Aiming at the window, I repeatedly pull the trigger as fast as I can, my bullets covering the entire window. The glass explodes and sprays outward, the mighty crash of the disintegrating window combine with the rapid barking of the M-4 firing, filling the office with a cacophony of noise overriding the still shrieking night runners in the hallway outside. I continue to shift my aim so that the entirety of the window to my front is blown out. The bolt clicks back in the open position indicating that the mag is empty. I hear the faint tinkling of glass falling, hitting the street and sidewalk below.
Reloading, I then start towards the door leading to the hallway to give the night runners a departing gift. Opening the door, I am met with a din of shrieks and roars from within the darkened recesses of the hall. I bring my M-4 up and begin delivering my farewell present of steel, firing into the middle of the hall and at the fleeting shapes I see either milling or running about. Screams of pain join in the general uproar letting me know that my gift is being received. The shapes in my field of view dissolve and the shrieking instantly goes silent. I fire until my mag runs dry. Only a few soft slaps of feet on tile remain and then nothing. An eerie silence settles.
“Are you okay?” I hear Lynn call on the radio.
“Yeah, just saying goodbye,” I respond.
With the office now silent, I gather the rope and begin looking for a place to tie off. There are not any good places that are immediately obvious. Yeah, the desk or conference table might hold but I would also just as likely be pulling them down on top of me. Hitting the ground from fifty or sixty feet up only to have a heavy desk fall on me is not on my top ten list. The only thing that I see that will work is the steel beam on the outside of the building that was previously holding the sheet of glass. Ideally, a tie off should be slightly inset from the drop off point to allow one to stabilize with the rope in front. Oh well, you do what you have to sometimes. I scrape the remaining glass attached to the steel beam with the butt end of my knife assuring that there is not anything left that will be able to cut through the rope, again with the intent of trying to avoid that sudden drop.
I tie the rope off and lean back in the office testing the strength of the beam. Assured that the beam will not follow me out of the building, I remove the tape and clamp a sturdy D-ring onto my vest. Feeding the rope through the D-ring in a double loop, I toss the rope out of the window opening, peering over to ensure that the end reaches the ground. The suck factor would be getting to the end of the rope while still in the air. The flight gloves I am wearing are a bit thin for this type of operation so I will have to take it a bit slow on the way down. Rope burns are a bitch!
I stuff the folders inside my vest, making sure that they are tightly bound and not likely to slip out. I then put my M-4 over my head with the strap under my opposite arm and tighten the strap; effectively securing it to my back. Over by the window again, I grab the long end of the rope in my right hand in a reverse grip putting that hand in the middle of my back. That will be my braking mechanism. My left hand will be my guiding hand. Turning backwards to the window, I edge out to the ledge adjacent to the tie off point. Setting the toes of my feet on the ledge, I lean backwards and feel the after effects in my shoulder from my wall and door crashing. I set my right foot out against the building so that I am centered on the tie off point; letting the rope slide between my hands and gripping with firmly with my right hand when I am leaning back at the correct angle.
I look down, searching for any obstruction that will impede my progress, and immediately rethink my decision; thinking that maybe a dash to the fire door would not be so bad after all. Not a fan of heights! I kick outward releasing some of the tension on my braking hand allowing me to fall, making sure I keep my angle. I sure would hate to do a face plant on the side of the building with an audience watching. Well, anytime for that matter. Squeezing slightly with my braking hand, my descent slows and I am brought in toward the building. I bend my knees and kick off again just as soon as the soles of my boots contact the glass panes that form the outer building. I soon reach the ground with the rope burning my hands through my gloves.
“Not bad for an old man,” Lynn says as she and the rest of the group walk up as I try to undo myself from the rope.
“Very funny,” I say freeing the rope from the D-ring.
“Get what you came for?” She asks.
“Yep,” I answer withdrawing the folders from inside my vest.
I suddenly feel so exhausted. Completely drained. The downside to and the other side of an intense adrenaline rush. Coupled with the heat and humidity of the day, I feel like laying down on the cool sidewalk here in the shade. I gaze up overhead, the time spent inside already becoming surreal, my mind close to not believing it actually occurred. The broken window mars the otherwise perfect mirrored side of the building as if the secrets it had been hiding behind the perfect illusion of its facade have been revealed to the world. I shake my head trying to clear the memory of it from my mind.
“So are you going to tell us what happened in there?” Lynn asks looking at me, knowing what I had been through having been through a similar ordeal less than twenty four hours before.
“Well, we should be getting back but here’s the skinny,” I say giving them a rundown of what happened inside.
“Let’s get out of here and head back,” I say wearily after finishing with my story and stuffing the folders once again inside my vest.
I hear a faint murmuring among the troops as we walk out from the shadow of the building and into the sunlight on our way back to the trucks parked a distance away. The heat commences an immediate assault on us as the sun beats down on us, draining my energy even further. I can’t believe we have to fly all of the way back, I think stepping across the pavement, feeling the heat radiate through my soles. Perhaps I’ll let Robert fly while I look through these notes and rest.
Some of the murmured words find their way to my ears much to my embarrassment, “That was some bad ass shit he did,” one voice I do not recognize says.
“Yeah, no kidding. That was Spiderman and Superman put together. On crack,” another says.
Oh come on, I think trying to hide my embarrassment. Lynn is walking beside me and looks up at me from the side. She knows how I feel about this kind of talk and how embarrassed I get when I hear anything remotely like it, especially when it is applied to me.
Looking over and gazing up and down my back, she says out loud, “I don’t know, your cape looks a little tattered to me.”
This brings a smile to my face. She really knows how to make things better. The soldiers behind chuckle at her comment but I notice the murmurs stop. Well, at least along those lines. We climb into the trucks and retrace our route back to the airfield, eventually driving through the gate and stopping off to the side of the aircraft. I notice with pride that the start cart is positioned and set up.
The day has not yet passed the half way mark as we all trudge into the aircraft once again; the heat inside the metal-skinned giant is almost unbearable. Robert, Nic, and Bri are all in the cockpit, apparently running through the pre-start checks, as I climb wearily into the cockpit. Their heads turn in my direction as I reach the top step and walk into the cockpit proper; their faces lighting up seeing me arrive.