The chute billowed out as he hit the ground, and he pulled hard at the cords to get his footing
Then the small chute billowed and pulled out glider wings. Case pulled cords and dropped leftward. The cab hit the ground to his right, the rocket ship on its tail for a final blast. He saw that, and then got his hands in front of him and hit the ground in a rolling fall.
The pilot was a still shape near him in the gloom. Case got out of the chute and ran to him, slid expert hands over the man, and felt the messy pulp that had once been a face. The pilot hadn't known how to fall properly.
Case took a quick look upward. His trick hadn't worked. The rocket was making a tight curve for a landing. Smart operators; they weren't taking any chances. Case cursed them, whoever they were, even as he dug his silver identification plate out of his pocket and slid it into the dead pilot's flying jacket.
Then he ran. Maybe he'd fool them. Maybe he wouldn't. They'd probably take a few minutes to think it over. He skipped around a bush and heard voices and the pound of running feet behind him.