back to work.'
Rain dashed against the window pane. He went and peered out and shivered, thinking of the fleet down there in the South Atlantic and winter rolling in.
'God help sailors at sea on a night like this,' he said softly.
* * *
It was very quiet in the small study in the Residencia del Presidente at Olivos outside Buenos Aires. The President himself, General Leopoldo Fortunato Galtieri, was in uniform, but had taken off his tunic as he sat at the desk working his way through a mass of papers.
He was a bull of a man, plain spoken, a soldier's soldier, and had frequently been compared to that most colourful of all American generals of the Second World War, George S. Patton.
There was a knock at the door and a young army captain in dress uniform looked in.
The President glanced up. 'What is it, Martinez?'
'General Dozo is here, sir.'
'Good, show him in. See that we are not disturbed. No phone calls for half-an-hour.' He smiled, suddenly looking relaxed and charming. 'Of course, if news comes in that either the Hermes or Invincible has been sunk, disturb me all you like.'
'At your orders, my President.'
Martinez withdrew, and a moment later Brigadier General Basilio Lami Dozo, commander of the Argentine Air Force, entered. He was an elegant, handsome man, whose uniform fitted him to perfection, a natural aristocrat in total contrast to Galtieri who had been born into a working class family and had come up the hard way. Which was perhaps as well for they were compelled to work together, like it or not, together with the commander of the navy, Admiral Jorge Anaya as members of the three man junta that ruled the country.
Lami Dozo took off his hat and lit a cigarette. 'Isn't Anaya coming?'
Galtieri was pouring Cognac into two glasses at the drinks cabinet. 'What for? We might as well not have a navy for all the good it does. Thank God for the air force. True heroes, all those lads of yours.' He handed Lami Dozo a glass. 'Here's to them.'
'What's left of them,' Lami Dozo said bitterly and drank a little Cognac. 'Things are so bad down there at Gallegos that everyone who can fly is going up. Raul Montera, for God's sake! Forty-six next birthday and he's flying Skyhawks to San Carlos Water.' He shook his head. 'I sometimes think I should be back in a cockpit myself.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' Galtieri said. 'Raul Montera is a romantic fool, always was.'
'And a true hero.'
'Oh, I'll give you that. Magnificent. I have every admiration for him.'
'That's what the boys call him. El Magnifico. He can't last, of course. He's flown eleven operations during the past week to my knowledge.' He shook his head. 'God knows what I'll find to say to his mother when he goes.'
'Donna Elena?' Galtieri shuddered. 'Keep her away from me, whatever you do. That woman always makes me feel I should be herding cows, bare-footed. How was it today?'
'We hit a frigate, HMS Antelope. When I last heard, there had been some sort of explosion and it was on fire. We think we also damaged a destroyer, the Glasgow, but we can't be sure. Six Mirages and two Skyhawks were shot down. Some made it back to base damaged.' He shook his head in wonder. 'And in spite of that, the spirit of those boys is fantastic. But it can't go on. We'll run out of pilots.'
'Exactly,' Galtieri said. 'Which is why we need more Exocets and according to this report just in from our Embassy in Paris, we could have exactly what we need in a matter of days. Read it.'
He went to the window and looked out at the gardens, bright in the sunshine as he finished his Cognac. Behind him, Lami Dozo said, 'You could be right. But Garcia doesn't seem to have any information as to how or where this man Donner intends to obtain Exocets.'
'True, but he is convinced that Donner can supply and it's worth a try. You notice, of course, that they ask for a top air force officer to liaise on this one, preferably a pilot.'
'Yes.'
'Does anyone spring to mind as being particularly suitable for
Rain dashed against the window pane. He went and peered out and shivered, thinking of the fleet down there in the South Atlantic and winter rolling in.
'God help sailors at sea on a night like this,' he said softly.
* * *
It was very quiet in the small study in the Residencia del Presidente at Olivos outside Buenos Aires. The President himself, General Leopoldo Fortunato Galtieri, was in uniform, but had taken off his tunic as he sat at the desk working his way through a mass of papers.
He was a bull of a man, plain spoken, a soldier's soldier, and had frequently been compared to that most colourful of all American generals of the Second World War, George S. Patton.
There was a knock at the door and a young army captain in dress uniform looked in.
The President glanced up. 'What is it, Martinez?'
'General Dozo is here, sir.'
'Good, show him in. See that we are not disturbed. No phone calls for half-an-hour.' He smiled, suddenly looking relaxed and charming. 'Of course, if news comes in that either the Hermes or Invincible has been sunk, disturb me all you like.'
'At your orders, my President.'
Martinez withdrew, and a moment later Brigadier General Basilio Lami Dozo, commander of the Argentine Air Force, entered. He was an elegant, handsome man, whose uniform fitted him to perfection, a natural aristocrat in total contrast to Galtieri who had been born into a working class family and had come up the hard way. Which was perhaps as well for they were compelled to work together, like it or not, together with the commander of the navy, Admiral Jorge Anaya as members of the three man junta that ruled the country.
Lami Dozo took off his hat and lit a cigarette. 'Isn't Anaya coming?'
Galtieri was pouring Cognac into two glasses at the drinks cabinet. 'What for? We might as well not have a navy for all the good it does. Thank God for the air force. True heroes, all those lads of yours.' He handed Lami Dozo a glass. 'Here's to them.'
'What's left of them,' Lami Dozo said bitterly and drank a little Cognac. 'Things are so bad down there at Gallegos that everyone who can fly is going up. Raul Montera, for God's sake! Forty-six next birthday and he's flying Skyhawks to San Carlos Water.' He shook his head. 'I sometimes think I should be back in a cockpit myself.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' Galtieri said. 'Raul Montera is a romantic fool, always was.'
'And a true hero.'
'Oh, I'll give you that. Magnificent. I have every admiration for him.'
'That's what the boys call him. El Magnifico. He can't last, of course. He's flown eleven operations during the past week to my knowledge.' He shook his head. 'God knows what I'll find to say to his mother when he goes.'
'Donna Elena?' Galtieri shuddered. 'Keep her away from me, whatever you do. That woman always makes me feel I should be herding cows, bare-footed. How was it today?'
'We hit a frigate, HMS Antelope. When I last heard, there had been some sort of explosion and it was on fire. We think we also damaged a destroyer, the Glasgow, but we can't be sure. Six Mirages and two Skyhawks were shot down. Some made it back to base damaged.' He shook his head in wonder. 'And in spite of that, the spirit of those boys is fantastic. But it can't go on. We'll run out of pilots.'
'Exactly,' Galtieri said. 'Which is why we need more Exocets and according to this report just in from our Embassy in Paris, we could have exactly what we need in a matter of days. Read it.'
He went to the window and looked out at the gardens, bright in the sunshine as he finished his Cognac. Behind him, Lami Dozo said, 'You could be right. But Garcia doesn't seem to have any information as to how or where this man Donner intends to obtain Exocets.'
'True, but he is convinced that Donner can supply and it's worth a try. You notice, of course, that they ask for a top air force officer to liaise on this one, preferably a pilot.'
'Yes.'
'Does anyone spring to mind as being particularly suitable for
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