The rear cabin seats flipped outward again, just as they did in the hangar in Savannah. The carpet went with it, and the floor lowered to expose the atmosphere and frigid -20 degree Fahrenheit air. It was loud inside the Gulfstream now, and Ford could easily see the ground lighting, in addition to feeling the cold on his exposed face. His flight gloves protected his hands, and his oxygen mask covered a majority of his face, but it was still glacial cold. Frostbite was definitely as issue, but his polypropylene knit undergarments should keep it away.
The Gulfstream was still descending as planned, passing through 27,000 feet. Ford looked at his GPS moving map on his watch. They were at a good altitude, but still not close enough for him to reach the airport with the wing suit on. Still at 17 miles laterally and he wanted 10 miles to be safe.
“ONE. MINUTE. ONE MINUTE!” Lurch yelled from up front, holding his index finger up.
Ford gave another thumbs up, got down on his butt, and slid slowly towards the hinge in the floor. He looked outside and it seemed like it was getting darker by the second due to the combo of the clouds, mist, and deep setting sun. Ford looked at his GPS map again, and read that he was still 14.4 miles laterally, and getting closer to his window, but not there just yet.
“GO! GO! GO!” Lurch yelled. “GO!”
Shit! Ford said into his mask. Now? He checked his GPS map again, and saw he wasn’t in his 10 mile window. He was nearly two miles off his mark at 11.8 miles, but if the guys up front said to jump, he had to go. Beijing Approach was vectoring them anyway, and this was as close as he would get. This was a mitigated risk, and hoped he could make up the distance in the air, but wasn’t sure. Shit! Go now or wait?
“FORD! NOW! GO!” Lurch yelled again.
Ford was faced with the dilemma of not making the drop zone because he would be short on the distance. The world record was closer to 16 miles if he remembered correctly, so it was possible. This entire op relied on him. The decision was all Ford’s and he had to make it, and had to make it right now.
From the cockpit, the autopilot was on and the Gulfstream jet was practically flying itself on the way down. Lurch turned around from the front right seat, then Andrew turned around in the left seat, and they faced the cabin, both looking aft.
The rear of the jet was empty. Ford was gone.
Ford left the Gulfstream exactly as he wanted, and his body sailed through the freezing air flawlessly. The black sky while wearing a black wing suit camouflaged him perfectly, and not a soul on earth could see or hear him coming. He looked down at his watch to check his altitude and it was winding down normally, as it always had. Ford then checked his GPS, and he was moving towards his bulls-eye destination nicely, so there was nothing to be concerned about just yet.
The helmet protected his head, keeping the loud wind-whoosh sound away from his eardrums, which were still adjusting to the rapid changes in air pressure. The clear visor did the same, helping to prevent his eyes from tearing up. His oxygen mask had a tight seal, the temperatures were warming up as he got closer to the ground, and Ford was confident in the jump so far. He didn’t detect any health issues with the high altitude and lack of oxygen, but he sure noticed the pollution.
He sailed down and outwards for a few short minutes, and pondered if the Gulfstream was getting ready to land in Beijing by now. Ford also speculated about Wu’s health, and the rest of the mission. Amazing how the mind can wonder when you’re skydiving, he said quietly.
GPS had him on target to make the drop zone, despite the longer than planned distance. He would make it. Ford checked his altimeter, and it looked to be about another 30 seconds before he would pull his chute. The lights of the city were getting brighter, and the ambient light bounced off the smog, clouds and mist. The mist sure helped his camouflage, he thought. Or was it the nasty smog?
Ford reached for his rip cord at 2,000 feet and pulled. The black streamers extended into the dark sky, followed by the black canopy that filled up with air. To Ford, it was a handsome sight. He placed his hands on the risers, and had excellent steering capability he expected. Looking down at the ground, Ford looked for familiar landmarks from his map study in the brief. The main runway was lit with arriving traffic, and he saw the city easily. Next, in his field of vision were the blue colored taxi lights, then the rotating aerodrome beacon on top of the air traffic control tower, flashing white and green, in sequence every few seconds. He spotted the firehouse on the southwest corner of the airfield, which was located near his drop zone, and there were no ground vehicles or taxiing aircraft to witness his landing. The drop zone was clear.
He turned into the somewhat calm wind on his final approach, pulled the risers to flare, and jogged a few steps into the uneven ground. Ford nearly fell and tripped, as the ground he was on was full of mud, holes, and sporadic grass mounds. He got down on a knee, and was able to reel in his black chute easily into a ball. He laid down for a moment to listen and look, ensuring that no one saw him.
What caught Ford’s attention wasn’t what he heard or saw just yet, but the awful smell. He must have landed close to a water treatment facility, because the smell of human or animal waste was strong. So intense, that Ford thought perhaps he was standing in it. The satellite images he studied with Mark showed this was just an empty field, surrounded by a fence. No treatment plant in sight. What is that smell?
Ford stood up so he could see the large hangar, and tightly wound the parachute as tight as he could into a smaller ball. He heard a deep stomping noise behind him, three or four times in the row, pounding the earth. It was a deep thump each time. What the hell is that? Ford slowly turned to see what it was. It was intensely dark in this area of the airfield, so he so wasn’t sure. Then came a snort, like something breathing very heavily. The snort sound was moving… and got closer, and then another stomp. Now the ground seemed to getting pounded by… hoofs? He landed in an animal pen!
An ox, with a full head of horns, was coming into view, and angry that Ford was disturbing him. He came charging at Ford. Ford froze, then turned to the small white fence to his right that he noticed on the way in. You got to be kidding me! He just about peed his flight suit and had to make a run for it, as it was his only option. Ford sprinted as fast as he could while wearing the wing suit, but was restricted because gear he had, in addition to the material that linked his legs to fly. He also had to carry his balled up parachute. Holy shit. Ford got to the fence, and was able to slip one leg thru the fence quickly, then the other. The ox nearly got him before he was able to quickly crawl through the horizontal railings. “A fucking ox? Really?” Ford said, whispering to himself.
He was on his way to a clear viewing area to observe the open doors of the commercial jet hangar on the airfield. By staying low, he made his silhouette, his body outline, a lower profile than standing straight up, and was able to use the tall grass to his advantage. The Miscanthus sinensis, or Chinese Silver Grass, was a species of flowering plant in the grass family, native to eastern Asia throughout most of China, Japan, Taiwan and Korea. This grass was longer than allowed at U.S. airports, which provided Ford the camouflage he needed to do his work.