by Bear Grylls
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.’
74
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.
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 Primat
es.
Jaeger – the Hunter – was closing in.
75
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.
76
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.
In a matter of minutes, five IR fireflies appeared in the night sky above him: the stick was complete. He let Raff overtake, taking up pole position once more, and they drifted onwards, six figures alone on the dark roof of the world.
When Jaeger had studied the Airlander’s surveillance photos, there had seemed to be only one viable landing zone – the island’s dirt airstrip. It was likely to be heavily guarded, but it was the one significant patch of terrain devoid of any tree cover.
He hadn’t liked it. None of them had. Landing there would be like flying down the very throats of the enemy. But it had seemed like it was the airstrip or bust.
Then Kamishi had outlined their actions-on, which were vital upon landing. And it wasn’t pretty.
They would need to find a location where they could change from one set of survival kit – HAPLSS high-altitude jump gear – to another, their Bio Level 4 space suits. And all while potentially having dropped right into the hornets’ nest.
The thick HAPLSS suits provided life-saving warmth and oxygen, but they would offer little protection in a Level 4 hot zone. The team needed a safe environment in which to don their air-purifying respirators and space suits.
The kit included FM54 masks – the same as they
’d worn when rescuing Leticia Santos – linked by a crushproof S-profile hose to a series of battery-operated filters, making up a space-age-looking pack on the operator’s back. That filter unit would pump clean air into their bulky space suits – olive-green Trellchem EVO 1Bs, made of a Nomex fabric with a chemically resistant Viton rubber topcoat, providing one hundred per cent protection.
Whilst transforming themselves from high-altitude parachutists to Hot Zone 4 operators, the team would be highly vulnerable, which ruled out the airstrip as a landing point. That had left only one other possibility: a narrow stretch of pristine white sand that lay to the western side of the island.
From the surveillance photos, ‘Copacabana Beach’, as they’d dubbed it appeared just about doable. At low tide there was maybe fifty feet of sand between where the jungle ended and the sea began. All being well, they would switch gear there, then move into the jungle and hit Kammler’s facility, striking with total surprise from out of the dark and empty night.
That, at least, was the plan.
But one person would have to remain at the beach. Their role was to establish a ‘wet decon line’ – consisting of a makeshift decontamination tent complete with scrub-down kits. Once the team re-emerged from the jungle, mission complete, they would need to douse their suits in buckets of seawater laced with EnviroChem – a potent chemical that killed viruses.
With the suits sanitised, they’d change out of them and scrub down a second time, this time decontaminating their bare skin. They’d then step over the clean/dirty line into the non-contaminated universe, leaving their CBRN kit behind.
On one side of that line would lie a Level 4 Hot Zone.
The other side – the open, wave-washed beach – would hopefully be safe and contamination-free. At least that was the theory. And Kamishi – their CBRN specialist – was the obvious candidate to oversee the wet decon line.