Secret in the Clouds

by Christopher Cummings

  For a minute Stephen sat under cover and recovered his breath. He was struck with admiration for the enemy who had so cleverly constructed this stronghold right in the heart of a hostile country. ‘Cunning bastards!’ he muttered, shaking his head. Then he began to think out what to do next. It was 1740 by then. Less than two hours to dark. Both hunger and thirst were starting to trouble him.

  From where he sat part way up the mountain Stephen could now see out over the tree canopy to the airfield. In the middle distance the roofs of ‘Hayden Park’ shimmered in the last of the afternoon sunlight. Stephen was now certain Graham and Peter were somewhere inside the mountain. But how to get in? And what might be waiting in there?

  The firing slits of the bunkers were much too small for him to squeeze through, being only about 20 centimetres high. For a while Stephen considered trying to break the padlock. In the end he gave that idea up as too dangerous. ‘If there are any enemy inside the noise will warn them,’ he decided. Besides, he had no tools and doubted if rocks would do it.

  Once again he wondered where the entrance to the mine was. Then he decided that it was covered up by rocks and earth. “They probably used the old mine as the basis for the fort,” he decided. Then another thought came to him: what would the Germans have done if they had been betrayed or discovered? They would certainly have fought, he decided, but only long enough to destroy any secret codes, coding machines and such like. “They weren’t like the Japs. They wouldn’t have fought to the bitter end and committed suicide.”

  But the place was butted up against the face of a mountain range 300 metres high. ‘Impossible to escape from here by trying to scale that when you are being shot at, day or night,’ Stephen thought, staring up the steep slope behind him. ‘But good soldiers always have a withdrawal route,’ he considered. ‘And whatever else they are Germans are bloody good soldiers.’

  So where was the back door? Stephen looked around. The only possible covered route not visible from the plain was the gorge from which Pandanus Creek issued. Having no better idea Stephen decided to explore that possibility. Taking care not to dislodge stones he made his way down the slope to the end of the dam wall. From there he could see that the sides of the gorge were not quite vertical cliffs. Only a hundred metres in the gorge kinked right and went out of sight, climbing steeply. At the bend in the gorge a re-entrant went off to the left. He noted that it was also dead ground from the front and offered another sloping route to the top of the mountain.

  Stephen stared up at where an eagle circled lazily on the air currents at the top of the range. ‘A few soldiers up there could certainly hold open the back door and prevent any outflanking long enough for them to escape,’ he decided. A movement among the rocks at the crest sent his heart rate shooting up and he flinched, half expecting a bullet to come cracking down. But it was only a rock wallaby.

  The obvious course was to climb along the side of the gorge above the pool. It was so obvious that Stephen at first hesitated. Then he shrugged. ‘If they didn’t have a sentry guarding the front why should they be watching the back?’ he reasoned. Setting his jaw to help calm his fears he started along the slope.

  It wasn’t dangerous, just awkward. Several times he almost slipped down into the water and twice he dislodged stones which clattered down to splash in the pool but in five minutes he was at the bend. ‘Be no joke if some bastard was shooting at you though,’ he thought. At that he glanced up and his training led his eye to exactly the right spot. A tiny black slit up on the bluff above the re-entrant showed another weapon position. From there it could also cover back up the gorge and the re-entrant.

  “So where’s its mutual support?” he asked himself. Twisting to look over his left shoulder to where logic said it should be Stephen spotted it at once. As he stared at the sinister little slit in the rock a shiver of dismay ran through him. ‘You stupid bugger!’ he chided. ‘Got you right in the back if they wanted to!’

  But where was the back door? Stephen crouched among some boulders in the bed of the gorge and studied the slope. Thus he noted another small concrete dam twenty metres further up the gorge, right at the bend. Leading back from it was a line of what looked like rusty iron bolts. ‘Probably held a pipe in place,’ he surmised. The bolts led across the bare rock to a vertical crevice. A vague line of marks led up to the same spot from nearby.

  His heart beating with excitement Stephen made his way up the steeply sloping rock, noting scratches and chips on the rocks which made it fairly easy to move along as he climbed. At the top was what he sought. Set back in a crevice no wider than a man was a steel door. The door was covered with dry moss and rust but was still in good condition. There was no sign of a bolt or padlock so Stephen crept over to it. Carefully he touched it and pushed his fingers in behind one edge.

  It moved! The door was not locked! Carefully Stephen swung it open, noting the lock on the inside and the fact that the hinges did not squeak. They had been well greased, and recently too. Inside was a narrow, concrete-lined tunnel which sloped downwards into the rock. Now Stephen hesitated, his heart hammering with fear. There was no light on and anything- or anyone- could be lurking there.

  For several minutes he stood there, gripped by fear and despising himself for his cowardice. Images of the rotting skeletons and of the dried flowers on the sandy graves almost paralysed him with terror. Then he shook his head. ‘My mates are depending on me,’ he told himself. With a sob of fear he stepped inside and began to feel his way along the passageway.

  CHAPTER 34

  STEPHEN SHOWS COURAGE

  Five paces into the tunnel Stephen stopped to allow his eyes to adjust to the increasing gloom, and to listen. By now he was shaking with fear and his heart was beating so loudly that the sound interfered with his hearing. He was breathing fast and deep and had to consciously force himself to slow it down. ‘Don’t hyperventilate,’ he told himself.

  Close on his right he saw a dark space that looked like an opening. Two steps took him to it and revealed it to be a narrow tunnel leading off up to the right. Its direction and dimensions were made visible by faint sunlight coming from around a bend further along the side tunnel. ‘That probably leads to the machine gun post covering down the gorge,’ he deduced.

  Which meant there should be another on the left not far ahead. After again listening and screwing up his courage Stephen moved cautiously on down the main tunnel. He noted that it was just wide enough and high enough for a man to walk upright along and that the concrete lining had given way to bare rock, except on the floor. Dimly ahead he saw the faint outline of another side entrance. This was where he had expected it to be so he moved the ten steps down to it. There was just enough light for him to see.

  It was a side tunnel and it only went five metres before ending in a small room into which the last of the daylight was admitted through two narrow firing slits. Stephen went up the side tunnel and stood in the machine gun post. Through one slit he got a good view up the re-entrant and from the other up the gorge. This firing slit also covered the door.

  As he made his way back to the main tunnel Stephen was again struck with admiration for the men who had constructed such a place. ‘I wonder if they did use an old gold mine?’ he thought. He now thought it likely, having been in several similar old tunnels on hiking expeditions. ‘There is one at Stannary Hills just like this, only shorter,’ he remembered. ‘The miners probably drove their adit in following a lead, a seam of quartz.’

  Back at the main tunnel he again paused and listened. Down to the left the tunnel vanished in blackness. Staring down at it brought to the surface all of Stephen’s greatest fears: fear of death, claustrophobia, snakes, spiders. He found himself rooted to the spot and shivering. ‘Come on coward, make a move!’ he rebuked himself. But it was easier said than done. Movie images from World War Two newsreels of the SS shooting prisoners in the back of the head, and of the victims sprawling lifeless into huge pits full of bodies now flooded his mind and held him in
a grip of terror.

  ‘That will be me if those men catch me!’ he thought. He had to master rising panic and an urge to turn and get out while he could. A glance back towards the door helped to re-assure him. ‘I can hide in one of these side passages if anyone comes along,’ he reasoned. It took a conscious effort of will power to get his body to move. Very slowly he began groping his way on down the tunnel.

  To his relief another faint glow of light showed on the left ten paces on. He cautiously made his way down the sloping tunnel to it. This time he found that the light came from a small hole high up on one side of an alcove excavated from the side of the tunnel. The space was about five metres long by three wide. In it stood a machine which he identified as a generator set. Several oil cans and 20 litre jerry cans of fuel were placed against the wall. ‘Jerry cans,’ he commented wryly. ‘What else!’

  From where he stood the back door seemed to be a long way away but Stephen again summoned up all of his courage to go on down the tunnel. Twenty metres on he made out a faint glow but the light was so dim he had trouble making out what he was looking at. After taking a gulp of air as though he was about to jump off the high diving board he went on. As he did the light grew stronger and stronger until he could make out that what he was looking at was in fact a change in both the direction and level of the floor. The floor levelled out but appeared to go upward as he went down to it. There was a slight kink in the tunnel.

  At the bend Stephen stopped and peeked around the corner. He saw that the light was artificial and came from a room or doorway at least fifty metres further on. In between he detected several dark patches indicating side passages or alcoves and also more daylight coming in from the left. This time he waited a full five minutes before moving on. No sound or sight of movement indicated people in the room but Stephen reasoned there must be someone around or the light would not be on. ‘They would switch it on when they arrived,’ he surmised.

  Now it took even more courage to go on. Overhead he noted wires and a pipe and also electric light bulbs at intervals. ‘If they switch these lights on I will be for it,’ he thought, breaking into a cold sweat as he did.

  Ten paces on he found two small alcoves, one either side of the tunnel. Both had heavy steel doors which were locked. ‘I wonder if Graham and Peter are in one of these rooms?’ he thought. He stopped and pressed his ear to each door in turn but did not dare knock or call out. Now he was aware of the rapid march of time. His watch told him it was 1830. Outside twilight would be setting in. ‘I’d better get this over with,’ he thought unhappily.

  The temptation to turn back and try to get to somewhere he could contact the state police and media was now very strong. ‘There’s enough physical evidence here,’ he told himself. But what if the underground fort hadn’t been built by the Germans? What if it was some secret Australian or American HQ from World War 2? So far he had found nothing to indicate that Germans had anything to do with it. ‘Come on, keep going, and stop looking for excuses to back out!’ he told himself.

  Knowing that he had to at least peek into the lighted room Stephen crept on along the tunnel. He reached the next area lit by daylight and saw it was a kitchen, an alcove with a stove, tables and chairs and shelving with food on it. The daylight came in through a small barred window in the rock up behind the stove. ‘They’d need that opening for ventilation,’ he reasoned.

  Opposite the kitchen was another locked steel door. Once again Stephen listened but no sound came to him. Reluctantly he forced himself on. It was only thirty paces to the doorway now. On the way he found another steel door on the right. This had a sign on it and when Stephen tried to read it in the gloom he experienced both a shock and a spurt of elation. The sign was in German!

  His heart again hammering rapidly Stephen bent closer and tried to read the words. ‘Oh bugger!’ he thought. ‘I should have paid more intention in school!’ He could not translate what the words said.

  Ten paces on was yet another steel door on the right. This time he could read the sign on the door. MAGAZIN it read. ‘Magazine! That is where they store their ammunition- or at least used to store it,’ he thought. Still speculating on whether there might be any weapons or bullets in the magazine Stephen made his way slowly forward to the end of the tunnel.

  After pausing to listen Stephen at last edged forward and peeked around the corner. He found himself looking into a room about ten metres square, lit by a single electric bulb in the ceiling. The walls were bare concrete. Just on his right against the end wall was a triple tiered bunk set. Lying on the bottom bunk, his head turned to the wall, was Old Karl.

  Seeing the man gave Stephen a shock that made him go cold all over. Then he noted what Karl was wearing and another chill of fear swept over Stephen. Old Karl was wearing a World War 2 German Army uniform!

  Stephen had often seen that uniform in history books and at the movies so he recognized it instantly, but it was another experience altogether to see the real thing. For more than a minute Stephen studied the uniform and the old man. Karl was plainly sound asleep, twitching and muttering to himself from time to time. Stephen’s gaze roved from the worn old jackboots that Karl had placed beside the bunk, to the grey-green trousers and jacket and the distinctive badges on it: the shoulder straps edged in white and the double white patterns on the collar tabs. Karl even had a Nazi eagle sewn onto the right breast above the pocket. On the nearby table lay a German steel helmet of the distinctive World War 2 pattern.

  Stephen stared in wonder. ‘I’m dreaming,’ he thought. But he knew he wasn’t, and he thought it more of a nightmare. He was now certain that Graham and Peter were somewhere here as prisoners. ‘And Tom,’ he reluctantly added.

  To his left were two firing slits with daylight showing through them. In front of him in the other wall were two openings which led down out of sight. To the right, in the end wall was another tunnel which sloped uphill out of sight. ‘That tunnel probably goes to those bunkers up on the ridge,’ he decided.

  After another check that Old Karl was asleep Stephen tip-toed across the room to the left. He glanced through one of the firing slits and was shocked. It looked straight down at the trapdoor at the end of the dam wall at about 25 metres range. Realising just what risks he had taken sent a chill through him. ‘I must have walked right past this firing slit to get down to the gorge,’ he thought. A glance through the other firing slit confirmed this. It faced across the gorge and along the mountain side beyond.

  After another glance at Old Karl to check that he was still asleep Stephen made his way down a flight of steps in the first opening. This led to a tunnel, lit by a bulb. The tunnel ended at a steel door and Stephen had a pretty good idea where it went. He was right. Twenty paces had him at the door, which he was able to unlock. Beyond it was a gloomy concrete room containing a large pump and some steel pipes. A steel ladder led down from the trapdoor.

  “No way out that way,” Stephen muttered, now very conscious that he was right at the other end of the complex, with a sleeping enemy between him and the exit. As he went back up the stairs to the guardroom he again paused to listen before peeking into the room. Old Karl still lay with his face to the wall.

  Now Stephen noted a rifle leaning against the wall near Karl’s head. It was a German bolt action Mauser. He had seen them in museums. Equally he had no doubt that it still worked perfectly well. His cadet unit had old Lee Enfield .303s of the same vintage which they used for ceremonial drill and they were still good rifles.

  Stephen quietly made his way up into the room and then went down the steps of the centre opening. There was a light on at the bottom and even before he reached the underground room there his sense of smell told him what its purpose was. ‘The dunny,’ he muttered, wrinkling his nose.

  He stopped at the bottom and glanced into the room. A narrow corridor ran sideways across it with six doors facing him. ‘Toilets and showers,’ Stephen decided. He was about to turn away when a sound made him freeze. From the right cam
e the murmur of voices. Heart in mouth he crouched against the corner and looked. The end door was larger and had a padlock on it. ‘A padlock on a dunny?’ he wondered.

  There was nothing for it but to investigate. Ten stealthy steps took him to the door. As he approached it Stephen noted that the door was quite different from the others. It was strong and tight fitting. A large bolt held it shut. Now very hopeful he leaned forward to listen.

  The voice came again and Stephen’s heart leapt. ‘Graham!’ he thought. As he listened he heard Peter answer. Stephen then had to resist the urge to attract their attention. ‘There might be an enemy in there with them.’ He doubted it but thought it better to be sure than sorry. So he waited for several minutes listening to Graham and Tom discussing how to break out.

  Graham then said, “I wonder where Stephen is?”

  “I’m here,” Stephen replied, tapping gently on the door.

  “Bloody hell! Steve!” Graham cried.

  “Sssh! Keep it quiet,” Stephen replied. “I’ll try to let you out.”

  “Watch out, there’s a guard,” Graham replied. “He has the keys.”

  “I’ve seen him. He’s asleep,” Stephen answered. Now he was gripped by feverish excitement. What to do? Stephen instantly decided on his course of action. ‘I will look for the keys, and if I can’t find them I will stick Old Karl up and then break the lock.’ “Wait!” he hissed.

  Stephen quickly made his way back up to the room. Old Karl still lay asleep, grunting and snoring now as he had rolled onto his back. Now a-tingle with anxiety Stephen scanned the personal belongings which littered the corner or were shoved under the bunk. There was no sign of any keys. ‘I’ll have to take Old Karl prisoner,’ he decided. He moved to walk around the table and chairs in the centre of the room, his objective being the rifle leaning against the wall.