Detective West climbed out of the police Toyota. “Can't get anyone on the radio sir. Too much screening.” He indicated the jungle. “And we are down in this valley. We might get through when we get up on the crestline.”
Inspector Sharpe rubbed his jaw, then gave rapid orders. “Right, clear the back of our vehicle Constable. Crowe, check if any of these vehicles work. Prince, do any of your radios work on civilian frequencies?”
Prince Peter shook his head. “No, they are military radios on our own frequencies.”
“Too bad. Roger, sit with the prince, over there. West, help Bell and Bronsky to load these three wounded men into our vehicle. You will drive. Crowe, you stay here. Constable, you go in the back with the two worst casualties. Stick that guy in the front and strap him in.”
“What about the prince?” DS Crowe asked.
“He can wait. He won’t die from that. We must get these others to hospital as quickly as possible. Come on, move!”
Stephen scrambled into the vehicle and tossed out their packs to make room.
“Blankets,” Peter suggested. “From these packs.” He indicated gear belonging to the royal guards.
“Good idea,” Graham agreed. He bent to Zumpitch’s pack and hauled out his sleeping bag. Peter and the policemen lifted Colonel von Krapnoff into the back of the police vehicle and laid him down. Graham placed a pack under his head and tucked the sleeping bag over him. The wounded signaller went in beside him and was also made comfortable. The sentry was lifted into the front passenger seat and the constable clambered in the back.
Inspector Sharpe pointed along the road. “OK, get going West. And get more people up here ASAP. And tell those Federal buggers, that bloody Commander Simkins, what is going on,” he ordered.
Roger stepped forward as the vehicle’s engine was started. “Sir, don’t drive on that way. That is where those partisans set their ambush. They may still be there and could kill them.”
Inspector Sharpe looked up the track in disbelief.
Prince Peter joined them. “Believe me sir. Don’t go that way. These are desperate men. They will not hesitate to shoot policemen,” he said.
“OK. Turn around West and go back the way we came. Blast! That adds half an hour to the driving time. Get going!” Inspector Sharpe cried.
The vehicle went forward to the track junction where it did a three point turn. Rain began to fall so that it needed its windscreen wipers by the time it roared past on its way back.
As the vehicle went slowly down the muddy slope towards the Walsh River crossing Inspector Sharpe turned to Prince Peter. “Now sir; you are under arrest for at least a dozen offences. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say may be taken down and used in evidence. Do you understand? Do you speak English well enough?”
Prince Peter nodded. “Yes I speak English. I have lived most of my life in England and went to school there. I understand. I have only been in Australia for a week. Please, may I have my jacket?” he replied.
Roger looked and saw that Prince Peter was quite blue with cold around his mouth. He then realized he was shivering himself, although he guessed as much from shock as the lowering temperature. He passed Prince Peter his jacket and helped him to put it on. Then he found his own pack amongst the litter of gear.
Inspector Sharpe nodded agreement. “Good idea,” he said. Both he and DS Crowe were only dressed in grey business suits which now looked quite incongruous in the jungle. “See if you can find me a raincoat,” he asked. He put his pistol on safe and slipped it into his shoulder holster.
Graham shrugged on his own jacket and then scooped up his maps and notebooks from where Colonel von Krapnoff had dropped them. After stuffing them into a plastic bag he asked: “Why didn’t you bring more vehicles sir?”
“We did. We had five vehicles including an ambulance but the others weren’t four wheel drive and couldn’t get along that road. And we didn’t expect to run into a full-scale war!”
Roger pulled on his field jacket. Stephen passed Inspector Sharpe a grey plastic raincoat and Peter gave one to DS Crowe. The rain grew heavier and the temperature plummeted noticeably. Inspector Sharpe buttoned up the coat and turned to Prince Peter again. “Now sir; do you have any identification?”
“Yes. In my briefcase. In that vehicle,” Prince Peter replied.
“Get it Crowe.”
Roger zipped up his jacket and turned to watch as the DS looked in the vehicle. A movement further up the track caught his eye. It was a green clad figure running, or rather staggering, towards them. “Sir! Inspector!” Roger called, pointing.
“What the devil?” Inspector Sharpe cried, whipping out his pistol.
The man was a Kosarian Royal Guard and even at fifty paces they could see that his face was covered with blood. He was clutching a pistol and Roger saw that he was an officer.
As the wounded officer got closer DS Crowe crouched behind the front vehicle and levelled his automatic.
“Halt! Stop or I shoot!” he yelled.
The officer stumbled, then lurched to a standstill. He wiped his sleeve over his face to clear the blood from his eyes. He blinked and stared at the litter of bodies and equipment and the bullet riddled vehicles. A look of horror crossed his face.
DS Crowe called again: “Drop the gun or I shoot! This is the police.”
Prince Peter stepped forward: “Hauptman Ritnik, drop your gun,” he called.
“Prinz Peter?” Hauptman Ritnik called, swaying as he stood there.
“Yes. It is me. Do as the police command.”
Hauptman Ritnik dropped his pistol and with a visible effort stood up straight. He appeared to focus his eyes, then marched forward as though on parade. He halted in front of the Prince, clicked his heels and saluted; then bowed from the waist.
“Your Highness, I have failed in my duty. The Partisans have captured the Princess Mareena. They are headed this way. You must leave at once. I will delay them,” he said.
With an obvious effort Hauptman Ritnik straightened up, opened his mouth to speak again then slid to the ground unconscious. Roger stared aghast at the blood welling from what appeared to be a huge bullet wound in Hauptman Ritnik’s left temple. He saw he had also been shot in the left forearm.
Prince Peter knelt in the mud and cradled Hauptman Ritnik’s head in his lap. Very tenderly he wiped mud and blood from his face. “Please help me.”
Roger and Peter both knelt beside him. Graham moved to watch up the track. Stephen just stood staring alternately at Hauptman Ritnik’s wounds and at the dead bodies nearby.
Inspector Sharpe pocketed his gun. “Crowe, do any of these vehicles work? Try them quickly.” He walked over and picked up Hauptman Ritnik’s pistol and checked it, then thrust it into the pocket of his raincoat.
DS Crowe climbed into the brown Toyota but at once got out again. “Dieso everywhere sir. Looks shot to buggery. The fuel tank is riddled,” he said. He walked over and handed a black leather attache case to Inspector Sharpe, then went to the Rover. A turn of the key produced no response. He lifted the bonnet. “Batteries smashed. Wires cut and radiator holed,” he called.
Roger was only dimly aware of this, most of his attention being concentrated on Hauptman Ritnik’s wounds. The rain was causing the blood to smear and run in long trickles down his throat and into his shirt. Roger grabbed his water bottle and a handkerchief and quickly swabbed the wound on the temple. He could hardly bring himself to touch the blood-matted hair.
“Not as bad as it looks,” Peter muttered. “The skull might be cracked but the bullet hasn’t gone in. He has only been creased.”
“Be concussion probably,” Roger replied. He applied more water and dabbed. Hauptman Ritnik moaned and rolled his head from side to side. Peter tore open a field dressing and deftly bandaged it around Hauptman Ritnik’s head.
“He will live?” Prince Peter asked.
Peter nodded. “I think so sir. He may have internal bleeding and an impacted fractur
e but if we get him to hospital quickly he should be alright,” he replied. He turned to look at the arm wound.
“Is he related to the General Ritnik sir?” Roger asked.
“You mean Field Marshal Ritnik who died in the great retreat of 1915? Yes. Yes, he is. He is the great grandson,” Prince Peter replied.
Inspector Sharpe came over. “I am sorry but neither of the vehicles work. We are going to have to walk. I have your briefcase. Is there anything else we should take so these partisans don’t get it?”
“What about Hauptman Ritnik? We cannot leave him,” Prince Peter replied.
“We will have to make a stretcher and carry him. Can you cadets do that?”
“Easily sir. Pete, Steve, start making a stretcher, fast,” Graham ordered.
Roger sat back on his heels and wiped rain from his face. He felt distinctly queasy. A second bullet had lodged in Hauptman Ritnik’s arm causing a horrible purple swelling. Biting his lip to suppress the nausea Roger set to work bandaging it. “Bugger the rain!” he muttered.
Hauptman Ritnik opened his eyes. For a moment he looked puzzled, then alarmed. “Your Highness, you must get away from this place. The partisans thought I was dead and I overheard them talking. The princess is to be tortured to reveal the secret but their real mission is to kill you.”
“How many are there?” Inspector Sharpe asked.
“I counted five. But they were talking on a radio to at least one other group.”
“How soon before they get here?”
“Not long. I don’t know. They ambushed us at the top of the mountain, a log across the track. It was so unexpected. But they knew where the princess was sitting and did not hit her. They stepped out of the jungle and fired at point blank range. I would like to know how they knew we were coming.”
Prince Peter looked grim. “Treachery. Zumpitch radioed them,” he replied bitterly.
“Zumpitch! He was...”
Inspector Sharpe cut in: “How soon before these partisans arrive?”
Hauptman Ritnik thought: “I crawled out of the wreck. They saw me and chased me. I shot one. Two others followed me but very cautiously. I suppose they must be expected at any minute.”
“How are they armed? What do they look like?” Inspector Sharpe asked.
“They are in partisan uniforms: brown jacket and trousers, blue cap, red star. They have sub-machine guns; PPSh 1941s, or AK47s,” Hauptman Ritnik replied.
“In bloody uniform! Here in Australia! The cheeky bastards,” DS Crowe expostulated.
Inspector Sharpe tugged at his chin thoughtfully. “They mean business then,” he said. “How is that stretcher coming along?”
“Not long sir,” Peter called. He had hacked down two small trees and was busy pushing them through the belts and straps of four sets of webbing. Stephen helped and tied the end sets on.
Inspector Sharpe looked anxiously up the track and checked his pistol. “You keep watch up the road young Kirk; and get under cover.”
“Yes sir,” Graham replied. He moved to the far side of the track to get a better view along it. As he did he glanced down to his right towards the Walsh River. His mouth opened and he pointed. Roger saw Graham throw himself flat. Then he jumped with fright as an automatic weapon fired a burst from behind him.
CHAPTER 31
INTO THE JUNGLE
“Partisans!” Graham yelled. He rolled sideways and scrabbled in the wet leaves. His hands closed on one of the rifles placed there. Several more shots cracked past or thudded into the trees beside him. With frantic haste he brought the weapon to the shoulder, clicked off the safety catch and pulled the trigger.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Graham snapped three shots, then rolled the other way.
Near panic seized Roger. He dived flat, his whole being flooded with terror. So did the others, except DS Crowe who went into a crouch and squeezed off two shots from his pistol in quick succession.
“Into the trees!” Inspector Sharpe cried. “That way!” He grabbed Prince Peter and hauled him into the jungle. Roger scrambled on hands and knees behind the nearest tree. Graham sprinted across, grabbing his webbing as he passed.
Through eyes blurry from fear Roger looked anxiously around. He looked back and saw that the Hauptman was crawling to join them. “Hauptman Ritnik!” he cried. Fearful lest he be hit again Roger scuttled out and hauled him under cover.
Bullets began to thud into trees around them. One struck the Land Rover with a metallic whang! Others cracked past along the road. Roger could see no partisans but he could hear shouted orders from about fifty metres down the slope. By then his heart was hammering hard and he was almost frantic with fear.
Inspector Sharpe turned to Graham, who now lay facing down the track in a fire position behind a tree. “How many?” he queried.
“I saw three sir. But I reckon twice that many from the sound,” Graham replied.
Inspector Sharpe looked around at them. “Is everyone OK? Is anyone hit? No? Good. OK, let’s get out of here. Crowe, you lead. Go that way,” he instructed.
“Sir,” Graham called. “That is west. Atherton is the other way.”
“I bloody well know that. But it is too dangerous to cross back over that road; and we can’t go north because there are more of the bastards that way. Now move! I will come second, then the prince. You kids help the Hauptman. Kirk, bring up the rear. And for Christ’s sake don’t shoot anyone if you can avoid it.”
“Particularly us,” Peter added.
Graham sniffed at this implied doubt as to his ability and moved into a kneeling fire position. He placed the rifle down and hauled on his webbing, then picked the rifle up again and began to carefully scan the jungle.
Prince Peter pointed back. “My briefcase!” he cried in alarm.
“I have it,” Inspector Sharpe replied.
“Please, I beg of you, do not let the communists get it. If they do, many good people will lose their lives,” Prince Peter said.
Inspector Sharpe nodded. “More secrets eh? OK. Crowe, get moving. Take it carefully. Angle up hill and away from the road.”
There were more shouted orders down in the jungle and Roger heard the sounds of men crashing through the undergrowth as fast as they could force a passage. The sounds were coming up hill towards them and also spreading out to their left. ‘If we don’t move fast we will be cut off!’ he thought. A sour taste of bile rose in his throat as the fear gripped him. ‘Trapped!’
Impelled by a desperate urge to get away Roger rose and helped Hauptman Ritnik to his feet. The Hauptman was so unsteady that Roger feared he would collapse but he started walking after the others. Roger followed. A glance behind him showed Graham following. Twenty paces brought them to the side road going west. It was an old timber road but had been used recently and was a clear path. It curved around the gentle slope.
Inspector Sharpe pointed along it. “Get out on this track. Go left and run,” he called. “Don’t stop till I say; then get off the track on the right. Come on, move! It is our only chance to make a break. Go!”
They burst out onto the track and began to run. There were yells from down in the jungle to their left and a sub-machine gun rattled. Roger heard the bullets thudding into trees and one snipped a leaf just in front of his face. His whole body twitched and he ran faster than he had ever run before. He quickly caught up with Hauptman Ritnik, who was starting to stagger.
“Come on sir,” he called and grabbed the Hauptman’s arm.
There were three loud gunshots close behind. Heart in mouth Roger glanced back. It was Graham firing into the jungle from the hip as he ran.
They pounded around the curve, boots squelching in the wet leafmould. The group began to string out as Hauptman Ritnik and Roger slowed down. Inspector Sharpe looked back and called: “Halt! Hold it!” As they slowed he pointed up the slope to the right. “In there, quick!”
DS Crowe pushed his way into the undergrowth and the others followed. Graham stopped and went
into a kneeling fire position behind a tree and waited till they were all off the track.
Bang!
Back along the track there was a loud yell of fear followed by voluble shouting in Serbo-Croat.
“That’ll slow the mongrels down,” Graham cried. Roger glanced back and saw him dash into the jungle behind him, a grin all over his face.
By then they were all panting for breath and the vines and ‘wait-a-while’ quickly combined to slow progress to a walk. To Roger it was like all of his worst nightmares. He wanted to run but his boots felt like they were made of lead, and vines kept snatching at his ankles and legs to entangle and trip.
After a few frantic minutes, when they had gone about fifty metres Inspector Sharpe called a halt: “OK. Stop! Now everyone keep quiet and listen. No talking,” he whispered.
They all crouched or leaned on trees, sweat pouring down their faces and chests heaving. Roger’s throat felt dry and hot. He wanted to be sick. He was very scared.
Voices were still calling out behind them, from on the track they had just left. Inspector Sharpe knelt down and said quietly to Prince Peter: “What are they saying?”
Prince Peter shook his head and beckoned Hauptman Ritnik. “My Serbo-Croat is not very good. The Baron will translate.”
‘A baron!’ Roger noted, looking at the Hauptman with even greater interest. ‘A real live baron!’ It was like seeing a Triceratops unexpectedly.
Hauptman Ritnik nodded. He said: “Several men are calling that we have run up here. Another is ordering them to follow. Now they are complaining that we have guns.” He grinned. “They don’t sound very keen. This boy here, the young sergeant major, has done good work.” He pointed to Graham, who flushed with pleasure.
Hauptman Ritnik’s face changed abruptly to ashen seriousness and he glanced at Prince Peter and bit his lip. “The leader has just reminded them that their mission is to kill your Royal Highness. He is now calling on them to report.”
Roger felt a terrible coldness around his heart. These men certainly meant business.
Hauptman Ritnik went on: “Now the partisans are being ordered to spread out along the road and to look for our tracks. Now they have seen where we turned off. One of them is telling the Comrade Squad Leader. That is bad news.”
Behind Mt. Baldy Page 31
