Exocet - Jack Higgins [83]
'Fly me, Gabrielle,' he prayed aloud. 'Don't let me fail now.'
As the airfield came into view, the runway lights gleaming in the grey morning, Lami Dozo stood in the control tower, a pair of fieldglasses to his eyes.
Raul Montera's voice sounded over the radio loudspeaker, totally washed out. 'I'm bringing her straight in. No time for procedure.'
As Dozo watched, the Skyhawk brushed across the buildings at the north end of the runway. Montera was aware of the vehicles roaring out to meet him from the control buildings. The Skyhawk almost stalled. He gave it a final burst of power and then made the worst landing of his career, bouncing back up again twice before coming to a halt, turning full circle, water from the rainsoaked runway spraying up in a great cloud.
He stayed there, head bowed, was aware of voices and then careful hands lifting him from the cockpit. He opened his eyes, saw the faces, so many faces, Lami Dozo's amongst them.
He smiled. 'Two ears and a tail, eh, General?' and then he fainted.
* * *
And so it was over. In Port Stanley the Argentines laid down their arms and in Buenos Aires, an outraged mob made it plain that Galtieri had to go. In London, at Westminster, on the same day, the British Prime Minister rose from her seat to tell the members of Parliament assembled before her of the triumphant conclusion to one of the most astonishing feats of arms since the Second World War.
* * *
At the Sisters of Mercy Hospital in Buenos Aires, Gabrielle and Donna Elena waited outside Montera's room. Finally, the door opened and the Chief Surgeon emerged. They stood up.
'Well?' Donna Elena demanded.
'Not good, but he'll survive. No more of this nonsense, of course. He'll certainly never be fit to fly a jet aircraft again. You may go in.'
Gabrielle turned enquiringly and Donna Elena smiled. 'I've got my son back. All the time in the world. You go in now. I'll wait.'
When Gabrielle opened the door, she found him propped up against pillows, the cuts on his face stained purple with some preparation or other. His left arm was in a plaster cast and there was a cowl beneath the sheets to protect his injured leg.
She stood by the side of the bed without saying anything and as if sensing her presence, he opened his eyes and smiled.
'You look awful,' she said.
'I'll be all right. Don't worry. The surgeon told me I'll still be able to play the violin and you know, that's really very amusing. You see, I can't play the violin.'
And then she was laughing and crying at the same time, on her knees at the side of the bed, her face against his.
17
It was the finest of London mornings, the early winter sun shining on the hoar frost on the trees in St James's Park as the taxi drove up Pall Mall towards Buckingham Palace.
Tony Villiers was wearing the uniform of his own regiment, razor sharp, the scarlet and blue dress cap with gold-rimmed peak, Sam Browne belt gleaming, medal ribbons in a neat row on the left breast.
The taxi driver said, 'Big day, eh, gov'nor? Was you down there in the Falklands?'
'Yes,' Villiers said.
'That's funny, guv. I didn't know the Grenadier Guards was there as well.'
'One or two,' Villiers told him.
The driver grinned in the mirror. 'We showed 'em, didn't we?'
'Yes,' Villiers said. 'I suppose we did.'
They rounded the Victoria monument and were cleared at the main gate where the taxi was allowed through into the courtyard. Villiers alighted and took out his wallet.
'Nothing doing, guv, have this one on me,' the cabby said and drove away.
Villiers followed the people who were streaming in through the main doors of the palace. There were members of all three services, most of them accompanied by their nearest and dearest, the women wearing hats specially bought for the occasion.
There was a general air of gaiety and excitement, a sense of occasion as they mounted the red-carpeted stairs and entered the picture gallery, where rows of chairs waited, facing the raised platform in the centre where the Queen would sit.
A military band played light music, there was a buzz of