the extra encouragement, the Nipper surged powerfully through the waves with the tide now behind them, sweeping them back towards Hurst, their hopes rekindled.
Chapter Twenty
The helicopter sat squat on its haunches beside the lighthouse, its rotor blades drooping slightly towards the ground. A couple of the bolder kids crept closer. They circled the aircraft pointing and laughing, trying to peer through the window into the cockpit. Inside, the pilot was talking animatedly into his headset, the top half of his face obscured by a grey visor. One of the soldiers whistled through his teeth and gestured for the boys to keep their distance. They got the message and backed away.
Tommy strode over to one of the soldiers, chin up, hands thrust into his pockets. His patience exhausted, he wanted answers and he was fed up of waiting for someone to tell him what the hell was going on. His bravado was paper-thin though and his confidence stuttered, unsure of whether to go through with his plan.
The soldier held up the palm of his gloved hand cautioning Tommy to stop as if to say: “ That’s close enough.”
Tommy’s confidence evaporated when he saw the gun close up. It was a black Colt M4 Carbine, a weapon he had used many times, though never in real life. Playing Call of Duty and other computer games he had a good knowledge of military hardware, enough to know that this M4 was not fitted with the grenade launcher the Navy Seals used. Awkwardly, he extended a hand of friendship waiting for the soldier to stride over and shake it warmly. The soldier remained motionless and left Tommy’s hand hanging there. His hand dropped back to his side, feeling a little foolish. The soldier looked straight through him as if he wasn’t there.
Tommy had had enough of this. He sneered back and looked the soldier up and down, sizing him up. He was wearing black boots, dark blue camouflaged combat gear, overlaid with webbing and pouches. Underneath was what looked like body armour, metal plates protecting his chest and abdomen. He reminded Tommy of an American footballer in all that gear, accentuating his size. The soldier was enormous, several inches taller than Tommy who himself was no midget. He gulped as he noticed the sleeves of his shirt bulging with what Tommy imagined must be heavily tattooed biceps like Arnold Schwarzenegger. A proper corn-fed American redneck he thought. He laughed nervously looking down at the soldier’s feet and back up at his face, taking in his size again.
There was something about the soldier’s attitude and unfriendliness that got right up his nose. Weren’t they on the same side? He felt emboldened, staring up in to his mask, trying to eyeball the guy.
The soldier remained static, motionless like one of the Queen's guards at Buckingham Palace facing a tourist. He repositioned the semi-automatic weapon a little on his shoulder, glanced at his partner and made sure Tommy saw him check the safety was on. He flexed his trigger finger before straightening it again and resting it back on the outside of the trigger guard. Tommy got the message and stepped back, his arms raised, head down submissively.
Behind Tommy and from the relative safety of the crowd, there was a palpable sense of excitement, mixed with anxiety. What did this all mean? Where had they come from? Had they come to rescue them? There were so many questions they each wanted to ask. Scottie was the first to break the silence and took up the inquisition, shouting out: “Where have you come from?”
Before the soldiers had time to answer, Scottie’s question was quickly followed by a flurry of others as they each gave voice to their hopes and fears.
“How did you get here?”
“Are there more of you?”
“Where’s your ship?”
“Are you here to save us?”
“How many have survived?”
The soldiers looked back at each other, shifting uneasily from foot to
Chapter Twenty
The helicopter sat squat on its haunches beside the lighthouse, its rotor blades drooping slightly towards the ground. A couple of the bolder kids crept closer. They circled the aircraft pointing and laughing, trying to peer through the window into the cockpit. Inside, the pilot was talking animatedly into his headset, the top half of his face obscured by a grey visor. One of the soldiers whistled through his teeth and gestured for the boys to keep their distance. They got the message and backed away.
Tommy strode over to one of the soldiers, chin up, hands thrust into his pockets. His patience exhausted, he wanted answers and he was fed up of waiting for someone to tell him what the hell was going on. His bravado was paper-thin though and his confidence stuttered, unsure of whether to go through with his plan.
The soldier held up the palm of his gloved hand cautioning Tommy to stop as if to say: “ That’s close enough.”
Tommy’s confidence evaporated when he saw the gun close up. It was a black Colt M4 Carbine, a weapon he had used many times, though never in real life. Playing Call of Duty and other computer games he had a good knowledge of military hardware, enough to know that this M4 was not fitted with the grenade launcher the Navy Seals used. Awkwardly, he extended a hand of friendship waiting for the soldier to stride over and shake it warmly. The soldier remained motionless and left Tommy’s hand hanging there. His hand dropped back to his side, feeling a little foolish. The soldier looked straight through him as if he wasn’t there.
Tommy had had enough of this. He sneered back and looked the soldier up and down, sizing him up. He was wearing black boots, dark blue camouflaged combat gear, overlaid with webbing and pouches. Underneath was what looked like body armour, metal plates protecting his chest and abdomen. He reminded Tommy of an American footballer in all that gear, accentuating his size. The soldier was enormous, several inches taller than Tommy who himself was no midget. He gulped as he noticed the sleeves of his shirt bulging with what Tommy imagined must be heavily tattooed biceps like Arnold Schwarzenegger. A proper corn-fed American redneck he thought. He laughed nervously looking down at the soldier’s feet and back up at his face, taking in his size again.
There was something about the soldier’s attitude and unfriendliness that got right up his nose. Weren’t they on the same side? He felt emboldened, staring up in to his mask, trying to eyeball the guy.
The soldier remained static, motionless like one of the Queen's guards at Buckingham Palace facing a tourist. He repositioned the semi-automatic weapon a little on his shoulder, glanced at his partner and made sure Tommy saw him check the safety was on. He flexed his trigger finger before straightening it again and resting it back on the outside of the trigger guard. Tommy got the message and stepped back, his arms raised, head down submissively.
Behind Tommy and from the relative safety of the crowd, there was a palpable sense of excitement, mixed with anxiety. What did this all mean? Where had they come from? Had they come to rescue them? There were so many questions they each wanted to ask. Scottie was the first to break the silence and took up the inquisition, shouting out: “Where have you come from?”
Before the soldiers had time to answer, Scottie’s question was quickly followed by a flurry of others as they each gave voice to their hopes and fears.
“How did you get here?”
“Are there more of you?”
“Where’s your ship?”
“Are you here to save us?”
“How many have survived?”
The soldiers looked back at each other, shifting uneasily from foot to
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