He pointed the copse out to the squad.
“We’ll need to be careful down there, and focussed. Yon’s plenty of woodland for a big beastie to hide in. So heads on tight, and quiet as we go. Let’s see if there’s anything to flush out. If we’re lucky, we’ll find it in the first place we look.”
“Aye,” Wiggins said and smiled, “because that’s always worked so well for us in the past.”
But they were all quiet when they finished their smokes and headed into the valley.
Banks kept a close eye on the sky as they went down the narrow track; the clouds had got lower and darker, and the constant drizzle was now threatening to turn to real rain. Even that didn’t bother him unduly; he’d climbed Snowdon in a full-on blizzard in his training — anything after that was a piece of piss in comparison. But he was aware that time was creeping on. This late in the year, it wouldn’t be too long before the gloom of dusk descended, and despite the fact they’d brought their tents, he didn’t relish being out on the hill and exposed in the dark.
“We’ll check out the copse, make sure nothing’s going to creep up on us, then hunker down in what’s left of the cottage. A fire, a cup of coffee, some grub, and a fag sounds good to me about now.”
“No argument from me, Cap,” Hynd said, and he led them deeper down the valley.
He’d been right in his assessment; the drizzle turned to steady rain as they reached the valley floor, and nobody complained when the sarge upped the pace, heading at double time for the copse of conifers. They stopped at the edge of the trees, getting some shelter from the overhanging branches, although water was already dripping steadily from the pine needles. Banks put up his hood, the patter of droplets sounding like a manic drummer on the top of his head.
“Wiggo, you’re with me. Sarge and Cally, you head ‘round the far side, double time. Make a quick sweep through and we’ll meet in the middle, see if there’s anything to flush out. Don’t shoot us, we’re the ones with two legs, but if anything bigger makes a move, put it down fast and ask questions later, even if it just turns out to be a deer. Move out.”
He waited until the other two men were out of sight ‘round the corner of the copse, counted slowly to 20, then led Wiggins under the canopy of trees, following an old deer track that hadn’t been used in recent memory. Wiggins had finally fallen quiet, and Banks saw the same tension in the younger man that he felt in himself. No matter how many times you walked into a possible shooting match, it never got all that easier, and the sudden dryness in his mouth reminded him clearly of past fights, both victories and defeats. A red squirrel scampered quickly up a tree trunk a few yards ahead of them and he felt his finger twitch at the trigger, having to force himself to calm as they went in deeper.
They were soon sheltered from the worst of the rain, but the gloom lay deep under the canopy; dusk was approaching fast. Everything under the branches was damp and dark, wet lichens hung just at the right height to slap in their faces, and the ground felt springy, almost boggy, under a bed of dead, brown needles. Another red squirrel looked down at them from a high branch then scurried away, sending a small shower of needles in its wake, but apart from that, nothing else moved until they saw Hynd and McCally appear out of the murk ahead of them.
“All clear, Cap,” Hynd said. “There’s nowt here but us and some squirrels.”
Banks sighed, not sure if it was in relief or disappointment.
“Looks like we’re spending the night out here then, lads,” he said. “Let’s see what shelter we can get in the cottage.”
The cottage was a simple, three-roomed affair, or at least it had been at one time. Now it was little more than four sandstone walls, none of them in particularly good shape, with even less sturdy red brick partitions in the interior. Both inside and outside were thick with dark green moss and lichen and the floor, paved with heavy stone slabs, was covered in timber and broken slate that had fallen from what remained of the roof. The kitchen and main living area were in the most ruin, with the roof having completely fallen in during some distant winter storm. But what had been a bedroom still had three of its walls, and most of the roof overhead.
McCally was able to jerry-rig one of the tents, flattening it out under the rafters such that it kept them mostly free of the drips. There was enough almost dry wood lying around to allow then to set a fire in a wide stone fireplace. They had to poke a long stick up the chimney to free an old bird’s nest but after they’d done that, the smoke escaped freely and they were able to enjoy some heat while Wiggins got coffee going on the camp stove and Banks made inroads into his field rations. They were as comfortable as they could ever expect to be while out in the field.
Banks hadn’t realized how hungry he’d been until he opened the food pack and the smell of it made him salivate. He wolfed it down quickly and was about to start in on another pouch when he stopped. They could be tramping about in these hills for a while yet, and he might need more sustenance after a longer walk in rougher ground tomorrow. He put the pouch away with regret and took a mug of coffee from Wiggins.
“Stop me if I’m wrong,” Wiggins said as he lit up a smoke, “but haven’t we seen this film? A bunch of squaddies, out in the Scottish Highlands, finding mutilated animals, then taking shelter in a farm cottage while there’s a monster fannying about out in the dark?”
McCally laughed.
“Aye, so that means as Corporal, I’m the good looking one that survives to the end, and you’re the loud-mouthed one that’s destined for dog food. But I thought you were all in for the wee green men theory, Wiggo? Are you changing your mind to ‘huge fucking howling things’?”
“Nah, I’m sticking with the fucking aliens for now. I’m just wondering when the posh bird that talks dirty will turn up. She’d be a comfort to a lad on a cold night, that one.”
Banks checked his watch; six o’clock.
“I’ll take first watch at the door from now until nine,” he said. “Three-hour stints, Sarge after me, then Cally, and Wiggo gets the shift before breakfast.”
He rose away from the fire and took his coffee with him to go and stand in the doorway, looking over the rubble-strewn main living area beyond and to the open space that had been the main doorway and end wall in the original building. Now it looked out onto the small loch, the surface of the water black as night took its grip in the valley. Within five minutes, he couldn’t see more than a few yards in the darkness beyond the room.
The only sounds were the patter of raindrops all around and the quiet chatter of the squad at the fire as they played hand after hand of three-card-brag for cigarettes. Banks stood in what remained of the bedroom doorway, getting as much shelter as he could, but even then he had to put his hood up to avoid a steady drip down the back of his neck. At seven-thirty, halfway into his shift, he went forward and stood at the main door of the ruin, looking out into the night. There was only blackness, no lights to show that any other human being was around for miles. He thought he caught a glimmer of pink reflecting on the underside of the clouds away to the east, a town’s lights reflecting off low clouds. That was probably Kingussie if he had his bearings right, but even that soft glow was quickly lost in the night as the rain came even heavier, forcing him to retreat back to the doorway.