Epilogue
In London, it was snowing hard under a grey December sky. Despite the central heating, the chill from outside penetrated the sparsely-furnished room in Whitehall. Yeoman and Swalwell were conscious of the cold, and of the fact that their deeply tanned faces contrasted sharply with the pale features of the others in the room.
Yeoman had returned to England with what was left of the Venom Wing to rest and re-equip. He had said farewell to Muramshir for ever, or so he hoped. His last act, before leaving, had been to visit Ibrahim Al-Saleh in hospital, and wish him well.
There had been another visitor. Brigadier Hamad had flown down from Khorat to meet Al-Saleh, who when he was fully recovered would become Muramshir’s new head of state. Already, the two men were talking of a long and lasting peace between their two countries, of joint enterprises which — one day — might lead to the emergence of a single united nation.
Yeoman wondered what had happened to Peter de Salis. He had said a brief goodbye, and then a Canberra jet bomber had arrived at Faraz and whisked him away to some unknown destination. Yeoman knew better than to make enquiries.
‘You did a fine job. A very fine job.’ It was the man from the Foreign Office who spoke. Yeoman looked at him, thinking of the losses his squadrons had suffered.
‘A lot of good men died,’ he said harshly. ‘I can see the reasoning behind it all, but I object strongly to the way we were kept in the dark. If I had been properly briefed, I might have taken steps to cut down the casualties.’
‘Steady on, Yeoman,’ Sampson murmured at his elbow. ‘There’ll be no repercussions for the fact that you disobeyed orders in attacking Khorat, you know. I’ve seen to that. Or for those signals you sent to HQ Middle East. They were pretty embarrassing, to say the least.’
Swalwell gave a snort of laughter, then stifled it as Sampson glared at him.
‘Well,’ the man from the Foreign Office said, rather uncomfortably, ‘You have both given us a very full account of what happened from your point of view, which just about ends the matter. You will both be free to return to your normal duties now.’ He slapped shut the file on the table decisively and sat back with a self-satisfied smile for a moment before rising to his feet, his right hand extended.
Yeoman took the proffered hand reluctantly. It felt limp, like a dead fish. Suddenly, a surge of anger came over the pilot and he squeezed, using all the power in his own hand and forearm. The diplomat gave a gasp of pain and his mouth fell open. Yeoman maintained the relentless pressure for a few moments, then opened his palm. The diplomat dropped abruptly into his chair, breathing heavily and massaging his bruised extremity.
‘That was hardly necessary, Yeoman,’ Sampson said quietly, but there was something approaching a glint of approval in his eye.
‘No, sir. It wasn’t. But it made me feel really good.’
Together with Swalwell, Yeoman walked through the corridors of Whitehall, down several flights of steps and out through the main entrance. It was still snowing, and both men shivered, turning up the collars of their civilian overcoats. They paused briefly on the steps, watching the traffic threading its way carefully through the slushy streets.
‘What now, George?’
‘What now? You and I are going to get plastered, that’s what. Then I’m off to Yorkshire for Christmas. Julia and the kids are there, staying with my dad. After that’ — he shrugged his shoulders — ‘a new command, I hope. My tour with the
Venom Wing is just about over, but there are one or two excitements in the offing.’
Swalwell laughed. ‘I’d have thought you’d have had enough excitement to last a lifetime,’ he said. ‘Seriously, I thought you were going to belt that diplomat chap back there.’
It was Yeoman’s turn to laugh. ‘I certainly felt like it. Must have been overwhelmed by Christmas charity, or something. Come on. Let’s go and find ourselves a decent boozer.’
Upstairs, Sampson stood by the window, looking down at the two figures making their way across the Mall. He smiled to himself Yeoman might believe he had finished with special operations for good, but Sampson knew otherwise. There was a real future ahead of that boy.
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Venom Squadron Page 17