He would jump last. Knife clearly defined on his lower calf, if anything should happen to his brothers-in-arm, such as a faulty chute, he would have to be the last to be able to dive to them through the air. They jumped. So did he. The blast of cool shot up around him. The metal surface was replaced with nothing. Sweat steamed from his face, as he looked out through night vision goggles to account for all of his platoon. The parachutes pulled open in sync; olive clouds amidst the green glare. All accounted for. All ready for the war below. They were called the Pathfinders, they would
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