Behind Mt. Baldy

by Christopher Cummings

  “What about another blow?” he called at the others. They were drawing ahead again.

  Graham answered. “Not yet. We’ll go to Robson’s Creek.”

  Roger looked at his map. To his regret he noted that was at least a kilometre and a half. The map also told him they were passing the extreme North East corner of the lake but it was hidden by a belt of very thick jungle. Particularly unpleasant looking jungle too, he noted, seeing the palm fronds and dangling tendrils of the lawyer vine or ‘wait-a-while’.

  The others drew slowly ahead. There was another fairly steep uphill slog. The road was quite muddy and lined with weeds. Roger found he was sweating hard and panting by the time he crested the rise. The road went gently down and to the left and came to a concrete bridge.

  ROBSONS CREEK proclaimed a sign. A hundred metres beyond was a triangle of pine trees with short grass under them. A gravel road went off to the left. The others had already dropped their packs and sat down.

  Roger walked over and joined them. “If you reckon we were supposed to cover that yesterday afternoon I’m bloody glad we didn’t,” he said, flopping down.

  Graham finished drinking from his water bottle and wiped his mouth. “Never mind. We’ve got off to a good start today. We’ve covered at least six kilometres and we haven’t been going for two hours. Fourteen or fifteen more to go and we’ve covered the day’s quota.”

  Roger groaned.

  Peter laughed and added. “And then we need to push on a few more to make up for yesterday. Cheer up Roger, have a lolly.”

  Roger took the fruit jube and sucked it. He closed his eyes and mentally checked over his physical ailments. He didn’t want to spoil it for the others by breaking down.

  Peter pointed up the side road. “This is the road up to the top of the Lamb Range isn’t it?”

  Graham nodded. “Yes. To Mt Edith. I went up there once with Captain Conkey, Lieutenant Maclaren and Warrant Officer Howley.”

  Stephen looked up from polishing his glasses. “This is where the search HQ was when they were looking for you and Willy last year Roger.”

  Roger shuddered at the memory of that nightmare ride. He had tried to grab Willy’s runaway home made airship when it flew past the top of Lambs Head and had been dragged over the cliff. To save his life he had hung on to a rope and endured a truly terrifying ride across the mountains until it caught in a tree at the top near Mt Haig. Willy had climbed off and the airship had been blown away with Roger still aboard. All he could do was sit on the bicycle seat and cling on through a whole night of fear as it drifted all over the tablelands until finally being rescued at Atherton.

  They discussed that adventure for a few minutes. Roger then lay back and closed his eyes, trying to ease his sore muscles.

  Stephen’s voice broke into his thoughts. “I hate to spoil your rest old son but there’s a large leech moving up your left boot.”

  Roger sat up with a jerk. If there was one thing he hated with a passion it was leeches. He looked at the repulsive thing as it wriggled its way up onto his trousers - nose - tail - nose - tail. How quickly it moved!

  “So much for the mite-tick repellent,” Peter said. They had all treated their uniforms with anti-mite fluid before the hike.

  “It’s a leech, not a tick,” Graham laughed.

  “Bloody thing!” Roger grabbed it and held it squirming between his fingers. He tried to crush it but the tough, rubbery body defied his efforts. He rolled it into a ball between his finger and thumb and flicked it off into the grass.

  “There’s another one on your right boot now,” Graham said.

  Roger stood up and scraped it off, then stamped on it - to no avail - the leech kept moving.

  “It’s all that hot flesh that attracts them,” Stephen said.

  “Quality blood you mean,” Roger retorted.

  He took out his water bottle and had a long drink. Then he stood in the road and looked around. ‘The jungle is certainly thick,’ he noted, thankful that their hike did not require them to go into it.

  Then his eye wandered down the tunnel of trees along where the road ran straight for several hundred metres.

  “There’s a black car parked down there. What a funny place to park,” he said.

  The others looked idly along the road. The car was at least two hundred metres away, parked in a patch of shadow but once seen it was obvious.

  “Probably someone pinching orchids from the State Forest,” Stephen said.

  “Or nature lovers,” Graham suggested.

  “In this!” Peter laughed, “with all that ‘wait-a-while’?”

  “Not those sort of ‘nature lovers’,” Graham replied. “Come on. Packs on. Time we were gone. Steve, you've got a leech on your collar.”

  They stood up, checked each other for leeches, then pulled on their gear. To Roger it seemed to be even heavier than before. He found all his sore muscles had gone stiff during the short halt so the first few steps were a painful hobble.

  They trudged along in single file on the right of the road. The effort of getting back into their stride kept them all silent.

  As they drew close to the parked car Roger eyed it curiously. For some reason it made him feel uneasy. A fleeting thought crossed his mind that they would find another body in it but he could see no shape slumped over the wheel.

  Just as Graham drew level with the car they heard voices in the jungle and ten metres ahead of them two men dressed in black walked out onto the track.

  That the men were surprised was obvious. They stopped in their stride with mouths agape. The first man, who had a hard, thin face and close-cropped fair hair let drop a compass which hung on a cord around his neck and his hand flashed to his pocket. The second man, also thin but with a black moustache and black hair was carrying a rifle. He threw it up ready to use and uttered a cry.

  The boys stopped in shock. The sight of the rifle pointing at him made Roger go cold with fright. For a moment he could not move or speak. Then he joined the others bunched behind Graham, who had stopped facing the men.

  “Army?” the first man asked in a hard voice, his hand in his pocket. His eyes rapidly scanned them. Roger had the distinct impression the man was about to dive for cover.

  “No .. no.. Cadets,” Graham managed to say.

  The first man spoke out of the side of his mouth in a foreign language. The only words Roger understood were ‘Bruno’ and ‘Cadets’, only pronounced in a hard European way with a K. The second man lowered the rifle but still held it in both hands and looked suspiciously at them.

  The first man forced a smile. “You are not soldiers? You are Kadeten?” He could see they were unarmed. He ostentatiously pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “You startled us. Gave us fright, you know.”

  “Sorry,” Graham replied. The four cadets stood uncertain what to do.

  The first man kept talking. It seemed obvious to Roger the man was very nervous and guilty about something. The memory of his dream the previous night seemed to swamp his consciousness and ice-cold needles of fear stabbed down through his skull into his brain.

  The man gestured casually. “We have the rifle in case of the wild pigs. You need to be very careful of them you boys.” He gave a short, forced laugh and pushed the handkerchief back into a pocket, which Roger could see bulged with something else. From a shirt pocket the man extracted a cigarette packet. As he fumbled for a lighter he turned and said something in the foreign language to the other man. The second man nodded, unsmiling, and walked over to the car and unlocked it.

  Graham was now speaking and he was angry. “You shouldn’t carry guns in a State Forest. It’s against the law. And I don’t like people pointing guns at me. I should report you.”

  Roger wished Graham wouldn’t antagonise the man. He noted the man’s eyes narrow, even though he kept a smile on his face. Worried that Graham would say something else Roger pushed forward and took Graham’s arm.

  “It’s alright,” he sai
d to the man. “We are just on a route march. We’ve got another twenty kilometres to go. We are sorry we gave you a fright.” He forced a smile even though he was so scared he felt like he would lose control of his bowels. Despite his fear he managed to turn and smile at the other man, who had placed the rifle in the car and stood with the car door open.

  Graham went to speak but Roger cut him off. “We have to go. Good day,” he said. Roger then started walking. The man stepped aside. Roger didn’t dare look back but to his relief the others followed him. Then he had to fight down an urge to run, an urge his more rational mind told him was ridiculous. Weighed down as he was he knew he wouldn’t even be able to raise a lumbering trot.

  “Roger, what the ..?” Graham began.

  “Shut up! Keep walking!” Roger hissed.

  Graham did as he was told. After about fifty paces Roger glanced back. Both men were standing watching them. Neither was smiling. Roger walked even faster, feeling very scared and defenceless.

  They had only covered another hundred paces when a car door slammed behind them. Roger glanced back and saw that both men were now in the car. Its engine roared to life.

  By now the road was curving to the right. An overgrown track went off on their right and on that side the jungle gave way to open pine forest. The sound of the car came towards them.

  “Wave! Smile! Look friendly,” Roger ordered. He forced a grin with muscles that felt like old rubber as the car drew level. The men looked hard at them, then the driver’s teeth flashed in a grin and the car accelerated away, to vanish around the next bend.

  Roger suddenly turned down the side track. Graham let out a surprised exclamation. “Roger, you’re going the wrong way!”

  “I know. Follow me. Into the jungle, quick!”

  Roger turned and pushed his way into the jungle and didn’t stop until confronted by a tangle of vines and ‘wait-a-while’ ten metres in. Then he dropped his pack and turned to face the others.

  “I’ll bet those men are the murderers,” he said.

  CHAPTER 6

  WHAT WERE THEY DOING IN THE JUNGLE?

  Roger pulled out his notebook and wrote down the car’s registration number and make. The other three stared at him in surprise.

  Roger repeated himself. “Those men murdered the old man. I’m sure of it.”

  Peter shook his head. “Don’t be silly Roger. You’re just imagining things.”

  “I’m not. Have you ever seen two blokes look more worried and guilty in all your life?” Roger replied heatedly.

  Graham nodded. “I certainly think they acted suspiciously. When that bastard pointed that rifle at me I thought he was going to drop me. He pushed the safety catch off.”

  “I saw that,” Stephen added.

  Roger went on, “And that first man. I’ll bet he had a pistol in his pocket. Did you see how his hand went to it?”

  “He had something there that made a lump,” Peter confirmed. “They thought we were soldiers.”

  Roger nodded vehemently. “Yes. They were foreigners, Europeans of some sort. I don’t think the one with the rifle even spoke English.”

  “What language was it?” Stephen asked.

  “Search me. It wasn’t German anyway,” Graham said. Both he and Stephen learned German at school. Peter and Roger both studied French.

  “That second guy,” Roger went on. “His name was Bruno.”

  “I didn’t know he was a mate or yours Roger,” Peter quipped.

  “It’s no time for joking Peter! It’s not funny. I’m going back for a look.”

  The others again looked surprised.

  “Why? What for? Let’s just get out of here,” Stephen said.

  “Because when the blond man pulled his cigarette packet out of his shirt pocket he dropped something. I want to see what it is,” Roger replied.

  He went to pass them to get back out on the road.

  “Hang on Roger. We’ll come too,” Graham said, unclipping his pack. Peter and Stephen did likewise.

  “What if they come back?” asked Stephen, voicing the fear in Roger’s mind.

  “So what? We have every right to be here. They won’t bother four of us without a good reason,” Roger said.

  “I agree,” Peter added. “They won’t know if we are alone or not. Soldiers go around in armies don’t they?”

  Roger led the way back out onto the road. As he did he was amazed how fast his heart was beating and how dry his mouth felt. On reaching the road he cast a look in the direction the car had gone. Then he headed back the way they had come as fast as he could walk. The others followed, also casting nervous glances behind them.

  Even before he reached the place Roger could see the object. He went straight to it and picked it up. He held it in the palm of his hand as the others crowded round.

  It was a metal badge, shaped like a shield. The base colour of most of it was shiny black but it had a raised silver rim. On the face of the shield were the letters KSS in silver. The bottom portion of the shield was red. The whole thing was only about 5cm high and 3 or 4 wide.

  Roger turned it over. There was a pin fastener on the back.

  “A badge,” Stephen said quite unnecessarily.

  “What’s it made of? Aluminium?” Peter asked.

  Roger weighed it in his hand, then shook his head. “No, heavier. Might even be silver.”

  “Any writing on it?” Graham asked.

  The badge was passed around and carefully examined.

  “Here’s a number on the back,” Peter noted. He read it out. “One, three, two, zero, zero.”

  Graham took the badge and also weighed it in his hand. As he did his usually cheerful face clouded with concentration. “These letters. Very Germanic. See the shape of the two ‘S’s’? Straight lines, not curves. Like the Nazi SS used.”

  “But you said they didn’t speak German,” Peter reminded him.

  “No. It’s odd. It’s not just a souvenir or something. Why would the man be carrying it?” Graham asked.

  “Identification?” Peter suggested.

  “They were both dressed in black,” Roger reminded. “Maybe it’s a uniform?”

  “What, Nazis here at Tinaroo Dam? More than sixty years after World War Two! Get real Roger,” Stephen snorted.

  Roger shrugged. “I wonder what they were looking for?” He walked to the edge of the jungle where the two men had emerged. There was no sign of any track but the jungle wasn’t too thick.

  Graham joined him. “Here, have your badge. That first bloke was walking on a compass bearing.”

  “Where would they have been?” Peter asked. He pulled out his map and they all looked at it. Robsons Creek was only a couple of hundred metres away and the lake about a kilometre.

  “From the lake?” Stephen suggested.

  Graham shook his head. “Nah! Why bash through the bloody jungle when there are roads going right to the water, like the one where we dumped our packs,” he said.

  “I’ll bet they were hiding something,” Roger said.

  “Like what?” Peter asked.

  “Murder weapon? Bloodstained clothes maybe,” Roger replied.

  “Oh Roger! Stop talking about murder,” Stephen said. Then he paused, mouth open, before adding, “or ... or another body?”

  The boys turned as one to look into the shadow of the rain forest. The place suddenly took on a very sinister aspect.

  “I wish you hadn’t said that Stephen,” Peter said quietly.

  There was silence for nearly half a minute.

  “We have to look,” Roger said.

  “But where?” Peter asked.

  “I don’t know! In there,” Roger pointed.

  Graham pulled out his compass. “We can’t just walk away from this. We’ll have a quick look, but only for ten minutes. We are losing time again. Form an extended line ten paces apart. We will go in on due West. If you get separated due East will bring you back to the road.”

  At that moment Roger had another aw
ful thought. “What if there are more of them, in there?”

  The others looked at him, Stephen with undisguised dismay.

  Graham shook his head. “No. Those two came in their car. They’re gone. Let’s go or we’ll be seeing phantoms next.”

  “He does live in the jungle,” Peter said.

  “Who?” Roger asked as he pushed a vine aside.

  “The Phantom, you know, the Ghost Who Walks,” Peter replied.

  Roger sniffed. “Don’t be silly Peter. Not now.”

  The boys lined themselves out and began walking slowly into the rainforest. Roger tried to look everywhere. He scanned tree trunks for bruising, palm fronds for damaged leaves or stems, and the black, rotting leaf-mould for tracks. There didn’t seem to be anything unusual.

  They went into the jungle for about a hundred metres. To avoid trees, vines, fallen branches and clumps of wait-a-while they had to weave to and fro but Graham kept them roughly on course with his compass. It was a skill they had been trained at in cadets so presented no new experience or technical difficulty.

  “That’ll do,” Graham called, looking at his watch. “Turn around and we will go back. Try to follow a different route.”

  Roger wanted to keep searching. He found it frustrating as well as exhilarating. He also found he was sweating profusely and had a scratch on his right hand and had tipped a stinging tree with the little finger of his left hand. He didn’t remember seeing one but as he made his way back he noticed the furry, heart-shaped leaves in time to avoid a worse sting.

  Back on the road they stood uncertainly for a moment. Stephen took the initiative. “Come on. We are supposed to be on a hike. They probably weren’t doing anything. Let’s go.”

  They made their way back to their packs. Roger had a big drink, draining his second water bottle. He felt oddly frustrated but knew he could not explain quite why.

  Graham looked at his watch. “Twenty to eleven! Come on. Packs on! Let’s march!”

  “Packs on! Let’s march!” echoed Roger in a resigned voice. Reluctantly he hoisted on his webbing and pack. On the way out to the road his foot caught in a vine, nearly tripping him. Then his pack caught in another, pulling him sideways. He swore and wrenched himself free and stumbled out into the open.