They suited up in the one-piece flight suits specifically designed for HALO jumps, which would protect them from the cold, and beneath they wore neoprene dive suits in case they had to spend time in the water. The footwear and gloves also protected them from the freezing temperatures.
Just after midnight, they loaded up in the C-130 cargo plane. Deacon sat across from Colin and Axel. Elias was to his left. They'd all begun breathing pure oxygen at takeoff, preparing their bodies for the dangerous HALO jump.
It was a cold and bumpy ride at thirty thousand feet, around twenty-five degrees below zero. Deacon let Elias run point on this leg of the journey because he'd been a SEAL and could do these jumps in his sleep. Experience of his kind was invaluable, and Deacon wasn't so ego-driven as the team leader that he didn't recognize the value of an asset.
They all carried explosives in the small, tightly strapped packs around their waists, a knife secured in their boots, and a pistol secured to their thighs via a healthy dose of duct tape. It was all they could carry in, and even those items had the chance of ripping free in the high-velocity free-fall.
There were dangers to HALO jumps, but it was the best way to get where they needed to go undetected. And where they needed to go was on that tanker. It was a blind jump, and it was the middle of the night. They wouldn't have a visual of where they were landing until it was time to deploy the chute. The last thing Deacon wanted was to end up in the water.
He breathed in the pure oxygen and exhaled slowly to get all the nitrogen flushed from his bloodstream. He had to be more careful because his pulse was already elevated from his claustrophobia. If any nitrogen was left in the bloodstream, it could lead to decompression sickness. Not something anyone wanted to deal with when approaching the enemy.
They all wore specially made goggles that could resist the cold from that altitude. Without them, their eyeballs could actually freeze. Deacon just prayed he didn't pass out on the way down. Many jumpers did, and the chute deployed on its own once they reached the right altitude.
They didn't speak, but they didn't have to. They knew the plan. They'd memorized every detail of the tanker from the blueprints. And they had a general idea of how many armed personnel were on board from the aerial satellite images.
Elias held up two fingers, signaling the two-minute mark, and everyone removed the pure oxygen tank and strapped on the regular oxygen mask securely to his face. The cargo hold of the plane slowly opened and the frigid wind whipped around them.
Elias had already gone through the scenarios. They were to stay in formation for a two-minute free-fall before opening their chutes. If all went well, they should go undetected by any radar the tanker might have, and it was unlikely any of the guards would see them as they bulleted from the sky.
Deacon took a couple of deep breaths and waited for the go signal. A red light blinked steadily alongside the cargo hold door, and then it turned green. Off they went, one by one, into the black of night.
The wind pressed against Deacon's chest with such force that it was hard to draw in a breath, even with the oxygen mask. The cold seeped into his bones and his vision dimmed as the velocity of the free-fall picked up speed. He watched his altimeter carefully and counted the seconds in his head. Two minutes was a long time to fall.
Just as the edges of blackness started to claim him, his altimeter displayed the right altitude and he pulled the ripcord on his parachute. It shot up behind him and he shook his head to clear his vision. The tanker was closing in fast, and he was still traveling at a high rate of speed.
He didn't focus on the others. That was a good way to end up in the Bering Sea. He looked straight ahead and touched down near the bulkhead. He immediately cut his parachute lines and rolled behind cover, gathering up the black parachute as he did. He reached into his boot and ripped off the tape securing his weapon, shoving it behind the small of his back. He would prefer not to use it unless absolutely necessary. There was no need alerting everyone they were there.
Only one of the eleven men on board mattered, and that was Jorgen Yevorovich. It would be even better if they could get him to talk before they killed him.
Deacon planted his explosives pack at the bulkhead and then darted from cover to cover. He caught sight of a guard dozing against the wall, and he came up behind him, snapping his neck before lowering him quietly to the ground. He caught sight of Axel from the other side of the tanker giving similar treatment to another guard.
Axel held up two fingers, indicating that was the second guard he'd killed, and then they each gave a thumbs-up, indicating their explosives had been placed and activated. It was time to clean up any other messes and get the hell out of there. All he needed to do now was find Yevorovich. And he had a feeling he knew just where to find him.