Fire raged futilely along the firebreak constructed at the rampart of forest fringe beyond the periphery of Strontian. Watchful men deployed in pairs along a firebreak’s length, ensuring that no fire carried in the light breeze across the revetment of scorched timber that confined the flames.
Several isolated houses, almost disconnected by distance from Strontian, were sufficiently close to the firebreak as to be considered at risk, given the remote possibility of suddenly gusting winds from the north or east.
Robbie paired young Iain with Alex and they worked in the searing heat without speaking. The tall swarthy figure, swaddled in layers of clothing, violently beat at each flare of flame from embers settling in the dry grass. The local lad, his body similarly padded for insulation against the soaring temperature, followed him doggedly through swirling smoke.
The remaining planting squad pairs also sweated together, appearing and disappearing in smoke pouring through the densely meshed branches of spruce. Each pair furiously stamped out the merest flickering of flame in the dried grasses, the object of restrained curiosity from grouped firemen and others of the Commission in Lochaber who implacably faced the fire which advanced along the revetment, and for the most part, allowed it to rage and die on the firebreak.
Each member of the planting squad, however, performed with a singular intensity. They took lunch in turns, so that the fire was always adequately patrolled. The ganger drove a landrover up and down the line. Through twisting smoke he caught glimpses of a distant water cannon drenching an unusually fierce plume of flame that pierced the thick black overhead.
It happened suddenly. Two flaming Sitka embraced and toppled with a crash a few metres from Ruairidh and Blue. The fire roared in triumph. Sparks and flaming pieces of branch scattered widely.
Shouting to the others, George and Silas skirted around the entanglement of burning spruce and reached both men lying stunned. A flame tongued Ruairidh’s feet and he rolled away. Blue pushed himself up into a sitting position. Both men inhaled smoke flowing over them and began to cough violently into dead grass.
Silas and George dragged Ruairidh away from burning Sitka, then pulled Blue to his feet as Guy and Roland materialised through shimmering air, followed by Alex and Iain running. With Ruairidh and Blue clear of harm they raced past and began to beat at the vegetation already flaring around both fallen trees. Guy joined the pair, cursing energetically as he wielded his long beater.
Dazed, Ruairidh was unaware of someone dabbing at a trickle of blood on his chin. Stretched on a grassy bank, his hand touched curiously at his scalp. Roland bent over him and pulled the questing hand away.
“Took a knock,” Ruairidh said indistinctly, face upturned to the shadowy figure above. “Is that you, Blue?” He coughed harshly.
“It’s Roland. Blue is ok,” was the reply. Roland pulled a scarf down from his face. “You have a lump on your head. Bit your lip, too.”
Blue stepped away from the support of Silas and George. George leaned over Ruairidh. “Don’t try to get up,” he said, “They’ll bring a landrover. Doc Wilson will need a look at you.”
“Just give me a minute,” Ruairidh said slowly, “I’ll be fine.”
George looked to where three figures were barely visible through smoke as they swung at the ground burning all along the length of the entangled Sitka. “Bloody hell!” he said and saw Silas run towards the flaming mess of broken branches, beater in hand. He hurried to pick up his own beater and moments later was enveloped in smoke.
Ruairidh lay back on the ground. His eyes smarted and his head began to ache dully. Blue and Roland left him and went to a nearby cache of water canisters. Hefting one each, they hastened to the spruce that had crashed across the revetment and lay blazing fiercely. The sprayed water doused fire with great effect, and the others ran to the cache for more. In twenty minutes it was done. A single black spike of burned vegetation intruded beyond the firebreak. Elsewhere the fire was failing to breach the ranks of watchers guarding the scorched revetment.
The group were congregated around Ruairidh when the landrover came. He was assisted into the vehicle and driven to the local surgery together with a protesting Blue. Opposite them, a charred forest smoked.
Silas stood rigidly watching the 4×4 push bluntly through the haze and be lost to sight. George tapped him on a shoulder and together they resumed their patrol along the edge of smoking timber. The others also dispersed to continue their picketing.
Along the firebreak, spirals of fire quickly exhausted the fuel they fed on and were reduced to flickers in the heavy smoke pouring upwards. A roar of conflagration diminished to a harsh crackling sound. Glowing cinders dulled, and smoke thinned to trails weaving upwards into a grey fog. The front of fire ate greedily into fresh spruce and pine, moving southwards.
Throughout the hours of daylight the fire advanced in dense forest but did not penetrate the firebreak on its flank. By dusk, it was no longer a threat and its frontage was meeting rising ground. Soon it would perish in a rocky wilderness. The northern front of fire continued to advance, but it too would soon die on wild stretches of moorland and peat bog.
In the Commission office, Mackinnon leaned over a detailed map of the area. The Fire Chief sat on the edge of the desk, relaxed and smiling. It was darkening outside, but neither moved to switch on the light.
“It’s all but done,” Mackinnon said. “It will burn itself out now.”
“I’ll stay on until the end of the week,” the Fire Chief said, “and keep a few of my men here as a precaution. Belt and braces. Why not.”
Mackinnon took a bottle of whisky and two glasses from a desk drawer. He poured stiff measures and handed a glass to the Fire Chief who slid off the desk and reached out. Car headlights glowed in gathering dusk and for a moment brightened the window.
“Slainte,” Mackinnon toasted, raising his whisky. “It’s good that you’ll be here. The new arrivals from the Press won’t go away for a couple of days yet, then there’s the police investigation…”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Special Branch apologised, following his knock into the office and seeing the two men turn around in surprise. “I was along at the firebreak and believe everything is under control. The fire has passed us by; heading into nowhere, I hear.”
Mackinnon re-opened the drawer, poured a third glass and handed it to the Inspector who nodded a thanks. Robbie entered, peered into gloom then switched on the light. He lifted the bottle and helped himself. The ganger looked questioningly at Mackinnon, then at Special Branch.
“Anything we can do for you, Detective Inspector?” Mackinnon asked.
“I wondered if your planting squad worked today,” Special Branch said. “They had a rough night of it. Gave statements to the police in the early hours of the morning. And we had to move them out of the Centre last night while we evidenced the crime scene. They are already back there, though. We were done by lunchtime. The local police didn’t dilly dally.”
“The squad was at the firebreak all day,” the ganger said. “They’re in the hall getting cleaned up, including the pair who saw the doctor. A couple of trees fell but missed them. They were bloody lucky.”
Special Branch put his glass down. “Poor timing,” he said, “on my part, that is. You guys have enough on your plates. I’ll come back tomorrow. This can wait.”
“No, no,” Mackinnon stared at him, “what brought you?”
“Lashkar Gah,” Special Branch said. “Mean anything to anyone here?”
The three Commission men regarded him curiously.
“So you never heard of it,” Special Branch said. “Neither had I until last night. If the name crops up, I need to know. I’m not able to say more.”
“Now why would that be, eh?” Mackinnon’s voice was edged.
Special Branch looked at them, then began to speak in an even tone that had their immediate attention. “What the hell,“ he said, “better that you know. Last night I had brief word with some of the squad that witnessed the shooting. So they were back at work today?”
“Needed at the firebreak,” the ganger said. “They were fine, far as I could tell. ‘Didn’t get much sleep’ was all they had to say.”
“As you said, Detective Inspector, they were all up until late giving their statements to the police,” Mackinnon said, lifting the bottle to pour more whisky. “They were shocked, but that’s not what you’re going to tell us, I’m sure.”
“Lashkar Gah, that’s Afghanistan,” Robbie said. “I remember now. Did Noel not serve there? Is that what this is about?”
“Something like that,” Special Branch raised his glass. “You can google it if you like,” he paused and drank. “Coming from a much higher level than me, any speculation tying in Afghanistan with last night is not to be encouraged. That is putting it mildly. It has to do with folk on the ground being killed by a callous bastard who operated a flying machine, you can maybe get more detail from your squad. Alex knows about this, I’m sure. I need to know what is being said here. It may explain a great deal. Your Chief Inspector will put you in touch with me. I have explained that any one you three gentlemen may contact me directly. But whatever you hear about Lashkar Gah must be kept strictly between ourselves.”
They were looking intently at him now, knowing that he had been only a few metres distant when Noel took his own life, knowing that they both had spoken and that Special Branch had tried to prevent the suicide. The Detective Inspector seemed unaffected by his witnessing a violent death and their gaze was respectful.
Mackinnon shook his head in response to a quizzical look from Robbie. This was not the time to raise questions on the identity of the fire raiser. If Special Branch was aware of the interplay, he gave no sign. Draining his glass he added, “what happened last night raises, let’s say, ‘sensitive issues’. Powers that be are not anxious to have the Lashkar Gah incident revived. You will very likely be able to guess why.”
“This is political?” the Fire Chief was astonished.
“Very political,” Special Branch said.
“We don’t care much for politics around here,” Mackinnon said slowly, “but we don’t take kindly to careless bastards in helicopters either.”
The Fire Chief glanced at Robbie, then at Mackinnon. “Anything we hear about Lashkar Gah we’ll let you know, and keep it quiet. But I’ll tell you now that I don’t like this.”
“Trust me, I don’t like it any more than you do,” Special Branch said.