Baby-face shrugged his rounded shoulders. “A bit. We each get into Stromness or Kirkwall every few weeks though.”
“Mostly we’re bored because we got nothing to do. Can’t remember the last time we turned on Big Betty here.” Parker pointed with this thumb to the 36-inch searchlight in its concrete box. “Only planes we see are during the day, and the day lasts forever in the summer this far north.”
Lachlan nodded. A searchlight only aided defense at night, illuminating aircraft for fighters or antiaircraft guns to shoot down. By day, German aircraft conducted reconnaissance, attacked shipping, and occasionally strafed targets on land. But the Luftwaffe hadn’t sent a nighttime bombing raid to Scapa Flow in over a year.
Regardless, a disheartened crew was little better than none. “You might not think you’re doing anything important, but you are. We never know when the Luftwaffe will attack. And if they suspect our guard is down, they will attack. Simply being here, being vigilant, being ready—you perform a vital service. I thank you.”
“Thank you, sir.” Parker stood even taller, and he whacked Ford in the arm. “See, I told you they haven’t forgotten us.”
Ford gave Lachlan a sheepish look. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“No need to apologize. I would come to the same conclusionin your position.” Lachlan exchanged smiles and salutes, and he mounted his bicycle again. He’d ask Blake if the Army could rotate searchlight crews between remote locations and ones closer to town. And he’d ask if this crew could attend the show by the beloved singer Gracie Fields when she visited the Orkneys next week.
Arthur stood straddling his bicycle about ten feet away. “You can chat when necessary, I see.”
“Aye, and you can be silent when necessary.”
“I’m only here to see the sights, and watching Lachlan Mackenzie improve morale is the most astonishing sight of all.”
Lachlan raised one eyebrow at his friend as he passed. “We’re on our way to the gunnery range at Yesnaby, but first, Skara Brae.”
“The Stone Age village?”
“Nothing else like it in Britain.”
The road crossed green farmland devoid of trees, and Arthur pedaled with his face tilted to the sky. “I say, you’re the only chap I know who is on duty even when off duty. Commander Blake must be impressed.”
Blake had told Lachlan his visits were quite unnecessary. How could men complain when they served in safety? Shouldn’t they be thankful they weren’t in combat?
Lachlan disagreed. When he’d served at sea, he’d been in great danger, but every man on board had a vital sense of his worth.
Arthur huffed. “From your expression, I see Blake is not impressed. Stop trying to earn his favor. Simply do your duty.”
“This—this is not for Blake. This is for Parker and Ford and all the others. For our defense.” Small white clouds scuttled across the sky. “If the Luftwaffe returns and these men fail because of low morale, our defenses fail.”
“I wouldn’t worry. The Germans care only about conquering Russia.”
The road wound down to a wee loch and ran alongside it. “You’ve heard we’re thinking about sending convoys to Russia.”
“I have.”
Those convoys would assemble in Scotland or Iceland and pass north of Norway to Russia’s Arctic ports. “The Germans cannae allow those convoys through. Scapa Flow and the North Sea and the Arctic will be a crucial battlefield. Our fleet and our aircraft at Scapa will be covering the convoys.”
“You have a point.”
That point pricked Lachlan’s conscience—no, stabbed. The Germans would know more about the convoys than they should—because Lachlan would tell them. Despite Yardley’s assurances that nothing vital would reach enemy ears, Lachlan still felt as if he were the spy.
Beside the path, the waters of the loch lapped at brown marsh grasses. If Lachlan refused to work with MI5, another officer would take his place. At least Lachlan was willing to argue with Yardley about what to reveal.
Even though he knew what information the enemy would receive, he couldn’t warn Blake or anyone else at Scapa.
Once he’d been tempted to ask his command to alter the shipping timetable, just to be safe. But if he’d done so, Cilla’s intelligence would have been invalidated. The Germans would have lost faith in her, and she would have become useless to MI5.
The stabbing twisted in his chest, but he twisted back, relieving the pain. He was here to protect the naval base, and that was what he did. Strengthening defenses, ensuring the men were vigilant.
At the end of the loch, Lachlan turned onto a side path. The rolling crash of surf met his ear as the Atlantic chewed at the island, chewed out a bay like a horseshoe.
Along that bay, almost at the water’s edge, stood Skara Brae.
