Fighting strong gusts of wind, Baptiste held the chopper in place just over the tops of the trees. To make sure the weld would hold his weight, Payne yanked on the hook with all his strength before Jones tossed the coil of rope over the side. Both of them watched it unravel until the far end disappeared into the thick blanket of branches.
‘Did it hit bottom?’ Payne asked.
Jones shrugged. ‘Can’t tell for sure, but I think it’s close.’
Payne nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time they had jumped blindly from a chopper. Then again, a picnic basket was something new. ‘Do you mind telling me what that’s for?’
Jones plucked a grape from its stem and popped it in his mouth. ‘Here’s what we’re facing: no gloves, no belts, no harnesses. Rough wind, blind drop, unknown enemy. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to lose as little skin as possible.’
Payne stared at his hands. They’d be torn to shreds in a fast descent. And if he took the drop slowly, his palms would survive intact, but he’d be an easy target for several seconds as he dangled from the chopper. ‘What’s the solution?’
Jones grabbed two salamis and handed one to Payne. ‘We use these.’
Payne stared at the cured meat. It was nine inches long and sealed in a rough casing. For the life of him, he had no idea what his friend meant. ‘Excuse me?’
Jones reached into his cargo pants and pulled out his knife. With a flick of his wrist, the blade popped open, and he plunged the sharp tip into the top of the salami. As Payne watched, Jones cut the meat vertically, making a nine-inch incision that went halfway into the salami. When he was done, he held it up so Payne could understand what he had in mind.
‘We wrap the salami around the rope like a bun round a hot dog. This casing is hard and coarse. Our hands should be fine as the meat gets torn to shreds.’
‘And if the casing doesn’t hold?’ Payne asked.
Jones shrugged as he traded salamis with Payne and went to work on the other one. ‘We hope the branches break our fall.’
Payne stared at him. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
He nodded. ‘I’d rather fall fast than dangle slow. Too many unknowns.’
Payne searched the basket for alternatives. ‘What about the tablecloth? We can cut it in strips and wrap it around our hands.’
Jones shook his head. ‘Our fingers would get filleted. Cut right to the bone.’
Payne grimaced. He had seen that happen to one of his men, and his hands had never fully recovered. ‘You realize, this is crazy.’
Jones laughed at the danger. ‘That’s what makes it fun.’
29
The United States Special Operations Command (SOCOM) is headquartered at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida. It oversees the various special operations units of the US Armed Forces and the US Intelligence Community. The concept of a unified command sprouted from the disastrous rescue attempt of hostages at the American embassy in Iran in 1980. The ensuing investigation noted a lack of inter-service cooperation and the breakdown of a clear chain of command as factors in the mission’s failure.
Seven years later SOCOM was officially activated. The main goal of SOCOM is to coordinate the efforts of the different branches of the armed forces whenever joint missions are conducted. Each branch has a Special Operations Command capable of running its own missions, but when different Special Operations Forces (Green Berets, Navy SEALs, Rangers, etc.) need to work together on a mission, SOCOM takes control of the operation – for example, Operation Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom.
In addition, SOCOM conducts several missions of its own, which are run by the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC). These Special Mission Units (SMU) perform highly classified activities, such as personnel recovery, counter-guerrilla sabotage, unconventional warfare, psychological operations and counter terrorism. So far, only three SMUs have been publicly disclosed: the Army’s 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment (Delta Force), the Navy’s Special Warfare Development Group (DEVGRU), and the Air Force’s 24th Special Tactics Squadron (AFSOC). One of the SMUs that is still classified is the MANIACs.
Comprised of the top soldiers from the Marines, Army, Navy, Intelligence, Air Force and Coast Guard, the MANIACs are a military all-star team, assembled from a small list of candidates who passed the most stringent selection process and training in the world. One of the most important skills the soldiers learned was the art of improvisation. Without it, they wouldn’t last long behind enemy lines, where weapons and equipment were scarce. To survive, they were forced to make do with whatever they could find, whether that was picking a lock with a paperclip or making an explosive out of household chemicals. Not only did this skill require ingenuity, it also required guts. Otherwise, new ideas would never be tested in the field.
During his time in the MANIACs, Payne had used a grapefruit as a silencer, stalled a car with a tube sock and killed a man with a stapler, but he had never used salami for anything except sandwiches. Of course, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work. It simply meant that one of them had to be a guinea pig. Normally that burden would fall on Payne, who preferred to lead by example. But in this situation, Jones insisted on going first.
‘My idea, my glory,’ Jones shouted over the wind and the roar of the rotor. ‘Plus, your ass is so fat you might snap the rope.’
Payne watched closely as Jones clamped the salami round the rope and stepped onto the skid tube, which was attached to the chopper’s wheels. ‘See you soon.’
Jones took a deep breath, then leaned back on the skid more than a hundred feet above the ground. As he did, he focused on his grip. If this didn’t work, he knew his hands would never be the same, and neither would his life. Jones was brave, not stupid. He realized if his idea failed, there was a damn good chance he was going to die – either from the fall or from the gunmen down below who would pounce upon him like cheetahs on an injured gazelle.
And yet Jones remained unfazed.
Compared to the things he had faced in the MANIACs, this was less dangerous than bungee jumping. Sure, something could go wrong, but he wasn’t about to let it ruin his fun. With a smile on his face, Jones launched himself backward and yelled, ‘Geronimo!’
A second later, he was falling towards the forest.
As expected, the salami ripped to shreds as Jones clutched the casing on his way to the forest floor. In his wake, tiny chunks of meat clung to the rope like used pieces of dental floss. Of course, Jones didn’t notice anything above him as he zipped past the trees since he was far more concerned with his landing. Clamping the rope with his legs and boots, Jones eased to a stop just before he reached the end of the rope, which dangled ten feet above the ground.
Wasting no time, Jones released his grip and dropped to the slope. He minimized his impact by tumbling once, then scampered behind the nearest tree where he pulled his gun and secured the area for his partner’s arrival. Unfortunately, Payne’s trip didn’t go quite as smoothly. Whether it was the remnants of Jones’s salami on the rope, Payne’s extra weight, or a combination of the two, Payne struggled to control his pace on his descent. He used his legs and boots, just like he had been taught, but the pre-greased line minimized friction. Whereas Jones was able to stop before he reached the end of the rope, Payne didn’t have that luxury.
One moment, Jones was scouting the area for enemy troops. The next, Payne was tumbling past him like a boulder rolling down the mountain – a grunting and groaning boulder. When he finally came to a stop, Jones rushed to his side, worried his friend was dead.
‘Are you okay?’ Jones demanded.
Sprawled on his back and covered in pine needles, Payne blinked a few times before his head was clear. Once he regained his focus, he brought his hands near his face and stared at his fingers. ‘I’ll be damned. The salami worked.’
Jones breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Told you so.’
Payne sat up and nodded. ‘Landing was a little rough, but …’
‘Mine was worse,’ Jones lied. ‘Tumbled right into a tree.’
‘Really? Are you all right?’
Jones groaned for effect. ‘I think I’ll make it. But I’ll feel a lot better once we know what we’re up
