pull a second later. His head was thrown forward and he lost sight of his squad for a moment. When he recovered, he saw them hanging around him, their descent suddenly slow and controlled.

“You’re almost there. Take hold of your straps and guide yourself in.”

Braun and the squad obliged. He could see the target area now, close enough to know they weren’t lined up with it anymore. Taking hold of his straps, he pulled himself to the right and aimed for the outermost line. They had limited the size of the zone on purpose, ensuring they learned the important of accuracy. No telling what their descent into LA would be like, most likely one involving lots of roofs and the occasional spire. In the end, it all came down to picking your spot and making sure you weren’t landing on anyone else, or getting in their way...

“Steady… steady… pick your landing spot.”

Braun looked around the squad and saw that they were still holding the halo formation. Good stuff, they were all set to land right in the ballpark. Now they just had to make sure they didn’t hobble themselves. The outer markers were expanding on them now, the ground rushing up to meet them. Braun look one last look around at his squad mates, drew a deep breath and began to count down.

Three… two… one!

His boots landed with a hard thump and his knees buckled. His head was thrown forward and he rolled on his shoulder. Next thing he knew, he was staring up at the sky and watching a set of boots heading straight for him. He rolled to his left and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt them hit the ground and not his ribcage.

He slowly pulled himself to his feet and took stock of his group. Most were recovering from their landing, except for Saunders. She was already up and gathering her chute. By the time the others were collecting theirs, she had her weapon drawn and was ready to move. The Colonel’s voice sounded on their coms a second later.

“That was acceptable squad, but we can do better! The moment you land, every Whiskey within spitting distance is going to be approaching you. You need to be ready.”

Braun shook his head and grabbed his own com. “You heard the lady, people. Gather up and let’s make the rendezvous. We’re doing this again.”

A series of moans and grunts as they whipped off their helmets and opened their uniforms. Damn things were so hot at earth-level. Just about everyone had some complaints to voice as soon as their faces were freed.

“LT, is it really necessary to do this exercise over and over? How right can you stick a landing?’

Braun smiled and looked at Saunders. So far, she had kept her silence when the others griped, which he appreciated. He couldn’t imagine she was too impressed with the way they kept complaining about something she considered a cakewalk. If she had wanted, she could have called them all a bunch of whiny bitches several times over by now. Luckily, they still had plenty of exercises to look forward to where she would be the novice.

“Just get your shit together, we need to make the pickup truck.”

“Why can’t they pick us up? Something wrong with their wheels?”

“Something wrong with your legs?” asked Dezba. Braun ignored the remainder of that conversation and finished repacking his chute. Slinging his SCAR, he got to the head of the line. When he was finished with the Private, Dezba pulled ahead of the squad and joined Braun.

“Sir, would now be a good time to talk privately?”

Braun checked his chrono. “Now’s the only time, Sarge. What’s on your mind?”

Dezba sighed. “Well, sir. I was thinking that all this training might be a bit easier if we knew a little bit about what we’re training for.”

“Is that a fact?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Whitman’s griping alone is enough to make me want to throttle him.”

Braun chuckled. “I might remind you he was your choice for this outfit.”

“Yes, sir, but that’s because an enterprising officer told me we needed a driver for an unspecified mission.”

Braun hummed thoughtfully. He did indeed remember saying that much. He also remembered thinking that it was just a matter of time before Dezba regretted that choice.

“Plus there’s the added issue of integrating this squad. People are having a bit of a time since nobody knows why a motley bunch of grunts and air people were put together.”

“Wish I could help you, Sarge, but the Mage is playing this one close to his chest.”

“Yeah, but something tells me you’ve had a peek at his cards. Sure there’s nothing you can give me that I send their way?”

Braun glanced casually over his shoulder at the rest of the group. He could tell from the way they were walking that there was a sense of division there. Mill and Whitman were walking next to each other, the best gunner and driver of the Company, according to Dezba. But Saunders and the other selectees, Cobb and Kobayashi, they walked in their own loose formation. It was possible he had a point, but there was little to do be done about that. Orders were orders…

“Sorry, Sarge. Until such time as the Colonel thinks were ready, the mission is strictly Quebec Tango.”

Dezba sighed. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Dezba dropped back and joined his own crew, leaving the Lieutenant at the head of the formation. For the remainder of the walk, he had the freedom of being alone with his thoughts.

He wish he could tell them what they were being prepared for. Not only would it aid in their morale, it would go a long way to fostering group cohesion. Nothing like knowing that you were taking part in the biggest mission of your life to make you come together. And if they suspected, even for a second, that their actions could lead to the development of a possible cure… he couldn’t imagine. There would be nothing they wouldn’t do for that. No obstacle would seem insurmountable and no sacrifice too great.

But orders were orders. Quebec Tango. On the QT until they were told otherwise.

In the distance, he spotted the Cougar waiting for them atop a mound of dirt. He waved at the gunner, got a raised arm in response. The engine was already idling.

“Form up, squad. Our ride has arrived!”

The squad moved past, moving with a lack of enthusiasm that bordered on the indifferent. He sighed as soon as they were past. It was a lucky break that they were being schooled in the use of the latest remotes next. The chance to blow some shit up with some automated robots was sure to provide a little relief…