“What? That they have found our tracks?” asked Inspector Sharpe.
Hauptman Ritnik shook his head. “No. That he is a squad leader. There are nine men in a partisan squad; and these are not the men who ambushed me. That means they must have a whole platoon in the area. I fear we are in most desperate trouble. They will hunt us like wild animals.”
Roger wasn’t sure who were the wild animals, they or their pursuers. Inspector Sharpe compressed his lips into a grim line and murmured: “We had better get moving. Have any of you lads got a map?”
“I have sir,” Graham replied. He clicked on the safety catch, then fished out his map in its plastic case and moved up to join Inspector Sharpe. Roger pulled his map out as well and showed it to Peter and Hauptman Ritnik.
Graham pointed to the map. “That way sir. North West.”
“Have you got a compass? I don’t want us to get lost in this muck,” Inspector Sharpe asked.
Graham nodded and hauled out his compass, still attached to his shirt by its nylon cord.
Inspector Sharpe nodded with approval. “Good lad. You lead. Crowe, take this rifle and bring up the rear. Have those fellows started following yet?”
Hauptman Ritnik again shook his head. “No sir. I think they are afraid to enter the jungle. There is an argument but I cannot make out all the words. I think it is about whether to wait for reinforcements or not. Now they are using a radio,” he explained.
“Fine. OK, off you go young Kirk. Keep it slow. And no noise from anyone,” Inspector Sharpe ordered.
They rose and began moving at a slow walk. Graham could not walk a straight line as he had to dodge trees, weave around fallen logs and thick clumps of wait-a-while. All he could manage was a general compass bearing. The course took them diagonally up a fairly steep slope which, even at the snail’s pace they were moving at, soon had them panting. Roger found he was sweating in spite of the cold rain drops and mist. His leg muscles quickly began to complain.
Each minute moved the group 25 to 50 paces further away from the partisans. Roger began to hope they would not be pursued but this was soon dashed as shouted orders behind them indicated that the hunt had begun.
“I think they are following our tracks,” Roger murmured to DS Crowe. He looked back and down and could detect a faint line of disturbed leafmould, bent leaves, scuff marks on moss covered rocks and tree roots and crushed deadfall.
“Not much we can do to avoid it,” DS Crowe replied sourly.
“Yes we can. We can ‘Break track’,” Roger replied.
“Break track? What are you talking about?”
“It’s something we learn in the cadets, to hide a camp in the jungle.”
“Tell the Inspector.”
Roger nodded and tapped Hauptman Ritnik on the shoulder. “Pass it on. Tell Graham, he is the CSM leading us, to explain ‘Break Track’ to the Inspector.”
The whispered message was passed up the slowly moving line. Roger saw Graham stop and whisper to Inspector Sharpe, who nodded. Back came the message: “Break track Right, fifty paces.”
“What does it mean?” Hauptman Ritnik asked.
Roger beckoned DS Crowe as well, then explained. “First we open out, from the rear, until we can just see the person in front and the one behind. Then, on a signal we all turn at right angles and walk fifty paces, being careful to leave no tracks. Then we turn left into single file again and close up on the front. That way, instead of one obvious track made by a group of people there are eight different tracks, all hard to find.”
The men nodded.
“We are moving. You stand still Sgt Crowe and we open out,” Roger said. The DS did so. Roger was scared now as he could hear the noises being made as their pursuers forced their way through the jungle. They sounded only about fifty metres away and were coming closer. A sharp cry of pain from one of the partisans made Roger grin with malicious pleasure. They were discovering ‘wait-a-while’!
There was a hand signal. Roger passed it on to DS Crowe and thankfully turned and began walking up the slope, watching carefully where he put his feet. He tried to avoid crushing any sticks or ferns or snapping any sticks.
The rain helped. Big heavy drops drowned what little noise they made; and all the leaves and twigs were soggy. Roger kept looking to his right, expecting to glimpse the advancing partisans. However, apart from some crashing and rustling in the undergrowth he saw no sign of them.
After about thirty paces he realized he had been concentrating so hard on not leaving a track that he had forgotten to count his paces. He kept watch on Hauptman Ritnik on his left. The Hauptman seemed to be angling away from him so Roger kept edging in his direction. He looked around continually, both to check that DS Crowe was still in sight; and for the first sign of a partisan. It took all his willpower to keep moving at a slow walk.
Several times Roger had to detour around clumps of wait-a-while and once he had to backtrack to go around a large mass of it. DS Crowe followed him and on the far side, on a steep slope studded with large moss-covered boulders and ferns, they found Stephen and Peter waiting. They signalled to them to turn left and close in.
The group closed up till Roger could see Graham again.
“All here?” whispered Inspector Sharpe.
“Yes sir,” DS Crowe replied.
“OK, keep moving.”
Graham led off again on the same compass bearing. This took them along the side of the mountain. Roger listened and was sure he could hear movement only twenty or so paces down the slope to his left. He strained his eyes but could see no-one.
For about twenty minutes they walked slowly along with no word spoken. The rain grew heavier and in under the tree canopy it was very dark and gloomy. Roger shivered with cold. They covered several hundred metres. Suddenly, far down to their left rear, there was a loud cry. They all stopped and looked that way. The man’s voice called again.
Hauptman Ritnik grinned. “He wants to know where his friends are. He has lost contact with them. Ah! There.”
Closer to them, but still off to their left rear, came an answering voice.
Inspector Sharpe nodded. “Keep moving. We must put more distance between us and them,” he ordered.
They resumed their slow movement. The compass bearing led them down into a vine-choked re-entrant. The sound of yelling faded in the distance. Roger began to relax somewhat but the effort of moving through the tangled undergrowth took all his energy. He felt very tired and hungry. At the bottom of the re-entrant was a small creek. By common consent they halted to have a drink. The rain stopped but constant dripping continued. Graham refilled his water bottles.
“I think we have lost them for the moment,” Inspector Sharpe murmured, pocketing his pistol.
“I think they have lost themselves, from what they were saying,” Hauptman Ritnik replied.
Inspector Sharpe nodded. “That would be easy in this country without a map and a compass. I hope we aren’t lost too. Do you know where we are young Kirk?”
“Yes sir, here,” Graham replied. He was clearly not amused. Roger knew he took great pride in being both a good bushman and a good navigator.
Inspector Sharpe studied the map and cleared his throat, aware of Graham’s resentment. “Which way do you think we should go?” he asked.
Graham pointed on the map as the others crowded around. “Well sir, it’s only a kilometre to open forest out to the west. We could walk out there and detour right around the jungle to either the north or the south. I would say go north, to where all these roads join up here, behind Mt Baldy.”
They considered this. “That is about ten kilometres before we get anywhere near a house where we might find a telephone,” Inspector Sharpe mused. “Wouldn’t it be better to go east down to these farms at Carrington? That is only about three kilometres and downhill.”
“Might be sir, but it is all jungle; and we’d have to cross the road,” Graham replied.
“More chance of them seeing us in the open c
ountry than of us being spotted crossing the road surely?” Stephen said.
Graham nodded. “Stay in the jungle then. Head North West up this ridge, then North east back up this crestline. We should be able to cross the road there,” he said.
“That’s what I think too,” Inspector Sharpe agreed. “There are about five kilometres of road and it’s got as many curves as a snake. These partisans can’t watch it all. They can’t have that many men. Are you up to a march like that Hauptman Ritnik?”
Roger looked at the Hauptman. He appeared very pale and was in obvious pain. A thin trickle of blood was running down the side of his face. He shrugged. “Don’t worry about me. Get His Royal Highness to safety; and the briefcase. You can leave me and come back for me later.”
Peter spoke up: “We could leave you all here and two or three of us, the fittest, could go for help.”
Inspector Sharpe considered this, then shook his head. “No, we will stay together. Are you confident of your navigation young Kirk?”
“Yes sir. But I will use map to ground and only use the compass as a guide or we will do a lot of up and down as any compass bearing is going to cut across more of these re-entrants.”
“If you reckon you can do it then OK. Let’s get moving. I’m getting cold; and there’s another bloody leech!” Inspector Sharpe plucked the leech from his sleeve and flung it aside. He glanced at his watch. “Not even midday.”
Roger looked at his and saw it was only 11:45.
Peter said, “Sir, won’t these partisans just clear out now they know the police are involved? Won’t your men be surrounding the area?” he asked.
Inspector Sharpe nodded. “You would think so but I suspect their political masters might have given them orders to get the prince, regardless.”
Prince Peter agreed. “You are right. They are playing for high stakes and a diplomatic row with a country as distant as Australia would be the least of their worries. While I live I am a rallying point for all Kosarians who believe in freedom. These men are just pawns. They are expendable.”
Hauptman Ritnik nodded agreement. “You are right Your Highness. The communists will have some hold over the men they have sent here, some way of blackmailing them. That is how they operate; by terror and coercion.”
“Who are these partisans?” Stephen asked. “Weren’t the partisans the guerrillas who fought the Germans?”
“Yes they were,” Prince Peter answered. “They were the army of liberation. They kept the name after the war because of its prestige value. They are now just the communist regular army, the Kosarian Partisans- KOSPARS for short.”
“This will be a special unit,” Hauptman Ritnik added.
Peter gave a wry grin. “Not too special if they’ve got lost,” he suggested.
“Perhaps they have been rushed here without any special training and without enough maps. Besides, all their experience will have been in pine forests. There is nothing like this jungle in Kosaria,” Hauptman Ritnik replied.
“How many of them do you reckon there are?” DS Crowe asked.
Hauptman Ritnik thought for a moment. “At least a platoon. That is thirty six men:- three squads and a HQ. Could be more,” he replied.
“How did they get here?” Stephen wondered.
Inspector Sharpe said, “Enough speculation. Let’s get moving.”
Led by Graham they set off up a steep slope thick with wait-a-while. They heard no more of their pursuers. The cloud thinned out and a watery sun could be glimpsed overhead. Roger began to feel hungry and regretted not having grabbed his own webbing. He had missed breakfast and now he would miss lunch as well!
After about two hundred metres they came out onto an overgrown snig track which ran up a spur line.
Graham pointed left along it. “It will probably go all the way to the top of this twelve hundred and eleven metre feature,” he said. “It will be easier going.”
“Not safer though,” Inspector Sharpe replied.
“Quicker and quieter. That is safer sir,” Graham replied. “There is sure to be an old track on the crestline running parallel to the main timber road.”
“OK. Go up it then but take it slow and keep your eyes peeled.”
CHAPTER 32
A LIFE FOR A LIFE
For Roger the next hour was agony. The group slogged slowly uphill through thick jungle with Graham in the lead. The old snig track was frequently blocked by masses of wait-a-while which they had to detour slowly around. The cloud closed in so they were enveloped in gloomy mist but there was no more rain. Roger alternately shivered and sweated. His leg muscles ached and his right knee developed a hot little pain on every second step. The direction he noted was roughly North East.
Ahead of him Hauptman Ritnik struggled gamely on but he was obviously tiring and started to weave and stagger a lot. Suddenly he slumped against a tree, shoulders heaving. Then he slid down into a crumpled heap.
“Stop! Stop!” Roger hissed urgently. Peter heard him and passed it on. The group came to a standstill and the leaders came back. Roger and Peter moved the Hauptman into a more comfortable position. He was conscious but his eyes looked unfocused.
“I...I just...need a small rest,” he croaked.
Inspector Sharpe looked at his watch. “Twelve thirty. OK. We will rest for half an hour.”
Roger sat down on the sodden leafmould and leaned against a tree. He felt exhausted. While he sat there he watched as Peter and Prince Peter checked the Hauptman’s bandages. The bandage around his head was now an ugly dark red, indicating that it had begun to bleed again. Roger shivered and looked around. He noted that Inspector Sharpe’s good leather shoes were very muddy, and that he had squashed a large leech on his sock at the ankle. The sight reminded Roger to search himself for more leeches. Finding none he leaned back and closed his eyes.
Peter shook him awake. “We are moving sleepy head. Come on.”
Roger groaned and rubbed his eyes. He was shivering and stiff. A glance at his watch told him he had slept for over an hour. It was nearly 2pm.
The group resumed its upward slog. Roger joined Peter in helping Hauptman Ritnik who had gone so pale he was blue around the mouth. Fits of shivering wracked the Hauptman’s body.
After about twenty minutes Stephen and DS Crowe took over helping the Hauptman. The Inspector was helping the Prince, who also looked very pale and drawn. Roger found it took all his strength to haul himself slowly up the slope. The cloud still enshrouded them and even though it was only mid-afternoon it was dark and gloomy.
It wasn’t until ten past three that they reached the top of the mountain. Without a word they all flopped down to rest. Roger saw Graham and the two policemen crouching over the map but he felt too tired to care. He wiped sweat off his face and wished he had something to eat. A silent curse was offered up to the soldier who had taken his jelly beans.
After half an hour they moved on. Roger and Peter took over helping Hauptman Ritnik. They walked on either side with his arms over their shoulders. He was so weak they were almost dragging him along. There was a smear of fresh blood down his face and neck. The smell and feel of wet clothes and sweaty bodies, combined with apprehension over the seeping wound, made Roger feel nauseous.
At least their route now went downhill along another overgrown track heading North West. After half a kilometre they curved North East along a wide, flat crestline. In this part of the jungle there seemed to be very little wait-a-while and very few vines. Instead the undergrowth comprised masses of waist high palms. There were numerous huge rotting tree trunks, presumably blown down in a storm as they were torn out by the roots, not cut down.
There was an occasional glimpse through gaps in the foliage and the drifting cloud which showed other jungle covered peaks and ridges. These caused Graham to take compass bearings and to peer closely at his map with a lot of lip-biting and head-shaking. Roger was glad Graham was navigating. He had great faith in him but realized there were times when his resentment at his friend�
��s fitness and cheerful zest for adventure amounted almost to hatred.
After half an hour of slow shuffling the ridge began to rise and progress slowed even more. A track went off downhill to the right. Inspector Sharpe pointed down it but Graham shook his head and continued on up the slope.
Another fifteen minutes of snail-like pace went by. Then Graham held up his hand to signal halt. He put his finger to his lips and pointed down to his right. Roger got a glimpse of the main dirt road, about fifty metres away. Graham continued moving, angling around the slope to his left. After a time he circled back to the right. It was hard going as there was no track and the way was obstructed by half a dozen fallen trees and outcrops of rocks festooned with ferns. Roger felt so tired and cold he was almost past caring. He had Hauptman Ritnik’s arm around his shoulder and was aware the Hauptman was barely conscious and was stumbling along like a zombie, murmuring and groaning from time to time.
Roger began to loathe the rain forest. He was sick of being closed in; sick of having to push through it, of having to clamber over or around things. He hated the dankness, the leeches, the prickly plants, the bloody vines which always seemed to snag. ‘I don’t think I can go on much longer,’ he thought miserably.
Then, just when he was on the trembling, shameful edge of giving up Peter signalled to halt. “OK Roger. Stop for a break,” he murmured.
They lowered Hauptman Ritnik onto the wet leaves and eased their painful limbs. Graham, Prince Peter and the two policemen went into a whispering huddle. Stephen just slumped down and tried to wipe moisture off his glasses. He looked thoroughly miserable. ‘How I feel,’ Roger thought. He noted they were on what appeared to be a flattish hilltop at another old timber track. He saw Graham get up and take the rifle from DS Crowe. Graham then headed off down the track to the right, rifle at the ready. He vanished silently from sight, his camouflage uniform blending perfectly with the mottled light and shade of the jungle.
Behind Mt. Baldy Page 32
