Page 1 of Warrior's Walk

Ain’tno feeling in the world like free falling.

Nothingcompares to the thrill of flying through the air, hundreds of feet above the world, watching the ground rush up to meet you. It’s like tempting fate, like daring God. Every time we jump, we’re gambling with our lives. So far, I’ve had a flush hand—knock on wood. I’m addicted to the gamble—like an addict with a wad of cash and no morals—I live for my next fix. To feel the wind burn my face, to feel the force of gravity peel my skin and lips back from my bones. To feel weightless; like I can fly, like I can drift away on the wind. Not many people get to see Earth from this angle. They don’t get to fall through a cloud or soar higher than an eagle.

Only the lucky few, and the 82nd Airborne.

My chute opens, and my body snaps back violently as the drag kicks in, slowing my descent. Six more minutes till impact.

I glance to my right and see my buddy Biddell shooting me his pinky and forefinger—the universal hand signal for ‘rock on.’

I return it with another one—my middle finger.

From this height, I can practically see the entire state of North Carolina. The smoky peaks of the Blue Ridge mountains, the tops of towering pine trees, and the tallest buildings inCharlotte, Greensboro, and Durham. But the view fades fast the further I fall.

Two minutes till impact.

Every time I jump, I feel that familiar thrill—the rolling in my stomach, adrenaline igniting in my blood. Realistically, I know I can’t jump forever, not with the toll it’s taking on my ankles and knees. I’m going to miss the shit out of this when it finally comes to an end.

But for the next nine months, I’m gonna enjoy every minute I spend free falling, knowing they might be my last.

I’m out of time. The ground is less than fifty feet beneath me, and I prepare for impact. It’s impossible to land gracefully. Even with a chute, you’re basically crashing into the Earth at twenty-six miles per hour. Tomorrow, I’m gonna be soreeverywhere, but today, today I’m fucking living.

My feet hit first, and I try to duck and roll with the momentum. My chute collapses around me, and the wind catches it, dragging my body across the rocky ground. Just as I come to a halt, a body lands on top of me, his boots digging into my back.

“Ow, fuck!” The initial impact my body absorbs is enough to rattle my fucking teeth, but the force of Biddell’s hulking body crashing into me squeezes the air from my lungs.

I wheeze, coughing up the dust I kicked up on impact, and try to roll away from him. “Get the fuck off me, POG.”

He struggles to roll to his knees, coughing up dust. “Like I can control… Where I fucking land.”

“To some degree, yeah, you fuckin’ can.”

He spits to clear his mouth. “Stop your bitching and help me up.”

“Help your fuckin’ self, cockwomble.” Rolling to my knees, I push to my feet, making my way to Biddell. He grabs the hand I offer, and I haul him to his feet, grinning along with him.

“Nice landing,” Warren jokes, backslapping the both of us.

I can already hear the endless reel of jokes that will surely follow from now until forever. Fucking knuckleheads. The guys in my unit may not be the sharpest bullets in the magazine, but they’re the best guys I know. My brothers and sisters. I would literally die to protect them.

The Sergeant First Class’s voice rings out across the field. “Let’s go, ladies! This ain’t fucking playtime! Get your chutes and line the fuck up!”

“Keep your fuckin’ boots on, Jesus Christ,” I mumble under my breath. I hadn’t seen his ass jump thirty thousand feet.

We scramble into formation, still coughing, waiting for our hearts to stop racing. The SFC paces the line. “That was mediocre. You know what happens when you have a mediocre jump in combat?”

He stops pacing right in front of me. “You die, sir!”

“That’s right, Marsh. You fucking die. Do you want to die, Marsh?”

“Not today, sir!”

“Get back to the landing strip and do it again!”

Exhausted, thirsty, and sweating, we hike seven miles in full gear back to the airfield and board the C-17. Last week, we received our orders to deploy. Since then, it’s been training, training, and more training from the ass-crack of dawn till sundown. Scratch that… we did two night jumps this week.

Eight more days till we deploy. I’d boxed up a few things I couldn’t take with me—my gaming console, civvies, a box of photos, and paperwork, and stashed it in Army storage on base along with my car.

“Man, when this shit’s over, we’re going drinking tonight,” Biddell calls. “Warren’s the DD!”

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