strapped on. The loads certainly pushed the quads down on their suspension and made the steering heavier.
Coming downhill close to the lip of a ravine, Fred Parry, our lanky explosives star, hit a rock and skidded towards the edge. The crust of heathery peat broke away beneath his left-hand rear wheel, and a second later he and the bike were rolling over and over down the steep bank towards the stream.
He might have got away with it if it weren't for the lumps of rock sticking out from the sandy bank. By sheer bad luck the quad came down on him and pinned him against a rock that had no give in it, dealing his left leg a fearsome smack. He finished up face-down in some grass with the machine on top of him and the engine still running, wheels turning.
I'd been tiding next in line, and there was just enough light for me to see him go arse over tip down the bank. In a flash I was offmy own bike and running down towards the casualty.
Fred was pinned down by a handlebar in the small of his back. His right leg was straight, but my torch-beam showed that his left leg was bent out at a diabolical angle.
I yelled, 'Don't move!' and reached under the handlebar panel to switch off his ignition. The smell of petrol was everywhere. I had visions of a sudden w00f.r and the pair of us on fire.
Fred was just moaning, 'Shit! Shit! Shit! My fucking leg!'
'Keep still,' I told him again. With a big heave I rolled the bike off him, back on to its wheels. At that
moment heads appeared against the sky on the tim of the ravine above, and somebody shouted, 'Get up, wanker!'
'Bollocks!' I yelled at them. 'He got a bad break. Get on the mobile for the chopper. Tell them the casualty's got a broken leg, high up. Femur or hip.'
I knelt down beside l=red. His eyes were screwed tightly shut. 'How is it?'
'Fucking horrible.' He tried to move and gave a groan.
'Stay how you are. It'll be better if we don't try to move you. The doc's on his way. He'll be here in twenty minutes.'
The other guys came down and gathered round, making sympathetic noises now. Since we were only training, we had only a limited medical pack to hand, and so couldn't give Fred anything to ease the pain. But we wrapped him in our sweaters to keep him warm and covered him with ponchos to throw the rain off. I stayed with him while the others recced round for a place at which the chopper could put down. The ravine was too narrow for the pilot to hover, andit was obvious we'd have to carry the casualty up on to more level ground; but I reckoned it was better to wait until the doc had put a shot of morphine into him and got the leg splinted.
As I chit-chatted to keep up his morale, the rest tied ropes on to the stranded quad. With one guy steering it and two bikes pulling from above, they heaved it up on to the open hillside. The fuel tank had been punctured on the top, presumably by impact with a rock, but apart from a few dents and scratches the machine still seemed in remarkably good nick. The rest of the guys then got their bikes deployed in a big circle, with their headlamps shining inwards, to make a pool of light on which the chopper could put down.
The recovery went without a hitch. In twenty-two minutes from call-out the standby Puma was overhead and settling towards the lighted patch. In a few more seconds Doc Palmer and his medic were beside the injured man with their bags of tricks. Within five minutes they had him hot to trot, well doped with morphine, his left leg secured in a pneumatic splint blown up like a giant condom, which held the broken limb snugly alongside the good one in the stretcher.
While they were working we loaded the bent quad into the Puma and lashed it down. Then four of us carried Fred up out of the ravine and slid him on to the floor of the chopper. The last we saw of him, he was giving a cheerful wave as the helicopter lifted away.
On our way back to camp I felt depressed. With four days to go, we were a man down and urgently in need of a
Coming downhill close to the lip of a ravine, Fred Parry, our lanky explosives star, hit a rock and skidded towards the edge. The crust of heathery peat broke away beneath his left-hand rear wheel, and a second later he and the bike were rolling over and over down the steep bank towards the stream.
He might have got away with it if it weren't for the lumps of rock sticking out from the sandy bank. By sheer bad luck the quad came down on him and pinned him against a rock that had no give in it, dealing his left leg a fearsome smack. He finished up face-down in some grass with the machine on top of him and the engine still running, wheels turning.
I'd been tiding next in line, and there was just enough light for me to see him go arse over tip down the bank. In a flash I was offmy own bike and running down towards the casualty.
Fred was pinned down by a handlebar in the small of his back. His right leg was straight, but my torch-beam showed that his left leg was bent out at a diabolical angle.
I yelled, 'Don't move!' and reached under the handlebar panel to switch off his ignition. The smell of petrol was everywhere. I had visions of a sudden w00f.r and the pair of us on fire.
Fred was just moaning, 'Shit! Shit! Shit! My fucking leg!'
'Keep still,' I told him again. With a big heave I rolled the bike off him, back on to its wheels. At that
moment heads appeared against the sky on the tim of the ravine above, and somebody shouted, 'Get up, wanker!'
'Bollocks!' I yelled at them. 'He got a bad break. Get on the mobile for the chopper. Tell them the casualty's got a broken leg, high up. Femur or hip.'
I knelt down beside l=red. His eyes were screwed tightly shut. 'How is it?'
'Fucking horrible.' He tried to move and gave a groan.
'Stay how you are. It'll be better if we don't try to move you. The doc's on his way. He'll be here in twenty minutes.'
The other guys came down and gathered round, making sympathetic noises now. Since we were only training, we had only a limited medical pack to hand, and so couldn't give Fred anything to ease the pain. But we wrapped him in our sweaters to keep him warm and covered him with ponchos to throw the rain off. I stayed with him while the others recced round for a place at which the chopper could put down. The ravine was too narrow for the pilot to hover, andit was obvious we'd have to carry the casualty up on to more level ground; but I reckoned it was better to wait until the doc had put a shot of morphine into him and got the leg splinted.
As I chit-chatted to keep up his morale, the rest tied ropes on to the stranded quad. With one guy steering it and two bikes pulling from above, they heaved it up on to the open hillside. The fuel tank had been punctured on the top, presumably by impact with a rock, but apart from a few dents and scratches the machine still seemed in remarkably good nick. The rest of the guys then got their bikes deployed in a big circle, with their headlamps shining inwards, to make a pool of light on which the chopper could put down.
The recovery went without a hitch. In twenty-two minutes from call-out the standby Puma was overhead and settling towards the lighted patch. In a few more seconds Doc Palmer and his medic were beside the injured man with their bags of tricks. Within five minutes they had him hot to trot, well doped with morphine, his left leg secured in a pneumatic splint blown up like a giant condom, which held the broken limb snugly alongside the good one in the stretcher.
While they were working we loaded the bent quad into the Puma and lashed it down. Then four of us carried Fred up out of the ravine and slid him on to the floor of the chopper. The last we saw of him, he was giving a cheerful wave as the helicopter lifted away.
On our way back to camp I felt depressed. With four days to go, we were a man down and urgently in need of a
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