THE ORANGE MOON AFFAIR (31 page)

Radley leaned forward. He had listened intently to everything I had to say. “We tested the bullet Paul recovered. It does indeed have a higher radioactive signature. So we loaded it into an AR15 cartridge and fired it. It will take out any known armoured vehicle. The bullet also heats up to a far higher temperature than normal DU ammunition, creating a fire blast ahead of the bullet in flight that'll slice through any flesh it passes close to. It doesn't have to hit a body to cause lethal damage. Not to mention the local area toxicity once the round hits something.”

“We need to stop whatever's happening in Suldiski and we've only twenty fours to do it.”

Radley unbuckled his seat belt and stood. "Thanks for all you’re doing. It's much appreciated." I looked into his eyes and for the first time since thought I detected a spark of humanity. “Rest. I'll arrange everything.” I made a feeble gesture with my hands and watched him walk down the aircraft.

Rest, the man said. I needed no more prompting. The events had caught up with me. I felt very tired, stiff and sore. Sleep didn’t take long in coming.

EIGHTEEN

A special forces Hercules MC-130
is not the most comfortable aircraft in which to travel any great distance; especially when you're loaded down with equipment, such as a self-contained oxygen breathing apparatus, two parachutes and a bergen carrying weapons, ammunition, explosives, medical supplies, and water. But it was strangely comforting to be sitting on the webbing seat barely able to talk above the roar of the four Allison Turbo-props.

This aircraft was fitted with satellite surveillance ground imaging, communications, and eavesdropping equipment, which filled most of the cargo bay leaving little space for the team, composed of two four man units. I was tasked with leading one and Danny the other. The other six men were Paul, Bob another member of CBRN, and four former SAS troopers, Bill, Al, Gerry and Pete. Because I knew them from Iraq and Afghanistan days I didn't feel quite so uneasy and out-of-practice, even though it had been a while since I made a HALO jump from over nine thousand metres, nearly thirty thousand feet in old money.

“Satellite infra-red imagery discovered that the old submarine pen in Suldiski has been excavated and rebuilt with a blockhouse between the former Russian defence systems. Those consist of watchtowers and missile launch tower, which look like they have been rebuilt. Now the facility is being used by Marika Keskküla as the base for her yacht and most probably a DU manufacturing facility.” Radley pointed out the area on the blown-up photograph on the large TV. “What were the old barracks here we believe have been rebuilt as the factory.” He pointed to the dome shaped structure beyond the newly constructed dock. “The mission is simple. Take out the facility, secure the ammunition and destroy everything. My guess is that the headquarters are below the blockhouse, underground, using the old tunnels that lead to the submarine pen.” The photograph was replaced by an old Russian building plan of the underground tunnel complex. The briefing continued until we were completely familiar with the complex. “We can jam their radar just before you exit the aircraft for a few minutes. That'll give you enough time to descend to opening height. Unit one lands on the blockhouse, there's a ventilation shaft we believe leads down into the underground bunker. Unit two beside the dome structure.”

I was exhausted and could barely stay awake. Last night I catnapped on the flight to RAF Marham near Norwich where Radley the rest of the team and the Hercules MC-130 was waiting. I was still frozen from my midnight swim, and the thought of jumping from a sub zero thirty thousand feet into a winter night over the Baltic, did nothing to warm me up.

When Radley finished talking, I felt a nudge on my elbow and turned to see a big mug of hot Stones Ginger Wine stuck in front of my face.

“Get that down you boss. It'll put you straight.” Alan, one of my section grinned and winked. “My old granny put me up to this. Works a treat.”

“Thanks.” I sipped the scalding liquor and immediately felt it warm through my entire body. Of course you have to like ginger, but I wasn't complaining.

We had spent all day going through the drills time and time again until we had it right. There would be no room for mistakes. Radley had taken over one of the hangers at the far end of the airfield and created mock-ups of the submarine pen and the dome ammunition factory. We had no idea of the interior except fuzzy details the infrared had managed to collect. It wasn't much but there was no time for a boots on the ground reconnaissance before we went in, just intelligence reports from sources within the Estonian government.

After we had brushed up on the use of oxygen, Danny went through the formation we were to drop in and the different opening heights. Glen would lead out as the heaviest, followed by the rest of us according to our all-up weight. I was to be fifth out. We each had
ballistic helmets, oxygen mask, tactical goggles, O2 regulator, Twin 53 bailout bottle assemblies, MC-4 Halo parachute rig, high altitude altimeters and a tiny high altitude GPS navigation module and thermal insulated jumpsuit. Additional equipment consisted of AN/PVS-15
night vision binoculars and miniature video cameras attached to our helmets.

The day went past in a flash of rehearsing, memorising signals, details of the Suldiski complex, the PUP (pick-up-point) after the mission was over, and all the aircraft procedures.

T
he smell of aviation turbine
fuel penetrated into the interior of the Hercules as the pilot ran up the engines prior to take-off. Most of the team spent the time reading or playing cards, but I was too restless to concentrate on anything, so to hear the engines winding up to full power and feel the rumbling vibration as the aircraft began its take-off roll, was a relief. Nobody felt like shouting above the noise, so busied themselves making last minute final adjustments to their kit.

Once airborne and climbing steadily to our cruise altitude of thirty thousand feet, Danny got up and beckoned me to follow. We went up into the cockpit and sat on the bench seat behind the pilots and drank coffee. Outside it was a perfect night, with the stars bright in the sky and the lights on the coast of East Anglia sliding by beneath us. It seemed so peaceful and the thought that we were going into battle didn't seem real. The pilots quietly and confidently monitored the controls and instruments, with the navigator making odd comments every now and then.

The first hour passed quickly enough and then Peter gave me a nudge and I saw the pilots plugging in their oxygen masks, preparing for the last part of the flight. We returned to the rear of the aircraft and saw that most of the team already had their kit on and were sorting out their masks.

I was quite familiar with the MC-4 HALO rig and slipped it over my shoulders. It fitted perfectly and just required a last minute adjustment to make sure it was good and tight. Next oxygen tank, weapon, bergen, helmet and mask. For the next twenty minutes we'd be breathing from the main O2 apparatus in the centre of the cargo hold, aft of the satellite and communications equipment, as the aircraft slowly depressurised.

I looked at the strange sight around me through my goggles. We were now each in our own little world until we reached the ground, as the tiny radios had not yet been switched on.

We were like alien beings, sinister, dangerous, and inhuman.

The main lights in the aircraft went out, replaced by a dull glow from half a dozen red night vision lights that was enough to see by but not enough to damage our night vision; somewhat like being in a photographer’s darkroom. Then, catching me totally unprepared, came the signal from the Jump-master to unhook from the central breathing system and go onto our own personal bottles. From now on it was all activity. The rear doors slowly opened and the noise became even louder. We stood, checked our equipment one final time and shuffled along the ramp.

Outside, all I could see was the light from a million stars shining off the surface of the Baltic Sea thirty thousand feet below. No sign of land anywhere.

I looked at the others standing there on the ramp, silhouetted against the starry sky. The Jump-master held up his hand, showing three fingers.

The red light blinked on, then switched to green and I followed the others over the end of the ramp and into the dark hostile night. At first I sensed panic as I somersaulted, then snapped into a fast 180-degree turn, before steadying into a stable position. I looked down and didn't see anybody so I slowly initiated a turn to the right. There, just below me and to the right were the other four. Somewhere above were the rest. The tiny red lights on the top of the helmets showed clearly and beyond them, tens of thousands of feet below, the small islands off the coast of Estonia. What Peter had said was absolutely right. It was incredible what you could see at night from this altitude. The promontory on the North Western most island, was quite brightly lit and easily seen. The Keskküla Company had turned the secret abandoned nuclear submarine base into a modern factory complex but there was no sign of Marika Keskküla's personal yacht.

I was so absorbed in the fantastic sight that I almost forgot to monitor my altimeter. I glanced at the luminous dial on my wrist. We were just passing through fifteen thousand feet. I brought my arms in and quickly found the radio switch and flicked it on, then settled back into a stable position again. There was no need to talk at this stage; everyone knew what they were doing.

We were now passing through eight thousand feet and getting close to our opening heights. The submarine base and arms manufacturing facility clearly visible close to each other buildings were clearly visible and I could see where we were going to land.

Seven thousand feet.

Every now and then I risked a glance at the four below.

Six thousand.

At five thousand feet we split into our sections, speeding away from each other before reaching for the ripcord drogue. There was a momentary rustling and then a crack and a jerk and I was swinging beneath the canopy. I unclipped the oxygen mask reached up and took a hold of the toggles, steered the canopy round until I could see the one below blossoming out. Although they were black, they were easy to see because each canopy had a luminous panel stitched onto the top. The ground was starting to get closer and my altimeter was running out of steam. One thousand feet to go and then serious business would begin.

Five hundred feet and I started my final turn to follow the others onto the landing point on top of the blockhouse we thought was the roof of the underground complex next to the submarine pen entrance. To my left Danny's unit headed for the barracks.

There were either no guards in the watchtowers, or they were fast asleep as we glided between them and onto the blockhouse roof.

With barely a sound, all four of us landed, rolled up our parachutes and lowered them down the side of the blockhouse to the ground, where we would later pick them up before going to the pick-up-point. Then we headed for the ventilation shaft our rubber soled boots barely making a sound. I looked across at the barracks through my night vision binoculars and saw that Danny's boys had landed and were preparing a mouse-hole charge to blast an entry into the dome. As soon as that went off all hell would break loose. Until then we were on radio silence.

Alan prised open the large metal cover and we looked down the narrow shaft; far too narrow for us to enter. Alan shook his head and I headed to the south side of the blockhouse. I remembered seeing a door in the wall on that side and figured we'd have to blow an entrance just like Danny. A glance at my watch showed that Danny would blow his charge in two minutes. There wasn't much time.

Alan dropped the rope down the side of the building as Gerry made it secure, and we quickly scaled down to the ground. Just as we approached the door, it opened and a young dishevelled guard stepped out, yawning, his weapon slung over his shoulder. Obviously Marika Keskküla had no idea we were coming, or even suspected that we would launch an attack. That bothered me.

The guard never knew what killed him as Gerry snapped his neck efficiently from behind. We slipped silently around the body into the blockhouse.

There were three small rooms. The guard in the first room looked up in surprise as we entered, and I shot him with my silenced HK before he had a chance to raise the alarm. The security monitor on the desk in front of the dead guard seemed to be on a loop and my instincts leaped into high sensory mode. The guards had no chance. They never saw us coming even when we were right outside the door, and the area where our parachutes had been left was empty ground. Behind the desk set into the far wall was a steel security door. To the right was a narrow corridor leading to the other rooms.

There was no time to think this through completely as Bill and Gerry cleared the second room, where two more guards lay sleeping. There was a small bathroom off the room and a door leading to a kitchen. We returned to the main room and Al felt around the door then placed charges against the hinges. We retired outside. Al looked at his watch and blew the door just as Danny blew the mouse-hole charge.

The steel door hung drunkenly on its hinges, beyond were stairs leading down to the next level.

Cautiously I led the way down, hugging the wall. The stairs turned to the left and I peered around the corner and stared into a empty hall like bunker that had been stripped clean of whatever had been in there. I pulled a grenade from my belt and tossed it into the hall. There was a brilliant flash and a deafening explosion followed by a cloud of smoke. Al and Bill rushed past me and down into the hall. The next minute was total confusion with shouts, screams and the sound of small arms fire.

It was all over in seconds, and Al's voice came through the earpiece.

"Clear," he said calmly.

The smoke hung in the hall like a sea fog and there were a couple of very bloody looking bodies on the floor, looking like discarded rag dolls. Bill was at the far end of the hall kneeling down beside an injured man. I went over.