The Ian Fleming Files by Damian Stevenson, Box Set, Espionage Thrillers, European Thrillers, World War 2 Books, Novels Set In World War 2, Ian Fleming Biography, Action, Adventure Books, 7 Books, Spy Novels

muscles
in his left arm bulged as he wrestled with the yoke and his hamstrings ached
from the strain of working the rudder pedals. He tilted the elevators in a
futile attempt to climb over the storm but the sky was a rampart wall of dense
black. He grabbed the mike and spoke into the Tannoy. “Get ready for some
chop!”
    The A.6 shuddered
into the eye of the windstorm which was rapidly becoming a caterwauling black
cyclone. The plane shook like a rollercoaster. Fleming managed to stay upright.
It continued like this until they were through the first cloud bank and,
finally, there was a momentary respite.
    Fleming and
Nichols waited as Jones confabbed with McGhee. The pilot’s voice boomed
overhead. “Stand by, insertion, minus five minutes.”
    Fleming strode
forward to the hatch, moving steadily in the storm-tossed craft. With acute
concentration, he secured the gold into its auto-deployment drop device, a two
foot long tubular canister with a nose cone like a rocket and a time display on
its side. It looked like a huge bullet — or a small missile - and it had a
double skin made of 22-gauge steel.
    A distraught
Nichols checked his equipment, fighting the heebie-jeebies.
    Jones addressed
his two parachutists. “Weather’s easing a bit but it won’t last. We don’t have
the fuel to loop back so it’s now or never.” He hooked their gear into the
pulley and checked the connections. Both men snapped buckles and adjusted
harnesses.
    Jones hauled the
hatch open and secured it on its standing latch, causing a minor blizzard to
invade the belly of the Airspeed.
    Nichols was blown
back by the icy blast. Fleming helped him up and guided his hand to a hanging
wrist hold.
    McGhee flipped off
switches until all that could be heard was the sound of the loud crosscurrents
rattling the craft.
    Fleming stood
firm, moved into position and fastened his jump helmet, pulling his chin strap
tight. He attached the missile of gold to the chute rig. “Gold secured!”
    Jones shouted in
his ear. “When the red light turns green, let her go!”
    The three men
waited. Time stood still.
    Green light.
Fleming jettisoned the gold.
    After a few
moments, the auto-chute deployed. A pulsing red blip, the installed frequency
beacon, was just glimpsed before the cargo vanished into the vortex.
    Jones looked at
Nichols. “You’re next! Get into position.”
    Fleming helped
Nichols connect his static line. The plane dipped several feet and steadied.
Nichols locked eyes with Fleming who gave him the thumbs-up as he dragged
himself against the wind velocity to the edge of the hatch and peered down at
the howling abyss.
    McGhee hollered
from the cockpit. “Get a move on back there! I can’t hold her much longer!”
    Nichols focused on
the jump light. The bulb turned green. Nichols screwed shut his eyes and, with
a convulsive jerk of his arms, flung himself out. Not a very expert launching,
for instead of jumping out he had fallen forward and was already twisting in
mid-air as his parachute billowed open. Thunder exploded as the silk shrouds
inflated and he was yanked skyward.
    Fleming braced
himself and stepped up. It started to rain. Moisture patted his cheeks. He
looked at Jones who nodded back.
    Fleming’s eyes
locked on the signal. He pulled out a pendant from around his neck, a tarnished
medal, and kissed it for luck before carefully returning it to under his flight
suit.
    Jones loosened
Fleming’s harness, giving it more slack. “Steady now! Wait for it!”
    The rain had
rapidly become sleet and was pelting into the cabin. Fleming clung tight to the
doorway, grasping the latches on each side to hold himself in place.
    The red bulb
glowed green.
    Fleming leaped out
of the plane just as it was struck by lightning. Crackling electricity
cobwebbed around the fuselage and the plane’s torso became cocooned in a web of
static.
    Fleming’s harness
line tangled up as the plane veered and he was dragged through the sky against
the side of the