Free Free Fall: A Prelude to Hidden Order by Brad Thor Page B

inbound.”
    Kass, known by his call sign, Punch , seemed to have judged the speed of the ship better, and was coming in more slowly than Harvath had.
    He landed solidly on the deck, but lost his balance and had to catch himself with one hand—a situation called “picking up change,” which would have cost a jumper points on a demonstration team, but was nothing short of outstanding under these circumstances.
    After collapsing, collecting, and jettisoning his chute and harness over the side, Punch took up his position.
    Before leaving for the Indian Ocean, the team had spent two weeks training on an almost identical American tanker in the Gulf of Mexico. They ran through every possible scenario until they not only had an excellent working grasp of the ship, but also of each other. It wasn’t nearly enough time, of course, but it was all they had, and it was better than nothing.
    “All good, Punch?” Harvath asked the burly man from North Carolina.
    “I think I forgot my cigarettes,” he replied, patting his pockets.
    Harvath shook his head and laughed.
     • • • 
    Kass, like the last jumper they were now waiting for—another former Delta operator, John Dean, aka Wiggy —had served on the Army’s Golden Knights parachute team, as well as the Special Operations Black Daggers team. Kass and Dean were a few years older than Harvath but completely squared away, and had seen their share of tough jumps. This was one they’d tell their grandchildren about someday.
    Glancing skyward, Sanchez was the first to pick up Dean as he descended toward the ship. “Last package inbound.”
    Harvath and Kass looked up.
    It took a moment to make him out. With their dark parachutes, blackened faces, and dark tactical clothing, they were intentionally difficult to spot.
    “He’s coming in too fast,” said Kass. “Slow up, Wiggy. Slow up.”
    Harvath could see that Dean was fighting the same battle he had on his jump. It was very hard to gauge both the wind and the speed of the ship.
    “He’s going to drill right through the deck!” Sanchez exclaimed.
    Because they didn’t put their earpieces in until after they landed, there was no way the men on the ship could warn their teammate.
    While Kass kept repeating slow up , Harvath said a silent prayer.
    Then, they all watched as John Dean not only came in too fast, but missed the landing zone entirely.
    No one knew if he was in the water or not, but if he was, he was as good as dead. Breaking ranks, Kass ran to the railing.
    The aft portion of the Sienna Star behind the tanker’s superstructure was composed of the open-air deck where Harvath, Sanchez, and Kass had landed, as well as an additional, extremely narrow deck one level down that jutted out at the very rear of the ship.
    Coming in as hot as he had, Dean had needed to buy time to slow down—even if only milliseconds. Realizing this, he had made a judgment call and chose to land on the lower deck. What he hadn’t counted on was slamming into one of the ship’s mooring winches.
    “Punch, give me a SITREP. Over,” ordered Harvath as he and Sanchez kept their suppressed MP7 submachine guns trained on the superstructure. SITREP was code for Situation Report .
    Kass studied the situation and responded, “He made it. He’s one level below, but it looks like he may be injured. Over.”
    Damn it , Harvath said to himself. There was no outside staircase to the lower deck, which meant there was no way to get to Dean without entering the superstructure and using an interior stairwell. That wasn’t going to happen. The entire operation relied upon speed, surprise, and violence of action. They couldn’t waste the surprise portion on rushing inside to get to an injured teammate. The surprise needed to be saved for hitting the pirates and rescuing the crew.
    “Is he conscious?” Harvath asked.
    “I am,” replied Dean, who had placed his bone microphone into his ear and was now transmitting.
    Harvath could hear the pain