Doctor Who_ Island of Death - Barry Letts [56]
like the moment before the start of an unknown ski-run off piste.
He was using a pair of the powerful binoculars provided for the lookouts, vainly trying to see through the mist, which still hadn‟t shown any sign of clearing. What was waiting for them on the other side of it? The wretched followers of the cult herded together in this horrible place to await the pleasure of their alien masters?
That would be the good news. At the worst, they could be looking at a pile of bodies reduced to skin and bone - including that poor foolish lad who was a friend of Sarah‟s - what was his name? Oh yes, Jeremy. Jeremy Fitzoliver.
Whatever. He was going to make damn sure that those responsible - human or non-human - paid the price. In blood if necessary.
There was an air of suppressed excitement on board now that the other two officers and the Cox‟n had been given the whole story, which the petty officer greeted with a sceptical raised eyebrow. They had been told that the standing orders for action stations, which had fallen into abeyance as soon as they left the South China Sea with its smugglers and pirates, were to be reinstated.
„Landing party... As you were! Rogers! Wipe that grin off your face! Landing party... HOWNG!‟ Long years of Petty-Officer Hardy‟s bellowing of the word „Shun‟ had mangled it past recognition.
The Brigadier peered over at the boat deck below. The port launch was already in the water, and the dozen men who were to be transported in it were on the deck by the davits, dressed in full battle gear, helmets and all, with rifles by their sides, bar the two who had machine guns instead. They were standing at an easy attention (very different from the rigid smartness he was accustomed to from the men of his erstwhile regiment), as the Petty Officer reported their readiness to Bob Simkins, who was to lead them. Like the Brigadier, they both had pistol holsters at their belts, and, in addition, the Cox‟n was sporting an old-fashioned naval cutlass in its scabbard.
The sight of them made him all the more certain that they had made the right decision about Alex Whitbread, leaving him on board under guard. Not exactly cricket, of course.
After all, they had agreed to bring him to the island in return for his information. But then, the fellow was obviously not to be trusted, even if he hadn‟t tried to murder Sarah - and that was almost impossible to prove, one way or the other.
„Right Brigadier, Doctor, when you‟re ready.‟ Pete Andrews had climbed the ladder and gave an inclusive nod towards Sarah as he spoke. The three were to accompany him in the smaller launch, which would also carry another six seamen, armed to the teeth like their fellows.
But Sarah wasn‟t looking at him. „That‟s funny...‟ she said.
They all turned to see what she was looking at. The band of mist that had seemed to cover the entire island had shrunk to a patch about two hundred feet across, which nevertheless still hid from them the landing place described in the Pilot book.
Blown by an offshore breeze, it was approaching the Hallaton at a brisk walking pace, and in a few moments it had enveloped the ship from stem to stern. There the haze remained, sitting on the ship, a slight blue dampness pervading the atmosphere with a subtle smell, a smell of... of what, exactly?
„What a lovely scent,‟ said Sarah. „What is it?‟
The Brigadier knew exactly what it was. It took him straight back to the English garden his mother had so lovingly tended at their summer home in Simla, so many years ago. He‟d left India at the age of eight to go to prep school, never to see his mother again. But that particular perfume would always bring her back.
„Roses,‟ he said. „It smells of roses.‟
They all looked at him in surprise.
„Not roses,‟ said the Doctor. „It‟s a flower, certainly, but not from Earth. It‟s very similar to the scent of the schlenk blossom - and you only get