The Forgotten Land (5 page)

“Want
us to unload?”

“No,
we can drop you guys out the back, do our next mission then come back to
Colemerik and drop the vehicle off for you. The air traffic should have cleared
by then.”

“We’ve
got weapons, equipment and supplies on board that vehicle, mate. We’re not
gunna let it outta sight.”

The
load master shrugged and was at a loss.

“Your
riggers, how fast are they?”

 “Pretty
fast,” replied the load master, “but not fast enough to get it done before we
are due to takeoff.”

“So,
take ‘em with us,” said Steve. “Waddaya mean?” asked the load master.

By
this time the aircraft Captain had joined them to see what the holdup was about.

Steve
shrugged. “Bring ‘em aboard and let ‘em rig the vehicle in flight.”

The
load master nodded thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea,” he admitted. “I’ll contact
the riggers’ supervisor and see if he’ll release a few of ‘em for the day.”

“Sounds
good. Let’s go then,” Steve said. There was no way he was leaving an Australian
vehicle in the hands of an allied force without being there himself, and now
that it looked like the Rover would be parachuted in, he was happy to continue
on the next leg of the journey.

The
riggers arrived within twenty minutes. They unloaded the huge parachute packs
and skidboard, before carrying them aboard the aircraft, ready to rig them to
the Land Rover for the drop. Once they were done, the load master signalled for
the Australian soldiers and the newly arrived American riggers to form a
semicircle around him near the rear ramp of the aircraft.

“Okay,
I’m sure you guys know the drill, but this Herc’s a little different from the
one’s you’ve experienced. Stay seated and strapped in during takeoff, I’ll
signal when you can unbuckle and move around. If you don’t strap in for
takeoff, you will end up with injuries. Don’t fuck with me on this one. There
are parachutes for you on board and once I’ve given you the all clear to
unbuckle, you can begin your jump prep.”

The
soldiers nodded and walked aboard as the first engine whined into life. Moments
later the propeller began to spin. They could smell the strong aroma of
aviation gas carried on the strong, warm wind.

The
second engine started and within minutes all four propellers were beating the
air with ferocious power. The load master signalled for them to strap on their
seat buckles. He took his helmet and placed it underneath one of the seats.
There was no need for him to wear it inside the aircraft. Instead, he wore a
headset to maintain communications with the pilot and the second load master.

The
Hercules was no different to any other in which they had travelled, thought
Steve. The familiar red seats, the armoured panels lining the floor and the
first aid kits were hanging above the seating, as they should be. As far as
they all could tell, the C-130 that was beginning to taxi towards the runway
was the familiar old Herc they had grown to know over the years.

The
load master stood by the cargo door as it slowly closed. He checked that there
were no malfunctions and that it closed correctly. Once the large metallic door
had sealed with a dull clunk, he joined the soldiers and strapped himself in.

The
men felt the aircraft turn before coming to a slow halt. It was almost a minute
before a thunderous roar rose above the noise of the engines and Steve glanced
out the small porthole. He watched as two British Tornadoes thundered into the
sky in close formation, their landing gears quickly tucking themselves out of
sight. The Tornadoes did not need much distance to take off so they used a
short runway that intersected the main one. The Hercules would need to wait
until the sortie had taken off. Another roar drowned out the C-130 and three
more Tornadoes screamed into the sky to join the first two. The Herc rumbled
out onto the main runway and turned ominously into the wind. From this angle
Steve could see that a USAF Star Lifter had stopped where they had been moments
before, waiting for them to take off. Taxiing slowly up behind the Star Lifter
was another USAF Hercules and in the distance, two Apaches rose into the sky
and moved off towards the west at low altitude.

The
engine pitch rose and the aircraft lurched violently forward. Scott slid sideways
slightly before his seat buckle stopped him from travelling any further.

Steve
felt the seat buckle dig into his side, stopping him from sliding towards the
rear of the plane. It might have looked like an average Hercules to the
soldiers, but they’d never been in a transport plane this powerful before.

“Fuck’n
Jesus,” mouthed Scott in disbelief.

Before
they knew it, they were travelling into the sky at what felt like a 45-degree
angle. Their stomachs were in their boots. After about five minutes, and once
the aircraft had levelled out, the loadie unbuckled and stood up. He signalled
for the men to unstrap the seat restraints. The riggers jumped up and secured
the parachute packs to the vehicle in preparation for the drop. They rigged the
chutes in such a way that the Land Rover would descend horizontally, rather
than nose down, so they reduced the chances of damage or complete destruction.
During the flight, they slowly moved the vehicle onto the skidboard. Built into
the skidboard was shock absorbing material which would reduce damage to the
vehicle once it landed. The American riggers moved quickly, with a fluid
precision that instilled confidence in Steve. The last thing he wanted was to
be without a vehicle. Steve pulled on a head set and asked the loadie about the
aircraft while the others prepared their gear for the jump.

When
they finished talking, Steve thanked the loadie and joined the others. He
prepared his parachute, pack and weapon for the jump. They wanted to jump a low
altitude, low opening and hoped the pilot would oblige. The aircraft would only
be 1, 000 feet from the ground when they stepped out the back. Once they were
free falling they would wait two seconds before pulling their ripcords. When
their parachutes had fully deployed they would be between 60 and 90 feet from
the ground.

From
the time they left the aircraft to feeling solid ground beneath their feet,
only 10 or 15 seconds should have passed. It was not Steve’s intention to break
any records today. The LALO jump was an opportunity for his patrol to hone
their skills. It was an unwritten rule that if, at any stage, an opportunity
for training or practice presented itself, it was to be taken. To strive for
perfection was to strive to become a better and more skilled soldier.

Scott
kicked Steve gently in the side. Steve looked up and saw Scott was strapped
back into his seat, wearing a set of headphones. “Five minutes to jump.”

Steve
told the others who did not have headphones. The soldiers began donning their
gear. It was a surprise that they had covered the distance so quickly. Steve
calculated that, incredibly, the C-130 must have been travelling in excess of
1,000 km/h.

The
loadie had strapped on a harness and clipped himself onto the side of the
aircraft near the cargo door. He had also plugged the communication lead into
the comms panel so he could hear information or commands from the pilot. When
the cargo door opened, it was his job to ensure that it opened without
malfunction. The harness would stop him falling from the aircraft should
anything go wrong.

Meanwhile
Steve and the others checked their harnesses, backpacks and webbing. It was
important to check, re-check and re-check each other. Any loose gear or open
pockets meant that equipment or weapons could be lost in the jump. If it were a
real combat situation, losing gear or weapons could compromise not only the
mission, but their lives.

Steve
and his men braced themselves as the C-130 went into a steep dive. They dived
for almost half a minute before straightening out at what Steve assumed was
1,000 feet. They felt the aircraft slow and grabbed onto hard points to steady
themselves. The cargo door began to open and a blast of air entered the
aircraft. The loadie watched the door as it opened, the wind whipping his
uniform ferociously. After the cargo door had fully opened, the loadie turned
to the men and held up two fingers. Two minutes. The five soldiers made their
way to the open door and the yawning landscape below. The loadie passed them
each a set of clear goggles that would protect their eyes from the wind on the
way down. The men placed the goggles over their eyes and secured the elastic
straps. The loadie held up one finger.

The
men re-checked each other once more before moving into position. Dave and
Scott, who were the gunners and had the greatest amount of firepower, would be
the first on the ground. They would be followed by Matt, Will and finally
Steve.

Steve
tapped Dave and Scott on the shoulder. “Dave, I want you at 12 o’clock,” he
shouted. “Scott, you go to six, we’ll form up on you two.” With a machinegun at
6 o’clock and 12 o’clock, the patrol was well protected. If the soldiers were
jumping into a combat situation, the order of jump would be no different. If
the jump was mistimed even by a second, Steve knew someone would die. But then
they were not cheap thrill seekers in search of adrenalin, they had all
practiced this jump many times before.

It
was required that when a soldier first started jumping at 1,000 feet he was to
be attached to a static line, which pulled his parachute out for him as he left
the aircraft. The first sixty jumps would be conducted in this way. The soldier
was then taken off the static line and on his next fifty jumps he was to pull
his ripcord as soon as he left the aircraft. Instructors watched him and if he
did not do this, he was either put back onto the static line or taken off the
course altogether. For the next thirty jumps, the soldier was then able to
leave a delay of one second before pulling the ripcord. Then with the first
one-hundred and fifty jumps out the way, the soldier had a good judge of
distance and speed and was able to delay pulling the ripcord for up to two
seconds. The five SAS soldiers had practiced this jump hundreds of times before
so the risk of injury or death was low.

The
American riggers had released the chains holding the skidboard down, before
giving the thumbs up. They pushed the skidboard slowly towards the end of the
ramp. Gaining in speed, the skidboard, attached to which was the Land Rover,
tipped over the edge and within a second had disappeared from sight. Steve
hoped to Christ the chutes had opened.

The
loadie turned to the soldiers, held up five fingers, then four, three, two, one.
Dave hurled himself out the back of the aircraft, followed by the others at
intervals of two seconds.

Steve
watched Will disappear out the cargo door, counted to two and then stepped out
into thin air. Warm, fume-filled air and the roar of the engines hit him as he
fell. A moment later the smell of the fumes and the noise of the engines had
been replaced by the thunder of cold air in his ears.

“One,”
he counted to himself.

He
could see that Dave was already on the ground and was sprinting into position,
Minimi in hand. Scott’s parachute was open and he watched as Matt’s chute
bloomed into life.

Scott
had landed and unclipped his chute, which floated to the ground behind him. He
sprinted into the 6 o’clock position, throwing himself to the ground. Will’s chute
flared open beneath Steve.

“Two,”
Steve counted, pulling the ripcord. He grunted as the parachute opened above
him, violently slowing his rate of fall. He felt the sudden pull on his
parachute harness telling him that his drop line, with his pack and webbing,
had deployed successfully. Steve was about 30 metres from the ground.

Leaning
back, he looked up making sure the parachute had opened properly. He counted
the parachute lines, satisfied that none of them had twisted. Glancing back he
could see the Land Rover shrouded in parachute silk in the distance. It was
impossible to tell from this distance if the vehicle had sustained any damage.

He
watched as Matt ran into position, going to ground in the 3 o’clock position.
Steve looked up and over his right shoulder watching the C-130 high above them
as it banked hard to the right, vapour trails streaming from the wing tips.

When
he looked back again, he saw Will had landed, unclipped his weapon and was
running for the 9 o’clock position. The ground came up to meet him and Steve
rolled as his feet hit. He quickly detached his parachute mid-roll, unclipped
his weapon as he came to his feet, released the drop line and sprinted into the
middle of the circle going to ground.

“Nicely
done,” said Steve, climbing to his feet. The others also stood up, adrenalin
glinting in their eyes as they grinned like children. It was only then that the
noise washed over Steve. He turned towards the airbase. The whine of turbo prop
engines mingled with the roar of jet engines and the juddering power of
helicopters. He could not see the runway because a long hedge of trees blocked
his view, but he could smell the AVTAG. Whatever mission was outbound was huge.
Drowning the combined roar of aircraft was a new sound: a powerful scream vibrated
the ground. Ten seconds later he watched four British Tornadoes streak above
the trees in close succession. Following almost as closely was a twin propeller
Eagle Eye, a large, flat circle fixed horizontally above the fuselage indicated
that it was a fighter control aircraft.