Sea Leopard

'Very well. Our signals cannot be intercepted, nor their origin traced so far as Clark is concerned?'

'No. Mr Aubrey, how long do we need to hang around?'

'For some hours yet.'

'Very well.' Eastoe sounded grim, but determined. 'We'll do what we can. I'll try not to get shepherded out of range.'

'If you would.'

Aubrey stared at the console on the table between himself and Quin. The hull sensors had been inspected and repaired, yet the achievement of that task had been the completion of the easy and least dangerous element. Clark now had to inspect and, if necessary, repair the back-up system of 'Leopard'. Aubrey suddenly felt alone, and incompetent.

Eastoe spoke again in his ear. 'They're demanding we leave the area. They'll see us off the property.'

'You are on our eastbound leg at the moment?'

'Yes. But that won't fool them. They'll have been watching us on radar for a long time. They know we're flying a box pattern.'

'But, for the moment, we're secure?'

'Yes —'

The window seemed filled with the belly of the MiG-23. The sight was gone in a moment, and might have begun to seem illusory, except that the nose of the Nimrod tilted violently as Eastoe put the aircraft into a dive.

'Shit — ' the co-pilot's voice cried in Aubrey's ear. The Nimrod levelled, and steadied.

'They're not in the mood to waste time,' Eastoe commented. 'You saw that?'

Aubrey remembered the underbelly, almost white like that of a great hunting fish, and even the red-painted missiles beneath the wing.

'Yes,' he said. 'What happened?' He ignored Quin's worried face, the man was frightened but there was a determination in him now, replacing the former cunning that had sought only escape.

'One of them buzzed us — and, I mean buzzed. Crazy bastard!'

Aubrey paused for a moment. The aircraft is in your hands, Squadron Leader. All I ask is that we never pass out of range of Clark's transceiver. The rest is up to you.'

''thank you, Mr Aubrey.'

The MiG — perhaps the one that had buzzed them — was back on their port wing, slightly above and behind. Shadowing them. It was, Aubrey considered, as unpredictable as a wild creature.

* * *

Tricia staggered under Hyde's weight, slipped, and fell against the long, high bank. Her breath roared in her ears, but she could feel it in her chest — ragged, loud, heaving. Hyde, unconscious, rolled away from her, slid until he lay at her feet looking sightlessly up at her and was still. Tricia was simply and utterly relieved that she was no longer bearing his weight against one side and across the back of her neck where she had placed his arm. She loathed and hated Hyde at that moment, and even feared him; as if he might wake and attack her himself. She blamed him totally, for every fragment and element of her predicament.

Her body was bathed in perspiration, and her limbs were shaking with weakness. Hyde continued groaning, like a murmured protest at his pain.

'Oh — shut up,' she whispered fiercely. 'Shut up.' The repetition was bitten off, as if she admitted he was not to blame.

She had helped Hyde, often supporting his unconscious weight when he slipped once more from pain into stillness, as they moved north, then west. There had been no effective pursuit. The helicopter had lost sight of them after she had half-dragged, half-shouldered him away from the rise where he had first passed out, into a small copse of trees. A tiny dell, where the dead ferns were long and curving, like the roofs of native huts, had concealed them. Terrified, she had heard legs brushing through heather and ferns, voices near and more distant, the crackle of R/Ts. She had kept her hand over Hyde's mouth, in case he babbled in delirium.

The wound had been ugly, and she knew nothing of medicine or nursing. It had bled a great deal. It seemed that the bullet had not lodged in Hyde's shoulder or chest because there was a small hole near his shoulder blade and a larger hole near his collar-bone. She had seen sufficient television wounds to assume that the bullet had passed straight through. Her knowledge of anatomy was sketchy, and she watched anxiously for blood to appear around his lips. When it did not, she assumed the lungs were undamaged. She did not know what other bones, muscles or organs might reside in the area of the wound. She bound the wound with a torn length of Hyde's own shirt.

Now, under the looming shadow of the long, high bank, she knew she could go no further. Hyde's weight had become intolerable. She could bully him no more, support him no longer. She was hungry, and cold, and impatient of Hyde's helplessness. His repeated groans of pain enraged her.

She knelt by him because he would not quieten. She shook his head carefully, as if it fitted only loosely, her fingers holding his chin. His eyes flickered, but then closed again, as if he wished to exclude her and what she represented. She shook his head more violently. A great weariness possessed her, and she sat instead of squatting on her haunches.

'For God's sake, wake up,' she pleaded.

'Uuh,' he grunted. She looked at him. His eyes were open.

'You're awake.'

'Oh, Christ?' he cried in a broken voice, his breath sobbing. 'My bloody shoulder.' He groaned again.

'You're not delirious?'

'My bloody shoulder won't let me. Where — where are we?'

'Behind the rifle ranges. Are we going to stay here?'

'I'm not going anywhere.' Hyde looked at the stars. 'I can't go anywhere, Tricia.'

'I know.'

'Have a quick look around. See if you can find some dense undergrowth, a ditch, a trench, a hole in the bank, anything. If we can get under cover, we — ' He groaned again.

'Where are the police?' she asked plaintively.

'Searching Cheshire probably,' he replied, coughing. She looked anxiously for signs of blood as he wiped his lips. There were none. 'Trouble is, we're in Staffordshire. They'll get round to us. I hope.'

'They must be looking, surely?'

'I bloody well hope so, darling. I pay my rates and taxes so they can pull me out of holes like this. I'll be writing to my bloody Pom MP if they don't turn up.'

She almost laughed at the pronounced accent and the sentiments it expressed. Something lifted from her; not her weariness, but something of her isolation. Hyde sounded more like a human being, less like a liability.

'I'll look,' she said, and got up. He turned his head slowly and watched her. He felt tears in his eyes which might simply have been the result of pain and weariness. He did not understand them, and for a few moments he could not prevent them. The pain in his shoulder subsided now that he was resting, but he felt his body could make no further effort, not even to defend itself or the girl. He needed to hide.

The girl came back quickly, almost running.

'No —' he protested, sensing her pursued.

'What? No, it's all right, I' ve found a hollow, scooped out of the bank. It's almost masked by a bush. Can you come?'

He sat up, rocked, then steadied himself. 'Give us a hand, mate.'

She tottered, but pulled him to his feet. She hitched his arm across her aching shoulders again, and dragged him along the gully behind the bank, which loomed thirty feet or more above them.

It was less than fifty yards, but she was staggering with tiredness when they reached the bush growing out of the bank. Hyde felt its stiff, resisting branches, the sharp ends and points of old thorns. It had spread and flourished for many years, but he could see behind its present leaflessness the outline of a hole in the bank.

'How far in does it go, do you think?' she said, shivering as she realised she would have to investigate.

'It's all right. No bears left, and no wolves. And no bloody snakes like we' ve got in Aussie biting your arse when you climb in. Go on, then.' He sounded genuinely impatient.