He put the earphones over his head and began listening.
He had been up there a few hours when the clicking began. He hastily scrawled out the message on a scrap of paper with a stub of blunt pencil.
He stumbled down the scree side, calling for Sergeant Dixon as he went.
He found Sergeant Dixon waiting for him as he reached the bottom. The NCO waited impatiently while he took a moment to catch his breath.
“Message, Sarn’t,” said Buckley handing the scrap of paper over. “From Lieutenant Everson, Sarn’t.”
Dixon studied the paper and fixed Buckley with a steely glare. “Is this your idea of a joke, Buckley? ‘Go to hell’?”
Buckley looked alarmed. “What? No, Sarn’t. No. It reads, ‘Gone to hell.’”
ATKINS AND THE rest of his men got ready to move out. Atkins found himself both scared and elated. This was everything he’d been wanting for the past five months. At last, they were hard on Jeffries’ heels, and perhaps a way home. It was a desperate hope.
“Mathers said this would happen,” said Pot Shot, casually.
“Are you bringing that up again?” said Mercy.
“He did, listen,” Pot Shot put on a solemn face, as if he were about to give a church reading. “‘Other Ones will travel with the breath of GarSuleth, the Kreothe made not tamed’,” he said. “Well that’s them chatt balloons isn’t it? ‘Then shall Skarra with open mandibles welcome the dark scentirrii.’ Well, Werner said our Black Hand Gang were like Dark Scentirrii to them chatts. And Skarra welcomes us. These Nazarrii knew we were going into the underworld centuries ago. Don’t you find that just a little bit spooky?”
“Blood and sand, Pot Shot. Will you shut up about that? Just for once, just once, I’d like to think that something I did on this hell of a world wasn’t ‘fated’.” Atkins threw down his knapsack and stormed off.
“I was joking!” protested Pot Shot. “Only! It’s just a bloody cave!”
If they really were going into Hell, or Tartarus, or whatever, then perhaps Nellie was right; he needed to talk to someone.
Padre Rand sat quietly by himself, reading from his Bible.
Atkins felt awkward interrupting him. He seemed lost in some private contemplation. “Padre, have you got a moment?”
The chaplain looked up, smiled, and lifted the small book. “Trying to find a little guidance,” he said with a smile. “Atkins, isn’t it? What can I do for you?”
Atkins approached the Padre, his hands wringing the bottom of his tunic. “I want to make a confession.”
And it all poured out of him: his big brother William, his brother’s fiancée Flora, and his own love for his brother’s sweetheart, and the strength and companionship they’d found in each other when William was declared missing during the Big Push on the Somme. He told of the last few tormented months, of his guilt and shame, and of Flora’s last letter and his hope for a return and reunion.
“Some men see this as a hell world, Padre,” he said, in a voice almost devoid of hope. “I see it more as a purgatory planet. Once I have paid for my sins, then maybe I can leave.”
Padre Rand listened quietly. “Do you truly love this woman?” he asked.
“With all my heart, Padre.”
“Then so long as you seek to make it right, it seems to me that you are truly penitent and wish to do the right thing. God could ask for nothing more. I could give you a few Hail Marys and a bunch of Our Fathers to say in penance, but I can see you’ve been a lot harder on yourself than that. I can forgive you, Atkins, but more importantly, you must learn to forgive yourself. Go, and sin no more,” the chaplain said in calm, measured tones.
Atkins didn’t know quite what he was expecting. A lifting of a great weight, perhaps, and a buoyant and happy heart. What he felt, however, was the relief of sharing his problem and having someone actually listen, and that was enough for now. As the Padre said, the rest was up to him. At least now he could look forwards, knowing that he was doing the right thing, and not torment himself with the past.
On his way back to his mates, Atkins saw Nellie.
“I talked to someone,” he said. “It helped. Thank you.”
Nellie smiled. “I’m glad.”
THE PADRE WATCHED Atkins go and felt a little ashamed. He wanted to promise Atkins that he would get back, but he just didn’t want to make a promise that he might not be able to keep, and for that he was sorry. He felt a connection to Atkins. They were both, in some sense, lost; alone. They both carried a terrible private burden they felt they couldn’t share. At least he had been able to help there. As for himself, that was a different matter.
The vision he’d first had in Khungarr revisited him now in all its glory. He’d wanted a sign that out here on this alien world, so far from His creation, God could hear him, and God did hear him. He had prayed that he might save his flock, the battalion, and see them returned safely home, like any good shepherd. God had answered and the Padre had accepted God’s beneficence with tears of joy. But the price God was asking for their salvation would cost him every ounce of faith he had, and he had blocked it from his mind, shut it away, but the still small voice would not be denied, and it tormented his sleep. Seeking his vision a second time, it was now clear to him, although there were times when he wished it was not, for God had told him that in order to save the souls of these Pennine Fusiliers, then he would have to trust in God, and die a martyr’s death. Only then would their souls be saved from this purgatorial world. It was a task worthy of any minister of God, but when that day came, would he have the strength, and the faith, to suffer the ordeal? That was the thought that haunted his quiet moments now.
EVERSON SAT, TRYING to appeal to the tank crew. “I really could do with the Ivanhoe,” he said. “It’s a scouting mission, nothing more.”
“I’d like to help sir,” said Jack. “But I’m sorry, we can’t go in there. It’s not practical. We don’t know what’s in there. I don’t want the tank getting stuck or driving into an abyss.”
“No. No, you’re right, of course,” said Everson. “I just thought I’d ask.”
“Well, if you ask me, you should just let us blast the thing and close the cavern entrance off for good,” said Wally.
“It may well come to that, but not today,” said Everson.
Wally hmphed his disapproval and went back to greasing some engine part.
Jack tried to be a little more conciliatory, “Look, if it’ll help, we’ll come in as far as we can. Just to make sure there are no more of those creatures, if nothing else,” he said, looking at the carcass of the giant beast. “But that’s it. We’ll wait for you.”
“The Ruanach enclave is stockaded. We can hole up there,” said Alfie.
“Fair enough,” said Everson, getting up. “Thank you.” He reached out and shook Jack’s hand, before turning his attention to Tulliver.
“I need you to fly back to the camp and let them know what’s going on. Tonkins is going to stay here with the tank crew at this Ruanach stockade. He can keep in contact with the canyon, and if there’s any chance that we can use these telluric paths to communicate, maybe we can send messages, too.”
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do, John?” asked Tulliver.
“No, but we’ve come this far. Do you want to come with us, Oberleutnant?” he asked the German.
Werner smiled politely. “What use is a pilot without a plane? No, I will stay here with Tulliver and soar with the angels, not consort with demons.”
Everson nodded. “Very well.”