drop his hand to his side, he said in a cold voice, "The jump master said ten minutes ‘til they open the cargo-bay door for us. Remember, you jump first and I'll be ten seconds behind you."
Pepper nodded, knowing he wanted to go second to watch her performance in the jump. "Fine," she said, striving to keep the irritation out of her voice.
"Once we hit the LZ," he said, using the common designation for landing zone, "you'll take the compass and map and get us out to the pick-up point where the HumVee team is waiting. It's a ten-mile hike."
Pepper smiled grimly to herself. She knew Jim was not only testing her jumping ability, but checking out just what kind of shape she was in. She would have at least fifty pounds of weight on her back after the jump, and she was sure he didn't think she could go ten miles with it. Little did he realize she carried as much, sometimes more, into a smoke jump. Her team worked in shifts for almost twelve hours at a time, doing the grueling physical work of cutting fire breaks through stubborn brush. If only he knew that she was questioning his physical condition. Eight hours a day in a posh Pentagon office made for soft officers, not hard ones. She'd find out just what kind of shape Woodward was in—one way or another.
Exactly ten minutes later, a red light began to blink. Pepper moved to the starboard side, a bit ahead of Jim. Holding on to the cable above their heads she watched the maw of the C-130 slowly groan open. Whirring and grinding sounds clashed with the noise of the plane. Icy wind blasts began to buffet her body, pummeling her sporadically. As the ramp dropped, she saw the beauty of the night sky above them, a few stars still twinkling. Below them, dawn brushed across a thick carpet of barren, gray trees, which had already lost their leaves in fall's arrival. The hills of Virginia were rounded, but many were steep, and they'd been specially chosen because they resembled Nevis 's volcanic terrain.
The jump master, a twenty-year veteran, stood opposite them. The wind whipped into the cargo entrance, striking Pepper heavily. She spread her legs a bit to take the invisible fists of air punching through the aircraft. The wind was biting, far below freezing. Although she wore black nylon gloves, she took them off at the last moment before she expected the light to flash green, indicating "jump." Jamming the gloves into a thigh pocket, she took a deep breath and felt her heart start a pounding but steady beat.
Pepper never tired of the adrenaline rush that accompanied such a jump. With it, all her senses became excruciatingly alive. She sensed movement behind her, knowing Jim also was getting ready for the jump. Fear struck at her, too. She hadn't made a jump this high in a long time. Talking to herself, telling herself it was the same as any other, she managed to dissolve some of the initial anxiety.
The light flashed green. The jump master gave her the hand signal.
It was like taking a long, summer walk down the sloping, greasy ramp of the C-130. Then Pepper took the leap, plummeting downward, keeping her hands, arms and legs tucked tightly against her body. The slipstream slammed into her as she tumbled clear of the aircraft. She gasped. It was icy cold. Her goggles protected her eyes from the tearing wind and enabled her to look around. She peered up to see the C-130 moving away from her, then glanced down at the luminous dials on her watch, counting ten seconds. Woodward had jumped, though she couldn't see him in his dark camouflage gear against the still-darkened sky.
Spreading out her arms and legs, she stopped her rock-like plummet. The wind beneath her became a cushion against her flattened body. Stabilizing, she checked the altimeter on her wrist, then glanced upward. At fifteen thousand feet, they were to meet and pull their chutes simultaneously.
Finally Pepper saw Woodward. He was coming rapidly toward her out of the darkness, his body like an arrow except for the
Pepper nodded, knowing he wanted to go second to watch her performance in the jump. "Fine," she said, striving to keep the irritation out of her voice.
"Once we hit the LZ," he said, using the common designation for landing zone, "you'll take the compass and map and get us out to the pick-up point where the HumVee team is waiting. It's a ten-mile hike."
Pepper smiled grimly to herself. She knew Jim was not only testing her jumping ability, but checking out just what kind of shape she was in. She would have at least fifty pounds of weight on her back after the jump, and she was sure he didn't think she could go ten miles with it. Little did he realize she carried as much, sometimes more, into a smoke jump. Her team worked in shifts for almost twelve hours at a time, doing the grueling physical work of cutting fire breaks through stubborn brush. If only he knew that she was questioning his physical condition. Eight hours a day in a posh Pentagon office made for soft officers, not hard ones. She'd find out just what kind of shape Woodward was in—one way or another.
Exactly ten minutes later, a red light began to blink. Pepper moved to the starboard side, a bit ahead of Jim. Holding on to the cable above their heads she watched the maw of the C-130 slowly groan open. Whirring and grinding sounds clashed with the noise of the plane. Icy wind blasts began to buffet her body, pummeling her sporadically. As the ramp dropped, she saw the beauty of the night sky above them, a few stars still twinkling. Below them, dawn brushed across a thick carpet of barren, gray trees, which had already lost their leaves in fall's arrival. The hills of Virginia were rounded, but many were steep, and they'd been specially chosen because they resembled Nevis 's volcanic terrain.
The jump master, a twenty-year veteran, stood opposite them. The wind whipped into the cargo entrance, striking Pepper heavily. She spread her legs a bit to take the invisible fists of air punching through the aircraft. The wind was biting, far below freezing. Although she wore black nylon gloves, she took them off at the last moment before she expected the light to flash green, indicating "jump." Jamming the gloves into a thigh pocket, she took a deep breath and felt her heart start a pounding but steady beat.
Pepper never tired of the adrenaline rush that accompanied such a jump. With it, all her senses became excruciatingly alive. She sensed movement behind her, knowing Jim also was getting ready for the jump. Fear struck at her, too. She hadn't made a jump this high in a long time. Talking to herself, telling herself it was the same as any other, she managed to dissolve some of the initial anxiety.
The light flashed green. The jump master gave her the hand signal.
It was like taking a long, summer walk down the sloping, greasy ramp of the C-130. Then Pepper took the leap, plummeting downward, keeping her hands, arms and legs tucked tightly against her body. The slipstream slammed into her as she tumbled clear of the aircraft. She gasped. It was icy cold. Her goggles protected her eyes from the tearing wind and enabled her to look around. She peered up to see the C-130 moving away from her, then glanced down at the luminous dials on her watch, counting ten seconds. Woodward had jumped, though she couldn't see him in his dark camouflage gear against the still-darkened sky.
Spreading out her arms and legs, she stopped her rock-like plummet. The wind beneath her became a cushion against her flattened body. Stabilizing, she checked the altimeter on her wrist, then glanced upward. At fifteen thousand feet, they were to meet and pull their chutes simultaneously.
Finally Pepper saw Woodward. He was coming rapidly toward her out of the darkness, his body like an arrow except for the
Similar Books
