Read Troubleshooters 16.8 - Free Fall for Free Online

gear, and the motherfucker in question was none other than his teammate Izzy Zanella, who’d hooked Tony into his own oxygen bottle, no doubt to save Tony’s life.
     There was noise over his radio headset—the CO and the chief both calling his name—and as he and Izzy tumbled and turned, Tony caught a glimpse of a stack of HAHO canopies way, way up in the sky.
     He had no idea how he’d gotten here—but logic dictated that at some point in the recent past he’d jumped out of a plane, and evidently hijinks had ensued. Something had gone rather radically wrong. The details of that wrongness, however, could wait.
     Years of training kicked in as Tony grabbed more tightly onto Zanella—who was out cold—even as he checked his altimeter, and announced to the team, “I’m okay, but need info. Hot zone or safe?”
     He had no idea where they were. Was that desert they were falling toward in California or somewhere else entirely? Afghanistan or some other sandy, desolate, dangerous place . . . ? The mountains in the distance didn’t look like A-stan’s craggy peaks, but there were parts of that country he hadn’t yet explored.
     “Safe, repeat you are safe. And I’m right behind you.” Chief Lopez’s voice was calm and even, as it came through Tony’s headset—as if they were taking a stroll on the beach instead of falling out of the sky at a hundred-plus miles an hour.
     Tony did a quick inventory and saw immediately that his main chute was gone—he’d cut away from his HAHO canopy. Or maybe Zanella had cut away for him. Either way, their in-one-piece arrival on the ground was now up to his reserve chute, which was set to pop automatically when he reached twenty-five-hundred feet.
     Izzy’s own AAD or automatic activation device was no doubt set to pop his reserve, too, and the last thing either of them needed was for their two chutes to tangle and leave them with none. Two is one and one is none was an old SEAL adage, but this case was an exception.
     The options were a) to keep one of the reserves from its auto-open, or b) to separate from Izzy and let nature take its course.
     But if Izzy wasn’t breathing, doing that could have deadly results.
     The chief was on the same page. “You’ll be low enough soon, Vlachic. Pull Zanella’s mask, and set reserves to manual.”
     “Already done, Chief.”
     “You’ll hit the ground before me,” Lopez told him. “I’ll try to open lower so I’m right behind you, but remember, the added weight will bring you in hard and fast.”
     Tony knew that, glancing again at his altimeter. “I’m ready,” he said.
     “Go!” Lopez ordered, and Tony popped his reserve chute and clung like a bastard to Izzy.
     He would not let go. He would not let go.
     “Reserve chute is open,” Lopez’s voice reassured him through his headset, “and looking good.”
     In Tony’s arms, Izzy coughed and then retched and then, yes, threw up down the fronts of both of their uniforms.
     Another reason Chief Lopez had wanted that mask off—hypoxia usually made Zanella hurl. Part of the SEALs’ training was to take a class in which they experienced the intense effects of hypoxia—in order to learn to identify it quickly when it happened. And since symptoms changed with age or with weight gain or loss, it was a class they all took a little too regularly.
     “Ah, fuck,” Izzy mumbled as they drifted to the earth. “Sorry, man . . .”
     “I knew it was coming,” Tony told the teammate who’d saved his life. “In fact, I hoped it was coming.”
     “Then, by all means, You’re welcome ,” Izzy said in between his attempts to suck in air.
     “Heads up, Vlachic,” the chief’s voice sharpened. “Pay attention—”
     “I am,” Tony cut him off. “I got it.” SEALs practiced for this, too, and he braced for the larger than normal jolt—kind of like jumping down a flight of stairs with a two hundred pound pack on his back. His knees were gonna feel