Exocet

'Raul, how are you?'

'It could be worse. We lost another three yesterday. What you might call scraping the barrel.'

Lami Dozo gave him a cigarette. 'San Carlos again?'

'That's right.'

'This could be the last one, Raul. The British have taken the high ground outside Port Stanley. We believe they've taken at least four hundred prisoners. I think it may only be a couple of days before Menendez will have to surrender.'

'So — what was it all about?'

'I don't know,' General Dozo said. 'There were those, and I was not amongst them, who said we needed a war to prove ourselves. I hope the same people are now just as prepared to work for a new Argentina.'

'But still we go on?'

'Yes, sometimes it is necessary.'

'I often think of that uncle of mine, my mother's brother, the one who disgraced the family by fighting bulls. I remember as a young man watching him waiting in his suit of lights, to enter the plaza at Mexico City, the trumpet sounding high and sweet, playing La Virgen de la Macarena.' Montera smiled. 'I feel like that rather a lot these days. As if the beast is waiting for me out there. My uncle didn't know when to stop either.'

Lami Dozo looked grave. 'This isn't good, Raul.'

'Ah, but it is, General. You see, I've discovered the big secret. I don't actually care any more, whether I live or die. That way, they don't know how to handle me, whoever they are up there.'

'Raul, please,' Dozo said.

'Not to worry. Two ears and a tail when I get back.'

They gave each other the abrazo, patting each other on the back.

Dozo said, 'Before you go, there's someone very anxious to see you. Over there by the fence.' He pointed and Montera saw a black limousine. 'Go on, you haven't much time.'

As Montera walked across to the high wire fence, a chauffeur got out of the car and opened the rear door. Donna Elena got out.

'Mama,' Montera said in astonishment.

She smiled. 'You look tired.'

'I am tired.' He smiled ruefully. 'I suppose you're going to tell me I'm too old to play games.'

'No, I haven't time. Instead, I've brought you a gift.'

She turned back to the car and Gabrielle got out and stood looking at him, pale in the yellow light of the arc lamps, a military raincoat someone had loaned her over her shoulders. For a moment he was totally stunned, and then he smiled that inimitable smile she knew so well.

'You look wonderful. How anyone told you that lately?'

'No one I'd care to hear it from.'

She moved close, taking in every detail of his appearance: the yellow flying suit, the shoulder holster, the helmet in his left hand, the tousled hair, damp from the rain.

He said gravely, 'But this isn't good. You shouldn't have come.'

'There's no other place on earth where I should be,' she said. 'I'm not Gabrielle Gone, Raul, I'm Gabrielle here, and Richard isn't dead. He's alive and well. Brigadier Ferguson lied to me. He lied because I wanted out, don't you see?'

He stared at her, frowning, and said softly, 'Oh, my God, what bastards they are, moving human beings from square to square like a game of chess to suit their own purposes.' And then he laughed out loud and fastened his hand over hers where she clutched the wire. 'I'll be back, understand me? I love you and I'll be back. Believe that.'

He kissed her hand, turned and ran towards the line of Skyhawks. Within minutes, the night was filled with the roaring of their engines. Donna Elena got out of the car and stood at Gabrielle's side as the planes taxied out one-by-one. A few moments later they started to take off, and shortly after that there was only the sound of them fading into the distance.

* * *

They swept in over the mountains of West Falkland as dawn came up, as close to the ground as they dared because of the missiles, and turned into Death Valley barely sixty feet above the water.

It happened incredibly fast as always. First the mountains, then Falkland Sound with the ships of the Task Force and more in San Carlos Water. Montera was aware of the Skyhawk on his right jinking desperately, a Rapier missile on his tail. There was an explosion, a ball of fire.

Montera banked, went in low through a hail of fire as the ships below threw up everything they had. The Skyhawk shuddered as shrapnel flailed its body. There was a frigate coming up fast and he released his bombs and climbed, banking and looking back. There were no explosions and he laughed out loud at the nonsense of it all.

'Mother of God, even at this stage of the game they can't get the fuses right.'

* * *

In the operations room at Rio Gallegos, Donna Elena and Gabrielle sat by the stove. Lami Dozo stood at the window, peering out at the rain in the grey dawn light, drinking coffee. A young lieutenant came in, saluted and handed him a signal. The general read it, nodded, and the lieutenant went out.

Donna Elena said, 'You don't look happy. Is it bad news?'

'They hit the target. One Skyhawk down.'

'Not Raul?' Gabrielle said.

'No, not Raul. The last we heard, he and the other pilot were on their way back.'

* * *

Raul Montera burst out of cloud at four thousand feet and, still descending, followed the other Skyhawk which was going down fast, smoke pouring from it.

Montera, disregarding all procedure, called over the radio, 'Come in, Enrico. How bad is it?'

There was no reply and suddenly he saw a Sidewinder missile home in from nowhere. There was a tongue of flame that mushroomed into a fireball as the Skyhawk disintegrated.

A Harrier, that's all it could be. What lousy luck, for they had almost reached the limit of the Harrier's radius for a sea chase. He corkscrewed instantly, the reflex of much combat experience coming to his aid, and was aware of another Sidewinder spiralling madly away over on his right, plunging down towards the sea. A rogue missile whose directional equipment had gone haywire, a stroke of luck as the Harrier only carried two Sidewinders, which meant he now only had its 30 mm Aden cannons to contend with.

It swung in on his tail and the Skyhawk shuddered under the impact of cannon shell. The cockpit canopy disintegrated and Montera received a violent blow in his left arm and another in his right leg.

The Harrier swung in again and then it was the dream, only this time for real, the eagle descending, claws reaching out to destroy. Again he staggered under the impact of its cannon, it passed, banked to starboard and curved in on his tail to finish him off.

He was already down to a thousand feet and Gabrielle seemed to say in his ear what she had said the first time he'd had the dream in the flat in Kensington.

'Remember to drop your flaps. Eagles overshoot, too.'

And Montera did just that. It was like running into a solid wall and for a moment, he thought he'd lost power completely. The Harrier pilot had to take violent evasive action to avoid a collision, climbing fast and Montera seized his chance and went right down.

It was probably the most hazardous piece of flying he'd ever attempted as he levelled out at a hundred feet, for the wind was such that the sea was lifting in forty foot swells.

He looked up for his adversary, saw him high overhead. There was a crackle of static. A voice said in English over his radio, 'Good luck, whoever you are. You've earned it,' and the Harrier, at the limit of its radius, banked away, turned back towards the Falklands.

* * *

In the operations room Gabrielle dozed fitfully. Donna Elena and Lami Dozo stood by the window, smoking cigarettes.

'He's a fool, my son,' she said. 'You know that?'