MEDITERRANEAN
WEST OF CYPRUS
JANUARY 13, 2012
1948 HOURS GMT
The SOCATA TBM's powerful engine rotated a massive propeller which hurtled the six-passenger plane across the Mediterranean at a speed rivaling that of most small business jets. The aircraft designed for the Aviation Légère de l'Armée de Terre, ALAT, the aviation arm of the French Special Forces knifed through the calm night air effortlessly.
In the cockpit, Christopher monitored the GARMIN G1000 flight instrument panel as Sergent-Chef Lauren Didier began a controlled descent to skim the sea.
"Israeli radar, Laurent?"
"Oui, mon Colonel, the Israelis are the busybodies of the Mediterranean with their American friends. We like to tweak their tails. UNFIL flights are none of their business, once we have advised them of our times and routes, but they like to show off their capabilities. Thankfully, they have none of their gunboats within range and the Americans are playing patty cakes near Libya, so I will sneak you in as close as I can to Beirut, then I'll pop up to four hundred feet, and out you go." The young Special Forces pilot tapped on the instrument panel's keypad. "Twelve minutes. The sergent will act as jumpmaster."
Christopher swiveled in the copilot's seat and adjusted his wetsuit.
"Old habits die hard, mon colonel," Didier commented as he watched Christopher adjust his chronometer.
"Can't stand the digital crap. Sometimes old habits are the best ones, Laurent. If you have some leave in Beirut, I owe you a drink."
The pilot grinned. "Al Falamanki Restaurant on Monot Street in Achrafiyeh. I will be there in three days if you want to buy us a drink, sir."
"If I can I will, lad. How will you designate?"
The pilot tapped his headphones. "I'll designate the target twenty seconds out. I am sorry, but all you get is a door closer - no jumpmaster, sir. You have to count yourself down."
Christopher grinned as he struggled back through the narrow cabin to the copilot at the rear door. The other two passengers nodded as he passed without making any comments.
**
Fifteen minutes later, Laurent's voice boomed in his headphones. "Ascending now, Colonel. Sixty seconds."
The roar of the single engine increased its pitch as the plane began a sharp climb. Christopher gripped the door handle as he kept his right foot on his jump bag.
"I'll handle the door, sir." The copilot readied himself behind Christopher for the sudden blast of air that would invade the narrow fuselage.
"Two hundred. Three hundred," Laurent continued to read off the altitude. "Twenty seconds, colonel. Leveling off. Bon chance, Hooker."
The use of his old call sign brought an involuntary grin to Christopher's face despite the wetsuit's hood.
**
"A thousand and fifteen, a thousand and fourteen ..." Christopher continued his mental countdown. At 'a thousand and four', he stepped out the aircraft while clutching his bag to his secondary chute.
**
As the plane flew by, he released the bag and engaged his primary chute.
**
In less than two seconds, the canopy engaged and Christopher removed his hand from the secondary ripcord and focused on the looming luminescence of the waves below him.
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