We sat quietly, watching the hours pass. Every hour they didn’t come meant that Leon was still alive. That he was still out there somewhere. We made it through the small hours. Then 3 a.m. Then 4 a.m.
Around me, people dozed. Markham snored. I didn’t dare close my eyes. Peterson sat motionless alongside me. Earlier, I’d seen him take the opportunity to exchange a few words with Helen Foster. They’d stood a little apart, not speaking. He held her hands. I’d caught a glimpse of their faces and had to turn my head away.
Around four-thirty, the sun began to think about joining us and they still hadn’t turned up. I told myself it would be light soon and surely they wouldn’t risk a daylight attack. That they weren’t coming after all. That Leon had been successful.
There was an occasional murmur or someone rearranged their equipment, but otherwise we waited in silence. I checked myself for the umpteenth time.
Mrs Partridge waited slightly behind us with stocks of spare ammo. Dr Dowson and Professor Rapson were off to one side of me, whispering indignantly to each other in the dark.
I wriggled round, hissed, ‘What?’ and stopped and stared in disbelief at their miscellaneous weapons of mass destruction. I saw what looked like a flame-thrower apparently made of an old milk churn and some industrial hosing, caltrops, a homemade crossbow, half a dozen Molotov cocktails, and what looked like a Vickers gun from WWI.
‘What is all that?’
‘Back-up,’ said Professor Rapson and I wondered if it was too late to request a transfer to another team. There seemed every indication this one would fall victim to friendly fire.
‘Last resort,’ I said warningly, wondering if we were in more danger from behind than in front.
‘Got it,’ they said gleefully. Markham rolled his eyes.
Peterson turned to me. ‘Bet you wish you’d stayed at Agincourt, now.’
‘I’m prepared to admit it might have had attractions that I overlooked at the time. How about you? Any regrets?’
‘Well, I always wanted Carthage. And Waterloo. Thermopylae would have been good, too. I’m sorry to have missed that.’
‘Yes, me too. Well, if we ever get out of this, maybe you and I could …?’
‘Good idea. We’ll take a picnic. Now there’s a good title for a book. Picnic at Thermopylae.’
There was a pause.
‘I’m glad we’re in this together, Tim.’
‘That’s us. Always together. Through thick and thin.’
‘Sick and sin.’
‘Loss and win.’
In my mind, I saw another Sick Bay. Another Tim.
I smiled, sadly. ‘One last adventure …’
They were brave words, but we really didn’t stand a chance. This wasn’t Thermopylae where a thousand stout hearts could hold off overwhelming odds. Or Agincourt, where brilliant tactics and iron nerve won the day. This was St Mary’s. A handful of people, inadequately armed, defending a dilapidated old building. A couple of well-placed mortars would bring the roof down, then it would just be a case of them mopping up the survivors, installing their own people, and then their victory would be complete. They would have it all.
If they came.
And if they did come, it was because Leon had failed. Somewhere, in some far-off time I’d never know, he’d gone down in a hail of fire … dying for what he believed in and the bright, brilliant flame that had been St Mary’s …
No. Stop that.
I thought of Leonidas of Sparta. He didn’t know the future of the western world rested on his shoulders but that didn’t stop him drawing his sword, planting his feet, and defying the entire Persian Empire.
Our forebears at the Gates of Grief didn’t know they were the direct ancestors of nearly everyone on the planet – they just built their little rafts, climbed aboard, and struck out for the unknown.
History glitters with the tales of men and women who, with no thought of reward or glory, make their stand and quietly do their duty. I wasn’t going to be a lesser person than my ancestors.
We crouched in the dark and waited for them.
If they came.
They came.
All the Heath Robinson devices installed around the building sounded off simultaneously, signifying the arrival outside of the Forces of Darkness.
My world stopped and for a moment, I just couldn’t move at all. Because I’d lost him. Again. Our second chance was never going to happen. All our plans … All those whispered conversations in a cold, dark pod … When we’d allowed ourselves to hope …
I looked down at the gun in my hand and felt everything begin to drift away. Peterson, who knew what this meant to me, briefly touched my shoulder, bringing me back.
I nodded and swallowed something huge and painful in my throat.
Then it was down to business.
In the absence of Major Guthrie, Markham spoke a few rallying words to the troops.