He punched out three flares, set his own HUD to air-to-air weapons, and flung the aircraft onto its back, easing up on the stick and feeling the red-out as the horizon disappeared below him and the sea came rushing up to meet him as he took the Harrier through an inverted roll.
The rasping beep disappeared, and the horizon came up again.
The flares had done their job, but he could not see the other Harrier and he was down to 2,000 feet again.
Turning In a wide full 3600, Bond searched sky and sea with his eyes, flicking to and fro between the view from his cockpit to the radar screen. In the far distance invincible’s deck was still littered with burning aircraft, and he thought he caught sight of a yellow fire bulldozer being handled in an attempt to clear the deck of the ravished hulks of “planes and helicopters. Then he caught the flash, on the radar, far away, thirty or so miles out to sea. The flashing dot began to wink and he adjusted his course, losing height and slamming the throttles to full power, trying to lock on to the other Sea Harrier, obviously intent on making its getaway, and evading chase.
He was pushing the Harrier to its outer limits of speed, making a shallow dive towards the sea and keeping his course level with the flashing cursor on the radar screen. Without any conscious thought he knew who he was up against: knew it was the Sea Harrier which had gone missing on the day he had nearly had a missile up his six. The pilot could only be the Spaniard, though, at this moment, with the sea flashing below him and his eyes flicking between instruments and the horizon, he could not have named him.
In seconds, Bond realised he was, in fact, gaining on the other Harrier which was about twenty miles ahead of him now. He armed one of the Sidewinders, waiting for the lock-on signal, for he might soon be in range. Then the blinking cursor vanished.
There was a slight time-lag before Bond realised the other pilot had probably pulled up to gain height, rolled over and was high above him now, heading back towards him. He lifted the nose, allowing the radar to search the air, and, sure enough, the second Harrier was above and closing.
He put the aircraft into a gentle climb, all his senses jangling and ready for the rasp or the beep which would tell him the Spaniard had released a second missile the moment he came within range - the pilot’s name returned to his memory without any conscious thought Pantano.
Fifteen miles, and the aircraft were closing at a combined speed of around 1,200 knots. Seconds later, the marker on the HUD began to pulse and the beep in his ears told him he had locked on.
Bond released the Sidewinder, and saw the flashing cursor break to his left. The rasp came into his own ears, and he knew they had both fired missiles at the same moment.
He punched out four flares and turned left, climbing. Seconds later there was an explosion behind at about a mile. Pantano’s missile had gone for the flares. Then, without warning Bond’s aircraft shuddered and cracked as 10mm shells ripped into the fuselage behind him.
He stood the Harrier on its left wing, then reversed to the right.
Pantano had Viffed, slightly above him and at a range of around 1,000 feet. Bond armed another Sidewinder, heard the lock-on signal, and pressed the button. As he did so, another withering hail of 10mm shells ripped across his left wing and the Harrier juddered again, wallowed, then seemed to leap forward towards the great blossom of fire as the Sidewinder caught Pantano’s Harrier.
It was like a slow-motion film. One minute the aircraft was there, firing a deadly swarm from its Aden guns, then the white flash filled Bond’s vision and he saw the “plane break into a dozen pieces.
He overshot the destroyed Harrier, and saw only one complete wing, twirling and fluttering down like a deformed autumn leaf.
He reduced speed and turned, to set course for the coast, and as he did so, his Harrier grumbled, juddering and shaking. He fought the controls, realising that he had no true stability. The shells from the Aden guns had probably ripped away part of his elevators, and a section of tailplane.
Altitude 10,000 feet and falling. The Harrier was in a gentle descent and Bond could just about hold her nose at a five-to-ten degree angle. He was between twenty and thirty miles from the coast and losing height rapidly, hauling back continuously on the stick to stop the nose from dropping and the entire aircraft hurtling into a dive from which he could never recover.
The engine sounded as though someone had poured a ton of sand into it, and he had switched on the auto-signal which would allow the base at Rota to track him in. He was down to 3,000 feet before he saw the coast in the distance, and by then the whole Harrier was shaking and clanking around him as though it was about to break up at any minute.
The sink-rate was becoming faster, and Bond knew there was only one thing left.
He would have to punch out, and pray that the shells from the other Harrier had not damaged the Martin Baker ejector seat.
He wrestled with the stick and rudder bar, desperately trying to get the aircraft closer to the coast before getting out. The voice in his head started to repeat the procedure and what was supposed to happen.
The Martin Baker was a Type 9A Mark 2 and the firing handle was between his legs, at the front of the seat pan. One pull and, provided everything worked, the canopy would blow and the seat would begin its journey upwards at minimum velocity, before the necket-assist fired and shot the pilot, restrained in his seat, well clear of the aircraft.
The comforting words of some instructor at Yeovilton came back to him. “The seat will save you even at zero height, and with a very high sink rate.”
Well, he had a very high sink rate now, down to about 1,000 feet and at least seven miles from the coast. The Harrier wallowed, down to around 800 feet. His port wing dropped alarmingly, and he realised that he was at the point of stalling. Almost at that moment he caught the glint of helicopter blades, and realised it was now or never. Yet, in the few seconds before reaching down to the ejector handle, Bond pushed the port rudder hard, in an attempt to swing the aircraft away from the coast. He did not want this metal brick, still carrying dangerous weaponry, to plough into the land. The nose swung wildly, then dropped.
He knew the nose would never come up again, and he felt the lurch forward as the Harrier began what could only be a death dive.
Bond pulled on the ejector lever.
For what seemed to be an eternity nothing happened, then he felt the slight kick in his backside, saw the canopy leap upwards.
The air was like a solid wall as the rocket shot him clear of the falling, crippled Harrier. There was a thump and the sudden slight jar as the parachute opened and he was swinging safe and free below the canopy.
Below to his left he saw the white churning water which marked the spot where the Harrier had gone in. Then he heard the comforting sound of the US rescue chopper nearby.
He was now separated from the seat, and seemed to be dropping faster towards the sea, which came up and exploded around him. The buoyancy gear inflated and brought him to the surface as he twisted and banged down on the quick release lock which freed him from any parachute drag.
The helicopter plucked him out of the sea five minutes later.
It was early evening and the weather had picked up, the sun red, throwing long shadows across USNB Rota.
Bond sat in a small room, with a US Marine Corps Major, a Royal Marine Special Boat Squadron Major, Commander Mike Carter and Beatrice. On the table in front of them lay a complete set of plans, showing the layout of invincible.
An jor before, he had received a complete briefing, on a secure line from London. BAST had given them until dawn, around six in the morning. Then they would kill the first of the VIP hostages. They knew the message had been relayed to London from Bassam Baradj in his suite at The Rock Hotel, Gibraltar.