The old man closes his eyes and leans back, remembers when pretty much all he did was kick arse and take names. Man, those were the days.
40
Henri hasn’t watched a sunrise for the longest time. He once took solace in its natural grace. It recharged him, momentarily erased his troubles, prompted him to think about his place in the universe and how insignificant it was.
That was before his wife died, when such flights of fancy didn’t seem frivolous, when he was happy but didn’t know it, when the troubles that seemed so important were, in retrospect, trivial. He no longer thinks of his place in the universe as insignificant; quite the opposite, in fact.
The Frenchman glances at his GMT-Master then looks up at Atlantis, piggybacking the Galaxy, and triggers his walkie. ‘Wheels up in five minutes. Everyone, please take your positions. Nico and Dirk, report to me at the ladder.’
He takes in the sunrise for a final moment. Though he’d expected some collateral damage on this mission, the loss of Claude and Cobbin, and Gerald and Tam during the launch, has left him with a deep melancholy. He takes a breath, won’t, can’t let it affect the final part of the operation, the most important part.
The Frenchman turns, takes in Dirk and Nico as they approach, illuminated by the golden light.
‘You are now the crew’s leader.’
Dirk nods to Henri but doesn’t smile. It doesn’t feel right. You don’t smile when you get a job this way. ‘Thank you, sir.’ He starts to say something else then stops himself, looks down, studies the fine red dust that coats his boots.
The Frenchman sees it. ‘What?’
Dirk looks up. ‘Is there any way to change your mind?’
Nico chimes in. ‘Yes, sir, there must be another way —’
‘No.’ Henri regards them both for a moment. ‘This is my final mission. Nothing has changed.’ He fixes his gaze on Nico. ‘You are now second in command. I expect you to support Dirk just as you have supported me.’
‘Of course, Commander.’
‘You know where to find the video. Post it everywhere. And ensure the families of our fallen comrades are generously compensated.’
Another nod. Henri takes a moment, his gaze moving between the German and the Italian. ‘I thank you for supporting me and risking your lives to make this mission possible. I appreciate it more than you will ever know. I’m proud of you both, as if you were my sons. I wish you nothing but luck.’
He holds a hand out to Dirk. The German ignores it and steps forward, embraces the Frenchman. Henri hugs him back, surprised.
‘Godspeed, Commander.’ Dirk breaks off and now it’s Nico’s turn. He hugs the Frenchman, his face grim. ‘I’ll miss you, sir.’
Henri releases him. ‘Okay, you know what happens now. Get to it.’
With a nod Dirk and Nico move off. Dirk doesn’t look back. The Frenchman has turned his life around, taught him everything he knew. Now the German has both the skills and the confidence to command a seventy-million-dollar-a-year business that employs twenty expert mercenaries and operates in every corner of the globe. Dirk fears that if he looks back he’ll show emotion and he doesn’t want anyone to see that, especially Henri. Instead he turns to Nico. ‘See you at the rendezvous. We leave as soon as he arrives.’
Nico clearly has no such qualms about showing emotion. His eyes are wet. ‘Yes, Commander.’ Dirk holds out his hand and they exchange a fist-bump.
Nico moves to the nose of the Galaxy, climbs the ladder and disappears into the front hatch. Dirk walks to the edge of the runway where his Tiger awaits, rotors turning.
Henri watches them go then triggers his walkie and speaks. ‘Dirk is now leader of this crew. Nico is his 2IC. I expect them to be supported just as you have supported me. I wish you all the best. Good luck.’
Henri won’t allow himself to dwell on the emotion of leaving the men he has commanded for over two decades. There is too much to do. He moves to the ladder that leans against Atlantis’s open hatch and climbs towards the shuttle.
The plastic tie around Rhonda’s right wrist is loose but not yet loose enough. Martie has only turned around twice since they were left alone and each time Rhonda stopped flexing before her ex-friend saw what she was doing.
Someone climbs the ladder. Rhonda stops flexing and turns to the Frenchman as he steps onto the flight deck. He moves to Martie, lays a hand on her shoulder, leans down and whispers something in her ear.
Martie stands and hugs him, long and tight, then quickly exits the flight deck with her head bowed. Rhonda glimpses Martie’s face as she turns to climb down the ladder and sees her eyes are wet with tears.
Why is Martie crying? Whatever the reason it surely can’t be good. Rhonda hears the hatch close and lock, then turns to the Frenchman as he sits in the commander’s chair. ‘What’s going on? Why am I here?’
‘You’re here because you are my conduit.’
‘What does that mean? And don’t give me that “all will become apparent” bullshit again.’
He doesn’t give her that, or anything. He remains silent. Rhonda’s first impulse is to unleash a torrent of abuse. She thinks better of it and pushes the anger down, into the pit of her stomach, so she can access it later. She doesn’t want him to pay her any attention, she wants him to forget she’s even here so she can get on with what needs to be done.
She takes a deep breath and continues flexing her arm. The plastic tie needs to be much looser.
41
Thompkins yanks the D-ring handle between his legs and it all happens. The Article’s canopy flips off, the ejector seat rockets fire and he is catapulted out of the aircraft.
‘Ohmigod!’ It takes everything he’s got not to black out as the wall of air smacks into him. Then the man/seat separator separates man from seat and Thompkins freefalls.
A big jolt. A parachute flaps open from his harness and he slows. Then the chute detaches. ‘What the hell?’ He looks up. The chute disappears into the orange sky above.
He can’t believe it. After everything, the chute fails! He looks down. The ground rushes towards him.
Another jolt, much harder than the first. ‘Sonofabitch! A glorious 10-metre canopy flaps open above him. This is the first time he’s ejected from an Article and he’d forgotten a key fact from his training: the first chute was just a drogue to slow him down before the main chute opened.
He breathes for the first time since he pulled the D-ring, then turns and searches for the Article.
He finds it, a distant black smear against a lightening sky. It lists to the left then gently rolls over until it is tail down. In that position it hits the desert with a bright flash followed by a dull thud.
What he’s doing suddenly feels real. Watching the destruction of that magnificent aircraft, the last of its breed, makes him profoundly sad, almost as much as the death of Mahoney.
He looks down, takes in the shuttle perched atop the Galaxy. A black chopper, blades turning, waits nearby. He angles the chute away from them, doesn’t want a gust of wind to blow him into a turbofan or rotor blade.
The ground comes up quickly. He assumes the landing position, hits hard, rolls onto his side then to standing. It’s surprisingly graceful.
He looks over at Atlantis and the Galaxy. They’re a good kilometre away. The chute billows around him. He works the clips, detaches it from the harness.