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!
The Mitchell reared as the weight poured out, pitched as the dragging net clutched at the airflow. I stabbed the second button… and the third – then didn't touch the fourth. The line of Vampires flickered beneath and we were over the hangars, throttles going up to hold the speed against the trailing nets.
Luiz hadn't fired. Then he did – and shouted: 'I see them! '
I saw them myself: two Vamps taxiing sedately around the perimeter track towards the east end of the runway, hidden from us by the control tower on our approach. And we were too far right to pass over them.
Dust puffs spat up around them; Luiz was good, all right, shooting part-sideways at close range – but twenty rounds of •30 fire wouldn't stop two Vamps. Then we were past, and I hauledulto aleft-hand turn over the middle of the airfield.
'I think I hit them,' Luiz reported soberly. But over my shoulder I could still see them moving, one just ahead of the other. And I knew who would – who must – be leading thefirst strikeof die Air Force's big day.
As we curled back die line of eight Vampires came in sight again; a jagged line now, in a drifting mist of yellow brick dusj. Two – no, diree collapsed, part of the undercarriage gone; another with a broken tail boom, another- But it only needed one, just one, left untouched…
I lined up on the perimeter track, the taxiing Vamps several hundred yards ahead. Suddenly there was die silenttick-tick-tick of tracers slanting across below. Somebody had reached a mounted machine-gun.
'Never mind that! ' I yelled. But he hadn't fired anyway.
I straightened, reached for the last button and die last net. Luiz fired, and again dust spattered die Vamps. I felt the net go – but saw the leading Vampire swerving suddenly on to the grass.
We swung away in a tight Sand I looked back. One Vamp lay slewed across the track, wingtip on die ground. But the other – Ned – was bouncing across the grass towards the runway.
I had one pass: just the one. Ned couldn't take off on the grass, die field wasn't wide enough; he'd have to turn on to die runway. And when he did I had to be behind him.
'Reloaded?' I asked.
After a pause, Luiz said: 'Ready to fire.'
'I'll bring you in behind him.'
I dirottled back, losing speed in a gentle upward curve diat I could change into a fast, diving turn at any moment, waiting and judging… Anodier burst of tracer arched towards us, but fell low. Nobody had seriously trained for AA defence.
He was almost on die runway, but I had to wait, daren't commit myself -dienthe starboard engine misfired. Damn it, live, you old bitch! Just a few seconds longer, just that…
Then Ned was swinging smoothly on to die runway and I had die throttles wide open and diving in behind him. More tracers – and a rattle in die tail diis time, but nodiing seemed to break. I was pulling up on the accelerating Vampire. Two hundred yards. Down to one, and down to less… Luiz fired and dust puffs spurted behind. Another burst and I thought I saw holes open on the Vampire's wings. And another and moreholes – but now the gun was empty and the Vampire ran on.
Luiz started to say something. We were overtaking the jet, pulling just over and ahead. I snatched back the throttles, pushed down the nose, and sat down right on top of it.
A shatteringclang, the Mitchell wrenched and swerving wildly, and then racing away a few feet above the grass, filled with a terrible tearing shudder that wouldn't go away. We just lifted over the line of palms at the edge of the field.
Luiz was shouting, but so was I. The airspeed was down to 100 – or something: the needles on every instrument were shaking wildly with the shudder. Whatever it was, it was the Mitchell's death-rattle.
I over-rode Luiz's voice. 'Get out of the nose! '
We skimmed a small rise and then the ground fell away and ahead was the grey glitter of the sea. Luiz appeared at my elbow, scrambled into the co-pilot seat and plugged in his headset.
'What happened?' he yelled.
'Bust or bent the port prop – hit the Vamp or something. Come off the wing in a moment. Strap yourself in. What happened to the Vamp?'
'It ran through the boundary fence.'
I was fighting the shuddering controls, and should have cut the port engine by now – but with the starboard engine likely to cut itself at any time… Then we were over the sea and out to starboard, half a mile away, a long white beach.
Holding my breath, I edged into a turn, and we didn't quite fall out of the sky. Then pushed down full flap, cut the throttles and ignition, and held her off as long as possible -and she flopped on the beach in a long tearing hiss of flying sand.
TWENTY-EIGHT
'SHE did all right, in the end,' I said. And I patted the silver paint below the cockpit window which hid the faded Beautiful Dreamer. Perhaps I should have painted that on again before the raid. She might have liked it.
She would never fly again. She lay on – and in – the sand at the end of a 100-yard trench she'd dug for herself. The propellers were folded right back over the engines, and buried to the hubs in the sand they'd piled up in front. The bomb doors had torn off and lay halfway back down the trench, and for the first time I discovered I'd lost the port wingtip. It must have hit the ground when the prop hit the Vampire.
But she looked oddly restful lying there. Without the hunched, alert look she had had sitting on her wheels. An old lady who had finally got her feet up.
I looked round for Luiz. He was standing beside the nose and lighting a cigarette with hands that shivered just a little. He caught my eye and said: 'You professionals play rough.'
'Aren't you the man who talked about dumping us both in the sea?'
'Ah, I was younger then.'
I started to work out where we were. About six or seven miles west of Santo Bartolomeo, I guessed, with the air base just a little way inland. The beach itself was about six hundred yards long, littered along the tideline with logs and planks tossed up by the waves behind Hurricane Clara. Above, were low, broken cliffs topped by an uncombed tangle of bushes and palms. No buildings in sight.
Luiz asked: 'How far are we from the air base?'
'Couple of miles.'
'Will they come looking for us?'
'They don't necessarily know we're down. They just saw us going away low. We'd have done that anyway.'
'If they get an aeroplane up, they will see us.'
True: we were probably on one of the approaches to theairfield, and the Mitchell would stand out like a coffin at a cocktail party on that white sand.
Luiz said: 'So we had better move.'
'Yes.' I was watching the sky. We'd been down nearly five minutes. A wide-awake base – and that one certainly was, by now – should have had a flight of Vamps up already. If any were still serviceable.
Or was I fooling myself? Should we take the BAR and park just outside at the end of the runway in case anything tried to take off? Or was there a better way still, now I was on the ground?
'The Hotel Colombo,' I said firmly. "Then the civil airport.'
Luiz thought about it, then nodded. 'But of course, we are on the wrong side of town. Jiminez is in the old town, the east.'
'So let's get started.'
'Yes. You see now what I mean about being respectably dressed? We do not look like rebel airmen, I think.' Then he spoiled it by adding: 'But I will take the rifle – just in case the disguise does not work.'