Doctor Who_ Island of Death - Barry Letts [101]
Including him.
‘I was here first!’ he’d complained to the big fellow who looked like a Red Indian, who’d manhandled him into the line about twenty from the front.
All he’d said was ‘Tough titty’ - which was hardly helpful -
and turned away.
By the time he’d got to the top, Jeremy had slipped back another dozen places, and was as fed up as the day he’d lost his wallet in the Burlington Arcade and had to go home on the tube instead of taking a taxi as he usually did.
But then he remembered. Whenever he’d flown anywhere with Mama, she would never get to the checkin at the proper time, just to stand at the back of the queue. She’d arrive as late as possible, wander up to the very front of the line, and engage whoever was standing there in animated conversation, as if she was with them, part of their party.
They always seemed a bit bewildered, but the rest of the people behind just accepted it - and only once had anybody objected when she stepped up to the desk first; and then she’d given him one of her looks, and he’d shut up.
Why hadn’t he thought of it? It worked a treat. The faithful at the front were a couple of rather weedy females he’d never seen before. But when he started chatting about the guns and stuff, they just let him stay. As soon as they opened the big doors, he’d be in there.
Thank you, Mama.
‘Why, there you are, Jeremy!’
He turned in surprise. Coming up the outside of the queue was his girlfriend - well, sort of - Emma.
‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you, daarling,’ she drawled.
Gosh! And there he’d been thinking that maybe she didn’t like him after all.
Chummily taking him by the arm, she gave him a luscious smile. He could feel her body through the thin muslin. She wasn’t wearing a bra!
Feeling wobbly in the legs, he opened his mouth to answer...
...but couldn’t think of anything to say.
Luckily, at that very moment, one of the great doors swung open, and a guard appeared. ‘First one,’ he said, looking at Jeremy.
This was it! He’d made it!
‘See you around,’ said Emma sweetly, and walked inside.
No! He made to follow.
The guard put a hand on his chest. ‘Just the one,’ he said, and closed the door in his face.
So what now?’ asked the Brig, grimly.
Good question, thought Sarah.
‘Half ahead together. Steady as she goes, Cox’n,’ said Pete.
‘Let’s get away from those rocks.’
‘Steady as she goes. Aye, aye, sir.’
Pete turned to the Brig. ‘I was just about to ask you that.
We don’t carry any more missiles. That was the lot.’
Thank goodness for that, thought Sarah. At least they weren’t going to kill the Doctor.
‘We’ve got a few hand grenades...’
It was Bob Simkins joining in. A joke? Yeah, a joke.
They could all thank their lucky stars for Bob (and she didn’t give a toss if that was a cliché). As he’d been down in Gunnery Control, he’d missed the blue fog entirely.
The silence had gone on for quite a few minutes after their narrow squeak. Once the Hallaton had come to a stop, Bob had cut the engines and brought the wheel amidships. The ship was rocking gently in the slight swell coming from the west. For the moment she was quite safe.
Bob had turned from the wheel and looked at his CO. At last he’d spoken. ‘What the...?’
‘Don’t ask,’ Pete had said.
Bob had turned to the Brig. He’d just shaken his head.
Sarah had come to their rescue. After all, they must be feeling like a couple of right Charlies. And yet it wasn’t their fault. ‘It was that mist, like before,’ she’d said.
That had broken the dam, and Bob was swamped by words coming at him from every direction, even from Bert the signalman. They weren’t just explaining to Bob, they were explaining to themselves.
When the torrent had dried up, there was another awkward silence, until Pete had realised that they were still nearer to the shore than he would have liked and did something about it, and the Brigadier had asked, ‘So what now?’
After Bob’s rather feeble joke, which made nobody laugh, there was another silence.
They were the