Part 34 (1/2)
I nodded.
”That'd be fine.”
”Good. That'll keep us well clear of Grozny. So...” He stood up and stretched before running through a quick recap.
”We go out on zero-eight-four and hold that heading till we cross the civilian track from Baku. Then we turn left on to two-eight-eight and head up between Grozny and Ordzhonikidze. Our marker point for the turn is this peak here, Dyltydag. It's over four thousand metres and fairly isolated, so we should pick it out all right but if we can't, the computer will hack it.”
”What height will we be flying at?”
”Twenty-eight thousand. You'll want plenty of clothes on.
I nodded again, wondering at the sight of all those peaks on the map a range running for two or three hundred miles, northwest to south-east, with numerous 15,000-footers among them.
We were going to fly right over the whole lot. All I asked was, ”How long will it take to get there?”
Alec did a few more calculations and came up with, ”One hour five to the turn, then twenty-five minutes to the DZ overhead. It should be no problem to get you there. It's not you that's bugging us, though.”
”What is it, then?”
”The exfil. Two Chinooks are on their way from Cyprus, and we're trying to work out a way of getting them through this b.l.o.o.d.y range of mountains. It's a h.e.l.l of a proposition, I can tell you. Even if we put extra fuel forward, right on the border, it's still a fearsome distance to anyone going in low level.”
”What about coming from the other side?” I suggested.
”From Russia?”
”Yeah. Wouldn't that be a better proposition? The intervening terrain doesn't look nearly so high.”
”We're working on it. But we don't have clearance from the Russians yet from any direction.”
”Call Anna.”
”Anna?”
”The woman who's been doing our liaison in Moscow. She's s.h.i.+t-hot. She'll fix anything. Colonel Anna Gerasimova, FSB.”
”Sorry, mate what's that?”
”The Federal Security Bureau, part of the old KGB, hived off, I saw the guy giving me an odd look, so I said sharply, ”Write her name down, and the number. She may not be in the barracks flow, but she'll be there first thing in the morning. You'll get her on our Satcom link.”
”It's b.l.o.o.d.y horrible being the pa.s.senger,” I warned Sasha, looking down at the tandem rig laid out on the floor, 'because you've got no control.”
”You tell me,” he said cheerfiully.
”I do it.”
We'd already had some practices during the morning, back at Balas.h.i.+ka, but this was a fill-scale dress rehearsal with all our kit on. The two PJIs who were coming with us fitted Sasha into his webbing harness, with hooks at the shoulders and at the waist, linked him to my own harness and pulled him in tight against my front, with both our full berg ens strapped to the front of his legs and a single oxygen cylinder on the outside of my left thigh. Trussed together like this, carrying a lot of weight, we found it almost impossible to walk.
”Let's go through the motions again,” I said.
”As the plane approaches the DZ, we move to the edge of the deck. Let's say it's that line on the floor. Go on, then.”
Slowly, awkwardly, moving our legs in unison, we shuffled the short distance to the line.
”OK. Now we're waiting for the two green lights on either side of the opening.” I pointed outwards at head level, right and left.
”When we get them, and a signal from the head lo adie we just lean forward together and topple out. After that, you don't need to do anything except hold the same position. Keep your hands crossed over your chest, like you've got them now. All right?”
Sasha nodded.
”Once we're under canopy, we can take off our masks and let them hang. Then I'll slacken off the straps so that you slide down, about this much.” I held my hands a foot apart.
”That means your feet will be lower than mine, so they'll touch the ground first. Just as we're coming in to land, I'll tell you to start walking. At first you'll be walking in the air, then on the deck.
OK?”.
He nodded.
Without changing my voice I went on, ”There are two other things you need to know. First, if our chute fails to open, cross your legs and keep them there.”
”And why?”
”So they can unscrew you from the ground.”
He stared at me, and I went on relentlessly, ”The other thing is, keep your right hand up.”
”Why that?”
”So you don't break your watch when you go in.”
At last he smiled and aimed a gentle punch at me. Outwardly he seemed pretty calm, but perhaps not, because he kept sliding off for sessions in the bog.
Meanwhile, I was sorting the kit they'd brought us and repacking it into my bergen. They'd given us plenty of warm clothes, including two free-fall Goretex suits with Thinsulate linings: when zipped together, the jackets and trousers gave us a perfectly windproof outer layer. There were also a couple of sweaters apiece, thermal silk long johns and long-armed vests, and any amount of boil-in-the-bag meals, which we could eat cold if necessary. If all went well, we'd be on the ground for less than thirty-six hours, so I cut down our load as far as I dared, as the combined weight of our essential kit was already formidable.
I had a 203, with eight spare thirty-round mags and two grenades, plus Sig, spare mags, knife, Satcom, GPS, covert radio, kite-sight, binoculars, fireflies, water bottles sleeping bag, bivvy bag and cam nets. A lot of the heaviest stuff, like the magazines, went into the pouches on my webbing, but there was still enough to fill a bergen. Sasha had his Gepard and spare mags, plus a pistol and ammunition.
At 9:30 p.m. I went for a final briefing with Bill Chandler.
The met forecasts were unchanged. Orange hadn't moved: the satellite was still getting its signal.
”As far as they can tell, it's not in the main house,” Bill told me.
”If it was inside a big structure, they probably wouldn't hear it. It seems to be about a hundred metres east of the building.”
”OK,” I said.
”As soon as we're on site I'll call you and let you know what we can see.
After a sandwich and a cup of tea we were ready to go. At the last minute I b.u.mped into Pat, who looked in rollicking form, his bright brown eyes s.h.i.+ning, cheeks ruddy, and his teeth flas.h.i.+ng white as ever.
”Taking on Chechnya single-handed, are you, Geordie?” he enquired with a big grin on his face.