Mr Jeffers nodded. 'It's done,' he said. 'Get some rest.'
Jeffers turned to the door. Claire slipped into her room without a further glance at her parents. Partly because she was mad at them, but mostly because she didn't want the minister to be standing there when Jeffers opened the door.
She tossed and turned for ages. She kept replaying the events in the woods. After a while her mother came into the room with another hot chocolate and apologised for being insensitive earlier — she had just been so relieved that the minister had turned out to be innocent and her beautiful daughter was safe.
Claire sipped her drink, and said nothing. When her mother got up to go, Claire again insisted that she leave the bedroom door open, and the light on in the lounge.
'Of course, darling,' said her mother, and kissed her brow.
Some time after midnight she finally drifted off to sleep. She was dreaming about her ponies when something disturbed her. She opened her eyes. Her room was dark, save for little moonlight coming in through the porthole. But the lounge was also dark — although she had demanded that the light be left on.
Movement.
There was something in the doorway.
Someone!
And then, drifting towards her, a very soft, melodic humming.
'Give me oil in my lamp . . .'
Louder, closer, a black figure moving . . .
Claire screamed and screamed and screamed and . . .
15
Training
At exactly five a.m., and still dark, the barracks door was smashed open and Mohican strode in screaming: 'Out of your pits, you lazy bunch of good-for-nothing losers!'
He also had a small air horn in his hand, which he blasted three times. This is a contraption which sounds loud outside; inside it was deafening. But it certainly had an effect — everyone was instantly awake. What it didn't create was any kind of order — they sprang from their beds and began to run about like headless chickens, panic stricken, disorientated, convinced they were under some kind of attack. In short: uproar.
The horn blasted again, but this time, with the sleep driven from them, they were more inclined to notice Mohican standing calmly in their midst. He dominated everything. Beside him, even the biggest and strongest of them felt small and weak.
'All right, you have ten minutes to get showered, into your uniforms and eat breakfast! Today, ladies and gentlemen, you become United States Marines!'
He strode out, leaving them all stunned — for about three seconds. Then there was a mad scramble to get dressed and out and fed. That is, apart from Jimmy. And Rain Man.
Jimmy said (but not to Rain Man) — 'Do you think you can order breakfast in bed?'
Rain Man said (but not to Jimmy) — 'I'll have my eggs sunny-side up, wholemeal toast and a glass of milk fresh from a fat cow.'
The rest of them were now bolting out of the door. Jimmy lay back on his bed. Rain Man lay back on his.
'United States Marines,' said Jimmy (although not to Rain Man). 'I'm not even American.'
'I wonder if they do room service?' Rain Man asked (although not of Jimmy).
They had been well fed on arrival at Fort Hope, in what Mohican called the mess hall. Then they'd been shown to this barracks hut, which had been enticingly warm; the long rows of bunk beds were fresh and comfortable and smelled of new pine. He had told them to get a good night's sleep because they'd be up quite early for some light training. It was all very welcoming, like arriving at a summer camp (except, obviously, it was cold and damp outside). Jimmy had fallen asleep at once, his immediate doubts assuaged. Now, with bright sunshine steaming through the open door, feeling refreshed and revitalised, Jimmy stretched and yawned and turned over for another sleep.
He had been lying there for perhaps ten minutes, and was just slipping into a nice hazy dream state, when his feet were grabbed and he was dragged off the bed. The back of his head hit the floor with a loud thump; he let out a shout, but neither one of the young soldiers who'd taken hold of him paid any attention. He was pulled across the floor, down four steps — banging his head again on each one — then thrown down into the mud. He was wearing only his boxer shorts, which had seen better days. He heard two groans of pain — one was his own, and the other came from Rain Man, lying in a heap beside him.
Dazed and hurting, Jimmy blinked up. Mohican was standing over them. The rest of the troop was now spilling out of the mess hall and milling nervously outside the barracks.
'I gave you an order!' Mohican screamed, his face flushed with anger.
'I thought it was like . . . a request. . .' Jimmy mumbled.
Mohican's lips curled up in disgust. He drew his black army boot back to kick him. Jimmy tensed as he swung it forward — and then stopped it just short of impact. He lowered his foot, snarled down at Jimmy and turned to address the anxious onlookers.
'This is your first day at Fort Hope. I want you to remember where you are! The name is HOPE! H — O — P — E! The world as you know it is no more! The only H — O — P — E for any of us is to stick together, to learn discipline, to train hard so that we can serve the President and rebuild this great country of ours! Behaviour like this will not be tolerated! You are all now part of a team! If one member of that team disobeys orders, then the whole team gets punished! That means no lunch today for any of you!' A moan rolled through the troop. Mohican returned his attention to Jimmy and Rain Man. 'Get up and get changed! The mess hall is now closed!'
Mohican strode away.
Jimmy and Rain Man climbed somewhat painfully to their feet, well aware that they were being scrutinised with obvious contempt by their comrades.
'Do you think,' Rain Man said quietly (although not to Jimmy) 'that that means there's no room service?'
Mohican's concept of 'light training' was light years away from everyone else's. Of course, in every group there are going to be natural athletes — jocks — but even they were in a state of shock. It was torture. They started with running around the perimeter of the fort, four laps, all under the gaze (and guns) of the guards in the watchtowers. Then there were press-ups and squats and step exercises. After an hour of this the gates were opened and they were marched out to the woods, where they were forced to run up and down the steep hill they'd painfully ascended the night before. Worst of all, when they got back to base, they had to sit and watch while hundreds of soldiers queued up and ate lunch in the mess hall.
Jimmy and Rain Man could feel eyes burning into their backs as they sat alone. They spoke, but not to each other.
'I didn't sign up for this,' said Rain Man. 'In fact, I didn't sign up at all.'
'I have no interest in becoming a Marine,' said Jimmy. 'I wonder who you complain to?'
'They can't just not feed us,' said Rain Man.
'They can't treat us like dogs,' said Jimmy. He was angry and hungry. 'Who does Mohican think he is? Big bloody bully.'
'I'll bet the President doesn't know what he's like,' said Rain Man. 'I bet he'd sort him out.'
'That's it,' said Jimmy, getting to his feet. 'I've had enough of this crap, I'm taking it to the top.'
He pushed his way out of the mess hall and began to march away across the yard.
'Give 'em hell,' Rain Man called out, while remaining exactly where he was.
Jimmy was seething. And when he was like that he didn't always wait for his brain to get into gear before he sprang into action. He'd sometimes been like this on the Titanic, where, mostly, he'd gotten away with it. One thing about being the boss of something, the way Jimmy felt he was boss of the Times, is that you get used to giving orders, not taking them. Now he was being ordered about like he was a little kid and he wasn't going to take it any more. He was Jimmy Armstrong, editor of the Titanic Times, and he had a lot to offer that didn't involve press-ups and running around in circles. Or rectangles.