Afghan Sunset: A Jackson Pike Novella

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The air that whipped by the tiny bits of exposed skin on my face was cold. Bitingly cold; but it was always cold during HALO jumps.

I turned to Chief Jones who was sitting across the cargo bay of the hulking gray aircraft.

He gave me a thumbs up, a subtle and non-verbal reassurance. As usual, his confidence helped to steady my nerves. And since our voices were drown out by the drone of the airplane's four engines, the thumbs up was the best that the Chief could do.

The C-130 was cruising at close to 150 knots and at an altitude in excess of 27,000 feet.

We were waiting for the jumpmasters to signal our first High Altitude Low Opening (HALO) jump in country.

Although I wouldn't admit it to any of the more junior SEALs, I was nervous.

I wasn't nervous about the jump.

I was nervous about what we'd find when we reached our assigned target.

The suspected weapons depot where we were bound was a fortress by any definition, crouched in a well protected valley and collocated with a school.

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