V Plague (Book 11): Merciless (4 page)

Drago was on the right side of the pincer, at the tip.  As Katie charged, trying to escape, he leapt forward in an attempt to cut off the open path.  She suddenly changed direction, and in a move that seemed impossible for someone as large as him, he shifted with her.  She juked again, avoiding both a net and Taser darts from another Ranger.

When she turned onto her new course, Drago pulled the trigger on his net gun.  He was less than ten feet away and had managed to position himself so that he was launching the restraint directly at Katie.  With a thump, the weights were fired and immediately stretched the net taut at all four corners.

Katie tried to avoid the trap, but as she attempted to make a cut, her feet slipped on the snowy ground.  The loss of momentum gave the net time to catch her.  It impacted near her middle, the weights whipping around and wrapping her in the heavy material.

She began screaming, struggling to get free.  The net gun had come from animal control and was rated to capture and hold animals up to 800 pounds.  As strong as Katie’s infected body was, it wasn’t strong enough to break the bonds.

Dashing forward, Drago fell to his knees next to the writhing woman and tried to wrap her in his arms.  She was frantically twisting, thrusting her arms through the net and trying to slash his face.  He succeeded in momentarily grabbing one of her wrists, surprised when she was able to break his grip.

Chico and two other Rangers arrived, and working together the four men succeeded in subduing Katie.  She raged at them, screaming and struggling against their weight as they pinned her to the ground.  Another soldier ran up, slipping in the snow and falling.

Getting his legs back under him, he pulled out a preloaded syringe of Ketamine that had also been taken from animal control.  Stabbing into Katie’s upper leg, he depressed the plunger.  After several minutes, Blanchard, who had run down when she was subdued, told him to give her another dose.

“Are you sure, sir?”  The man asked.  “That first one was labeled for up to 200 pounds.”

“Another,” Blanchard said, hoping he wasn’t making a mistake.

The Ranger injected Katie’s other leg.  Several more minutes passed as she continued to scream and fight against the men restraining her.  Her struggles had diminished some after the second dose, but the Soldiers were still barely able to contain the much smaller woman. 

“One more,” Blanchard said after five minutes had passed and Katie was still alert and fighting.

The man gave him a look, but did as he was ordered.  Almost immediately, she ceased battling against the strong hands that held her down.  The ear piercing screams became moans as her chest heaved air in and out.  Within another minute, her head rolled to the side and her eyes closed.  Cautiously, the four Rangers who had restrained her began releasing their grip on her arms and legs.

“Fuck me, sir.  How much was that?”  Chico asked, rubbing hands that had cramped from grasping Katie’s arm.

“Three,” Blanchard said, staring down at the unconscious woman.  “Enough for a 600-pound animal.”

“I believe it,” Drago said, climbing to his feet.  “I couldn’t hold her by myself.  Not without hurting her, anyway.”

“Get her properly restrained and let’s get out of here,” Blanchard said.

4

It took two precious seconds for me to figure out how to turn on the NVGs after my feet left the rear ramp of the crippled plane.  They came on, but all I could see was what I knew was already around me.  Thick clouds. 

A second later there was a flash of orange light that enveloped me as it lit the clouds, then a shattering explosion as flames found the jet’s fuel tank.  The goggles dimmed automatically, then came back to full intensity as the flare of the blast died out.  Turning my head, I looked around, trying to spot the pilot who had jumped successfully.  All I could see were more clouds.

How long before me had he gone out of the plane?  My best guess was three seconds, perhaps five at the most.  I kicked myself for not having started counting when he disappeared off the ramp.  And just how high were we?  How long would he fall before opening his chute?

The clouds I was in meant nothing.  They could have been high or low altitude, or anywhere in between.  About all I knew was that before the pilot threw us into a downward spiral to evade the Navy fighters, we were at cruising altitude, probably about 40,000 feet.  We’d reached the clouds in a hurry, so they had to be fairly high.

Not too high, I reminded myself.  I was breathing, and though I was very cold, my flesh wasn’t freezing.  I was guessing I’d come out of the plane at no more than 20,000 feet.  That meant I would have a freefall time of over a minute, depending on the position of my body. 

But what about the pilot?  How long would he fall before opening?  I doubted he had much more than basic jump training.  Just enough to make sure he knew how to control his fall and open his chute.  If he stuck to what he’d been taught, he’d most likely open around 5,000 feet.  And I had to get to him first.

I emerged from the bottom of the clouds as this last thought went through my head, immediately beginning to search for the pilot.  Finally, after a few seconds of panic, I spotted a shape below and to my front.  I couldn’t even guess how much lower he was.

Pulling my arms tight along my body, I pressed my legs together and tilted over until I was falling nearly straight down with only a slight angle of descent.  Quickly, the form in my night vision began to grow.  As I got a better look, I could see that the Russian was falling belly down, arms and legs spread to control his speed and prevent spin.

He continued to appear to draw closer in my field of view.  And I started to worry about something else.  If I came in too fast, I might not be able to slow in time and wind up overshooting my target.  Once I was below him, I was screwed.  There was no way I’d be able to slow my fall enough.  All he’d have to do would be stay belly down until he opened his parachute, then he could dangle in the air and watch me blast a crater out of the ground.

I also had to be careful not to pull out of my higher speed fall too soon.  If that happened, I’d be above him and would have to try to fall faster again.  Starting and stopping, wasting so much time that we’d probably reach the point where he’d pull his chute before I got my hands on him.  I’d fall past, and have the whole crater problem again.

I needed to flare to reduce speed just before I reached him.  Slow my body so the impact didn’t disable or knock me out.  At the moment, I was falling nearly twice as fast as the Russian.  An impact with another human body at our closing speed would make the hardest hit on a football field look like a gentle tap with a feather pillow.  All of this went through my head as I continued to close the distance between us. 

This was actually something I had done at one point in my military career, but it hadn’t been officially sanctioned training.  It was one of those things that someone had, um… suggested.  Well, it was more of a dare, so I’d done it.  Jump out of a plane, catch another jumper in freefall and take their chute away.  I think the idiot that had challenged me had seen it in a movie. 

Of course, I’d had a chute on my back when I did it, just in case, so there wasn’t the risk of auguring into the dirt.  My CO wouldn’t have cared if I’d had a jet pack strapped to my ass.  I’d landed in a world of shit.  Nearly had my ticket pulled and kicked out of the Army.  The brass likes operators with big balls.  They don’t like ones with tiny brains.

Now, I was in a world of shit, again, but at least I’d done this once before.  Yeah, yeah, I know.  Twenty years ago.  Dismissing all of this from my mind, I focused on the pilot.  Made sure I had a solid grip on the knife I’d taken off the dead Spetsnaz.  I’d have one shot at this, and if I made any mistakes, I was dead.

At what I thought was the right point, I spread my legs and began moving my arms out to the sides.  I wanted to bleed off some speed, but had to be careful to not change my body position too quickly or I’d get flipped over backwards.  The rate of closure slowed and I tilted back some more, killing velocity until it appeared as if I was hanging only a few feet above the Russian.

I spared a look at the ground, but it was still too far away to see in the darkness, even with the NVGs.  Adjusting my body’s attitude, I closed the final distance to the pilot.  As I came close, I entered the wake he was creating as he fell through the air and struggled against some slight turbulence.  Then I was inside the negative pressure zone immediately above his body.

When I entered this area where the air was calm, I suddenly fell faster than him, closing the final few feet and slamming into the Russian’s back.  I was prepared for this, snaking my left arm around his neck and striking with the knife.  Careful to avoid the parachute or any of its straps, I plunged the long blade into his side and twisted it up.

The struggle that had started when I’d locked my arm around his throat stopped after I gave the blade a final turn.  Leaving it embedded in his corpse, I began fumbling to release the straps.  It took more time and effort than I’d expected, or remembered, but I worked the buckles free.  And nearly lost the parachute when I did.

The large pack had very different aerodynamics than a human body, and when it came free it was almost ripped out of my hand as it slowed.  The added drag, out of position, caused me to start a spin.  The pilot quickly fell away and I fought to pull the chute to my body to stabilize my fall.

It had been easy up until now.  Free falling and joining up with another person who isn’t trying to evade you is relatively simple for an experienced jumper.  Getting a parachute pack with the wind resistance of a brick positioned and strapped on your body is a totally different matter.

Every time I shifted it, I spun more.  Sometimes to my left, sometimes to my right.  Once, I was sent into a somersault and wound up falling back first.  Panic had set in, but luck was with me as that was exactly the way I needed to be oriented.  The chute wound up pressed against me by the force of the wind, and I was finally able to work my arms through the straps and fasten them. 

A few more contortions and the straps between my legs were in place and secure and I gave everything a quick, hard tug to pull it as tight as possible.  Glancing down, I cursed when I saw the ground.  Much too close if I could see it in night vision.  Reaching behind me, I slapped my hand around looking for the small pilot chute, before remembering this was an emergency pack.

Fumbling on the chest of the rig, I found the large D-ring that would release the pilot chute and gave it a hard yank.  There was a faint fluttering above my head as a small drogue filled with air and pulled the bridle.  A pop preceded the main canopy deploying, then there was a hard jerk as I was suddenly slowed.

Staring between my feet, I saw the ground swiftly approaching and grabbed the toggles and pulled for all I was worth to slow my fall.  The NVGs didn’t provide good depth perception, and it was longer before my boots hit the dirt than I’d expected.  But not much.  I hit hard, and only years of experience saved me from a serious injury.

I pulled my legs up so my knees were bent and let my body fall into a roll the instant my weight came down.  Rolling over twice, I came to rest on my back, staring skyward, tangled in the canopy lines.  My heart was racing and I was breathing like a freight train, but I was alive.  Now, where the hell was I?

I could have lain there and pondered that question for a while, but a freezing wind was gusting.  The canopy filled and snapped off the ground, starting to drag me along with it.  Rolling to unwrap myself, I quickly began pulling on lines to spill the wind out of the fabric and collapse the chute.  I had no idea where I was, but knew the tough fabric and all the lines connecting it to the pack might very well mean the difference between survival and death.

Shrugging out of the pack, I got the canopy and lines stuffed back inside.  Not neatly, it kind of looked like a giant bird’s nest, but I wasn’t going for style points.  I made a slow, 360-degree survey of my surroundings.  A stiff, frigid wind was blowing across a barren, rocky landscape.  No trees, no bushes.  Nothing other than bleak emptiness.

Glancing down at the pack, I saw a strobe light that was flashing brightly.  Raising the goggles, I confirmed that it was Infrared when it was invisible to my naked eye.  It hadn’t been on when I’d been chasing the pilot in the air, so it must have activated when I pulled the release.  I was reaching for it to disable the beacon when I heard the sound of a jet approaching from behind.

Turning, I scanned the sky, but even though it sounded low it was still too high to see.  Taking a chance that it would be one of the Navy fighters that had been trying to force my plane down, I held the pack high in the air, the strobe positioned so it would be visible from any direction.

The jet passed, then turned and came back at a lower altitude.  This time, it flew directly over my head, and I could see a faint outline in the NVGs.  Not enough to identify the type, or nationality, but I’d shown the strobe.  It was too late now.

If this was the US Navy, how long before they could get a helicopter to my location?  Or could they?  Just because there was a fighter up there didn’t mean I was anywhere they could get a rescue flight into.  I could hope, but couldn’t count on it.  While I was waiting, I needed to take care of myself.  Survive.

I stood there, listening to the jet’s engines until the sound disappeared.  Shivering, I re-slung the parachute and turned another slow circle.  This time, I was looking for the Russian pilot’s body.  There was a knife stuck in it that would come in handy.  And maybe some other things I could use.  But I didn’t see it.

Standing there, I turned until I was oriented the same way I’d landed.  The wind was at my back, which meant I’d been pushed from that direction once I’d opened the parachute.  The falling body of the pilot would have been affected by the same wind, but not nearly as much.  He should be behind me.

Facing to my rear, I started walking.  Slowly.  Stopping every hundred paces to turn a full circle and make sure I hadn’t walked past the corpse.