Evan Greene leaned up against the DC-3’s window and watched as Akbar and Krista tumbled down to earth. Under his breath he counted with them:
“Jump-thousand. Look-thousand,” he could see them spinning about to scan in all directions. “Reach-thousand,” too far away now to see their hands on their ripcords. “Wait-thousand.” “Pull-thousand,” and their chutes bloomed in unison, big rectangular ram chutes in black, red, and gold. Krista floated well above Akbar.
When the plane circled in the opposite direction, he lost sight of them. The seasoned MHA smokies must have known their pilot’s habits because they were on the move before Evan sensed the beginning of the turn. They all shifted to the other side of the plane to keep an eye on the jumpers. Which left him a crappy view over Ox’s shoulde
