George E. Hand IV

Amidst the chaos and carnage, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer audacity of these men—pilots who crawled from the wreckage, dusted themselves off, and pressed forward as if crashing a helicopter was just another Tuesday.

We poured into the cabin like a living freight train—boots, pistol muzzles and halogen beams—smashing doors, vaulting seat-belt hurdles and dragging the terrified into the search corridor while Sam, lip busted and grinning, turned chaos into business and I kept replaying that stupid puddle of sweat on the wing that could’ve made the whole perfect plan look like a slapstick funeral.

We knelt like ghosts in the shadows, eyes locked on the Boeing’s silhouette, ladders poised in our hands, as the APU’s howl swallowed any doubt and the red light beckoned us forward into the night.

In the realm of personal and home defense, one must navigate a sea of tactical “enhancements” with discerning wisdom, for while some gadgets offer genuine advantages, others may simply weigh you down with unnecessary prestige and expense.

Street Craft is about blending in, not standing out; it’s the art of hiding in plain sight. Today, I’ll teach you how to run a proper Delta approved dead drop.

Vegas may be a city that never sleeps, but that day, standing in front of Chainsaw with his broken cane and unwavering grin, I knew that some connections run deeper than any lights, noise, or the ghosts we carry in our heads.

Chainsaw took that round like he took everything in life—head-on, with a laugh and a quick curse, pushing forward while the rest of us wondered how he was still standing.

Chuck was the kind of man who’d tell you he was a nice guy, and damn if he didn’t prove it every time, right up until the day the universe decided it was done with him.

Delta’s devastating punch relies on the unsung heroes—our support brothers—whose relentless dedication and extraordinary flexibility make our foundation unbreakable.

He hit the ramp and could see immediately that other than filled with the fine red glow of cabin lights the helo was empty.

In the murky, shark-infested waters of the Calda Channel, Chuck Studley and I learned the hard way that destiny often finds you paralyzed with fear, clutching your dive tanks, and fervently swearing off any future encounters with the ocean’s toothy residents.

The dark web, shrouded in anonymity and secrecy, is both a den of iniquity and a sanctuary for those seeking freedom from oppression, revealing the hidden, murky depths of the Internet iceberg.