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The
outer
shell
burned
away
and
sloughed
off
--
unevenly
,
for
I
tumbled
.
Then
the
rest
of
it
went
and
I
straightened
out
.
The
turbulence
brakes
of
the
second
shell
bit
in
and
the
ride
got
rough
...
and
still
rougher
as
they
burned
off
one
at
a
time
and
the
second
shell
began
to
go
to
pieces
.
One
of
the
things
that
helps
a
capsule
trooper
to
live
long
enough
to
draw
a
pension
is
that
the
skins
peeling
off
his
capsule
not
only
slow
him
down
,
they
also
fill
the
sky
over
the
target
area
with
so
much
junk
that
radar
picks
up
reflections
from
dozens
of
targets
for
each
man
in
the
drop
,
any
one
of
which
could
be
a
man
,
or
a
bomb
,
or
anything
.
It
's
enough
to
give
a
ballistic
computer
nervous
breakdowns
--
and
does
.
To
add
to
the
fun
your
ship
lays
a
series
of
dummy
eggs
in
the
seconds
immediately
following
your
drop
,
dummies
that
will
fall
faster
because
they
do
n't
slough
.
They
get
under
you
,
explode
,
throw
out
"
window
,
"
even
operate
as
transponders
,
rocket
sideways
,
and
do
other
things
to
add
to
the
confusion
of
your
reception
committee
on
the
ground
.
In
the
meantime
your
ship
is
locked
firmly
on
the
directional
beacon
of
your
platoon
leader
,
ignoring
the
radar
"
noise
"
it
has
created
and
following
you
in
,
computing
your
impact
for
future
use
.
When
the
second
shell
was
gone
,
the
third
shell
automatically
opened
my
first
ribbon
chute
.
It
did
n't
last
long
but
it
was
n't
expected
to
;
one
good
,
hard
jerk
at
several
gee
and
it
went
its
way
and
I
went
mine
.
The
second
chute
lasted
a
little
bit
longer
and
the
third
chute
lasted
quite
a
while
;
it
began
to
be
rather
too
warm
inside
the
capsule
and
I
started
thinking
about
landing
.
The
third
shell
peeled
off
when
its
last
chute
was
gone
and
now
I
had
nothing
around
me
but
my
suit
armor
and
a
plastic
egg
.
I
was
still
strapped
inside
it
,
unable
to
move
;
it
was
time
to
decide
how
and
where
I
was
going
to
ground
.
Without
moving
my
arms
(
I
could
n't
)
I
thumbed
the
switch
for
a
proximity
reading
and
read
it
when
it
flashed
on
in
the
instrument
reflector
inside
my
helmet
in
front
of
my
forehead
.
A
mile
and
eight-tenths
--
A
little
closer
than
I
liked
,
especially
without
company
.
The
inner
egg
had
reached
steady
speed
,
no
more
help
to
be
gained
by
staying
inside
it
,
and
its
skin
temperature
indicated
that
it
would
not
open
automatically
for
a
while
yet
--
so
I
flipped
a
switch
with
my
other
thumb
and
got
rid
of
it
.
The
first
charge
cut
all
the
straps
;
the
second
charge
exploded
the
plastic
egg
away
from
me
in
eight
separate
pieces
--
and
I
was
outdoors
,
sitting
on
air
,
and
could
see
!
Better
still
,
the
eight
discarded
pieces
were
metal-coated
(
except
for
the
small
bit
I
had
taken
proximity
reading
through
)
and
would
give
back
the
same
reflection
as
an
armored
man
.
Any
radar
viewer
,
alive
or
cybernetic
,
would
now
have
a
sad
time
sorting
me
out
from
the
junk
nearest
me
,
not
to
mention
the
thousands
of
other
bits
and
pieces
for
miles
on
each
side
,
above
,
and
below
me
.
Part
of
a
mobile
infantryman
's
training
is
to
let
him
see
,
from
the
ground
and
both
by
eye
and
by
radar
,
just
how
confusing
a
drop
is
to
the
forces
on
the
ground
--
because
you
feel
awful
naked
up
there
.
It
is
easy
to
panic
and
either
open
a
chute
too
soon
and
become
a
sitting
duck
(
do
ducks
really
sit
?
--
if
so
,
why
?
)
or
fail
to
open
it
and
break
your
ankles
,
likewise
backbone
and
skull
.
So
I
stretched
,
getting
the
kinks
out
,
and
looked
around
...
then
doubled
up
again
and
straightened
out
in
a
swan
dive
face
down
and
took
a
good
look
.
It
was
night
down
there
,
as
planned
,
but
infrared
snoopers
let
you
size
up
terrain
quite
well
after
you
are
used
to
them
.
The
river
that
cut
diagonally
through
the
city
was
almost
below
me
and
coming
up
fast
,
shining
out
clearly
with
a
higher
temperature
than
the
land
.
I
did
n't
care
which
side
of
it
I
landed
on
but
I
did
n't
want
to
land
in
it
;
it
would
slow
me
down
.
