Operation: Loch Ness

- 9 -

The beast wasn’t paying them any attention. It had already destroyed the boat and was now in the process of tearing the wreckage apart. It had stood up, the waterline just at the top of its short, squat legs, its front paws up on what was left of the rear deck of the boat. The huge head once again reminded Banks of that of a large horse in its general shape and demeanor, eyes wide, ears pricked, nostrils flaring and hairy mane flying in the wind. But no horse ever showed rows of teeth like this one; twin canines showing most prominently, gleaming white in the gloom.

Banks raised his weapon, ready to take a shot, but the beast’s head went down to the deck before he could aim, and when the head came back up again, it had McCally in its mouth. It was impossible to tell whether the corporal was alive, although he lay limp across the lower law, and he wasn’t holding a weapon.

Banks saw that Hynd and Wiggins had also turned and raised their rifles.

“Aim for the fucker’s body,” he shouted.

The beast bit down, a burst of red filled its maw, and it was already turning away, starting to chew, McCally clearly dead between its jaws, as the squad fired, three shots each, all aiming for the bulk of its body.

Banks knew at least two of his had hit, he’d seen the impact clearly enough, but the beast surged away and was into the deeper water and moving off at speed in a matter of seconds. If the shots had wounded it in any way, it didn’t show it.

“Get back here, you fucker,” Wiggins wailed, and sent more shots off after the beast until it was lost from sight on the rain and haze, and Hynd put a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s gone, lad. Cally’s gone.”

“Aye,” Banks said bitterly. “And auld Sandy will be soon if we don’t get him to a doctor.”

Banks knew that the loss of a man, one he’d considered a friend these past few years, was going to hit him hard when he stopped to think about it. The trick, the only one he’d found over the years that worked, for a while, was not to stop and think about it. Sarge and Wiggins needed him now, and at this point, any order was better than no order at all.

He looked over to where the wreckage of all that remained of the boat lay. What could float was already spreading out in a widening circle, the water had a covering film of oil and grease, and there was no sign that anything, such as their kit bags, was going to be salvageable.

Besides, I don’t have time for that.

“Sarge, you take point. There’s a road a hundred yards or so away up the slope to the north if my bearings are right. Wiggo, you and I have got the auld man here. We need to get him to a doctor at Castle Urquhart, and we need to do it right now. Move out.”

Wiggins was on the verge of tears, and Banks thought he might join him if it came to that.

Get them moving. Think — and drink — later.

He stepped over to Seton. The older man was still out, although his breathing seemed to be coming slow and steady.

“One on each side of him, and up the hill we go. Are you with me, Wiggo?”

The private was still looking out over the water, as if expecting McCally to wade out to join them.

“Wiggo, get your arse over here right now. That’s an order, private.”

The voice of authority cut through Wiggins’ grief and got him moving, for now, and he came over to help heave Seton up from the stones of the small beach. They carried him between them, with their rifles in their free hands and their ears pricked, ready to turn and fire at the slightest indication that the beast was making a reappearance.

Luckily, the slope wasn’t severe, and, following a deer track, they were able to carry Seton without too much effort, for the old man was small and slight, and was less of a burden than carrying their packs would have been. They got to the top of the slope, clambered over a guardrail, and found that the sarge had already flagged them down a ride, a large black sedan with the driver, an elderly woman, the only occupant. There was plenty of room for Banks, Wiggins and Seton in the back, and Hynd up front.

The woman took one look at Seton and caught the urgency of the situation immediately. The road was quiet due to the weather, and she drove as fast as was safe in the conditions, lights blazing, hazard lights flashing and horn deployed to move aside anyone who dared to try to slow her down.

“This is about that stushie on the other side of the loch, isn’t it?” she said.

“Aye,” Banks replied. “But we can’t talk about I’m afraid.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’m just happy to do my bit.”

What she thought her ‘bit’ was in the cause of, Banks never found out. When they got to Castle Urquhart, they found six large tents and a portable office truck set up in the castle grounds. They bundled Seton off to a medic straight away, and by the time Banks thought to look for the driver and thank her, she’d already gone.

The doctor pronounced Seton alive and not in any danger of dying. By the time Banks was able to arrange a meeting with the colonel, the older man was awake and talking, although still in some degree of pain.

He looked around, smiled when he saw the three of them at the bedside, then frowned.

“Where’s the big man?” he said, looked at Banks, then went quiet. The answer must have been plain on the captain’s face.

Seton tried to get out of bed, and a medic pushed him, none too gently, back down.

“We’ve got enough morphine in you to kill the pain,” the medic said. “It’s going to knock you out any minute now, but at least it’ll make sure you get some rest.”

Banks took the squad outside, and left a morose Hynd and Wiggo having a smoke outside a makeshift mess tent, then went to have the talk he’d been dreading all the way down the road in the woman’s car.

It went about as badly as he expected.

“So what you’re telling me is that you gave in to an old hippie weirdy-beardy, tried to stop the beast using bloody witchcraft or some such rubbish, and you lost a man? And the beast is still out there on the loch?”

“Not exactly, sir, and—”

“I don’t give a shit about ‘exactly,’ Captain. And neither will poor McCally’s family. You had the perfect chance to take the thing out, and you screwed up, that’s the long and short of it.”

“Yes, sir, but it’s injured now, the lads will want a chance to get some payback for Cally and—”

“If there’s payback, it won’t be from you or your men. You’re suspended, pending a full investigation. Now get your arse out of here before I decide the brig would be a better place for you.”

Hynd and Wiggins didn’t take it well. He met them inside the mess tent and joined them in a plate of fried chicken and chips, the first decent meal he’d had since this shitstorm started.

“Suspended? He’s got to be fucking kidding. Cally deserves better than that,” Wiggins said.

“Unless you’re planning on going A.W.O.L and stealing a boat, I don’t see that we’ve got much option,” Banks said.

“Actually, that might not be a bad idea, Cap,” Wiggins started. Banks waved him to silence.

“We’re soldiers, son, still subject to military justice. Our superior officer has given us an order. Ours is not to reason why and all that happy shite. Be thankful we’re still out in the free air.”

“Aye, well sometimes it fucking sucks,”

“So what else is new?” Banks said. He patted his rifle. “Just be glad we’re not completely busted. If the colonel was really pissed off, he’d have taken our guns too.”

They finished their meals in silence and went back outside for a smoke. Night was falling, a dark gloom settling over the loch that matched their mood.

One of the medics they’d left Seton with walked toward the tent. Banks stopped him at the opening.

“How’s the wee man?”

“Constitution of an ox,” the medic said. “But he’s got three broken ribs, and possibly a concussion. He’ll definitely be out for a couple of hours, and there’s an ambulance coming down from Inverness for him. When he gets his back braced, he’ll be sore, but walking, by tomorrow. Oh, and he asked me to give you this.”

The medic took a thumb drive from his chest pocket and passed it to Banks.

“He was doing something on our laptop, and wouldn’t go down and under until it was done. He says C is for the chant, and D is for the command. I don’t have a clue what that means.”

“I think I might. Thanks,” Banks said. He passed the drive to Wiggins.

“This’ll give you something to do, lad. Find us a laptop, and see what’s on this. If it’s what I think it is, it might come in handy.”

He thanked the medic again, and left Hynd and Wiggins by the mess tent.

He needed to clear his head.

Banks felt at a loose end, his nerves frayed and buzzing. The vision of the beast chewing down as it carried McCally away remained big in his mind. He walked past the other tents, along the side of the truck carrying the temporary office, up a narrow gravel track, and onto a mound overlooking the castle. The rain had eased back to thin drizzle, although with the wind it still felt harsh against his cheeks. He turned his back on it, and lit a cigarette in cupped hands.

The tumbled ruin of the castle was still lit up for visitors, although Banks had the place to himself. It was normally a tourist trap. In high summer, there would be rows of coaches in the area the colonel had chosen for his H.Q., and scores, even hundreds, of people would be milling around the grounds and gift shop. Banks wondered what they’d think, them with their wee plush Nessie toys, their porcelain ornaments, tea towels and postcards all showing the now traditional, serpentine, cute, and often green monster. What would they make of the raging dark beast that had so easily overcome the boat, had so casually taken the life of his corporal?

And there I am already, back worrying at it again.

The colonel was right; from his perspective, Banks had been negligent in not taking the shot when Seton had the beast calmed.

But I promised the wee man I wouldn’t. And the day my promise means nothing is the day I quit.

But there was still the direct line that ran from letting the beast lie there as if asleep, and the later events that led to McCally’s death. Part of him wanted to lay the blame at the door of the BBC reporters in the chopper, but they too were dead. Anyway, he knew that in the long nights when sleep wouldn’t come, McCally would be there with him, in line with the other men he’d lost over the years, all ready to ask why.

Because we chose the life.

That was the real answer, one that all soldiers, if they were honest to themselves, knew. But that didn’t stop them lining up at three in the morning to admonish him. And it didn’t stop the guilt.

He smoked two cigarettes while standing on the mound in the rain, face turned toward the castle but not really seeing it, lost in thought, of times spent with McCally in the field, in bars, and just hanging out around the pool table in the mess.

Christ, I’ll miss him.

He ground the butt of his second smoke out on the gravel and finally turned back into the wind and rain, heading for the tents to find out what Wiggins made of the thumb drive. They might be suspended, but that didn’t mean they had to just sit quietly on their arses.

He found Hynd and Wiggins in the mess tent again. They sat side by side at a laptop. As Banks approached, he noticed that the thumb drive was installed on its right-hand side.

“The colonel’s secretary has gone home for the night,” Hynd said, “so we helped ourselves to a wee lend of her machine. Would you believe her password is ‘password12’?

“And what about the drive? Anything on it?”

Wiggins turned the laptop so Banks could see. There was a small blue window in the center of the screen, with just two round red buttons, one labeled ‘C’ and one labeled ‘D’.

“It’s a wee simple JavaScript routine, attached to two.mp3 files,” Wiggins said. “A piece of piss for a programmer, but not something I expected the wee auld man to be capable of.”

“I think wee Sandy kens a lot more than he’s let on,” Banks replied. “But does it work?”

“Aye, well, it’s him singing that Gaelic stuff right enough, and shouting the two words. I heard it in the headphones earlier, but it’ll work just fine through the speakers. Here, I’ll show you.”

Wiggins clicked the mouse before Banks could stop him. The sound of the Gaelic chant, slightly tinny, and hoarser than they’d heard it previously, came clearly through the speakers.

“Ri linn cothrom na meidhe, Ri linn sgathadh na h-anal.

“Ri linn tabhar na breithe Biodh a shith air do theannal fein.”

A loud bark echoed from out on the loch in reply.