Pirate - Duncan Falconer [118]
Stratton peered ahead in the hope of seeing a hillside that he recognised. He knew that despite the dozens of satellite photographs everyone had studied, and the ones that every passenger held in his hand at that moment, and the metre-accurate GPS coordinates, there could be no better substitute for having someone who had actually been there. All part of the reasoning for bringing him along and placing him at the front of the squadron.
Stratton and Downs’s GPSs both beeped at the same time, signalling the heading change to due east. Every other GPS in the squadron beeped in turn, just in case the pilot didn’t see the craft in front make the change in direction. Something hardly likely to happen at this stage. Each man was concentrating hard ahead. They had minutes to go.
Stratton saw something he recognised. He could make out the unmoving river up ahead. He searched the black countryside just in front of it, looking for signs of the camp. On their right side the hills ascended, the tops high above them.
Another bolt of lightning striking close by startled everyone. It lit up the ground like the flash from a giant camera. For a second the terrain around them was exposed like daytime. The bad news was that people generally tended to look to the skies when lightning struck. But a few seconds later another element arrived that caused the reverse and induced those in the open to find cover.
Stratton felt a drop of water hit his face. Then another. They were heading into the rain.
Moments later the heavens opened up and it became torrential. The gliders buffeted heavily. Suddenly all of the confidence the crews had that the craft would fly normally in bad weather disintegrated. Those who had flown in the rain and who had declared it safe had never been in anything close to what they were experiencing at that moment. The danger was fundamental enough. If the rain beat down on to the tops of the canvas wings of the gliders too heavily, they could lose their shape. If that happened, the craft would lose lift and height and the rest was easy enough to work out.
Downs immediately pulled back on the stick to gain even greater altitude. If the wings did begin to flatten under the weight of the rain, he wanted them to be as close as possible to the camp when they went down.
The other crews did the same, or attempted to.
‘This is Spud, having problems!’ came a shout over the radio.
Stratton strained to look back and could make out a glider far lower than it should have been. And he could see a couple of others that looked like they might be struggling to hold altitude.
‘We can’t get any height!’ Spud shouted, starting to lose his composure.
It was a private ordeal. No one could do anything to help them, other than pray that they could overcome the difficulty and get back up in the air.
The rain continued to lash against them all, biting at their faces like pea-shot. The heavy beating on the canopy almost drowned out the sound of the engine. Downs kept the stick pulled back. They weren’t going up but then they weren’t losing any height either. Not yet at least. He felt suddenly aware that the entire operation could quickly turn into a total disaster before the assault phase.
‘We’re going in! We’re going in!’ Spud shouted over the radio.
Stratton put a face to the name, a young stocky lad with stacks of enthusiasm. He didn’t know who the lad’s partner was.
A long silence followed.
‘Spud, this is Downs!’ Downs shouted.
Silence.
‘Jordo! You still tail end?’ Downs shouted into his radio above the cacophony around him and the rain slamming into his face.
‘Jordo here. Roger that. I just saw Spud hit the deck. It looked pretty hard. I couldn’t see anything else. I’m also having trouble holding on.’
‘Christ.’ Downs shouted back to Stratton, ‘We’re going to have to ditch these payloads!’
Stratton looked ahead, blinking through the rain. He was pretty certain he could make out the camp area at the bottom of the dark