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?
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
AND THEN THERE were 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. “
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
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,
Irvine was the first to rise the following morning, and immediately set about preparing breakfast for his
