8,000 METERS ABOVE DEATH VALLEY
“What the f**k was that?” someone yelled. It sounded like Jerico Rodriguez—a bit of Hispanic twang. Then I heard a loud crunch as my heads-up display went crazy.
“s**t!” I yelped as my hardshell wingsuit commenced rolling hard to the right. Mother automatically torqued my wings to compensate but without much success. I activated my hypergolic rocket, but nothing happened.
I cleared the alarms in my heads-up display and moved them to the right corner. I could see my squad in formation behind me as I lost altitude on a rolling plunge from 8,000 meters. Chief Douglas Slade’s blip moved above my position.
“You got a hole the size of Cappy’s head in your right wing,” he said, referring to Petty Officer First Class Ronald Caplan. “You ain’t got no UDMH left.”
