Atlantic Fury (39 page)

Authors: Hammond; Innes

BOOK: Atlantic Fury

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At the top of the Druim Ridge he paused, looking down into Shelter Bay where the fog was still thick. And when I joined him, he turned and started up the High Road, heading for the Lookout. He went fast, his head bent forward, and he didn't stop until he'd reached the top of Creag Dubh. Then he flung himself down on the grass, choosing the south-facing slope, so that when the fog cleared he'd be able to see down into Shelter Bay. âGot a cigarette on you?' he asked.

I gave him one and he lit it, his hands steadier now. He smoked in silence for a while, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, his head turned to feel the warmth of the sun, his eyes half-closed. âDo you think they'll have guessed where I was going in that boat?' he asked suddenly.

âI don't know,' I said. âProbably.'

He nodded. âWell, if they have, they'll send a helicopter as soon as the fog clears. Or will they come in a ship?' I didn't answer and he said, âIt doesn't matter. From here you'll be able to watch them arrive.'

âAnd then?' I asked.

âThen â¦' He left the future hanging in the air. He was watching two sheep that had suddenly materialised on an outcrop below us. They were small and neatly balanced with shaggy fleeces and long, curved horns. âIt would be nice, wouldn't it,' he said, lying back with his eyes closed, âif one could transform oneself â into a sheep, for instance, or better still a bird.' Startled by his voice, the sheep moved with incredible speed and agility, leaping sure-footed down the ledges of that outcrop and disappearing from view.

âYou've nothing to worry about â now,' I said.

âNo?' He raised himself on one elbow, staring at me. âYou think I should go back, do you? Tell them I'm not Braddock at all, but Sergeant Ross who deserted in North Africa. Christ! Go through all that.' He smiled, a sad, weary smile that didn't touch his eyes. âFunny, isn't it â how the pattern repeats itself? Lieutenant Moore, Colonel Standing.â¦ I wonder if that little bastard Moore is still alive. Ten to one he is and ready to swear he gave the only order he could. Probably believes it by now. No,' he said, âI'm not going back to face that.'

He was silent then, lying there, smoking his cigarette â smoking it slowly, his face, his whole body relaxed now. I thought how strange the human mind is, blank one moment and now remembering every detail. The sun, shining down into the horseshoe curve of Shelter Bay, was eating up the fog. The whole world below us was a blinding glare. And high in the brilliant sky above an eagle rode, a towering speck turning in quiet circles. âWell â¦' He shifted and sat up. âI'll leave you now.' He looked around him, turning his head slowly, taking in the whole panorama of the heights. âGod! It's so beautiful.' He said it softly, to himself. Then, with a quick, decisive movement, he got to his feet. I started to rise, but he placed his hand on my shoulder, holding me there. âNo. You stay here. Stay here till they come, and then tell them â¦ tell them what you damn well like.' He dropped his cigarette and put his heel on it. âYou needn't worry about me any more.'

âWhere are you going?' I asked.

But he didn't answer. He was staring down into the bay where the fog had thinned to white streamers with glimpses of the sea between. âWhat's that? I thought I saw a ship down there.'

âI think it's a trawler,' I said.

âAre you sure it isn't â¦'

âNo,' I said. âIt's a foreign trawler.' And I told him how I'd been down into the bay and heard the crew talking in a language I couldn't recognise.

He stood for a moment, staring down into the bay. The streamers of the fog were moving to a sea breeze and through a gap I caught a glimpse of the vessel lying at anchor with a boat alongside.

âYes. A foreigner by the look of her.' Another rent and the view clearer. I could see men moving about her decks and a lot of radar gear on her upper works. And then his hand gripped my shoulder. âDonald my Donald,' he said, and the way he said it took me back. âThanks for coming â for all your help. Something to take with me. I'd rather be Iain Ross, you know, and have a brother like you, than stay friendless as George Braddock.' And with a final pat he turned and left me, walking quickly down the Druim Ridge.

I watched him until he disappeared below the ridge, not moving from my seat because there wasn't any point. A little later he came into sight again crossing the top of Strath Mhurain, walking along the slopes of Aird Mullaichean until he reached the outcrop. He paused for a moment, a small, distant figure standing motionless. And then he was gone and I sat there, seeing him still in my mind going down that subterranean fault, back into the geo and the waiting lobster boat. The bright sunlight and the warm scent of the grass, the distant clamour of the birds and that eagle still wheeling high in the vaulted blue; the whole world around me full of the breath of life, and I just sat there wishing I could have done something and knowing in my heart there was nothing I could have done.

I watched the fog clear and the trawler lift her boat into its davits. She got her anchor up then and steamed out of the bay. She was flying a red flag, and as it streamed to the wind of her passage, I thought I could make out the hammer and sickle on it. She rounded Sgeir Mhor, turned westward and disappeared behind the brown bulk of Keava. And later, perhaps an hour later â I had lost all track of time â a helicopter came in and landed on the flat greensward near the Factor's House. Men in khaki tumbled out, spread into a line and moved towards the camp. I got up then and started down to meet them, sad now and walking slowly, for I'd nothing to tell them â only that my brother was dead.

They found the lobster boat two days later. A trawler picked her up, empty and abandoned about eight miles north-east of Laerg. Nobody doubted what had happened. And in reporting it there was no reference to my brother. It was Major George Braddock who was dead, and I think it was the story I told them of what had really happened in North Africa that caused the various officers concerned, right up to the DRA, to be so frank in their answers to my questions. And now it is March again here on Laerg, the winter over and the birds back, my solitary vigil almost ended. Tomorrow the boat comes to take me back to Rodil.

I finished writing my brother's story almost a week ago. Every day since then I have been out painting, chiefly on Keava. And sitting up there all alone, the sun shining and spring in the air, the nesting season just begun â everything so like it was that last day when we were together on Creag Dubh â I have been wondering. A man like that, so full of a restless, boundless energy, and that trawler lying in the bay. Was he really too old to start his life again â in another country, amongst different people?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hammond Innes (1913â1998) was the British author of over thirty novels, as well as children's and travel books. Born Ralph Hammond Innes in Horsham, Sussex, he was educated at the Cranbrook School in Kent. He left in 1931 to work as a journalist at the
Financial News. The Doppelganger
, his first novel, was published in 1937. Innes served in the Royal Artillery in World War II, eventually rising to the rank of major. A number of his books were published during the war, including
Wreckers Must Breathe
(1940),
The Trojan Horse
(1940), and
Attack Alarm
(1941), which was based on his experiences as an anti-aircraft gunner during the Battle of Britain.

Following his demobilization in 1946, Innes worked full-time as a writer, achieving a number of early successes. His novels are notable for their fine attention to accurate detail in descriptions of place, such as
Air Bridge
(1951), which is set at RAF stations during the Berlin Airlift. Innes's protagonists were often not heroes in the typical sense, but ordinary men suddenly thrust into extreme situations by circumstance. Often, this involved being placed in a hostile environmentâfor example, the Arctic, the open sea, desertsâor unwittingly becoming involved in a larger conflict or conspiracy. Innes's protagonists are forced to rely on their own wits rather than the weapons and gadgetry commonly used by thriller writers. An experienced yachtsman, his great love and understanding of the sea was reflected in many of his novels.

Innes went on to produce books on a regular schedule of six months for travel and research followed by six months of writing. He continued to write until just before his death, his final novel being
Delta Connection
(1996). At his death, he left the bulk of his estate to the Association of Sea Training Organisations to enable others to experience sailing in the element he loved.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Jason Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1-5040-4094-5

This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

180 Maiden Lane

New York, NY 10038

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