Free Echo Six: Black Ops 7 - Tibetan Fury by Eric Meyer

your wrist mounted GPS. You should be on a heading of twenty-eight degrees, with a glide slope of thirty degrees. Can you see the indicator?"
    She struggled for a few moments, pulling on lines and hunting for her GPS. In the bitter chill and turbulent fury of a high altitude drop over mountains, there was a lot to deal with. Finally, she called.
    "I've got it, but I'm not sure about the glide slope."
    "That's okay. I'm one hundred meters above you and on your left. I'll make sure you're okay."
    A pause. "Thanks, Dad."
    Even confronted with a hundred different ways to suffer a nasty death, she’s able to make a joke, a good sign.
    He stayed with her, keeping up the figure of eight pattern and monitoring his own GPS to make certain they were on course. Gradually, he managed to explain to her the intricacies of guiding a HAHO parachute system, and she became more confident. When they passed 5000 meters, she declared she'd got it.
    "That's good news. I'll stay above you and keep off air unless you're in trouble."
    She didn't reply, and he saw her working to keep her parachute at the right altitude and direction for the long, complicated glide. He rechecked his own GPS and saw they'd already crossed the border into Tibet. Enemy territory. There was no radio chatter from the others. They were confident in the familiar routine. Besides, even though their commo system was short range and encrypted, there was always the danger of an intercept.
    He saw the ground coming nearer. "We're two thousand meters above ground, about two klicks from the LZ. Take it steady, and stay as you are. Keep on the exact glide path, and you'll hit the bull's-eye. Remember, bend your legs before you land."
    "Got it."
    No 'Dad' this time. She was nervous. He could see the first of his team already on the ground; the dim, dark green shapes moving as they ran around gathering up their 'chutes, and then the larger shape of Buchmann with his passenger, Admiral Brooks. He looked for Grace, and then he saw in front of them, a tall tower. Grace was heading straight for it. He punched the transmit button.
    "Grace, hard left, hard left. There's a tower dead in front of you."
    He saw her maneuver her parachute and bank hard to port. She missed the tower by less than a meter. He saw the ominous sight of another parachute hung up in the top of the tower. There was a body swinging below it.
    Who the hell is it? But he put it out of his mind. First things first, get her down on the ground.
    He glanced down again. Buchmann had already unsnapped his parachute. Without stopping to unstrap Brooks, he moved away from the LZ to make a wide-open patch of churned up snow for her to land on. She hit hard, yet her legs were bent enough and the snow soft, so in his judgment she'd be fine. He side slipped in and landed on his feet next to her. She jumped as she saw him touch down so close.
    "I made it!" Her face was jubilant.
    "Yeah, you made it. Gather up your 'chute. I have something to do." He looked around for his number two "Guy, did you see the tower, one of our men hanging there?"
    Welland shook his head. "It must've happened after I landed. Let's go take a look."
    It was some kind of religious structure, twenty meters high; a stone tower with images of Buddha carved into the face. Because it was covered in snow, it would have been almost invisible from a distance, merging with the landscape. They found the man still dangling from his shroud lines, his feet only a couple of meters above the ground, so near, and yet so far. Guy swarmed up the tower, cut the lines, and lowered him gently down.
    "It's George Feuerbach," he called down softly, "Dead. I'd guess he died the moment he collided with the tower. His helmet split open. Christ, I can see his brains spilling out. He wouldn't have stood a chance, poor bastard. I'll bring down his 'chute, and we'll need somewhere to bury the body."
    Talley grimaced. He knew they had to leave him. It was every man's wish for his mortal