A loudhailer boomed.
“This is the Police. Stop!”
There was a sharp crack. Roger winced and gripped the tree.
That was a shot!
Another shot!
The loud hailer boomed again, telling the men to drop their weapons and to come out. For the next minute there was a babble of shouts and more shots, some from different guns and not all in the same direction.
Roger froze, unsure what to do. He saw the old man’s face twist in fury as he pulled out an ugly looking black automatic pistol. Roger gaped at him, transfixed with fear.
More shots. The old man suddenly dived behind a rotting log and lay flat, not twenty paces from where Roger crouched. The loud hailer boomed again. More shots.
A bullet struck a nearby tree with a vicious thud. Roger went cold with shock and realised that the police were shooting his way, but not at him. There were more yells and another shot, followed by a cry of pain.
In spite of his fright Roger peered around the bole of the tree. He saw the blond man lying on his back twitching, his legs scrabbling at the leaves. Two police rushed forward. Roger recognized them as the plain clothes detectives. They levelled pistols on the blond man. One bent and scooped aside the man’s pistol.
Then two uniformed policeman ran along the track to the other side of the four wheel drive and re-appeared with ‘Glasses’. He was spread-eagled on the bonnet, searched and handcuffed. One policeman began hustling him towards the main road. The other, who Roger now recognised as Sergeant Grey, came around to his side of the vehicle and looked into it.
Aghast Roger realised that Sergeant Grey didn’t know the old man was only a dozen paces behind him. Roger looked and saw the old man had raised his head. He had something in his left hand and the pistol in his right. Fearing the old man was about to shoot Roger yelled, “Sergeant Grey! Look out behind you!” He was frightened, his voice a high-pitched squeak.
Sergeant Grey spun round and dived behind a tree. The old man’s head jerked around in surprise. He saw Roger at once. Their eyes locked and Roger seemed to be transfixed by the hatred which blazed from them. The man rolled on his back and swung his pistol.
Roger dived flat.
Crack! The bullet splintered the side of the tree only centimetres from Roger’s face. He lost control of his bladder.
The loudhailer boomed again. Inspector Sharpe’s voice, Roger realised as he writhed in the mud in fear and humiliation. Still he managed to roll quickly aside and noted that the old man had rolled back behind the log.
Inspector Sharpe’s voice boomed and echoed through the forest. “Put down your gun and come out with your hands up. You haven’t got a chance of escaping. We have you surrounded.”
Roger lay flat, almost frozen with fear. There was a moment of tense silence. Then the old man uttered a curse in his own language before calling out in accented English. “Don’t shooten. I surrender.”
The man scrabbled at the leaves for a moment then put the pistol on the log and got to his feet with his hands in the air. Sergeant Grey sprang up and doubled across to cover him.
Inspector Sharpe appeared, tie askew, white shirt plastered with mud and sweat, pistol in hand. He took the old man’s pistol then covered him while Sergeant Grey searched and handcuffed him.
Then Sergeant Grey looked around and called out, “Right, you can come out now Tubby.”
Roger rose slowly to his knees. His legs felt weak and he seemed to see things through a haze. He stood up and found he was trembling so much he needed to lean on the tree for support. Then he remembered he had wet himself. He flushed with shame and looked hastily down.
To his enormous relief the front of his uniform was plastered with mud and was so soaked that it wasn’t obvious. Sergeant Grey walked over to him and grabbed his hand.
“You saved my life then Roger Dunning. That was a bloody brave thing to do.”
Roger got even more embarrassed and hoped Sergeant Grey wouldn’t smell anything. He mumbled for a moment, then shook his head and muttered: “It was nothing.”
“Nothing be buggered! I owe you son and I won’t forget. You OK?”
“Yes. I’m OK,” Roger replied. It was only his pride that was hurt after all. Sergeant Grey turned and began walking back towards the others. Roger followed, feeling as though things weren’t real.
As he reached the log he stopped and looked down.
“Sergeant, the old man had something in his left hand. He hid it here before he got up.”
Sergeant Grey spun round. He bent and scooped at the leaves and picked up a plastic bag containing some notebooks and other items.
“Ah! Very interesting. Good boy!”
Roger looked at the old man and was appalled by the look of pure hate on the man’s face.
Inspector Sharpe called. “Are there any more of them Tubby?”
Roger blushed at the ‘Tubby’ and felt a surge of resentment. “No sir, only four; and I am Corporal Dunning.”
He regretted his tone of voice even as he spoke but was now shaking with emotion.
Inspector Sharpe looked at him sharply, then chuckled. “Sorry Corporal. It should be Sergeant after this don’t you think Sergeant Grey?”
“I do indeed sir, although I suspect he was exceeding his CSM’s orders a bit. Weren’t you supposed to be hiding safely the other side of the road?”
Roger bit his lip. “Yes, Sergeant. But I just had to know what the men were doing.”
“And what were they doing?”
“Searching for treasure,” Roger replied.
CHAPTER 14
THE IRON CLAW
Inspector Sharpe raised his eyebrows. “Treasure eh! You sure?”
“Well, er, no Sir,” Roger stammered. He felt a bit silly. “But it must be. They’ve been walking up and down with metal detectors and digging holes in the jungle.”
“Digging holes! Where?”
“In there,” Roger pointed.
At that moment a loud groan of pain interrupted them. Inspector Sharpe looked to where a Detective was administering first aid to the man who had been shot. Peter knelt beside the man, holding an open Medical Kit.
“How is he?”
“Not too good Sir. He’s hit in the lung I’d say.”
“We’d better get him to hospital. Sergeant Grey, get on the radio and call an ambulance. Tell them you will meet them on the way, then get going. Use our car. Widmark, you drive. Stay with that fellow. I want him guarded. Does he have a name?”
The Detective quickly searched the wounded man's pockets. He extracted a notebook and wallet, then felt again and slid his fingers in to a breast pocket. He pulled out a black and silver metal badge. “Another one of those badges with KSS on it Sir.”
“Let me see,” Inspector Sharpe ordered. He made his pistol safe and put it in his shoulder holster, then moved over and took the badge. Roger followed him out of curiosity. Inspector Sharpe turned it over.
Roger looked at the badge. “It’s got a number on it too,” he said.
They all peered at it. The number 18041 was stamped into the metal.
“Sir,” Detective West called. He held up the collar of the man’s black shirt. Pinned under the lapel was another badge. It was diamond shaped, made of black enamel about 3cm long. On it was what looked like a silver hand.
They crowded to look.
“It looks like a gauntlet,” Peter said, “An armoured glove like medieval Knights wore.”
“Yes. No! Look at the finger tips,” Roger replied.
The silver gauntlet had its fingers in a grasping attitude and the tips were sharp points.
“Like talons or claws,” Peter commented.
“An Iron Claw,” Inspector Sharpe said grimly.
“What does it mean Sir?” Peter asked.
“I’m not exactly sure but I’ll tell you what I know in a minute. What’s his name Crowe?”
“It says Helmut Boltoff here Sir,” DS Crowe replied. He passed the wallet to
the Inspector.
“Right, let’s get Mr Boltoff into the car and off to hospital. Will you lads give a hand?”
Both Roger and Peter nodded and moved to help lift the wounded man. At that moment two running figures thudded into view. Sergeant Grey reached for his revolver.
It was Graham and Stephen, both crimson with effort.
“What happened Sir? We heard shots,” Graham gasped. They both looked down at the wounded man in horror.
“Yes, but it’s all over,” Inspector Sharpe replied. “Thanks for the call. We got here just in time. Sorry we couldn’t give you a lift.”
“Why not?” Roger asked.
“We came from Tinaroo. Your friend there stopped us just in time,” Inspector Sharpe said, pointing at Peter, who was helping to put the wounded man in the police Landcruiser.
For the next few minutes the friends stood aside until the police vehicle drove off. Inspector Sharpe then said, “OK Sgt Crowe, you and West caution these three, then search them one at a time. Separate them and handcuff them.” He wiped sweat from his face with his handkerchief then turned to face Roger. “OK boys, show me where the men were digging.”
Roger slapped at a mosquito on his arm as he led the way along the muddy track. Curiosity gnawed at him so he asked, “Sir, what is the ‘Iron Claw’?”
Inspector Sharpe did not reply and Roger glanced across at him, fearing he had asked something he shouldn’t. Inspector Sharpe grunted with disgust as he squelched through the mud then replied, “I’ll tell you in a moment. Let’s look at where they were digging first.”
They came out of the cool shadows into a clearing. The open space seemed very hot in the bright sunlight. Roger wiped sweat from his eyes. The group arrived at a muddy hole and stopped. Roger just stood and looked at it. A feeling of intense lethargy seemed to engulf him. Now he just wanted to lie down and sleep. He closed his eyes against the glare and shivered.
Suddenly a hand seized his arm.
“You OK Roger?” Graham asked.
Roger blinked and shook his head to clear it. “Yeah. Just a bit tired.”
“I thought you were going to fall over,” Graham replied.
“I think I’ll sit down for a minute,” Roger answered, aware that he felt dizzy. He walked unsteadily over to a log in the shade and sat on it. While the others searched he slumped there, rubbing his eyes and yawning. The search didn’t take them long.
Inspector Sharpe pulled a wry face. “Well! There isn’t much to see. I think we might do a detailed search later, but only if we need to. I had enough jungle this morning at Robsons Creek. Strewth it’s hot! What the devil are these Iron Claw types looking for?”
Roger looked up but it was Stephen who spoke first. “Who are the Iron Claw Sir? You said you’d tell us.”
“Yes I did. Alright. Let’s sit in the shade.”
The boys settled in a silent group on the log while Inspector Sharpe mopped his face with a sodden handkerchief. Then he said, “OK, what I tell you now, you must promise to keep to yourselves, at least until all this is published. I’m telling you because you’ve been so helpful and it was your handing me the KSS badge yesterday that gave us the clue.”
‘Was it only yesterday!’ Roger thought. He was wide awake now.
The Inspector went on, “We had identified Boris Krapinski and then ascertained he was a migrant from Kosaria; was in fact still a Kosarian national. We informed various government departments ... er like Immigration, and also the Kosarian Embassy in Canberra.”
“After you handed me the KSS badge I phoned them again in case they knew anything about it. I knew instantly that I was onto something when the fellow at the other end went silent, then gasped ‘KSS’ in a sort of strangled voice. Then he repeated it - said ‘KSS, here! In Australia!’ He then asked me to wait and a couple of minutes later told me he would call me back.”
Roger listened to this enthralled. He forgot his aches and pains and flicked a leech off without being aware of it.
Inspector Sharpe saw he had their attention so he continued. “The Kosarian Embassy phoned me back about half an hour later. They told me they were very worried about KSS agents being in Australia; and particularly in North Queensland, because their Deputy Premier is out here on a tour. They sent me a fax on these KSS types. It’s in my briefcase but I can give you the gist of it.”
He pulled a face. “This will be a bit of a history lesson I’m afraid. It seems that Kosaria was part of the Turkish Empire until sometime in the 19th Century. After their war of Independence they suffered several revolutions and coups. Usual reason: Who is going to be boss. It seems there are two families who battled it out. The Dragovitch clan won and their man became king. In 1895 there was a revolution and General Paul Grabovith..”
“Grabovitch!” Graham chortled.
“Shh!” Roger nudged him.
Inspector Sharpe frowned but went on, “The General took over and had himself crowned King Paul I. In 1904 he was murdered in another coup and the Dragovitches came back, with King Peter the fourth (I think). During World War I Kosaria was overrun by the Germans and Austrians. The Grabovitches had taken their side and Paul’s son, the Archduke Paul, came with them and was crowned as an under-King of the Austrian Kaiser.”
Inspector Sharpe paused to check they were with him then went on: “As you know Germany and Austria lost the war. King Peter came back with his army and Paul fled with the Austrians. He went into exile, first in Switzerland and then in Spain where he died in the 1920s. His son, also called Paul, continued to claim the throne. Is this all getting too confusing?”
“A bit Sir,” Graham said.
“Oh please go on,” Stephen cried.
“Yes, well. This Prince Paul made friends with people like Benito Mussolini, he was dictator in Italy, and Adolf Hitler. When the Nazi Party gained control of Germany, some time in the 1930’s.”
“1933,” Stephen put in.
Inspector Sharpe nodded. “Then Prince Paul moved to Germany where he gathered Kosarian supporters. He set up a political organisation modelled on the Nazis. The German SS, the guys in black uniforms with the ‘Death's Head’ badge, provided money, training and guns. Paul set up the Kosarian Schutzstaffel - the KSS - the Shooting Squadrons I think is the rough translation.”
Stephen nodded. “Yes. When Hitler set up the National Socialist arty at first he had an armed group called the Sturm Schutzen- Assault Riflemen. That was to try to get some of the prestige from the storm troops of 1918. But later he set up the mob with the black uniforms, the Schutz Staffeln,” he explained.
Roger looked at him, surprised. ‘I didn’t know Steve knew all that stuff,’ he thought.
The Inspector nodded. “That sounds right. Anyway the KSS went to work to secretly undermine King Peter’s government, using all the usual Nazi dirty tricks - murder, blackmail, bribery, sabotage and so on. They extended their secret organisation into Kosaria.”
“In April 1941 the KSS staged a coup, aided by German paratroops. It coincided with the German invasion of Yugoslavia and Greece. The German Army took over. King Peter fled with his loyal bodyguard. We know who one of them was; he was Captain Boris Krapinski.”
“Boris - a captain!” Roger gasped. He tried to imagine the sodden corpse as a fit, young soldier half a century before.
“Yes. Captain. And a hero I gather. He helped the Royal Family escape, so the Kosarian Embassy said,” Inspector Sharpe added.
“So he fought against the KSS?” Peter asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s why they murdered him then,” Stephen blurted out.
“Come off it Steve,” Roger snorted. “Why wait sixty five years to do it?”
“Why then?”
Inspector Sharpe cut in. “Good question. Am I boring you or will I go on?”
Roger nodded. “Oh please go on Sir.”
“Right. The Germans made Prince Paul their ‘Reichsschutzer’ - some sort of puppet governor- they wouldn’t let him crown
himself king. Then resistance to the Germans, and the KSS, developed in Kosaria - Partisans or guerrillas, led by the Communists.”
The boys nodded so Inspector Sharpe continued. “In 1944 the Russian Army, Communists then, defeated the Germans and drove them out of the Balkans. As the German forces retreated Prince Paul and his cronies went with them and vanished. Most were never caught and it was rumoured that many escaped to live in South America, in Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina. It was believed that the KSS had ceased to exist as an organisation - until yesterday.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Stephen spoke in a hushed voice. “Real live Nazis. Here! On the Atherton Tablelands!”
Peter spoke up. “That old guy. I’ll bet he’s one of the originals.”
“Possibly is,” Inspector Sharpe agreed.
Roger itched to know more. “Is that all we know Sir?”
“No. It isn’t. The paper they sent me included details of how the KSS used to be organised, their ranks and badges, and so on. I didn’t memorise them. They are all in German anyway.”
“German? Those blokes weren’t speaking German,” Stephen queried.
“No. Apparently most Kosarians speak Serbo-Croat; a few speak Greek or Turkish but most educated Kosarians speak German,” Inspector Sharpe explained.
“Do you think there are more of them sir?” Graham asked.
“There could be. Their basic squad size was nine.”
“Nine! We’ve only got four!” Roger cried.
“Do you think they are dangerous?” Stephen asked.
Inspector Sharpe gave a short laugh. “Yes, very! They murdered Krapinski, or at least I think they did. They carry guns - and they use them! Ask Roger.”
Roger remembered his shameful terror and could only nod.
Stephen then asked. “But they are the KSS. Who are the ‘Iron Claw’?”
The Inspector stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment before replying. “The KSS were modelled on the German SS. It had different branches or departments. One was the ‘Waffen SS’, who were soldiers; of a particularly repulsive and brutal kind, but still soldiers. The KSS was organised in a similar way. The whole organisation in World War 2 had about 3000 men. About 1500 of these formed an army regiment. Their duties included Palace Guards, guarding key installations and helping the police.”
Behind Mt. Baldy Page 14
