“Yes Your Highness.”
“How do they know to come here?”
Prince Peter turned to Graham: “Yes. How do the police know to come here, in the jungle? We only arrived yesterday.”
As Graham explained the secret message mentioning Concentration Place Cloud and the grey Mercedes with four men in it Roger studied the prince. He couldn’t see any family resemblance between him and the princess. Roger now noted that the prince wore a dark green shirt under his field jacket. The shirt had white collar tabs and pinned to them were gold and silver badges. Real gold and silver he decided, from the way they reflected the watery sunlight. The badges were a crown surrounded by oak or laurel leaves.
Prince Peter asked, “Yes, but how did that tell you where Sammelplatz Wolke was?”
“Because of Leutnant Witorski,” Graham replied.
“Ah! Witorski. How did he come to tell you?”
“He didn’t sir. He broke his leg and got stuck in a cattle grid. He was unconscious. We got him out and gave him first aid. When we searched him we found a radio signal and his map, which was marked.”
Colonel von Krapnoff spoke loudly in his own language, a curse or expletive from the sound of it. He bent and pulled maps and papers out of Graham’s pockets and quickly sorted them. While he did this Adjutant Stiltz gave rapid instructions to the other captain and the three senior NCOs.
“You and Stegborz had better get moving. Take the western route. Hauptman Ritnik, would you please escort the princess to her vehicle. You and Unteroffizier Klotovich take her down to Atherton. Go now. Zumpitch, you remain with us.”
The feldwebel who had captured them went to his vehicle and came back. He tossed a pack at the feet of the solid, square-faced feldwebel: “Your pack Stabb,” he explained. “We found it lying on the road.”
‘So he is a Staff Sergeant,’ Roger decided. Zumpitch grunted thanks and walked forward, picked the pack up and took it to the green Land Rover. He spoke to the signaller there who climbed out with a rifle and took over guarding the two cadets. Zumpitch climbed in and placed the earphones on his head.
The good-looking captain led the princess to her vehicle. Roger experienced a twinge of envy. Then the fear swamped back as Colonel von Krapnoff began to snarl. He had found the radio signal taken off Witorski and was waving the paper at Graham.
“Did you read this?”
“Yes. We had enough German between us,” Graham replied. Roger wished he had lied.
“So it was you and not soldiers who broke up our ambush?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“You interfering little swine! I should have you shot! What gives you the right to interfere in our affairs?” Colonel von Krapnoff shouted.
“I’ll tell you what right,” Graham replied loudly. “The Kosarian Deputy Premier is a guest in this country and you people have no right to commit murder here. It would make Australia look pretty poor. Besides, most of you have been living here as refugees and migrants for years and I think that it is a very poor way to repay Australia. So take your dirty bloody civil war somewhere else!”
Colonel von Krapnoff said nothing for a moment but he was clearly very angry. Prince Peter looked abashed and so did Stiltz. They began to argue in their own language and Roger guessed there had been a strong disagreement over the ambush plan.
While this was going on commands had been given and soldiers had been emerging from the jungle and climbing into vehicles. Engines started and vehicles began driving off. Two went on along the road northwards including the white 4WD. Three others, including the Land Rover they had travelled in, drove past and turned left along a side track. That left only the Land Rover next to them and a Toyota Landcruiser in front of that. Roger scratched around in his memory and decided there was still another vehicle back at the last road junction the other side of the Walsh.
‘Eight vehicles with four or five in each. That is about forty men,’ he calculated. He now looked around. There did not appear to be any soldiers left in the surrounding jungle. Was there a chance of escape? Not really he decided. There were still the prince, the colonel and Adjutant Stiltz, all with pistols, plus the guard standing on their right aiming his rifle at them, Zumpitch sitting in the back of the rover using the radio but watching them, and another soldier acting as sentry further up the track.
As the sound of the departing vehicles died away the officers ended their argument at the insistence of Prince Peter. “We must get going,” he said
“What about this pair?” Colonel von Krapnoff asked.
The moment Roger had been dreading had arrived.
“We should shoot the interfering little shits!” rasped Zumpitch. Roger went ice-cold. Terror constricted his stomach and chest. Zumpitch had climbed out of the Rover and held a sub-machine gun which he pointed at Roger’s head. The muzzle seemed to grow larger and Roger wished he could faint. His skin crawled as he tensed in terrified anticipation.
Zumpitch gestured with his left hand. “Get in the vehicle Lurkoff,” he ordered. The soldier guarding them moved to obey.
At that moment Prince Peter called out. “Stop Stabbs Feldwebel. There will be no murder,” he commanded.
“But Highness they know too much. We cannot let them go,” Zumpitch replied in a surly tone. Roger was breathing very rapidly and felt panic rising but he found his voice: “The police already know almost everything. Our friends have told them. Killing us won’t change that.”
Adjutant Stiltz spoke up: “The boy is right. We gain nothing by revenge; and would lose much more; our moral strength.”
“There will be no murder,” Prince Peter repeated. “They come with us as prisoners. They can...” He stopped and spun round. From the north came the unmistakable rattle of automatic weapon fire. “The princess! An ambush! But... but... surely the police would not?” he gasped. He went very pale.
Colonel von Krapnoff stepped across and called to the signaller who was now back in the Rover. “Call Hauptman Ritnik. Find out what is happening.”
“Sir!” the sig replied. “He has just called us. He only said ‘Ambush’ and ‘Partisans’.”
“Partisans!” the three officers cried simultaneously. They looked at each other in consternation, then back in the direction of the shooting. This sounded about a kilometre away and had become sporadic: occasional bursts and odd single shots.
“Call Oberleutnant Markoff. Get his group back,” Colonel von Krapnoff ordered, as he walked towards the Rover.
“Partisans!” Prince Peter cried again. “How did they know we were here?” He turned to face Stiltz, who shrugged.
A ghastly thought had swum up through the murk of Roger’s mind. Without thinking he voiced it.
“Treachery.”
“Eh!” They all turned to stare at him.
“They were told. By radio.”
“By radio! But who?” Colonel von Krapnoff cried, turning an accusing glare at the signaller who looked appalled.
“Zumpitch,” Roger said, looking up at the man.
Zumpitch’s face went hard and he spluttered, “What rubbish! You lie boy!”
Adjutant Stiltz looked from one to the other, then asked Roger, “Why do you make that accusation kadet?”
“Because we found his pack on the road,” Roger explained, jerking his head towards Zumpitch. “In it was a.........”
Zumpitch let out a snarl. He suddenly crouched, swinging the sub-machine gun up as he did.
Tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat!
The gun rattled. Cartridge cases flicked into the air. Adjutant Stiltz just had time to push Prince Peter aside but the burst took him full in the body. He and Prince Peter went down in a sprawling heap on the muddy road.
Colonel von Krapnoff let out a yell of rage and clawed at his pistol. Zumpitch swivelled the gun and fired again. Bullets slammed the colonel back against the vehicle. He fell in a crumpled, bleeding heap. Beyond Zumpitch’s legs Roger saw the signaller, his mouth open in shock. Zumpitch fired
again. The bullets smashed into the man, knocking him backwards against the radio. Bullets whanged off metal and punched into the set.
As though in slow motion Roger saw the sentry further up the track turning to shoot and Prince Peter scrambling to his feet. Zumpitch swung the gun towards the prince. Roger sprang up, cannoning into Zumpitch. The gun went off. Roger saw Prince Peter dive flat.
Zumpitch swore and swung the gun. It struck Roger a sharp blow on the side of his face. He fell sideways. ‘Dead!’ he thought. ‘I’m dead! I shouldn’t have done that. Now he will kill me for sure.’ Yet he knew instinctively that he had no option. A man like Zumpitch would not leave any witnesses.
But Zumpitch turned back to face the sentry and sprang sideways as the man’s rifle cracked. Zumpitch fired a burst at the sentry who twitched and rolled behind the Toyota. By then Prince Peter was on his hands and knees. He scrambled frantically for cover behind the front of the Land Rover. Zumpitch fired and missed, bullets smacking through the steel. Then his gun stopped and he swore.
Zumpitch tore off the empty magazine and dodged for cover behind the Rover as the sentry bobbed up to shoot. Zumpitch scrabbled in the back of the Rover and pulled out another magazine. In a moment he had clicked it in, cocked the gun and come up firing.
The bullets punched through the Toyota. Glass broke. Ricochets screamed off into the jungle. Acrid smoke hung in the air. The sentry cried out and went down. Zumpitch stepped to the left to fire around the other side of the Rover.
Crack!
There was a single pistol shot. Zumpitch staggered back and ducked behind the Rover. He began firing through it.
Thud!
There was Graham!
He had struggled to his feet and run forward the slam into Zumpitch. The shock slammed Zumpitch hard into the back of the vehicle and they both went down in a struggling, swearing heap.
Zumpitch tried to roll free. He kicked and beat at Graham with the gun. Graham tried to shield himself but his hands were still tied behind his back.
“Roger!” he cried.
Roger scrambled up, senses still reeling from the blow he had received. He ran at Zumpitch, yelling as he did. Zumpitch saw him and rolled on his back. Roger saw the sub-machine gun swing in his direction. He was three paces away! ‘I won’t make it in time!’ his mind screamed.
Crack!
Zumpitch twitched and flopped down. Roger stomped on the hand holding the gun, gaping at the blood spurting from the man’s skull.
Zumpitch lay still. Roger looked up and saw Prince Peter crouched at the back of the vehicle, a smoking pistol in his hand.
The two stared at each other. Roger gasped for air. The pistol swung to point at him. ‘Dead this time,’ he thought. ‘Well, at least I died fighting!’
CHAPTER 30
DUTY FIRST
Roger’s vision blurred. His heart thumped wildly. He was aware that the sentry had emerged from behind the Toyota and was walking towards them, but he was staggering and obviously hurt. Then Roger saw things with total clarity. Prince Peter was wounded too. Blood was soaking the shirt over his left shoulder.
Roger stood up. “You’ve been hit sir,” he said.
A vehicle was coming up the slope from the Walsh. ‘More royal guards, coming to investigate the shooting,’ Roger thought. He considered escaping but at that moment the sentry dropped his rifle, fell to his knees and pitched forward onto the track. Roger pointed. Prince Peter nodded and lowered the pistol. He looked hard at Roger and said: “You saved my life. Thank you for that.”
The vehicle ground to a stop. Roger looked and saw, with surprise, that it was a white Queensland Police Landcruiser. From the passenger seat Inspector Sharpe sprang out, pistol in hand. DS Crowe jumped out from the other side. From the back appeared Detective West. In the vehicle were a uniformed constable as driver, plus Peter and Stephen.
For a tense moment nothing was said. The police levelled their guns at Prince Peter. They appeared dumbfounded by the scene. Inspector Sharpe then spoke: “Christ! There’s been a battle alright. It certainly sounded like one. You, drop the gun!”
Prince Peter did as he was told.
Inspector Sharpe gestured to his men, who were joined by the constable. “Collect the guns and check these bodies.”
Roger suddenly felt weak at the knees. Nausea welled up and he thought he was going to faint. He knelt down and found he was beside his webbing. Graham lay nearby, his nose bleeding but a grin on his face.
Moving as though in a dream Roger felt in his webbing and extracted his pocket knife. He opened it and walked over to Graham.
“You OK mate? Roll on your side so I can cut you free.”
A minute later Graham was standing up rubbing his wrists and alternately cursing and moaning. Peter and Stephen joined them and helped the police collect the guns. They checked them ‘safe’ and lay them in a line along the side of the road. Stephen then leaned on a tree and vomited.
Roger blinked and rubbed his eyes. He looked around. There seemed to be bodies everywhere. And blood. Lots of blood, all mixing with the mud and even dripping from the back of the Land Rover.
Inspector Sharpe walked over. “Are there any more?” he asked, his pistol still pointing at Prince Peter.
Roger shook his head. “No sir, but some might return along that track. Three vehicles and about fifteen of them. I don’t know if the signaller had time to call them back or not.” He indicated the crumpled form in the back of the Rover.
Inspector Sharpe looked around. “Who are they? Who are you?” this last directed at Prince Peter.
“I am Prince Peter the sixth of Kosaria,” Prince Peter replied with stiff dignity. He was holding his arm and was clearly in pain.
Inspector Sharpe blinked and bit his lip. DS Crowe muttered: “Bloody hell!”
“What on earth happened?” Inspector Sharpe asked. He shook his head in disbelief, then turned and snapped: “West! Get on the radio to Headquarters and tell them to get reinforcements and a couple of ambulances up here fast.”
Roger remembered something. “Sir, if they come from Atherton up the road behind Mt Baldy tell them to watch out for Partisans. They just ambushed the princess and her escort up that way.” He pointed north along the road.
“The princess? Partisans? What the devil is going on? What princess?”
Prince Peter replied. “Princess Mareena,” he replied. “She is my cousin.” He swallowed and looked very distressed.
“And who are these bloody Partisans who have ambushed her?”
“Communists,” Prince Peter replied.
“Tell me what is going on!” Inspector Sharpe demanded. “Bell and Bronsky, get to work with first aid on that joker. He’s still alive.” He indicated the sentry. “Crowe, check who else is alive. Leave the dead ones where they are till we can photograph them. Constable, get a camera and get to work.”
Prince Peter suddenly swayed on his feet. Roger stepped forward and steadied him. “Sit down sir. Let me look at the wound. Graham, get your First Aid kit.”
Roger helped Prince Peter to remove his jacket and sat him on the front fender of the police vehicle. Inspector Sharpe walked around, shaking his head in disbelief. He then came back and Graham outlined what had happened while Roger opened the Prince’s shirt and examined the wound.
“The bullet has gone right through sir, er Your Majesty, er..”
Prince Peter gave a wry smile: “Your Highness,” he corrected gently. “But don’t worry about it. I am not your prince. And I am very much in your debt. You saved my life.”
Roger felt embarrassed and shrugged. He pretended to concentrate on bandaging the wound with two field dressings Graham handed him. “I don’t like people who are disloyal,” Roger said. Actually he had began to have severe doubts about what had happened, wondering if he was to blame for all the killing by speaking while Zumpitch was there with the sub-machine gun.
Prince Peter nodded and winced with pain. “How did you know Zumpitch was a tr
aitor?” he asked.
“The radio. He went to the Land Rover and took over on the radio just after your people received their orders. Feldwebel Stegborz had given him back his pack just before. That reminded me. We found Zumpitch’s pack on the road, Graham and I. It had fallen off a vehicle. We looked inside and found signal codes and things so we knew he was a signaller. And we also found a blue cloth cap with a red star on it and his name inside. We didn’t know what it meant but the moment the signaller called ‘Partisans’ I realized.”
“This blue cap, you are sure? Where is it?” Prince Peter asked.
“In my left basic pouch. Here Graham, take over and wash off the blood. It’s only a flesh wound sir,” Roger said. He turned and walked over to his webbing. The others had gathered to listen and watched in silence as he opened the basic pouch. As he touched the cloth Roger wrinkled his nose in distaste. The cloth now seemed tainted by the treason of its owner. Shaking his head he took the cap out and unrolled it and took it to the prince.
Prince Peter held the cap across both hands and looked at the badge and then the name inside. He gave a sigh and shook his head sadly. “Two traitors. And in such a small group! All our plans turned to ashes; and such good people dead as a result!” he cried, gesturing to where Colonel von Krapnoff and Adjutant Stiltz lay sprawled on the muddy track.
Roger didn’t know what to say. He shrugged and began to shiver. And then tears came. He turned away and went and leaned on a tree and sobbed. What ugly things humans can be!
The others pretended to ignore him. Graham went on bandaging Prince Peter’s shoulder. Peter and Stephen continued with First Aid on the sentry. He had a bullet in the chest and another in the leg.
DS Crowe looked up from where he bent over Colonel von Krapnoff. . “This bloke’s still alive boss,” he called. “But he needs medical help real fast or he is a goner.”
“Any others?” Inspector Sharpe asked.
The constable called from the back of the Rover: “This bloke might live if he gets to a doctor. He’s got at least three slugs in his chest and he is coughing up blood.”
Behind Mt. Baldy Page 30
