Burning Angels

That done, he turned his head into the snarling slipstream, searching the heavens above for Narov, number five in the stick. She was two hundred feet behind, but catching up fast. One further human-sized arrowhead was strung out behind her, which would be the last man, Hiro Kamishi.

Far above Kamishi he could just make out the ghostly form of BA Flight 987 powering onwards into the darkness, its lights flashing reassuringly. For an instant his mind drifted to the passengers: sleeping; eating; watching movies — blissfully unaware of the small part they had played in the unfolding drama.

A drama that would determine the course of all their lives.

Jumping from 40,000 feet, Jaeger and his team would spend just sixty seconds free-falling. He did a rapid visual check of his altimeter. He needed to keep one eye on their altitude, or they could crash through their parachute release height, with potentially devastating consequences.

At the same time, the assault plan was running through his mind at warp-factor speed. They’d set their jump point some ten kilometres east of the target, out over the open ocean. That way they could drift under their chutes undetected, but were well within range of Plague Island.

Raff was the stick leader, and it was his job to choose the exact spot to land. He’d seek out an area devoid of trees or other obstructions, plus obvious enemy positions. Keeping the stick together was the key priority right now. It would be all but impossible to find someone again if they got lost during the free fall.

Far below him, Jaeger saw the flash of the first canopy unfurling in the darkness.

He stole a quick glance at his altimeter. He needed to deploy his chute. He reached for the rip cord handle located on his chest and pulled. An instant later the spring-loaded pilot chute billowed upwards, dragging with it the main canopy.

Jaeger braced for the violent deceleration as the main chute caught the air, and the deafening roar that would follow. He was looking forward to what would come after — the calm and relative silence of the descent, which would give him time to run through the assault plan once more in his mind.

But nothing happened. Where there should have been the ghostly form of his chute blossoming above him in the darkness, instead there was mostly empty space and something that looked like a bundle of tangled washing raging in the slipstream.

It spun and twisted angrily. Jaeger knew instantly what must have happened. One of the chute’s rigging lines must have got caught up with the main canopy, preventing it from opening.

There was just a chance he might be able to pump the brakes or risers and free the rigging lines. He’d then have a fully or partially inflated chute above him, and maybe he could avoid the need to ‘cut away’ and deploy his reserve.

But time was not on his side.

Seconds later he plummeted past Alonzo. He’d lost well over a thousand feet by now. Every second brought him closer to a shattering impact with the ocean, which at this speed would feel like solid concrete. Water might seem soft and yielding when stepping into the bath. Slamming into it at several hundred feet per second would prove lethal.

The adrenalin was burning through Jaeger’s system now, like a forest fire doused in gasoline.

After a few frantic attempts to free his lines, Jaeger realised they were too badly tangled. He had no option but to cut away. He grabbed the reserve handle, attached to his chest rigging.

Time to give it everything you’ve got, he screamed at himself. Time to bloody rip that handle free.

76

Whatever the hell had happened during Jaeger’s exit, or in the free fall, only one course of action lay open to him now. He reached around and tore away the emergency release straps from his shoulders, jettisoning his main chute. It was ripped into the darkness above him and was gone.

That done he grabbed the reserve handle and yanked at it with all his strength, so triggering his emergency chute. Moments later there was a crack like a ship’s canvas filling with wind, and a wide expanse of silk blossomed above him.

Jaeger was left hanging in the silence and stillness, and saying his prayers of thanks. He yanked his head upwards to check the reserve canopy. All seemed good.

He’d gained three thousand feet on the others, which meant he had to massively slow his descent. He reached up for the handheld steering toggles, giving them a sharp tug, forcing air the full length of the chute and making small adjustments to reduce his speed.

Glancing beyond his feet, he searched for Raff, the stick leader. He flicked down his night-vision goggles, which were attached to his jump helmet, and switched them to infrared mode, scanning the night. He was looking for the faint strobing of an IR firefly, a flashing infrared light unit.