Kane Gilmour - Ragnarok

No one in the office was speaking. Deep Blue walked up to the door and stuck his head inside the room.

“Am I interrupting?” He could see that their faces were drawn and tight.

Fogg wiped a stray tear from her eye. She looked at Deep Blue and said, “If you come back without him, I’ll-”

“Won’t happen,” Deep Blue said with forced confidence.

To his surprise, Fogg wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. “Be careful, Sir.”

He felt pressure on his waist and looked down to find Fiona squeezing him. He smiled at King. They were both lucky men.

“Enough of that,” King said. “We’ll be fine.” He leaned down to Fiona and spoke three words Deep Blue didn’t understand.

Fiona’s reply was just as mysterious. But then King kissed her forehead, kissed Fogg hard on the lips and headed to the door without another word.

Deep Blue followed, asking, “What did you say?” Though he had a pretty good idea.

“She’s teaching me to speak Siletz,” King explained. “I told her if you came back without me to keep Sara away from you.”

Deep Blue laughed. He had always appreciated the team’s ability to find humor before entering a lion’s den, or in this case, a dire wolf den.

Aleman approached, his face grim.

All the humor Deep Blue felt quickly drained out of him. He had worked with Aleman for a long time now and could read his facial expressions and body language with ease. “What is it?”

Aleman met the two men and looked at the floor, his lips twitching. “Casualty reports from the Exxon Building portal and collapse.”

Deep Blue frowned. Casualty reports with just one name on the list were hard to deal with. He knew this report would be far more difficult. But he needed to know. “How many?”

“Two thousand civilians, mostly taken by dire wolves. Despite being in New York, the number is lower than other areas because it appeared so far above the surface.”

“Military casualties?” Deep Blue asked.

“Two hundred and climbing. They’re still digging through the rubble. But…” Aleman squirmed. “They were able to confirm… Sir, General Keasling-he was below-he…”Aleman shook his head, then met Deep Blue’s eyes and used Keasling’s first name. “Michael is dead.”

Fenris Kystby, Norway

4 November, 0100 Hrs

Anna Beck shot out of the sky at 700 mph, in a speed dive. The great thing was, she didn’t feel the effects of the jump on her body beyond the sensation of falling-no wind resistance or lack of oxygen. She was plummeting to the Earth from a temporarily retrofitted and recommissioned SR-71 Blackbird, from an altitude of 80,000 feet.

Even in a spacesuit, she wouldn’t have wanted to do a high-altitude low-opening (HALO) jump from such a height. But she had something much better than a spacesuit: the high-altitude, low-opening personnel orbital deployment vehicle-or HALOPOD. Resembling a very skinny egg of heat-resistant ceramic, titanium and reinforced carbon-carbon (RCC), which gave the nose of it the same black-snout look that the space shuttle had, the pod was a tiny capsule for a human to ride in. It was nose heavy, and had no motor, so it was basically a bomb.

With a human payload.

Inside the pod, Beck was cushioned in impact foam and a harness that barely allowed her to breathe. The pod performed one duty only. It protected the HALO jumper from the extremes of atmospheric heat. When she hit an altitude of 15,000 feet, the pod would deploy its own parachute, which would jolt her speed down to a reasonable pace. She had had to sit in a special oxygen chamber with Black Six for hours before the drop, on board the SR-71, while they traveled over the Atlantic. Six was now in his own pod, dropping a hundred feet away from Beck. But she couldn’t see him. She couldn’t see anything. The HALOPOD had no windows. Even if it did, it was the middle of the night in the high altitude Arctic sky. It was just as dark outside the pod as it was inside. She had only one thing to look at.

She eyed the digital altimeter on the inside of her black helmet’s faceplate, inches from her eye. The red LED numbers whirred in a countdown. 30,000 feet. Her speed was 753 mph. A new world record, she thought. Although she realized that was only compared to known and recorded feats. That the US Air Force still had commissioned and fully functional SR-71s was news to her, and she had never heard of the HALOPOD either. She wondered how many records had been covertly broken and never reported.

She didn’t mind the drop. It was strange to fall for so long, but she was packed in so tightly that she was comfortable. All she had to do was wait. 20,000 feet.

At 15,000 feet, the HALOPOD deployed its parachute and the unpowered vehicle jolted to what felt like a stop in mid air. Beck felt her stomach attempt to crawl out of her throat, but then her mind was on other things. The pod hissed around her. Then small charges set in a seam around the egg vertically, detonated, shooting the two elongated halves of the pod safely away from Beck’s body, and leaving her free falling again.

Now free to move her limbs, Beck pulled her arms from her sides and spread her legs, tearing open the Velcro that had kept her limbs glued to her sides. Between her armpits and her legs, the parachute fabric of the wingsuit’s wings deployed, giving her the ability to glide in her second descent. The wings scooped the air, and Beck pulled her left arm in a few degrees, adjusting her trajectory. She could see Black Six ahead of her in the distance, spinning in his yaw axis, because of the lack of any vertical stabilizer on his wingsuit.

Amateur, she thought. So much for the sexy secret agent.

As she watched, Black Six, simply pulled his legs and arms together to get out of the spin, and after a second or so, his body repositioned in a straight vertical plunge. He moved his arms and legs out again to scoop the air with his wingsuit, and this time, his movements were perfect.

Huh, Beck thought. Nice recovery.

Beck dipped and dove down a little lower and closer to Black Six, then leveled out again. It wasn’t as dark as she had expected it would be at this time of night. She couldn’t see any auroras, but the sky was a deep blue in places and black in others. The net effect was that visibility was far better than she could have hoped.

The counter in her faceplate kept speeding down and as it reached 5000 feet, she readied herself for the end of her flight. At 4000 feet, she moved her hand toward the pull ring for her parachute. She was supposed to pull at 3000 feet, but when she reached it, she saw that Black Six hadn’t pulled his chute yet. She wanted to fall longer than him. She didn’t know why she felt competitive toward the man she had only met earlier that day, but she did.

2000 feet and he still hadn’t pulled his chute.

At 1000 feet she almost chickened out, but she saw his parachute start to deploy. She gave herself ‘one Mississippi’ and then pulled her cord. Her parachute yanked her descent into a slow fall. The sky was clear, the stars shone brightly and from the harness of her parachute, Anna Beck began examining the snow-covered ground of her landing site. But then she thought she saw something and she blinked to clear her eyes. She stared at the snow below her, squinting to see if she could spot it again. Movement. Lots of movement.

As she came down to within 100 feet of the snow-covered hillside, she heard Black Six’s terrified whisper in her earpiece, breaking the radio silence they were supposed to observe.

“Mother of God, there must be a hundred of them.”

He was right. Tearing through the snow 70 feet below her, in the direct path of her landing, there was a small crowd of about ten dire wolves, swarming in one location, jostling and fighting for a spot at the center and being repeatedly shoved back. The other ninety or so streaked through the snowdrifts and tried to get to the crowd from several directions. When Beck got to 50 feet, she thought the dire wolves were fighting, like in a schoolyard brawl.