Paths of Glory

“What proof do you have, Finch, that we’ll need these infernal contraptions to get to the summit?” he demanded.

“None,” admitted Finch. “But should you find yourself at 27,000 feet and unable to progress any further, perhaps you’ll end up being grateful for one of these infernal contraptions.”

“I’d rather turn back,” said Somervell.

“And fail to reach the summit?” queried Finch.

“If that’s the price, so be it,” said Odell adamantly.

Although George was also against the idea of using oxygen, he didn’t offer an opinion. After all, he wouldn’t be expected to make a decision if Finch was proved wrong. His thoughts were interrupted by an unmistakable bark of, “Time for PT, chaps.”

The team clambered to their feet and formed three orderly lines in front of General Bruce, who stood with his hands on his hips and his feet firmly on the ground, evidently having no intention of leading by example.

After an hour of furious exercise the General disappeared below deck for his morning snifter, leaving the rest of the team to their own devices. Norton and Somervell began a game of deck tennis, while Odell settled down to read E. F. Benson’s latest novel. George and Guy sat cross-legged on the deck, chatting about the possibility of a Cambridge man winning the hundred meters dash at the Paris Olympics.

“I’ve seen Abrahams run at Fenners,” said George. “He’s good, damned good, but Somervell tells me there’s a Scot called Liddell who’s never lost a race in his life, so it will be interesting to see what happens when they come up against each other.”

“We’ll be back well in time to find out which of them wins gold. In fact,” added Guy with a grin, “it will be a good excuse to return to—oh my God.” Guy was looking over George’s shoulder. “What’s he up to now?”

George swung around to see Finch standing with his arms folded, feet apart, staring up at the ship’s funnels, which were belching out clouds of black smoke.

“Surely he can’t be considering…”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” said George. “He’d do anything to be one up on the rest of the team.”

“I don’t think he gives a damn about the rest of the team.” said Guy. “It’s only you he wants to beat.”

“In which case,” replied George, “I’d better have a word with the captain.”

George told Ruth in one of his daily letters that he and Finch were like two children, always striving to outdo each other to gain teacher’s attention. In this case teacher was General Bruce, who, George confided, may well be an old buffer, but he’s no fool, and we’ve al

l happily accepted him as the expedition’s leader. He paused to look at Ruth’s photograph, which he had remembered to bring with him this time, even though he’d forgotten his razor and left home with only one pair of socks. He continued to write:

I still spend so much of my time wondering if I made the right decision to come on this trip. When you’ve found Guinevere, why go in search of the Holy Grail? I’ve begun to realize that every day without you is a wasted day. God knows I hope I will exorcise this demon once and for all, so I can return to The Holt and spend the rest of my life with you and the children. I know how difficult you find it to put your true feelings into words, but please let me know how you really feel.

Your loving husband,

George

Ruth read George’s letter a second time. She still wondered if she had done the right thing in not letting him know before he left that she was pregnant again. She rose from her chair by the window, walked across to her little bureau, and began to write, with every intention of answering his last question truthfully.

My darling,

I’ve never been able to properly express how I feel every time you leave home. This time it’s no different from your trips to the Western Front or the Alps, when I spent every hour of the day wondering if you were safe, and if I would ever see you again. It’s no different now. I sometimes envy other wives who were fortunate enough to see their husbands return in one piece from that misnamed Great War, and assumed that they would never have to face the same dread again in their lifetime.

Like you, I yearn for a successful outcome of this expedition, but only for the selfish reason that I have no desire to be put through such an ordeal again. You don’t begin to understand how much I miss you, your company, your gentle humor, your kindness, your guidance in all things, but most of all your love and affection, especially when we are alone. I spend every waking hour wondering if you will return, if our children will have to grow up without a father from whom they would have learned tolerance, compassion, and wisdom, and if I will grow old having lost the only man I could ever love.

Your devoted wife,

Ruth

Ruth returned to her chair and read through the letter before placing it in an envelope. She looked out of the window at the open gates at the end of the drive, wondering, just as she had during the war, if she would ever see her husband come striding down that path again.

Once the General had blown his whistle for the last time, most of the team remained flat on their backs as they tried to recover from the morning PT session. George sat up and glanced around the deck to be sure that none of his colleagues were showing any particular interest in him, then stood and sauntered off in the direction of his cabin.

He took the stairs down to the passenger deck, crossed the gangway, and looked back for a moment before opening a door marked Crew Only and going down the crew’s steps for another three levels, until he came to the engine room. He banged his fist on the heavy door, and a moment later the chief engineer stepped out to join him. The man nodded, but made no attempt to talk above the noise of the engines. He led George along a narrow corridor stopping only when they came to a heavy steel door marked Danger: No Entry.

He removed a large key from a pocket in his boiler suit, unlocked the door, and held it open.