Fort Benning, Georgia
Airborne School – Week 1
Zane stood at attention in a field of men who already looked harder than the average soldier. No whining. No slackers. Just boots planted in dirt, eyes forward, and nerves hidden behind grit.
The Black Hats — airborne instructors — paced the ranks like wolves. One of them, Staff Sergeant Wilcox, stopped in front of Zane.
"You ever jumped before, Private?"
"No, Sergeant."
Wilcox leaned in. "Don't lock your knees, or you'll eat your spine. Don't pull early, or you'll drift into traffic. And if you freeze up?"
He smiled cold.
"We toss you anyway."
Ground Week – Parachute Drills
It started with repetition. Over and over.
How to exit the door.
How to control your canopy.
How to land without snapping your ankles like twigs.
Zane soaked it in. Not just the movements — but the mindset. Control your fear. Trust the process. React, don't think.
Wyatt, the same guy from basic, had followed him to Airborne.
"You ever get scared, Cross?"
Zane looked up from checking his rig.
"I don't have room for scared."
Tower Week
250-foot drop towers. Steel monsters. Simulated exits.
Some recruits puked. Some froze.
Zane launched himself off with zero hesitation. Gravity yanked him down, gut twisting, wind roaring in his ears—
—but he smiled.
It felt like freedom.
Wilcox watched him land and nodded. "That one's got the brain chemistry of a lunatic. Delta type."
Zane didn't hear him. He was already checking his harness again.
Jump Week – Real Planes
Day 1.
C-130 ramp open. Wind howling. Jumpmaster counting down.
"THREE… TWO… ONE… GO!"
Zane sprinted. No pause. Out the door.
Weightless. Freefall. Static line snapped.
Canopy bloomed.
The ground rushed up, but he controlled the descent.
Feet and knees together. Impact.
Perfect landing.
By Jump 5, He Was Ready for More
He'd passed. Earned his wings.
Airborne tab: secured.
Another box checked off.
That night, a quiet man in civvies approached him in the DFAC (Dining Facility). Older. Scar on his cheek. Didn't say his name.
"You're Cross?"
"Yes."
The man slid a napkin across the table. On it: a number. No words.
"You keep doing what you're doing… and don't call us. We'll call you."
He walked away.
Zane looked at the napkin. Memorized the number. Then burned it in the trash can behind the barracks.
He didn't ask questions.
Didn't brag.
He just smiled once — a small, cold grin.
Delta was watching.