Money Knows No Bounds

Chapter One

December 31st, 2019

1100 hours Central

Somewhere near Mexico City

The night is cloudy, eerie, and time is moving slowly. People are celebrating in the streets. It is time for a new decade. Roaring loudly above the clouds, a greyish transport C-47 with no company titles, or much of a stunning physical appearance for that matter, circles around a forested area outside of Mexico City. There are only 7 men in the entire plane. Four of these men are in the pilot cabin, and three of the men are in the cargo hold near a slightly open ramp. Two of the latter group of men are just trying to get away from the stench. Why couldn't he have eaten something more fragrant?

"Dude that is fucking gnarly and rank!" Steve groans as he tries to get some fresh air from the opening. Bill's loud retching almost drowns out the sound of the plane.

"Yeah, seriously, man. Why didn't you take something like an hour before we went wheels up?" George asks before taking a sip from his supposedly hidden flask before stuffing it back into the left arm pocket on his black coarse jacket.

"I did, it was the first to go along with my dinner and lunch," Bill groans. "I never really mastered my sickness when I was younger."

"Yeah, obviously." Steve shakes his head, trying to breathe. John and Luke are sitting next to each other near the pilots. Luke is asleep while John sits there fumbling with his hands.

"How much longer until the sentries shut down for the night?" John said as he gazes over at one of the pilots. The pilot takes his time to answer.

I wonder if he can even understand any English other than hello, John thinks. He sighs while running his fingers through his slightly longer than normal black hair. He pulls out his map of the area from his right jacket pocket and looks it over still running his left hand through his hair. When we get back, I need to get my haircut back down so it doesn't go past my bangs, he thinks.

Finally the pilot speaks in a thick, almost indecipherable, mexican accent. "5 minutes, tell your men to get ready".

John shakes his head, this was the best inconspicuous flying choice? Thanks George. He picks up his backpack and slings it across his shoulder. He holds a rifle in his left hand and taps Luke on the head to wake his sorry ass up. Luke groans and looks around to get his bearings then looks up at John as he is putting on a woolen black cap to cover his hair. John nods at the doorway.

John leaves, and Luke is close behind as he quickly picks up his rifle and large backpack while trying to adjust his cap straight. Time for this thing to begin.

John looks over at Bill and covers his nose, and he raises his voice, "Hey, Barf Bag! Get your gear!"

Bill hears him just fine and groans as he tosses his paper bag full of his previous meals down on the ground. Lucky for him, none of it pours out as it falls slanted. He puts a backpack on his shoulders.

John walks over to him, drops the gun, and tightens his harness and pack. He barely missed the stench ridden bag that would have ruined his black boots. "You good son?" he asks to makes sure the kid won't break any limbs from loose gear.

"Y-yes, sir. Just airsick."

"First off, it's been a month. You can cut the "sir" shit right here and now. This is the last time I am telling you."

"Yes, s-," John glares at Bill, and he stops cold in his words.

John picks up his rifle, walks over to a large container, and tosses it inside. "Luke toss your gun in the box." Bill is the only one who didn't have their gun on them, the benefit of being the rookie.

Luke looks over at John, "Why exactly are we having this box hold all our shit this time? Why aren't we just holding all our gear like the last few jumps?"

John sighs. "Because there are high winds out there. Last thing you want is your jaw broken from the butt of your gun." Luke nods and shoves his gun in the box while Steve and George walk over and do the same. John closes and locks the container. He then slaps George over the head.

"What the hell man?" George asks as he holds his head in pain.

John glares at him. "That's for taking your fucking alcohol on the mission. I catch you doing it again, and I'll shoot your foot off."

George looks away from him. "How did you know I brought any?"

John shakes his head. "Your vodka has a distinct smell, and it mixed with the rooks barf. It wasn't hard to tell it belonged to you."

The red light near the ramp goes on as the ramp lowers to its full length. John turns to face the ramp. "Okay, let's get that container in position." George and Steve push the box to the edge of the ramp while John counts down in his mind with his watch. Finally, he looks up and gives the hand signal to put their masks on and get into position around the container.

The men all secure their caps, cliche black face bandanas with a white skull on them, and standard military night vision goggles. Suddenly, the green light goes on, and in one swift motion, all five men grab and push the container and themselves out of the plane while holding on for dear life.

Free falling is one of the most exhilarating and exciting adrenaline rushes of all time. Even after doing this over 20 times before, both in the Airborne and as a mercenary. John always feels the same excitement as his first ever jump out of an airplane when he was a boy.

Bill, on the other hand, was scared shitless; shaking like a child with bad stage fright. Unnoticed, however, by everyone else due to how fast the air was rushing up against him. He has only jumped twice in his entire life, and this is the first time he was going toward guns while doing it.

George and Steve are both pretty calm. They looked around as best as they could without getting their necks broken from the heavy air passing by them at tremendous speeds.

Luke is thinking in head just how bad his death would be if he let go, and his parachute didn't open. How gruesome the splat would be. He isn't depressed or suicidal in any way. He just isn't one to take these kind of things seriously.

They drop at 15,000 feet and are about to reach the point where their automatic parachutes would open up along with the containers. John looks down to see the giant open field clear of anything that would ruin, what he considers, another perfect jump.

Desierto De Los Leones, he thinks. Hidden underneath all those trees is the heroin operation. Soon to be just more fireworks added to the New Year celebration, he chuckled inside his head. 14,500 feet comes fast, and in an instant, all chutes open up at once. The men let go of the crate, watching it fall slightly faster than themselves.

John notices there is a slight tear in one of the chutes on the container but isn't worried. It happens from time to time. He looks forward and can see the bright lights glowing around the capital. He thinks about all the people who have no idea what is going to happen within the next hour, just a mile or so away from them.

The men all drift down slowly, but hit the ground a little rough. All except for John land on their asses. He is lucky and smart enough to just barely manage to land on his feet. The crate is about 20 feet away from John and Luke, 25 from the others. John, along with everyone else, quickly detaches from their harnesses and runs to the crate. Of course, Bill needs a little help getting his off, but Steve doesn't think much of it while he assists. After all, he is a rookie.