Firefox Down

his eyes, and vanished. The voice continued. 'And in that condition, they beat up on him until he couldn't take any more. Christ, those people over there — !'

Gant drifted. His father was walking towards a huge golden spire that narrowed towards the top, like the exhaust of a rocket leaving its launch platform. Gant could not explain the fleeting image. He let himself drift. It was better than listening. It was better than the creeping sensations of pain that possessed him in legs and trunk and head and arms -

Pinprick.

He stopped drifting almost at once and the American voice seemed louder. He did not dare turn his head. His father disappeared behind a tall dark hedge; vanished.

'We'd better ask him — '

'We must be certain.' That was Aubrey. 'Yes, we must make certain.'

'The problem is — the real problem,' the American said, 'is to make him believe he's safe now. He can stop being brave and silent.'

'I agree.'

A face overhead. The strong sandy-haired man. Smiling. The collar tabs of a uniform, model ribbons. Shoulder boards. USAF. An Air Force general. Blue dress uniform. Comforting. He opened his mouth. A bubbling noise came out. He clenched it shut again. The general smiled at him. The American general smiled.

'Mitch — Major Gant… Mitch-listen to me, boy. You're safe-now. We're going to make you well again. I promise you that. We just need to know one thing-you're certain the aircraft exploded? You are certain? They can't get their hands on it again, can they?' Gant realised the bed near his shoulder was being patted, slowly and gently; reassuringly. 'We need to be sure of that.'

'We're not tiring him too much, are we, doctor — in his condition?' That was Aubrey, speaking somewhere out of sight.

'Quiet, Aubrey,' the general said, then looked back at Gant. 'Now, Mitch, how much can you remember? Are you certain the Firefox exploded?'

Gant swallowed. He listened. Aubrey was talking, still talking, to the doctor. Concern — ? A tongue clicking like a grasshopper, a low sombre tone.

Then he heard it.

'He's dying, I'm afraid… I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it — '

'Shut up!' the general snapped.

'Hurry!' Aubrey replied. 'We must be sure!'

Gant was shaking his head more quickly, with a huge and desperate effort of will and muscle. 'No,' he said.

The general looked very sad. 'I'm afraid so, Mitch. It — Christ, it wasn't what they did so much as the burns. When you ejected, boy, it was already too late — but help us now. Tell us the airplane exploded. That's what we need to know. Tell us. Please.'

'No-it didn't… didn't…'Gant sobbed. 'I'm not burned. It's not-I couldn't be… didn't…'

'Didn't what, Mitch? What didn't happen?'

'I — didn't eject — ' If he told them, explained to them, they would realise their mistake. They wouldn't say he was dying from burns, not then. They'd realise they'd made a mistake, an awful mistake, if he could prove he landed the airplane…

'What? Mitch, what are you Saying?'

'I landed-landed…'

'Oh my God — ! Aubrey, did you hear that? He landed the airplane!'

'No-!'

'Yes!' Gant cried out. 'Yes!'

The general leaned over him. Gant could smell a violet-scented breath-sweetener. The face was concerned. The eyes pleaded. He suddenly looked like the general who had decorated Gant on the flight-deck of the aircraft carrier in the South China Sea — looked just like him or his twin-brother. The resemblance comforted Gant, made him want to speak. He smiled. Just as on that previous occasion, he smiled at the general. He had wished he had been able to send the official photographs to his mother — but she was dead…

He realised he was in a trough. Like the sea-swell beneath the carrier's hull, he was in a trough. The general's face was a moment of calm.

He wouldn't have sent the photograph to his father, not in a lifetime, not in a million years…

Father -

Street, monument, dark hedge, front door, corridors, marble staircase, urns, white room, white room white room white -

The finding of his thread appalled him. He tried to shrink from the general whose face bore down on him, enlarging like the opening jaws of a fish -

Fish. Black fish — airframe. Water — drowning. Firefox — lake, sleeve trapped, cut free, airframe intact…

He knew he was out of the trough now. He even knew, for the briefest moment, that he was drugged. He knew where he was, he knew he was being deceived, he knew he must say nothing. Then that moment went. He wanted to talk. Had to talk.

'Dying… dying… dying-dying, dying, dying…' Seemed to be all the general was saying, though his lips did not move except to make his smile broader. The words seemed to come out of the air and fill the room. He disbelieved them for a moment then did not know why he disbelieved…

Then-

'He's not dying!' Aubrey's voice. 'For God's sake, he didn't crash — he didn't eject — the aircraft's still out there somewhere.' Aubrey did not come into view. The general's face looked away. His head shook sadly. An earpiece and a wire came out of the general's ear. Gant realised he was deaf. His father had worn an uglier, more obvious one. The general was deaf.

'He's dying, Kenneth…' He turned back to Gant. 'Tell us the airplane was destroyed.'

Deaf — would he hear? Gant reached up — huge effort, sweat bathed his body, but he grabbed the general's uniform and pulled him nearer so that he could hear. He placed his lips near the general's ear, near the earpiece…

'Not burned… not burned…' Something seemed to hurry him, quicken inside him like an increase in adrenalin. He began to babble incoherently, desperately trying to make himself understood. 'Not burned… drowning… drowning — on fire, but water, water… not burned… landed, not burned…water…'

The general's earpiece fell from his ear. Gant lay back in abject apology. His body twitched with adrenalin, or something. He felt too alive, a collection of jangling nerve-ends. He scrabbled for the earpiece. The general shouted at him, jerked away, but Gant held the earpiece. A long wire snake unreeled in his hand, seemingly alive. There was nothing at the other end of the wire, no box in the general's breast-pocket, like his father had. The wire trailed away out of sight.

Someone shouted, almost a snarl. He did not understand the language. Truth bubbled in his throat as self- pity had done. He gritted his teeth, held the words back, making them into a growl…

He did not know why he was stopping himself from speaking. The adrenalin demanded it. His body twitched and jumped with it. If he could tell, say everything, then he could relax. He must tell — must tell…

He sat up, jerkily, quickly, mechanically. Sat up in bed. Not bad for a dying man…

Not dying — tell — explain — in the lake…

'Not — explain!' he said through his teeth, looking around him. 'Listen!' he cried.

He saw two figures in one corner of the room. And flowers. And other faces. Nurse, doctor, general, man in suit -

Two generals…Blue and brown…

They stared at each other, the two generals.

'Listen to me!' Gant screamed. He had to tell them now — he had to. He would burst, explode, If he didn't get the words out. He had to tell them.' Listen!'

He moved, tried to pull his legs out of the bed but they would not move and he felt himself tumble forward. The floor rushed up at him, blue and white tiles. He dived at it, striking it with all the force of the energy surging