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Coordination was to take place once each unit was on the ground and assembled for the assault. Any who were injured upon landing would have to suffer the cold and be dealt with later, after the facility had been secured and any systems or equipment that were designed to separate the ice shelf destroyed.
Satisfied that each man knew what was expected of him, Cleary moved to the rear of the cargo bay and donned his parachute and rucksack. Then he had one of Sharpsburg's men give him a complete jumpmaster inspection, with emphasis on his oxygen-breathing equipment for the long fall.
Finally, he silhouetted himself with his back to the closed cargo ramp in the floor and waved his hands to get the men's attention. From this point on, communication with the entire assault team would be conducted by hand and arm signals, which was standard operating procedure. The only voice communications until the jump would be between Cleary, Sharpsburg, Jacobs, Garnet, and Stafford in the cockpit. Once they exited the aircraft and were under canopy, each man could communicate with individual Motorola radios over secure frequencies.
"Pilot, this is the jumpmaster."
"I read you, Major," came back Stafford's voice. "Ready on the mark?"
"Jumpmaster checks complete. Oxygen prebreathing is under way."
Cleary took an empty seat and studied the men. So far, it was going well, almost too well, he thought.
This is the time when Murphy's Law came sneaking around, and Cleary wasn't about to allow Mr.
Murphy any opportunities. He was pleased to see the men were fully alert and primed.
They wore hoods under gray Gentex flight helmets to gain additional protection from the harsh subzero temperatures. Adidas Galeforce yellow-lens goggles for fog and overcast were attached to the helmets, resting up and leaving the men's eyes clearly visible to Cleary and the oxygen technician so they could check for any signs of hypoxia. The heating units in their thermal suits were activated, and each man checked his buddy to make certain that all equipment was properly organized and in place. Bungee cords and web straps were strategically laced around each man's clothing and equipment to prevent them from being torn away by the great burst of air expected upon their exit from the ramp.
After they checked their radios to confirm that each was transmitting and receiving, Cleary stood up and moved near the closed ramp. Facing his assault force again, he saw that all the men were giving him their undivided attention. Once again, he motioned to the man nearest his left with a thumbs-up signal.
In the cockpit, carefully studying his computerized course and the programmed target, Captain Stafford was concentrating his mind and soul on dropping the men waiting aft over the precise spot that would give them every chance of surviving. His primary concern was not to send them out ten seconds too early or five seconds too late and scatter them all over the frozen landscape. He disengaged the automatic pilot and turned the controls over to Brannon so his perspective and timing would not be diverted. Stafford switched to the cockpit intercom and spoke through his oxygen mask to Brannon.
"Deviate one degree and it will cost them."
"I'll put them over the target," Brannon said self-assuredly. "But you have to put them on it."
"No confidence in your aircraft commander's navigational abilities? Shame on you."
"A thousand pardons, my captain."
"That's better," Stafford said expansively. He switched to the cargo bay intercom. "Major Cleary, are you ready?"
"Roger," Cleary answered briefly.
"Crew, are you ready?"
The crewmen, wearing harnesses attached to cargo tie-down rings and portable oxygen systems, were standing a few feet forward of the ramp on opposite sides.
"Sergeant Hendricks ready, Captain."
"Corporal Joquin ready, sir."
"Twenty-minute warning, Major," Stafford announced. "Depressur
izing cabin at this time."
Hendricks and Joquin moved cautiously close to the ramp, carefully guiding their harness anchor lines, following checklists and preparing for what was about to become one of the most unusual duties of their military careers.
As the cabin decompressed, the men could feel the temperature drop, even within the protective confines of their electrically heated thermal jumpsuits. The air hissed from the cargo bay as it slowly equalized with the outside atmosphere.
Time passed quickly. And then Stafford's voice came over the intercom.
"Major, ten-minute warning."
"Roger." There was a pause, then Cleary asked sarcastically, "Can you give us any more heat back here?"
"Didn't I tell you?" Stafford replied. "We need ice for cocktails after you leave."
