23 - Corporal Young

The relief of the court martial had lifted my spirits and propelled me forward and I found myself in Colonel Watson’s office. Having burrowed so deep inside our design effort, the watershed of official approval seemed to set me free, almost to spit me out into a lofty orbit from where everything below was visible but distant and blurred. The scenes with the team were euphoric. They shared my feeling, which was that the acceptance of the court martial signified a breakthrough to the next level, and they carried on as if I were solely to thank.

The plaudits must have gone to my head, because I expected more of the same from Colonel Watson. Major Thompson was in attendance once more, although this time he was undeniably conscious. Watson invited me to sit, which I did, upon which he stood.

‘There will be a follow-up court martial,’ he said. ‘As soon as I can have it organised. Usually two or three weeks.’

‘A what?’ I asked.

‘A follow-up. I’ve read the transcript. It’s quite clear that the panel was poorly prepared. Their blithe acceptance of the old format is a bit of a worry, too. I imagine they were seduced by Magath’s fanciful models. He has a habit of managing that. Still, next time they’ll be forewarned.’

It was terrible news. I remembered what Bernard had told me about hastily rearranged hearings.

‘In the meantime, you’ll now report to Corporal Young. I’ve put him in charge of all design matters.’

I looked at Major Thompson, next to me. His attention appeared to be on something else. ‘So, will Corporal Young be attending the follow-up court martial?’ I asked.

The Colonel laughed. I hadn’t seen him laugh before. I realised why he didn’t do it very often.

I was dismissed. The ethereal feeling of my earlier success remained inside Watson’s office, and I walked the streets of the capital like a mortal. The immediate implications of Young’s assumption of responsibility were unclear. We had a ratified design, the test zone was under construction, everybody knew us and everybody loved us. How would the change in chain of command affect any of that? I was even, at that stage, increasingly confident about appearing in front of another court martial. Fundamentally we were so sure of ourselves that we were protected from any incidental stupidity, so I thought.

I showed up in The Bunker much later than usual the next morning. I used the yellow door from the cellar, which had been reinforced with an array of new locks. The terrible feeling within me took firm hold while I descended the stone stairway.

Corporal Young’s cubic head met me as soon as I stepped through the entrance arch. The place was unrecognisable as the crucible of creativity and camaraderie I believed it to be. The desks had been rearranged into an incomplete circle, the occupants facing inwards towards the central plinth. Young had placed himself such that he could monitor the entrance arch, through the missing sector of the circle, and everybody else too. The distant edges and corners of the cave were out of bounds. Privacy and peace would not be suffered to flourish in Young’s environment.

He directed me to my assigned spot and I sat. Something else was missing. Something important. I studied my surroundings. Behind Young was a chalkboard. At the top he had written the date, although there was nothing beneath. Of course! My chalkboards. The unexpurgated story of our journey from confusion to nirvana. They had been removed.

I asked about the locks on the door. A security measure, apparently. I was not to be issued with keys. That meant I could only access The Bunker if Corporal Young had first arrived and opened up.

‘And that means that I have to ask you to leave now,’ he said as he stood, packing up a few papers on his desk into a leather document wallet.

‘What, I have to leave The Bunker every time you do?’ I asked.

‘Of course not. But I’m going to be away for a couple of days. I can’t leave the place under your control for such an extended time.’

‘Away?’

‘Vaurania,’ he explained. ‘Sergeant Scharf and I are meeting with the superchillers, to finalise the testing regime.’ He ushered me out, like a housekeeper might a troublesome, moulting dog.

I found myself cast out into the unknown for the second time in consecutive days, and this time it appeared that I had considerably more time at my disposal. Loneliness was not a major problem for me: I had always appreciated my own company, and the demands I made of myself were never too onerous. I wandered towards the port.

Alex was at a table outside Bernard’s place. He was demolishing a bowl of shark’s fin soup. I recognised the look in his eye.

‘Been fasting again?’ I asked him.

‘A whole week of nothing but water, flatbread and olives,’ he squeezed out between mouthfuls. ‘Spiritually I’m almost complete. But that’s scant consolation to a starving man.’ Bernard came across with a fresh bowl and ladled some out of the tureen for both of us. I toyed with, rather than ate, mine.

He laid down his spoon after a while.

‘Enjoying that?’ he asked me.

‘It’s good,’ I replied. I had sampled it before, but I was too distracted to have much of an appetite.

‘You look lost,’ he smiled. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know where you are?’

I sat back in my chair. ‘I suppose that’s why I came here,’ I started. ‘I didn’t make a conscious decision, but it seemed right. I’m dizzy.’

‘Dizzy?’

‘Yes. Not physically, I don’t think. But I feel like I’ve just emerged from a whirlpool. Six weeks, apparently. I honestly had no idea how long I’d been thrashing around. So much activity, so violent and concentrated. It’s been impossible to stick my head up and get an idea of where I am or what’s going on outside. But the one thing I’ve been sure of is that I wasn’t travelling anywhere. And every now and then I caught a glimpse of you, of Bernard and the others, flailing around in the same whirlpool, although not necessarily the same current. I expect that’s what life looks like to those observing it from a distance: we’re all in the same maelstrom, but we switch from one part of it to another at irregular intervals. Sometimes we’re in a particularly agitated stream, sometimes it’s a bit calmer. Anything can make us move from one section to another: sometimes we choose to, other times the choosing is done for us.’

‘And how would you describe the current you’re in now? You don’t get dizzy until you stop running around in circles.’

‘That’s right. I’ve stepped aside. I’ve escaped the madness of the pool, and I’m trying to locate exactly where I am. Actually, it’s an enormous anti-climax. Here I am: I believe I’ve finished what I was meant to finish, and I can see the whole vista quite clearly. There are some beautiful sights, things I’ve never seen before. Yet it’s all so distant. Not only am I not sure how best to approach, but I think there’s something physically preventing it. Something is dragging me further away. Kind of as if I’ve been ejected from the obvious manic whirlpool, but where I’ve landed is greasy underfoot and I can’t get any traction. It’s a sort of run-off area, but I can’t be sure how far it goes on or where it’ll take me. The worst thing is that I’m moving so slowly. It should be easy to jump off, and I can surely reach those places with one decent leap, but I’d lose my footing if I were to try.

‘I thought I knew what the aim of the last six weeks was. And I thought we were finished now, but there are others who don’t see it that way. How did I misunderstand so badly? If I got all that wrong, I could really be lost by now. Worst thing is that I’ve got nobody to ask, nobody to hold on to and position myself again. Anybody who was close to me has drifted away.’ I meant him, too, and he knew it. He made no attempt to contradict me and we ate in silence.

We sat, full of shark’s fin soup, watching the sea. Such a vast body of nothing. It surrounded our country on two sides, and had given life and meaning to the place at the beginning of it all, long before our time. Now it was distrusted and reviled by those in charge. Unable to comprehend its enormity or its motivation, our government had demonised and ostracised the very ocean. The only community who had any truck with it was equally marginalised, although that through their own choice. It was often suggested that their communion with the sea was more symbolic of their rebellion against their supposed masters, but the fact was they recognised the symbiosis of the water and the land and were driven by purely practical concerns. Fish were good to eat.

My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Captain Small. She and Farbrace took their places at our table and ordered the octopus special and instructed Bernard to keep the wine coming until further notice.

‘Not working?’ I asked them.

‘We’ve taken the afternoon off,’ Captain Small explained from behind her sunglasses. ‘Not really had the chance to catch up with you since your court martial. I hear it went well. I’m sorry to hear about the follow-up. But you can never be sure with Colonel Watson. He knows things which are hidden from the rest of us. Still, I never saw it coming with you.’

‘Saw what coming?’ I asked her.

‘You can be pretty pleased with yourself, though,’ she continued. Farbrace appeared to concur. ‘The whole design thing is quite incredible. Your team has achieved what was generally thought impossible. Let’s hope that Corporal Young isn’t allowed to do too much damage in the time you’ve got left.’

‘What time? What are you talking about?’ I took hold of her left hand to arrest the movement of her fork for a while. She needed to concentrate on explaining things to me.

‘The way you’ve controlled Sergeant Scharf is quite amazing,’ she said. The engagement ring had been removed from her finger. Farbrace continued to nod while he chewed his octopus. The morning expeditions were starting to appear on the horizon. Soon they would be hauling their catch along the promenade before venturing out, maybe in the same direction, maybe the opposite, for the afternoon shift. ‘I’ve never seen him so focussed on one thing. He’s happier than he’s been for a while. Same goes for Sergeant Magath. He would never normally be so dedicated to something, not nowadays. They believe in you. It’s not something I’ve witnessed before. And your Corporal Cowper is a total revelation!’

I released her hand and told her that I could take no credit for Cowper, but she would have none of it. She set great store by man-management, in just the same way that I appreciated those who could draw recognisable pictures. We always covet in others the skills we don’t possess ourselves.

She carried on in the same vein for a while. Farbrace contributed the odd word, but concentrated mostly on octopus and wine. His abilities were better served on that front. I appreciated her kind words, although I did get the feeling that her narrative was turning into something of an elegy. I suggested as much to her.

‘An elegy?’ she appeared put out. ‘Oh no, I don’t think you’re going to die. Not in any real sense, anyway. That doesn’t happen so much any more. But we did want you to know how much we appreciate what you’ve achieved in your time with us. It’s so nice to spend so much time, much more than we expected, with an outsider and learn about how things are done in the real world. And now seemed like the right time to tell you all this. That’s why we’ve taken the afternoon off. Cheers.’

The following day found me in the same place, contemplating the same ocean. Around lunchtime I was joined by Sergeant Scharf.

‘I thought you were in Vaurania,’ I said.

‘Half a day, that’s all I could manage,’ he laughed. ‘Got on the first flight back. I wanted to find you and say goodbye properly.’ This obviously meant buying wine for me to drink, which he did straight away. We drank and spoke with some freedom.

‘Why goodbye?’ I asked him. ‘Are you going somewhere else?’

‘Been reassigned,’ he nodded. ‘Requested it myself. I realised on the flight over to Vaurania. We’re done, here. We’ve created the design and everything is organised for the testing. Nothing of any use will come of the trip to Vaurania. I knew that before we went, but to refuse to go altogether would have looked bad. But I can add nothing more, especially now Young is in charge. As long as he doesn’t interfere in what he doesn’t understand, he and Norris will be able to handle the rest of it.’

‘So you’re reassigned, just like that?’ I said.

‘Of course. That’s what Major Thompson is there for,’ he grinned.

‘I don’t suppose he could work the same magic for me?’

‘I heard you’re up for another court martial,’ Scharf said. I confirmed that was the case. ‘Hmmm, don’t think even the great Major can help you with anything while that’s hanging over you. The process has to run its course.’

‘I figured it’d be something like that,’ I said.

‘But I’m sure he’ll sort you out if you get through this next one,’ Scharf reassured me. ‘You’ve done a quite incredible job. Nobody thought it was possible to get where we have, especially in six weeks. I’m impressed, and I know the others are too. Just that I’m in a position to say something. They aren’t. Come on, let’s have another bottle.’

And so another day ebbed away as the tide rose and fell like a fever. I felt Scharf’s goodwill and his generosity, and convinced myself I had done something to deserve it. Yet I knew I stood on the opposite side to him of an enormous brick wall, through which we were yet communicating quite effectively but which would soon stand, complete and impassable, between us. He had been freed quite mercifully from the shackles. As had Small and Farbrace, I reminded myself. Had they ever been truly tied to the project, though? In a way, I felt that the only one to have genuinely been so tethered was myself. The others: Magath, Scharf, Mortenson, Lincoln, McNish, even Thompson, they all retained an air of freedom. Cowper had been far enough removed from reality that he seemed peripheral even within his own consciousness. Norris, Young and Blackburn didn’t count.

I tried The Bunker the following day in an attempt to establish if Young had returned and if there was any work to do. In the basement I found the yellow door ajar. I investigated.

Sergeant Magath and Lieutenant Mortenson were the only occupants. They moved listlessly around the outer plinths. I watched them for a while. Everything they did, every move they made, damaged the integrity of the design. My jaw dropped while they unpicked their work like reprogrammed automatons. I stayed as distant as I could: Magath would sense me if I came too close. He was a difficult man to observe covertly.

‘What are you two playing at?’ I eventually approached. They turned to face me. Mortenson spoke.

‘A few changes,’ he explained. ‘Corporal Young has some ideas he likes. We’re just running through some of them on these test models before transferring them to the central tableau.’

I took another look at the results of their latest work. ‘Well, I don’t think you’ll be transferring any of these changes,’ I laughed. ‘Look what’s happened! You’ve removed the majority of the security, and I’d estimate at least 30% of the shuttles would explode on impact if you shorten the timelock that way.’

‘My calculations show 34%,’ Magath said, quietly.

‘Fairly predictable,’ I said. ‘And a waste of your time. Still, if that’s what it takes to prove to Corporal Young that his ideas are lunacy, it’s not all bad. He might even come to learn a little about the subject. I certainly did. Where is he, anyway? Has he left you in here alone?’

‘He’s with Colonel Watson. Debrief on his Vaurania trip,’ Magath told me.

Mortenson had moved across to the main model on the largest plinth. He was just about to recreate the changes they had made around the outside.

‘Whoa, Lieutenant!’ I shouted, and moved to physically restrain him. ‘What are you doing? You’ve seen the damage these changes will make. There’s no way you can promote them to the final design!’

‘Decision’s already made,’ he mumbled.

‘Already made? Has Corporal Young even seen the results over there?’ I pointed like a scarecrow at the outer model, from which Magath couldn’t tear himself away. I knew that to leave it like that would have haunted him.

‘He’s not interested in the results,’ Mortenson continued. ‘We only modelled it so as we could make some detailed calculations, and we’ve done that now. Got to get it completed before he comes back.’

‘When’s that?’ I asked.

‘Anytime,’ he told me.

I sat down on the plinth and held my head firmly in my hands. I couldn’t watch Mortenson’s conscious butchery of our creation. Sergeant Magath sat down noiselessly next to me. He signalled for Mortenson to suspend his activity, and he listened to the air for a few seconds. He seemed satisfied and allowed his colleague to continue.

‘It’s all for show,’ he said. ‘We’re pressing on with the testing, based on our working design. Initial results are fantastic. We can actually lighten the shuttles and land more than we ever thought. The runway was laid so quickly that we’re having another one put in already. Cowper has joined Human Resources. He’s lowered the retirement age and got clearance for the clubhouse on the old landing strip. Everyone’s working towards this now. The only ones unaware are Watson, Young, Norris and Blackburn. If we can get some meaningful data in the next few days, we can call a halt to all this stupidity. We’re slowing Young down all we can while the tests are running.’

‘Thank God,’ I smiled. ‘I thought you’d all gone totally insane.’ Mortenson winked at me, breathed in deeply and tightened the timelock in the centre of the model. The whole structure shook and swayed, then somehow settled on an uncomfortable-looking equilibrium.

‘Anyone fancy a swim?’ I asked them.

‘You joking?’ Magath chuckled bitterly. ‘The Pool’s totally off limits now. Look at the state of me!’ He showed me his hands and arms. The skin was starting to crack minutely, so that it looked like the skin of a normal person. On him, though, it seemed an affliction.

‘You need to nip that in the bud,’ I gasped. ‘Tell those idiots it’s against your rights as a human being. You’ve got to be allowed back into the water. Who knows what might happen if you’re not?’

‘I know what’ll happen if I do go back in,’ he said. ‘We can’t afford another court martial. The skin can suffer for a few days.’

He stopped and looked up. Apart from Mortenson shuffling funereally through the model behind me, I could make out no movement anywhere around us. After a minute or so I heard the yellow door swing gently shut and vague footsteps began to descend the stone stairs.

Presently the deflating figures of Captain Norris, Corporal Young and Corporal Blackburn became clear just outside the entrance to The Bunker. They were accompanied by the strident form of Colonel Watson. I moved back behind my desk and feigned genuine occupation. The lot of them gathered around Young’s chalkboards and drank in his nonsense. The sea must have been particularly rough, as the surface of The Pool showed rare agitation. Magath had joined Mortenson inside the model. They contrived to appear engrossed in carrying out Young’s masterplan, but I noticed that each action was almost immediately undone at least partially by an opposing alteration elsewhere. At that pace it would have been a long, long time before the original design was wiped completely from the plinth, or before it became impossible to reverse the damage. Corporal Young would probably have been skilled enough to spot what they were doing, had he been paying even the slightest attention. He was busy illustrating the supposed results of his trip to Vaurania. Blackburn thought him a veritable God.

Colonel Watson predictably grew tired of Young’s tedious detail and turned his chair in my direction.

‘Almost forgot!’ he called across to me.

I looked up from my blank screen as slowly as I could. ‘Are you addressing me, Colonel?’ I said.

‘I’ve secured a confirmed date for your next court martial,’ he continued. It appeared I was the intended recipient of his news, being the only one in the cave expecting such an appointment. ‘Much more satisfactory. I was concerned this would drag out. No joy in that.’

‘When is it?’ I asked.

‘Tomorrow,’ he smiled. ‘Same place. Same panel. This time they’ll want to go a bit deeper, and a few of the more fundamental ground rules have been reinforced in the meantime. I might sit in myself.’

‘Tomorrow?’ I cried. ‘I need two weeks at least! Especially if I’m to get my head around these changes. I’ve no idea what Corporal Young is driving at with the alterations he’s asked the team to make. They make no sense to me. I need to have a thorough design run-through with him and update all the documentation. If I turn up here tomorrow, I’ll be nothing more than cannon fodder.’

‘Good man,’ he nodded. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’ He glanced at the expensive timepiece on his wrist. ‘See you back here in twenty-three hours!’

[Coming next: the final chapter - 24 - Court Martial II]