the dive.
‘Now remember, we want the top floor, not the basement,’ came Stratton’s voice over the pilot’s earphones. The pilot did not find the comment reassuring. The controls shook in his hands. His eyes flicked from the instruments panel to the window for a second and saw it was filled with the enormous tanker, laid out in front of him like a runway, except he wasn’t approaching like a plane but in a flat dive headed straight for the poop deck. He then started to experience a most frightening phenomenon, not uncommon in situations like this, known as ground rush. His eyes started picking up minute details of the ship giving him the horrifying impression of being only yards away. Inexperienced free-fallers sometimes had similar illusions which could cause panic and premature pulling of ripcords. For a few seconds the pilot believed they were about to slam into the deck like a kamikaze aircraft. He almost panicked and was about to pull back when he forced his eyes to find the altimeter. Three thousand feet. He still had five hundred feet to go. He forced himself to hang on for two more seconds. Two thousand and five and he pulled up the pitch lever with one arm while at the same time dragging the stick back with the other.The craft did not respond immediately and he pulled the controls as hard as he could as if trying to rip them out of the floor. The Lynx shook so violently it felt like it was going to fall apart. Then suddenly, the nose began to lift. Everyone sunk into their seats, compressed by the enormous G-force exerted upon them. The pilot no longer used the instruments to fly and stared at the superstructure. It was in full view and they were heading straight towards it. He held the controls back with all his strength and then heard a voice saying: ‘Come on. Come on . . .’ It was his.
There was one last horrendous shudder and the superstructure disappeared as the nose came up and there was nothing but blue sky in front of them. He’d done it - but it wasn’t over yet. Due to his inexperience he forgot to relax his pull quickly enough and the nose came up too far. He jammed it forward but overcompensated and for a moment the Lynx did a rodeo dip and pitch. He quickly brought it under control, levelled out and looked out of his window. The port side of the bridge was forty feet below and to the side, exactly where he needed it to be. It was only then he realised he had been holding his breath for God only knew how long and exhaled heavily as sweat streamed down his face.
Stratton snapped his seatbelt away, slid his door open and pushed the heavy rope out. He watched it cascade to the bridge deck which extended from the port-side bridge door all the way across the width of the ship. Before the end of the rope hit the deck Stratton was out and sliding down it, closely followed by Scouse. The team left the Lynx so quickly the operative above Scouse was almost touching Scouse’s hands with his feet.
Stratton hit the deck and moved swiftly away to avoid being landed on by Scouse who was not a small man. He ran to the bridge door with his MPK on aim and looked inside. The bridge was virtually surrounded in glass and it was plain to see there was no one home. Scouse, Nick and Tip joined him while Fred and Foster headed down the outside steps to the deck below.
Meanwhile, on the main deck far below the bridge, teams were spilling into the engine room, auxiliary generating room and steering locker to gain control of the ship, while others headed into the superstructure and fanned out to clear every room on each deck. Two pairs sprinted along either side of the length of the deck to clear the workshops and then headed on to the bosun’s locker. All the while they were checking for booby traps, and, of course, the enemy. But as yet not a shot had been fired. The radios buzzed with commands and locations as they were cleared but there was no reference to a contact.
Stratton pulled a small charge from a pocket of his chest harness and stuck it on the glass on the door while Scouse, Tip and Nick moved to the side. Stratton pushed