The orangutan threw a complex salute and swung away into the darkness.
The sun rose higher, rolling through the mists and stale smoke like a lost balloon.
The rank sat in the shade of a chimney stack, waiting and killing time in their various ways. Nobby was thoughtfully probing the contents of a nostril, Carrot was writing a letter home, and Sergeant Colon was worrying.
After a while he shifted his weight uneasily and said, 'I’ve fought of a problem,'
'Wassat, Sarge?' said Carrot.
Sergeant Colon looked wretched. 'Weeell, what if it's not a million-to-one chance?' he said.
Nobby stared at him.
'What d'you mean?' he said.
'Well, all right, last desperate million-to-one chances always work, right, no problem, but. . . well, it's pretty wossname, specific. I mean, isn't it?'
'You tell me,' said Nobby.
'What if it's just a thousand-to-one chance?' said Colon agonisedly.
'What?'
'Anyone ever heard of a thousand-to-one shot coming up?'
Carrot looked up. 'Don't be daft, Sergeant,' he said. 'No-one ever saw a thousand-to-one chance come up. The odds against it are,' his lips moved, 'millions to one.'
'Yeah. Millions,' agreed Nobby.
'So it'd only work if it's your actual million-to-one chance,' said the sergeant. 'I suppose that's right,' said Nobby.
'So 999,943-to-one, for example…' Colon began.
Carrot shook his head. 'Wouldn't have a hope. No one ever said, 'It's a 999,943-to-one chance but it might just work.' '
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