The chopper descended on the Piscataqua with a stomach-rolling churn. The men crouched, single file, and prepared to jump.

Sarge directed with his hands, only shouting over the roar of the blades when he absolutely had to. He gave the countdown for the first of the men.

“3…2…1…clear!”

Jenkins leaped from the helicopter and disappeared into the rushing river. The black water raged and enveloped him with angry waves and swept him away in a chaotic demon current.

“3…2…1…clear!”

Morgan plunged into the same watery madness, sucked beneath the coursing surface and whirling violently head over heels by a million disorienting rapids. He too was gone the moment he disappeared from sight.

“3…2…1…clear!”

Thomas hesitated.

“Soldier, you are clear!” Sarge barked.

Thomas eyed the water below with a terror he had never known. The inky waves crashed upon one another with the speed of a locomotive, inky, cold and furious. He’d never make it.

Suddenly he felt a push on his back and tumbled into the merciless deep.