I didn’t hear the reply. I was with Saeton, seeing him hunched over the control column, his face grey, the blood oozing between his fingers and sticky on the wheel. I could see him in my mind so clearly—solid and square, as immovable from his purpose as a bull who has seen the red of the matador’s cloak. What was his purpose? What did he plan to do?
And as if in answer to my question the leader of the squadron came back on the air. He’s putting his nose down now. We’re over the North Sea. And then more excited. He’s going into a power dive. He’s trying to shake us off. He’s going straight down now. My God! No, it’s all right. F for Freddie swept right across his nose, but he’s clear now. Thought they’d tangle that time. I’m right on his tail now. He’s diving on full power. Air speed 320. I’m keeping right on his tail. He’s going straight down. We’re at 5,000 now. Four—three—two. My God! Isn’t he ever going to pull out? I don’t think he can pull out. He can’t possibly pull out.
There was a pause then. The fighter was pulling out of his dive. I knew the rest of it before the squadron leader came back on the air. I’ve just pulled out and am banking. The Tudor drove straight into the sea. There’s a great column of water. It’s settling now. Can’t see anything of the plane. There’s just some slick on the surface of the sea. That’s all. He went straight in. Never pulled out of that dive. Went slap in. Am returning to base now. Am returning the squadron to base.
There was a heavy silence in the Operations Room, broken only by the squadron leader’s voice calling his aircraft into formation. In that silence I had a strange feeling of loss. One shouldn’t have any sympathy for a man like Saeton—his ambition had outrun the bounds of our social code, he had killed a man. And yet … There had been something approaching greatness in him. He was a man who had seen a vision.
I shifted stiffly in my chair and found that Else’s hand was gripping mine. Culyer was the first to speak. “Poor devil! He must have blacked out.”
But I knew he hadn’t blacked out. Else knew it, too, for she said, “He choose the best way.” There was a note of admiration in her voice.
“I’m sorry it had to end like that,” the station commander murmured. I think he was regretting his order to send fighters up.
I closed my eyes. I was feeling very tired.
“Fraser.”
I looked up. Culyer was standing over me.
“You worked on those engines with Saeton, didn’t you?”
I nodded. I was too tired to speak.
“You know we were arranging for Miss Meyer here to get to work for us and the Rauch Motoren? Well, that’s going to take time. Suppose we do a deal with the British? Suppose the two of you work on the project together?”
Still the engines! I wanted to say, “Damn the bloody engines.” I wanted to tell him that they’d already cost the lives of two men. And then I looked up and saw Else watching me. There was excitement—a sort of longing in her eyes. And then I knew what the future was.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll work on it together.”
Somehow that seemed to make sense—if we reproduced those engines for the West, then perhaps Saeton and Tubby would not have died for nothing. As soon as I had made the decision the tenseness inside me seemed to ease and I was relaxed for the first time in days. Else was smiling. She was happy. And despite the pain of my shoulder I think I was happy too.
THE END
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