The sleeper awakes
Bodie & Doyle had just finished the night shift – a tedious watch on a farmhouse which had yielded nothing; not for them nor the other operatives who'd been watching the property for the last two weeks. But the Cow had got an itch and there was no arguing with that. (Not that that had stopped several operatives grumbling amongst themselves or, the more fool-hardy, to moan to the Cow directly.) Doyle had pulled a night shift the previous night too following an illness of one of CI5's finest. The Cow said that they were short-handed due to sickness. Doyle had been quick to point out that they would be even more short-handed if operatives succumbed to exhaustion. The Cow tutted and fussed but Doyle had still only got the odd hour or so of sleep here and there in the last 48. Coming off their latest stint both operatives were cold, wet, shattered and miserable. They could get four hours in if they were quick and kipped down at the Mess rather than driving across town to their apartments. At least they could have a hot shower and a meal there too.
They were even too tired for conversation. Bodie drove – he being marginally less exhausted. Doyle was asleep by the time they turned into the parking area. Half dragging his partner in and upstairs he managed to get him to a state of wakefulness sufficient for him to take a shower and change into dry clothes while Bodie got a scratch meal together drawn from the fag ends of cupboard and fridge. Doyle emerged looking drawn and said that he was too tired to eat. Bodie, still wet from the night's exertions, reminded him that he'd barely eaten since lunchtime. In answer, Doyle simply curled up on the cot and went to sleep. Bodie finished his meal and took a shower. He cast around for somewhere to sleep and remembered that the couch had been taken away for repair. The camp bed was the only option. He got a blanket from store, dragged it across Doyle, and shoved his partner to one side to reluctantly squeeze in the other side, head to foot. He reclaimed most of the blanket. Doyle was too deeply asleep to protest at the invasion of his space and warmth. He just sighed, shifted and slept.
Next thing Bodie was aware of was Murph shouting down his ear and giving his shoulder a bashing. It was 7.30 and the Cow wanted both of them by 8. Murph had been given the unenviable task of waking up the Bisto Kids. Although Doyle would have been the less aggressive bear to wake from hibernation, Murph was aware that he was the more drained of the two. Bodie dragged himself up from the depths and swore roundly at his friend, claiming that he'd only just got his head down. "Don't shoot the messenger, Bodie. Orders from a higher authority – and it doesn't get higher than Cowley. Even God defers to him." Bodie swore some more while getting to his feet. He told Murph to leave Doyle to his beauty sleep a while longer and he padded off to the bathroom for a cold water wake-up call.
When Bodie returned from his ablutions and getting toast underway, Kidson came in for his breakfast. He at least – as far as Murphy and Bodie were aware – had had his full 8 hours. He certainly looked perky. Kidson was a new recruit from the military and consequently still had to endure some ribbing from the veterans. Although there was no rank in CI5, there was an unofficial hierarchy and new recruits certainly came bottom of it. The three already in the Mess were definitely in the higher branches. This was too good an opportunity to be missed as far as Bodie was concerned. He nudged Murphy in the ribs and winked at him. Murph recognised the sign – Bodie was in a dangerous mood!
"Hey, Kidson," said Bodie, "I'm running late and we" pointing a spoon at the recumbent Doyle "need to be with Major Cowley in a few minutes. You couldn't wake Doyle could you while I finish getting changed and fed?" Reluctantly Kidson complied. He couldn't refuse a veteran, but on the other hand he didn't feel qualified to drag the veteran's partner from his sleep either. With some trepidation, he approached the bed and removed the blanket, which wasn't doing much to cover the sleeper in the first place. Thus, removing it had no effect on waking him. Kidson would have to try more direct tactics. Bodie and Murphy looked on in curiosity and delight at the newbie's obvious discomfort. As Bodie munched down another slice of toast, Kidson kneeled down and placed his hands on Doyle's belly and pushed. The veterans' smiles were now broad grins. No reaction from Doyle. Kidson pushed harder. Doyle murmured, stretched and shifted to a more comfortable position. "He seems to be enjoying that," Bodie commented affably. Adding "Hey, can you tickle my tummy after you've finished with him? It looks fun!" Kidson glared angrily at the speaker.
As Doyle mumbled and stretched some more under Kidson's massage, Murph asked, "Are you trying to wake him up or turn him on?" which got a laugh from both of them. "He's your partner," Kidson snapped angrily at Bodie, "you wake him." With that Kidson stormed out to a very camp "ooo" from the veterans, and gales of laughter. Winding up the newbies was always a good start to the day. Doyle was blissfully unaware and slept on.
"Well, Bodie," asked Murph eyeing the sleeper, "how do you wake him?" "Well, I usually grasp him firmly by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattle and his eyes rotate in opposite directions," Bodie replied cheerily "And, if that doesn't work, I stick his head in a bucket of cold water until his lips turn blue."
Wanting to save his friend from either of these indignities (he had no doubts that Bodie could put word to deed – and time was getting on), Murph tried Doyle for himself. He grasped Doyle's shoulders and shook as he had with Bodie. Nothing. He dragged Doyle to a sitting position and shook some more. That at least got some reaction – he tried to fight back to a supine position. "No, Ray," Murph said firmly. "Come on. The Cow wants you now – right now." Doyle groaned and opened his eyes tentatively studying an anxious Murphy, and a grinning partner at the other side of the room filling his face with tea and toast. The lights were too bright for him and Doyle closed his eyes.
Holding his head in his hands, Doyle declared that he had a bad headache. "And," he mumbled, "I can't feel my legs." He rubbed his limbs to try to stir any feeling there while keeping his eyes closed. Murph and Bodie exchanged worried glances over Doyle's head. The mood in the room had suddenly changed from warm badinage to cold concern. Bodie abandoned his breakfast and quickly strode over to the camp bed. He knelt at the foot of it to assess Doyle's condition. "Ray," he said gently, trying to catch Doyle's eye, "if you can't feel your legs, then it's far more than a headache mate." Something of Bodie's tone touched Doyle into a reaction. He managed to force his eyes open, even if they weren't focussing too well. "I can't feel my legs," he explained with the slow clarity of a drunken man, "because some hefty lump has been lying across them all night cutting off the circulation! And I've now got cramp." Bodie looked up at Murph, who was standing by Doyle's shoulder. His grin turned to a relieved chuckle. Even Bodie had to smile.
At least his partner was ok – for now. It didn't answer the longer problem of exhaustion though. He could see it in Doyle's face and in the hunching of his body. Murphy got some aspirin and Bodie put some bread under the grill for him – until he saw the time. They were already late. Doyle was just handing Murphy back the remains of a glass of water when Bodie marched over and bodily dragged him up from the bed. "If you still can't feel your legs, I'll have to carry you. We're late. Breakfast will have to wait, too." He grasped Doyle by the shoulder, turned him round before he could protest and shoved him out of the door, following close in his wake. As they disappeared, Murph switched off the grill and then noticed Doyle's shoes under the bed and shrugged. He wondered how long it would be before one of them remembered to come back for them!