Doctor Who_ Island of Death - Barry Letts [98]
‘You’d better come and give me a hand,’ went on the Irishman, going over to the recumbent figure of a man who was gently moaning and had a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth.
Well, really! Treating him like a servant! The guards were presumably paid for the job. Let them get on with it. What did he know about first aid, anyway?
It was then that he had his bright idea. This was his chance. The whole point of coming all the way from England, first to Bombay and then on the long voyage to the island, was so that they could get their rewards, whatever they were.
And when they’d got things sorted out...
He walked across the clearing to the bottom of the path, and sat down on a convenient stone. When they queued up again, he was going to be right at the front.
Sarah’s mind was working overtime as she peered out at the blueness that filled the windows at the front of the bridge.
Even if they came out of the mist, the assault was surely over. The others would be in no fit state. Or could she fire the missiles herself? No, no, no, that was a ludicrous idea. In any case, even if she could, would she want to, knowing the Doctor was still up there? For that matter, the Doctor wasn’t always right. Maybe the world wasn’t really in such clanger.
But what was she going to say to the Brig? He’d be back in his way-hay playboy mode, likely, even without a bottle of whisky inside him.
She’d just have to play it by ear.
Her mind was still knitting itself into a ravelled mess when she became aware that the mist was fading. She could already see the cliffs, not so far ahead.
She jumped as she heard two explosions. What now, for God’s sake?
She turned to go up top. But she paused at the door before she left the safety of the covered bridge, and looked for’d again. Had the mist absolutely gone? There’d be no point in going up if she was going to join them in la-la land.
No, it was all right. The cliffs were pin-sharp... A bit near, weren’t they?
Out of the door. No smell. Up the ladder. Yes, there was the blue cloud well astern of them.
‘Full ahead, both engines. Steady as she goes...’
The t-r-r-ring t-r-r-ring of the engine-room telegraphs, repeated back from the engine room.
It took a moment to sink in, what Pete had said, and what it meant. She could feel the wind in her face as the ship speeded up. What was he up to? He was heading straight for the cliffs! He’d have to give the order soon, or they’d...
She saw his expression as he leaned over the edge of the bridge, looking ahead: a vacuous smile of pleasure, of anticipation, of...
‘No!’ she cried. ‘Stop!’
They all looked round, even the Cox’n, who was steering.
All of them on the bridge from the CO to the signalman had the same expression, an expression of glee. Small boys on a roller-coaster ride.
‘Sarah! Where’ve you been?’ cried the Brigadier. ‘We’re going to have a party! Tell you what, UNIT can buy us all a bottle of fizz. No, a case! I’ll fiddle it on my expenses.’
By now, the ship was approaching its maximum speed.
HMS Hallaton was on course to smash straight into the cliff; and nobody was doing anything to stop it.
The Doctor didn’t know whether to watch as Dame Hilda made the effort to turn’ as she called it. Somehow it seemed an intrusion on a moment of extreme intimacy, a sort of voyeurism. But she didn’t seem to mind one way or the other.
She’d gone into another space entirely, a depth of concentration that quite removed her from the little rocky cell where they were imprisoned.
As she continued, her chanting became more intense, more passionate, but the volume didn’t increase as it had when he was watching and listening to the whole Skang group.
Yet it seemed to be working. It took longer, as she had implied, but eventually her voice