January 20 2300Hr GMT (ZULU), 1800Hr EST. 30,000 Ft. over Iraq

A quiet night sky interrupted by a presence, a darkened C-130 plane flying a dangerous mission; drop a special operations team behind enemy line at a designated time and place.  The pilot and co-pilots had previously conducted a night drop within enemy airspace, that’s the job of the 1st Special Operations Wing, but nothing could be taken for granted, soldier’s lives depended on their abilities.  Both pilot and co-pilot concentrated on the job at hand.  At coordinates preprogrammed into the GPS, a green light in the cockpit lit up letting the pilot know to climb to a higher altitude and slow the plane for the drop.  The pilot flicked a switch lighting a red light in the rear letting his passengers know they where ten minutes from the jump zone.

 

In the rear a red light blinked on, the Air Force loadmaster passed the word quickly to the assembled group.  The sergeant watched as they conducted pre-jump checks, once satisfied they gave each other the thumbs up, his mind wandered as he watched one particular soldier.  In the twelve years he spent in the Air Force, the sergeant had seen and done strange thing and never once asked questions.  The sergeant always knew to forget the things he heard and the things he saw, but he’d never forget the beautiful woman who stood just a few feet away from him.  Five-feet tall, weighing about one-hundred thirty pounds, athletic body yet still very feminine, coal black curly shoulder length hair, light-brown eyes and sun-baked copper-toned skin, she was a sight to see.  When she and the motley crew of navy commandos walked aboard his plane back in Turkey he knew he’d seen it all.

 

He was as liberal as the next man when it came to women in the military, he saw them in various of jobs, just as competent as the next man, but he thought he would be retired by the time they entered the front line combat units.  He never thought he’d see a woman work special operation.  She had walked on with one of the elite anti-terrorist units in the military, Seal Team Six.  What shocked him was the fact that they treated her no different than each other.  The jokes and the macho bantering went on in spite of her, even she threw a few barbs at some of them and took a few in return.  In all the years he’d been around these people, they didn’t take to outsiders so that’s why she had to be one of them.  His daydreaming came to a sudden halt when the pilot’s voice told him to prepare for depressurization.  He tapped the closes Six member and relayed the message.

 

“Depressurization in three minutes,” the young Ensign said to the rest of the team.  All in the cargo hold placed their oxygen masks on.  The Seals and Dazzler had a small portable bottle type while the payload sergeant had his connected to an internal source.

“ Final check people.” the commanding officer, Commander Jake Dotson III yelled into his mike.  They all quickly checked each others weapons to make sure that they were all secured, then they rechecked each others parachutes, giving the thumbs up signal when finished.  The Commander had the task of checking Dazzler’s weapons and parachute, and then she would check him.

Dotson had been at BUD/S, Basic Underwater Diving/Seal, Seal training school at Coronada when she came through, she earned her Budweiser like everyone else had, no one gave her a brake, then a few years later when she passed Six training no one could deny she belonged.  How she got there, in the first place he never knew or asked she passed with the rest of her class.  If the Pentagon brass saw the way his boys treated Dazzler they’d hang them all from the nearest yardarm.  It wasn’t like they’d become poster boys for N.O.W.  In their line of work, she was the only woman that deserved respect as a Six-shooter.  To the public it was still classified.  She earned her place to jump with them.  Someday more would come and possibly a few would pass.  Dotson knew he’d have to get use to the thought.  She now worked for the CIA’s Special Operation Action Group.  He’d known her now for some years and whenever she joined them for an Op, there was always excitement to go around.  Whenever the White House gave a sanctioned hunting license, the Action Group always led the way.  When Dazzler showed up in his office with this Op he jumped at the chance to go, and on those rare occasions where rank has its privileges, he decided to lead this part of the Op himself.

 

Dazzler tapped the Commander on the back snapping him from his momentary daze, when he looked she gave him the thumbs up, he then did the pre-jump check on her after signaling thumbs up when he finished he motioned his team to move into position at the rear ramp.  The rear ramp opened after the depressurization was complete.  A HALO, High Altitude Low Opening, jump allowed them to jump from altitudes where you could not hear the plane, pop the chutes at low altitude and float in with no one knowing, at thirty thousand feet they needed the oxygen to breath the thin air.  Everyone crouched at the end of the ramp; the eerie red glow from the interior light leaked into the night sky.  Dotson eyed everyone on the ramp one last time, the light flashed, one minute to jump.  He glanced at Dazzler and laughed, the light changed to green.  The soldiers heaved themselves from the plane in a small group so as not to spread out too far on landing.  Underneath his mask, the elite team C.O. smiled knowing that the Neanderthal knuckle dragger in him still lived, because for the first time in his life he thought anyone looked look sexy in jump gear and crash helmet.

 

In the cargo, hold the payload sergeant relayed their departure to the pilot who seconds later relayed it to an E-3 SENTRY AWAC airborne early warning system.

 

“ CARTWHEEL to BEARCAT, over, Bombs away,” the Air Force pilot said.

“ Copy CARTWHEEL, Bombs away, BEARCAT out.” replied the communications officer on the AWAC.