“Drink?”
The marine frowned. Drake looked momentarily hopeful, then forced himself to pretend he was joking. He wouldn’t drink again. Those nights spent in Hawaii in a drunken stupor, hunting down the Blood King’s men, still sat with him as a low point of his life. No way he wanted to go back to that.
He watched Mai pour herself a straight whisky and knock it back. The marines regarded her warily. No doubt they knew something of her past and prowess, but they could never guess even half her story. Drake knew it all. They had been lovers once, inseparable, all their secrets laid bare.
It would only take some chance lighting of the touchpaper to kindle the spark and make it all happen again. But was it too soon? Recent events were still raw. New revelations were cruel and new enough to cause constrictions in his chest.
A shout rang out through the cabin. “Thirty minutes to target.”
Drake collected himself. The plan was to fly over southern Japan and get as close to the unidentified island as they could without arousing any Korean suspicions. Then, the team would deploy amphibious craft and the airplane would head back to Japan. The return journey was, as ever, somewhat ambiguous.
Wouldn’t have it any other way, Romero had said, grinning, when he heard.
Drake had smiled. Romero had passed the first test.
The other three members of Romero’s crew, Smyth, Wardell and Matthews now stood up and began final checks. Drake strapped weapons and gear around his body, hefting the parachute and making sure the Gore-tex jump suit was secure. After a few minutes, everyone turned and checked their partners. Drake knelt on a seat and pressed his face to a window, trying to peer through the midnight murk that blanked out most of the East China Sea.
Heavy, dark swells undulated below him like the monstrous body of some mythic sea serpent.
Romero was at their back. “Don’t worry.” He grinned “We’ve done this before.”
At that moment there was a flash and an ear-splitting roar the like of which even Drake had never heard. The aircraft lurched. Time stood still for a second and then, as they turned, the entire far wall of the plane seemed to disintegrate.
A fireball rolled through the sky outside , keeping pace. Chunks and shards of metal fizzed and zipped through it all. Romero cried, “Someone. . .someone shot us down!”
Mai grabbed him an d pulled him down. “Not yet.”
Drake knew that, with plane crashes, Hollywood took a lot of artistic license. In real life a bullet-hole or a small hole wouldn’t suck you out to your doom, but a hole as big as this? They were going down. Fast. He took hold of a seat, wrapping his arm entirely around the armrest and clasping it tightly with his other. The pilot was shouting, screaming as he struggled to slow the descent. Even his most valiant effort raised the nose only a little. The C-130 hurtled inexorably toward the sea.
“We need to get out of this fucker ,” Drake said. “Prime altitude. Give the chutes time to work.”
Mai nodded. They glanced around at the others. It was then they realized both Wardell and Matthews had been caught in the initial explosion. Both men lay prone and torn apart on the cabin floor, and were now being pulled toward the big jagged hole.
Drake felt the tug on his body. The wind whipped and whistled around the cabin. The noise was tremendous, like a freight train roaring in his face. It would be easy to let themselves be dragged out, but their escape had to be controlled like any normal jump. He spotted the other marine, Smyth, clinging to a fixed table in the middle of the cabin, eyes steady and locked on to his bosses, awaiting orders.
Good, Drake thought. These men were among the elite of the US forces. The amphibious craft could be released too. They had three CRRC’s, Combat Rubber Raiding Craft, or Zodiacs to use the more popular term. It would take a huge effort. . .but sure as hell wasn’t beyond them.
The pilot was the
The marine frowned. Drake looked momentarily hopeful, then forced himself to pretend he was joking. He wouldn’t drink again. Those nights spent in Hawaii in a drunken stupor, hunting down the Blood King’s men, still sat with him as a low point of his life. No way he wanted to go back to that.
He watched Mai pour herself a straight whisky and knock it back. The marines regarded her warily. No doubt they knew something of her past and prowess, but they could never guess even half her story. Drake knew it all. They had been lovers once, inseparable, all their secrets laid bare.
It would only take some chance lighting of the touchpaper to kindle the spark and make it all happen again. But was it too soon? Recent events were still raw. New revelations were cruel and new enough to cause constrictions in his chest.
A shout rang out through the cabin. “Thirty minutes to target.”
Drake collected himself. The plan was to fly over southern Japan and get as close to the unidentified island as they could without arousing any Korean suspicions. Then, the team would deploy amphibious craft and the airplane would head back to Japan. The return journey was, as ever, somewhat ambiguous.
Wouldn’t have it any other way, Romero had said, grinning, when he heard.
Drake had smiled. Romero had passed the first test.
The other three members of Romero’s crew, Smyth, Wardell and Matthews now stood up and began final checks. Drake strapped weapons and gear around his body, hefting the parachute and making sure the Gore-tex jump suit was secure. After a few minutes, everyone turned and checked their partners. Drake knelt on a seat and pressed his face to a window, trying to peer through the midnight murk that blanked out most of the East China Sea.
Heavy, dark swells undulated below him like the monstrous body of some mythic sea serpent.
Romero was at their back. “Don’t worry.” He grinned “We’ve done this before.”
At that moment there was a flash and an ear-splitting roar the like of which even Drake had never heard. The aircraft lurched. Time stood still for a second and then, as they turned, the entire far wall of the plane seemed to disintegrate.
A fireball rolled through the sky outside , keeping pace. Chunks and shards of metal fizzed and zipped through it all. Romero cried, “Someone. . .someone shot us down!”
Mai grabbed him an d pulled him down. “Not yet.”
Drake knew that, with plane crashes, Hollywood took a lot of artistic license. In real life a bullet-hole or a small hole wouldn’t suck you out to your doom, but a hole as big as this? They were going down. Fast. He took hold of a seat, wrapping his arm entirely around the armrest and clasping it tightly with his other. The pilot was shouting, screaming as he struggled to slow the descent. Even his most valiant effort raised the nose only a little. The C-130 hurtled inexorably toward the sea.
“We need to get out of this fucker ,” Drake said. “Prime altitude. Give the chutes time to work.”
Mai nodded. They glanced around at the others. It was then they realized both Wardell and Matthews had been caught in the initial explosion. Both men lay prone and torn apart on the cabin floor, and were now being pulled toward the big jagged hole.
Drake felt the tug on his body. The wind whipped and whistled around the cabin. The noise was tremendous, like a freight train roaring in his face. It would be easy to let themselves be dragged out, but their escape had to be controlled like any normal jump. He spotted the other marine, Smyth, clinging to a fixed table in the middle of the cabin, eyes steady and locked on to his bosses, awaiting orders.
Good, Drake thought. These men were among the elite of the US forces. The amphibious craft could be released too. They had three CRRC’s, Combat Rubber Raiding Craft, or Zodiacs to use the more popular term. It would take a huge effort. . .but sure as hell wasn’t beyond them.
The pilot was the
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