Alfie started at the sound of the gunshot. “Nellie!” He stood to run off after it.
Frank put a firm hand on his upper arm and pinned him with a hard stare. “Where d’you think you’re going?”
Alfie shrugged his hand off. “She could be in trouble.”
“Guess we know where his loyalties lie now, don’t we?” said Norman brusquely.
“They’re here because of us,” yelled Alfie as he ran off. “If some great devil thing has got ’em, it’ll be our fault!”
Wally just shrugged.
Sod ’em, thought Alfie, sweeping the undergrowth aside as he ran. They’re not in danger. Nellie might be. Although the way Lieutenant Mathers had been acting this trip, maybe they all were. He was becoming unpredictable. The petrol fruit fumes seemed to be affecting him more than the others. And the way he walked round wearing that medicine man rain cape, splash mask and helmet, as if that was now more his uniform than the officer’s garb beneath it, where did his true loyalties lie? Alfie wondered. And what was wrong with him? He didn’t look well. He’d have a word with Nellie. Maybe she could give him the once over. If she wasn’t –
Alfie almost collided with two Fusiliers. The tall one and his mate, Pot Shot and Gazette? They heard the others pounding in from all directions, snapping through the undergrowth, also drawn by the sound of the gunshot. As they arrived, it became clear who was missing.
Nellie came running up with Chalky and Napoo. She and Alfie exchanged looks of relief, but they didn’t last long.
“We heard gunfire,” she said. “What happened? Where’s Only?”
“And where’s the bloody chatt? You don’t suppose it turned on him, do you?” suggested Mercy.
Gutsy spat. “Wouldn’t put it past the sneaky bastard. Never did trust it.”
Mercy found Atkins’ rifle lying on the ground, He bellowed into the trees. “Only! Only! Where the hell are you? Only?” He spat on the ground in frustration. “You don’t think it was that evil spirit, do you?” he asked Prof.
“I don’t know. Three months ago and I’d have said it was superstitious nonsense, but here?” He shook his head. “I’m not so sure.”
Alfie shuffled uncomfortably as some of the Fusiliers shot him black looks.
“What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your mates?” sniped Porgy.
He shrugged. “I heard the rifle shot.”
Mercy held them back and waited expectantly while their urman, Napoo, studied the ground. “No sign of struggle.” He pointed to several sets of scattered impressions. “Ones.” His fingers gently traced the shallow pad marks. “Scentirrii — heavy, others not so. These sets are deeper,” he said, describing an arc with his arm. He looked up into the boughs and the broken branches overhead. “They ambushed them from above.”
Nellie sniffed the air, her nose wrinkled. “I know that smell from when we were captured and taken to the Khungarrii edifice—” She sniffed again. “They breathed out something that drugged us.”
Napoo tipped his head back and inhaled slowly, his nostrils dilating. He looked at Nellie and nodded in agreement. “Dhuyumirrii,” he said.
“Do what?” asked Gutsy.
“Priests,” explained Napoo as he softly followed the tracks for a short distance.
Gazette’s eyes narrowed. “A Khungarrii rescue party?”
Napoo returned to the group. “No. This is Zohtakarrii burri. It is Zohtakarrii patrol. No Khungarrii here.”
Gazette seemed relieved that they hadn’t been followed. Alfie suspected he would have taken it as a personal slight if they had been pursued without his knowledge.
“What will happen to them?” asked Nellie.
Napoo’s features darkened. “They will be interrogated and then killed. But the presence of the Dhuyumirrii puzzles me. They do not usually accompany normal patrols. There is something else going on here.”
“Oh, great,” said Pot Shot, throwing his hands in the air, “as if we didn’t have enough on our hands.” He glared at Alfie. “It’s this bloody Hush Hush bunch that has led us to this.”
Gazette patted the lanky private on the shoulder. “Yeah, but they’ll bloody well help us out of it.” He walked over to Alfie and poked him in the chest with a finger. “Won’t you?”
Alfie clenched his fists, but restrained himself, as he caught Nellie out of the corner of his eye giving him a slight but emphatic shake of her head.
“Later, chum,” said Gazette with a sneer. “We’ve got to find Only first.”
ALFIE LED THE way back to the bellied tank. As they approached the Ivanhoe, the Fusiliers crowded together, like a pack.
The tank crew abandoned their task to face them. Norman slapped the spanner head against the palm of his hand.
Alfie rubbed his sweaty palms on the thighs of his coveralls and stepped forwards to defuse the situation. “One of the Fusiliers and the chatt. They’ve been taken.”
“What, by the spirit?” blurted out Cecil, his eyes almost popping out of his head.
“No, another colony of chatts, by all accounts,” Alfie informed them.
“And you lot are going to help find them,” said Gutsy, daring them to contradict him.
Alfie turned to appease the soldier. “Of course we will. That goes without saying.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Mathers appeared from round the back of the tank. “I’m in command here, Perkins. Not you.”
At the sound of Mathers’ voice, the Tommies squared off bullishly. Gutsy stepped forward, Mercy and Gazette either side of him, backing him up. The tank crew fell in behind their commander as he strode towards the belligerent infantrymen.
Mathers studied them. “We’ll find your man,” he said eventually. “Just as soon as we get the tank unditched. Now let us do our job.”
“If you’d been doing your job in the first place this wouldn’t have happened,” said Mercy under his breath.
Mathers wheeled round. “I beg your pardon, Private?”
Mercy stood to attention. “I said, these things happen, sir.”
Mathers continued to stare at Mercy before turning on his heel with a dismissive grunt. The two groups broke away from each other, the immediate tension dissipated. Whatever grudges they had with each other, they could wait.
Nellie reached for Alfie’s hand. “You did good, I know that wasn’t easy for you, siding against your pals,” said Nellie.
Alfie raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “I’m not sure they are my pals. Sometimes lately, I don’t even know who they are.”
INSIDE THE TANK, Alfie, Cecil, Frank and Reggie turned the large starting handle that ran between the motor and the gearbox at the back of the compartment until the engine caught. The tank jolted as the ditching log rolled underneath it with the tracks, lifting it free of the outcrop. Wally stopped the tank before the log could damage the steering tail. Once they unchained the log, the party was able to proceed. Napoo led the way, following the trail left by Atkins’ captors.
With the engine spewing out its mind-altering fumes into the compartment once more, the crew calmed down, the familiar smells and routines settling the men’s fractious nerves. The news of yet more chatts seemed to galvanise them. Wally especially. In the absence of Huns, he hoped to face more chatts. He was regretting not being back at the encampment now.
The tank rumbled on through the jungle, Wally running up the engine as he ran over small trees, sending the rest of the crew grasping for hand holds to save themselves from falling against the hot engine.
“For Christ’s sake, Wally, watch it, you’ve already ditched her once!” chided Norman.
But Wally, it seemed, was on a mission, and Mathers was inclined to give him his head.
Cecil and Reggie manned the machine guns, aware that they were heading into trouble. The aft storage slots that held the tins of ammunition were nearly two thirds empty now, a conscious reminder to be careful with the remainder.