The Forgotten Land by Keith McArdle Page A

ripcord as soon as he left the aircraft. Instructors watched him and if he
did not do this, he was either put back onto the static line or taken off the
course altogether. For the next thirty jumps, the soldier was then able to
leave a delay of one second before pulling the ripcord. Then with the first
one-hundred and fifty jumps out the way, the soldier had a good judge of
distance and speed and was able to delay pulling the ripcord for up to two
seconds. The five SAS soldiers had practiced this jump hundreds of times before
so the risk of injury or death was low.
    The
American riggers had released the chains holding the skidboard down, before
giving the thumbs up. They pushed the skidboard slowly towards the end of the
ramp. Gaining in speed, the skidboard, attached to which was the Land Rover,
tipped over the edge and within a second had disappeared from sight. Steve
hoped to Christ the chutes had opened.
    The
loadie turned to the soldiers, held up five fingers, then four, three, two, one.
Dave hurled himself out the back of the aircraft, followed by the others at
intervals of two seconds.
    Steve
watched Will disappear out the cargo door, counted to two and then stepped out
into thin air. Warm, fume-filled air and the roar of the engines hit him as he
fell. A moment later the smell of the fumes and the noise of the engines had
been replaced by the thunder of cold air in his ears.
    “One,”
he counted to himself.
    He
could see that Dave was already on the ground and was sprinting into position,
Minimi in hand. Scott’s parachute was open and he watched as Matt’s chute
bloomed into life.
    Scott
had landed and unclipped his chute, which floated to the ground behind him. He
sprinted into the 6 o’clock position, throwing himself to the ground. Will’s chute
flared open beneath Steve.
    “Two,”
Steve counted, pulling the ripcord. He grunted as the parachute opened above
him, violently slowing his rate of fall. He felt the sudden pull on his
parachute harness telling him that his drop line, with his pack and webbing,
had deployed successfully. Steve was about 30 metres from the ground.
    Leaning
back, he looked up making sure the parachute had opened properly. He counted
the parachute lines, satisfied that none of them had twisted. Glancing back he
could see the Land Rover shrouded in parachute silk in the distance. It was
impossible to tell from this distance if the vehicle had sustained any damage.
    He
watched as Matt ran into position, going to ground in the 3 o’clock position.
Steve looked up and over his right shoulder watching the C-130 high above them
as it banked hard to the right, vapour trails streaming from the wing tips.
    When
he looked back again, he saw Will had landed, unclipped his weapon and was
running for the 9 o’clock position. The ground came up to meet him and Steve
rolled as his feet hit. He quickly detached his parachute mid-roll, unclipped
his weapon as he came to his feet, released the drop line and sprinted into the
middle of the circle going to ground.
    “Nicely
done,” said Steve, climbing to his feet. The others also stood up, adrenalin
glinting in their eyes as they grinned like children. It was only then that the
noise washed over Steve. He turned towards the airbase. The whine of turbo prop
engines mingled with the roar of jet engines and the juddering power of
helicopters. He could not see the runway because a long hedge of trees blocked
his view, but he could smell the AVTAG. Whatever mission was outbound was huge.
Drowning the combined roar of aircraft was a new sound: a powerful scream vibrated
the ground. Ten seconds later he watched four British Tornadoes streak above
the trees in close succession. Following almost as closely was a twin propeller
Eagle Eye, a large, flat circle fixed horizontally above the fuselage indicated
that it was a fighter control aircraft.
    The
noise of the five departing aircraft gave way once more to the thunderous roar
of the numerous aircraft