They moved out, dropping quickly to the main valley floor and turning south towards the pass. As they started climbing the trail beside the glacier Philip felt a large snowflake land on his face. He wiped it away but it was immediately replaced by another and then more.
“Keep close together,” he yelled at the men. “Mingma and Lhamu, you lead. Prem and I will follow at the rear. Don’t lose sight of the person in front otherwise you’ll lose your bearings.”
They maintained a decent pace, the men climbing strongly and without complaint despite having had little rest over the previous few days. As the snow grew heavier he was grateful that he was at the rear and not having to kick steps in the soft white blanket that was already building underfoot.
They didn’t stop for rests, but ate dried fruit given to them by the monastery as they went. They were apricots, tough to chew but giving a burst of delicious sweetness as they softened in the mouth. He wondered how far they’d travelled, from some distant orchard, to end up in this inhospitable place.
He lost track of time, marching through a white, featureless landscape. Occasionally he was aware of the path switching back as it climbed remorselessly upwards, but otherwise his mind kept wandering, dreaming of armchairs and woollen slippers. Occasionally he noticed Prem stopping to check behind, but as you could see no further than ten yards it was more a case of keeping their ears open for any sounds not muffled by the heavy fall. Other than the squeaking of their boots in the snow and the sound of laboured breathing there was nothing.
They seemed to walk for days. Other than cold feet Philip felt surprisingly warm, the exertion of the climb making him sweaty and itchy inside his warm wool clothing. It made him drowsy, so it was with a start that he became aware of the rising cliffs pushing in around them as they entered into the bottleneck of the gorge, scrambling up onto the glacier to reach the upper valley. This was it, he realised, the campsite wasn’t much further. He made his mind focus, taking care that he didn’t slip into one of the many small crevasses that yawned open beside the rough trail. Occasionally they were slowed when one cut across the path, making it necessary to leap over its black void that fell away beneath.
He tried to plan what they needed to prepare. It was, he was relieved to see, an excellent ambush site. There were fourteen of them, although the Rinpoche and Lhamu wouldn’t be fighting and Giri had the minor shoulder wound he’d picked up at Rombuk. If they were to hold off a force four or five times their size then they needed to be set out right and know what they were doing. Another ten minutes and they’d reached the old camp site. It was unrecognisable. The snow had eased as they’d dropped off the glacier and had now all but stopped. Everything was buried in a layer of snow well over a foot deep.
“You two,” Philip said, nodding at two of the Gurkhas. “Clear the snow by the rock face and get a fire going. We’ll need some tea to keep warm.”
The men nodded and, dropping their packs to the ground, started unpacking the dried dung they’d been carrying from the monastery as fuel. He walked off up the valley, followed by Prem, searching for positions that offered the best lines of fire back towards the narrow ravine.
They stood and surveyed the valley from a small outcrop of rock, panting from the exerting of scrambling up through the soft powder.
“That snows done us a favour,” Philip exclaimed, looking up at the valley sides. “It’s made it impossible for them to try to climb and outflank us. It would be suicide going up there, they’d slip and fall.”
Prem followed his gaze and nodded grimly. “They’ll have to come up the glacier like us,” he agreed. “They won’t know the layout of the valley either which helps us.” He scratched at his chin. “Unless that Indian is with them.”
Philip stood thinking. Tashi did know this part of the valley as he’d climbed down through it to warn the soldiers. It would, however, have looked different at night and after all the snow they’d have to hope he’d be disorientated.
They continued on and selected three more decent positions before returning to the fire. The men were gathered around, the Rinpoche amongst them, drinking black, sweet tea. In the freezing air a column of steam rose from each mug. Philip watched it rise, his eyes drawn up to the leaden blanket of cloud that sat over the valley, hiding the surrounding ridges and peaks. It was like being in a tunnel, claustrophobic and smothering, as if their world had shrunk to this one small bubble.
Philip gratefully accepted a mug himself. Between mouthfuls, which made his teeth ache from the heat, he briefed the men.
“We’ll be in four groups of three, each with an equal split of the ammo.” He pointed at a nearby rifle. “After Rombuk we now all have guns and about fifteen rounds each. You must be sparing. There’s over fifty of them and we’ve less than 200 rounds in total. Only shoot when you have a clear shot. From our positions we’ll be able to pick them off as they come over the glacier. But first I want to draw them in a bit, let them get closer and hit as many as possible with the first volley. That way we’ll be able to scavenge their guns and ammo.” He looked around the men. “Nobody shoots until I shoot, is that understood?”
The men nodded, a determination etched on their faces that gave Philip a glimmer of hope and a welling of pride.
“We’ve got to finish this here, we’ve no other choice. If we try to fall back up the pass they’ll pick us off as we climb. At worst we need to hold them off so we can retreat when it’s dark.” He tried to smile. “Good luck everyone. Now follow Corporal Prem. He’ll put you in your positions.”
The men retrieved their packs and head off behind Prem. Philip turned to Mingma and Lhamu who, along with the Rinpoche, were the only ones left by the fire.
“I want you all to stay here. There are no more weapons and little you can do in the fighting. Keep close to the cliff face and you’ll be out of the line of fire. Try to keep the fire going and water hot. If this thing drags on we’re going to need to keep warm. Lying in the snow is going to be cold.”
They nodded, immediately starting to kick snow out of the way, clearing a place to sit and building a wall of snow behind which they’d be hidden. Philip turned and looked up at where the men were bedding in. He could see them clambering into their positions, two groups behind rocky outcrops on the ridge that he and Prem had climbed earlier, the others behind piled debris that had slid down to the valley floor in rock falls. As the men settled down they vanished into the landscape.
Philip grunted contentedly. If he couldn’t see them, there was no way the Chinese would. He’d just taken a couple of steps towards where he was to fight when he felt a hand catch his sleeve. He turned and saw Lhamu staring up at him, her mouth open as if trying to say something but with no words coming out. Slowly he turned to face her, taking both her hands in his. They stood motionless for a few second and then, without warning, she threw herself into his arms. He could feel her squeeze him tightly, despite the thick layers of clothes they each wore. He held her, nuzzling his mouth and nose into the exposed crown of her head, feeling its warmth radiate onto his cold face.
Nothing was said. They stood, holding each other for a few moments until she let him go, turning away and walking back to the cliff without a backwards glance. Philip watched her go, wanting to call after her and reassure her. He realised it was more than that but still nothing came, his mind confused by emotions he’d never felt able to experience before. He turned and slowly walked to where Prem had positioned them, lying behind a large boulder that gave an excellent field of fire back towards the glacier. He looked up and saw Prem nod at him. They were ready.
Time passed so slowly. Philip fought the urge to constantly glance at his watch, not wanting to take his eyes off the fringe of the glacier or to allow cold air up his sleeve. The thick cloud blotted out all traces of the sun, throwing a dull pall that gave no hint of the time. It must be afternoon; breakfast seemed a distant memory. Not too late though, he hoped. He didn’t want the Chinese camping before the gorge. Every few minut
es his goggles misted up and he had to put down his rifle to clear them.
He’d just replaced his goggles when he saw a movement on the crest of the glacier. He picked up his rifle and resting it against the boulder to steady his aim, he looked down the sights towards the gorge. A figure was emerging about 200 yards away, cautiously following their footsteps which, now the snow had stopped, lay uncovered along the trail. He was the point, Philip was sure of it. He moved steadily but warily, watching his footing while constantly checking what lay ahead. As if to confirm this he stopped, raising his hand as a signal to those who must be following behind. He crouched and stayed there unmoving for several seconds.
Philip was holding his breath, willing his men to remain motionless. After what felt like an eternity the man stood and beckoned those behind him forward. Another soldier appeared and then another, all carrying their weapons at the ready. His body tensed as he recognised the figure of Tashi appear on the crest of the glacier, stumbling on the rough ice and sitting down heavily on a half-buried boulder to adjust a boot. The dogs obviously hadn’t got him. Philip made himself relax, a grim smile coming to his face. He was glad they’d brought him. There was a debt to pay.
Philip’s eyes moved to the next man who’d appeared carrying something more bulky than the rest, a large tube that was resting casually across his shoulders. A bazooka. Christ, he thought, if they got the chance to use that then they’d be annihilated. By now there were about twenty men in view, the first of which was no more than a hundred yards away. He forced himself to breathe steadily, long, slow inhalations followed by a steady release. When the lead man was no more than fifty yards away, he’d emptied his lungs, paused and squeezed his trigger.
The shot seemed deafening and was immediately followed by a volley from the Gurkhas that reverberated around the gorge, a wall of sound that enveloped their world. Soldiers fell, some dead, others throwing themselves down into the soft snow for cover. He swung his rifle around, pointing it to where Tashi had been. The rock he’d been sitting on was now empty. A few of the Chinese were trying to return fire, but whenever they did they were being picked off by the Gurkhas, who calmly waited for the muzzle flashes before firing.
Looking around Philip searched for the soldier with the bazooka and saw him crouching low in some loose moraine. With the help of another soldier he was setting up the weapon. Philip pivoted round and fired. The second man fell to the ground, this head exploding in a spray of red. Seemingly unperturbed by this, the handler calmly shouldered his weapon, steadying it with his left hand. With his right he pulled out the sighting mechanism and settled into a firing position.
Philip swore and quickly aimed again, pulling at the trigger in his desperation to fire. The Chinese soldier ducked as the bullet fizzed past his head but quickly got back in position. Philip knew he didn’t have time to fire again when a shot rang out. The man’s body shuddered with the bullet’s impact, before slowly pitching forward into the snow. He glanced to his left and caught Prems eye, who was reloading, nodding his approval.
There was no time to say anything. The Chinese had regrouped and were attempting a charge through the gorge. He could see the Gurkhas were slowing them down with their accurate shooting but it was only a matter of time until they ran out of ammo and were overwhelmed. Tashi would have told them their strength so the Chinese commander must know he just had to bide his time. More men ran over the glacier and this time they were met by fewer guns. Some of the men, he realised, had finished all their ammo.
A soldier appeared, unarmed and running at full pelt to where the bazooka lay in the snow. Philip aimed and fired, seeing a plume of snow fly up just behind him as he raced down the slope. Other shots rang out, but he kept going unscathed. Philip was just aiming again when he noticed a shadow flash over him. Glancing up he saw Balbir had broken cover and was racing down the valley towards the soldier.
“Cover him,” Philip screamed and was answered by a crackle of fire towards the glacier. He watched transfixed. The Chinese soldier had reached the fallen bazooka, falling to his knees as he picked it up. His back was turned to them so he didn’t see Balbir hurtling towards him. He stood and swinging the weapon round, aimed at where Lhamu and the Rinpoche were hiding. They must have been spotted in their hiding place by one of the first wave. The soldiers must have decided that it would be better to kill him if they couldn’t recapture him.
Philip started to scream a warning but before he could utter a sound the soldier was hit square in the stomach by the thick-set Gurkha. Even at that distance Philip heard the air knocked from the soldiers lungs as he was lifted from the ground and thrown several yards back into the soft snow.
The men were rolling around, fists flailing at each other, when Philip heard a shot and saw Balbir’s body convulse and fall away. The soldier pushed himself to his knees turned and dropped a revolver to the ground, bending to retrieve the bazooka from where it had fallen. He was balancing it on his shoulder once more when Philip noticed Balbir drag himself up, his clothes drenched in blood. With a roar the Gurkha grabbed the man from behind in a bear hug that pinned his arms to his side. Balbir dragged him backwards, shuffling on his knees as the soldier kicking furiously. Without warning Balbir threw himself backwards into some untouched snow on the lip of a large crevasse. The soldier screamed but was powerless as the body of the Gurkha slipped into the black void and dragged him in after, his scream fading as they fell with the bazooka into the deepest bowels of the glacier.
There was total silence as everybody looked on aghast.
“He always believed he’d been spared for a reason,” Prem said at last. “He felt the cost of his life in Burma deeply. He is released.”
Before Philip could reply more soldiers appeared on the crest of the glacier, just visible through the first flurry of a new snow storm. He knew they wouldn’t be able to repulse this attack, that they’d reached the end. He put his hand out.
“Give me the grenade,” he said to Prem.
The Gurkha unquestioningly unclipped it from his belt and passed it across. Philip looked at the glacier. If he threw it towards the trail he might, at best, be able to take out two, maybe three of the enemy. It wasn’t enough. He looked around the valley and noticed a small slip of fresh snow landing lightly on the glacier, running off the ridge that thrust out to create the gorge. He looked up into the thick grey cloud that hid the valley walls.
Pulling himself to his feet he raced down the slope, trying to keep in the footsteps left by Balbir to give himself more speed. He heard rifles and then a burst of automatic fire that kicked up grit and ice as they peppered the ground around him. As he approached the glacier he veered to the right, using his momentum to carry him some way up the side of the valley.
The grenade was in his hand. He knew he needed a perfect throw if there was to be any chance. A gulley ran down into the valley, its mouth just below the ridge that jutted out and created the gorge. He needed to land it just there. He glanced ahead, picking out a low, flat boulder and deciding that was the best place to throw from. He traced the footfalls that would take him there, each chosen to maintain his momentum and add to the weight of his throw.
As his foot hit the boulder he ripped the pin from the grenade and launched it with all his strength. He knew he should move. He was a sitting target for the enemies’ guns but he stood transfixed as the grenade arced high into the air, tumbling over and over. It wasn’t going to clear the ridge. His muscles tensed as he urged it upwards. He’d stopped breathing, wanting to turn away but unable to move, completely spellbound. He felt something sting his shoulder, momentarily knocking him forward but regained his balance he glanced up just in time to see the grenade clear the top of the ridge with no more than an inch to spare. He breathed, relief washing through him, and was blown backwards down into the valley.
The roar was deafening. Magnified by the naked rock, the explosion ripped through the air, its flash lighting the clouds above and bathing their entire world in a
fiery orange. The whole valley shook, loose stones jolted free and crashing down the slopes. Philip listened through his ringing ears as the noise echoed away until only a distant rumble was left.
“Please God, please,” he mumbled, picking himself up. Everywhere was silent but after a few seconds of peace he heard the noise returning. Elation ran through him. He listened as the explosion raced back towards them. He felt someone grab his arm. It was Mingma.
“Run,” the Sherpa screamed, pulling him along. “Avalanche.”
They stumbled up the valley for thirty yards or so. The noise was now overwhelming, the ground moving so violently it was virtually impossible to even stand. They reached the cliff and threw themselves at its base, burying their heads in their hands. A wall of freezing air hit them, slicing through their clothes and blasting their skin. Philip could feel himself being buried, weight pushing down on him until he could hardly move. A noise like an Express train ripping past them, as the seconds passed its noise diminishing as the snow settled deeper on top.
As quickly as it had arrived, it was over and the valley was left in a shocked silence. Philip could feel the others struggling around him and added his strength to theirs, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and pushing upwards with all his might. He could feel the snow moving, the weight of it reducing and suddenly he was free. He saw Mingma, coughing and spitting the snow from his mouth and lungs, kneeling nearby. Reaching down he grabbed the coat of Lhamu who was lying beside him and pulled her free, hooking the ice from her mouth and nostrils with his fingers. She spluttered and coughed, hacking icy mucus from deep inside her and gasping for air.
Turning his head he looked out at the scene behind. The avalanche had struck down the valley, just below the crest where the Chinese had been climbing over the glacier. Snow now covered the trail to a depth of fifty feet or so, stretching out across the glacier to the far side of the gorge. The snow that had buried them had only been a small side flow pushed over the outcrop by the volume of snow beyond. God knows, the Chinese would’ve had no chance, their lungs filled with ice particles and bodies crushed by the wall of snow hitting them at over 200 miles per hour.
Sacred Mountain Page 26
