close.
After they had exited the aircraft, there had been a few seconds of sickening, tumbling weightlessness before his parachute deployed, ripping him back with such violence that he felt as if he was about to be torn in half. There had been a few more moments of frantic effort as he fought to gain control and stabilise himself, then at last he was able to communicate with the rest of his team over the radio.
Forming up into a loose line known as a ‘chalk’, they had then begun their descent towards Khatyrgan, using satellite navigation and a fixed series of waypoints to measure their progress.
Covering ground was vital. They could do nothing to stop their descent; but they had to reach the prison before they ran out of altitude.
The first few minutes had seen them lose precious height as they struggled to orient themselves and fight with high-altitude crosswinds. By the time they were lined up and heading in the right direction, they were well below their intended flight line.
Only a sudden and unexpected northerly wind had aided their progress, increasing their speed and allowing them to claw back some precious ground. Now they were beginning their final approach, and there was still a chance they wouldn’t even make the roof.
He checked his altimeter and GSP readings again: 5,400 feet, 4 miles to target.
His radio earpiece crackled into life. ‘I think I see it.’
It was Keegan.
Squinting into the darkness ahead and below, Drake watched as the ragged strips of cloud gave way, revealing a dizzying panorama stretching out before him.
The terrain around Khatyrgan was formed in a series of undulating ridges and valleys running from north to south, as if some massive hand had been drawn across the landscape. Most of these ridges were no more than 100 feet high, their tops scoured down to the bare rock by devastating winter winds. Only in the most sheltered valleys did anything grow; gnarled pine and spruce, strong and resilient enough to eke out an existence in such a harsh environment.
It was an empty, wind-blown, desolate landscape, and one utterly devoid of people. Not a single light was visible from horizon to horizon, except for the uncompromising square of the prison complex lit up like a beacon in the darkness. It was impossible to miss.
‘I see it too,’ Drake confirmed, then checked his GPS: 3 miles. ‘We’re close. Stay tight.’
The imposing walls of the prison drifted closer, and so did the ground. They were travelling at close to 20 knots, but their speed was gradually slowing as they reached lower altitude. He could only pray that it was enough to get them over the wall.
He checked his readings again: 2 miles, 2,100 feet and descending fast.
Khatyrgan had looked an imposing, brutal structure even in the satellite photos, but seeing it with his own eyes, he was daunted. Grim concrete walls rose up from the frozen ground, devoid of windows or features of any kind. Squat watchtowers stood guard at each corner of the building, looking more like fortresses than guard posts, their tops enclosed by observation windows.
Beyond the grim walls he could see the exercise yard; a muddy, snow-streaked patch of earth illuminated by floodlights from several angles. No hope for anyone unlucky enough to land there.
‘One mile to target,’ he said, checking his readings again. ‘Nine hundred feet.’
Christ, this was going to be close.
‘Tango spotted,’ Keegan reported, his voice flat calm. ‘One tango. North-east tower.’
Drake’s heart leapt. At least one of the watchtowers was manned. Peering towards it, he was able to make out the shape of a man within the enclosed observation post. He was still too far away to make out anything more detailed, but there was definitely someone up there.
‘I see him. Do you have a shot?’ he asked.
Keegan hesitated only a moment. ‘Roger. I have the shot.’
Drake twisted around, trying to get a look at the veteran sniper, but Keegan was behind and
After they had exited the aircraft, there had been a few seconds of sickening, tumbling weightlessness before his parachute deployed, ripping him back with such violence that he felt as if he was about to be torn in half. There had been a few more moments of frantic effort as he fought to gain control and stabilise himself, then at last he was able to communicate with the rest of his team over the radio.
Forming up into a loose line known as a ‘chalk’, they had then begun their descent towards Khatyrgan, using satellite navigation and a fixed series of waypoints to measure their progress.
Covering ground was vital. They could do nothing to stop their descent; but they had to reach the prison before they ran out of altitude.
The first few minutes had seen them lose precious height as they struggled to orient themselves and fight with high-altitude crosswinds. By the time they were lined up and heading in the right direction, they were well below their intended flight line.
Only a sudden and unexpected northerly wind had aided their progress, increasing their speed and allowing them to claw back some precious ground. Now they were beginning their final approach, and there was still a chance they wouldn’t even make the roof.
He checked his altimeter and GSP readings again: 5,400 feet, 4 miles to target.
His radio earpiece crackled into life. ‘I think I see it.’
It was Keegan.
Squinting into the darkness ahead and below, Drake watched as the ragged strips of cloud gave way, revealing a dizzying panorama stretching out before him.
The terrain around Khatyrgan was formed in a series of undulating ridges and valleys running from north to south, as if some massive hand had been drawn across the landscape. Most of these ridges were no more than 100 feet high, their tops scoured down to the bare rock by devastating winter winds. Only in the most sheltered valleys did anything grow; gnarled pine and spruce, strong and resilient enough to eke out an existence in such a harsh environment.
It was an empty, wind-blown, desolate landscape, and one utterly devoid of people. Not a single light was visible from horizon to horizon, except for the uncompromising square of the prison complex lit up like a beacon in the darkness. It was impossible to miss.
‘I see it too,’ Drake confirmed, then checked his GPS: 3 miles. ‘We’re close. Stay tight.’
The imposing walls of the prison drifted closer, and so did the ground. They were travelling at close to 20 knots, but their speed was gradually slowing as they reached lower altitude. He could only pray that it was enough to get them over the wall.
He checked his readings again: 2 miles, 2,100 feet and descending fast.
Khatyrgan had looked an imposing, brutal structure even in the satellite photos, but seeing it with his own eyes, he was daunted. Grim concrete walls rose up from the frozen ground, devoid of windows or features of any kind. Squat watchtowers stood guard at each corner of the building, looking more like fortresses than guard posts, their tops enclosed by observation windows.
Beyond the grim walls he could see the exercise yard; a muddy, snow-streaked patch of earth illuminated by floodlights from several angles. No hope for anyone unlucky enough to land there.
‘One mile to target,’ he said, checking his readings again. ‘Nine hundred feet.’
Christ, this was going to be close.
‘Tango spotted,’ Keegan reported, his voice flat calm. ‘One tango. North-east tower.’
Drake’s heart leapt. At least one of the watchtowers was manned. Peering towards it, he was able to make out the shape of a man within the enclosed observation post. He was still too far away to make out anything more detailed, but there was definitely someone up there.
‘I see him. Do you have a shot?’ he asked.
Keegan hesitated only a moment. ‘Roger. I have the shot.’
Drake twisted around, trying to get a look at the veteran sniper, but Keegan was behind and
Similar Books
