Doctor Who_ Island of Death - Barry Letts [32]
„This is a bloody farce,‟ said Lieutenant-Commander Hogben in a slightly blurred voice. „Pilot, let me know when you‟ve sorted yourselves out.‟
„Aye aye, sir,‟ said Simkins.
The Captain turned and almost pushed his way out. Sarah just managed to dodge him. And when she turned back, she found herself looking straight into the eyes of Alex Whitbread. His mouth fell open, and he clutched at his throat as if he was choking. He fell back on the pillows, his eyes turned up.
„Good God!‟ said the Brigadier. „What the devil‟s the matter with the man? I say, he‟s not dead, is he?‟
„No, not dead,‟ said the Doctor, who had a finger on the artery in Alex‟s throat. „He‟s just fainted, that‟s all. Maybe betraying the secret was simply too much for him.‟
But Sarah knew better. For she had seen the recognition in those burning eyes.
Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, from his earliest experiences in the Army, had always found himself profoundly irritated by the casual assumption of the Royal Navy that, apart from being the senior service, they were also the most efficient. So he found a certain satisfaction, to offset his impatience, in watching Bob Simkins trying to find the islands on his chart.
„Well, that‟s the position,‟ he said, pointing to the lightly pencilled cross. „But they must be so tiny that they just don‟t show up on such a small scale.‟
The chart he had produced from the big shallow drawer under the chart table very nearly covered the entire Indian Ocean between Africa and Australia, with the tip of Sri Lanka peeping in at the top.
In the middle of nowhere, thought the Brigadier. For once it was just about accurate.
Now that they were back on the bridge, their number had been augmented by the First Lieutenant, who was Officer of the Watch, and Chris, the midshipman, who was hovering around the edges of the group trying to see through the gaps, just as Sarah had been - and was doing again.
„Bang in the middle of nowhere,‟ she said, echoing the Brigadier‟s thoughts.
„More to the point,‟ said the Doctor, „it‟s bang in the middle of the Indian Ocean. I shouldn‟t think it gets many visitors.‟
„Right away from the shipping lanes,‟ agreed Bob Simkins, who was busy with his dividers checking distances. „About...
eighteen hundred miles - nautical miles, that is - from Madagascar to the west, and... yes, near as dammit the same to Australia in the east.‟
„I say! Why don‟t we... Sorry, sir,‟ said the midshipman, realising that the Brigadier was trying to say something.
„What about those islands up there?‟ said the Brigadier, pointing at some little circles up towards Sumatra in the north-east.
„Excuse me, sir...‟ It was the midshipman again, wanting to get past him. What was the matter with the wretched boy?
Wanting to go to the loo, probably. „The Cocos Islands, does it say?‟ he went on, moving aside.
„Getting on for a thousand miles,‟ said Bob, after a moment. „I‟d reckon the nearest outpost of proper civilisation would be Mauritius, and that would be a journey of something like thirteen hundred miles.‟
The Doctor had been peering at the chart. „How long will it take us to get there?‟
„Mauritius?‟ said the Brigadier. „Why should we want...‟
„No, no. This Stella Island. How long before we catch up with the Skang?’
The Navigating Officer applied himself to the chart again, first drawing a line from their current position to the cross in the middle of the empty sea. Then, taking the scale from the side of the chart, he walked the dividers along the route.
„Bingo!‟
The cry of delight made every head turn.
„What is it, Chris?‟ asked Pete Andrews.
„It‟s the Indian Ocean Pilot book,‟ he said, holding up a book a bit bigger than a paperback, identical to a shelf of others on the bulkhead behind him. „No, I mean, listen to this,‟ he continued, scrabbling through the pages to find his place again.