Two minutes to drop.
The pilot of the C-130 said through the intercom. Ryan rose to his feet and the others followed. They checked their gears one last time and moved toward the rear.
The red light above them stayed on.
The ramp was still closed, but the sound of the wind outside was already bleeding through the seams. The aircraft leveled slightly as it lined up on the drop path.
Ryan adjusted his harness, then ran a quick check across the others.
The loadmaster stepped forward, eyes moving across them.
"Stand by!" he called out.
The ramp began to lower.
Cold air rushed in and the ocean came to view beneath them, dark blue stretching out toward the island ahead.
Boracay.
From this height, it still looked intact.
Ryan stepped closer to the edge, gripping the line with one hand as he looked down. The shoreline was coming up fast. Smoke from the earlier strike was still visible, a dark smear across the western side.
"Two minutes," the pilot repeated.
