Doctor Who_ Island of Death - Barry Letts [31]
„Ah. There you are,‟ he said, turning at the sound of the shutter of her little Olympus. „We need to have a council of war, if that‟s the right thing to call it, to decide how much we tell them about the Doctor‟s suspicions.‟
So far, as Sarah knew, the true aim of the expedition (and what was it exactly? What were they going to do when they caught up with the Skang? ) had been concealed under a smoke screen of Intelligence. On a need-to-know basis as the Brig put it.
„If we can drag him away from his wretched fish,‟ the Brigadier continued, looking back towards the bow.
The day after they had left Bombay, they had been joined by a school of jolly grinning dolphins, who took it in turns to play in the white bow wave as the Hallaton cut through the deep blue of the Indian Ocean. Since then, the Doctor had spent most of his time in the stem of the ship, leaning over to watch them, and singing a wordless song.
„They‟re not fish, they‟re mammals,‟ said Sarah.
„Same meat, different gravy,‟ replied the Brigadier.
Was that a joke? He wasn‟t given to joking. But no, his face was as serious as ever as he returned to his grim contemplation of the empty sea ahead.
A plump face stuck itself out of the bridge door. „Excuse me, sir.‟
Chris Watts was a midshipman who seemed to be the general dogsbody of the officers, doing all the odd jobs not allocated to the others.
„The Captain asked me to tell you that Mr Whitbread has woken up and would like to have a word.‟
The Brigadier‟s face lit up. „Aha! Now we‟re getting somewhere,‟ he said.
Although the cabins of the Village Class Patrol Vessels were far more luxurious than those of the average Naval ship -
there were even single cabins for the crew - they were hardly big enough to contain a smallish journalist and four large men. So Sarah had to hover hopefully in the open doorway, peeping through the gaps as the Doctor and the Brig, together with the Commanding Officer, Lieutenant-Commander Hogben (who seemed to be about thirty, in spite of his exalted position), and his navigating officer, the lanky Bob Simkins, crowded round the bunk where Alex Whitbread lay.
Unfortunately, she found that the gap between the two officers varied considerably in size, as the Captain seemed to be swaying gently from side to side, in a way that owed nothing to the motion of the ship. Peering past the Doctor she got a much better view of Brother Alex.
The sight of him when he‟d been carried on board on a stretcher, unconscious, two days before, had taken her completely aback. The transformation of the matinee idol Alex Whitbread to such an insubstantial ghost of a man, in such a short time, seemed unbelievable - no, impossible. Yet it had plainly been the same person.
But at least he looked a bit better now. He had more colour in his cheeks, and his eyes, though still sunken into his face, were alight with a savage intensity.
It must be the thought that he was on his way back to his chums, thought Sarah.
„Well?‟ said the Doctor.
Alex waited a moment before he replied, his eyes flicking suspiciously across the faces of the four men. „How far are we away from India?‟ he said.
They all looked at Simkins.
„India? We‟re about three hundred miles off the Keralan coast. If you mean Bombay, it‟s getting on for six hundred miles away.‟
Alex grunted. „Have I your word that you won‟t abandon me?‟
„I‟ve already given it, man,‟ said the Doctor. „Are you going to tell us where we‟re heading, or aren‟t you?‟
Alex sank back on his pillows, frowning. I suppose I‟ve got to trust you...‟ He sighed heavily. „We‟re going to Stella Island,‟ he said at last.
They all looked at Bob Simkins.
„Search me,‟ he said.
„It‟s the largest of the Fleming group.‟
Simkins shrugged and shook his head.
Whitbread gave a little laugh. „Nobody has heard of it,‟ he said. „That‟s the point. Don‟t worry. The