‘You don’t need two eyes to watch a screen.’
‘You do if you’re in the middle of action and giving coordinates to a gunner. A fully sighted man can watch two things at the same time, a one-eyed man can only watch one. You won’t know if the gunner’s received the instruction unless you look away from the screen.’
‘I won’t need to. He’ll confirm over his radio.’
‘A doctor might agree with you,’ said Willis gently, ‘but a computer won’t. Written into the software will be an acknowledgement that accidents happen. The intercom might fail . . . the gunner might mishear the coordinates . . .
Acland stared at his hands. ‘Did you design this program, Doc? You seem to know a lot about it.’
Willis shook his head. ‘I don’t even know if it exists, I’m just making an educated guess. The government uses a similar system to assess disability claimants, because doctors are seen to be more sympathetic than computers. The decision-makers work on the principle that if you take the human element out of the equation, it’s harder for a cheat to get benefit.’
‘What if I lie and say yes to the original question?’
‘You can’t. You’re not the one who feeds in the answers. It’s a doctor who does that and he’ll have your medical notes in front of him. Even without the evidence of the eyepatch, he’ll know that you’re unsighted on one side.’
Acland turned towards the window, deliberately presenting his blind side to Willis. ‘So what you’re saying is that I haven’t a hope in hell’s chance of getting back into a Scimitar.’ It was a statement rather than a question, as if he were confirming something he already knew.
‘Not necessarily,’ the psychiatrist answered as lightly as he could. ‘I’m saying it’s a possibility.’ He watched the young man flick a tear from his good eye with the back of a finger. ‘But you’ll be better able to argue your case if you understand what you’re up against. No decision’s final . . . and your CO’s support will carry weight at any appeal.’
There was a lengthy silence before Acland spoke again. ‘What about yours, Doc? Will your support carry weight?’
‘I hope so. I’ve given you a positive assessment.’
‘Have you mentioned Jen in it?’
‘No.’
‘My parents?’
‘No.’
‘I should be OK, then.’
‘Except it’s not your mental health the board will be assessing, Charles. It’s the physical handicaps of semi- blindness, persistent tinnitus and chronic migraines.
‘Thanks, Doc.’
‘For what?’
Acland swung back with a twisted smile on his face. ‘Keeping it real . . . managing expectation. At least I won’t make a fool of myself. It doesn’t do to blub in front of retired colonels.’ The smile died abruptly. ‘Still . . . I’m never going to get my sight back so I might as well give it my best shot now. If they chuck me out, I’ll learn to live with it.’ His tone hardened. ‘That’s the
Willis opened a drawer and took out a business card. ‘There are two things you can do with this, Charles,’ he said, pushing it across the desk. ‘Bin it or keep it. The number will put you through to an agency who can reach me any time, day or night. I don’t expect to hear from you for several months . . . if at all . . . but I’ll return your call immediately.’
‘What if I phone next week?’
‘I’ll be surprised,’ the psychiatrist said frankly. ‘Whether you stay in the army or not, I’m afraid you’re about to shed friends quicker than you make them. You’ll walk away, closing doors behind you, rather than try to sustain relationships that you think are meaningless.’
Not for the first time, Willis wondered if a female psychiatrist would have been a better choice for this lad. With none of the formal baggage that came between men – the instinctive reluctance to show affection, the necessary distance demanded by alpha males – she could have adopted a softer approach which might have allowed the lieutenant to weep for the person he’d been.
METROPOLITAN
POLICE
INTERNAL MEMO To: ACC Clifford Golding
