I counted the seconds, staring upwards, with the Firefly in my right hand. Then at last I heard the magic sound I’d been waiting for: the sudden, rattling, snapping flutter of a chute breaking out. It came from high in front of me, and was quickly followed by another, and another, four, five . . . then several all at once. Holding the Firefly above my head, I punched the rubber button on the base and saw a brilliant flash bounce off the snow.

In the enormous silence of the mountains the thin electronic whine of the unit building up to its next discharge sounded like a jet engine. Flash went the light again – and then suddenly in my earpiece there was Pat Newman’s voice saying, ‘OK, Geordie, I’ve got you. Close it down. I’m coming in.’

A moment later I saw the angular black shapes of the parachutes gliding across the stars like a formation of giant bats. In the last few seconds I heard the rush of air spilling from the canopies: then suddenly men in pairs were touching down all round me.

Brilliant! I thought – but at that instant, away to my left, a dog began to bark hysterically. The noise was coming from inside the trees, just beyond the old hay cart. I jabbed my pressel switch twice and listened for Sasha to come up on the air.

Nothing.

I jabbed again. The dog was still barking. One of the incoming figures had disengaged from its partner and was coming towards me. I recognised Pat from his rolling walk.

‘Get in! Get in!’ I hissed. ‘That bloody dog.’

Even as I was talking the barking ceased.

The lads didn’t need telling. Pat had briefed them already, and in any case their instincts and training made them head straight for the dark edge of the pines, dragging their chutes behind them.

In the shadows, Pat had a quick head count.

‘We’re OK,’ he said. ‘We’re on. What’s the crack?’

‘Not sure. See that old wagon on the edge of the field? I left Sasha there. That’s our forming-up area. It sounded as though he had a contact. Wait one.’

Two more jabs on the pressel. Still no answer. All round me there was a general scrabbling and scrunching as people rolled up their chutes, and a rattle of working parts as they readied their weapons.

‘Whatever’s happened, we’ve got to go that way,’ I told Pat.

‘OK,’ he said quickly. ‘Us two’ll move up and check it out.’

In the lead, I advanced with my 203 at the ready, every sense on full alert, with Pat ten metres behind me. Our boots, cushioned by the snow, were making no sound, but I knew we’d show up as black silhouettes every time we passed an open area.