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‘How could he? It’s the pilot’s decision — always. You know that.’

‘Very well. I will put it another way. Would Captain Adams have flown if there hadn’t been an injured man to bring out?’

‘No.’

Colonel Standing sighed and reached for his slide-rule, running it back and forth in his hands. ‘Two men’s lives and an expensive machine.’ He was staring at the slide-rule as though calculating the risk in terms of a mathematical equation. ‘Captain Fairweather has all he needs, hasn’t he?’ This with a quick glance at his Adjutant. ‘I mean the hospital is still functioning, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, but it’s little better than a first-aid post now, sir. And Fairweather’s not a surgeon.’

‘He’s still a member of the medical profession. If he has to operate, then he’s got the means and we can link him up with Scottish Command and give him a surgeon’s guidance.’ He dropped the slide-rule. ‘Have them contact Adams. He’s to cancel the flight and return immediately. Now what’s the landing craft position? Stratton is the more experienced of the two. Where’s Eight-six-one-o?’

‘She passed through the Sound of Harris about nine-thirty this morning. If the tide’s right, she should be beaching any moment now.’

‘In the South Ford.’

‘Aye. They’re double-banked, you see. If you remember, sir, it was to cope with just this eventuality that Major Braddock arranged for a stand-by detachment based on the old range. Four-four-Double-o cleared from Laerg on the same tide, about three hours after Stratton. She’d have been in Leverburgh by now if it hadn’t been for a wee bit of trouble with one of the oil pumps. It slowed her down for a while.’

‘How far out is she — an hour, two hours?’

‘Two I should think. I’ll check if you like.’

‘No, there’s no time.’ Standing’s fingers were drumming gently on the desk again. ‘It makes no difference anyway. She’s the nearest. A pity it’s Kelvedon and not Stratton. But it can’t be helped. Have Signals contact him: Four-four-Double-o to turn round and make back to Laerg at full speed to pick up a casualty.’

‘It’ll be eight, maybe nine hours before she gets there. A falling tide then and it’ll be dark.’

‘They should be able to run their bows in, pick the man up and winch off again. There won’t be much of a sea running in the Bay. He’ll just have to do the best he can. See if you can speak to Kelvedon yourself, explain the urgency.’

Ferguson hesitated. ‘You wouldn’t have a word with Bob Fairweather first? Maybe the man’s condition …’

‘No, Ferguson. Captain Fairweather’s concern is with the injured man. I have to consider what the position will be if Major Braddock and Captain Adams are injured, perhaps killed, and their machine written off. All right?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Contact Adams first. Then have a word with Kelvedon and get Four-four-Double-o turned round as soon as you can.’

‘She’ll still be loaded.’

‘Of course she will. That can’t be helped. Now get moving. Every minute counts.’ He watched his Adjutant leave. Then when the door was shut he turned to me. ‘You’ve come at an awkward time.’ His voice shook slightly, so did his hands; his nerves were strung taut by the decision he’d had to make.

‘I didn’t realise you were evacuating the island,’ I said.

He was staring down at the desk. Behind him on the wall hung a six-inch to the mile map of Laerg and beside it were graphs, presumably of the past season’s shooting; part of the skin of a rocket, a jagged, crumpled piece of light alloy, lay on the floor beside his chair. ‘There’s always somebody wanting to go to Laerg — naturalists, birdwatchers, archaeologists. They’re a darned nuisance.’

‘My father was born in Learg.’

I made no impression. He wasn’t interested in the island as such. Later I learned that in the year he’d been in the Hebrides, he’d only visited Laerg once — a quick trip by helicopter on a fine day. ‘You’re an artist, you say. Professional?’

‘Yes.’

He nodded to the wall behind me. ‘What do you think of that?’

It was a landscape, the mountains of Harris by the look of it, in sunlight with a glimpse of the sea. The brush-work was technically quite good, but it lacked feeling. I didn’t know what to say for I knew he’d done it himself, and presumably he liked it since he’d hung it in his office.

‘Well?’

I hesitated; but better to be honest. I told him it was nice but that I didn’t think the artist was at home with his subject. To my surprise he nodded agreement. ‘I hung it there just to remind me that the sun does shine up here sometimes. It was hot when I painted that. But you’re right — I’m not at home with landscapes. If you’re here for a time I’ll show you some others. My wife models for me.’ The phone rang on his desk. ‘Standing here. Thinks he can make it?’ He glanced at the window as the rain beat against it in a gust of wind. ‘Tell Adams it’s an order. Yes. Ferguson, an order, do you hear?’ He was trembling again as he put the phone down. For a moment he just sat there, drumming with his fingers at the desk. Then, as though suddenly conscious of my presence again, he said, ‘All right, Ross, we’ll see what we can do. Are you any good at seascapes, ships, that sort of thing?’

‘Sea and mountains and rock,’ I said; ‘that’s what I like to paint.’

‘Good. A sketch or two of the evacuation — a painting perhaps; the DRA would like that, particularly if there are some birds in it.’ I pointed out that the birds wouldn’t be back for another three months. ‘Well, there’s such a thing as artists’ licence. The General likes birds.’ He hesitated. Finally he nodded. ‘All right. Have a word with Ferguson. He’ll fix it with the Movements Officer and arrange with one of the landing craft skippers to take you out. You’ll have about two days there, maybe three.’

‘It’ll be something just to see the island,’ I said.

‘So long as you don’t get in Captain Pinney’s way. They’re under considerable pressure. Where are you staying?’ And when I told him I was camping at Rodil, he said, ‘We can do better than that. I’ll tell Ferguson to allocate you a room for the night. We’ve always plenty of space in the winter months.’

I thanked him and followed Cliff Morgan out of the stuffy little office into the cold, driving rain. I was feeling in a daze. First Iain, and now Laerg … Laerg within reach at last. ‘I didn’t think it would be as easy as that,’ I murmured.

‘Well, they’re not worried about security, you see. The place is a write-off and that makes it easier than when they were lobbing missiles into the water beside it. But you wouldn’t have got there if you hadn’t been an artist.’ And he added, ‘You never know where you are with Standing. And now that Braddock’s here.

He left it at that. ‘What about Braddock?’ I asked.

‘Oh, he’s all right, whatever anybody else may say. By God he’s woken this place up since he arrived. Yes indeed, and he’ll have a drink with you, which is more than Standing will.”

The bar was deserted when we reached the Mess. But as we stood there drinking our gin-and-tonic, the officers drifted in one by one. Major Rafferty, the Quartermaster, a big beefy man with a florid face and a Scots accent; the Movements Officer, Fred Flint — short and round with a button nose and the face of a pug, all bulging eyes and a way of dropping his aitches and watching with a glint of humour to see if it startled you; the Doc, also a captain, but younger, with the air of a man nothing can surprise any more; several lieutenants, much younger still; and finally Field — Lieutenant Field who was old enough to be their father. He had a strange hatchet face, grey hair and a mouth that drooped at the corners. His eyes were deep-socketed, tired — blue eyes that had a nervous blink and didn’t look straight at you, but beyond, as though searching for some lost horizon. ‘our Education Officer,’ the ebullient Captain Flint added as he introduced us. ‘Now what y’aving, Professor?’

‘Oh, that’s very thoughtful of you, Flinty. Let me see now. The usual, I think — a gin-and-tonic without the gin.’ He smiled and the smile lit up his whole face so that it suddenly had a quality of great warmth. It was a striking face; moreover, it was a face that seemed vaguely familiar. But not in battledress; in some other rig. ‘I take it the LCTs are all at sea since Movements can take time off for a lunchtime drink.’