“Yes Sir,” he replies, now standing next to his seat, making sure the briefcase is secured properly to him.
“Is everybody else ready?” I ask the three men in the opposite seats and they all sound off in confirmation.
“Okay, prepare the ropes,” I order.
Josh quickly swaps seats with Sergeant Dixon and then leans forward to grab the spooled-up specially made, core-weighted, thick rope. The thickness and the weights wound through the middle of the rope helps prevent the rope from flying around in the wind or from the downdraft from the helicopter’s rotors, the thickness also aiding with grip and control on the descent.
We are getting close to our target, and I can see that without Buck’s updates, the last big island junction of the A40 Westway before the Orion building is going past the open hold door in the near distance. The junction is empty; clearly, Operation Denial hasn’t penetrated this deep into London yet—if it ever will!
“Two minutes to target,” Buck’s voice sounds.
Thankfully, the rain isn’t more than a drizzle and providing it stays that way, we will be good to go down via the ropes. Not that I’m looking forward to the descent. I can remember the last time I fast roped. Take it slow and steady, I keep telling myself as my body trembles, the butterflies in my stomach having spread to my whole body. I need to calm down and quick, so I close my eyes for a second, then concentrating on my breathing. Slowly, my heartbeat comes under control, my composure returning somewhat.
“You okay, Captain?” Dixon asks.
“Yes, Sergeant,” I lie.
“Coming up on target, one minute,” Buck says and nearly sets me off again.
The Lynx flies over the North West corner of Hyde Park and I see the dozen or so railway lines leading into Paddington Station. Following the lines, I get my bearings as they lead across and into the Station. I look across the large span of Paddington Station’s roofs and there, sitting behind them, is the dreaded Orion building. I never thought I’d think of the building this way, but then again, I could never have envisaged I would be flying in with two Special Ops teams to infiltrate it.
Buck takes us over Paddington Station, heading straight for Orion, taking the decision that the time to recce the area has been swallowed up by the incoming weather.
The whole Paddington Basin area is masked in smoke, which is still pouring out of the tall, smouldering Hilton Hotel a few buildings across from Orion. The other remnants of yesterday’s fighting on the Edgeware Road add to the haze.
Slowing the Lynx down to a hover, Buck does at least take the time to circle around the Orion building. I’m standing right at the hold door looking down on the once-familiar building that I helped design, but it looks so alien to me now. The building looks lifeless and I suppose it is because I’m not counting the current occupiers that I know are inside, waiting, as life. The hope that I would see signs of power in the building is soon dashed, since it is impossible to see through the mirrored glass even in the relative darkness that surrounds the building, so we won’t know until we get inside and flick a switch.
Gradually, the Lynx comes around and behind it, the second Lynx hovering into formation at our tail. I am sure Dan is in the same position as me, at his hold door, looking down at the forlorn building below. Our arrival hasn’t gone unnoticed; down in the grounds at the front of the building, inside the perimeter fence, the Rabids are beginning to stir and wake up from their standing stupor. They start to look up to the sky, to the two helicopters, in the hopes that new prey is arriving, their thirst for fresh flesh insatiable. I can see them opening their dark mouths in anticipation and I imagine the deathly noises coming out of those holes, their twisted invitation to their victims.
Finally, the Lynx is at an angle that gives me a view inside the hole in the roof of the building, but darkness encases Sir Malcolm’s office. I don’t see any movement in the shadows inside the hole and that is the best I could expect; there is no time to delay any further.
“Take us down,” I say ominously into my headset.
“Understood,” Buck says and starts his descent.
“Okay, lads, here we go. This is it, so watch your speed and spot your landing,” I tell them.
As we draw close to the roof, I say “Ropes,” to Josh and whoever has the rope on the other side of the Lynx. Josh pushes out the lever bracket that holds the rope away from the side of the fuselage, his arm reaching out of the hold door as he releases the thick heavy rope. The rope tumbles down out of the helicopter, unwinding as it goes until it reaches its full length and is snapped to a stop by the protruding bracket above and its anchor to the side of the helicopter by the hold door. There is no spring back towards the helicopter to speak of, the well-designed weighted rope staying quite static and resembling a metal pole more than a rope.
This is it, I think to myself as I pull on my heat-resistant gloves as Buck gets into position, the rope dangling a foot or so off the roof and close to the hole. I prepare to exit, my legs and arms feeling numb and my stomach burning with fear and anticipation.
“Okay, hold position, Buck. Go, go, go!” I hear myself say and then I’m moving, ignoring my body’s protests and hesitation to go. I take hold of the top of the rope with my gloved hands, swing my body out from the safety of the Lynx’s hold and then I’m sliding down; my hands gripping the rope control my speed and my legs wrap loosely around the rope to direct my descent. I immediately know I am going too fast and my hands squeeze the rope tighter to slow me down, the heat vibrating through the thick gloves, making them feel warm on my palms and fingers, but they do their job.
I slow too much, coming to a near stop just short of the roof. Sergeant Dixon is already coming down fast from above, threatening to career into me. My hands release the rope and I drop the last few feet onto the roof, the extra weight of equipment causing me to land hard but my knees bend in reflex to cushion the blow.
As I step away from the landing zone, I quickly pull off the thick gloves, take hold of my M4 and immediately take up a covering position, the muzzle of the rifle sweeping the roof, looking for targets. Sergeant Dixon hits the roof hard too, behind me; he is carrying more weight than me, but even so, he controls his descent, landing like the well-trained pro he is. On the other side of the Lynx’s underbelly, the rest of the SBS team are down their ropes in quick succession and the three get down just as fast as it took Dixon and me. They are already fanning out from the landing zone, clearing the way for the next team to descend, stalking behind their rifles until they find the optimal covering position and when each man has, he drops to one knee. I do the same and by the time all five of us have taken a knee, every zone of the roof has a rifle trained on it. My zone includes our entry into Orion, the charred black hole with rubble around its edges. It is only then when I am in position that I notice the rain is starting to come down harder and the light has decreased even more around me, the mix of smoke and heavy cloud cutting off so much of the sun that it feels like dusk already.
Josh, above us, releases the dangling fast ropes’ anchors and the ropes drop down onto the roof and are quickly followed by the tarpaulin. As soon as he finishes, our Lynx tilts and flies forward, making way for the second Lynx to make its run. Trooper Collins, who is closest to the insertion zone and the dropped ropes, hastily clears the ropes and the tarpaulin out of the way, as the last thing we need is for one of the next team to land on one of the ropes and twist an ankle, or worse.
“Roof secured, cleared for insertion,” I say into my headset as soon as I am satisfied.
Our relative reprieve from the loud whine of engines and buffering from rotors is short-lived as the other Lynx hovers into position. In that small window, however, there is no mistaking the sound of banging and rattling coming from the locked rooftop door that is away to my right, a chilling reminder that we are not alone. The door is in Dixon’s zone and his rifle is trained on that door, but if, God forbid, the door gives way, there is no telling how many Rabids would fl
ood through it from the stairwell and the seven floors below.
I try not to dwell on that scenario, but I do have to consider that eventuality, although I cannot think of a positive outcome if the door is breached while we are still here.
Behind me, the second Lynx approaches the insertion zone and the noise increases exponentially, as does the downdraft. I don’t look around to see how it is doing or to see if the men are dropping down the ropes yet. My concentration is focused on covering my areas; the only time it wavers for a split second is when my eyes dart to the door and every time they do, I half expect to see the door bursting open and Rabids streaming out.
I instinctively know when the Lynx is in position when the noise and wind from the rotors are at their peak and sure enough, within a couple of seconds, Dan takes a position a few feet to my left, on one knee, his rifle trained at the ready. This time, the Lynx hovers over the insertion zone for longer as Alice releases the ropes and then has to lower down the kit for the plasma cutter. I trust in the team doing their jobs and continue to concentrate on my area, waiting patiently for them to finish and for the Lynx to move off. Soon enough, the noise coming down from above changes and then above me, the second Lynx moves away from the roof to take up its position, covering us from the air.
All ten men that are now on the roof stay in their positions until the second Lynx has moved off and the volume on the roof reverts back to a relatively normal level, my eagerness to get on making those few seconds drag out. Even though the two helicopters have left our immediate vicinity, they don’t stray far, well within rifle range—and the noise from their engines is still considerable. That noise doesn’t drown out the thunderous drumming on the stairwell door and the door is visibly rattling under the constant barrage it is receiving from behind it; we need to get out of here as soon as possible.
“Okay, let’s get this done,” I say into my headset when the Lynx has gone and taking my cue, everyone starts to move.
“Dan, make sure that door is well covered,” I order.
“Don’t worry, Boss, I’ve brought a surprise for that task,” Dan says.
My confusion doesn’t last long as I follow the direction of his eyes over to the landing zone and see an M2 Browning, 50-calibre machine gun, sitting beside the plasma equipment, with boxes of belt-fed ammo for it there too.
“Nice surprise,” I tell him, “get it set up.”
Dan, gets to it, as does the rest of his team who move to their assigned positions to provide cover on the roof for my team, whose job is the safe down in Sir Malcolm’s office.
Sergeant Dixon and I approach the uninviting hole down, both of our rifles trained on it. We stop short of the hole though, while we wait for the other three members of our team to carry over the plasma equipment. I’d nearly forgotten I’m still wearing the ballistic glasses. A raindrop runs down the front of them to remind me and I reach up to take them off; they are doing more harm than good.
Watts goes past us first, the rifle he was holding replaced by the boxed plasma cutter. He is closely followed by the two other men. One carries the gas bottle and tarpaulin, while the other has the generator. They put the equipment down near but not too close to the hole. We don’t want it to get in the way of our insertion down and the equipment in place, they retreat to our position.
“We are going to take it slow and quiet, so clear your corners. Sergeant Dixon will only follow us in when the room is secure, understood?” I tell the team and each of them signals, affirmative.
The four of us spread out as we move on the hole, Watts on the left, then me, Simms on my right and Kim next to him in our little semi-circle. Dixon stays put as the main character covering us, his briefcase at his side. We keep low, all of our rifles concentrated on the dark hole as we inch in closer. I thought I’d left my nerves and fear back in the Lynx’s hold, but they are boiling to the top again and I have to push them back down, refocusing my mind back on our task, something in which I am clearly out of practice.
With only a couple of feet to the edge, I signal to halt. My left hand reaches up to my body armour and pulls three glow sticks out. It is impossible to hear if any sound is coming from the hole, but if there is, it is drowned out by the loud incessant banging reverberating from the door behind, the whine of the Lynx above and the patter of heavy rain. There isn’t a beam of light coming from the hole; were lights in Sir Malcolm’s office on or off yesterday, and is the power on or off in the building? I can’t answer either question.
I do hear the low cracks as I break the three glow sticks between my two hands, I give them a good shake with my left hand and give them a couple of seconds for their orange glow to develop. Deliberately, I swing my arm once to show my team I’m about to throw them, then take a second swing and release them towards the hole. For a split second, I think my nerves have got the better of me and my throw is going to miss the hole, even from this short distance… but it doesn’t, my embarrassment is saved and the glow sticks sail into the hole, disappearing into the darkness. The main reason for throwing the glow sticks in is of course for the light. There is a second, however and that is to see if there is a reaction to them from any Rabids that might be lurking. There isn’t any reaction, and nothing changes apart from the hole has a tinge of orange glowing from it and Corporal Simms throws a couple more sticks down for good measure.
Tentatively, not taking anything for granted, I rise to a stand and the orange glow from the hole increases the higher I get. I still can’t really see into the office, so I edge forward, my rifle poised, and beside me the other men take my lead and do the same, all of us ready to shoot. Gradually, I begin to see into Sit Malcolm’s office, and it looks just like we left it, apart from the darkness and scattered glow sticks on the floor trying to brighten the room. Sir Malcolm’s desk is still pushed up against the door, my feeble attempt to stop a hoard of Zombies hasn’t moved; it gives my confidence in the mission a boost.
“The office door is still shut; it looks like the room is clear and we are good to go,” I say to the team.
“Affirmative; the office is clear,” Corporal Simms confirms.
“Okay, Dixon, can you bring a couple of the ropes over, in case we need a quick exit?” I ask.
“Affirmative,” he replies.
“I’ll go down first, cover me,” I tell the other three.
I move right to the edge of the hole and get down on one knee in front of it; putting my left hand down for support, I lean down into the hole as far as possible to give the office one last check before I go in. The office definitely looks clear so I turn around, put both hands on the wet edge of the roof and start to lower myself in, my feet reaching out as I lower, looking for the coffee table that is still on top of the sideboard housing the safe. My feet find the table and I transfer my weight onto it, making sure it is steady, then carefully step down onto the secure sideboard.
Before I give the next man the all-clear, I again scan the room, the orange glow twinkling as the rain comes down through the hole above, piercing the light. But apart from that, nothing moves.
Giving them the all-clear, get down off the sideboard to make way for the next man and take a position next to the sideboard, one hand on my M4 and the other steadying the coffee table. The quiet of the office is spoiled by the banging coming from the rooftop door which travels down through the hole above me and from the door to the stairwell which is next to Sir Malcolm’s office. Thankfully, the Rabids seem to be ignoring the door next to the office, for now at least.
Three of the men are down in quick succession, Sergeant Dixon the last of those three, after passing his case down. Lance Corporal Kim stays up top to ferry the rest of the equipment over and pass it down, but the first thing he does is to tie off two of the fast ropes and drop them down. If we have to evacuate quickly, they could be invaluable.
Sergeant Dixon doesn’t mess about and makes a beeline to the safe. He has no need to look for it; the sideboard’s sliding door is still open, reveal
ing its position. He reaches up and turns on his LED headlamp, getting to work dismantling the keypad.
“Do you want the tarpaulin up?” I whisper to him.
“No, the rain isn’t coming down here,” he whispers bluntly back as if I have broken his concentration.
Fair enough, I think to myself and press the button on my radio. “Dan receiving, over.” I talk into the radio as loudly as I dare.
“Receiving, we have you covered up here, Boss, over,” Dan tells me, reading my mind.
“How’s the door holding up, over?”
“Uncertain, Boss, it is holding, for now, over.”
“Received, over and out.”
Kim finally comes down through the hole after passing down the last piece of equipment. He uses one of the ropes to assist his descent and he makes it look easy compared to the rest of our fumbling attempts. Deciding to let Dixon work, with Simms assisting him and Watts setting up the plasma, Kim can give them cover while I leave the office to quickly check how the barricaded stairwell is holding up.
“Kim, help me move the desk back from the door,” I instruct.
He immediately complies and we take a side each, lift the heavy desk and shuffle it back a few feet, just enough for me to open the door and squeeze through.
“I’ll only be a couple of minutes,” I tell Kim as I leave Sir Malcolm’s office.
Darkness encompasses the lounge area outside the office, the dull light coming in through the windows barely enough for me to see the dark blobs of furniture that are only feet away from me. There is no sign of any power in the building; perhaps I should have brought some night vision goggles, but we didn’t think we would need them. This is supposed to be a fast mission in the afternoon, the light was not supposed to be a factor. I take out another glow stick and risk cracking it. As the glow starts to resonate, I avoid looking directly at the stick, not wanting it to affect my night vision that is starting to develop. Standing the stick up against the wall, I move past it and towards the barricaded stairwell door, and the orange glow builds as the chemicals mix and react. It is amazing how much difference a small glow stick can make in a dark room.
Capital Falling Trilogy Box Set [Books 1-3] Page 40
