“Sah!” barked Hobson. “Prisoner and Escort left turn. Quick march.”
Hobson marched Evans and his men away.
Grantham sighed, pushed his chair back and began shuffling his papers together in preparation to leave when Lieutenant Tulliver and Lieutenant Mathers entered.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Mathers. “Tulliver and I have a request. If I might?”
“Eh?”
Jeffries leaned forward and looked past Grantham at Everson, his eyes narrowing. Everson shrugged.
“It’s about the still your private constructed, sir. I understand you’ve given orders for it to be dismantled.”
“Yes, dashed bad show. Showed the fella what for, though, eh, Jeffries?”
“Sir,” said Jeffries darkly.
“Damned right.”
“Well as you know, my tank and Mr Tulliver’s plane only have limited supplies of petrol. Without it, our machines will be useless. Although unfit for human consumption we might be able to use this liquor as a petrol substitute.”
“Of course!” said Everson, “that’s a capital idea!”
“You agree with this, do you, Mr Everson?” asked Grantham.
“Resources are scarce, sir, and petrol supply is very limited,” said Everson. “I believe Quartermaster Slacke only managed to find forty gallons. With Napoo’s help, we’ve managed to find food and water and started to build up our stores. If we can solve the fuel problem as well, then that will increase our chances of survival. Without petrol those machines are just, well, so much junk, if you’ll excuse me gentlemen.”
Mathers shrugged indifferently.
Tulliver nodded in agreement. “No, you’re right. If we can gather more of these fruits that your man found then we can distill as much fuel as we need. You know what they look like, where to find them?”
“Napoo does,” answered Everson.
“Ah, yes, Napoo,” said Jeffries quietly. “And just what exactly are this Napoo’s motives?” He had been sat quietly listening, thinking. Jeffries seemed to do a lot of thinking, to Everson’s mind. Which wasn’t a bad thing in general. Too many officers didn’t think at all. Jeffries, though, seemed to think altogether too much. Now, he uncoiled from his nest like a snake. “Who is he? What do we know of him?”
“He offered us help and knowledge when we needed it in exchange for aid with his kinsman,” said Everson.
“Oh, and he has been helpful,” admitted Jeffries. “To a point. He has warned about these… Khungarrii, yes. But the question is what else does he know? Is there anything he isn’t telling us? You know virtually nothing about this world including, I might add, how we got here.”
“I’m sure he’d tell us if he knew,” said Everson.
“Your faith in human nature is heart-warming,” said Jeffries, condescendingly. “But is he human? If this is a different world how can he be?”
“He seems to be an honest soul,” said Everson.
“And again,” said Jeffries. “Does he even have a soul at all? I’m sure Padre Rand could dispute your claim.”
“What’s your point Mr Jeffries?” asked Grantham.
“My point, sir, is that we know nothing about this native, his loyalties, his people. How do we know they aren’t hiding anything from us?”
“They have no reason to lie,” said Everson.
“Speak plainly, Mister Jeffries,” pleaded Grantham, rubbing his temples as if the very concepts Jeffries iterated pained him.
“Aren’t we rather getting off the point here?” said Mathers. Jeffries shot him a glance as he continued. “Captain, have we your permission to commence distilling fuel for our machines?”
Grantham sat down heavily in his chair with a sigh and waved them away with his hand. “Yes, yes, of course. Take whatever you need. We must keep them going, I suppose.”
Tulliver grinned and patted Mathers on the shoulder as they left, eagerly talking about plans to construct a bigger still.
Jeffries watched them go, like a cat watching another, warily, as it skirted its territory.
“Captain, if I may?” said Everson, rising.
Grantham, looking tired and worn, glanced up at him and nodded mutely.
“Sir,” said Everson, putting his cap upon his head and adjusting it. “Mr Jeffries.”
“So you have no objection then, sir?” asked Jeffries, in Everson’s hearing.
Grantham looked up. “To what?”
“To my questioning this Napoo character, of course?”
“No, none at all.”
“Good,” said Jeffries under his breath, “good.”
EVERSON REALISED THAT Jeffries was playing a dangerous game over this Evans incident. Since the repeal of flogging, the British Army had to resort to other imaginative forms of corporal punishment. Field Punishment Number One consisted of the convicted man being lashed to a fixed post or gun wheel for two to three hours a day without food or water, often deliberately in range of enemy fire. Asserting authority and discipline was one thing, but there was no telling how the men might respond to the brutal and public punishment out here. Separated from their home, their loved ones and now their planet, the trenches were a powder keg right now. The men were discontented, fractious. The last thing they needed was a reason to riot.
Everson entered the small dugout that was being used as a guardroom. “That was a damn foolish thing you did, Evans, bloody irresponsible!” he said, sitting down on the bunk bedside him. He pulled a hip flask from inside his tunic.
“A drop of the real stuff?” asked Mercy, meekly.
“You should know,” said Everson as he unscrewed the cap and passed the flask to Evans. Evans took a slug.
“Aaah.” He wiped his lips on his sleeve and passed it back. “Gilbert the Filbert’s really got in for me hasn’t he, sir?”
“Oh, believe you me; he’s like that with everyone. No quarter given, but you bloody well asked for it. I warned you. What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“I didn’t know the damn stuff made you see things and worse, sir, I swear! I didn’t mean any harm. Those poor lads. It was only meant to warm the cockles and raise morale a bit.”
“Damn it, Evans, There’s a whole world out that that’s trying to kill us. I don’t need to worry about my own men doing it as well!”
Mercy lowered his eyes.
“This has got to be done, Evans. Discipline is important. Sometimes I think it’s all that’s keeping us together at the moment. If things go too far, I fear the men might mutiny and there are precious few officers to maintain order. If the men took it into their heads there’s nothing we could do to stop them.”
“Won’t come to that, sir.”
“How can you be so sure? No officer has the answers. I don’t know where we are, or how. But I have to believe we’ll get back. I have to. Because without that, without hope, then it all falls apart.”
“The men know that too sir. Right now, they can grouse about the officers all they want but they know that if they usurp them, they’ll have to fend for themselves. To put it bluntly sir, they don’t want the responsibility. That and the fact, with the exception of Captain Grantham, you’re all front line officers. If you weren’t it might be a different story. But the men know you sir. They trust you.”
“Well that’s something I suppose,” sighed Everson. “Can you take it, Evans?”
“Sir?”
“The punishment?”
“Had worse, sir,” Evans said stoically.
Everson let a smile play briefly on his lips as he stood up, before scowling. “I can believe it. But I’ve already lost half my best men. I can’t afford to lose any more. Straight and narrow after this Evans, or you’ll answer to me.”
“I don’t suppose you’d care to leave that with me, sir?” he asked, nodding at the flask.
Everson looked down at the engraved silver hip flask and, after a moment’s thought, tossed it over to Mercy. “It won’t be enough, you know.”