Behind Mt. Baldy

by Christopher Cummings

  There was a cool breeze on that side of the slope, funnelling through the pass, and it chilled their sweat. Graham put his water bottle away and took up the rifle. “OK Roger, you walk back to Stephen. When the cops arrive tell them what is going on. I will meet you at the ruin on top.”

  “Don’t be silly Graham!” Roger cried. He shook his head in annoyance at Graham. He knew he could get very stubborn and was apt to do things from sheer bravado. “We have taken enough risks. Someone could get killed.”

  Graham turned and began walking rapidly up the steep, grassy slope. Anger welled up in Roger. “Don’t be such a bloody stubborn idiot Graham! We’ve stopped the ambush. Leave it to the police. Besides, what will Captain Conkey say?”

  To his frustration Graham ignored him and kept on climbing. Roger swore and fidgeted in indecision. He had horrible thoughts of Graham being caught by the men. They would probably shoot him and his body would be dumped in the rain forest, never to be found.

  “Oh blast you, you stubborn idiot!” Roger cried. He began climbing as well. “I can’t let him go on his own.”

  Graham was fifty metres ahead by then. He glanced back and Roger saw his face darken with anger. He waited till Roger had struggled to within about ten metres of him.

  “I told you to go back to Stephen to tell him what is going on,” Graham snapped.

  Roger leaned on a tree, gasping for breath. His heart hammered so fast he feared he was going to have a heart attack. “Ya...you...puff, puff...you can’t follow ...puff...them on your own. Puff..cough, cough...puff. Something might happen to you.”

  “Go back.”

  “No.”

  “That’s an order.”

  “No. I will, if you do,” Roger replied.

  “Then you are as silly as I am. Don’t slow me down. I’ll meet you at the ruin,” Graham snapped angrily, his chest heaving. He hefted the rifle to ready and went on up the slope as fast as he could walk.

  Roger watched his departing back with anger and resentment. Then he resumed plodding upwards through the waist high blady grass, even though his pulse rate was still well above normal.

  After a few minutes he had to stop again. Gasping for breath he leaned on a tree, alternately sweating and shivering. Anxiously he watched Graham vanish over a false crest a hundred metres further up. As he looked around he got another shock. He was enveloped in cloud.

  The white vapour came seeping through the trees, cutting out the view down into the valley and limiting visibility to about a hundred paces. ‘Stephen is down there,’ he thought. Then other worries came to him: Was he alright? Had any of the Royal Guard turned up and taken him prisoner? ‘He must be feeling very lonely and wondering where we have got to.’ He saw by his watch they had now been gone more than an hour. Would Stephen be able to work out where they had gone? Yes, the ruin on top was the logical place. What was the ruin?

  Roger had a drink and slogged on up. He only just reached the false crest before he had to stop again. The cloud closed in, cold and clammy. It did not effectively restrict his visibility which was affected more by the trees and bushes but it gave things a creepy, eerie atmosphere.

  With relief Roger saw that the next section of the mountainside was not as steep. It went up for at least two hundred metres to another crest, dimly seen in the mist. Was that the top of the mountain? He hoped so.

  After resting for a couple of minutes Roger continued walking. He found his trouser legs getting wet from the condensation forming on the grass and he was soon soaked from the waist down. There was no sign of Graham. The trees were much smaller now and formed a real thicket, being interspersed with masses of bushes, lantana and ferns.

  Abruptly Roger halted. He looked down, then left and right. He had stepped onto an old vehicle track running up the spine of the ridge from his left, from the direction of their camp. It was just two wheel tracks and had not been used for a long time.

  After a careful look around Roger began following the track. A quick check showed it wasn’t marked on the map but he guessed it would lead to the ruin which he surmised should be only a few hundred metres ahead. The slope gradually levelled out and the track entered a thick belt of chest-high ferns and small bushes which formed a real jungle under the trees.

  Roger slowed down and began scouting cautiously forward. As he reached the gentle crest of the slope he heard voices. He froze for a moment. The sound came from down to his right-front. The belt of scrub appeared to end about fifty paces further on so Roger crept forward.

  “Pssst! Roger!”

  Graham’s voice from right beside him made Roger jump in fright. He looked down. Graham was crouched in the bushes. He reached up and grabbed Roger’s sleeve and roughly pulled him down.

  “Get under cover before that sentry sees you,” Graham hissed.

  Roger went down on hands and knees. “What sentry?”

  “The one standing beside the track on the edge of the scrub,” Graham replied.

  “I didn’t see anyone.”

  “He’s there alright. It’s a wonder he didn’t see you. And he’s got a mate patrolling on the edge of those ferns.”

  Roger cautiously raised his head and peered through a bush. For a moment he could see no-one. Then a movement attracted his eye and he clearly saw a soldier dressed in the green uniform. The man had put the butt of his rifle down and was adjusting something on his webbing. Realization of how close he had come to disaster made a chill sweep over Roger. His mouth went dry and his heart began to pound with excitement.

  As they watched there was a faint rustling in the bushes and a second man appeared from their right-front. He was carrying a sub- machine gun. The soldier crossed the track and spoke to the sentry for a moment, then went on into the scrub.

  “Come on,” Graham whispered. He started crawling to their right. Roger followed, his mouth dry with fear.

  They crawled about twenty metres until Graham was sure the sentry could not see them. Then he rose and began ‘Ghost walking’, the rifle held ready. Roger did likewise. The pair angled down through thick scrub towards the sound of voices.

  Roger wanted to call Graham back. He knew that what they were doing was deadly dangerous and stupid. If they met a sentry unexpectedly it would be ‘shoot first, ask later’. But his fear battled with the fear of being ridiculed or thought a coward. And he was curious. Was it the Royal Guard hideout? ‘Maybe I will see the Prince,’ he thought.

  So he continued to creep along five paces behind Graham. There were a lot of dead twigs in the long grass but luckily things were so damp from the mist that these did not make too much noise when trodden on.

  After a few minutes they reached the edge of the scrub, about fifty metres to the right of the sentry post. Ahead of them was a mass of ferns about a hundred metres across. These were waist high and covered a gentle down-slope, ending at a clearing. Beyond the clearing was a dark wall of pine trees and rain forest. Low cloud drifted past, shrouding everything in mist. There was constant dripping of condensation from the leaves.

  They could not see into the clearing very well as several bushes and small trees obscured the view but they could see people, at least their top half. Roger was amazed. There looked to be a dozen or more, all in the green uniforms and most with guns. One, with the gold collar badges of an officer, was busily giving orders.

  Graham leaned close. “They look like they are packing up,” he whispered. “Let’s go down to the right and see if we can get a better look.”

  Roger didn’t agree and shook his head but Graham ignored this. He set off back into the scrub and began a wide semi-circle downslope. Roger reluctantly followed. They crawled most of the way, under bushes, between trees and through long grass.

  All the while Roger was straining eyes and ears not only for the first sign of a Royal Guard, but also for any snakes. He was sure the repulsive reptiles would love this environment: wet and damp; lots of frogs and small animals! And he was right. Once Graham hissed and pointed. Roger
looked, in time to see half a metre of black snake slither into a clump of grass, just like a hundred other clumps he had just crawled through. He shuddered and kept moving. Five minutes creeping brought them back to the edge of the ferns.

  Graham pointed down. A line of trampled ferns made a rough foot track. “The sentry on patrol. Keep alert,” Graham whispered. Roger nodded and looked to his left.

  His heart stood still. His voice choked up and he could only grunt as he grabbed at Graham. The soldier was coming their way and was not twenty paces away!

  “Back! Hide!” Graham hissed. Roger turned and crawled back behind a bush, using all his training and will power to resist the urge to run, or even to crawl quickly. As soon as he was behind the shrub he pressed himself into the long grass and leaf-mould. Rising terror drove the thought of snakes out of his mind. He curled up his legs and lay still.

  CHAPTER 27

  ON TOP OF THE HERBERTON RANGE

  Roger strained his ears to listen but all he seemed to hear was the surging and pounding of his own heartbeat. The crackle of breaking twigs and swish of ferns on cloth made him hold his breath. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement- the Kosarian soldier.

  Quite distinctly Roger could see the Royal Guard badge on the man’s cap. The soldier was walking slowly, eyes searching the bush, finger on the trigger of an Uzi. Just as he drew level with Roger he stopped. Roger felt fear shrivel his insides.

  A voice called from the clearing. The soldier abruptly turned and raised a hand in acknowledgement and walked quickly back the way he had come.

  Graham whispered, “Whew! That was close.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” Roger replied, his throat dry and constricted.

  “Not yet. Something’s going on. Let’s go closer,” Graham replied. He turned and crawled further into the scrub, then stood up and began walking cautiously along, moving parallel to the patch of ferns.

  After several minutes of careful stalking Graham stopped and pointed ahead. Roger joined him and cautiously peered through the bushes. On the edge of the clearing about fifty paces away were two mango trees. Parked under them were three Toyota Landcruisers. These were painted a dull green. Men were busy around them and even as the friends watched one vehicle started up and reversed into the clearing. Men climbed into the others and they were also started.

  The clearing was a rectangle of lawn. On the uphill side were a concrete fire place and some fruit trees. Roger looked around for the ruin. There was no sign of any walls. He surmised that the fireplace was all that remained of whatever building had once stood there. A short access track led through long grass past a line of tall hoop pines to a gravel road. Roger knew this was the same road they had camped beside the previous night. On the other side of the road was a wall of dark jungle.

  In the clearing stood a group of Royal Guards with their packs and webbing. Six of them Roger counted, including their officer. Even as he watched the soldiers began loading their gear into the backs of the vehicles. Two more soldiers came walking into view through the ferns on the opposite side of the clearing. Roger recognized the sentries.

  These collected their gear and clambered into one of the vehicles. The officer looked around, walked to the first vehicle and spoke briefly on a radio, then climbed in and slammed the door. With a growl of motors the three vehicles drove down to the road, turned right and accelerated. The road curved left and around the side of a small hill, jungle on the left, open forest on the right. In a minute the vehicles were out of sight over the crest, heading north.

  After waiting a few minutes Graham walked forward into the clearing, searching the ground. Roger followed more slowly, shaking with reaction and cold. Marks in the grass showed where a row of small tents had stood and there was some litter but it was all packets and tins of locally purchased food. There had been a fire in the old fireplace but it was now just grey ash.

  “Not much of an army,” Graham said derisively, although whether he was referring to their evident poor discipline; or their small numbers Roger wasn’t sure.

  “Eleven of them, including the officer,” Roger commented.

  “Twelve if you count the officer we caught. Not even a full platoon.”

  “But, if this is 6 Platoon there may be more in other camps,” Roger pointed out.

  Graham nodded. “That’s possible. But why two officers? I reckon this organization is only a cadre and they will bring it up to strength when they get back to Kosaria.”

  “What do we do now?” Roger asked.

  “Wait for the police I suppose. I don’t know what is delaying them. It’s ten to nine. That is two hours since Peter left,” Graham replied. He began walking towards the road.

  Roger followed. There was a spatter of raindrops and cloud swirled around them. He shivered and swore and put his hand up to turn up his collar. The hand hurt as the stinging tree bite was aggravated by the damp. “Strewth it’s cold! I wish I’d left my jacket on,” he grumbled.

  Graham laughed. “Well, we are on top of the Herberton Range,” he commented. “We are about as high as you can get in this part of the world. Eleven hundred metres. And Herberton is the coldest place in North Queensland.”

  “Yes, well... Aargh! Uuk!” Roger cried out. He scraped at his neck and stared aghast at the bright red blood drenching his fingers.

  Graham turned in alarm. Then he smiled. “Leech. Big bastard too,” he said. “Hold still and I’ll get him off. No. Too late. You’ve scratched him off.”

  “Urk! Ah yuk!” Roger cried as he flicked a bloated leech the size of his little finger onto the grass. With a savage grunt he ground it under his boot heel. Blood spurted to mix with the mud and grass.

  Graham smiled. “He had a good feed out of you mate. Hold still while I look at the bite,” he said. The leech bite did not hurt but it was bleeding profusely, bright red blood.

  Roger pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it over the bite. He wasn’t really worried. Over the years the friends had experienced so many leeches that they were just accepted as part of the deal. “I bet I picked it up in those ferns,” he commented. Ferns were a favourite habitat of the creatures.

  Graham flicked another leech off Roger’s shirt. “There's another of the little mongrels. Huh. Is that a vehicle?”

  “Yes. Coming this way. Must be the police,” Roger replied.

  The two boys stood beside the road and listened to the sound of the approaching motor. Roger dabbed at the bleeding and kept looking in amazement at how much blood there was on his handkerchief. Then an awful thought came to him.

  “What if it’s not the police?”

  “Strewth! I never thought of that. Quick, hide!”

  The boys ran back up the short track.

  “Here it comes. Get down!” Graham cried as he threw himself flat in the grass beside the track. Roger did likewise, aware that if the vehicle turned into the clearing they would probably be seen. In fact he was horrified to discover he could easily see the road through the grass. But it was too late to move. Heart thumping and mouth dry with fear he lay still.

  A dark green Land Rover roared across his field of vision, accelerating as it reached level ground. As the vehicle raced past Roger saw green shirts and green caps with gold badges: Kosarian Royal Guards!

  ‘And we were just standing in the middle of the road!’ he thought with a shudder. The vehicle tore through a puddle and hit several potholes so hard the men in the back all cried out as they were violently bounced around. The driver slowed, but only fractionally. The vehicle vanished over the crest heading north.

  Graham stood up. “Royal Guards. We would have looked a prize pair of geese if we had flagged them down.”

  Roger shuddered again and wiped his brow. He thrust his handkerchief away and began walking out onto the road.

  Graham called, “Where are you going?”

  “Something fell off that Rover when it hit those bumps,” Roger replied. He walked down past the line of pine trees to wher
e a bundle lay in the grass beside the road.

  “It’s a pack,” he called, kneeling to examine it.

  “They might come back to look for it,” Graham cautioned as he joined him. They both listened but the only sound was the wind in the trees and the spatter of rain drops.

  “You keep watch while I have a look,” Roger replied.

  “Not out in the open. In the jungle just there,” Graham said, pointing to his left.

  Roger lugged the pack over into the cover of the jungle and crouched to open it. Graham stood nearby, rifle at the ready. It was a soldier’s pack similar to their own. Inside the bottom half was a groundsheet and sleeping bag. “Someone is going to bloody cold tonight,” he said, very aware that he was starting to shiver himself. He opened the top flap.

  In a plastic bag were a field jacket, a dirty green shirt, spare socks and underpants and other personal items. Most had name tags sewn inside them. “The owner’s name is Zumpitch,” Roger read. He then looked inside one of the side pockets. It was full of tins of food. He pulled out the top one. “Braised Steak and Onions. I could go them. I’m starving.” He was also aware he had not yet had breakfast.

  Graham laughed quietly. “Anything else?”

  Roger opened the other side pocket and dug his hand in. There was a small pocket of some sort sewn on the inside. He pushed his fingers in and fished out a cloth cap.

  It was a blue forage cap, quite unlike those worn by the Royal Guards which had a peak and a brim, similar to the Austrian ‘Bergmutze’. This one was meant to be worn ‘fore and aft’ and on the front was pinned a red star. Roger fingered the metal star in puzzlement and looked at Graham.

  “This is odd. I thought these were Royal Guards but this is a communist badge. Aren’t the Communists their enemies?” he asked.

  Graham nodded. “Yes they are. Perhaps it is a souvenir; or a disguise; or used to mark the ‘enemy’ in training exercises?” he suggested.