Shooting Script

by Gavin Lyall

  I said: ‘Welcome home.’ Luiz peered down over the cockpit sill at the dark land until the coastline had passed beneath the wing.

  ‘Strange,’ he said quietly. ‘It does not look much from here…’

  ‘You should’ve seen some of the country we were fighting for in Korea.’

  ‘I saw a lot of Texas, once.’

  I grinned and swung left on to 045 degrees. By my guess, that should bring us past Santo Bartolomeo before we hit the coastline. And with an obvious landmark like the city, I could double back on an exact course for the air base without a lot of noisy searching around.

  The starboard engine misfired again.

  I looked sorrowfully at the engine instruments. I’d done everything I could: run it with full rich mixture, cowl, flaps wide open – everything a father could do for an engine. Andhere it was in trouble again, after just twelve minutes running.

  So we tilted into another shallow dive, and stopped it again. Losing height now didn’t much matter. But making the attack at ground level on two engines – that meant I’d have to escape on one. And I didn’t like the idea of trying to climb on just the port engine. That could strain it a bit too much. We’d be heading for Puerto Rico low, over the sea.

  I said: ‘Any idea of where in Puerto Rico we might put down? You don’t have any security-minded friends with private airstrips?’

  He said thoughtfully: ‘I have friends in the República. Had you considered landing at Santo Bartolomeo? The civil airport, naturally.’

  I hadn’t thought anything of the damn sort. ‘Was Jiminez planning to grab it?’

  ‘I think not. It is not important.’

  That’s what I’d thought: it was about fifteen miles out of town, and unless Jiminez had arranged an airlift of supplies, he wouldn’t bother with it. Still, neither would the generals: they already had their own airfield.

  But it was still walking down the tiger’s throat and hoping he’d forget to swallow.

  ‘We can’t exactly hide the Mitchell,’ I said. ‘And as soon as the civil airport hears of the raid-‘

  ‘You remember most of the country telephone lines are down?’ he reminded me. ‘And if I know Santo Bartolomeo, that airport will very soon be full of senior civil servants suddenly remembering a holiday they had planned in Puerto Rico. It w Ul be one great confusion.’

  He could be right there. I looked up at the VHP dial, but there wasn’t a crystal for the SB civil frequency. I could check the radio beacon on the direction-finding set, but it probably wouldn’t be on the air anyway at that hour: nobody in the Caribbean flies after midnight.

  He had switched on his own radio and was twiddling once more – and suddenly it was hooting out martial music. Then a voice came, and he jammed the set against his ear.

  Just for something to do, I tuned the DF set to Aguadilla beacon in Puerto Rico, found it working, and took a bearing. Itwas too close to our course to be much help navigationally, but at least it showed we couldn’t be far off track.

  Then Luiz put the set down in his lap.

  ‘Well?’ I asked. ‘Has Jiminez moved?’

  He groped for his transmit switch, and his voice was puzzled. ‘I do not know. But General Boscohas moved: he has proclaimed himselfpresidente.’

  When I’d digested this, I said: ‘You mean the Air Force is deposing the Army?’

  ‘It seems so. They are calling General Castillo a traitor for being too soft on the Jiminez rebels. They say Boscohas all under control.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it adds up. The generals weren’t supposed to love each other, and we know Bosco’s been building up the Air Force: first the jets, then the “airfield defence units” your girl-friend told us about. He’d need ground troops to grab control of the city.’

  ‘True – true. But why should he movetonight?’

  ‘Exactly the same reason Jiminez is moving tonight: the hurricane’s busted communications. And it’s the Army that’s stranded in the hills, the Army that’s held up with blocked roads. The Air Force is still there just outside SB: tonight’s Bosco’s best chance. Now I see why Ned risked keeping the Vampires there through the winds.’

  ‘Mother of God,’ he whispered. ‘Now we have a three-cornered revolution.’

  “They say anything about Jiminez moving?’

  ‘No… but mey would not, anyway. They would not want to announce it.’ He jammed the set back to his ear.

  I flew on. It was nearly half-past four: eighty miles and thirty-five minutes to go.

  What did this do to the raid? Well, it meant the Air Force would be up and about earlier than usual – but not necessarily that they’d risk flying off the Vamps before first light. In fact, they might be more inclined to keep them at home, and when it was fully light make a few low loud passes over the city to show the citizens the Air Force was really in control.

  But they’d want to run a reconnaissance to see what the Army was doing; if it was turning around and heading for SB. They might use a flight of Vamps – but it would be better to use something that could hang around the target for longer. One of their Dakotas, or – blast their eyes – my Dove.

  Luiz put the radio down again. ‘They are warning people to stay indoors, no matter what they hear. That means there has been shooting. Jiminezmust have moved.’

  ‘What does this do to his chances?’

  ‘I do not know. He has failed to take the radio. And he must have met armed Air Force squads. There is shooting in the streets.’

  Revolutions always kill somebody, a voice said.

  I said: ‘You must have expected that.’

  ‘Walt and J.B. are there.’

  I snapped round. ‘They’rewhat?’

  ‘They went in on the Pan Am flight last night.’

  I just stared. ‘So Whitmore could ride in triumph behind Jiminez in the big parade? And you let J.B. go, too?’

  ‘My friend, one does notletagirl like J.B. do things. And it was her idea, anyway; she thought it best to catch Jiminez at his moment of success when he would be most grateful… You do know why Whitmore is concerning himself in this affair?’

  ‘I know,’ I said grimly. ‘But they’ve already been expelled from there once. The Air Force probably had them under arrest straight off the plane.’

  ‘J.B. did not think so. She thought we were not expelled officially – just a temporary whim of General Bosco’s. And now we know the Air Force must have been very busy yesterday, preparing for tonight. They probably did not have time to check passenger lists.’

  ‘You managed to stop Miss Jiminez going, I noticed.’

  ‘My friend, the Jiminez family does not walk openly into the República. Not just yet. That is a very different matter.’

  I looked back at the instruments and noticed I’d wandered nearly ten degrees off course. I wrenched her back angrily.

  ‘And I suppose Whitmore insisted on staying at the Americana?’ I growled.‘Boscomay not have checked the passengerlists, but he’d notice Whitmore sitting around the bar. That place is nearly Air Force headquarters.’

  ‘I know that,’ he said calmly. ‘They are staying at the Colombo, on the beach front near the old town. Jiminez will control the old town, whatever happens. Now, we must consider if the move by the Air Force changes our raid.’ He glanced at my meagre ten-channel VHP. ‘I wish we had arranged communication with Jiminez.’

  ‘It doesn’t change the raid at all. Those Vamps are the only high card the Air Force has got. Without them…’

  ‘But also they are the only things to stop the Army’s tanks and artillery. If we let the Air Force and Army fight it out and exhaust themselves-‘

  ‘Testículos. Bosco’ll play every card in the pack twice over before he starts knocking out tanks and guns. He’s thepresidentenow; they’rehis tanks and guns, his army – he hopes. He wants it in one piece to keep Jiminez down.’

  He thought this over. ‘So you think perhaps he will not use the jets today?’

  ‘He’ll us
e them for strafing in the streets, if there’s still any fighting in SB. Those twenty-millimetres could knock down a house.’

  He nodded. ‘But it might have a reverse effect: to swing people to Jiminez, if they see the Air Force-‘

  ‘And J.B. could be dead!’

  After a time he said quietly: ‘My friend, what war are you fighting?’

  ‘One in which J.B. doesn’t get killed.’

  ‘Others, my friend, are fighting for somewhat larger objectives. So you will forgive me if / take the decisions now.’

  ‘You take what you like. I’m going to knock out those Vamps.’

  ‘I may decide that is best. But / will decide.’

  ‘Testi-‘ but then I saw the hand and the short fat revolver glowing in the instrument lighting.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ I said slowly. ‘So that’s the famous snake gun. One shot, and you can try landing this old tub all by yourself – and see if that doesn’t qualify for the fiasco of the year.’

  ‘No fiasco,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Just two martyrs, lost in the dark sea.’

  We were still over the sea.

  I looked at him; his face set and unsmiling, just beside my shoulder in the narrow cockpit. And at the gun, less than an arm’s grab away. Would he shoot – risk killing himself, too? Yes, he would – if I challenged him to.

  I felt the cold, slow anger building inside. Always someone with a gun, saying don’t fly here, saying step aside – but not any more, not tome, not now I’m back doing the one job I know…

  Then I remembered that now this had become different from all the other missions I’d flown. This wasn’t just because I was the best – not now. Ihad to get those Vampires before they started shooting.

  ‘You’re forgetting who you are, chum,’ I said quietly. ‘You’re Luiz Monterrey – big star, big success symbol. I go missing and nobody’U notice. Butyou get killed, in an old bomber going to take part in a revolution – and that’s really failure. That’s a fiasco. It’ll get more publicity than Jiminez himself.’

  He frowned thoughtfully. ‘I do not think there will be time for that to matter, perhaps.’

  ‘This isn’t going to be a one-day wonder – not now the Air Force has stepped in. Jiminez has got a long way to go – and he hasn’t got very far yet, has he?’ I made a small gesture at the radio in his lap. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for the reporters to get in. They’re probably on their way already -somebody else will have picked up that broadcast.’

  For a long time, he didn’t say anything. I eased the Mitchell back on to her proper heading again and checked the time. It was nearly a quarter to five; under fifty miles still to go. I tuned the instrument lighting right down and stared carefully at the eastern sky. Was there just a hint of lightness there? Or just the distant clouds over the Repúblicamainland?

  Then Luiz said: ‘We will attack.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Ten minutes later there was a faint but definite paleness in the east. Not enough yet, only enough to fool you that you might be able to identify something or judge a distance.

  I let the Mitchell droop into a long descent, waited until she’d picked up a bit of speed, then eased back the port engine.

  ‘Ten minutes,’ I said. ‘Better get yourself organised.’

  ‘I can wait a bit longer.’ He was staring ahead, for the first sure sight of the coastline in the dimness under the cloud that marked the land.

  ‘Didn’t they teach you how to address the aircraft captain in your air force?’

  I caught the ghost of a grin. ‘Of course – sir.’

  ‘Once we cross the coast I’ll start the starboard engine. After that I’ll be making turns: you’ll find it a sight more difficult to get into position then.’

  ‘Sir.’ He stood and carefully eased back out of his seat, picked up the Browning, and vanished into the dark cabin behind. I felt the slight tilt of his weight shift. A minute later, through one of the empty sockets in the instrument panel, I saw his shape moving against the transparent nose.

  We were doing 165 mph, going down through 5,000. The coast should be about fifteen miles ahead.

  A crackle and hum in my headphones told me Luiz had plugged in.‘I’vegot the gun mounted,’ he reported. ‘Ready when you are.’

  ‘Right. I’ll open the bomb doors in a minute.’ I didn’t want the drag, but if the normal system didn’t work I wanted time in hand to use the manual lever without delaying the attack. ‘I hope I’ll cross east of the town, then turn and pass north of the base at about a thousand feet. It’ll be on our left. If the Vampires are lined up, I’ll count them. Youlook around for any odd ones parked elsewhere. Got that?’

  ‘Yes, Capitán.’

  ‘We’ll makeour run from the west. Don’t shoot until then. They’ll see us go past the first time, but they might not guess what we’re up to. Bomb doors going open.’

  I leant across and held up the switch. The sudden drag and the windy roar behind me told me they were opening. The speed dropped 5 mph.

  Luiz said: ‘Coast ahead.’

  I looked up from the instruments, and there it was: a faint ragged greyness on the horizon with a thin, flickering line of breaking surf. I stared at it. ‘Christ, we’ve missed the city entirely. There should be lights-‘

  ‘One does not switch on one’s lights when there is shooting in the streets, my friend.’

  I should have thought of that. The Santo Bartolomeans would be old hands at how to behave in revolutions by now.

  But I still couldn’t see the city.

  Then a faint flick of light, brief as a flashbulb, over to port. I stared at where it had been, wondering about it, and if I was imagining a shapeless darker shape around it.

  ‘A grenade,’ Luiz said sombrely. “There is still fighting.’

  I was two or three miles starboard of track. I turned gently due north to skim the edge of the city. Still about eight miles out, down to 3,500 feet.

  Gradually the coastline hardened ahead. The paleness of beaches, the darker cliffs, the still darker shapes of trees above. Then slowly filling with dim colour in the greyness. And over to the left die city, the dark mass separating into a jumble of little blocks with light and shadow sides, like a child’s building bricks.

  Still with the occasional flash of a grenade.

  When the coastline was on the nose, I reached for the starboard engine controls. The prop blades twisted to catch the wind, turned, vanished. The engine coughed, and caught in a clattering howl.

  Luiz, with his clear view downwards from the bomb-aiming window in the nose, said: ‘Passing over coast… now.’

  I swung into the wide flat turn that should bring me to the road bridge west of the city – a good big landmark – and from there an exact course to the air base ten miles east.

  I’d been half expecting, more than half fearing, runway lights. Which would show they had started flying already. But from about three miles out, there was just the sparkle of lit windows in the baseornees. No shooting out here; they knew Jiminez wouldn’t be fool enough to attack a wakeful and well-defended base head on. Not in person.

  As we closed I saw the dark hulks of the two hangars, the thin pale line of the runway, seen side-on – and definitely no flarepath. And searching desperately for the dim silvery patch that would be the parked Vampires.

  Then, as the angle widened, they came into view just beyond the second hangar.

  Luiz called: ‘Target in sight! ‘

  ‘Shut up! I’m counting! ‘

  We skimmed the northern edge of the field, the Vamps half a mile to port, almost parallel… one, two, three… spaced about three-quarters of a wingspan apart, say thirty feet between each… four, five, six… the line bearing about 120 degrees from the front of the second hangar… seven, eight. Full stop.Eight.

  ‘There’s two missing!’ I yelled. I looked forward, at the west end of the runway, at the taxi track leading to it – but nothing. In the hangars, under maintenance? Normal
ly, yes -but today of all days Boscowould want one hundred per cent strength, and Ned must have had well over a day’s warning to reach that.

  Then we were past the field, heading into the dark west and I was counting the seconds before the turn back.

  Luiz reported soberly: ‘I could not see them.’

  ‘We’ll get the eight, anyway.’ I was trying to work out the length of my target. A Vampire has about a forty-foot span, so eight times forty – plus the space in between, say seven times diirty, which is… call it 500 feet. A bit over a two-second run.

  Then it was time to turn, gentle and slow, both engines throttled back and sliding down to attack height. The dull silver of the Vampires vanished behind trees, but the tall black hangars stood up clear. I levelled out at a hundred feet, aiming for the nearest hangar on a course of 120, waiting for the speedto settle at 150 before pushing up the throttles.

  And I could taste it again: the old savage hunger of the hunter, still familiar after twelve years because I was still Keith Carr. The same hunger to reach out and kill, and the same certainty that makes you wait for exactly the instant, time flowing slow as a glacier, because you know you’regoing to kill… And I knew I was going to get this attack right.

  Then, suddenly – fear. Because Ihad to get it right, Ihad to kill – every Vampire on the field and two I hadn’t even found yet. Because this wasn’t a private war any more, because if I let one escape, it could fire the lucky shot that was all that mattered to me now.

  The cold sick fear of failure. And the Mitchell and her bricks seemed an old, frail, absurd weapon to throw against ten jets. She trembled under my trembling hands.

  God, just let me forget that this time itmatters!

  Then we skimmeda Uneof palms and were over the open airfield, the Vampires not quite dead ahead. A quick, skidding S-turn to Uneup with them and I grabbed for the release panel. A glance at the instruments: 100 feet and just over 150 mph – and now 1,000 feet ahead… now 800… and -Now!