‘I think we might be too heavy.’
‘You just decided that?’ Stratton asked, suspicious Downs was trying to wind him up, such was the man’s sense of humour.
‘No. Been thinking about it all day.’
‘Why are you telling me now?’
‘I didn’t want to crash into the sea without you knowing I knew about it.’
‘OK. Well, now I know, thanks for sharing that.’ Stratton still wasn’t sure if Downs was being serious or not. The Irishman had a wry sense of humour even during the most desperate of situations. But he wasn’t a mental case either and clearly had some confidence they could get airborne or he wouldn’t risk it, certainly not as commander of his first major operation. Stratton hoped so at least. ‘I’m all fastened in so you might as well get going.’
‘OK. Just what I was thinking.’
Downs eased the throttle forward. The propeller revolutions greatly increased. The framework vibrated much more as everything got a little louder though it remained much quieter than Stratton had expected.
The craft hadn’t moved. Downs had intentionally kept the brake on until the revs reached maximum.
He released the brake and gripped the joystick and the glider lurched forward. The runway wasn’t as smooth as it looked. Even though the wheels had a little suspension built into them, the little glider juddered and jolted along, rattling Stratton’s teeth in his head so much he had to clamp his jaw shut.
As the glider picked up speed, the nylon wing panel above them ballooned into a tight curve as it caught the air. The framework creaked as it strained to hold everything together.
Stratton forgot everything else and stared at the end of the Ocean’s runway. They were quickly closing in on it and the wheels had not yet left the deck. He glanced to his side for the other glider that should have taken off with them but he couldn’t see it. He didn’t turn in his seat to look for it, concerned at that moment for no one else but them.
The engine was purring at full revs. Stratton could feel the wind not just blowing into his face but being sucked past him and through the propellers. He squinted ahead, wiping his eyes quickly as they started to water. He would have put on his goggles but he had greater priorities at that moment. His hands tightened on the rifle and framework. His thoughts flashed to his harness quick release. He considered releasing it there and then. If they took off, he wouldn’t need it. If they hit the drink, he didn’t want to be fighting with it, but crashing into the sea without it might be enough to knock him out. The problems of dropping off the end into the sea multiplied. They would have to get out of the framework as quickly as possible, not just because the craft would probably sink like a stone but also because the ship would run into them and they might get sucked below and through the propellers. These were not the best thoughts to be having seconds before reaching the end of the runway and he had Downs to thank for inspiring them.
Metres before the end of the deck the glider rose up and left the surface a few inches then dropped back down with a heavy bump.
They reached the end, the wheels still rolling along on the deck.
The craft went over the lip and dropped out of sight to everyone on deck watching it.
The pit of Stratton’s stomach turned to mush as the glider dropped. He gripped the frame, his knuckles turning white as the sea came up to meet them. Downs pulled back so hard on the joystick it threatened to rip out. But the increased speed of falling off the end was all the craft needed to provide that extra lift and it levelled out a couple of metres above the wave tops. Stratton realised he had stopped breathing. He looked back to see the sharp end of the ship not all that far away. The important thing was that the wet stuff was still below them.
Downs gradually brought the nose up and increased the height until they got level with the deck of the ship again.
Stratton could hear another sound above the engine and the wind. It was Downs giving off a loud yell.
Stratton leaned forward. ‘Did you enjoy that?’ he shouted.
‘If I hadn’ta crapped my pants when we went off the end, I might’ve enjoyed it more than I did!’
Stratton sat back and had to smile. It felt like a form of release. He looked back over his shoulder again to see another craft below them and dangerously close to the water. But it managed to level out and gain height.
Downs brought the craft up to about a hundred feet while making a gentle bank to the left. After a short turn, he reversed the manoeuvre, banking over to the right. After coming back on to the main heading, he did the turns again, the zig-zagging intended to slow the glider’s progress without reducing their speed and to allow the tail-enders to catch up.
Within a few minutes all of the gliders had got off the Ocean. When Stratton next looked back, he could barely make out the others in the darkness. But they were all able to see his glider. Every craft had a navigation light on its rear, positioned in a device that only allowed it to be seen from behind and level with it or from above it.
Every pilot carried a GPS that provided a pre-programmed direction as well as a minimum height alarm.
‘All stations, this is Downs, radio check,’ Downs said into his radio.
One by one each pilot reported in.
‘Downs, roger that,’ Downs said at the end.
Stratton made an effort to relax. The wind whipped his hair about. His eyes no longer wept. It had something very tranquil about it. And surreal. What they were doing, or about to do, gave him a buzz at the same time as it sobered everything right up. People were going to die in the next hour or so. Hopefully that would be the enemy only but the chances had to be high that the squadron would lose someone. Maybe a few.
It was an innovative attack, that was for sure. They weren’t in jet helicopters crammed with sophisticated navigation, communications and visual aids. They were in metal tubes under nylon wings and using engines about as powerful as a lawnmower’s, with a wooden propeller behind it all pushing them forward at a cumbersome rate of knots.
But they were armed to the teeth and about to go into battle. It was great. It was beautiful. It was ultimately what Stratton lived for.
The GPS indicated the coastline to be less than two kilometres away. It was a perfectly black night. The clouds not far above them had formed on cue, just like the evening before when Stratton and the girl had escaped along the river. The stars and moon had been blocked out completely. The forecast had given it a 40 per cent chance of rain on the mainland. Which they didn’t consider a massive problem. The gliders would fly almost as well, depending on how heavy the rain was. The landing might even be softer.
Stratton could make out a white scar running across their entire front. The coastline. He could see a faint glow to the east. Lotto’s town. The squadron planned to pass well to the west of it, head inland due south for a couple of clicks, before turning east towards the Al-Shabaab encampment.
The flight had not been without its little moments of drama. The wind had toyed with them and some crews had flown too close together which caused a bit of mild panic among those concerned. It was also impossible to judge the height by eye alone. That was difficult enough in the daytime without something like a boat in the water to provide a point of reference. But it was almost as difficult for the pilots to fly with an eye fixed on the altimeter. More than once Downs had suddenly pulled back hard on the stick to gain immediate height, an action that attracted every bit of Stratton’s attention each time he did it. It was harder for Downs than for the other pilots. He was alone out in front with no other craft to gauge himself by. But if he hit the drink and the pilot behind wasn’t watching his altimeter, they would probably follow. The gliders didn’t respond particularly quickly to the controls because of the weight they were carrying.