Roger opened the cap and looked inside. “It’s got the same name sewn into it as the other clothes: Zumptich.”
Graham shrugged. “I don’t understand it. Keep it. The Inspector might find it useful.”
Roger opened his basic pouch, rolled the cap up and pushed it in. He then turned back to the pack and dug into it again. “A battery. Radio battery I reckon. And this.” He held up some papers in a plastic bag.
Graham crouched to look: “Let’s see what it is.”
Roger dried his fingers on the shirt then extracted the papers. Immediately a heavy rain drop went splat on them. Roger swore and hunched over to keep the papers under the brim of his slouch hat. “It’s another code book. And this looks like instructions on how to use some sort of radio.” He passed the printed booklet with its pages of diagrams to Graham.
“The bloke must be a sig,” Graham said.
“And here are some notes- in German though.” Roger held up two pages torn from a pocket notebook with handwriting on them.
Graham took them. “S. O. Is,” he said. “Signals Operating Instructions, from a set of Orders. Look. It says ‘5. Komd. und Sig.’ Command and Signals; same as in our ‘Headings for Orders’. And this, under ‘Funk’, that’s ‘Radio’. It must be a Net Diagram.”
Roger looked and saw that there were five small circles in a semi-circular pattern, all connected to a larger circle underneath with 34WF printed inside it. The circles on the ‘net’ were numbered: 34R, 34M, 34S, 34W, 34Z.
Graham said: “These will be their call signs. And these are the frequencies:- ‘Primary; 44.60; Alternate; 46.90’. And the code to use: ‘Ratsel Nummer Fier’.”
“Parole,” Roger read. “That’s French. It means- pass, or...”
“Password. It is the same word in German,” Graham cried. “Falke Festung:- Falcon’s Fortress!”
“Great. I hope we don’t get close enough to need to use that,” Roger replied. “What is this where it says: ‘Standort vom HQ’? Oh! I can read the next bit: ‘Karte:- Atherton 1:100 000. Grid Reference 324868. Is ‘Karte’ a map?”
“’Karte’? Yes. A chart or map,” Graham replied. “But I can’t remember what ‘Standort’ is.”
Roger felt a surge of excitement as he pulled out his map and unfolded it. “I can work it out. In our ‘Headings for Orders’ the heading would be ‘Location of Headquarters’. That’s it. We know where their HQ is.”
“Only until 12:00 hours today,” Graham replied, pointing to the timings.
Roger ran his finger over the map. “Here, where this road along the top of the mountain range dips down to cross the headwaters of the Walsh River. It’s only about four kilometres in a straight line.”
“Look how that road wriggles along the crestline. It would be twice that.”
Roger replied: “Eight kilometres. We can do that in two hours.”
Graham looked at him in surprise and grinned. “Is this really Roger ? Wanting to march eight Ks over the mountains in the rain?”
Roger ignored him. He was too excited. “Come on. We can make it in time.”
“Slow down Roger. Firstly there is no guarantee they will stay, now they know, or think, that the army is in the area. Secondly there are other roads by which they can leave. Look, there’s one that loops out to the west then comes back as two roads on either side of the Walsh. And there are those two going east to join up at the ‘Hope of Atherton’ mine. There’s another road that goes down the mountain to Atherton past the rifle range. And thirdly; we should wait for Peter and the police. We can’t just charge off into the jungle.”
“We could leave a note,” Roger suggested.
“They might not find it.”
“What if we put this pack in the middle of the road and pin the note to it?”
Graham shook his head. “Great! What if those Royal Guards come back looking for the pack? They get the note and come hunting us,” he said.
Roger felt a bit sheepish. He cast around for an idea. More than anything he wanted to follow the Royal Guards. “Could one of us go and one wait here?”
“No. You’ll just get bloody well shot. We were lucky earlier; and I was stupid. We should both walk back down to Stephen. He must be worried sick. It is only a ten or fifteen minute walk. Besides, he might be in trouble. That other bloke might have watched us leave and come back to rescue his boss.”
Roger was appalled as the implications of this sank in. Reluctantly he agreed: “OK. We’d better go back. What will we do with this pack?”
“Repack it and dump it beside the road. Keep those notes though.”
Roger added the notes to his left basic pouch, then repacked the pack. He then carried it out and placed it beside the road.
Graham grunted, then said: “OK, let’s go back to Stephen.” He looked along the road to the north, then clicked on the safety catch.
“Which way will we go?” Roger asked.
Graham pointed up through the ferns. “Down the ridge that leads from here to where we camped. That will be quicker and safer than walking along the road. That way we will keep well away from that sentry post they have marked on their map,” he said.
That brought an awful thought to Roger’s mind. “But what if Pete and the police drive into the sentry post? They could get ambushed. We need to be able to warn them,” he replied.
Graham nodded as he started walking. “You are right. So we will walk through the bush near the road and be ready to run out if we see a police vehicle. We know where the sentry post is and we will cut across that big loop in the road to by-pass it,” he said.”
So the boys walked back across the road past the grassy clearing. Then they entered the open bush on the left and went westwards down the slope. They kept the road just in sight. The walking was easy enough but the grass was wet and once again Roger found his boots and trousers soaked. But that didn’t worry him as much as fear of meeting more armed man, and of stepping on a snake.
Graham led and Roger thankfully followed in his footsteps. As always it seem further than the map indicated and they seemed to trudge through the bush for a long time, stepping over logs and detouring around trees and clumps of lantana.
After a few minutes walk they came out of the cloud. Away to the west Roger could see the next mountain. It looked to be much drier country, almost open savannah, unlike the thick scrub and ferns they were pushing through. The boys walked in silence one behind the other. From time to time Graham stopped to study his map. By then Roger was feeling tired and hungry.
After ten minutes walk Graham stopped and took a compass bearing then pointed to the left. “That sentry post should be a couple of hundred metres ahead of us. We will cut across the bend here,” he whispered.
Carefully the boys moved forward, now angling to the south. The slope became much steeper and the bush opened out to savannah woodland with almost no undergrowth. The road came into view again. It was a few hundred metres ahead and below them. Through the stands of tall trees Roger saw that they were now in the head of a forested valley.
Graham stoped and scanned the road and bush ahead of them, then back to his right. “The road junction with the sentry post should be back up there on a saddle on the edge of this open timber,” he whispered.
“Can they see us?” Roger replied, straining his eyes to study the trees behind his right shoulder.
Graham shook his head. “No, this small spur here should be blocking the view. Come on, let’s get down near the road in case the police arrive.”
Roger agreed. The whole time they had been cutting across the bend he had been worried about just that. So he hurried along behind Graham who contoured down the grassy ridge until he was just above the road. Here he paused and cradled the rifle in both arms while he studied the map.
Roger looked down at the gravel road ten metres below. “It will be quicker if we use the road,” he suggested.
Graham shook his head. “Yes, but not safer. We will look like a pair of prize id
iots if we run into that other fellow who ran way,” he replied as he slid the map back into his map pocket.
Roger could not answer. He could only grab at Graham’s sleeve and gape, his gaze riveted on the rifle barrel pointing directly at him:- a tiny black hole of the most startling clarity.
As he came to a standstill and Graham looked up in surprise a voice up to their left cried: “Halt!”
Fear seemed to root Roger to the spot. He instinctively put his hands up.
“Hand up!” the man’s voice commanded; a harsh, guttural voice. “Put der rifle down or you is ver dead!”
For a moment Roger thought Graham might try to fight back and a stab of pure dread lanced through him. To his mingled relief and regret Graham did not. With obvious reluctance he placed the rifle on the ground and raised his hands.
The man spoke again. “Move away from der rifle. Keep apart and keep der hands high,” he ordered.
Glancing fearfully at the man Roger recognized the uniform. “He is a royal guard,” he muttered to Graham.
The royal guard heard him. “Silence or I shoot!” he snarled.
Once the boys were well clear the royal guard halted them again and then moved to pick up the rifle. He studied it for a few seconds, a frown creasing his brow. “Ver you get zis rifle?” he queried.
Roger answered. “Off your lieutenant,” he replied. By this time he was shaking with fear as well as a cold.
“He der prisoner is?” the royal guard asked.
Graham answered before Roger could. “Yes. And you may as well surrender too because the police are on their way up here.”
Roger saw an anxious look on the man’s face. For a few more seconds they stood there, the royal guard obviously trying to decide what to do. As they did realization came to Roger. ‘This bloke is a sentry watching down the valley. We have just blundered into him by sheer chance,’ he thought. He studied the situation trying to come up with a plan that might keep them alive and set them free.
But no idea came to him and the man pointed down to the road. “Go zat vay,” he ordered.
Graham looked at him. “Your mates have gone. They have bugged out,” he replied.
“Bugged out?” the man queried.
“Gone. Run away,” Graham replied.
The man looked anxious then shook his head. “No matter. Ve go zat vay. Move!”
Reluctantly they did. They made their way down onto the road and were told to start walking up it. “And keep your hands on heads!”
So, even more reluctantly, they started marching up the road, the royal guard following at such a distance that there was no chance of jumping him. ‘And in this open bush there is no chance of making a run for it without being shot,’ Roger noted.
For the next five minutes they trudged up a slope that was much steeper than Roger had expected and the effort had him panting and perspiring. With every step his mind roved over the dreadful possibilities of the situation and he became so afraid he could hardly make himself keep putting one foot in front of the other. Even the effort of keeping his hands on his head almost became too much.
Another call to halt sounded from behind a tree at the bend ahead. Roger and Graham at once halted. Roger saw another rifle muzzle being aimed at him and felt his bowels weaken with terror. The royal guard behind them shouted back and a rapid conversation in a foreign language followed.
“Advance!” called the man behind the tree. Gasping with fear and over-exertion Roger did so, Graham keeping level beside him. They rounded the bend and came to a road junction. As they did Roger glanced out of the corner of his eye at the sentry and noted that he was also dressed in royal guard uniform. ‘We have really mucked this up,’ he thought miserably.
Then Roger saw a second royal guard kneeling behind a large tree on the other side of the road junction.
“Halt! Keep your hands up!” A hard-faced, middle-aged man appeared out of the scrub in front of them. On both sleeves of his green uniform shirt, just above the elbows, were pinned diamond shaped yellow metal badges with three black parallel lines across them. The man had a sub-machine gun of some sort, a wicked looking thing with an air-cooling casing around the barrel. Roger did not know what type it was but he could see that the man had his finger on the trigger.
The soldier pointed with his left hand. “You, take off your vebbink. Lie down over dere. Und you- over dere.”
The boys did as they were told. Roger was shaking with fright. He felt sick and was very conscious that the other soldier had his rifle aimed at his head from only a few metres away. A third appeared from behind a tree. The middle-aged soldier began to question the man who had captured them. Roger could not understand a word of what was said but got the impression that the middle-aged man was very angry and not at all impressed with the explanation the soldier gave him.
The middle-aged man then walked over and stood beside Graham. “Are dere any more off you?” he snarled in heavily accented English.
“Might be,” Graham replied.
Thud!
To Roger’s horror the man took a step forward and kicked Graham hard in the ribs. “Don’t be smart-alek bastard boy! I ask you. You tell me; or else.” He bent and peered at the badges on Graham’s sleeve, then turned and spoke rapidly to the other two soldiers in a foreign language. The only words Roger understood were ‘soldats’ and ‘kadets’.
The man spoke again and Roger heard boots crunch on the gravel near his head. He tensed for a blow.
“Put hands behind back,” he was ordered. He did so, his face then resting on the wet sand and stones. The second soldier quickly tied his wrists together with thin nylon cord. It hurt but Roger made no complaint. It was all he could do not to cry, so great was his fear.
Graham was similarly tied. Roger watched the royal guard do it. The man had a wicked looking sheath knife and used what looked like army green nylon cord. Graham was then searched and his pockets emptied. Roger suffered this next. He had had it done to him in training exercises but this had an entirely new and unpleasant dimension of fear, pain and indignity. The man hauled him roughly onto his back so that his weight was on his left arm and wrists. Then his pockets were emptied.
Roger heard the man grunt and say something. He held up Roger’s jelly beans and grinned, then popped one in his mouth and tossed another to the man with the SMG. The man wasn’t amused and snapped something back.
Maps and notebooks were collected. The compass tied to his pocket was left hanging. His protractor fell to the ground. The man with three stripes (a sergeant?) bent over Graham and put the muzzle of the SMG near his nose. Roger could see a muscle in Graham’s neck twitching, but his face looked calm enough.
“Now boy, answer me and tell zer truth or ve shoot you und zen ve ask der fat kaporal.”
Fat corporal! Roger felt a surge of hot resentment even in his state of near collapse.
The man asked: “Are zere any more of you?”
“Yes,” Graham replied.
“How many?”
“Four. No. Three. One has gone to get the police.”
“Der police! Vy?”
“Because we saw you people.”
“So? Ve could be anyvon.”
Graham shook his head. “We know who you are.”
“Oh ja! Who are ve den?”
“Kosarian Royal Guards.”
The man’s face was a picture of genuine astonishment. Then it darkened into anger and worry. “How you know zat eh boy? You are kadet Ja?”
“Yes, I am a cadet.”
“How you know?”
“We. Roger there, pulled Captain Krapinski’s body out of Tinaroo Dam. And we helped the police search for clues as to who killed him and why.”
Again the man’s face registered astonishment, even shock. “Krapinski! You know ver he is?”
The other men began talking rapidly in their own language with Krapinski’s name cropping up several times. The man doing the questioning was Feldwebel Stegberg or something Roger
deduced.
The feldwebel grabbed Graham’s shirt front and spoke harshly to him: “Vot is dis about Krapinski’s body? You say his body vos in a dam? You mean he is dead?”
Graham nodded. “Yes. We pulled his body out of Lake Tinaroo four days ago. He had been shot.”
“Shot! By who? By you?”
“No. By Dorkoffsky.”
“Dorkoffsky!”
The man seemed even more astonished. Again the men began talking in their own language. The feldwebel turned to Graham again, holding the muzzle of the SMG right under his nose.
“Zut! How you know Dorkoffsky? How you know he shoot Krapinski?”
“Because we were there when the police arrested him and the other KSS men,” Graham replied.
“KSS!”
The feldwebel sprang to his feet in agitation. The four men almost gabbled at each other, ‘KSS’ punctuating every sentence. The man knelt beside Graham again. He was clearly both very worried and confused.
“Vot you know about der KSS?”
“There were five of them searching for something in the jungle in the Danbulla State Forest,” Graham replied. He quickly described their encounter. Now all four of the royal guards crouched listening and the SMG was no longer pointed at him. Roger watched the men’s faces. He could see they had received a real shock. Their muscles were quivering with tension. When Graham described the KSS badge Roger had found the men all hissed involuntarily and Roger saw the feldwebel’s fingers fidgeting nervously with the SMG. The royal guards had another rapid discussion in their own language.
Then the feldwebel went and picked up the rifle Graham had been carrying. Again he gasped in astonishment and turned it over to look at its serial number.
“Ver you get zis?” he snarled at Graham.
“From Leutnant Witorski,” Graham said, pronouncing the rank in the German way.
Roger wouldn’t have thought the men were capable of further astonishment but they gasped and gabbled at each other. He wished Graham wouldn’t tell them so much and tried to catch his eye to frown his disapproval. Not only was he very afraid but he was also getting very cold and uncomfortable.
Behind Mt. Baldy Page 28
