Seeing the sun begin to crest the horizon, Captain Omurtak knew it was time to send another progress report. Ordering the heliograph to be set up, Omurtak had their status and location on the mountain flashed to the next station a few kilometers below them. A minute later, they received a signal acknowledging receipt of their message.
“At least they weren’t asleep,” muttered Omurtak to no one but himself. He had growing concerns about the mission that he had been assigned, but had decided to keep such thoughts to himself. He was a loyal and patriotic officer. If there were thieves and plunderers after his county’s heritage, then it was his sacred duty to stop them, no matter what the cost may be. Without waiting for the final receipt, indicating that his message had made it all the way to the train, Omurtak ordered the heliograph disassembled. He wanted to push on immediately. If they did not catch them today, he doubted if he could push on without losing more men. He would need to halt, and that was something he was not prepared to do. It had to be today or nothing.
The sound of heavy breathing, swearing and snow crunching under foot filled the air.
Scott looked over his shoulder at his friends struggling across the glacier. Turning his head back towards their goal, Scott let out a deep sigh. The rocks in the distance seemed no closer than before. He figured at the pace they were going that it would take them at least another hour struggling over the open glacier until they reached the safety of the rocky ledge. Once there, they could rest for a while and eat some food to sustain themselves before finally pushing onto their destination, the western plateau. Scott wasn’t sure what they would find when they eventually reached the plateau. All he knew was what he had been told that the Grail had been taken there and hidden, all of which still seemed incredible to Scott, but giving in and turning back never once crossed his mind. He had to push on.
Karl read and reread the message from the soldiers on the mountain. Walking over to a map spread out on his table, Karl took a moment to plot their reported location. Running his thumb along the map, Karl judged that they would reach the western side of the mountain in the next few hours. Turning to look up at the mountain standing tall like a giant, in the distance, Karl knew that once there it would take Scott some time to find the final resting spot of The Grail. A crooked smile crept across his bearded face. He knew it was time to join the hunt and recover what he so desperately needed for his father and the glory rightly deserved by his family. Turning on his heels, he called for Gerhard and gave him the order to be ready to launch no later than noon. It was time for his family to reach for the clouds and grasp a gift from heaven itself. The excitement surged through his body. Karl drew his pistol from his holster and then began loading shells one at a time, an evil smile on his face.
Chapter 38
The Mountain
“Colonel,” called out Thomas at the top of his lungs.
Looking back, Scott was shocked to see a long dark column of soldiers starting to make its way onto the glacier. Cursing their bad luck, he had hoped their pursuers would not have arrived so soon.
“Come on,” called out Scott, picking up the pace.
The time for caution was over.
They had to get off the glacier and onto the plateau or they risked being trapped out in the open and cut to pieces. Scott put his head down and began to move as quickly as he dared over the slick unforgiving surface. He heard the others doing the same. The donkeys brayed in fear and fought to remain upright on the ice.
Suddenly, a terrified voice cried out.
Scott spun about. His heart jumped into his throat as he saw Sarik’s son sliding down the side of the glacier, his hands flailing, desperately trying to find something to hold onto.
“Grab the rope,” yelled Scott to Sarik.
A second later, the rope tied around the younger Sarik went taut, pulling an unprepared and surprised Sarik straight off his feet.
Scott watched in dismay as Sarik also went tumbling down the ice.
“Dig your heels in and bend your knees,” Scott yelled out to Gray and Thomas, just before the line holding Sarik and his son tightened with a jolt that threatened to pull everyone off their feet and down the front of the glacier towards the waiting abyss.
Seconds later, the rope went rigid, digging into the hands of the men standing firm in the snow. Like a rock in the ocean, Thomas stood there solid, unmoving, his hands pulling hard on the rope. With his strength, he had anchored the group to the glacier and saved them all.
“Hang on,” called out Scott to Sarik and his son, both still scrambling desperately on their backs, trying to hold onto the smooth glasslike surface of the glacier. Untying the rope from around his waist, Scott ran back to Gray, the strain of holding onto the rope written across his tired and wind-burnt face. Grabbing the rope, Scott dug in his heels. “We need to do this together,” Scott called over to Thomas. “When I say pull, we pull as one.”
“Say when, Colonel,” yelled back Thomas.
Scott looked down at Sarik and his son. “Use your feet. Dig your heels, your toes, anything to climb with while we pull,” called out Scott.
Sarik waved back and told his son what to do.
“On three…one…two…three!”
As one, the three men hauled hard on the rope. Reaching hand over hand, Scott, Gray and Thomas slowly began to pull their comrades up the face of the glacier. Sarik and his son called out each time Scott did; soon they were climbing up the slope one foothold at a time.
A shot rang out.
Turning his head, Scott saw that a Turkish soldier had darted forward of the column and was trying to snipe at Sarik and his son helplessly dangling on the rope.
Cursing under his breath, Scott called for everyone to pull faster.
Another shot echoed across the glacier. Ice flew into the air near Sarik’s head. They were getting too damn close.
“We can do this,” said Gray, pulling hard on the rope. “Colonel, you have to deal with those sons of bitches.”
Hauling his rifle off his back, Scott cocked the lever, loading a bullet. Stepping away from Gray, he got down on the snow and then took deliberate aim at the closest soldier, who was still clumsily reloading his rifle. The man was at least three hundred yards distant, well beyond the effective range of the Spencer Carbine. Taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart, Scott aimed just above the man’s head, hoping for a plunging shot to do the trick. He slowly pulled the trigger and felt the rifle buck in his shoulder. Looking over the weapon’s sights, Scott swore. The man was still standing there taking aim at his friends trapped in the open. Quickly cocking his weapon, Scott aimed just slightly higher this time and pulled the trigger. An instant later, the soldier fell to one side and then slid down the side of the glacier, picking up speed until his body vanished over the side.
“Good shooting, Colonel,” called out Thomas. “But there is another one coming up.”
Scott adjusted his position and saw that Thomas was right. Another soldier was doubling forward trying to get closer so he could get into a better firing position. Loading another round into his rifle, Scott got up on one knee and began to track the man through his sights. The instant the soldier stopped to raise his rifle, Scott fired. The bullet struck the man dead center in his chest. He staggered on his feet for a couple of seconds and then fell face first onto the ice. A bright-red streak of blood trickled out from underneath the man, staining the pristine white snow a light shade of crimson.
“Thank you, Mister Scott,” called out Sarik. Standing up, he started to help haul up his son. A few seconds later, his son stood there, a big grin on his face, letting everyone know he was all right. Sarik stood there brushing the ice off his son and then ran his hands through his thick black hair. Turning towards Scott, he waved that it was time for them all to get going again.
Making his way to the front of the column, Scott took off again, his mind focused on getting his friends to the safety of the rocks as quickly as he could.
Duval watched
with growing irritation as Scott’s party took off across the glacier. Both snipers, handpicked by Captain Omurtak, were dead, and Scott’s party was getting away…again. Anger boiled up inside him. Duval wanted to scream at the top of his lungs and hurl obscenities to the heavens, but it would do him no good. Moving across the glacier was proving to be dangerous enough. Unlike Scott’s men, the Turkish soldiers weren’t tethered together for safety. One false step and a horrible death awaited the ill-fated.
Captain Omurtak led the way. He had decided that the safest way was to follow in the path already blazed by the thieves in front of them. Watching his men die at the hands of the brigands tore at him. He gritted his teeth and pushed on. Omurtak wanted revenge.
With a loud sigh of relief, Scott hauled himself up onto the rocky outcropping jutting out of the snow like an island surrounded by a frozen white ocean. Rolling over on his side, he took a deep breath and then helped Gray guide his donkey up onto the rocks, his animal finding that it liked having solid ground under its hooves more than the treacherous ice field. Within seconds, all of Scott’s people were up on the ledge. Looking back at the soldiers, Scott guessed they were no more than a couple of minutes behind them.
He had to do something to stop them.
Walking over to Thomas’ donkey, he dug around in one of the leather satchel bags hanging off the side of the animal. A few seconds later, he pulled out several sticks of dynamite. Looking into the faces of his compatriots, Scott said, “If anyone thinks this is a bad idea speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“Be my guest,” said Sarik with a bow.
Lighting the fuse, Scott listened to it hiss for a few seconds as it burnt down towards the dynamite. Then with an overhand pitch, Scott threw the explosives as far out onto the glacier as he could. Getting down, Scott waited for the inevitable explosion.
A couple of seconds later, with a mighty roar, the dynamite exploded, sending a plume of ice and fire racing up into the sky.
Captain Omurtak froze in his tracks. His stomach clenched into knots. The bastards had explosives. Behind him, several men panicked and tried pushing backwards against men still trudging forward with their heads down. Confusion and fear began to take hold.
A second stick flew from the rocks, landing slightly higher up than the last one.
Crouching down, Omurtak called over his shoulder for his men to dig their feet and weapons into the ice. He knew it was a longshot, but he had to do something.
With an ear-splitting boom, the second stick exploded.
To Omurtak, it sounded louder and somehow more threatening than the first one. Raising his head, he saw the snow and ice near the explosion begin to move down the steep slope of the glacier. Within seconds, larger and larger chucks of ice above them began to tear themselves free of the hard-packed glacier and slide towards the men trapped out in the open.
Terror tore through the column. Men pushed and fought against one another, trying to find a way off the glacier.
In the middle of the column, Duval slowly stood up with his pistol in his hand. He heard the sound of the ice coming apart. It sounded like the rolling thunder of a summer storm as the world in front of him instantly turned into a surging and frothing white hell. He knew there was nowhere they could run to that would give them any safety in this tempest. They would just have to hold on as best they could and pray that some men would be spared. Standing there impassively, Duval watched a massive stretch of ice tear itself free, sweeping away Captain Omurtak and at least a dozen men. Their screams were drowned out by the sound of the ice roaring down the front of the glacier, pulling the doomed men along with it.
A terrified man, his eyes wide with fear, jumped up and tried to push his way past Duval. Without even aiming, Duval pulled the trigger of his pistol, blasting a hole through the man’s stomach.
Clutching his bloody guts, the man fell to his knees with an accusatory look in his eyes.
Duval didn’t care. Reaching over, he grabbed the wounded man by his collar and sent him tumbling down the glacier to his death.
Several men close to the front of the column, driven by fear, tried to run but were instantly swept off their feet by the avalanche and joined the others sliding over the side of the glacier to their doom.
Scott sat up on one knee and watched with detached horror as the glacier came apart, killing dozens of men at a time. He could not afford to spend time moralizing on his decisions. That would come later when it was all over. Turning his back on the devastation, Scott looked into the faces of his companions. Dogged faces met his gaze. No one judged him. They all would have done the same thing if they had been in his shoes.
“Come on, the plateau is just over that rise,” said Scott, pointing to the next batch of snow barely a hundred yards away. Silently, his companions fell into line, following Scott. No one looked back.
Duval felt the ice slowly begin to stop moving. The sound of ice scraping across the surface of the glacier was replaced by the sobs and crying from several of the younger soldiers still alive.
“Monsieur Duval,” a voice called out in French.
Looking back, Duval saw the teenage lieutenant at the back of the column waving to him.
“Monsieur Duval...the captain?” asked the officer.
Duval shook his head and then ran a finger across his throat.
The lieutenant dropped his head and shook it back and forth.
Duval bit his lip in frustration. It wasn’t over. There still was a chance to catch up with Scott, and as long as enough men remained alive, there was always a chance.
Duval called out, “Lieutenant how is the path back there? Can we find another way off this damned glacier?”
“Yes, I think we can go up and over the top of the glacier using another route back here,” replied the officer.
“Good, get your men on their feet and then lead us up the new path, we have to get moving….now,” said Duval.
It took a couple well-placed kicks by some of the older NCOs to get the more frightened men back on their feet, but ten minutes later the survivors made their way back to the young officer. Trying his best to look determined, he told the survivors that they were going to carry on with their mission. With weapons trained on their men, the NCOs kept the men in line as they followed the young officer scrambling up a new path up around the shattered glacier.
Duval did a quick count. They still had just less than half the men they had started with, plenty enough against Scott and his people if they could catch them in the open. His only regret was that the men with the heliograph were nowhere to be seen. Cursing his luck, Duval hoped that the last message had gotten through to Karl Wollf and that they had begun their preparations to join him on the mountain.
Chapter 39
Karl Wolff’s Train
Stepping off the train into the warmth of the noonday sun, Kate was surprised to see the massive canvas form she had seen earlier begin to take shape. She had seen balloons back in the States floating over Boston Harbor or above Richmond during the war, but she had never seen one quite like the one inflating in the open field. Escorted by an armed guard, Kate walked over to a table set for a light meal.
Seeing Kate, Karl Wollf stood up and politely waved to an empty seat beside him. Kate nodded and then sat down without saying a word.
Karl looked over at Kate; he could see her eyes intently watching the balloon being prepared for flight. “I see you are fascinated with my new toy.”
“I must admit, Mister Wollf, that I am genuinely curious,” answered Kate.
“It is truly unique. There are several experimental models in the world, all naturally owned by The Order, and I have the only one that is fully tried and tested,” bragged Karl. “My Aerostat is a first in so many ways. The balloon itself is filled with hydrogen, not hot air, and it is powered by a steam engine like a ship, giving us the ability to steer ourselves in flight.”
Kate sat there for a moment, watching several men raise the sides on what
looked like a long boat-like gondola.
“Please, Miss O’Sullivan, have some tea and a cucumber sandwich,” offered Karl with a pleasant smile, making Kate wonder if he could turn the charm on and off at will. Regardless, she found his company unsettling. At that moment, she would have preferred to be anywhere else than there.
Kate returned a weak smile and allowed Karl to pour her a cup of black tea. Taking a small crust-less sandwich, Kate nibbled at it while she continued to watch the flurry of activity around Karl’s Aerostat. Soon a long, cigar-shaped balloon rose up into the air. Tethered to the ground by several thick ropes tied at either end of the balloon, the Aerostat hung in the sky, straining to be released.
“You must be wondering why I asked you to have lunch with me.”
Kate looked him in the eye. “I suspect that you want me to accompany you to the top of Mount Ararat in that flying contraption of yours,” said Kate, cutting to the chase.
“Quite correct.”
“My father?”
“He will remain here under guard,” said Karl. “I give you my word that absolutely nothing will happen to him while you are gone.”
Kate didn’t trust a word of what he was saying. She knew he would say and do anything to get whatever he was after.
“I take it that I have no choice in the matter?”
“None,” replied Karl bluntly, as he devoured his sandwich in one bite.
“Your sister?” inquired Kate.
“You needn’t worry about Viktoria. She will be accompanying us. Your father will be perfectly safe. I have already given you my word on this matter.”
Kate sat back, a plan forming in her mind. If she couldn’t get away, then perhaps her father could.
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