Bear Grylls - Burning Angels

Inspired by the Macon , the Airlander 50 also carried an AW-159 Wildcat helicopter – a fast and highly manoeuvrable British chopper capable of carrying eight troops. The rationale behind bringing the Wildcat was that she would be able to pull Jaeger and his team out of Little Mafia Island once their mission was complete.

And at that stage Jaeger fervently hoped they would be eight in total – Ruth and Luke having joined them.

He was certain that his wife and son were being held on the island. In fact he had proof that that was the case, although he’d not mentioned it to any of the others. It was something he wasn’t prepared to share. There was too much at stake, and he didn’t want to risk anyone deterring him from his primary mission.

The photograph that Kammler had emailed him had shown Ruth and Luke kneeling in a cage. Across one side of that cage had been stamped a faded name: Katavi Reserve Primates.

Jaeger – the Hunter – was closing in.

Leaping out of the dark slash of the 747’s jump hatch was like plummeting into a coffin – but there was no other way.

Jaeger threw himself forward into the churning, empty blackness, and instantly he hit the 747’s hurricane-force slipstream. The pilot had reduced the 747’s airspeed, but still he felt the punishing blast spinning him around, as the massive jet engines roared and snorted like a dragon just above him.

Moments later he was through the worst and rocketing to earth like a human-shaped missile.

Directly below he could just make out the ghostly silhouette of Lewis Alonzo, the man who’d jumped immediately ahead of him, as a darker spot against the dark night sky. Jaeger stabilised his position, then accelerated into a head-first dive in an effort to catch Alonzo.

His body moulded into a delta shape – arms tight by his sides, legs dead straight behind him – he was like a giant arrowhead plummeting towards the ocean. He remained like that until he got to within fifty feet of Alonzo, at which point he eased his limbs back into a star shape. The drag served to slow him down and stabilise his position.

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.

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.

There was no sign of it anywhere. Jaeger must have gone from being number four to number one in the stick. He had a similar IR unit attached to the rear of his helmet, so hopefully the others would be able to home in on that.

He pressed the light button on his GPS unit. It displayed a dotted line stretching from his present position to the exact point where they intended to put down. He could afford to leave the GPS powered up: at this altitude – some 20,000 feet – no one could see it from the ground. He figured he was travelling at around thirty knots, and drifting westwards with the prevailing wind. Another eight minutes and they should be over Plague Island.

Below his Goretex HAPLSS suit, Jaeger was wearing full cold-weather gear, including a pair of warm silk gloves beneath his thick Goretex overmitts. But still his hands were cramping up with the cold as he adjusted his line of flight to try to help the others catch him.