LALOs—low-altitude, low-opening—parachute drops were dangerous even under the best conditions. Jumping now, with the rain and in the purple-and-gold twilight right before dawn, could be an invitation to disaster. But it was the fastest and safest deployment for the two units assigned to the op.
“Go!” Goose bellowed over the rotorwash to the next man in line. He slapped him on the helmet, starting him on his way.
In seconds, the twenty-nine other Rangers had evacuated the Chinook and were hurtling toward the earth suspended under black parachutes in a fairly straight line.
“Sir,” Goose said to the lieutenant, reaching up to verify that the man’s static line was clipped in place to the hook.
Keller nodded and gave Goose a thumbs-up. “See you on the ground, First Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.” Goose slapped Keller on the helmet.
The lieutenant stepped through the jump gate and fell, plummeting till the static line snapped taut and popped the parachute free.
Still counting in his mind, Goose snapped his own D-ring into place, then ran forward, wrapping his arms around his chest pack. He experienced a moment of disorientation as he ran out of ramp and stepped off into the sky.
For a moment everything was still, till gravity reached up for him with greedy claws. Then he was falling like a rock. The zzziiinnnngggg of the static line paying out echoed inside his helmet. A second after that, the pop of the parachute releasing sounded a heartbeat before the crack of silk overhead and the immediate jerk of the harness as his fall was slowed almost as soon as it started.
Goose released the chest pack after checking to make certain it was still attached properly. Losing gear and having to backtrack for it and hope that it survived the impact wasn’t the ideal way to start a battle. Getting battered by it during the descent because it had pulled loose also wasn’t ideal.
He reached up for the cords and held on. With the older, roundparachute design, he had only a little control over his flight. The neardarkness stretched across the landscape and the blinding rain made visual sighting of a landing area even harder.
He counted the parachutes out of habit, noting with relieved satisfaction that they had all opened. That didn’t always happen.
Glancing down, he saw the ground coming up rapidly. Covered with one hundred fifty pounds of gear including the parachute equipment, Goose knew that breaking an ankle or a leg on the slippery turf was too easy. The main thing he had to avoid was landing on another Ranger. He made a small adjustment, then aimed himself at a clear spot below.
Goose set himself, hit, and immediately rolled, sliding and slipping through the muddy turf. He came up tangled in parachute shrouds and caked in mud. Standing quickly, he pulled at the lines and gathered the parachute in.
“Gather ‘em up,” he yelled to the men. “Gather ‘em up before they fill with rain and make it even harder.” He popped his trenching tool free of his LCE and started digging a hole to shove the parachute into.
For now, no one used the headset radios. They wouldn’t be used until the op was in play at the Syrian base. For the moment, Operation Run Dry was all alone in the world.
Goose hurried through the other Rangers, helping men, encouraging men, and getting them all headed back west, trying to stay ahead of the sun. Getting dropped off by the Chinooks was only the first stage of the op. If Syrian military forces had become interested in the helos, there could have been problems from the get-go. In that case, Remington would have warned them and ordered an exfiltration.
But for the moment, they were forty-seven klicks east of Sanliurfa, more or less behind enemy lines. No one would come to their aid once the helos got out of range, and that state of affairs was only minutes away.
“Let’s go,” Goose said as he hurried through the soldiers. “Let’s go. You’re burning daylight.”
The men responded, pulling their gear and themselves together and falling into their respective squads under their sergeants.
The Syrian fuel depot that Remington had somehow uncovered and mapped out for the op lay fifty-three klicks to the west. They had fourteen hours to get into position, and no way to get there except on foot.
Goose felt twinges from his bad knee but so far the pain showed no signs of increasing. While jump preparations were being made, he’d had one of the med corpsmen inject him with cortisone. The painkiller would help keep the pain at bay, but it wouldn’t prevent further damage to the knee. And if the knee gave out on him, prevented him from taking part in the mission, the other Rangers would have no choice but to leave him behind.
Please, God, Goose prayed as he pushed himself into that distanceeating lope he’d first learned in basic and spent all his adult life working with, please see me through this. My men need me.
The Rangers fell in behind him, letting him take the lead until three men sped forward and took up point and wing positions. They stayed with the terrain, avoiding the spots with running water and treacherous mud, finding the high ground at a glance and keeping up the pace.
Goose took his M-4A1 in both hands, holding the assault rifle across his chest as he pushed himself up to speed. His injured knee felt stiff and distant, causing him some momentary panic; then it started to warm and loosen, giving in to the familiar motion.
Just help me get through this one, Lord, Goose prayed. I’ll try and see if I can’t get through the next one on my own.
14
Church of the Word
Marbury, Alabama
Local Time 0819 Hours
“You don’t look like a man who
