Jones flashed his gun. ‘Does it look like I’m joking?’
‘You’re going to jump out of my chopper?’
‘Only if you have a rope.’
Baptiste pointed to the other side. ‘Try over there.’
Jones scurried around the back and opened the far hatch. Inside was a wicker basket. It was stuffed with a loaf of French bread, a hunk of cheese, two salamis, an assortment of fresh fruit, a bottle of wine, and a red-and-white chickened tablecloth. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘A picnic,’ Baptiste said.
‘A picnic? Why did you pack a fucking picnic?’
Baptiste shrugged. ‘Petr gets hungry.’
Jones slammed the hatch in frustration. ‘My friend is going to die unless you have a rope. Do you have one or not?’
‘Next compartment back.’
Jones flung it open and grabbed a large coil of black rope. Made with sure-grip synthetic fibres, the low-stretch rope was perfect for rappelling. One end was already equipped with a sturdy metal clasp that could be attached to the chopper’s floor. ‘How long is this?’
‘About a hundred feet.’
Jones pulled out the coil, which weighed over fifty pounds, and tossed it onto the back seat. Then he searched the compartment for additional equipment, anything that could help them get to the ground in one piece. ‘What about gloves? Or belts? Or harnesses?’
Baptiste shook his head. ‘This isn’t a rescue chopper.’
Payne arrived in time to hear the comment. ‘Well, it is today.’
Jones pointed to the hook in the centre of the floor, which Payne could reach while standing outside the chopper. ‘Attach the clasp. I’m almost ready.’
Payne did as he was told, then hopped into the back. As he did, he could hear Jones rummaging through the hatch on the other side. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘A snack,’ Jones shouted.
Payne cupped his ear and leaned in closer. ‘A what?’
Grinning from ear to ear, Jones hopped into the chopper. He held his gun in one hand and the picnic basket in the other. Payne stared at him like he was crazy.
Jones grinned even wider. ‘Don’t worry. I have an idea.’
‘What kind of idea?’
‘I’ll tell you when it’s time to jump.’
Krueger cursed when he heard the gun fire. Obviously something had gone wrong with his plan because his men had been told to avoid interaction at all costs. Their job had been simple. Spy on Kaiser, figure out what he was doing, then report back to Krueger so he could coordinate their attack. His men weren’t supposed to confront Kaiser or do anything that might attract attention. This was supposed to be a surveillance mission. Nothing else.
From his position at the bottom of the mountain, Krueger called his men on the radio. ‘What happened?’ he growled in German.
One of his men responded. ‘We were spotted by a guard with an assault rifle. We managed to take him out quietly.’
‘Did you say quietly? There was nothing quiet about it! I could hear it down here!’
‘Blame the guard, not us. We used a blade. He used a gun. He got off a few rounds when he fell to the ground.’
Krueger took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. ‘Did anyone get hit?’
‘No, sir.’
‘What are we up against?’
‘Too early to tell, sir. But so far we’re winning.’
Krueger shook his head. His men were so short-sighted. ‘Winning?’
‘Yes, sir. They’re down one man, and we’re up one gun. This G36 is a serious weapon.’
‘Maybe so, but we lost the best weapon of all – the element of surprise.’
His goon grunted. He couldn’t care less. ‘What do you want us to do?’
‘Find Kaiser and send me his coordinates. I’m on my way.’
The bunker was positioned near the base of a cliff and surrounded by ancient beech trees that were a lot taller than their rope was long. Hoping to survive their descent, Payne and Jones searched for a clearing near the site, somewhere they could land safely when they rappelled out of the chopper. The best they could find was a grove of fir trees, approximately a quarter of a mile from the bunker. Not only were the evergreens significantly shorter than the beeches, but they hoped the fallen pine needles underneath the trees would cushion their fall. Due to the slope of the mountain, they realized they would have to hit the ground and roll, or risk breaking a leg.
Fighting strong gusts of wind, Baptiste held the chopper in place just over the tops of the trees. To make sure the weld would hold his weight, Payne yanked on the hook with all his strength before Jones tossed the coil of rope over the side. Both of them watched it unravel until the far end disappeared into the thick blanket of branches.
‘Did it hit bottom?’ Payne asked.
Jones shrugged. ‘Can’t tell for sure, but I think it’s close.’
Payne nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time they had jumped blindly from a chopper. Then again, a picnic basket was something new. ‘Do you mind telling me what that’s for?’
Jones plucked a grape from its stem and popped it in his mouth. ‘Here’s what we’re facing: no gloves, no belts, no harnesses. Rough wind, blind drop, unknown enemy. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to lose as little skin as possible.’
Payne stared at his hands. They’d be torn to shreds in a fast descent. And if he took the drop slowly, his palms would survive intact, but he’d be an easy target for several seconds as he dangled from the chopper. ‘What’s the solution?’
Jones grabbed two salamis and handed one to Payne. ‘We use these.’
Payne stared at the cured meat. It was nine inches long and sealed in a rough casing. For the life of him, he had no idea what his friend meant. ‘Excuse me?’
Jones reached into his cargo pants and pulled out his knife. With a flick of his wrist, the blade popped open, and he plunged the sharp tip into the top of the salami. As Payne watched, Jones cut the meat vertically, making a nine-inch incision that went halfway into the salami. When he was done, he held it up so Payne could understand what he had in mind.
‘We wrap the salami around the rope like a bun round a hot dog. This casing is hard and coarse. Our hands should be fine as the meat gets torn to shreds.’
‘And if the casing doesn’t hold?’ Payne asked.
Jones shrugged as he traded salamis with Payne and went to work on the other one. ‘We hope the branches break our fall.’
Payne stared at him. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
He nodded. ‘I’d rather fall fast than dangle slow. Too many unknowns.’
Payne searched the basket for alternatives. ‘What about the tablecloth? We can cut it in strips and wrap it around our hands.’
Jones shook his head. ‘Our fingers would get filleted. Cut right to the bone.’
Payne grimaced. He had seen that happen to one of his men, and his hands had never fully recovered. ‘You realize, this is crazy.’
Jones laughed at the danger. ‘That’s what makes it fun.’
29
The United States Special Operations Command (SOCOM) is headquartered at MacDill Air Force Base in Tampa, Florida. It oversees the various special operations units of the US Armed Forces and the US Intelligence Community. The concept of a unified command sprouted from the disastrous rescue attempt of hostages at the American embassy in Iran in 1980. The ensuing investigation noted a lack of inter-service cooperation and the breakdown of a clear chain of command as factors in the mission’s failure.
Seven years later SOCOM was officially activated. The main goal of SOCOM is to coordinate the efforts of the different branches of the armed forces whenever joint missions are conducted. Each branch has a Special Operations Command capable of running its own missions, but when different Special Operations Forces (Green Berets, Navy SEALs, Rangers, etc.) need to work together on a mission, SOCOM takes control of the operation – for example, Operation Desert Storm and Operation Iraqi Freedom.