John Wiseman - Operation Lavivrus

He should have spent more time sorting out the spin to ensure a clean deployment, but panic had taken over. Maintaining an arched back with head up would have restored stability. He ripped the handle from its housing and pulled. Instead of the familiar opening shock, a vicious pain shot across his chest and arms, but the pressure on his eyes eased immediately. The chute had deployed, slowing him down, but rigging lines had been thrown around his body and over the canopy, preventing full development. Falling feet first with a bundle of washing above him, Ron fought for air. The pressure across his chest was immense, and with his arms securely locked to his body breathing was difficult. For the first time he stopped looking at his instruments and focused on the red handle of his reserve, which seemed a million miles away.

Different thoughts flashed through his mind and everything now seemed to be in slow motion. ‘Nobody really cares for me. No one is going to miss me. Not many people know what I’m doing or where I am. Now I’ve let my mates down. I am a failure.’

Light years of falling took in reality only seconds. One part of him was saying ‘ relax’ and promised comfort, while the other screamed for him to make the effort to reach the reserve handle. Survival instincts are strong, and the screaming won. With a determined effort, aided by adrenalin, he went for the handle. But every time he moved, more pressure was put on his chest, threatening to asphyxiate him and increasing the pain in his arms. He desperately wanted to get back on terra firma, but not this fast.

He was still gyrating, but at a slower rate, the bundle above him retarding his fall. The danger now was that, even if he reached the handle and deployed the reserve, it might become wrapped around him. The normal drill was to cut anything above you away, but he was effectively a prisoner in his own harness.

Sheer determination, engrained in him by his army training, paid off. A Houdini-type effort allowed his right arm to slip around and hook a finger into the reserve handle. As the reserve deployed it took a lot of pressure off his body, enabling him to move his arms and rip off the mask that threatened to suffocate him, allowing him to suck in great breaths of air. The reserve lazily tried to inflate but was hampered by the tangle of lift webs and rigging lines that entwined him. It certainly helped retard his rate of descent, but he was still falling too fast for comfort. The relief of pressure on his chest was a godsend, enabling him to start trying to free the rigging lines. Just as he was about to congratulate himself he saw the dark, menacing shape of pine trees coming up fast to meet him.

He crashed through the wooden canopy. The springy boughs slowed his fall, depositing him on mother earth with surprising gentleness, as if seeking forgiveness for the terror she had put him through. Lying there with the red handle welded to his sweaty palm, Ron looked skyward and offered his thanks.

Tony, with Fred a few yards behind, followed the edge of the wood, stopping often to listen, while Fred scanned the landscape with his night sight. At the apex of the wood where it joined a young plantation, Fred grabbed Tony’s arm and offered him the night sight, pointing ahead. Adjusting the scope slightly, Tony could make out the billowing canopy entangled high among the branches of a tall pine. Following the rigging lines down, he spotted a figure sprawled at the base of the tree.

Covering the short distance in record time, Tony prepared himself for the worst. He gently lifted the man’s head and recognised Ron in the slim beam of his wildly shaking pencil torch. Tony whispered his name. A large grin appeared on the face of the trooper, followed by a wink. Confused for a second, and still gently cradling the head, Tony was amazed when the corpse said, ‘Am I late, boss?’

At this, Tony lost control. ‘You f—ing great dozy bastard. What the f—ing hell do you think you’re doing?’ He ranted and raged, threatening to tear Ron a new rectum. Fred tried calming him down, but Tony had to run out of expletives first and get rid of all his pent-up emotion. The gentle cradling had turned into a neck choke as Tony tried to erase the stupid grin from Ron’s face.

Ron was happy with all the attention he was getting, offering no resistance to Tony’s onslaught. Nothing could be worse than what he had just experienced; he was simply glad to be alive. Finally Tony calmed down and released him.

‘Can I say something, Tony?’ Ron asked nervously. Tony nodded, breathing deeply to bring himself under control. ‘Can I have a troop transfer?’

Fred stepped in to avert another outburst but was surprised when Tony put a reassuring hand on Ron’s shoulder and said, ‘We’ll talk about it back in camp.’

In a clump of stunted mountain ash, Tony reported in to Flight Lt Mace, the DZ safety officer. He told him of the location of Trooper Ron Chandler and left him and the doctor to help recover his kit.

Tony and Fred rejoined the patrol at the RV, where they sat in all-round defence, eager for news. With all pretence of a tactical insertion gone, Tony brought the patrol up to date, telling them of Ron’s escapade.

He had chosen a long route over the Beacons as a test of stamina. Initially the route was due south to the Cray reservoir over fairly flat ground, before turning east to climb over two valleys to the Storey Arms road. From here there was a hard climb over Pen y Fan, the highest point in the Beacons, along the ridge past Cribyn, then over Fan y Big before dropping steeply to the Neuadd reservoir, where hopefully the transport would be waiting. Altogether the march was 35 kilometres long, over rugged hills.

‘Right lads, saddle up. It will be first light soon and I want to be on the high ground,’ ordered Tony.

Putting down his night goggles, Captain Kennedy, 3 Troop Commander, turned to his sergeant and said, ‘They must be on the ground now. Remind the boys it’s a case of beer for every birdman captured.’ He had taken up position in the night but had to stay outside a 5 km circle from the DZ for safety reasons. They had heard the aircraft but had seen nothing. His troop was eager to go; it was no fun lying on damp ground. He deployed most of his men to the north, thinking that was the route 2 Troop would take as a deception plan, before heading south. Once it was light it was a foot race to the Neuadd reservoir, so he got his men up and started the sweep southwards, hoping to intercept his rivals.

The lingering smell of peat gave way to the fragrance of pine as the patrol entered a forest block where the going was firmer underfoot. Conditions changed from ankle-twisting tufted grass surrounded by water-soaked peat that sucked the boots down, reluctant to release them. Walking on the carpet of pine needles was like walking across a Persian rug, allowing Tony to set a cracking pace. Light started filtering through the trees, so they stayed in the shadows and used the fire breaks that ran in their direction.

Features could be seen as the light improved, and objects took on more definition. As Tony’s troop emerged from the forestry block, they saw movement to their left.

‘Look over there,’ pointed Phil. ‘It’s 3 Troop.’

The race was on. Tony put Andy as lead scout, telling him to open his legs and go for it.

CHAPTER THREE Table of Contents Title Page JOHN ‘LOFTY’ WISEMAN OPERATION LAVIVRUS Copyright Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Keep Reading Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом. About the Author About the Publisher