Donner appeared to consider the matter, although he had already made his decision, at least as regards his own future. A shambles, no other word for it and one thing was for certain. The presence of Villiers and his men meant that much stronger forces wouldn't be far behind. Last stands were for fools and the Chieftain on the beach at the foot of those cliffs was a much more attractive proposition.
He said to Stavrou, 'Get up to the radio room, Yanni, and contact the captain of the trawler. Don't whatever you do, tell him what the situation is or the bastard will simply turn tail and get the hell out of it. Just tell him my orders are to come ahead at his best possible speed. Once that's sorted out, get the others. I'll meet you down at the harbour.'
'And the Exocets?' Stavrou demanded.
'Yesterday's news. If we get out of this one in one piece we've done well. Off you go!'
Stavrou went out. Montera said, 'You can say I'm a cynic, but I get the impression you've just sold our friend right down the river.'
'He shouldn't have joined.' Donner reached for the bottle of Krug. 'Might as well finish this.'
'There's nowhere to go,' Montera said softly. 'It's over, or hasn't that sunk in yet?'
'There's always somewhere to go, sport, especially when you have a plane on the beach and the pride of the Argentine air force to fly it for you.'
He emptied his glass in one quick swallow and hurled it into the corner to smash against the wall.
Villiers ordered his men to stay down and moved to the edge of the escarpment, in time to see Stavrou cross to the radio tower, open the door and disappear inside. The entire base was laid before them like a map.
Villiers pointed to the tunnel entrance to the missile pens. 'Presumably you were briefed before this posting,' he said to Sergeant Albray. 'Would that be where the Exocets are?'
'That's right,' Albray said. 'The radio room is at the top of the tower.'
There was another long, low concrete building to the right where two of Donner's men appeared to be standing guard.
'And that?' Villiers demanded.
'As I remember from the plans, that's the fuel store.'
Villiers nodded. 'They've probably got most of the personnel on the base imprisoned in there.'
'No sign of the trawler,' Albray remarked, looking down towards the harbour.
'Probably on her way in right now. Even if Donner thinks things have gone badly wrong, he won't want to be left stranded. On the other hand, he might decide to go all Russian on us and sacrifice himself for the sake of the dear old motherland. Order that trawler to get the hell out of it, which would be a pity. Nice to think it's going to end up in the bag with everybody else.'
'So what do we do?' Albray asked.
'We'll tackle the tower, you and I. Probably there's only the creep who just went in, Stavrou, and a radio operator up there.' He turned to the rest of the soldiers. 'Give Sergeant Albray and me five minutes, then move in and move in hard. Take out those two guards at the fuel store, then block the mouth of that tunnel. Anyone tries to move out, shoot the hell out of them and remember what I said. Don't give the bastards a chance because they won't give you one.'
They skirted the back of one of the concrete huts and paused in its shelter, no more than ten yards from the tower. Villiers pointed to the steel ladder running up the outside of the tower to the balcony.
He moved forward, and holding the Walther ready in his right hand, started to climb. Albray waited until he was ten or fifteen feet up and then ran forward, opened the door at the base of the tower and went inside.
As he did so, Yanni Stavrou came round the final bend of the spiral staircase. The gun on his hip was holstered, but his reflexes were excellent. He took in Albray and his uniform in a split second, was already turning and running back out of sight as the sergeant fired his machine pistol. Albray, without the slightest hesitation, went after him.
Villiers was more than half way up the ladder when he heard the shooting from inside the tower. He paused, hanging on with one hand, the Walther in his other. He looked down and again everything moved in on him as that dreadful fear of heights returned.
The guards outside the fuel store were looking up, started to raise their weapons, and then Leclerc's men emerged from between two concrete huts opposite, firing as they came, cutting them down from behind.
Above Villiers the radio operator leaned over the rail, a machine pistol in his hand, and Villiers fired one-handed, the reflexes of hard training taking over, all fear leaving him. The man cried out and staggered back out of sight and Villiers started to climb again.
Donner ran to the window, drawing his revolver and looked out as firing erupted in the street.
Raul Montera laughed softly. 'I think that perhaps this time you've left things a little late, my friend.'
Donner didn't bother to reply, simply opened the door and peeped out. The three guards at the fuel store lay in the street outside and one of Leclerc's men was unlocking the door. There was gunfire at the other end of the street and he saw two of his men fleeing towards the harbour.
He closed the door, pulled Montera to his feet and pushed him into the kitchen at the rear. Totally without fear, he opened the back door. 'Now get moving!' he ordered, and he pushed Montera outside.
Villiers peered cautiously over the edge of the balcony but there was no one there except for the dead radio operator sprawled against the wall, the machine pistol on the floor beside him. Villiers picked up the machine pistol and moved to the door of the radio room which swung in the wind. There was no one there either.
There was a quick step behind him, he swung round, the machine pistol coming up as Stavrou paused in the doorway, an automatic in one hand. The look on Stavrou's face said everything, rage for a brief moment, then the cold calculation of the professional survivor. He assessed his chances against the machine pistol and made his decision. He laid down his automatic very carefully.
Villiers raised the machine pistol, finger tightening on the trigger and Stavrou smiled. 'Oh no you won't, Major Villiers. I mean, it wouldn't be British, would it? Playing fields of Eton and all that fair play stuff.'
Villiers moved in close. 'You mean I'm a gentleman?'
'Something like that.'
The bone-handled fisherman's gutting knife, which Stavrou had carried in his right sleeve for years, slipped into the palm of his hand, there was a click as his thumb found the button, the arm swept up, the blade streaking for the soft flesh beneath Villiers' chin.
And Villiers, anticipating just such a move, praying for it, dropped his machine pistol, blocked the arm with practised skill, grabbed for the wrist with both hands, twisting it cruelly so that Stavrou dropped the knife and cried out in pain. Villiers wrenched the arm round and up, still keeping that terrible hold in position, and this time Stavrou screamed as muscles tore, was still screaming as Villiers ran him headfirst through the door and out across the rail to plunge forty feet to the concrete below.
It was at that precise moment that Donner and Montera emerged from the back of the officer's mess. Stavrou's body hit the ground at the base of the tower and Donner looked up to see Villiers appear at the rail, Sergeant Albray behind him. The sergeant raised his machine pistol to fire and Donner pulled Montera in front of him as a shield.
On the balcony Villiers knocked up the sergeant's arm. 'No, leave it to me.' He turned and went down the spiral staircase on the run.
Donner and Montera went up the ravine at the rear of the camp, emerged on the upper slope and started across the plateau towards the edge of the cliff, Donner pushing the Argentinian in front of him.