I made a final convulsive attempt to drag her into the boat, but raised her barely six inches from the water. I slumped back across the side of the raft, almost falling into the sea myself. My left hand lost its grip on the harness, but I still held Jane’s hand with my right.
She gazed into my eyes as I felt her fingers slipping from mine.
I made a last despairing grab to try and hold her, but my fingers closed around nothing. She was already gone, sinking beneath the waves, the parachute wrapping itself around her like a shroud.
I stared into the green water, as if expecting her to rise back from the depths, but I was alone with the wind and the sea. I fell back and lay in the bottom of the raft, not caring where the sea took me or whether I lived or died.
The last hope of rescue faded with the light. I could feel the cold creeping up on me, and weakened by two days on the run I knew that I would not last the night.
I almost welcomed the weariness that crept over me. I no longer felt the cold. I smiled to myself and almost laughed. I recognised the euphoria for what it was, the onset of the hypothermia that would kill me, but I no longer cared. I lay back and closed my eyes, my consciousness fading in time with the rhythmic slap of the waves against the raft.
I was back on the hilltop as the same faceless, predatory figures advanced through the darkness towards me. I looked down the slope. The others – Mike, Geoff, Rose and Jane – had left me now. I had to stand against the advancing figures alone.
They came closer and closer. Their faces were still hidden by the black shadows of their steel helmets, but I knew who they were. The wind around them carried the stench of death. I gagged and choked. They stopped and stood in a half circle, facing me. Then they raised their rifles and pointed them at my heart.
There was a movement at the periphery of my vision. Mike was walking towards me, the wind ruffling his fair hair. He was wearing his Para uniform and red beret. He stopped next to me and gave me a quizzical look, his head angled slightly to one side and the smile I remembered so well playing around his lips.
I reached out a hand towards him. He looked at the dark figures, then back at me and shook his head. He took my arm and pushed me gently behind him. Then I heard gunfire and saw his body crumple and fall.
The figures had disappeared. I stood alone on the hilltop, with the body of my brother lying at my feet. The smile was still on his face. I stared down at him, still hearing the fading echoes of their gunshots.
Then I heard another sound, faint at first, a rough chopping noise just audible above the relentless cry of the wind. A glow lit the night sky and the noise grew louder. Fierce, brilliant light beat down on the raft as the helicopter’s rotors thrashed the surface of the ocean into spray.
A shadow blotted out the light. There was a thump as a pair of boots kicked at the raft and then dropped inside. I raised my head wearily and peered into the blinding light. ‘English aircrew. Aviatores Ingles.’
‘Yeah, we fucking know that,’ a Cockney voice said. ‘That’s why we’re here.’
Epilogue
As I walked out towards the Tristar, I glanced around me. Everywhere I looked there were scorched and damaged buildings. At the far end of the runway I could see the tangled wreckage of several Tempests, bulldozed to one side to clear the area for the Cobra Force squadrons. Most of the jets were drawn up in the open and would remain there until the shacks had been repaired.
There was a movement to my right and I saw a tall, slim figure in the viewing area next to the tower. We stood for a moment in silence, studying each other. The wind and the cold had brought the faintest touch of colour to her pale cheeks, but the eyes remained shadowed and tired.
I walked over to her. ‘Rose, how are you?’
‘I’m fine.’
She reached out a hand and traced the line of the scar on my cheek. ‘Two heroes in one family. There’ll be quite a celebration for you back home.’
‘I hope not. I don’t feel there’s too much to celebrate.’
‘I – I was sorry to hear about Jane.’
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
We both fell silent again.
‘Will you come back?’ she said suddenly, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground.
‘I don’t know. One day, perhaps.’
She gave a brief, sad smile. ‘That means no.’
‘It means, I don’t know. If I stay in the Air Force, the decision may be made for me.’ I paused. ‘How’s Bernard?’
‘He’s fine. Busy. Did you know we were buying George and Agnes’s place?’
‘No, I didn’t. That’s good, they would have liked that.’
‘We’ll keep our own land too. It’ll be a fair-sized farm, though a lot more work as well.’ A shadow crossed her face, then her expression brightened. ‘I’m going to England myself next year – part of the famous social ventilation programme.’
‘That’s great. Will Bernard go too?’
‘If he can tear himself away.’ She gave a shy smile. ‘Can I come and visit you in England?’
‘Of course. It would be great to see you. Both of you.’ I looked around. The last of the other passengers had disappeared up the steps of the Tristar. ‘I have to go.’
She nodded, then leaned forward to kiss me. Her arms tightened around my neck for a moment, then she stood back, a tear shining in her eye. ‘Goodbye, Sean.’
I felt her eyes still on me as I walked across the runway, its surface marked by fresh repairs. At the top of the aircraft steps I glanced back. She raised her hand to wave, but then her face crumpled and she turned away to hide her tears.
I looked out of the window as the Tristar taxied out towards the end of the runway. The long dark lines of the hills were mottled with purple and grey and to the south the flatlands shone silver as sunlight sparkled on the water of a thousand tarns and streams. Tendrils of morning mist still clung to the hillsides like wraiths.
A moment later, the sun was gone and cloud was streaming in on the wind from the west. The sky darkened and the plane rocked and shuddered as a sudden squall blew through the airfield and hail rattled against the fuselage. The engines wound up to a scream and the Tristar began to rumble down the runway.
I stared out at the new white-fenced enclosure on the hillside, glistening in the rain. The Falklands had a few more graves, a couple more memorials. I’d shed one of the ghosts from my past, only to come under the spell of another. I knew this one would haunt me forever.
Next in The Sean Riever Thrillers:
Stinger
Out of the frying pan, and into the fire…
Find out more
First published in the United Kingdom in 1998 by Hodder & Stoughton
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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United Kingdom
Copyright © John Nichol, 1998
The moral right of John Nichol to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788637510
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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