While just as insane as the rest, Davidson did have some concern for her personal safety. Lopez, on the other hand? His motto? Personal safety was for the dead. Which didn't even make sense, but he certainly said it frequently enough.
Besides, she and the corporal had being staying at arm's length since that unfortunate incident of mistaken identity in Russia.
Lopez was having none of it, though. "Please. Chica. Look at those hips of yours."
She glanced down to her tattered gown. Rebecca liked to think of her figure as hourglass.
The corporal nodded to the lean Davidson.
"Do you really think that skinny-ass frame could handle your curves?"
"Hey," both Rebecca and Davidson protested at the same time.
"I am team leader," Lopez said, surprisingly serious. "Chica and I are doing the tandem tango."
Davidson backed down with a shrug. However, Rebecca didn't have the same deference to military chain of command. As Lopez started strapping her in, she complained, "Ricky, I really think-"
"Look at his hands," Lopez whispered in Rebecca's ear. At first, she had no idea what the corporal was taking about. Then she noticed Davidson shake out his arm. When they came to rest again, the sniper's fingers, especially those on his severely scarred left hand, began to twitch.
It was no wonder. They were all trashed. After twenty hours on the road, who wouldn't be? And Davidson was under the most strain of all. Usually, after a mission, he would have to have several hot paraffin treatments to soothe the pain from his tortured hands. Davidson tried to shield it from the rest, but Rebecca had been there through the multiple surgeries to cut out the scar tissue. She knew the pain even routine movement brought on, let alone the strain of an operation. And he'd gone right from the conflict in South Carolina to this cross-continental plane hop. All of that strain showing in those twitching fingers.
"If anything happened during the jump...I'm not sure if he could hold you," Lopez continued. "We need his hands for shooting."
She looked to the corporal with a bit more appreciation for his leadership skills. Far better to tease her about her hips and Davidson about his slight frame than embarrass the sniper with his much more pronounced weakness.
"Besides," the corporal followed up, "it's been a while since I've held you."
Typical Lopez. Profoundly insightful one moment, then Lopez the next.
"Let's just make sure that weapon of yours is holstered," she challenged back.
With a broad smile, Lopez settled the weight of the parachute on Rebecca's back. "We shall see."
Readjusting the straps onto her shoulders, Rebecca realized this was like wearing the world's most uncomfortable bra. The straps already dug grooves into her skin. Nothing about this experience was going to be pleasant.
As the plane's yoke inclined on its own, dropping altitude, Rebecca frowned. It just seemed wrong they trusted the computer to drop them off at the right place.
"Ricky, are you sure about this?"
Lopez finished adjusting his parachute before answering. "Oh, please. In these calm skies? The autopilot will be fine..."
"Unless?"
A boom sounded off to the left. The plane veered as fire filled the sky. Lopez grabbed hold of her, breaking her fall as the tip of the wing shuddered, then broke off.
"Unless we're attacked," Lopez answered, jumping up, springing for the pilot's seat.
Davidson searched out the plane's window. Scattered clouds blocked the view of the ground. Then bright-red flared.
"Incoming from the left!" he shouted.
Lopez banked to the right. Just in time. Still, the explosion rocked the plane, sending them careening.
"Another!" Levont yelled.
They avoided another direct hit, but that wasn't going to last long.
"I'm opening the hatch!" Davidson announced, making sure Rebecca had tight hold of a seat. Bracing himself so he wasn't sucked out, Davidson opened the door. Wind whipped around them. "Somebody get ready to hold my feet!" Davidson announced as he dropped to the floor.
As Levont grabbed his dress shoes, Davidson swung his rifle to bear. Ignoring the fact he was only a few inches from falling from the plane, he yelled, "Turn into it!"
Lopez obliged, tilting the plane toward the left. Through the scope, Davidson scanned. Where are you?
The attackers weren't the Disciples. They were far too north for that. No, this attack was simply the cost of doing business in Africa. Some tribal lord thought that a nice expensive Learjet would bring in some good money. And the chief wouldn't be wrong. Selling the jet scrap metal could probably feed the village for a year.
The only problem was that Davidson and the rest still needed the plane. Intact.
There it was. That flash as the RPG was fired.
"Into it!" Davidson shouted. Lopez, as always, was right on it, cutting under the RPG as it sailed over them. Davidson fired before the cloud cover obscured the launch site. They were impossible shots. He didn't expect to hit anything or anyone. He just wanted to give the men on the ground something to ponder. Passenger planes usually didn't shoot back.
Unfortunately, the attackers didn't seem to care.
"Here!" Tallie said as he shoved an RPG launcher at Davidson. The metal object slid across the floor. Davidson snatched it before it went over the side.
Now this, this might give them something to seriously ponder.
Before he could get the launcher up onto his shoulder, Rebecca screamed, "Incoming!"
She was right. And this one was coming straight at them. Lopez tried to maneuver, but there was no way they could get out of range. The trajectory was all wrong, and Davidson was all about the trajectory.
There was only one thing to do.
Rebecca watched as the RPG seemed to swim out of the clouds and streak toward them. Despite Lopez's best efforts, the RPG was still going to hit them. Maybe in the tail of the plane now instead of the nose, but they were going to get hit.
Then Davidson fired his RPG. The rocket shot out of the aircraft, scorching the chairs next to Davidson. She expected the RPG to sail downward, but instead, its path was nearly parallel to the plane. Right at the incoming missile.
In a fiery explosion, Davidson's RPG slammed into the enemy's. Close. Too close. The shock wave cracked metal, sheering off an entire wing. The plane tumbled onto its side as the seam that held the front and the back of the plane split open.
"Go!" Lopez yelled from the cockpit. "Jump!"
Davidson scrambled to his feet, letting Talli and Levont follow orders and leap from the plane as he tried to make his way to Rebecca. Then the unthinkable happened. The plane cracked in two. Davidson lunged forward, trying to grasp her wrist, but their fingers barely brushed. She was on her own.
Without any thrust of its own, the back of the plane tilted nearly vertical and fell, with her inside.
Tears ripped from her eyes, Rebecca latched onto the edge of a seat, her feet dangling, useless. Then she passed Talli and Levont, their parachutes already open. She could see the men point at her, but what could they do?
Pull it together, Rebecca thought. You're just falling at terminal velocity. Okay, that didn't help. No, she needed to get out of the plane. She needed to climb to the top and jump, getting clear of the wreckage. Or pre-wreckage.
She tried to grab hold of the armrest in front of her, only to have her grip slip. Dangling by one hand, Rebecca tried to push the panic down. What would Brandt say?
"You're still alive, so stop whining."
God, she loved him, but his voice really wasn't all that helpful in a crisis.
"Rebecca!"
She looked up to find Davidson curled into a ball, cutting his wind resistance, hurling toward her. He pantomimed for her to grab a cord on her parachute and pull.
Not even thinking about it and all the things that could go so horribly wrong, Rebecca jerked the cord. Or at least the cord she thought she should pull. But nothing happened. Rebecca looked up to find Davidson nearly on her.
"The orange one!" he yelled.
Fishing around, she found the orange one and pulled it.
Davidson waited until the parachute flung open. It hit the side of the plane, but the wind caught in its canopy and jerked Rebecca up and out of the tail. As he pulled his own cord, Rebecca shot up past him.
That was okay. He'd rather have her up above him than hurling to her death. His own parachute popped open, sucking in air, snapping his risers, just as the tail of the plane crashed into the mountainside. Guess the tribal lord was going to get his cash, after all. Then Davidson was whisked upward as the skirt caught air. He sailed up and slightly past Rebecca. Guess Lopez was right. He must be little lighter than her. Not that he would ever tell Rebecca.
Sheer terror masked her normally pretty features. He guided the braking lines, slowing his ascent to match hers, pulling them almost even. His intent was to grab hold of her rigging and help control her descent, but Rebecca's eyes stared over his head.
He looked over his shoulder to find the plane's front half plummeting out of the sky-with Lopez standing on the nose of the plane.
"Quick!" he yelled. "Somebody get this for Ricky Junior!"
Davidson ignored the corporal. At some point, Lopez was going to have to pull the cord. Picture or not. Davidson's priority was getting Rebecca down safely. Carefully positioning his canopy over hers, he inched into position. They were close enough he could see Rebecca's terror returning to her eyes.
"See?" he tried to coax. "It's not so bad."
Rebecca scowled, but at least she didn't look ready to hurl.
Maneuvering around her lines, Davidson brought them nearly nose to nose.
"I'm just going to tether us, then cut your shoot. Okay?"
Gulping, Rebecca nodded, seeming more than willing to hand over the landing to him.
"On the count of-"
A shot split the difference between them. More bullets came as men ran through the forest, tracking them. Guess the tribal lord wasn't just satisfied with the plane wreckage.
"Why are they shooting?"
The better question was why hadn't they hit them yet. They were sitting ducks up here. Then Davidson realized their strategy. They weren't trying to hit them. They were trying to hit their parachutes. They were forcing them down onto the tribal lands.
"They want us for ransom," Davidson said quietly, trying to keep to the task at hand. Getting Rebecca and him tethered.
"Ransom?" she repeated, clearly trying to wrap her head around the idea.
He didn't have time to explain that a major part of rural African economy was ransom. And people falling out of an expensive Learjet? Even better. Given the fact that Rebecca was in a wedding dress and all the men were in tuxes. The best.
Little did the tribesmen know they'd downed a Special Forces team. Davidson would let them figure it out once they were on the ground and could marshal some defenses.
His fingers fumbled as he tried to latch on the carabiner. Then another shot, one that sliced through Rebecca's canopy, ripped her out of his grip. He tried to hold on to her as Rebecca's fingers dug into the flesh of his palm, but his scars spasmed and she was gone.
The tear in the skirt spread like wildfire as she flailed to get control of the damaged parachute. She didn't have the experience to do it, though, evidenced by her rapid, haphazard descent.
There was only one thing left to do.
Rebecca's body was jerked to the left as the wind caught the intact portion of her parachute. She picked up speed as the gust carried her past a peak. Davidson, however, was drifting down like a good skydiver would. Then he pulled out his gun.
Too late, she realized what he was planning on doing.
"No!" she screamed.
Davidson pulled the trigger anyway, shooting at his own parachute. Dear God, she loved military men, but they were freaking crazy. The newly damaged parachute bucked and fought him. However, Davidson had far more control than she did. As a matter of fact, he rapidly gained speed and accuracy, coming right for her.
Unfortunately, the tear in his chute angled to the left, ripping a huge hole in the fabric, dragging the chute away from her. Davidson had to follow. With a desperate cry of "Rebecca," the private disappeared behind the peak.
She would cry too, except that green jungle was coming up fast. Unable to guide the chute, Rebecca let go of the handles and covered her face. Her body slammed sideways into the thick vegetation. Through her arms, she could see leaves flapping and branches snapping. Her leg hit a tree trunk and bounced off of it.
The parachute got caught in the foliage, threatening to nearly tear her in half. Then she was falling again as the fabric tore away. Birds burst all around her, startled by her falling form. Monkeys hooted in the distance, and still, she fell. Something snagged her cheek. Her dress ripped. A bone-white shoe dropped off, and still, she fell.
Then her harness caught on a branch, jerking her to a sudden stop. The slightly stretchy material sprang her up, then down, bouncing her like a baby in a swing.
The sole problem? She was a good twenty meters from the forest floor.
But you know what? She'd take it.
Davidson ran through the dense underbrush, heading toward the sound of the shots. It was about ten degrees off the path he'd calculated for Rebecca, but if he could gather a few more men, all the better.
Raising his weapon, he jumped a moss-covered log and burst into a small clearing. Four guns turned toward him. Luckily, they were his team. Half a dozen bodies littered the ground. Guess the tribesmen had gotten in a little over their heads.
"Where's Rebecca?" Lopez asked.
Gulping air, shame burnt Davidson's face. "Her chute...she got...I lost her."
"They were shooting at all of us," Levont said.