Parachuting

The training covered, but was not limited to, basic carpentry and metalworking, internal combustion engine and generator maintenance, basic plumbing and water treatment, specialized training in electronics and automation systems, and antenna installation and basic maintenance for communications equipment.

Apart from the basic explosives and counter-explosives training and wilderness survival training at the end, Nick simply could not see much connection between any of this training and the supposed secret military mission.

Over those three months, he became proficient with all kinds of tools, including handsaws, electric drills, and angle grinders, and repaired doors and windows and patched concrete floors.

Under an engineer's guidance, he even dismantled an old diesel generator and learned the entire process, from changing the oil, filters, and spark plugs to diagnosing and fixing common faults.

At first, Nick had worried a little that his marksmanship might give him away. After all, the "Rivi" he had replaced really did have an outstanding combat record, with quite a few of his longest confirmed kills exceeding 2,000 meters. He was already a world-class sniper.

Though Nick was a decent shot and had even placed in an army-wide competition, precision shooting at around 800 meters was his absolute limit. Hitting the bull's-eye every time was out of the question, and he had never so much as touched top-tier sniper rifles like the renowned TAC-50.

But seemingly because "Rivi's" record was so outstanding, the other party had no intention of giving him specialized training in that area. They had not even sent an instructor.

Nick soon figured out why, too. Every elite sniper had his own unique shooting style. Even if this "Rivi" he had replaced was not among the world's top ten, he was at least in the top hundred. Where were they supposed to find a shooting instructor who could give him specialized training?

As soon as he boarded the aircraft, Nick was required to receive an injection. By the time he woke up again after that shot, there was no telling how long the AC-130 transport aircraft had been flying, or even whether it had stopped somewhere to refuel along the way.

So the elderly version of Ripley probably isn't the heroine I'm supposed to rescue on this mission. Bizarrely, that was Nick's first thought after waking up.

Though he still did not know whether the character he had replaced was the male lead, he inexplicably felt relieved. Heroines were better off young and pretty; that way, he would have some motivation to rescue them.

Ever since that interview three months earlier, Nick had not seen the old woman who looked exactly like Ripley again. Now he could only hope she was not the final boss.

Though he knew her identity in this world certainly was not Ripley from the Alien franchise, the thought of the Mother of the Xenomorphs' illustrious record still made him uneasy. Plot armor was terrifying.

He pulled the IV needle out of his hand, unfastened the safety straps securing his body, and got up from the constantly swaying wire-frame cot.

Naturally, the cargo hold of an AC-130 transport aircraft was not soundproofed like a passenger cabin, and the rumbling engines were loud enough to give him a headache.

On top of that, the cargo hold was empty except for him and his cot. With no load, the entire airframe kept shuddering. It felt like trying to write at home while the neighbors above, below, and on both sides were all renovating.

Nick was quite certain that the primary ingredient in the medication in the now-empty IV bag overhead had probably been a sedative. Otherwise, there was no way he could have slept so soundly in this environment-and fucking pissed himself, too.

He pulled down his trousers and removed the adult diaper someone had wrapped him in. Seeing no trash can or anything of the sort nearby, he irritably tossed it under the wire-frame cot.

Nick had yet to fully shake off the drug's sedative effects. By the time he steadied his slightly trembling hands and finally managed to fasten his belt again, the cockpit door opened, and a Black female pilot came swaying down the aisle.

She carried a small security case with a full palm-print recognition screen on it and held it up in front of Nick.

"Please place your left hand on the screen."

Nick complied and opened the case. She continued, "Please put all your personal belongings in the case, including your smartphone and identification."

Those were actually the only two personal items Nick had on him at the moment. All his other equipment, including his clothes, had been provided by the mysterious organization that had hired him.

Still, he felt a little pained. After all, he had only had three months to play with this iPhone 15. Once he returned to the real world of 2008, he would be stuck using the primitive first-generation iPhone again.

He was hardly an Apple fan, but in Europe and America, the iPhone was pretty much the only smartphone worth using. Samsung's smartphones were far too prone to fiery outbursts.

After collecting Nick's personal belongings, the Black female pilot continued, "We'll reach the edge of the no-fly zone in ten minutes. This is as far as we can take you.

"The aircraft will descend as low as possible, but judging by the wind speed, you'll still need to walk at least 35-40 kilometers north after landing. Your reporting time is four tomorrow afternoon. Good luck."

With that, she handed Nick a sealed waterproof pouch. "Don't open this until you've landed."

Nick glanced at the rolling mountains outside the window and wanted to ask where they were, but after giving it some thought, he ultimately kept the question to himself.

The whole point of drugging him had been to keep the destination secret. Asking would be pointless, and he could not be bothered to invite a snub.

As the red light came on inside the cabin, the transport aircraft's rear ramp slowly lowered. Air roared into the hold, making the securing nets along the walls snap and flutter.

Nick put on his parachute, then attached the backpack he had prepared in advance to his chest. After checking that everything was in order, he walked toward the rear ramp, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the signal light above it.

When the light turned from red to green, he took several deep breaths, ran two steps, spread his arms, and leaped out.

As an army man in his previous life, Nick had naturally never received parachute training. His experience of falling off a cliff to his death had even left him somewhat afraid of heights.

After transmigrating, it was only because he had died such an ignominious death during his first adventure in a movie world-Alien-that he resolved to pay for parachuting and diving lessons.

Nick would not claim he could now handle anything in the sky or sea, but as long as he was careful enough, he could theoretically muddle through most seemingly dangerous movie scenarios.

After all, automatic parachute deployment technology had long since become highly mature. As long as he was not attempting difficult maneuvers like HAHO, high-altitude high-opening, or HALO, high-altitude low-opening.

With the parachute on his back boasting a glide ratio of at least 4:1, Nick was very confident he could land safely amid these rugged mountains.

Just as the Black female pilot had said, the AC-130 really had tried to descend as low as possible for the drop. The so-called 4:1 glide ratio meant it would glide at least four meters forward for every meter of altitude lost.

The jump altitude of over 2,000 meters both ensured that Nick would not stray too far from his destination and gave him enough time to react and find a suitable landing spot.

In the end, he still rather timidly chose to land beside a small lake with no surrounding trees to obstruct him. Though trekking over mountains and across streams afterward might be a little harder, at least he had made a decent start.