Force 10 From Navarone n-2

by Alistair MacLean

  'A trap?' Vukalovic said softly to Stephan. 'Yon think they will come again?'

  'Not tonight.' Stephan was positive. 'They're brave men, but — '

  'But not insane?'

  'But not insane.'

  Blood poured down over Stephan's face from a reopened wound in his face, but he was smiling. He rose to his feet and turned as a burly sergeant came up and delivered a sketchy salute.

  'They've gone, Major. We lost seven of ours this time, and fourteen wounded.'

  'Set pickets two hundred metres down,' Stephan said. He turned to Vukalovic. 'You heard, sir? Seven dead. Fourteen hurt.' 'Leaving how many?'

  Two hundred. Perhaps two hundred and five.' 'Out of four hundred.' Vukalovic's mouth twisted. 'Dear God, out of four hundred.' 'And sixty of those are wounded.' 'At least you can get them down to the hospital now.' There is no hospital,' Stephan said heavily. 'I didn't have time to tell you. It was bombed this morning. Both doctors killed. All our medical supplies — poof! Like that.'

  'Gone? All gone?' Vukalovic paused for a long moment. 'I'll have some sent up from HQ. The walking wounded can make their own way to HQ.'

  The wounded won't leave, sir. Not any more.' Vukalovic nodded in understanding and went on: 'How much ammunition?'

  Two days. Three, if we're careful.' 'Sixty wounded.' Vukalovic shook his head in slow disbelief. 'No medical help whatsoever for them. Ammunition almost gone. No food. No shelter. And they won't leave. Are they insane, too?' 'Yes, sir.'

  'I'm going down to the river,' Vukalovic said. To see Colonel Lazlo at HQ.'

  'Yes, sir.' Stephan smiled faintly. 'I doubt if you'll find his mental equilibrium any better than mine.' 'I don't suppose I will,' Vukalovic said. Stephan saluted and turned away, mopping blood from his face, walked a few short swaying steps then knelt down to comfort a badly wounded man. I Vukalovic looked after him expressionlessly, shaking his head: then he, too, turned and left.

  Mallory finished his meal and lit a cigarette. He said, 'So what's going to happen to the Partisans in the Zenica Cage, as you call it?'

  'They're going to break out,' Neufeld said. 'At least, they're going to try to.'

  'But you've said yourself that's impossible.'

  'Nothing is too impossible for those mad Partisans to try. I wish to heaven,' Neufeld said bitterly, 'that we were fighting a normal war against normal people, like the British or Americans. Anyway, we've had information — reliable information — that an attempted break-out is imminent. Trouble is, there are those two passes — they might even try to force the bridge at Neretva — and we don't know where the break-out is coming.'

  This is very interesting.' Andrea looked sourly at the blind musician who was still giving his rendering of the same old Bosnian love-song. 'Can we get some sleep now?'

  'Not tonight, I'm afraid.' Neufeld exchanged a smile with Droshny. 'You are going to find out for us where this break-out is coming.'

  'We are?' Miller drained his glass and reached for the bottle. 'Infectious stuff, this insanity.'

  Neufeld might not have heard him. 'Partisan HQ is about ten kilometres from here. You are going to report there as the bona-fide British mission that has lost its way. Then, when you've found out their plans, you tell them that you are going to their main HQ at Drvar, which of course, you don't. You come back here instead. What could be simpler?'

  'Miller's right,' Mallory said with conviction. 'You are mad.'

  'I'm beginning to think there's altogether too much talk of this madness.' Neufeld smiled. 'You would prefer, perhaps, that Captain Droshny here turned you over to his men. I assure you, they are most unhappy about their — ah — late comrade.'

  'You can't ask us to do this!' Mallory was hard-faced in anger. 'The Partisans are bound to get a radio message about us. Sooner or later. And then — well, you know what then. You just can't ask this of us.'

  'I can and I will.' Neufeld looked at Mallory and his five companions without enthusiasm. 'It so happens that I don't care for dope-peddlers and drug-runners.'

  'I don't think your opinion will carry much weight in certain circles,' Mallory said. 'And that means?'

  'Kesselring's Director of Military Intelligence isn't going to like this at all.'

  'If you don't come back, they'll never know. If you do — ' Neufeld smiled and touched the Iron Cross at his throat — 'they'll probably give me an oak leaf to this.'

  'Likeable type, isn't he?' Miller said to no one in particular.

  'Come then.' Neufeld rose from the table. 'Petar?' The blind singer nodded, slung his guitar over his shoulder and rose to his feet, his sister rising with him.

  'What's this, then?' Mallory asked. 'Guides.' 'Those two?'

  'Well,' Neufeld said reasonably, 'you can't very well find your own way there, can you? Petar and his sister — well, his sister — know Bosnia better than the foxes.'

  'But won't the Partisans — ' Mallory began, but Neufeld interrupted.

  'You don't know your Bosnia. These two wander wherever they like and no one will turn them from their door. The Bosnians believe, and God knows with sufficient reason, that they are accursed and have the evil eye on them. This is a land of superstition, Captain Mallory.'

  'But — but how will they know where to take us?'

  'They'll know.' Neufeld nodded to Droshny, who talked rapidly to Maria in Serbo-Croat: she in turn spoke to Petar, who made some strange noises in his throat.

  'That's an odd language,' Miller observed.

  'He's got a speech impediment,' Neufeld said shortly. 'He was born with it. He can sing, but not talk — it's not unknown. Do you wonder people think they are cursed?' He turned to Mallory. 'Wait outside with your men.'

  Mallory nodded, gestured to the others to precede him. Neufeld, he noted, was immediately engaged in a short, low-voiced discussion with Droshny, who nodded, summoned one of his Cetniks and dispatched him on some errand. Once outside, Mallory moved with Andrea slightly apart from the others and murmured something in his ear, inaudible to all but Andrea, whose nodded acquiescence was almost imperceptible.

  Neufeld and Droshny emerged from the hut, followed by Maria who was leading Petar by the hand. As they approached Mallory's group, Andrea walked casually towards them, smoking the inevitable noxious cigar. He planted himself in front of a puzzled Neufeld and arrogantly blew smoke into his face.

  'I don't think I care for you very much, Hauptmann Neufeld,' Andrea announced. He looked at Droshny 'Nor for the cutlery salesman here.'

  Neufeld's face immediately darkened, became tight anger. But he brought himself quickly under control and said with restraint: 'Your opinion of me is no concern to me.' He nodded to Droshny. 'But do cross Captain Droshny's path, my friend. He is a Bosnian and a proud one — and the best man in the Balkans with a knife.'

  'The best man — ' Andrea broke off with a roar laughter, and blew smoke into Droshny's face. 'A knife-grinder in a comic opera.' Droshny's disbelief was total but of brief duration. He bared his teeth in a fashion that would have done justice to any Bosnian wolf, swept a wickedly-curved life from his belt and threw himself on Andrea, gleaming blade hooking viciously upwards, but Andrea, whose prudence was exceeded only by the extraordinary speed with which he could move his bulk, was no longer there when the knife arrived. but his hand was. It caught Droshny's knife wrist as it lashed upwards and almost at once the two big men crashed heavily to the ground, rolling over and over the snow while they fought for possession of the knife.

  So unexpectedly, so wholly incredible the speed with which the fight had developed from nowhere that, for a few seconds, no one moved. The three young sergeants, Neufeld and the Cetniks registered anything but utter astonishment. Mallory, who was standing close behind the wide-eyed girl, rubbed his chin thoughtfully while Miller, delicately tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette, regarded the scene with sort of weary interest.

  Almost at the same instant, Reynolds, Groves and two Cetniks flung themselves upon the struggling pair on the g
round and tried to pull them apart. Not until launders and Neufeld lent a hand did they succeed.

  Droshny and Andrea were pulled to their feet, the former with contorted face and hatred in his eyes, Andrea calmly resuming the smoking of the cigar which he'd some how picked up after they had been separated.

  'You madman!' Reynolds said savagely to Andrea 'You crazy maniac. You — you're a bloody psychopath You'll get us all killed.'

  'That wouldn't surprise me at all,' Neufeld said thoughtfully. 'Come. Let us have no more of this foolishness.'

  He led the way from the compound, and as he did so they were joined by a group of half-a-dozen Cetniks, whose apparent leader was the youth with the straggling ginger beard and cast to his eye, the first of the Cetniks to greet them when they had landed.

  'Who are they and what are they for?' Mallory demanded of Neufeld. 'They're not coming with us.'

  'Escort,' Neufeld explained. For the first seven kilometres only.'

  'Escorts? What would we want with escorts? We're in no danger from you, nor, according to what you say. will we be from the Yugoslav Partisans.'

  'We're not worried about you,' Neufeld said drily 'We're worried about the vehicle that is going to take you most of the way there. Vehicles are very few and very precious in this part of Bosnia — and there are many Partisan patrols about.'

  Twenty minutes later, in a now moonless night and with snow falling, they reached a road, a road which was little more than a winding track running through a forested valley floor. Waiting for them there was one of the strangest four-wheeled contraptions Mallory or his companions had ever seen, an incredibly ancient and battered truck which at first sight, from the vast clouds of smoke emanating from it, appeared to be on fire. It was, in fact, a very much pre-war wood-burning truck, of a type at one time common in the Balkans.

  Miller regarded the smoke-shrouded truck in astonishment and turned to Neufeld. 'You call this a vehicle?'

  'You call it what you like. Unless you'd rather walk.' Ten kilometres? I'll take my chance on asphyxiation.' Miller climbed in, followed by the others, till only Neufeld and Droshny remained outside. Neufeld said: 'I shall expect you back before noon.' 'If we ever come back,' Mallory said. 'If a radio message has come through — ' 'You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs,' Neufeld said indifferently.

  With a great rattling and shaking and emission smoke and steam, all accompanied by much red-coughing from the canvas-covered rear, the truck jerked uncertainly into motion and moved off slowly along the valley floor, Neufeld and Droshny gazing after it. Neufeld shook his head. 'Such clever little men.'

  'Such very clever little men,' Droshny agreed. 'But I want the big one, Captain.' Neufeld clapped him on the shoulder. 'You shall have him, my friend. Well, they're out of sight. Time for you to go.' Droshny nodded and whistled shrilly between his fingers. There came the distant whirr of an engine starter, and soon an elderly Fiat emerged from behind a clump of pines and approached along the hard-packed snow of the road, its chains clanking violently, and stopped beside the two men. Droshny climbed into the front passenger seat and the Fiat moved off in the wake of the truck.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Friday 0330-0500

  For the fourteen people jammed on the narrow side benches under the canvas-hooped roof, the journey could hardly be called pleasurable. There were no cushions on the seats just as there appeared to be a total absence of springs on the vehicle, and the torn and badly fitting hood admitted large quantities of icy night air and eye-smarting smoke in about equal proportions. At least, Mallory thought, it all helped considerably to keep them awake.

  Andrea was sitting directly opposite him, seemingly oblivious of the thick choking atmosphere inside the truck, a fact hardly surprising considering that the penetrating power and the pungency of the smoke from the truck was of a lower order altogether than that emanating from the black cheroot clamped between Andrea's teeth. Andrea glanced idly across and caught Mallory's eye. Mallory nodded once, a millimetric motion of the head that would have gone unremarked by even the most suspicious. Andrea dropped his eyes until his gaze rested on Mallory's right hand, lying loosely of his knee. Mallory sat back and sighed, and as he did his right hand slipped until his thumb was pointing directly at the floor. Andrea puffed out another Vesuvian cloud of acrid smoke and looked away indifferently.

  For some kilometres the smoke-enshrouded truck clattered and screeched its way along the valley floor, then swung off to the left on to an even narrower track, and began to climb. Less than two minutes later, with Droshny sitting impassively in the front passenger seat, the pursuing Fiat made a similar turn off.

  The slope was now so steep and the spinning driving wheels losing so much traction on the frozen surface of the track that the ancient wood-burning truck was reduced to little more than walking pace. Inside the truck, Andrea and Mallory were as watchful as ever, but Miller and the three sergeants seemed to be dozing off, whether through exhaustion or incipient asphyxiation it was difficult to say. Maria and Petar, hand in hand, appeared to be asleep. The Cetniks, on the other hand, could hardly have been more wide awake, and were making it clear for the first time that the rents and holes in the canvas cover had not been caused by accident: Droshny's six men were now kneeling on the benches with the muzzles of their machine-pistols thrust through the apertures in the canvas. It was clear that the truck was now moving into Partisan territory, or, at least, what passed for no-man's land in that wild and rugged territory.

  The Cetnik farthest forward in the truck suddenly withdrew his face from a gap in the canvas and rapped the butt of his gun against the driver's cab. The truck wheezed to a grateful halt, the ginger-bearded Cetnik jumped down, checked swiftly for any signs of ambush, then gestured the others to disembark, the repeatedly urgent movements of his hand making it clear that he was less than enamoured of the idea of hanging around that place for a moment longer than necessity demanded. One by one Mallory and his companions jumped down on to the frozen snow. Reynolds guided the blind singer down to the ground, then reached up a hand to help Maria as she clambered over the tailboard.

  Wordlessly, she struck his hand aside and leapt nimbly to the ground: Reynolds stared at her in hurt astonishment. The truck, Mallory observed, had stopped out side a small clearing in the forest. Backing and filling and issuing denser clouds of smoke than ever, it used this space to turn around in a remarkably short space of time and clanked its way off down the forest path at a considerably higher speed than it had made the ascent. The Cetniks gazed impassively from the back of the departing truck, made no gesture of farewell.

  Maria took Petar's hand, looked coldly at Mallory, jerked her head and set off up a tiny footpath leading at right-angles from the track. Mallory shrugged and set off, followed by the three sergeants. For a moment or two, Andrea and Miller remained where they were, gazing thoughtfully at the corner round which the truck had just disappeared. Then they, too, set off, talking in low tones to each other.

  The ancient wood-burning truck did not maintain its initial impetus for any lengthy period of time. Less than four hundred yards after rounding the corner which blocked it from the view of Mallory and his companions it braked to a halt. Two Cetniks, the ginger-bearded leader of the escort and another black-bearded man, jumped over the tailboard and moved at once into the protective covering of the forest. The truck rattled off once more, its belching smoke hanging heavily in the freezing night air.

  A kilometre farther down the track, an almost identical scene was taking place. The Fiat slid to a halt, Droshny scrambled from the passenger's seat and vanished among the pines. The Fiat reversed quickly and moved off down the track.

  398

  The track up through the heavily wooded slope was narrow, very winding: the snow was no longer hard-packed, but soft and deep and making for very hard going. The moon was quite gone now, the snow, gusted into their faces by the east wind, was becoming steadily heavier and the cold was intense. The path frequently arr
ived at a V-shaped branch but Maria, in the lead with her brother, never hesitated: she knew, or appeared to know, exactly where she was going. Several times she slipped in the deep snow, on the last occasion heavily that she brought her brother down with her.

  When it happened yet again, Reynolds moved forward and took the girl by the arm to help her. She struck out savagely and drew her arm away. Reynolds stared at her in astonishment, then turned to Mallory.

  'What the devil's the matter with — I mean, I was only trying to help — '

  'Leave her alone,' Mallory said. 'You're one of them.'

  'I'm one of — '

  'You're wearing a British uniform. That's all the poor kid understands. Leave her be.'

  Reynolds shook his head uncomprehendingly. He lit died his pack more securely on his shoulders, glanced back down the trail, made to move on, then glanced backwards again. He caught Mallory by the arm and pointed.

  Andrea had already fallen thirty yards behind. Weighed down by his rucksack and Schmeisser and weight of years, he was very obviously making heavy weather of the climb and was falling steadily behind by the second. At a gesture and word from Mallory the rest of the party halted and peered back down through the driving snow, waiting for Andrea to make up on them. By this time Andrea was beginning to stumble in almost drunkenly and clutched at his right side as if in pain. Reynolds looked at Groves: they both looked at Saunders: all three slowly shook their heads. Andrea came up with them and a spasm of pain flickered across his face.

  I'm sorry.' The voice was gasping and hoarse. 'I'll be all right in a moment.'

  Saunders hesitated, then advanced towards Andrea. He smiled apologetically, then reached out a hand to indicate the rucksack and Schmeisser.