Whitehouse was trifling a piece of paper with Mackliff’s calculations in his hands, unseeing eyes looked at the lines of differential equations of eighth order while he listened to his inner voice, that always helped him out. When he was a kid, on his way back from Grandma Theresa he had turned to a totally strange yard and in a minute a war between clans of Stone and Ho Chi broke out in the Great Park. Afterwards the police up nine corpses of random passersby that had been pierced with holes from quick squirts from the pavement.

And later, in Foot Strasse, at the training base of 51st wing of the U.S. air forces, where he did not make to after dismissal, because he got drunk in a pub just opposite the CPT base, at the same time, when his perfect all-weather interceptor with a pilot substituting for him was broken to pieces. And then, on the frontline in the center of besieged Ankara, when he and two rangers entered the rear of the command post of the 115th shock division of the Islamists, found themselves in the lair of the enemy, under the mass of concrete just a few minutes before a local nuclear attack…

Now, floating in zero gravity among the rubbish and garbage, under a luminous board showing 251 miles at perigee, he did not hear that inner voice, and therefore lingered.

– Hurry up, Ronny, don’t fall asleep, – Dybal startled him out of his apathy.

He and Eicberger were already fully clothed in suits and gently shoved Aydem into the suit.

The light blue emergency lights were slowly fading, giving deathly shade to faces of  feverishly working people, the altimeter was signaling monotonously, changing the decreasing numbers, heat sealing that was cooling off in the containers had a disgusting smell.

It was getting unbearably stuffy with every minute; without getting enough voltage, the respiratory mixture regenerators had stopped functioning.

The Arabs had already passed through the outer hatch of the airlock, and there was a sound of grinding diamond drills, that were exposing the first inner membrane.

Someone was rummaging in the engine compartment, having got in through the hole in the empty fuel tanks.

– Why the hell did you take «Coke», throw it out immediately. And what's this? Goose liver? Will do.  Dried rice? All right. Strawberry jam? Leave it to the Arabs. Chocolate? Suitable…– Whitehouse and Dybal loaded the second container with product packs and most valuable instruments.

Unconscious Hoffman was already inside with Eichberger, who was taking the load and arranging it in a form of small pyramids.

 Mackliff and von Conrad dragged Aydem:

– Step aside we are going to ship the commander.

– The most interesting fact is that he will not fit in there. He will have to fly in our container. See how many things we have got? And we cannot put Hoffman in a different position. You do not want to tie his knees to the chest while he is unconscious. – Whitehouse froze with a box of rice in his hands and a blank face.

– Meanwhile Dybal leaned over the hatch to Eichberger’s container, turning his shoulder timer to him:

– Hey, man, if you do not want us to be blown apart by a couple hundred miles, then listen carefully and memorize. Let’s check the time first. It is fifteen forty – forty one– forty two– forty three on my timer …

– Have you managed to set the time? Good for you.

So, you must reset the timer at start, and when it comes up to twenty-seven minutes fifteen seconds, you press that button there below the elbow. Shield braking will open and the parachutes will shoot off.