‘My feet are having a hard time,’ said Martin.

Mine were too. The helicopter didn’t offer much protection from the elements; there was only a thin layer of plastic and carbon fibre between us and the freezing high-altitude temperatures.

‘Turn the heating on,’ I said.

Martin reached for the heating knob. There was an ominous crunching sound, after which the knob spun around uselessly. This was not good.

We had no way of knowing if the heater had broken while set on de-fog for the windscreen, or heat for the feet, so now we had no idea if we were going to be able to de-mist the windscreen, or if we would just have hot air pumping onto our feet for the rest of the journey. Keeping warm is important, but being able to see is the main priority, so I prayed it was stuck on de-fog.

‘BEEP BEEP BEEP! COLD BATTERY, COLD BATTERY! BEEP BEEP BEEP!’

The warning light blinked angrily on the screen. Shit! What now? Beside me, in his co-pilot’s seat, Martin had turned as white as the clouds below us.

I realised what was happening. The outside temperature was minus 14˚C, and had been for the

past three hours. The aircraft had probably never been tested to these sorts of extremes before and it was not happy. I knew how it felt.

I had no idea whether the helicopter had been designed to fly at these temperatures for periods as long as we had been flying up there – around three hours – but I did know it was designed to fly for a maximum of only three hours at a time. And even though our extended-range tank enabled us to fly it for five hours straight, maybe that would not hold up in such crazily cold conditions.

Those conditions certainly seemed to be taking their toll: the computer system was basically packing up. We had a broken heating control, ECU degrade and a frozen battery. And to top it all I was running low on wine gums.

‘BEEP BEEP BEEP!’ went the helicopter warning system again. This was the third warning.

That was it, we were surely going to die. We were done. Toast. Heading for the icy waters of the sea.