For Kingdom and Country (22 page)

‘Captain,’ Singleton said, ‘I propose full steam ahead, as full as the bends and twists in this damned river will allow, that is.’

Lock turned to Singleton and smiled. ‘Are you sure, Lieutenant? I don’t want to jeopardise your command.’

‘Balls, Lock,’ Singleton smiled wryly. ‘I’m as keen to end this as you. We delay any further and the Turk will just regroup and hold.’ He jutted his chin downriver. ‘Besides, the
Espiegle
and her sister ships won’t be able to travel much further, I think. The river was some 270 yards across at Qurna. It’s getting narrower all the time, down to under a hundred already. Those sloops are going to become increasingly encumbered with navigating.’ He turned his gaze upriver and pointed. ‘According to my
map, Ezra’s Tomb is just around this next bend and I’ll hazard a guess that they’ll have to halt there. If we hang back, the general will undoubtedly hail us to hold too.’ He raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘Well,’ Lock smiled sheepishly back, ‘we can’t have that, can we?’

Singleton nodded. ‘Jolly good. Right, hang tight. Coxswain?’ he shouted, marching back to the wheelhouse. ‘Full-speed ahead.’

The
Shaitan
steamed on, with the
Lewis Pelly
still keeping pace behind, and with the
Espiegle
and the rest of Townshend’s Regatta following on some distance back.

The river current was quickening and in its convolutions round the bends, the tug jerked violently to either side. Singleton barked orders to his men, and between much cursing and physical strain they began to use poles to force the ship away from the muddy reed-choked banks. The coxswain wrestled with the wheel in his fight not to let the vessel slam into the mudbanks. All Lock and his men could do was watch and hold on tight as the
Shaitan
slid to either side of the banks seemingly out of control, then suddenly the launch swung back and straightened out again. Lock looked back to see the
Lewis Pelly
struggle in the same way, but then it too passed through and chugged on after them. How the larger sloops would cope with such a tight and powerful bend, Lock couldn’t imagine, but no vessel looked to be slowing and soon he saw the
Espiegle
nose its way around the corner.

The river straightened out again and the launch-tugs chugged onwards, with the sloops racing after them. However, the river was narrowing at an alarming rate. Still there was no sign of the Turk steamers. But Lock, for the first time, felt a twinge of hope in his gut that they would catch them after all when finally he spotted their distant smoke.

The day moved on. The
liva amiral
was relieved of his task and escorted to the stern of the boat by Ram Lal. The elderly Turk settled himself down and spent his time either studying his play or dozing. There was no
sign of any enemy troops or any Marsh Arabs on the banks both to the east and west, and there was little to do but watch the heat haze dance and shimmer on the horizon. When Ezra’s Tomb came into sight, the sun had begun to sink towards the horizon.

On the western bank, nestling in a clump of date palms, an oasis sat on an otherwise open stretch of river, was a collection of buildings. Behind a battlemented wall, there was a domed mosque and what appeared to be a courtyard. The tops of a number of trees were just visible inside. There was also a string of telegraph poles running into the distance. Some of the outer buildings were in ruins, but the dome and yellow walls of the courtyard, decorated in bands and splashes with simple but beautiful glazed bricks of dark green, looked to be intact. The dome itself was made with perfect curves, coloured in a blend of every shade from sea-green, to lilac and mauve and blue, to a deep iridescent purple. It positively took Lock’s breath away as they slowly chugged past, and such was the complete evaporation of enemy resistance, he, along with his men and the crew of the
Shaitan
, could stand and drink in the ancient beauty of Ezra’s Tomb with time to spare. And as Lock watched, the red glowing orb of the sun dipped lower on the horizon to the west, and suddenly the whole tomb changed colour again, becoming a mirror to the pinking sky above them, to the swaying green tops of the nearby palms, and to the darkening tawny flood of the river below that sloshed and slapped right up to the very walls of the buildings.

‘A magnificent sight, is it not, Captain?’ Singleton said.

‘Beautiful, Lieutenant,’ Lock whispered.

‘I’m just glad the shells from the
Espiegle
’s guns missed it,’ Singleton said.

Lock nodded in agreement, and his gaze followed the line of the river and the smoke trails up ahead. ‘How long before we have to stop?’

‘It will be dark in half-an-hour or so, then we can’t risk carrying on. Not until moonrise, anyhow. But we’re gaining on them.’

As they passed the tomb, the land beyond flattened out considerably. The river still snaked on ahead like a serpent, but it was becoming increasingly hard to judge where the deeper channel of the Tigris ended and the shallow flood plains began. Singleton was shouting instructions from the wheelhouse to his midshipman and the crew, all of whom were leaning over the gunwales with sounding lines. The coxswain, in a mist of sweat and curses, had to throw the wheel to the left and to the right, constantly correcting the
Shaitan
’s direction to avoid running aground.

‘Sid,’ Lock called to Singh, ‘have you got my pack?’

‘Here, sir.’

Lock rummaged in his haversack and pulled out his binoculars. The rear of the enemy shipping was now clear to see.

At that moment Townshend must have spotted the very same, for suddenly the air was angry with the passing of screaming shells as the
Espiegle
’s 4.7 guns opened fire on the fleeing Turks. Lock watched as water fountains from shell impacts erupted into the air all around the Turk boats. It was only a matter of time now, surely. Lock’s palms felt damp with anticipation, and he lowered the binoculars and pulled out his cigarettes. A smoke would help calm his excitement. But he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

‘I’m coming, you bastard,’ he muttered staring ahead.

As darkness rapidly gathered around them like an enveloping cloak, the
Shaitan
pushed on, moving on up into the Narrows, the stretch of river between Ezra’s Tomb and Qala Salih.

‘Up ahead, sir,’ came a cry from Elsworth at the bow.

Lock turned and stared ahead into the gloom. ‘I see them,’ he said, unholstering his Beholla.

Just up ahead was a mahaila, a Turkish barge, jammed on the muddy bank at the edge of a vast reed marsh.

‘Action stations!’ Singleton shouted, and there followed a great commotion
as his sailors armed themselves with rifles and stood at the ready. Two gunners positioned themselves at the launch’s 1-3pdr gun, and Lock indicated for his men to take up defensives positions with the
Shaitan
’s crew.

Singleton came up alongside Lock at the bow, a Webley gripped in his hand.

‘Must have been cut adrift from one of the steamers,’ he said. ‘Slowing them down, I’d wager.’

Two powerful torches shot their beams out into the growing gloom, and as the
Shaitan
came alongside the barge, dozens of haunted faces squinted back at them. The barge was full of Turkish
Mehmetçiks
who to a man raised their hands in surrender.

‘
Please, effendim, save us
,’ came many a plaintive cry.

‘Sid,’ Lock called, ‘take a couple of men and gather any weapons they have, and throw them into the water.’

‘We’ll have to anchor here, Lock,’ Singleton said, ‘and wait for the moon to rise. It’s just too dangerous to carry on in the dark.’

‘Very well, Lieutenant. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble with this lot,’ Lock said, indicating to the Turkish soldiers.

‘Good,’ Singleton said. ‘The
Espiegle
and the other sloops will have to be doing the same. And don’t worry, the Turks up ahead won’t be able to continue on, either.’

He signalled to the coxswain for the engines to be cut, and as soon as they were, a great cacophony of human voices could be heard crying out from further away in the gloom.

‘Searchlight,’ Singleton ordered, and at once a great beam cut through the dark. It wavered about the reed marsh, then came to a halt.

‘Good Lord,’ Singleton said.

Lock could see two more Turkish lighters packed with troops only a few yards off, and beyond them, just visible in the beam of light, was a half-sunken steamer, listing on its side.

‘
Who are you?
’ Lock called out in Turkish.

‘
We surrender, effendim!
’ came a cry from the dark.

‘
What vessel are you?
’

‘
The Bulbul, effendim. We were hit below the waterline. There are many Arabs creeping about in the marsh. Please help us
.’

‘Sounds desperate,’ Singleton said.

‘They are. They say the surrounding marsh is teaming with hostile Arabs. Can you blast a few rounds into the distance? Scare them off if they are skulking about still?’

Singleton nodded and indicated to his gunners. ‘Four shells. Two hundred yards. When you’re ready.’

The gunners wheeled about, raised the turret and let off four rounds in quick succession. They fizzed off into the night and exploded in a mass of mud and water a good distance beyond the stricken
Bulbul
.

A great hush fell over the Turkish soldiers, and then, like a gathering cloud of insects, a general murmur of excitement filled the air.

‘I don’t think we’ll have any trouble for a while. From these poor souls, or any Marsh Arabs.’

‘Let’s hope you are right, Lock. I feel rather exposed out here. This is a damned lot of men. And it’s only one of their steamers. How many more barges full of troops are being towed by the other boats?’

‘Don’t worry, Lieutenant. The Turks can’t have any idea how many there are of us coming up behind them. I think they’re in a real panic. So, let’s keep them guessing.’

Singleton didn’t look too confident. ‘Very well, Lock. But we’ll have to go on alone as soon as the moon rises. I can’t leave this many prisoners behind us without a guard. The
Lewis Pelly
will have to stay behind.’

‘Agreed,’ Lock said.

‘And I think it best that we say goodbye to our Ottoman guest also.’

‘Yes, I was thinking the same.
Liva Amiral?
’ Lock called.

The elderly Turk officer shuffled out of the gloom clutching his book to his chest.

‘
It is time for you to leave us.
’

The
liva amiral
blinked back at Lock, a look of suspicion clouding his face.

‘
It is too dangerous for you to continue on upriver with us, so I’m having you escorted over to the Lewis Pelly. You will be well looked after, Liva Amiral, I promise you
.’

The
liva amiral
glanced back at the dark silhouette of the other launch, then nodded. ‘
I do not like it, Yüzbaşi, but I understand. I shall however refuse to talk until your return
.’

‘
As you wish, Liva Amiral
,’ Lock said. ‘Harrington-Brown?’

The lieutenant came up to Lock.

‘Sir?’

‘Escort the
liva amiral
to the
Lewis Pelly
. We’re going on without him.’

‘You’ll find a dinghy tied to the stern, Lieutenant,’ Singleton said.

Harrington-Brown gave a stiff nod and then held his hand out politely for the elderly Turk officer to lead the way back towards the stern.

The next few hours passed peacefully considering the situation that Lock and his men and the crew of the
Shaitan
found themselves in. It was a still and stiflingly hot night, and as Lock sat alone on the deck, back against the gunwale, too wired to sleep, he wondered just how long the marsh would last. The occasional footfall broke the monotony as a sentry paced to and fro, and at one point Lock thought he heard the splash of an oar. But peering out into the darkness he could see nothing. He remained there at the gunwale listening intently, but he could pick nothing out other than the chorus of snores coming from prisoners and crew alike.

He settled back down on the deck, and suddenly found his thoughts turning to Amy. Perhaps the real reason for his desperation to keep
moving, to keep chasing, was that it distracted him from thinking about her. And now, as he had to sit in the dark, up she popped again. Why was his mind so cruel? He sighed. Being sat on this boat deck just conjured up happier memories of when he and Amy would meet secretly, nightly, on the poop deck of the RIMS
Lucknow
. If only he could return to then, standing with her, embracing her under the stars as the ship pitched and heaved over the Indian Ocean.

Bugger, this had to stop. He’d lose his mind before long, and he couldn’t afford to do that, to take his eye off the ball.

‘Bugger you, Amy,’ he whispered to himself. But he didn’t mean it, he could never mean it. His feelings for her were stronger than anything he’d felt before, stronger than his love for Mei Ling. He knew that now.

Lock let out a soft moan of despair, and put his head in his hands. ‘If I could just get you out of my bloody head. Damn you, girl, damn and bloody bugger.’

The sentry passed close by. ‘You all right, sir?’ a voice whispered from the dark.

Lock stared up at the shadow looming over him. ‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely, ‘just a bad dream.’

‘Well, try to keep it down, sir,’ the sentry said, and moved away again.

‘Bugger off!’ Lock muttered after him. He shifted his tender buttocks, stretched, and felt his spine crack. He leant back and rubbed his stiff neck. Looking up through the gap between the gunwale and the canvas roof awning, he began to search the sky, and set his mind to finding as many constellations and planets he could in an effort to blank out Amy. He sighed and swore after what could have only been five minutes. It just wasn’t working.

A little before 2 a.m., the moon rose. Lock checked his watch and calculated that they had been stationary for just over five hours now. He just hoped that the
Marmaris
hadn’t been able to navigate any further upriver than they had. He pulled himself to his feet, sucked in his teeth as his left knee cracked loudly, and stretched his aching, stiff limbs. His backside was numb.

Lock moved to the bow and peered ahead. It was as bright as day now, with the near full moon throwing a silvery light across the landscape that spread like a white fire. He was just wondering how long before the
Espiegle
came up to them when the heavens exploded.

The
Shaitan
’s crew scrambled to their feet and each man peered from under the awning back down the length of the Tigris. Behind them the
Espiegle
, the
Clio
and the
Odin
seemed to be moving up fast, their guns spitting roaring hate towards the Turkish vessels that were so easy to see now across the flat flood plain to the west. Great dark plumes of water exploded into the air as shells fell around the enemy ships.

Lock felt the deck shudder under his feet as the
Shaitan
’s engines fired up with a great cough of smoke and a bone-shaking jolt. The launch began to move forward once more, and Lock felt his spirits rise. They were so close, now. He turned back to the bow and stood, peering ahead into the steely light, his hand resting on the barrel of the 3-pdr that still
radiated heat from a day in the sun and its brief call to action at dusk.

They rounded a bend, and the river widened again, opening up to nearly 200 yards in places. Lock leant forward, suddenly alert, feeling the skin on the back of his neck tingle with tentative hope. They were rapidly gaining on the ship at the rear of the Turkish retreat. His hand gripped tighter on the gunwale, and he clenched his teeth. God, they were nearly upon her.

‘Come on, come on,’ Lock muttered, impatience threatening to overwhelm him, as the ship ahead of them once again disappeared from sight as it rounded another bend in the river.

The shelling from the
Espiegle
continued to rain overhead, and the
Shaitan
chugged on. It came to the bend in the river and then swung far to the left and then seemed to stall, bounce and finally emerge back on the straight. Lock was suddenly met by a landscape bathed in an eerie, flickering glow. The ship they had been pursuing had run aground. She was lilting to one side and on fire. Her entire stern was nothing but a mangled mess of burning metal, spewing out a cloud of thick, toxic smoke. Near to her was a lighter with a number of soldiers aboard. They all had their hands thrust high in the air in surrender.

‘Heave to!’ Singleton shouted from the wheelhouse.

Lock pushed forward at the bow and cupped his hands around his mouth.

‘
Are you the Marmaris?
’ he called in Turkish.

‘
Yes, effendim. Marmaris
,’ came a reply from the lighter.

Lock turned back and called down the length of the launch, ‘Harrington-Brown, Sid, on the double!’

Singh was quick to arrive, with Elsworth and Ram Lal at his heels.

‘Sahib?’ Singh said.

‘Where the hell’s the lieutenant?’

‘He escorted the Turkish officer to the
Lewis Pelly
, sahib.’

‘And he’s still not back?’

Singh bobbed his head. ‘I think that he may have missed our very sudden departure, sahib.’

‘The bloody useless bastard,’ Lock fumed, ‘he’s got the dinghy. He’s more incompetent than Bingham-Smith. And that’s quite an achievement.’

‘He also took with him Sepoys Addul Tarin and Karamjeet Singh, sahib.’

Lock swore. ‘Can’t these bloody aristos do their own rowing?’

‘It would seem not, sahib.’

Lock glanced over his shoulder at the burning wreck of the Turkish steamer.

‘Well then, I have little choice. I’ll have to swim over. It’s too dangerous for Singleton to move the launch any closer, their magazine could go off at any moment judging by the way that fire’s burning.’

‘But, sahib …’

‘No “buts”, Sid,’ Lock said. ‘If the
Marmaris
is the Ottoman command ship, as that artillery officer hinted, then what better place to find evidence of not only the Turks’ plans, but hopefully of Wassmuss’s spy network too? Anything that could help clear my name. Hell, the man himself may still be aboard. As himself or as
Binbaşi
Feyzi. Either way, Sid, I’ve got to get across and find out.’

Singh rubbed his beard thoughtfully. ‘Yes …’

‘I know it’s a long shot, but what choice do I have? It’s a strong possibility that I’m right, Sid. I mean, what better place to have an HQ than on a ship that can make a speedy retreat?’ Lock paused, and pulled Singh a little closer. ‘I’m running out of options, Sid. Godwinson and Bingham-Smith aren’t far behind us now.’ He glanced back down the river as if to check that the
Espiegle
wasn’t already upon them. ‘I doubt the general or even Ross can help me anymore.’

‘The major will not let those horses’ arses influence what he knows to be the truth, sahib.’

Lock shook his head. ‘The only way I’m going to clear my name, Sid, is by catching Wassmuss myself and dragging him before General Townshend.’

Singh looked down at his friend, his brow creased with worry.

‘I cannot let you go alone, sahib. It is too dangerous. Let me and Ram Lal accompany you. We do not know if the Turks have armed men still aboard. We can watch your back.’

The big Indian’s brown eyes moved to the burning vessel, his pupils alive with the reflection of the flickering flames.

‘That’s just the point, Sid. It
is
too dangerous. I will not let you or anyone else risk themselves for me. I go alone. That’s an order. I need Elsworth to cover me from here, and I need you and Ram Lal to go over to that lighter,’ Lock said, pointing to the stricken barge full of pleading Turk soldiers, ‘and search the faces of each man. Take an electric torch. Wassmuss may be able to disguise himself, but he can’t disguise his piercing blue eyes. Remember that.’ He began removing his jacket, his cross straps and his Sam Browne belt. ‘And I wouldn’t put it past the slimy toad to try to hide amongst the normal soldiers and then slip away when everything has calmed down a little. So, anyone with blue eyes, separate them and tie them up until I get back.’

Lock went to draw his knife and cursed. Bugger, he’d forgotten. He’d lost it somewhere in Qurna.

‘Alfred, give me your bayonet again, will you?’ he said.

The young sharpshooter unclipped his scabbard from his Sam Browne belt and handed it to Lock.

‘Here you go, sir.’

‘Thanks,’ Lock said, and stuffed the blade in his waistband. He sat down and began to pull off his boots and socks.

Pulling the magazine from his Beholla, Lock checked it was full, before stuffing it in the inside band of his hat. He then put the main body of the handgun inside one of the socks, tied the second sock to the open end of the first, and finally tied the whole thing around his neck, so it dangled down on his bare chest like a crude necklace. He put the slouch hat back on his head, held his hand out, and Singh helped to haul him back to his feet.

‘Thanks, Sid. As long as I keep my hat dry, I should be able to use my gun.’

Singh nodded. ‘Very smart, sahib, but I am hoping you will not have to.’

Stuffing one boot inside the other, Lock then used his jacket as a kind of sling resting the boots inside, then wrapped the whole thing around his waist.

‘All right, Sid, over I go.’

‘Captain Lock, Captain Lock …’ Singleton called, hurrying forward. He grabbed Lock’s arm just as he was about to swing his legs up and over the gunwale.

‘What is it, Lieutenant?’ Lock said, turning back to face the Royal Navy commander.

‘The
Espiegle
… and the
Clio
and the
Odin
… all three have run aground, and have signalled for us to hold.’

‘Very well, Lieutenant. You do that. I’m afraid, though, that I’ll be leaving you now. Need to go see if there’s a German spy in that steamer over there,’ Lock grinned, and nodded his head towards the stricken
Marmaris
.

Singleton’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘You can’t, Lock. She could blow at any minute! If that fire reaches the ma—’

‘I know, Lieutenant. Please, don’t trouble yourself,’ Lock smiled reassuringly, ‘I won’t be long. Could I borrow one of your torches?’

Singleton hesitated, then clicked his fingers at one of his crew members. ‘Torch, Healy.’

The sailor rushed off to the wheelhouse, and came back with a torch.

Singleton handed it to Lock.

‘Much obliged,’ Lock said, securing the torch to the top of his slouch hat with one of his cross straps tied under his chin. ‘Better than a miner’s helmet,’ he said.

Singleton was shaking his head. ‘This is a very bad idea, Captain Lock.’

‘My whole life is a very bad idea, Lieutenant.’

And with that Lock hauled himself up and over the gunwale, and disappeared over the side.

Singleton stepped forward and peered down into the inky-black Tigris. ‘Lock, you damned fool, come back!’

Lock grinned sheepishly up at Singleton, but continued to lower himself down into the water. He was surprised to find the water to be as tepid as a day-old bath, and just as musty. Holding onto the guide rope strung around the hull of the
Shaitan
, feeling the rough fibres cutting into his hands, Lock paused to assess the strength of the current. It was strong and pulled hungrily at his breeches. Fortunately, though, it was flowing in the direction of the
Marmaris
. He glanced back up to see Singleton, Elsworth, Singh and Ram Lal all still peering down at him, then, careful to keep his head above water, he let go of the guide rope. The current whipped Lock about like a piece of driftwood, but he soon had his momentum under control and was able to guide himself in the right direction by kicking fiercely to his left. Using breaststroke, he began to move closer to the
Marmaris
.

As Lock neared the stricken steamer, the water around him became slick with diesel oil and strewn with debris. Lock tried to keep his mouth above water, but every third stroke he’d taste oil, and would retch.

‘Jesus,’ he spluttered, spitting oily water from his mouth. At least it
kept his mind from worrying about the possibility of the fire igniting the oil around him.

From the starboard side, the
Marmaris
close up was badly damaged and looked as if she had taken a hell of a beating, all 500 tons of her was listless, dying, drowning and burning. Lock made a mental note to congratulate the
Espiegle
’s gunners on their marksmanship. If he ever got back alive that is, he smiled grimly to himself as an afterthought. He was now just ten feet away.

What the hell are you doing now, Kingdom? Swimming out to a burning ship in the vague hope that Wassmuss is still on board? That he’ll be dressed as
Binbaşi
Feyzi, lying wounded, forgotten somehow by his comrades when they abandoned ship, with evidence on how he’d set you up clutched in his hand? Lock scoffed at his own foolishness.

But there was a chance, he reminded himself. Those papers he’d taken off the
liva amiral
, the pearls, the fact that this could be the command ship for the Tigris area, the fact that a German was directing operations according to the captured Ottoman officers he’d questioned on his journey to this point.

Lock reached the hull of the
Marmaris
and stretched up, grabbing hold of a twisted length of cable that was dangling down from the guard rail running along the upper deck. Lock tested that it would hold his weight. Satisfied, he pulled and heaved himself up out of the water. He hung there for a moment, glancing over his shoulder, back at the silhouette of the
Shaitan
, wondering if Elsworth was keeping a close eye on him through his riflescope. He gave a nod just in case. Then he turned, took a deep breath, and began to climb. His clothes were soaked and clung to him, restricting his movements, as the weight of his jacket sling pulled at his neck. The torch tied to his head was a ton weight pressing down on his skull. But he forced his aching limbs upwards.

A dull rumble made him check his ascent and he hung there, listening
and feeling the boat shudder under him. He wiped the slime of oil and sweat that had run into his left eye with his shoulder, and blinked along the length of the ship, past the twisted broken 9-pdr guns that were sticking up at odd angles like gnarled branches on a fallen tree, to the very stern. It was nothing but a broken, twisted mass of iron and wood, like a toy that had been crushed under the foot of a petulant child. Thick smoke was still billowing out of a huge charred hole in the hull just above the waterline. Lock twisted his head to look up the length of the boat towards the bow. There was less damage here, but then he wasn’t really concentrating on the state of the
Marmaris
anymore. He felt a sudden wave of apprehension. Bobbing about in the current, tied to a length of rope running down from the bow of the
Marmaris
, was a dinghy.

Lock hesitated, his mind running through the significance of that tiny boat. Then he continued his climb. He paused at the main deck. The ship was listing on its port side at an angle of no more than twenty degrees, and Lock guessed that it would roll and tip no further. The far side of the deck, though submerged under cloudy water, was well and truly wedged against the muddy bank. Lock could see reeds sticking up through the gaps in the rails on that side of the ship. He looked up. Not far to go now. If the design was similar to the British river gunboats, then the captain’s stateroom would be just behind the pilot house. And that was on the upper deck. He continued his ascent.

With the sweat pouring off him, the breath rasping in his chest, his muscles screaming in complaint, Lock finally hauled himself up and over the gunwale, and onto the forward upper deck. Above him was a mounted 1-pdr gun, limp and obsolete, its turret splintered. Aft from that was the pilot house. Its glass viewing windows were all shattered. Lock peered inside. There was nothing to see but an empty seat and the wheel. He turned away and leant against the bulkhead outside, catching his breath for a moment, his bare chest heaving,
eyes and ears sharp to any sign of life. For now, he was alone.