Crescent Fire by David M. Salkin

Author:David M. Salkin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-03-31T00:00:00+00:00

On board the C-130 cargo plane, the team members were checking altimeters, weapons, chutes, and each other. The rear door was open, blowing frozen air into the cabin as an airman stood harnessed to the rear door watching the red light above his head. When it turned green, he gave the thumbs-up to Captain Boyce, who high-fived the SEAL next to him and took a running jump out of the back of the plane. The eleven other team members sprinted after him as best they could with a hundred pounds of gear and chutes on, and within a few seconds were all diving through frozen black space. The airman pressed a button that closed the rear door, and the plane banked to turn back to base.

In the air, the twelve-man team could see each other’s luminous glow sticks that were attached to their oxygen tanks. It was pitch-black except for the tiny yellow dots that looked like stars hurtling toward earth. The men all looked identical with their black suits and black oxygen masks, and within a few seconds, had somehow found each other in the black sky. They clasped hands and made a circle like a skydiving team showing off for a crowd. In this case, it wasn’t to show off, but rather to stay together in hostile, dangerous terrain. Normally, in a daytime jump, they would have visual clues to guide themselves into their target. In the black of frozen night, they had nothing but Captain Boyce’s GIS wrist computer that merely showed arrows to keep them heading to the predetermined location. They all had voice-activated microphones, but remained silent awaiting instructions from BB.

The SEALs were all adrenaline addicts, so free-falling at night only made them happy. Most were smiling under their masks, although they were all razor sharp awaiting the word to pull their cords to open their chutes. Both BB and “Homer,” Terrance Homeshund, a Special Forces transfer, wore altimeters. Their job was to announce rip-cord time, and by both doing the same job, it was a redundant safety. At the appointed time, Homer quietly said “rip one,” followed closely by BB calling “rip two,” at which time all team members let go of each other and pulled their cords. Twelve chutes popped almost simultaneously, and the men felt their stomachs leave through their feet.

They hit the ground within a hundred yards of each other, which was nothing short of miraculous in the windy dark. As soon as they regained their feet, they were out of their chutes, rolling them up and ripping off their masks and oxygen tanks. They hustled toward each other as fast as they could, carrying all their gear with them. BB spoke quietly through his mike to the team.

“Alpha Team leader on the ground,” he said quietly as his men moved toward him silently in the rocky terrain.

“Alpha two on the ground,” called back another.

“Alpha three,” and so on, until all six Alpha Team members had found each other.

“Bravo team leader on the ground,” came back another voice.

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