Warning Order (A Spider Shepherd short story) Read Online Free PDF Page A

his left cheek. ‘You’ll be practising in the Channel not the Arctic, and rescue boats will be patrolling to ensure your safety. Any other questions?’ He closed the file with a snap and walked out.
    At 0230 on a coal black starless night a Hercules lumbered into the air from Boscombe Down, climbing to 10,000 feet as it headed west towards the Isles of Scilly.  Shepherd and the rest of the patrol sat on uncomfortable canvas seats with the RAF dispatchers in the back of the aircraft.  The recce boat, rigged with a 20-foot drogue parachute, was at the back of the aircraft, lashed to the tailgate and ready to be dropped when the pilot gave the signal,. 
    It took several days and nights of trial and error to get to the stage where they had a workable technique. They tried dozens of different permutations of how the drop could be successfully completed, but most were either too dangerous or unworkable and were discarded.  They tried high-drop, low-opening, they had dropped the patrol first and then the boat, and they had tried dropping the boat in the middle of the patrol. Nothing seemed to work.
    They used up a huge number of parachutes. Every time a parachute was immersed in sea water it had to be washed in fresh water, dried and tested for decay before it could be used on another drop.  As a result, water jumps into the sea were usually made using parachutes near the end of their useful lives, which were then discarded afterwards, but the sheer numbers the patrol required meant the RAF supply chain was hard pressed to keep up with their demands.
    The crew from the Special Forces squadron at RAF Lyneham had heard about the patrol’s experiences in Norway and were sympathetic to their situation, and while everyone involved knew there was a job to be done, that did not mean that anyone should be exposed to unnecessary, life-threatening risks. Because of the lack of trust in the recce boat, the aircrew had taken to carrying a liferaft which they could drop if the recce boat malfunctioned.  During the practice runs there was also such an overkill of safety boats in the drop zone, that as Geordie looked around, he exclaimed, ‘Bloody hell, it’s like Dunkirk all over again out here.’
    ‘Are you surprised?’ Shepherd said. ‘A death off the Lofoten Islands is one thing, but it’d be a lot harder to hush up something that happens in sight of the British coast.’
    Eventually they worked out a successful technique. The Hercules crew extinguished all lights on the aircraft over the Isles of Scilly, including the external strobe navigation lights.  Inside the aircraft every window except the windscreen had been blacked out before takeoff.  After the skipper made one last call to base to ensure that everything was in place at the drop zone, the aircraft went into a stomach-churning dive towards the sea and at the same time, turned onto an easterly heading.  The Hercules was now flying at wave-top height, bouncing on the pressure wave from the ocean as it swept past the cliffs of Cornwall and Devon, visible only as a blacker mass against the moonless, cloud-covered sky. 
    In the back of the plane, the deafening noise made speech impossible. The patrol and the RAF dispatchers were strapped into their seats to prevent being thrown around in the darkness. Everyone was wearing passive night goggles, ready to go into action when ordered by the skipper.   
    As they neared the drop zone, everyone on board went into the clear-headed, calm mode of professionals with complete confidence in their skills. Over Lyme Bay the engines were throttled back and everyone in the cargo bay immediately unhooked themselves and started to prepare for the drop. Shepherd was already wearing his neoprene wet suit, much better for use in the more temperate waters off the UK than the cumbersome dry suit and much easier to get out of when no longer required.  Around his waist he wore a web belt with a sheathed divers knife.   He pulled on his