The inside of the C-130 was spacious enough to hold several cars end to end. The team would have plenty of room for the ride. Sitting in the center of the aircraft was a complex of tanks and hoses that represented the team's oxygen console. Riley walked up to Powers, who was looking over the device.
"Everything hooked up?"
Powers nodded. "The oxygen console checks out fine. I've coordinated with the loadmaster and he's set on our procedures."
Riley looked around the interior of the C-130. The oxygen console squatted in the middle of the cargo bay. The team's rucksacks and parachutes were tied down near the ramp. Riley decided to go up front and do a last check-in with the pilots and navigator prior to takeoff. He made his way past the other members of the team who were lying on the cargo webbing seats hung along the skin of the aircraft, trying to get some rest. It was going to be a long night.
Riley climbed the steep stairs on the left side of the plane into the cockpit. There was only one pilot there and the navigator. "How you doing? Anything new?"
The pilot, a major, turned in his seat. "The copilot is over at base operations getting an update on weather along the flight route. Everything looks good."
"How's the route in look?"
The navigator looked up from his charts and pointed. "I've got a flight route that basically goes from here to Key West to Panama and then along the northeastern coast of Colombia. The high-altitude release point we were given is here," he pointed on his map, "just outside of Cartagena, still over the ocean."
Riley nodded. "That's it. If we can see the lights of the city we'll be good to go. Our drop zone is southeast of Cartagena, about fifteen kilometers from the city limit. What do you estimate for winds aloft down there?"
The navigator looked at his clipboard. "Presently they've got eighteen knots to the west. I've offset your HARP based on that to right here." He pointed.
Riley pulled out some of the satellite imagery. "I make that right about here on this." The navigator nodded. "All right. Let me get back with my guys and I'll update them on the release point. If you get any changes en route, let me know."
The pilot checked his watch. "We'll be cranking her up in another thirty minutes."
The whine of the four turboprop engines peaked. With a slight jolt, the airplane started rolling. Riley looked across the aircraft at Powers, who met his eyes in the dim light let in by the few small, round windows. Powers gave him a thumbs-up. The plane picked up speed and the nose lifted. Wheels up and on the way.
A tapping on his shoulder snapped him alert out of an uneasy sleep. Riley peered up at the loadmaster leaning over him. The man pointed at his watch and yelled in his ear. "You told me to wake you at an hour and fifteen out."
Riley checked his watch. Time to get ready. He unbuckled his seat belt and walked across the plane. He grabbed Powers's arm to wake him and then yelled in his ear, "Time to rig."
Powers started rousing the people on his side of the plane. Riley and the loadmaster went to the back of the plane and undid the cargo straps holding their parachutes and rucksacks. They passed out the parachutes, a main and reserve to each. Each man claimed his own ruck.
Riley and Powers buddy-rigged each other. Riley went first, putting on a one-piece thermal suit over his jungle fatigues and combat vest and zipping it up. Then Powers helped him slip the main over his shoulders and settle it on his back. Riley reached down between his legs as Powers passed a leg strap through to him. "Left leg," Powers yelled above the roar of the engines.
"Left leg," Riley acknowledged as he hooked the quick connector snap on the proper side.
"Right leg."
"Right leg." Riley hooked in his other leg strap and then crouched, tightening down both straps as hard as he could. A loose strap could have painful consequences during the shock of the parachute opening.
Powers helped him rig the reserve over his belly, attaching it to D-rings on the front of the harness. Before tying it down, Riley rigged his submachine gun behind the reserve, cinching it in place. His rucksack was hooked underneath the main parachute in the rear so that it dangled behind his legs. It made walking difficult, but it put the ruck in a position where it wouldn't interfere when Riley tried to get stabilized after exiting the aircraft.
Riley tightened the rest of his straps and then turned to Powers, putting his hands on his helmet, signaling he was ready to be jumpmaster inspected.
Swaying in the aircraft, Powers quickly ran his hands over Riley's equipment, starting from his head, working down the front and then going to the back, again working top to bottom. He never let his hands get in front of his eyes as he methodically worked his way around the gear. His tugs and yanks were comforting to Riley. A good jumpmaster made the jumper all the more confident in the reliability and proper rig of his equipment.
Finished, Powers tapped Riley on the rear and gave him a thumbs-up, signaling he was good to go. Riley waddled to the side of the aircraft and with great difficulty sat down on the cargo netting that passed for seats. He watched as Powers inspected the rest of the team one by one.
For jumping, Lane had disassembled the massive Haskins gun into two pieces and placed it in a canvas weapons container. Holder had done the same to the SAW machine gun. Powers rigged the weapons containers on the jumpers' left side.
After finishing with the team, Powers had the loadmaster help him rig. He then checked his own gear as much as possible. He staggered over to Riley and talked him through those checks that he couldn't see for himself.
The entire team now sat, three to a side, with the oxygen console between them. The entire process had taken almost thirty minutes inside the swaying aircraft. Riley checked his watch again. Another forty-five minutes to drop.
Powers gestured to the console. Each team member hooked the hose leading to his mask to an outlet. When he saw they were all breathing off the console, Powers gave a thumbs-up to the loadmaster, who had hooked into an outlet in the side of the plane.
They felt their ears pop as the pilot began depressurizing the inside of the aircraft. The temperature dropped as the cargo bay heater struggled against the thin, cold air coming in at altitude.
They'd stay on the console until they stood up for the jump, at which time each man would switch to the small oxygen bottle on his rig. The bottle held only twenty-five minutes' worth of air, so it was best to hold off switching as long as possible.
Even with the thermal coveralls, Riley was shivering. He looked through his clear goggles at the other members of his team. He gave a thumbs-up and received a similar answer from each man. No one was getting woozy from the oxygen.
Riley felt his adrenaline start to flow as he watched Powers unhook from the console and hook into his bottle. Party time! At Powers's signal, the rest of the team unhooked from the console and went on their personal supply.
Powers signaled with both hands to stand up. Through the helmet, Riley heard Powers's voice echo the command: "Stand up!"
Riley swayed as the aircraft slowed down to 125 knots. That slowdown meant three minutes out from the release point. He made a conscious effort to control his breathing. This was the worst part of the jump. Waiting. Knowing it's coming but not knowing what will happen.
The roar in the aircraft increased as the ramp cracked opened and the dark night sky appeared. Like massive jaws separating, the upper portion of the ramp disappeared into the roof of the aircraft while the lower section leveled out, forming a platform. The temperature inside dropped as the cold, turbulent outside air swirled in. Riley felt his stomach churn with anxiety. Looking out an open ramp was something he had never grown used to.