Death approaches quickly. Falling at 120 m.p.h. from an altitude of five miles high, the Special Forces Major signals to his troops to "stay tight."
He receives thumbs-up signs from each member.
After this H.A.L.O. (high altitude - low opening) jump, they reach their designated altitude and deploy their chutes. They land in a discrete area about one half mile from the target-area, as planned. Once on the ground, as they remove their jump gear, including oxygen masks and mini-tanks, they converse to relieve the stress, yet they remain focused on the goal of the mission.
Major, "There's nothing like dropping in unexpectedly for dinner! Is there, ladies?"
"You ought to know, Major. Was that Billy Bob who came home too soon to find his wife and you after that last mission?"
"Now, don't be gettin' insubordinate with me. I can rattle off 100 stories for every one of you girlie-boys," the Major protests with a smile.
Just another assignment earmarked by the Commander-In-Chief, they carry out their missions, no matter the task. "What's a guy or a gal got to do for lunch money these days?"
"We don't get paid nothin', Major. But, look at all the fun we have!"
"Who we gonna kill this time, Major?" asks one of the soldiers.
"Depends on what they do, Sergeant. Might have to kill ours and theirs," the Major replies, frankly.
