Especially when jumpers could be aloft for as long as seventy or eighty minutes. That gave them a lot of alone-time to think, particularly about missing the target. At an average drift rate of ten feet for every hundred feet of fall, that was a concern for every jumper. Breathing bottled oxygen at a rapid pace due to stress could cause a lowering of blood carbon dioxide and result in unconsciousness.

Though neither of those would be a problem at this lower height, it was two thousand feet higher than they had practiced in the Rocky Mountains.

And even there, then-Striker Bass Moore had broken his left leg.

Lean Sergeant Chick Grey was chewing gum, un flustered as always.

There was a bit more iron determination and aggression in the eyes of waspish privates David George, Jason Scott, and Terrence Newmeyer.

Corporal Pat Prementine and Private Matt Bud were popping gloved knuckles and shifting in place, as full of rough-and-tumble energy as always. And the excitable Private Walter Pupshaw looked as if he wanted to tear off someone's head and spit down the windpipe. That was normal for Striker's resident wild man. The other team members were calm with the exception of Sondra Devon the and the green medic, William Musicant.

Both Strikers seemed a little anxious. Musicant had limited combat experience and Sondra still blamed herself for events that led to the death of It. Colonel Charlie Squires. She had spent many months being counseled by Liz Gordon. But she had gone on other assignments with the team since then. While the young African-American woman was not as relaxed or go get-'em as the others, Rodgers was certain he could count on her. She would not be here otherwise.

When they were ready, Rodgers picked up the phone beside the hatch. The copilot informed him that the plane would reach the target in less than five minutes. August lined up his team and stood at their head. After everyone had jumped, Rodgers would follow.

Since the aircraft was not typically used for jumping, there was no chute line or lights to indicate that they had reached the drop zone.

August and Pupshaw opened the hatch while Rodgers remained on the phone with the cockpit. The air that surged in was like nothing the general had ever felt. It was a fist of ice, punching them back and then holding them there. Rodgers was glad they had the masks and breathing apparatus.

Otherwise they would not be able to draw a breath from the unyielding wall of wind. As it was, August and Pupshaw were knocked away from the opening. The colonel and the burly private had to be helped back into position by the next Strikers in line.