Shooting Butterflies Read Online Free

shoulders, easing the stress building there. Waiting for the drop was always the hardest part.
    Finally the stand-by jump light illuminated the aircraft with its red glare.
    â€˜Stand by the door!’ yelled the head despatcher.
    Clutching their drop bags with one hand and pulling their hooks along the cable with the other, they shuffle-marched as one towards the door. ‘One-two, one-two,’ they shouted as they marched one foot forward then shuffled the other foot to catch up. It was a practised manoeuvre that helped the paratroopers to keep their balance. Just one of the moves Shilo had trained for and executed since the beginning of the war, when they had allowed black men to sign up and fight for the freedom of their Rhodesia, and he had become a paratrooper. Exiting the aircraft and leaping into the slipstream of the plane had become an addictive rush, an adrenaline high.
    He stood opposite the dark chasm.
    The drop light turned from red to green.
    â€˜Go!’ screamed the despatcher and slapped Shilo’s thigh.
    He took one last deep breath and crossed his arms across the reserve pack on his chest, then stepped out as far as he could into the abyss. He felt the icy-cold rush of air and then the incredible noise of the engines and the air around him. He knew that, behind him, other men tumbled into the darkness as they emptied the plane quickly and fell like hail from the sky. He reached his four count. He heard his olive-green canopy snap open above him, its release controlled by the static line that was still attached to the plane. As it was designed to do, it had unwrapped his chute perfectly when he came to the end of the webbing. Relief surged through him that he wouldn’t need to use the reserve on his chest.
    His fall slowed. He could breathe again.
    Shilo could hear the plane’s drone somewhere in the distance, and in the near silence he drifted down towards the target drop zone over five hundred metres below. He quickly released the Capewell releases to deploy his drop bag which contained his webbing, rucksack and the rest of his deployment kit. He felt the drop bag jerk toa stop at the end of the two-metre lanyard, and mentally checked that off his list of how to execute a perfect drop.
    The cold wind flapped at his jumpsuit and the familiar sensation of dread and anticipation sat low in his belly. The military parachutes had little sense of directional guidance. He was never under any illusion that he was in control of where he would land. He hoped that he would at least be within the vlei demarcated as the drop zone, and not drift into the trees along the edges. His adrenaline surged again with anticipation of his unpredictable landing.
    Shilo watched the darkness beneath him change density and knew the ground was rushing up towards him. He felt his drop bag hit the ground and immediately braced for his para-roll. He hit the ground a second later.
    Slightly winded, Shilo quickly opened the harness releases and rolled away from his gear. He glanced upwards to check no one was going to land on top of him, but the sky was too dark to see.
    He unstrapped his weapon, cocked the action and made sure the safety catch was on. Despite not being his standard military issue, it was habit to collect his gear. Once he had packed it up he stood motionless and listened to the night sounds.
    He could hear crickets and an owl hooted far in the distance. Other than that there was nothing. No sounds of animals stirring.
    He removed his webbing and rucksack from the drop bag and strapped them on, then jumped up and down to make sure nothing rattled. Satisfied, he jogged towards the glow of a red flashlight where he knew Sergeant Riley had set up the rally point, and the other men from his platoon would all be gathering.
    â€˜Weapons check?’ Sergeant Riley queried. The company men quickly confirmed they had checked their weapons. Standard Soviet Bloc weapons, AK-47s with the signature curved