Read Online Troubleshooters 16.8 - Free Fall by Suzanne Brockmann - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Suzanne Brockmann
Tags: Short-Story
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was funny how the words to the old Mary Poppins song always came into Izzy’s head whenever he HAHOed. In truth, the air up here at thirty-K feet was so clear, i.e. thin, that the SEALs needed oxygen to survive. They not only pre-breathed pure O2 for thirty minutes while up in the plane, but they jumped with masks and tanks in place.
The math that went into a jump like this was intense. The team leaders and aerospace physiology techs didn’t merely calculate the altitude and timing for when to jump and when to deploy chutes. Numbers were also needed to make sure the team had enough oxygen to keep them breathing until they got down to a thicker part of the at! Mosphere!
But the techs also weighed each SEAL and each necessary piece of equipment that the SEALs would be strapping to their backs, and they distributed said necessary equipment among each team member so that they would all weigh close to the same amount. This was done so that they all floated to earth at the same precise rate. It meant that the smaller guys like Jenkins were carrying a shit-load, while the bigger guys like the LT—the nickname Big Mac had been given to him with exactly zero irony—jumped with barely more than phone, dive-watch, and weapon.
“You . . . guys.” That was Tony V. again, breaking radio silence. “Do you see that . . . um . . .” His voice trailed off. “Uh-oh . . .”
He sounded strange—a little slurred and whole lot of weak, like the SEAL was full-on drunk after forty-eight hours of chugging jello shots.
Except just before they’d boarded the plane for this training mission, Tony had been super-lucid while giving Markie Jenkins and Danny-Danny-bo-banny a glowing report about the extremely awesome trip he and his fiancé had made up north to Seattle for some hipster indie film festival. Even though it had rained the entire time, they’d been put up at some fancy B&B and treated like movie stars.
Lots of grilled wild halibut and sleeping late with the sound of the rain against the roof . Tony had been out to his teammates for years now, so he didn’t hesitate to tell when they’d asked—thank God DADT was finally on the verge of ending—adding that seeing Adam’s latest film on the big screen was also pretty great, of course.
But here and now, as Izzy looked down, he saw that one of the canopies was meandering drunkenly off course, to the south. It was Tony. And Izzy knew instantly that his teammate was in some fucking serious trouble.
T’s oxygen access was malfunctioning—had to be—and up here pulling off his mask wouldn’t help. With their chutes deployed, it would take maybe twenty minutes—shit, maybe even more—to float down to an altitude where they could breathe without aid.
“Hypoxia!” Izzy said it aloud even as Tony self-diagnosed his own problem. Only what he said came out “Pox . . . See . . . Uh . . . Fuck me .”
Fuck me , indeed.
“Vlachic, cut away! Now!” Izzy said it at the same time that Chief Lopez did. MacInnough gave the exact same order.
“I’m going,” Izzy announced to both men, not waiting for the order before he veered sharply south so that he could cut away, too. Because he was at the top of the stack, it made sense for him to be the one to go. He’d have the best shot at helping Tony. He popped his chute free and released himself from the harness.
And just like that, Izzy was back to heady free fall, zooming past his teammates, with only his reserve chute—packed correctly, please Jenkins’s baby Jesus—to keep him from becoming a stain on the glaringly bright desert below.
In that instant, Izzy thought briefly of his wife, Eden—God, he loved her with his heart, with his soul, with every cell in his being—and of Tony’s partner, Adam, who was just as thoroughly cherished.
Then he focused only on Tony, praying his teammate would find the strength to cut himself away. And Izzy tucked in his arms and turned his body into a
The math that went into a jump like this was intense. The team leaders and aerospace physiology techs didn’t merely calculate the altitude and timing for when to jump and when to deploy chutes. Numbers were also needed to make sure the team had enough oxygen to keep them breathing until they got down to a thicker part of the at! Mosphere!
But the techs also weighed each SEAL and each necessary piece of equipment that the SEALs would be strapping to their backs, and they distributed said necessary equipment among each team member so that they would all weigh close to the same amount. This was done so that they all floated to earth at the same precise rate. It meant that the smaller guys like Jenkins were carrying a shit-load, while the bigger guys like the LT—the nickname Big Mac had been given to him with exactly zero irony—jumped with barely more than phone, dive-watch, and weapon.
“You . . . guys.” That was Tony V. again, breaking radio silence. “Do you see that . . . um . . .” His voice trailed off. “Uh-oh . . .”
He sounded strange—a little slurred and whole lot of weak, like the SEAL was full-on drunk after forty-eight hours of chugging jello shots.
Except just before they’d boarded the plane for this training mission, Tony had been super-lucid while giving Markie Jenkins and Danny-Danny-bo-banny a glowing report about the extremely awesome trip he and his fiancé had made up north to Seattle for some hipster indie film festival. Even though it had rained the entire time, they’d been put up at some fancy B&B and treated like movie stars.
Lots of grilled wild halibut and sleeping late with the sound of the rain against the roof . Tony had been out to his teammates for years now, so he didn’t hesitate to tell when they’d asked—thank God DADT was finally on the verge of ending—adding that seeing Adam’s latest film on the big screen was also pretty great, of course.
But here and now, as Izzy looked down, he saw that one of the canopies was meandering drunkenly off course, to the south. It was Tony. And Izzy knew instantly that his teammate was in some fucking serious trouble.
T’s oxygen access was malfunctioning—had to be—and up here pulling off his mask wouldn’t help. With their chutes deployed, it would take maybe twenty minutes—shit, maybe even more—to float down to an altitude where they could breathe without aid.
“Hypoxia!” Izzy said it aloud even as Tony self-diagnosed his own problem. Only what he said came out “Pox . . . See . . . Uh . . . Fuck me .”
Fuck me , indeed.
“Vlachic, cut away! Now!” Izzy said it at the same time that Chief Lopez did. MacInnough gave the exact same order.
“I’m going,” Izzy announced to both men, not waiting for the order before he veered sharply south so that he could cut away, too. Because he was at the top of the stack, it made sense for him to be the one to go. He’d have the best shot at helping Tony. He popped his chute free and released himself from the harness.
And just like that, Izzy was back to heady free fall, zooming past his teammates, with only his reserve chute—packed correctly, please Jenkins’s baby Jesus—to keep him from becoming a stain on the glaringly bright desert below.
In that instant, Izzy thought briefly of his wife, Eden—God, he loved her with his heart, with his soul, with every cell in his being—and of Tony’s partner, Adam, who was just as thoroughly cherished.
Then he focused only on Tony, praying his teammate would find the strength to cut himself away. And Izzy tucked in his arms and turned his body into a
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