A Breed of Heroes (42 page)

They took off from Aldergrove, packed side by side into the Hercules transports, each man netted in to stop him being sent sprawling over those near him. This always seemed an unnecessary
precaution, as they were packed so tightly that it was very difficult to move in any direction. They sat shoulder to shoulder, each row so close to each other that their helmets sometimes touched
during turbulence, and so close to the men opposite that their legs were entwined. Their kit filled the floor space so that the RAF despatchers, who were constantly checking the myriad wires and
straps that ran the length of the aircraft, had continually to climb over them, treading on knees, hands and even shoulders. Most men were apprehensive before parachuting and sometimes this showed
itself in boisterousness and devil-may-care nonchalance, but this time the soldiers were subdued and thoughtful. They were tired, and relieved to be going, and most wanted simply to get back in one
piece.

Each Hercules sat at the end of the runway revving its four engines until the whole plane shook alarmingly and the wings actually flapped. Then it lurched suddenly forward with an acceleration
that could be felt in the pit of the stomach. It was very soon airborne, climbing and turning steeply. It was almost impossible to see out, and the roar of the engines soon settled to a steady
pitch that precluded all but shouted conversation. Charles yawned, not because he was relaxed but because that was how nervousness affected him. It made him look calm, he knew, but all the time
there was a great emptiness in his stomach.

They crossed the Irish Sea in tactical formation and at near sea-level, climbing suddenly when they reached the coast of England. The aircraft was unlit inside, giving it the appearance of a
grotesque charnel house, packed with objects and life-like bodies. In the gloom opposite Charles could see Henry Sandy’s deathly pallor. Henry hated jumping and sometimes his cheeks seemed to
be tinged with green. Their eyes met but Henry showed not even a flicker of recognition.

With three minutes to go they were got to their feet. Each man hooked himself up and checked his neighbour. Their kit was strapped to their legs and the parachute harnesses bit into their
shoulders and thighs. They tightened their helmet straps beneath their jaws until it was difficult to open their mouths. The aircraft juddered on to a new course for its final approach, nearly
sending them all tumbling over. The despatchers scrambled hastily up and down, squeezing between the bodies or shoving them aside, deftly checking hooks, harnesses and straps. The two rear doors
were slid open and the wind shrieked in, competing furiously with the noise of the engines. There were shouted commands and the aircraft bumped and juddered again. The men were pale and
concentrated, clinging to their straps to keep their balance. No one had wanted to parachute but everyone wanted to go now, to get out of the doors and be free of the plane. The red light came on
and, seconds later, the green. The first few men, helped by shouts and hefty slaps from the despatchers, were suddenly gone. Everyone stumbled along the fuselage with the trained rhythmic stamp,
trying to keep balance and place, anxious to go, anxious not to think about it, trying to be like machines.

Just before he went Charles glimpsed Chatsworth and ahead of him, Nigel Beale, in a rare unity of silent concentration. Anthony Hamilton-Smith had already gone, and so had Henry. Suddenly he was
himself at the open door with the trailing edge of the wing before him and the wind buffeting his face. Without time for pause or thought he was in the slipstream, whipped along for a second with
his boots above his head, a delicious moment of complete helplessness. Next came the sharp curve downwards and the exhilarating sense of uninhibited acceleration until brought up hard by the shock
of the main canopy deploying. Then the conditioned look up to check it and the blissful sight of a full canopy blossomed against the blue, then all the drills for kit, distance, speed, and then
steering away from everyone else and looking for space. Your friends are your enemies in the air.

All around, the sky was filled with gently falling parachutes. The aircraft were already a great distance off. It was very quiet. There was a warm, playful breeze, not enough to cause problems.
The Plain stretched to the horizon in undulating greens, browns and yellows. Below him and off to the right Charles could see the CO, drifting by himself, quite still in his harness, his arms
raised to his front lift webs like a toy parachutist. For a few seconds the entire battalion was in the air. Charles could see the press, the television cameras and the ambulance on the edge of the
dropping zone. He looked idly down, feeling immensely distant and thinking of nothing at all. He was recalled to himself by the sudden uprush, the green rush, they call it, that comes a second
before impact.