Jeffrey Archer - Paths Of Glory

“I think it would be wise, given the circumstances, gentlemen,” said Norton, “for us to cut our losses and turn back now, before we lose anyone else.”

“I don’t agree,” said George immediately. “If we were to do that, we would have sacrificed six months of our lives, with nothing to show for it.”

“At least we would live to fight another day,” said Somervell.

“None of us is going to be given the opportunity to fight another day,” said George tersely. “This is our last chance, Somervell, and you know it.”

Somervell was momentarily stunned by the vehemence of Mallory’s words, and it was some time before he responded. “But at least we’d be alive,” he managed.

“That’s not my idea of living,” responded George. Before anyone had a chance to offer an opinion, he turned to his oldest friend and asked, “How would you feel about turning back, Guy?”

Bullock didn’t respond immediately, though the rest of the team waited for his reply.

“I’m still willing to back your judgment, George,” he finally said, “and to hang about for a few more days to see if the weather breaks.”

“Me too,” said Irvine. “But then, I have no qualms about turning back either. After all, I’m the only one here young enough to fight another day.”

The rest of the team burst out laughing, which helped to ease the tension.

“Why don’t we give it another week before we decide to shut up shop?” suggested Odell. “If the weather hasn’t improved by then, perhaps we should admit defeat and return home.”

George looked around the group to find his colleagues nodding. He recalled A. C. Benson’s sage advice: “When you know you’re beaten, give in gracefully.”

“So be it,” said George. “We’ll stick it out for another seven days, and if the weather doesn’t improve, Norton will resume command and we’ll return to England.”

George felt he had won the day-or to be more accurate, seven days. But would that be enough?

May 29th, 1924

So, unless the weather turns on its head in the next few days, you can expect me back in England toward the end of August, or the beginning of September at the latest.

Please thank Clare for her wonderful poem-Rupert Brooke would have been proud of her-and Beridge for her drawing of a cat, or was it a dog?-not to mention John’s good wishes, short but appreciated.

I’m glad that you’ve found time to visit Cambridge and start looking for a home, and thanks for the warning that it gets very cold in the Fens at this time of the year.

My dearest, I’m looking forward to starting the new job, and to sleeping in a bed with a woman I want to hold, and not a man I have to cling on to just to stay alive. When I return home this time, there will be no crowds at the dockside to welcome Mallory of Everest, just a young lady waiting for a middle-aged man who is looking forward to spending the rest of his life with the woman he loves.

Your loving husband,

George

A ND THEN THEREwere five.

George was having breakfast on a clear, windless morning, when a Sherpa arrived from base camp and handed him the cable. He tore it open, read its contents slowly, and smiled as he considered its implications. He glanced at Norton, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground beside him.

“Could we have a word, old chap?”

“Yes, of course,” said Norton, putting aside his sliced ham and tongue.

“I’m going to ask you one last time,” said George. “If I were to offer you the chance to partner me on the final climb, would you be willing to consider the use of oxygen?”

“No, I would not,” said Norton firmly.

“So be it,” said George quietly, accepting that no amount of further discussion on the subject was going to persuade Norton to change his mind. “In that case, you will lead the first assault, without oxygen. If you succeed…”

“Gentlemen,” George said, after calling the team together, “I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but I’ve just received a message from my sister in Colombo.” He looked down at Mary’s cable. “ One week, possibly ten days of good weather before monsoon season upon you. Good luck .” Mallory looked up. “We don’t have a moment to waste. I’ve had a good deal of time to consider my options, and I will now share my thoughts with you. I’ve selected two teams for the attempts on the summit. The first will be Norton and Somervell. They will set out in an hour’s time, and attempt to reach Camp V, at 25,300 feet, by nightfall. Tomorrow they will have to rise early if they hope to skirt the North-East Ridge, establish Camp VI at around 27,000 feet, and be bedded down before the sun sets. They will have to grab as many hours of sleep as possible, because on the following morning they will have to make the first attempt on the summit. Any questions, gentlemen?”

Both Norton and Somervell shook their heads. They had spent the past month endlessly discussing every possible scenario. Now all they wanted to do was get on with it.

“Meanwhile, the rest of the team,” Mallory said, “will just have to sit around twiddling their thumbs while we wait for the return of the conquering heroes.”

“And if they fail?” asked Irvine with a grin.

“Then you and I, Sandy, will make the second attempt using oxygen.”

“And if we succeed?” asked Norton.

Mallory gave the old soldier a wry smile. “In that case, Odell and I will make the second ascent without the aid of oxygen.”

“In your bare feet, remember,” added Somervell.

While the rest of the team laughed, Mallory gave his two colleagues a slight bow. He waited for a moment before he spoke again.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “this is not the occasion on which to make a speech about what being the first man to stand on the top of this mountain would mean to our fellow countrymen throughout the Empire, or to dwell on the possible garlands that would be placed on our heads. There will be time enough to sit at the bar of the Alpine Club and bore young climbers with tales of our past glories, but for now, if we are to succeed, we cannot afford to waste a precious moment. So good luck, gentlemen, and Godspeed.”

Thirty minutes later, Norton and Somervell were fully equipped and ready. Mallory, Odell, Irvine, Bullock, Morshead, and Hingston were standing in line to see them off, while Noel went on filming them until they were out of sight. He didn’t see Mallory look up to the heavens and say, “Just give me one more week, and I’ll never ask you for anything else again.”

George matched Norton and Somervell stride for stride as he sat alone in his tent. He regularly checked his watch, trying to imagine what height his two colleagues would have reached.

After a prolonged lunch of macaroni and prunes with the rest of the team, George returned to his tent. He wrote his daily letter to Ruth, and another to Trafford-Wing Commander Mallory: another man interested in reaching great heights. He then translated a few lines of The Iliad, and later managed a round of bridge against Odell and Irvine, with Guy as his partner. After the last rubber was decided, Odell dug out a tin of bully beef from rations and, once it had thawed over a candle, divided the contents into four portions. Later, all the remaining members of the climbing party sat and watched the moon replace the sun, which had flickered across the snow on what had turned out to be a perfect day for climbing. They all had only one thought on their minds, but no one spoke of it-where were they?

George climbed-the only climbing he managed that day-back into his sleeping bag just before eleven o’clock, exhausted by hour upon hour of doing nothing. He fell into a deep sleep, wondering if he would live to regret allowing Norton and Somervell the first crack at the summit. Would he be returning to England in a week’s time having captained the winning team, only to be forever reminded of Norton’s words, No one will remember the name of the second man to climb Everest ?