Black Mesa
By Patrick Williams
Based on the storyline from Half-Life, a game from Valve Software and Sierra Studios. The Half-Life franchise is the property of Sierra Studios. All rights are reserved to Sierra Studios.
Chapter 7 – Apprehension
Sector E – Surface Access
Gordon was being slowly dragged down a narrow hallway. His suit was disabled, and he was completely immobilized. He couldn't even turn his head to see where he was or where he was being taken. His hazard suit that had made him so powerful before was nothing more than a heavy coffin now. He felt like someone who had been buried alive.
How could they have been so careless? The three scientists had battled their way through the train lines, seemingly invincible as they blew through the military's lines of defense. The soldiers' lines had broken like waves against a cliff face as they were driven back by the three well-armed scientists. During a heated battle, the scientists had spotted a surface access sign. That sign meant they were very close to reaching their goal: the Lambda Complex. The three scientists had foolishly rushed through a doorway that had been booby trapped. They had made it so far only to be stopped by a simple tripwire attached to an EMP bomb.
"Gina, Colette, can you hear me?" Gordon called, using his communicator. He remembered that the communicators had been unaffected by the EMP rifles the last time they were disabled. However, Gordon received no response this time. Either the other two were out of range or unable to respond. Gordon couldn't decide which possibility was worse.
Two soldiers were dragging Gordon, one on each arm. Even with their combined strength, they still struggled to pull Gordon. It gave Gordon a tiny bit of pleasure to see them struggle as they gradually made their way to wherever they were going.
"So, who is this guy anyway?" one of the soldiers grunted.
"Freeman. They say he was at Ground Zero," the other replied.
"Science team? You think he was responsible? Sabotage, maybe?"
"Yeah, maybe. All I know for sure is that he's been killing my buddies."
"So where are we taking him?"
"Topside for questioning."
"What the hell for? We've got the guy responsible for this mess. Let's kill him now. They can question the other two all they want. They won't mind if we lose one."
"And if they find the body?"
"What body?"
The two soldiers shared a laugh that sent shivers up Gordon's spine.
Black Mesa Surface
Barney Calhoun's SUV raced down the dirt road towards the outer edges of the Black Mesa Research Facility. He wasn't sure how he would get into the facility past the military, but he would have to find a way. If he had to fight every soldier in this facility he would find a way. The lives of Gordon, Gina, and Colette might depend on it.
The road wound through several canyons and caves as it brought him ever closer to that tremendous mesa which gave Black Mesa its name. As the SUV rounded one final bend, the entrance to the research facility came into view. A large metal fence surrounded the facility, reminiscent of the fences that surrounded the Nazi concentration camps. Calhoun shook his head, wondering why he had made that connection. Like Auschwitz's fences, Black Mesa's fences were electrified; fatal to the touch. Fortunately, the main gate had been smashed to the ground. Calhoun cautiously drove through, expecting to be shot at any moment.
Calhoun decided the SUV would attract more attention than it was worth. He ditched it at the side of the dirt road and continued on foot, keeping to the shadows. The dirt road was dotted with security towers that had once held Black Mesa Security personnel. Those same towers might hold snipers looking for intruders like Calhoun.
After passing several of these towers, Calhoun spotted a Humvee stopped at the side of the road. A soldier lay stretched out on the ground in a small pool of blood. The cause of death wasn't immediately clear. The body wasn't slashed to pieces from a zombie attack or burned to a crisp from a Vortigaunt attack. If it had been attacked by a head-crab, the body would have joined the ranks of the enemy. Instead, the soldier was riddled with tiny holes, as if he had been shot up with a pellet gun. No pellet gun Calhoun had ever seen could penetrate a body like this, though. The holes went clean through the body, as if it had been impaled by needles. Calhoun shuddered at that thought.
A startling noise caused Calhoun to snap to attention. A helicopter was approaching fast. Calhoun worked quickly, borrowing the soldier's urban camouflage BDU. The BDU fit snugly against his body armor, which he was determined not to part with. Calhoun was putting on the soldier's boots as the helicopter came into view. He instantly recognized it as an Apache.
It slowed visibly, coming to a halt and hovering as it turned to face Calhoun. Calhoun waved his arm in the air and gave a thumbs-up signal. Calhoun hoped to hell he came across a soldier. If he screwed this up, there would be a few more holes in his newly acquired uniform.
The Apache idled in mid-air, the pilot seeming to think about what he was seeing. Calhoun waved his arms again, silently shouting at the Apache to get the hell out of here. The Apache tipped its nose as if to leave, and Calhoun breathed a huge sigh of relief. Then the belly-mounted cannon opened fire.
Calhoun hit the dirt, rolling for cover behind the Humvee. It took Calhoun several seconds to realize that the Apache's cannon wasn't firing at him after all. Calhoun whirled about and saw what it was shooting at.
Approaching from behind were several bulky aliens. They were at least six feet tall, and nearly that wide. They reminded Calhoun of football players in their build and the way they lumbered down the dirt road towards him. Their powerful figures were covered with a heavy exoskeleton and further protected by heavy metallic armor. Metal helmets protected their already thick skulls. Each of the creatures he had encountered was disturbing in its own way, but none more so than these powerful beasts lumbering towards him now.
The Grunts unleashed their attack. When they fired, Calhoun instantly knew what had happened to the dead soldier in the Humvee. From appendages that could only be described as weapons, a flood of tiny hornets erupted forth. These hornets spiraled through the air, clearly veering towards Calhoun. Calhoun ducked behind the Humvee only to find the hornets adjusting their trajectories to veer around the Humvee as well. They were self-guided! Calhoun dove out of the way as they impacted the ground where he had been hiding a moment earlier. A few of the hornets stuck themselves in his armor, painfully digging against his skin before coming to rest. Calhoun doubted his armor would withstand a continued barrage from these hornets. More hornets whistled by overhead searching for targets. Calhoun was clearly pinned down.
The Apache continued to fire at the charging Grunts. Their thick armor was disturbingly effective. It absorbed the impact of the 30mm shots from the belly-mounted cannon as if they were spit wads. However, not even the grunts' armor would protect them from the Apache's mounted Hellfire missiles. The Hellfire missiles were designed to destroy tanks and other armored vehicles. They would make short work of these grunts, no matter how thick their armor was. The Apache circled around behind the grunts, trying to get a good shot for the Hellfires.
The grunts stopped firing at Calhoun momentarily and whirled around to fire up at the Apache. The grunts' hornets whistled up towards the helicopter's cockpit. The hornets made short work of the glass that protected the pilot and gunner, both of whom screamed as their bodies were riddled with the tiny relentless projectiles. The pilot's dead body jerked reflexively, sending the Apache into a fatal spin towards a sniper tower. It exploded impressively, and the grunts were visibly pleased with themselves. They hardly noticed the small green object that hit the ground near their feet.
Calhoun's grenade exploded, taking the alien grunts with it.
Calhoun got to his feet and cleaned himself up. He would need this BDU to get past the military checkpoints farther down the road, but he would need more than a uniform and a charming smile to do so. He looked at the remains of the alien grunts and had an idea.
He lugged a heavy corpse through the dirt towards the Humvee. With great effort, he deposited the body in the back seat. He found the keys in the ignition and drove the vehicle through the Black Mesa complex in search of the three missing scientists.
Black Mesa Central Command
Major General Thompson was back at HQ now, and upon arrival had claimed the seat formerly occupied by Dr. Breen as his own. Breen's desk really was quite useful for monitoring the operation, and the chair most comfortable.
Thompson had received the news about the three rogue scientists while en route and he had been all smiles since. Finally, things were starting to go right. The hazard suits were in custody, and it was only a matter of time before he could use them to get into the Lambda Complex. Many good soldiers had died in Sector E to secure those hazard suits, and Thompson was determined not to let their lives be wasted in vain.
The radio brought news from the field.
"Captain Plashke here, sir. We've brought two of the scientists to the surface, and our specialists are working on removing the hazard suits in the motorpool garage. We'll report on their status when we have more news, sir. Over."
"Wait just one second, Captain. What the hell happened to the third scientist?"
There was a pause on the other end before the tentative reply came, "We've… lost contact with the soldiers bringing Freeman to the surface. We're not sure what they're up to, sir. Their last report came from near the bio lab, sir. Over."
Thompson smirked. He knew exactly what they were up to. Attached to the biological research lab was a rather large waste reclamation plant. If the troops were indeed heading for the bio lab with Freeman, there was little doubt what they intended to do with him. The troops wanted a bit of revenge against the man responsible for this mess. It was understandable. The soldiers had two hazard suits in custody, which would be more than enough. Let the troops have their way with the third.
"They're most likely having some fun with the trash compactors, Captain. It's of no concern to us now that we have the others. Any other news?"
"Sir, we have troubling reports of strange sightings in the skies, over."
"More black helicopters, Captain?"
"No, sir. Nothing like that at all. Our snipers are spotting something… new in the skies. It's definitely not ours, and it's definitely not human, sir. Over."
"Very well, Captain. We'll look into it. Proceed."
"Yes, sir. We have other reports of new types of aliens surfacing around the facility. These new aliens are stronger, and our troops are having problems with them. We lost a lot of men getting those hazard suits, and these new aliens are overwhelming us. I recommend that we call in reinforcements, sir."
Thompson conceded the point. He had wasted too many men getting those hazard suits. The captain was right. They needed more.
"Thank you, Captain. I'll take it under advisement. Over and out."
Thompson leaned forward in Breen's chair, head resting on his arched fingers as he planned his next moves. The AWACS hadn't detected these new alien fliers. If they existed, they were invisible to their radar. Their air supremacy might be in jeopardy.
"They're talking about Mantas, I presume?" Dr. Breen asked from his less comfortable seat across the room. He was slightly irritated that Thompson insisted at sitting behind his desk in his chair. The armed guard at Breen's side assured he would not object too strongly, though.
"That's the conclusion I drew too. Their arrival, along with that of the Mantas, threatens our superiority on the ground and in the air." Thompson turned to an aide, "Do we still have those F-35s on standby?"
"Yes, sir. The joint strike fighters are ready to go on a moment's notice."
"Good. Get them in the air ASAP. Also, contact Santego. Tell them to bring in our reinforcements."
Black Mesa Surface
Calhoun overheard the conversation through the Humvee's command frequency radio. The talk of new aliens was nothing new to him. He had battled them first hand. The talk of the alien fliers was disturbing, but not nearly as much as the talk about Gordon. From what he could discern, Gina and Colette were in custody but otherwise safe for now. Freeman was not so lucky it seemed. A few soldiers had gone rogue, thinking they knew better what to do with Freeman.
The soldiers had mentioned the trash compactors behind the bio labs. If they were putting Freeman in there, he was in deep trouble. His hazard suit couldn't protect him from pistons powerful enough to crush a car into a tiny cube. Calhoun pushed the petal to the ground as he raced the Humvee through the complex towards the bio labs.
He was stopped at a roadblock near his goal. Three soldiers stood behind a concrete divider that blocked the only road leading to the bio lab. A tank idled in the background to emphasize their point. Calhoun desperately hoped his BDU disguise would get him through.
"Where are you heading in such a hurry, trooper?" a gruff soldier asked.
"I have orders to get this thing," Calhoun gestured to the dead alien grunt in the back seat, "to the bio labs for inspection. This thing is rotting fast. I need to get a move on guys."
"Move along, then, soldier. Get that smelly piece of shit out of here!" the soldier laughed as he stepped back and gestured for the road block to be removed. Calhoun drove on with a nod to the soldiers.
Calhoun reached the bio lab entrance without fanfare. The entrance was circled by automatic turrets to ease the load on the troops. Fortunately for Calhoun, they were programmed to ignore the camouflage pattern of the Humvee and BDU. Calhoun parked the Humvee in front of the bio lab. The Humvee would do him little good from here on out, unless he planned on driving it through the bio lab's glass entrance. He hoped to be slightly more incognito than that. Calhoun nervously realized how much time had passed since he had heard the news of Freeman's disappearance.
Calhoun pulled the grunt's carcass out of the back seat and placed it on one of the Humvee's stretchers with great effort. The stretcher buckled under the weight of the body, but it held. Calhoun wheeled the stretcher through the bio lab's glass doors and into the lobby. He was confronted by two soldiers manning the entrance.
"Where are you taking this… thing?" one of the soldiers asked.
"I have orders to dispose of this body in the trash compactors," Calhoun replied, trying to remain calm.
"I wasn't notified. I'll have to clear it."
"No time!" Calhoun exclaimed. "Intelligence thinks this body is infected and contagious. I have to get rid of it immediately!"
At the words 'infected' and 'contagious' the two soldiers backed away quickly. "Very well! The compactor is down that hallway, out the rear entrance. Move along, trooper!"
Calhoun quickly pushed the stretcher through the lab, getting some quizzical looks from other soldiers patrolling the hallway. Getting through their lines was proving easier than he had expected. He doubted getting out with Gordon would be quite as easy. That all depended on him getting to Gordon on time, he reminded himself.
Calhoun emerged at the rear of the bio lab and spotted the trash compactors. He saw two soldiers dragging Gordon's body up the stairs to the largest compactor. They unceremoniously dumped his lifeless body into the compactor and Calhoun knew instantly that he was already too late.
Santego Military Base
The base hadn't been expecting the call for reinforcements so soon. It caught the personnel at a loss, and they scurried about trying to get ready to go. If they were already calling for reinforcements, things at Black Mesa were worse than expected.
The soldiers were trained to be on the move at a moment's notice, however. After a short delay, the remaining V-22 Ospreys were fully loaded and inbound to Black Mesa.
The AWACS above Black Mesa detected their liftoff and assigned landing zones by the numbers.
"Okay, Goose Seven. Proceed to sector 112-LZ and rendezvous with Alpha Bravo Tango. Over."
"Copy that, Mother Goose."
Corporal Adrian Shephard gazed out of his Osprey at the desert scenery flying past beneath them. Shephard was still young at 22, but he was, like the men around him, a well trained killing machine. His squad was trained for Special Forces operations, and had been expecting to be deployed within the next few days for what had been called a cleanup operation. They knew nothing of their mission other than approximately when it would happen. They hadn't expected to be deployed for several days, and it had almost caught them off guard. Shephard wondered if this was some bizarre form of combat-readiness test. Their sergeant certainly hadn't helped to dispel any of the rumors flying about the helicopter, as his orders were to brief them only after they landed.
One of Shephard's team members, nicknamed Tower, grumbled in his corner of the Osprey, "Where the hell are we going anyway?"
Another team member, Jackson, replied smartly, "Well the pilot thought we were headin' to your mother's house. So far this all looks familiar."
"Real cute, Jackson."
"Anytime, anywhere!"
Their exchange was that of two hardened soldiers trying to lighten the mood before an engagement. Tower and Jackson were close friends, each willing to die to protect the other, though they might never admit it to anyone. Tower was a heavy weapons specialist. His favorite toy, an M-249 SAW, was held at his side, ready for anything after they landed. Jackson was the team's engineer, trained to fix and operate any machinery they encountered, as well as to crack locks and breach doors with his blowtorch. Jackson was a valuable member of the team, but a real jackass when it came down to it. He was also a chain smoker, and had an annoying habit of lighting his cigarettes with his blowtorch.
Tower sniffed the air dramatically as he spoke again, "Hey man, you smell that?"
Jackson sniffed his armpits defensively, "Smell what?"
Tower explained, "Smells like another babysittin' job to me, man!"
Jackson laughed, relieved, "No shit, man!"
Chavez, another team member, shared his opinion, "Babysitting job my ass! This job has training mission written all over it. Why else would they have kept our orders from us for so long, eh?"
Tower replied, "Yeah, what the hell is that all about? Throwin' our asses in this hunk of junk and not even tellin' us what we're goin' in for, man."
The sergeant, who had been standing at the edge of the Osprey looking out at the passing scenery, turned around to face Tower. "Do you have a problem, Private?" he barked in his best drill sergeant tone, "I will give you your orders when we have reached the LZ. Do you get me, soldier?!"
"Sir, yes sir!" a sobered Tower replied.
Jackson took over, "Well I don't really give a damn what we're going in for. Long as I get to kill me something!"
Chavez agreed, "I hear that, mano."
The team's medic, Jones, remained quiet in his corner of the helicopter. He wasn't much of a talker, but was an excellent doctor. The team was glad to have him aboard, even if he was a black hole for conversation.
Shephard shook his head, looking back to the world they flew over. They had entered a canyon now, and they were running out of flying room.
Their pilot noticed this fact also, "Watch your vector, Goose Three. It's getting a little tight in here."
"Roger that, Goose Seven. We copy."
Tower resumed his moaning, "Man, if this is another Search and Rescue operation I'm gonna be pissed."
Jackson smirked, "Yeah, I'm gonna be pissed too when I gotta search and rescue your sorry ass."
Tower glared icicles across the helicopter, bringing his M-249 into his lap as he did so. Jackson laughed at the gesture of force.
Their pilot was on the radio again, "Anyone out there got a good view of the LZ?"
"Negative Goose Seven. I can see some activity up ahead, but I can't tell what's going on."
Tower stopped glaring at Jackson for a moment, turning to Shephard, "Hey Shephard! I think Jackson has the hots for you."
Jackson fumed, "Screw you, Tower!"
Shephard laughed, "I don't think I have anything to worry about. You two are the ones acting like you're married."
Tower made a kissy face to Jackson, and the team, aside from the sergeant, shared a good laugh. It helped ease the tension caused by not knowing where they were going or why. The sergeant, however, knew too much to be in a jovial mood.
Black Mesa Surface
Calhoun stared at the trash compactor dejectedly. Gordon hadn't been able to fight back as the soldiers dumped his body into the compactor. He must have been dead already. Calhoun was too late. He had failed Gordon, but he would not let these bastards dispose of his body like garbage to be left at the curb. Gordon would get a proper burial.
Calhoun approached the two soldiers. He cleared his throat and impersonated a drill sergeant, speaking to them from the bottom of the staircase leading up to the compactor. "Just what in the hell do you two maggots think you're doing?"
"Just disposing of a body, sir," one of the soldiers explained as the other activated the compactor, starting the slow process of crushing everything thrown into it. The compactor groaned painfully as its motors churned to life.
"The General is looking high and low for you two. He sent me down from HQ to tell you two to check in immediately. Get on the horn on the double!" Calhoun planned to shoot the two soldiers in the back as they passed him at the bottom of the stairs. It was the best plan Calhoun could come up with on such short notice.
"Yes, sir!" the soldiers barked as they began to come down the stairs. The one in front paused halfway down, a confused look on his face. "Sir, why did the General send you? He could have sent one of the men from the bio lab for us."
Calhoun froze, trying to think up a way to get of this, "I... er, the General doesn't have to explain himself to you! Now get in there and check in!"
"No, sir. Who exactly are you? None of the General's staff would go out without an escort." the soldier brought his shotgun up to face Calhoun. His comrade behind him brought his MP5 up as well.
Calhoun gulped. The gig was up. He realized there was nowhere for him to run. He would have to give himself up.
The soldier in front grinned triumphantly, "I don't know who you are, but you're not one of ours. You're probably some new form of alien we haven't seen yet. You're going to join our friend in the trash compactor."
The soldier gestured up the stairs with his shotgun and Calhoun saw his opportunity. He drew his .357 Magnum in a flash and fired twice, both shots hitting their mark square in the soldier's chest. Calhoun dove beneath the staircase as the second soldier fired his MP5 where Calhoun had been standing. The soldier fired wildly around the stairs, not sure where Calhoun would come from next. Calhoun could see the soldier's feet through the gaps in the stairs, reached through, and pulled hard. The soldier lost his balance, tumbling down the stairs. He rolled to the ground and found himself staring up at the barrel of Calhoun's pistol. Calhoun relieved the soldier of his gun.
"Turn the compactor off. Now!" Calhoun ordered.
The soldier scurried up the stairs to do so. The compactor stopped a scant few feet from Gordon's body. A few more seconds and there wouldn't have been a body left to bury.
"Now," Calhoun spoke, "You're going to help me bury this body properly. He was a good man, and he deserves our respect."
The soldier spoke cautiously, "Sir, this guy's not dead. We couldn't kill him. All we did was disable his suit. He's still alive in there."
Calhoun felt his temper rise and threaten to spill over. He shouted angrily, "You were putting him in there alive?!" Calhoun lost control and smacked the soldier across the face with the butt of his pistol. The soldier fell into the trash compactor, unconscious.
"You monster…" Calhoun muttered through gritted teeth at the bleeding soldier.
Calhoun's eye was drawn to movement in the compactor. Gordon had begun to stir. Gordon's voice rang through the speakers of his hazard suit. "Thank God you came, Barney! My suit had almost restored power, but if you hadn't been there to stop the compactor it would have all been for naught. The soldiers… they captured Gina and Colette. I don't know where they've taken them, but we have to rescue them."
"Let's not waste any time, then." Calhoun agreed.
Gordon got to his feet and found, with relief, that his suit was fully restored. He used his amplified strength to climb out of the compactor, leaving the bleeding soldier where he lay. "Let that bastard get out on his own," Gordon grunted, "Let's see how he likes it in there."
"I think I know where they're holding Gina and Colette," Calhoun explained. "There's a garage near the center of the surface complex. I overheard the soldiers on the radio talking about taking them there. They're trying to get their hazard suits off as we speak."
"That would explain why I couldn't get in touch with them over the communicator. Let's get moving. Do you have a plan for getting past the soldiers?"
Calhoun grinned, "As a matter of fact, I do."
A group of helicopters flew by overhead, led by an Apache. Gordon ducked for cover, but these helicopters seemed to have more important business to attend to. As the helicopters disappeared, they spotted something far more disturbing tailing the convoy. It looked like a gigantic manta ray gliding through the air with astonishing speed. It had to be from Xen. The aliens had brought flying ships to Earth! Things had gone from bad to worse yet again.
"Listen up Geese, this is Eagle Two. My gunner spotted something coming up behind us. Keep your eyes open, over." Eagle Two was the Apache assigned to escort the flock of Ospreys during their approach to Black Mesa. It was supposed to be a milk run, and the strange craft detected behind them had caught everyone off guard.
"This is Goose Three—"
A burst of static interrupted the transmission. The sergeant onboard Goose Seven turned with a start as a bright flash of light announced the death of the men onboard Goose Three. The sergeant grabbed onto a handhold to avoid falling as the Osprey tipped sideways to avoid the debris falling from the explosion.
"This is Eagle Two; Goose Three is down! Goose Three is down!"
The men onboard Goose Seven snapped to attention, looking for a threat they were powerless to protect themselves from. Eagle Two flew past them, trying to put itself between the remaining Ospreys and the attacking craft.
The attacker was like nothing the pilot of Eagle Two had ever seen before. It had hovered above Goose Three for a moment, destroying the transport with a powerful beam of energy. Eagle Two fired several Hydra rockets at the attacker to no avail. Their radar couldn't detect the craft, and the Hydra rockets were fired blind and dumb. Most of them veered away from their target, and the few rockets that hit the craft caused little damage. Eagle Two stood its ground, trying to give the rest of Goose Flight enough time to escape. Eagle two met the same fate as Goose Three.
Goose Seven zigged and zagged as much as it dared through the narrow canyon. It was a futile gesture of self defense, and everyone onboard knew it. The attacking craft approached quickly.
"Goose Seven, hang tight. This is Angel One. We've got the target in sight, standby."
"You're a sight for sore eyes, Angel One," Goose Seven's pilot said, cautiously relieved. The F-35s were here! They still might be too late.
The Manta hovered above Goose Seven and fired its energy weapon. The pilot juked the craft to the side, saving the craft but losing an engine to the alien blast. The pilot desperately tried to regain control of the wounded helicopter.
As the Manta tried to line itself up for another shot, the F-35s attacked from the rear. A self-guided missile launched from one of their wings tore through the attacker, sending it to the ground in a smoking heap. The alien Mantas were tough, but they were still fallible. The F-35 pilots breathed a sigh of relief at this realization.
"This is Angel One; you're in the clear Goose Flight. E.T. is down."
"This is Mother Goose; thanks for the assist Angel Flight. We—"
"Mayday, mayday! This is Goose Seven; we've taken heavy damage to the starboard engine and are going down. Repeat; mayday, mayday! Goose Seven is going down!"
"Mother Goose here; Goose Seven, be advised, your vector takes you into hostile territory. Expect engagement at your LZ, over. Eagle Two, stay with Goose Flight and make sure they land safely. Angel Flight, establish a perimeter and keep a lookout for more of those fliers…"
As the AWACS took control of the situation, the pilot of Goose Seven struggled to guide the dying helicopter to the ground as safely as possible. He fought against the laws of physics to keep control of the machine that was rapidly transforming from a helicopter into a falling projectile.
Goose Seven's pilot turned around to face the soldiers in the back. "Sarge, I can't land this bird! Prep your chutes and get the hell out of here!"
The men didn't need any further prodding. They were ready in an instant, lined up to make the jump. The sergeant pushed them out, one at a time, making sure they each had a clear jumping lane but not wasting any unnecessary time. They were much too close to the ground for the parachutes to do much good. They all understood this but jumped nonetheless. They knew that a painful landing was preferable to an explosive death in the helicopter when it hit the ground. They pulled their parachute cords as soon as they were clear of the helicopter, each of them praying in their own way to survive the impact. They knew the odds were against them.
Shephard was the last of the soldiers to go before the sergeant. They shared a look of understanding as Shephard jumped. They were definitely too close to the ground now. Shephard knew his odds of survival were next to none, and the sergeant's even worse for following him. Shephard took his leap of faith.
One by one, the soldiers hit the ground, their parachutes slowing them down just enough to stop the impact from killing them. They knew to relax their bodies and let the impact spread through them, lest it focus on one part and break it. The medic, Jones, landed first, getting up badly bruised. Tower and Jackson landed in similar condition. Chavez landed with a sprained ankle from the impact.
Shephard was not as lucky as the first few. The last thing he saw before he landed was the smoking helicopter hitting the ground near their landing site. It exploded, taking the pilot with it to the grave. He hoped the sergeant had made it out safely, but had little time to worry about him. Shephard lost consciousness as he landed, the pain of the impact proving too much for his nervous system.
The sergeant hit the ground shortly after Shephard, traveling much too fast for the parachute to ease the landing. His spine shattered from the impact, killing him instantly.
Shephard's team had arrived at Black Mesa.