“I’ll give the distance as two kilometers,” Mike said. “Okay, slowly rotate in that direction. Rotate a bit, check position, rotate a bit, check position. Carefully. Don’t worry if you overshoot, just rotate back.”
Julia followed the directions, occasionally bobbling in the air and sliding to the side but always getting back in position. It was hard work, fighting the blast stream the whole time while trying to keep in position three-dimensionally. But finally she was lined up.
“Do a ground check,” Mike said. “Can you see the ground?”
“You said the weather report said clear,” Julia replied. “I can see the ground.”
“Do you think you have the DZ in sight?”
“I have the DZ,” Julia said. “I think so. It’s right there,” she added, pointing to a mark Mike had made on the wall.
“Could be the wrong DZ,” Mike pointed out. “Wouldn’t be the first time. But you don’t have a lot of margin for error; most of the area is vertical. It’s the only potential landing spot you’ve got if you don’t want to be kissing a cliff.”
“It’s the right DZ,” Julia replied, grinning. “I recognize it from the satellite shots.”
“Good,” Mike replied. “Check your team-mates, now. Where are they?”
“Most of them are below me,” Julia said, looking around. “Even Olga; she’s been putting on weight.”
“Have not!” Olga yelled.
“Okay, slide over so you’re clustered, but don’t get too close. You don’t want their air-stream interfering with yours. Do a ground check. You’re off course to the left. What’s happening?”
“Wind sheer,” Julia said. “I correct.”
“Check your GPS,” Mike said. “Your distance is now one hundred meters to the DZ. You are at four thousand AGL.”
“How did I get there so quickly?” Julia said, confused.
“You tell me,” Mike replied, raising an eyebrow.
“The wind,” Julia said after a moment. “It’s pushing me across the DZ.”
“Three thousand AGL,” Mike yelled. “You’re going to be popping any second. What do you do?”
Julia’s mouth opened and closed for a moment and then she shrugged.
“I don’t know!”
“Out of exercise,” Mike said, waving her to the side. The Keldara girl slid sideways in the air-stream until she was at the edge of the tank and then slid off into Mike’s arms.
“It wasn’t really your call to make,” Mike admitted. “But… dropping is strange. You think you have all the time in the world and then all of a sudden you’re out of time to make decisions. Vanner, you’re team is overshooting the drop-zone. Enough that you’re not going to be able to para-glide back to it. What do you do?”
“Rotate the formation into the wind,” Vanner said, quickly. “Go into a delta-track and head as much into it as possible. It increases our rate of drop but increases our horizontal velocity. I trade height for distance.”
“Good enough answer,” Mike replied. “And that is the answer to Julia’s question as welclass="underline" You follow your team leader. That’s why he should be lined up at the bottom of the stick. He is responsible for ensuring that you all get close enough to the DZ that you can all make it. Even if you think he’s wrong on his approach, you follow your team leader.”
“What probably happens is that you miss the dropzone,” Mike admitted. “If the winds are that high, that they push you that fast during the drop phase, you’re going to be all over the map in the para-glide phase. Where you’re dropping, most of you are probably gonna kiss a cliff or slam into a mountainside. In which case, Vanner, you’re going to have four or more out of your team with broken bones or worse. Who takes over if Vanner is killed?”
“I do,” Julia said.
“Right, then Olga. And if both of them are out?”
“I take over,” Jeseph admitted. “But I’m not as up on the commo end.”
“Set up the commo, report in and then do what you can to hold on until I can get someone in to replace and support you,” Mike replied. “We will get somebody in there, I promise. But you have to be ready for worst case. Worst case is you disappear into a black hole from my side. Worst case for you as well, but second worst is serious injuries in multiple on the drop. Keep an eye on your height and distance… ”
Mike paused as the door to the simulator opened and Nielson stuck his head in the door.
“Kildar, got something, can’t wait.”
“Okay,” Mike said. “Crap. Vanner, take over. Just work on positions and air-feel. I’ll be back… ” He looked over at Nielson and raised an eyebrow.
“Not soon,” Nielson said, frowning.
“What you got?” Mike asked as soon as he was out of the simulator and the ensuing racket was somewhat quieter.
“We’ve got a problem with the helo transport,” Nielson said, his upper lip twitching angrily. He probably didn’t even realize he had that tick, but Mike knew when he was really REALLY pissed and the retired colonel was definitely pissed. People dying pissed.
“The Georgian government is balking at letting us use that heavy lift company we used in Albania,” Nielson said. “Guess why.”
“No guesses,” Mike said with a sigh. “They’re Russians.”
“Bingo. I just got off the phone with General Umarov. They’re, barely, willing to let us use them to lift us part way in. But the group can not be used inside the Pansiki military zone. They can neither be used to extract us nor for dust-off of wounded. No entry. Period.”
“What the fuck do they want us to do?” Mike snapped. “Walk out? With our wounded? We are going to take casualties on this one.”
“I, as calmly as I could, asked the General the same question,” Nielson said, his lip really going now. “And he suggested that he speak with the Kildar.”
“Actually said it that way?” Mike asked, trying not to grin.
“Yep,” Nielson replied.
“Okay,” Mike said, shrugging. “I guess I go put on my Kildar hat.”
“General Umarov,” Mike said leaning back in his chair. “How good to speak with you again.”
“And you Kildar,” Umarov replied, his voice a bit taut. “I’m sorry I had to disturb your training schedule: I understand it is rigorous.”
“More so, lately,” Mike said with a sigh. “I think we need to talk but I’d prefer not over the phone. However, time is tight. Is there any way you could free up a bird so I’m not on the road four hours in each direction? And, of course, some of your time which is also precious.”
“Of course, Kildar,” Umarov said. “I’ll have it dispatched immediately.”
“I’ll be ready,” Mike said. “We have an LZ set up, now. Down by the Keldara houses. I’ll be there.”
Mike opened up his closet and contemplated. He’d never had so many clothes in his life. Not only had he, perforce, gotten suits, variously graded depending on who he was meeting with, Anastasia had been shopping for “informal” wear for him. He contemplated the array, reached for his second best suit, then his best suit, then reached all the way over to the side and pulled out a set of digi-cam.
This wasn’t his field wear, though. This was the set of “dress” digicam he’d set up more or less on a whim. Modern “developing country” militaries had started to treat camouflage field uniforms as if they were dress uniforms. This probably came from the habit American generals had of almost always appearing in field uniforms. An American general, though, would only wear a couple of his qualification badges, name and branch tags and a shoulder patch on a plain, if well pressed, digicam or BDU uniform.