Sandra Hill Read Online Free

hilly region. High-altitude, low-opening exercises always carried some measure of risk, especially in a mountainous region like this, but they were all experienced jumpers. Geek was the only one who hadn’t been “blooded,” but he’d been as well trained as any of them. A piece of cake!
    Even so, there were eight collective sphincter muscles that were tight right now. The pucker factor was sky high. Some people likened it to riding a bucking horse in a rodeo. It took balls to get on the freakin’ horse, but then all a cowboy had to do was just hang on. In skydiving, it took a leap of faith to go out that door, but then the ride took over.
    A superstitious lot, SEALs did the oddest things for good luck … odd to civilians, that is. Instead of a rabbit’s foot, Cage carried an alligator tooth in his pocket. Omar did this odd chanting thing under his breath. Pretty Boy ate oatmeal and only oatmeal the morning of a jump. JAM, of course, had a crucifix hanging from his neck, despite regulations that SEALs wear no jewelry, including dog tags; at the last minute he would stash it in his boot. Sly, who swore a blue streak on most occasions … effin this and effin that … abstained till his feet hit the ground. Slick chewed gum … spearmint only. Ian personally insisted that he always be the last guy off the stick.
    They wore helmets, breathing masks, night-vision goggles, fingerless Kevlar gloves and jump suits, some of which would be discarded once they completed their insertion. Those items would be hidden from sight till the extraction a day or two from now when a chopper would come and lower rappeling ropes to them. Under their suits, they wore camouflage, and they would cammie up their faces, too.
    The oxygen was needed because they would be free-falling through the atmosphere, starting at 25,000 feet and not opening their stealth chutes till they were at about 2,500 feet from the ground. The greatest advantage of HALOs was that they allowed the plane and the teams to pass below the enemy radar.
    In full combat ruck, they each carried roughly seventy-five pounds of provisions, everything from top-of-the-line weapons to radio equipment to GPS (Global Positioning System) locators to NVGs (night-vision goggles) to MREs (meals ready to eat).
    The noise of the engines precluded any conversation, so, they mostly communicated with hand signals or through headsets fixed to an inter-team channel. Two minutes before they hit the drop zone, the jump master mouthed and at the same time signaled by raising his arm, “Stand up.” Then, “Hook up.”
    The eight of them hooked up to the static line, a cable running the length of the cargo bay. Some of them made the sign of the cross, even those who were not Catholic. They stood practically ass to belly, wanting to go out and land as close as possible to each other.
    “Stand in the door!” was the next order. The whole stick shuffled forward and the point man, Cage, stood with palms on the outside edge of the open doorway, feet slightly apart, one foot a little behind the other, legs bent slightly. When the jump master yelled “Go,” Cage went out with a wild whoop, immediately followed by Pretty Boy, JAM, Geek, Omar, Sly, Slick and then Ian, who was always the tail.
    The plane’s engine droned off into the distance. They were on their own now.
    Belly dancing was not her thing …
    After two years and nine different harems, Madrene knew, even if the various caliphs and sultans did not, that she was not cut out to be a houri. And, truth to tell, her belly button wouldn’t hold a jewel no matter what they tried.
    Women of the harems were supposed to be sweet and beautiful and compliant, none of whichdescribed Madrene. And she certainly did not know how to dance, or want to learn, with or without a bloody ruby stuck in her navel.
Yech!
It was silly, really, and she’d told the eunuch teachers so, earning her the first of many switchings with an olive branch. At least those