Текст книги "Eagle in the Sky"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

Соавторы: Wilbur Smith
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

basin in the bathroom and felt the house rock and sway about him.  He

steadied himself, gripping the edge of the basin.

He splashed cold water on to his face and shook off the drops, then he

grinned stupidly at himself in the mirror above the basin.  His hair was

damp and hung on to his forehead; he closed one eye and the wavering

image in the mirror hardened and squinted back at him.

Hi there, boy, he muttered and reached for the towel.

He had dripped water down his tunic and this annoyed him.  He threw the

towel over the toilet seat and went back into the living-room.

The woman was gone.  The leather couch still carried the indentation of

her backside, and the dirty plates were on the olive-wood table.  The

air was thick with cigarette smoke and her perfume.

Where are you?  he called thickly, swaying slightly in the doorway.

Here, big boy.  He went to the bedroom.  She lay on the bed, naked,

plump and white with huge soft breasts and swelling belly.  He stared at

her.

Come on, Davey.  Her clothing was thrown across the dressing-table, and

he saw that her corsets were grey and unwashed.  Her hair was yellow

against the soft ivory lacework.

Come to Mama, she whispered hoarsely, opening her limbs languidly in

invitation.  She was spread upon the brass bed, upon the lace cover

which had been Debra's and David felt his anger surge within him.  Get

up, he said, slurring his words.  Come on, baby.  Get off that bed, his

voice tightened and she heard the tone and sat up with mild alarm.  What

is it, Davey?  Get out of here, his voice was rising sharply.  Get out,

you bitch.  Get out of here!  He was shaking now, his face pale and his

eyes savage blue.

Quivering with panic, she climbed hurriedly from the bed, the great

white breasts and buttocks wobbling with ridiculous haste as she stuffed

them into the grey corset.

When she had gone, David went through into the bathroom and vomited into

the toilet bowl.  Then he cleaned the house, scouring pans and plates,

polishing the glasses until they shone, emptying the ashtrays, opening

the shutters to blow out the stench of cigarette and perfume, and

finally, going through into the bedroom, he stripped and remade the bed

with fresh sheets and smoothed the lace cover carefully until not a

crease or wrinkle showed.

He put on a clean tunic and his uniform cap, and drove to the Jaffa

gate.  He parked the car in the lot outside the gate and walked through

the old city to the reconstructed Sephardic synagogue in the Jewish

quarter.

It was very quiet and peaceful in the high-domed hall and he sat a long

time on the hard wooden bench.

Joe sat opposite David with a worried expression creasing his deep

forehead as he studied the board.  Three or four of the other pilots had

hiked their chairs up and were concentrating on the game also.  These

chessboard conflicts between David and Joe were usually epics and

attracted a partisan audience.

David had been stalking Joe's rook for half a dozen moves and now he had

it trapped.  Two more moves would shatter the kingsize defence, and the

third must force a resignation.  David grinned smugly as Joe reached a

decision and moved a knight out.

That's not going to save you, dear boy, David hardly glanced at the

knight, and he hit the rook with a white bishop.  Mate in five, he

predicted, as he dropped the castle into the box, and then, too late, he

realized that Joe's theatrical expression of anguish had slowly faded

into a beatific grin.  Joseph Mordecai used any deception to bait his

traps, and David looked with alarm at the innocuous-seeming knight,

suddenly seeing the devious plotting in which the castle was merely

bait.

Oh, you bastard, David moaned.  You sneaky bastard Check!  Joe gloated

as he put the knight into a forked attack, and David had to leave his

queen exposed to the horseman.

Check, said Joe again with an ecstatic little sigh as he lifted the

white queen off the board, and again the harassed king took the only

escape route open to him.

And mate, sighed Joe again as his own queen left the back file to join

the attack.  Not in five, as you predicted, but in three.  There was a

loud outburst of congratulation and applause from the onlookers and Joe

cocked an eye at David.

Again?  he asked, and David shook his head.

Take on one of these other patsies, he said.  I'm going to sulk for an

hour.  'He vacated his seat and it was filled by another eager victim as

Joe reset the board.  David crossed to the coffee machine, moving

awkwardly in the grip of his G-suit, and drew a mug of the thick black

liquid, stirred in four spoons of sugar and found another seat in a

quieter corner of the crew-room beside a slim curly-beaded young

kibbutznik, with whom David had become friendly.  He was reading a thick

novel.  Shalom, Robert.  How you been?  Robert grunted without looking

up from his book, and David sipped the sweet hot coffee.  Beside him,

Robert moved restlessly in his seat and coughed softly, David was lost

in his own thoughts, for the first time in months thinking of home,

wondering about Mitzi and Barney Venter, wondering if the yellowtail

were running hot in False Bay this season, and remembering how the

proteas looked upon the mountains of the Helderberg.

Again Robert stirred in his chair and cleared his throat.  David glanced

at him, realized that he was in the grip of a deep emotion as he read,

his lips quivering, and his eyes too bright.

What are you reading?  David was amused, and he leaned forward to read

the title.  The picture on the dust jacket of the book was instantly

familiar.  It was a deeply felt desert landscape of fierce colours and

great space.

Two distant figures, man and woman, walked hand in hand through the

desert and the effect was mystic and haunting.  David realized that only

one person could have painted that, Ella Kadesh.

Robert lowered the book.  This is uncanny, his voice was muffled with

emotion.  I tell you, Davey, it's beautiful.  It must be one of the most

beautiful books ever written.

With a strange feeling of pre-knowledge, with a sense of complete

certainty, of what it would be, David took the book out of his hands and

turned it to read the title, A Place of Our Own.

Robert was still talking.  My sister made me read it.

She works for the publisher.  She cried all night when she read it.  it

is very new, only published last week, but it's got to be the biggest

book ever written about this country.

David hardly heard him, he was staring at the writer's name in small

print below the title.

Debra Mordecai.

He ran his fingers lightly over the glossy paper of the jacket, stroking

the name.

I want to read it, he said softly.

I'll let you have it when I'm finished, Robert promised.  I want to read

it now!

No way!  Robert exclaimed with evident alarm, and almost snatched the

book out of David's hands.  You wait your turn, comrade!

David looked up.  Joe was watching him from across the room, and David

glared at him accusingly.  Joe dropped his eyes quickly to the

chessboard again, and David realized that he had known of the

publication.  He started up to go to him, to challenge him, but at the

moment the tannoy echoed through the bunker.

All flights Lance Squadron to red standby, and on the readiness board

the red lamps lit beside the flight designations.  Bright Lance.  Red

Lance.  Fire Lance.  David snatched up his flying helmet and joined the

lumbering rush of G-suited bodies for the electric personnel carrier in

the concrete tunnel outside the crewroom door.  He forced a place for

himself beside Joe.  Why didn't you tell me?  'he demanded.  I was going

to, Davey, I really was.

Yeah, I bet, David snapped sarcastically.  Have you read it?  Joe

nodded, and David went on, What's it about?" "I couldn't begin to tell

you.  You'd have to read it yourself Don't worry about that, David

muttered grimly, I will, and he jumped down as they reached their hangar

and strode across to his Mirage.

Twenty minutes later they were airborne and Desert Flower sent them

hastening out over the Mediterranean at interception speed to answer a

Mayday call from an El Al Caravelle who reported that she was being

buzzed by an Egyptian MIG 2 1J.

The Egyptian sheered off and raced for the coast and the protection of

his own missile batteries as the Mirages approached.

They let him go and picked up the airliner.  They escorted her into the

circuit over Lad before returning to base.

Still in his G-suit and overalls, David stopped off at le Dauphin's

office and got himself a twenty-four-hour pass.

Ten minutes before closing time he ran into one of the bookstores in the

Jaffa Road.

There was a pyramid display of A Place of Our Own on the table in the

centre of the store.

It's a beautiful book, said the salesgirl as she wrapped it.

He opened a Goldstar, and kicked off his shoes before stretching out on

the lace cover of the bed.

He began to read, and paused only once to switch on the overhead lights

and fetch another beer.  It was a thick book, and he read slowly,

savouring every word, sometimes going back to re-read a paragraph.

It was their story, his and Debra's, woven into the plot she had

described to him that day on the island off the Costa Brava, and it was

rich with the feeling of the land and its people.  He recognized many of

the secondary characters, and he laughed aloud with the pleasure and the

joy of it.  Then at the end, he choked on the sadness as the girl of the

story lies dying in Hadassah Hospital, with half her face torn away by a

terrorist's bomb, and she will not let the boy come to her.  Wanting to

spare him that, wanting him to remember her as she was.

it was dawn then, and David had not noticed the passage of the night. He

rose from the bed, light-headed from lack of sleep, and filled with a

sense of wonder that Debra had captured so clearly the way it had been

that she had seen so deeply into his soul, had described emotions for

which he had believed there were no words.

He bathed and shaved and dressed in casual clothes and went back to

where the book lay upon the bed.  He studied the jacket again, and then

turned to the flyleaf for confirmation.  It was there.  Jacket design by

Ella Kadesh.  So early in the morning he had the road almost to himself

and he drove fast, into the rising morning sun.

At Jericho he turned north along the frontier road, and he remembered

her sitting in the seat beside him with her skirts drawn high around her

long brown legs and her thick dark hair shaking in the wind.

The whisper of the wind against the body of the Mercedes seemed to urge

him, Hurry, hurry.  And the urgent drumming of the tyres carried him up

towards the lake.

He parked the Mercedes beside the ancient crusader wall and went through

into the garden on the lake shore.

Ella sat upon the wide patio before her easel.  She wore a huge straw

hat the size of a wagon wheel adorned with plastic cherries and ostrich

feathers, her vast overalls covered her like a circus tent and they were

stiff with dried paint in all her typically vivid colours.

Calmly she looked up from her painting with her brush poised.

Hail, young Mars!  she greeted him.  Well met indeed, and why do you

bring such honour on my humble little home?  'Piss on it, Ella, you know

damn well why I'm here.  'So sweetly phrased, she was shifty, he could

see it in her bright little eyes.  Shame on it that such vulgar words

pass such fair lips.  Would you like a beer, Davey?  'No, I don't want a

beer.  I want to know where she is?

Just who are we discussing?  Come on, I read the book.  I saw the cover.

You know, damn you, you know.  She was silent then, staring at him. Then

slowly the ornate head-dress dipped in acquiescence.  Yes, she agreed. I

know.  'Tell me where she is.  'I can't do that, Davey.  You and I both

made a promise.

Yes, I know of yours, you see.  She watched the bluster go out of him.

The fine young body with the arrogant set of shoulders seemed to sag,

and he stood uncertainly in the sunlight.

How about that beer now, Davey?  She heaved herself up from her stool

and crossed the terrace with her stately tread.  She came back and gave

him a tall glass with a head of froth and they took a seat together at

the end of the terrace out of the wind, in the mild winter sunlight.

I've been expecting you for a week now, she told him.  Ever since the

book was published.  I knew it would set you on fire.  It's just too

damned explosive, even I wept like a leaky faucet for a couple of days,

she giggled shyly.  You'd hardly believe it possible, would you?

That book was us, Debra and me, David told her.  She was writing about

us.  Yes, Ella agreed, but it does not alter the decision she had made.

A decision which I think is correct, by the way.  She described exactly

how I felt, Ella.  All the things I felt and still feel, but which I

could never have put into words.  It's beautiful and it's true, but

don't you see that it confirms her position.

But I love her, Ella, and she loves me, he cried out violently.

She wants it to stay that way.  She doesn't want it to die, she doesn't

want it to sicken.  He began to protest, but she gripped his arm in a

surprisingly powerful grip to silence him.  She knows that she can never

keep pace with you now.  Look at you, David, you are beautiful and vital

and swift, she must drag you back, and in time you must as certainly

resent it.  Again he tried to interrupt, but she shook his arm in her

huge fist.  You would be shackled, you could never leave her, she is

helpless, she would be your charge for all your life, think on it,

David.  I want her, he muttered stubbornly.

I had nothing before I met her, and I have nothing now.  That will

change.  Perhaps she has taught you something and young emotions heal as

swiftly as young flesh.

She wants happiness for you, David.  She loves you so much that her gift

to you is freedom.  She loves you so much that for your sake she will

deny that love.  Oh, God, he groaned.

If only I could see her, if I could touch her and talk to her for a few

minutes.  She shook her massive head, and her jowls wobbled dolefully.

She would not agree to that.  Why, Ella, tell me why?  His voice was

rising again, desperate with his anguish.

She is not strong enough, she knows that if you came near her, she would

waver and bring even greater disaster upon you both.  They sat silently

together then and looked out across the lake.  High mountains of cloud

rose up beyond the heights of Golan, brilliant white in the winter

sunlight, shaded with blue and bruised grey, and range upon range they

bore down upon the lake.  David shivered as an icy little wind came

ferreting across the terrace and sought them out.

He drank the rest of his beer, and then revolved the glass slowly

through his fingers.

Will you give her a message from me, then?  'he asked.

I don't think Please, Ella.  just this one message.  She nodded.

Tell her that what she wrote in the book is exactly how much I love her.

Tell her that it is big enough to rise above this thing.  Tell her that

I want the chance to try.  She listened quietly, and David made a

groping gesture with his hands as though to pluck words from the air

that might convince her.

Tell her– he paused, then shook his head.  No, that's all.  just tell

her I love her, and I want to be with her.  All right, David.  I'll tell

her.  And you will give me her answer?  Where can I reach you?  He gave

her the number of the telephone in the crew ready room at the base.

You'll ring me soon, Ella?  Don't keep me waiting.  'Tomorrow, she

promised.  In the morning.  'Before ten o'clock.

It must be before ten He stood up, and then suddenly he leaned forward

and kissed her sagging and raddled cheek.

Thank you, he said.  You are not a bad old bag.  'Away with you, you.

and your blarney.  You'd have the sirens of the Odyssey themselves come

running to your bidding.  She sniffed moistly.  Get away with you now,

I think I'm going to cry, and I want to be alone to enjoy it.

She watched him go up across the lawns under the date palms and at the

gate in the wall he paused and looked back.  For a second they stared at

each other and then he stepped through the gate.

She heard the engine of the Mercedes whirr and pull away slowly up the

track, then the note of it rose as it hit the highway and went racing

away southwards.  Ella rose heavily and crossed the terrace, went down

the steps towards the jetty and its stone boat houses screened from the

house by past of the ancient wall.

Her speedboat rode at its moorin& restless in the wind and the chop of

the lake.  She went on down to the farthest and largest of the boat

houses and stood in the open doorway.

The interior had been stripped and repainted with clean white.  The

furniture was simple and functional.

The rugs on the stone floor were for warmth, plain woven wool, thick and

rough.  The large bed was built into a curtained alcove in the wall

beside the fireplace.

On the opposite wall was a gas stove with a double cooking ring above

which a number of copper cooking pots hung.  A door beyond led through

to a bathroom and toilet which Ella had added very recently.

The only decoration was the Ella Kadesh painting from the house on Malik

Street, which hung on the bare white wall, facing the door.  It seemed

to lighten and warm the whole room; below it the girl sat at a working

table.  She was listening intently to her own voice speaking in Hebrew

from the tape recorder.  Her expression was r apt and intent, and she

stared at the blank wall before her.

Then she nodded her head, smiling at what she had just heard.  She

switched off the recorder and turned in the swivel chair to the second

recorder and punched the tran sinit button.  She held the microphone

close to her lips as she began to translate the Hebrew into English.

Ella stood in the doorway and watched her work.  An American publisher

had purchased the English-language rights of A Place of Our Kin.  They

had paid Debra an advance of thirty thousand American dollars for the

book, and an additional five thousand for her services as translator.

She had almost completed the task now.

From where she stood, Ella could see the scar on Debra's temple.  It was

a glazed pinkish white against the deeply tanned skin of her face, a

dimple like a child's drawing of a seagull in flight; V-shaped and no

bigger than a snowflake, it seemed to enhance her fine looks, almost

like a beauty spot, a tiny blemish that gave a focus point for her

strong regular features.

She had made no attempt to conceal it for her dark hair was drawn back

to the nape of her neck and secured there with a leather thong.  She

wore no make-up, and her skin looked clean and glowing, tanned and

smooth.

Despite the bulky fisherman's jersey and woollen slacks her body

appeared firm and slim for she swam each day, even when the snow winds

came down from the north.

Ella left the doorway and moved silently closer to the desk, studying

Debra's eyes as she so often did.  One day she would paint that

expression.  There was no hint of the damage that lay behind, no hint

that the eyes could not see.  Rather their calm level gaze seemed to

penetrate deeper, to see all.  They had a serenity that was almost

mystic, a depth and understanding that Ella found strangely disquieting.

Debra pressed the switch of the microphone, ending the recording, and

then she spoke again without turning her head.  Is that you, Ella?  How

do you do it?  Ella demanded with astonishment.

I felt the air move when you walked in, and then I smelt you.  I'm big

enough to blow up a storm, but do I smell so bad?  Ella protested,

chuckling.

You smell of turpentine, and garlic and beer, Debra sniffed, and laughed

with her.

I've been painting, and I was chopping garlic fox the roast, and I was

drinking beer with a friend.  Ella dropped into one of the chairs.  How

does it go with the book?  'Nearly finished.

It can go to the typist tomorrow.  Do you want some coffee?  Debra stood

up and crossed to the gas stove.  Ella knew better than to offer her

help, even though she gritted her teeth every time she watched Debra

working with fire and boiling water.  The girl was fiercely independent,

utterly determined to live her life without other people's pity or

assistance.

The room was laid out precisely, each item in its place where Debra

could put her hand to it without hesitation.

She could move confidently through her little world, doing her own

housework, preparing her own food and drink, working steadily, and

paying her own way.

Once a week, a driver came up from her publisher's office in Jerusalem

to collect her tapes and her writing was typed out along with her other

correspondence.

Weekly also she would go with Ella in the speedboat up the lake to

Tiberias to do their shopping together, and each day she swam for an

hour from the stone jetty.

Often an old fisherman with whom she had become friendly would row down

the lake to fetch her and she would go out with him, baiting her own

lines and taking her turn at the oars.

Across the lawns from the jetty, in the crusader castle, there was

always Ella's companionship and intelligent conversation, and here in

her little cottage there was quietness and safety and work to fill the

long hours.

And in the night there was the chill of terrible aloneness and silent

bitter tears into her solitary pillow, tears which only she knew about.

Debra placed a mug of coffee beside Ella's chair and carried her own

back to her work bench.

Now, she said, you can tell me what is keeping you fidgeting around in

your seat, and drumming your fingers on the arm of the chair, she smiled

towards Ella, sensing the surprise.  You have got something to tell me,

and it's killing you.

Yes, Ella spoke after a moment.  Yes, you are right, my dear.  She took

a deep breath and then went on.  He came, Debra.  He came to see me, as

we knew he must Debra set the mug down on the table, her hand was steady

and her face expressionless.  I didn't tell him where you were.  'How is

he, Ella?  How does he look?

He is thinner, a little thinner, I think, and paler than when I last saw

him, but it suits him.  He is still the most beautiful man I have ever

seen.  His hair, Debra asked, has he let it grow a little?

Yes, I think so.  It's soft and dark and thick around his ears and curly

down the back.  Debra nodded, smiling.  I'm glad he didn't cut it.  They

were silent again, and then almost timidly Debra asked, What did he say?

What did he want?  'He had a message for you.  'What was it?  And Ella

repeated it faithfully in his exact words.

When she had finished, Debra turned away to face the wall above her

desk.  Please go away now, Ella.  I want to be alone. He asked me to

give him your reply.  I promised to speak to him tomorrow morning.  I

will come to you later, but please leave me now.  And Ella saw the drop

of bright liquid that slid down the smooth brown curve of her cheek.

Mountainously Ella came to her feet and moved towards the door.  Behind

her she heard the girl sob, but she did not turn back.  She went across

the stone jetty and up to the terrace.  She sat before her canvas and

picked up her brush and began to paint.  Her strokes were broad and

crude and angry.

David was sweating in the stiff shiny skin of his full pressure suit and

he waited anxiously beside the telephone, glancing every few minutes at

the crew-room clock.

He and Joe would go on high-altitude Red standby at ten o'clock, in

seven minutes time, and Ella had not called him.

David's depression was thunderous and there was black anger and despair

in his heart.  She had promised to call before ten o'clock.

Come on, Davey, Joe called from the doorway and he stood up heavily and

followed Joe to the electric carrier.  As he took his seat beside Joe he

heard it ring in the crew-room.

Hold it, I he told the driver, and he saw Robert answer the telephone

and wave through the glass panel at him.

It's for you, Davey, and he ran back into the crewroom.

I'm sorry, David, Ella's voice was scratchy and far away.  I tried

earlier but the exchange here Sure, sure, David cut her short, his anger

was still strong.  Did you speak to her?  Yes, Davey.  Yes, I did.  I

gave her your message.  'What was her reply?  he demanded.  There was no

reply. 'What the hell, Ella.  She must have said something.  'She said,

Ella hesitated, -and these are her exact words, "the dead cannot speak

with the living.  For David, I died a year ago.  I, He held the receiver

with both hands but still it shook.  After a while she spoke again.  Are

you still there?  'Yes, he whispered, I'm still here They were silent

again, but David broke it at last.  That's it, then, he said.  Yes.  I'm

afraid that's it, Davey.  Joe stuck his head around the door. -'Hey,

Davey.  Cut it short, will you.  Time to go.  'I have to go now, Ella.

Thanks for everything.  'Goodbye, David, she said, and even over the

scratchy connection he could hear the compassion in her tone.

It heightened the black anger that gripped him as he rode beside Joe to

the Mirage bunker.

For the first time ever, David felt uncomfortable in the cockpit of a

Mirage.  He felt trapped and restless, sweating and angry, and it seemed

hours between each of the fifteen-minute readiness checks.

His ground crew were playing backgammon on the concrete floor below him,

and he could see them laughing and joshing each other.  It made him

angrier than ever to see others happy.

Tubby!  he barked into his microphone, and his voice was repeated by the

overhead loudspeakers.  The plump, serious young man, who was chief

engineer for Lance squadron, climbed quickly up beside his cockpit and

peered anxiously through the canopy at him.

There is dirt on my screen, David snapped at him.  How the hell do you

expect me to pick up a MIG, when I'm looking through a screen you ate

your bloody breakfast off?

The cause of David's distress was a speck of carbon that marred the

glistening perfection of his canopy.

Tubby himself had supervised the polishing and buffing of it, and the

carbon speck was wind-carried since then.

Carefully he removed the offending spot, and lovingly he polished the

place where it had been with a chamois leather.

The reprimand had been public and unfair, very unlike their top boy

Davey.  However, they all made allowances for Red standby nerves, and

spots on a canopy played hell with a pilot's nerves.  Every time it

caught his eye it looked exactly like a pouncing MIG.

That's better, David gruffed at him, fully aware that he had been

grossly unfair.  Tubby grinned and gave him a high sign as he climbed

down.

At that moment there was a click and throb in his earphones and the

distinctive voice of the Brig.

Red Standby, Go!  Go!

Under full reheat and with the driving thrust of the afterburners

hurling him aloft David called, Hello, Desert Flower, Bright Lance

airborne and climbing.

Hello, David, this is the Brig.  We have a contact shaping up for

intrusion on our air space.  It looks like another teaser from the

Syrians.  They are closing our border at twenty-six thousand and should

be hostile in approximately three minutes.  We are going to initiate

attack plan Gideon.  Your new heading is 420 and I want you right down

on the deck.

David acked and immediately rotated the Mirage's nose downwards.  Plan

Gideon called for a low-level stalk so that the ground clutter would

obscure the enemy radar and conceal their approach until such time as

they were in position to storm-climb up into an attack vector above and

behind the target.

They dropped to within feet of the ground, lifting and falling over the

undulating hills, so low that the herds of black Persian sheep scattered

beneath them as they shrieked eastwards towards the Jordan.

Hello, Bright Lance, this is Desert Flower, we are not tracking you.

Good, thought David, then neither is the enemy.  Target is now hostile

in sector, the Brig gave the coordinates, Scan for your own contact.

Almost immediately Joe's voice came in.  Leader, this is Two.  I have a

contact.  David dropped his eyes to his own radar screen and amputated

his scan as Joe called range and bearing.  It was a dangerous

distraction when flying in the sticky phase of high subsonic drag at

zero feet, and his own screen was clear of contact.

They raced onwards for many more seconds before David picked up the

faint luminous fuzz at the extreme range of his set.

Contact firming.  Range figures nine six nautical miles.  Parallel

heading and track.  Altitude 25, 5oo feett.  David felt the first

familiar tingle and slither of his anger and hatred, like the cold of a

great snake uncoiling in his belly.

Beseder, Two.  Lock to target and go to interception speed.

They went supersonic and David looked up ahead at the crests of the

thunderheads that reared up from the solid banks of cumulo nimbus lower

down.  These mountainous upthrusts of silver and pale blue were

sculptured into wonderful shapes that teased the imagination towers and

turrets embattled and emblazoned, heroic human shapes standing proud or

hunched in the attitude of mourning, the rearing horsemen of the

chessboard, a great fleecy pack of wolves, and other animal shapes of

fantasy, with the deep crevasses between them bridged in splendour by

the rainbows.  There were hundreds of these, great blazes of colour,

that turned and followed their progress across the sky, keeping majestic

station upon them.  Above them, the sky was a dark unnatural blue,

dappled like a Windsor grey by the thin striation of the cirrocumulus,

and the sunlight poured down to shimmer upon the two speeding warplanes.

As yet there was no sight of the target.  It was up there somewhere

amongst the cloud mountains.  He looked back at his radar screen.  He

had taken his radar out of scan and locked it into the target, and now

as they closed rapidly he could appraise their relative positions.

The target was flying parallel to them, twenty miles out on their

starboard side, and it was high above them and moving at a little more