Bear Grylls - Burning Angels

Lewis Alonzo and Joe James had organised the jump kit, plus parachutes. Leaping from an airliner at some 40,000 feet required seriously specialist high-altitude gear. Hiro Kamishi – who was something of a CBRN defence specialist – had sorted the protective suits they’d need.

Any attack on such a place was a truly daunting proposition. The jungle was one of the most hostile of environments in which to operate, but this was no ordinary jungle. It was bound to be teeming with Kammler’s guard force, plus his laboratory workers.

Plus it could well be overrun with sick and infected primates, in which case it would have to be treated as one huge Level 4 biohazard zone. A Level 4 biohazard is the most dangerous of all, denoting contamination with a pathogen of unprecedented lethality.

All the evidence suggested that Little Mafia Island – Plague Island – was awash with such a threat. Jaeger and his team would not only be battling the jungle and Kammler’s security forces; they would also be facing whatever killer diseases lingered there.

One bite from an infected and rabid monkey; one stumble against a sharp tree branch that ripped gloves, mask or boots; one nick from either bullet or shrapnel that tore open their protective suits: any one of those would leave them vulnerable to infection by a pathogen for which there was no cure.

To counter such a threat, they’d be going in dressed in Bio Level 4 ‘spacesuits’ – something similar to what astronauts wore. Clean filtered air would be pumped in continuously, keeping a positive pressure inside the suit at all times.

If the suit were pierced, the outrush of air should prevent the killer pathogen from entering – at least for long enough for the operator to tape up the breach. Each team member would keep a roll of tough gaffer tape – a vital tool for Hot Zone Level 4 operators – handy at all times.

Jaeger settled further into his luxurious seat and tried to force such fears to the back of his mind. He needed to relax, focus and recharge his batteries.

He was drifting off to sleep when Narov’s voice jolted him fully awake.

‘I hope you find them,’ she remarked quietly. ‘Both of them. Alive.’

‘Thanks,’ Jaeger murmured. ‘But this mission – it’s bigger than my family.’ He glanced at Narov. ‘It’s about all of us.’

‘I know that. But for you, your family… finding them… Love – it is the most powerful of human emotions.’ She glanced at Jaeger, an intensity burning in her eyes. ‘I should know.’

Jaeger too had felt this growing closeness between them. It was as if they had grown inseparable over the past few weeks, as if one couldn’t operate – couldn’t function – without the other. He knew only too well that rescuing Ruth and Luke would change all of that.

Narov smiled wistfully. ‘Anyway, I have already said too much. As is my way.’ She shrugged. ‘It is impossible, of course. So let us forget. Let us forget us , and go to war.’

A Boeing 747-400 cruises at around 40,000 feet of altitude. To jump from such a height – some 11,000 feet higher than Mount Everest – and survive requires some seriously high-tech equipment, not to mention training.

Those at the cutting edge of special forces have developed a whole new paradigm for such jumps, designated HAPLSS; the High Altitude Parachutist Life Support System.

At 40,000 feet, the atmosphere is so thin you have to breathe off an air bottle, or you suffocate to death rapidly. But unless the right combination of gases is used, the jumper can suffer altitude decompression sickness, more commonly known as ‘the bends’ – what scuba divers suffer when ascending from depth.

During a normal high-altitude jump, from around 30,000 feet, terminal velocity – the maximum speed of your free fall – is some 320 k.p.h. But the thinner the air, the faster you plummet. Jumping from 40,000 feet, terminal velocity would be around 440 k.p.h.

If Jaeger and his team tried to pull their chutes at that kind of speed, either they’d suffer serious injury as a result of the impact, or they’d experience a canopy explosion. The chute would deploy out of its pack and all they’d likely hear would be a series of cracks as the cells tore open, leaving a patchwork of shredded silk flapping uselessly above them.

In short, if they pulled their chutes at anything above 35,000 feet, and at terminal velocity, they’d be unlikely to make it down alive. Hence the standard operating procedure with HAPLSS was to free-fall a good 20,000 feet, until the thicker air slowed their fall.

Jaeger had insisted on having eyes-in-the-sky over the target; an air asset standing permanent watch over Plague Island. Accordingly, Peter Miles had made contact with Hybrid Air Vehicles, the operators of the Airlander 50 – the world’s largest aircraft.

A modern-day airship, the Airlander was helium-filled – as opposed to hydrogen – so totally inert. Unlike the Zeppelins of First World War renown, she wouldn’t be exploding into a ball of flame any time soon. Four hundred feet long and two hundred wide, she was designed for performing persistent wide area surveillance – keeping long-term watch over specific targets – and was equipped with state-of-the-art radar and infrared scanners.

With a 105-knot cruise speed and a 2,320 nautical mile range, she was capable of making the flight to the coast of East Africa. As an added bonus, her crew and Jaeger and his team had worked together closely on their previous mission to the Amazon.

Once over the coast of East Africa, the Airlander would remain in continuous orbit for the duration of the mission. She didn’t need to be directly over Little Mafia Island to keep watch; she could perform her duties from as much as seventy kilometres away.

She also had great cover in case she came to Kammler’s attention. Beneath the waters of this part of the Indian Ocean there lay some of the world’s richest gas reserves. The Chinese – in the form of China National Offshore Oil Corporation – were surveying several concessions in the area. Officially, the Airlander was there at the behest of CNOOC, carrying out an aerial survey function.

The Airlander had arrived over Little Mafia Island some thirty-six hours previously. Since then she’d beamed back scores of surveillance photos. The jungle appeared almost unbroken – apart from the one dirt airstrip, which was only long enough to accommodate a Buffalo or similar aircraft.

Wherever Kammler had sited his monkey houses, labs and accommodation facilities, they appeared to be craftily hidden – either positioned under thick jungle canopy, or underground. That promised to make the team’s mission doubly challenging, and that in turn made the Airlander’s extra capabilities all the more welcome.

The Airlander 50 dispatched to East Africa was actually a top-secret developmental version of the aircraft. Aft of the flight pod slung below the massive bulbous hull was a cargo bay, one normally reserved for whatever heavy loads the airship might be carrying. But this Airlander was a little different. She was an airborne aircraft carrier and gun platform, with a seriously lethal capability. Two British Taranis drones – an ultra-high-tech stealth warplane – were parked within the cargo bay, which doubled as a well-equipped flight deck.

With a wingspan of ten metres, and just a fraction longer in length, the Taranis – named after the Celtic god of thunder – was a third the size of the American Reaper drone. And with a speed of Mach 1 – some 767 m.p.h. – it was twice as swift in the air. With two internal missile bays, the Taranis packed a serious punch, plus the sleek stealth technology made the drone all but invisible to any enemy.

The inspiration behind converting the Airlander to such a carrier function was a pre-Second World War airship, the USS Macon , the world’s first – and until now only – flying aircraft carrier. Using technology that was now many decades old, the Macon had a series of trapezes slung beneath her cigar-shaped hull. Sparrowhawk biplanes had been able to fly under the airship and hook themselves up to these trapezes, after which the airship had been able to winch them in.