The roar of the engines filled the silence following her words. The team went back to checking their parachutes and gear, except for the closest blond. He was the only one to offer her a smile. "You got spunk, girl. I like it."
The colonel held up a backpack containing a parachute. "I'll fasten you in."
She had the briefest thought of defying him, of putting the pack on herself, but it would be stupid to insist on such a thing. There was no time. Marley quickly turned and slid her arms through the straps. She faced him again, allowing the colonel to efficiently fasten and check her chute. Completing this task, he filled in his team. "Copilot left us a little present in the cockpit. Remote bomb from the looks of it. J probably paid him off."
Who the hell was J? Marley cast the colonel a questioning look, but he ignored her and continued his check, turning her right and left as he did so.
Merc appeared in the doorway and pounded down the steps. "Pressure sensor. Remote activated. If I try to disarm it, it will explode. If I move it, it will explode." He kept walking as he talked, striding right through the middle of the group to the large red button that opened the back door to the cargo hold of the plane. He slapped it hard and the ramp lowered. When a fierce rush of air filled the hold, Mack's strong hands were the only thing that kept her standing. "We've got fifteen seconds," Merc said. "Everybody ready?"
"Go. I got the girl." The colonel took her hand, and for the silliest reason she appreciated the comforting gesture.
Without hesitation, the team dove over the edge and disappeared, leaving Marley and the colonel standing alone at the back.
The treetops were far below, barely visible. Holy shit. So stupid, how could a pilot be scared of jumping out of a damn airplane? There was no logic or reason behind the phobia, just straight-up fear that locked her legs down tight so that she could not move from where she stood. She'd thought she'd conquered her fear of falling in Flight School, but apparently she'd only managed it.
"Captain Mitchell, we're going now." The colonel's commanding tone left no room for argument. He guided her to the edge, took her hand, and jumped, pulling Marley down with him.
The solid metal door beneath her feet disappeared. Her belly rocketed up into her throat. Hot air rushed past her face. She had no control-a thought that filled her with molten terror. Then the colonel squeezed her hand, grounding her to his solid, powerful frame. He was in control. If she trusted him, he would make sure she made it safely to the ground.
Her absolute terror eased into a manageable fear; she focused on positioning her arms and legs so that their descent steadied out.
She knew they were moving at an insane rate of speed, but everything seemed to move in slow motion as the seconds flew past. The wind. The trees. The man holding her hand.
The colonel looked at the large black digital watch on his wrist and then pointed at the pull string on her chest. Marley fumbled, found it and held on. She was taking the colonel with her. She pointed to his chest, forcing her hands to break contact long enough to let him know that she wasn't going anywhere alone.
His crystalline gaze hardened, and then he placed his large hand around the pull string on his own pack.
Marley took a breath and tugged. Her chute opened, jerking her up with enough force to make her chin bang into her chest. And then the wind caught and lifted her. She drifted in a smooth glide, grasping the handles to try to steer as best she could as she searched for the colonel. There he was, a hundred yards away and slightly above her. He'd waited to make sure she pulled before following.
The colonel yelled out, "I'll find you."
Marley's training kicked in and she tucked her chin to her chest, crossed her arms and ankles. Her feet slapped the treetops as she pierced the thick foliage, scraped and battered by the sharp branches. Her shoulder snagged on a limb and ripped the material of her flight suit, the damage happening so fast she didn't have time to process the pain. And then she jerked to a stop.
The sudden halt slung her arms away from her chest and the movement sent a blast of burning pain across her left arm. She dangled back and forth, her body spinning until finally her momentum faded and she slowed enough to inspect her bicep. There was a long red gash in her arm, blood flowing freely from the wound. A quick survey confirmed that it was deep enough to need stitches. Any open wound in the Congo required swift treatment and a thick bandage to prevent infection, which could just as easily kill someone out here as the hundreds of species of poisonous snakes and insects.