Red Zone Son

Chapter 1

If Solomon absolutely had to jump out of a plane, 0100 hours was not the time he would have chosen for it. Never was a much better-looking option, in his book. Too bad for him that it wasn’t on the table. Since the Westsylvania Zone Militia handed out beatdowns like a Halloween drone dispensing candy, he found himself with little choice in the matter. Taking a deep breath, he climbed out of the cattle truck with another dozen drafted teenagers, his boots crunching slightly on the hard-packed dirt as he began to help unload the parachute gear onto the airfield.

The latch on one of the plastic crates was stuck. He finally managed to pry the lid loose to count only three pairs of night-vision dumbgoggles inside instead of the baker’s dozen that would actually cover his squad’s needs. He immediately tossed one to Hyeon-Ju. His friend’s weak nighttime vision made him a terrible candidate for combat jump training, but if optimal allocation of resources was the stated goal of any red zone militia, well, Solomon had yet to see it.

Straining his eyes, Solomon could make out the vague outline of the aircraft on the nearby runway. The angular ship traced out a shadow just slightly darker than the backdrop of rolling hills behind it, its shape revealed by the dim, flickering lights at the edge of the airstrip. Any minute now his squad would ascend into the pitch-black sky. There, at twenty thousand feet, he would make his first high-altitude jump.

Whether he liked it or not.

Still gazing into the night, he turned his back to the cattle truck before flexing his hands, resisting the urge to wipe them off on his pants. He didn’t especially want anyone knowing his palms were already clammy. His anxiety wasn’t just because he was about to fling his body into basically the stratosphere, though. It was because of what a failed jump would mean. The memory of Adah’s tearful goodbye still haunted him, even a year and a half into his conscription. Promise you’ll come back!

His shoulders tightened. Thinking about his little sister was no use right now. Forcing his mind away from her, he reached to sling his harness container over his shoulder. The last thing he needed was to be punished for moving too slowly.

But Wilson was already stomping across the dirt field. The squad’s sole smart lantern hummed beside his head, its light casting sharp, moving shadows as it tracked his movements. His blue-green eyes seemed to leap out at Solomon in the shifting light. “You can stare at the sky when you’re in it. Drop and give me twenty,” he heard Wilson bark, the man’s voice cutting through the night air.

Solomon wasn’t stupid enough to argue. He’d been trained sufficiently to know the only response was to hit the ground. Anything else brought the risk of singling yourself out for more retaliation. Besides, with Wilson at least you didn’t get racial slurs. Instead, as soon as Solomon got into position, he felt a weight begin crushing his fingers. It was a boot, Wilson’s boot, stepping with full force onto Solomon’s right hand as he pushed up and down against the baked earth.

Twenty push-ups was nothing these days. Even the pain shooting up his arm was something Solomon could ignore. But the tightness in his chest was making it hard to breathe. He closed his eyes, fighting his sense of powerlessness. Now was not the time to feel anything, anything at all. He had to focus on getting ready for his jump. In a few minutes he’d be seated inside that plane, masked with oxygen, and rising through the clouds. The cargo door would open like a mouth waiting to swallow him, and he would have to leap through it. Into the night sky, into a belly full of stars and soldiers hurtling a hundred miles per hour with nothing between them and the vast expanse.