High Citadel

I

O’Hara, Forester and Rohde looked down on the bridge from the cover of a group of large boulders near the edge of the river gorge. Below, the river rumbled, a green torrent of ice-water smoothly slipping past the walls it had cut over the aeons. The gorge was about fifty yards wide.

O’Hara was still shaking from the shock of being unexpectedly fired upon. He had thrown himself into the side of the road, winding himself by falling on to a can in the pocket of his overcoat. When he recovered his breath he had looked with stupefaction at the punctured can in the middle of the road, bleeding a red tomato and meat gravy. That could have been me, he thought — or Benedetta.

It was then that he started to shake.

They had crept back round the corner, keeping in cover, while rifle bullets flicked chips of granite from the road surface. Rohde was waiting for them, his gun drawn and his face anxious. He looked at Benedetta’s face and his lips drew back over his teeth in a snarl as he took a step forward.

‘Hold it,’ said Forester quietly from behind him. ‘Let’s not be too hasty.’ He put his hand on O’Hara’s arm. ‘What’s happening back there?’

O’Hara took a grip on himself. ‘I didn’t have time to see much. I think the bridge is down; there are some trucks on the other side and there seemed to be a hell of a lot of men.’

Forester scanned the ground with a practised eye. ‘There’s plenty of cover by the river — we should be able to get a good view from among those rocks without being spotted. Let’s go.’

So here they were, looking at the ant-like activity on the other side of the river. There seemed to be about twenty men; some were busy unloading thick planks from a truck, others were cutting rope into lengths. Three men had apparently been detailed off as sentries; they were standing with rifles in their hands, scanning the bank of the gorge. As they watched, one of the men must have thought he saw something move, because he raised his rifle and fired a shot.

Forester said, ‘Nervous, aren’t they? They’re firing at shadows.’

O’Hara studied the gorge. The river was deep and ran fast — it was obviously impossible to swim. One would be swept away helplessly in the grip of that rush of water and be frozen to death in ten minutes. Apart from that, there were the problems of climbing down the edge of the gorge to the water’s edge and getting up the other side, not to mention the likelihood of being shot.

He crossed the river off his mental list of possibilities and turned his attention to the bridge. It was a primitive suspension contraption with two rope catenaries strung from massive stone buttresses on each side of the gorge. From the catenaries other ropes, graded in length, supported the main roadway of the bridge which was made of planks. But there was a gap in the middle where a lot of planks were missing and the ropes dangled in the breeze.

Forester said softly, ‘That’s why they didn’t meet us at the airstrip. See the truck in the river — downstream, slapped up against the side of the gorge?’

O’Hara looked and saw the truck in the water, almost totally submerged, with a standing wave of water swirling over the top of the cab. He looked back at the bridge. ‘It seems as though it was crossing from this side when it went over.’

‘That figures,’ said Forester. ‘I reckon they’d have a couple of men to make the preliminary arrangements — stocking up the camp and so on — in readiness for the main party. When the main party was due they came down to the bridge to cross — God knows for what reason. But they didn’t make it — and they buggered the bridge, with the main party still on the other side.’

‘They’re repairing it now,’ said O’Hara. ‘Look.’

Two men crawled on to the swaying bridge pushing a plank before them. They lashed it into place with the aid of a barrage of shouted advice from terra firma and then retreated. O’Hara looked at his watch; it had taken them half an hour.

‘How many planks to go?’ he asked.

Rohde grunted. ‘About thirty.’

‘That gives us fifteen hours before they’re across,’ said O’Hara.

‘More than that,’ said Forester. ‘They’re not likely to do that trapeze act in the dark.’

Rohde took out his pistol and carefully sighted on the bridge, using his forearm as a rest. Forester said, ‘That’s no damned use — you won’t hit anything at fifty yards with a pistol.’

‘I can try,’ said Rohde.

Forester sighed. ‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘But just one shot to see how it goes. How many slugs have you got?’

‘I had two magazines with seven bullets in each,’ said Rohde. ‘I have fired three shots.’

‘You pop off another and that leaves ten. That’s not too many.’

Rohde tightened his lips stubbornly and kept the pistol where it was. Forester winked at O’Hara and said, ‘If you don’t mind I’m going to retire now. As soon as you start shooting they’re going to shoot right back.’

He withdrew slowly, then turned and lay on his back and looked at the sky, gesturing for O’Hara to join him. ‘It looks as though the time is ripe to hold our council of war,’ he said. ‘Surrender or fight. But there may be a way out of it — have you got that air chart of yours?’

O’Hara produced it. ‘We can’t cross the river — not here, at least,’ he said.

Forester spread out the chart and studied it. He put his finger down. ‘Here’s the river — and this is where we are. This bridge isn’t shown. What’s this shading by the river?’

‘That’s the gorge.’

Forester whistled. ‘Hell, it starts pretty high in the mountains, so we can’t get around it upstream. What about the other way?’

O’Hara measured off the distance roughly. ‘The gorge stretches for about eighty miles down stream, but there’s a bridge marked here — fifty miles away, as near as dammit.’

‘That’s a hell of a long way,’ commented Forester. ‘I doubt if the old man could make it — not over mountain country.’

O’Hara said, ‘And if that crowd over there have any sense they’ll have another truckload of men waiting for us if we do try it. They have the advantage of being able to travel fast on the lower roads.’

‘The bastards have got us boxed in,’ said Forester. ‘So it’s surrender or fight.’

‘I surrender to no communists,’ said O’Hara.

There was a flat report as Rohde fired his pistol and, almost immediately, an answering fusillade of rifle shots, the sound redoubled by echoes from the high ground behind. A bullet ricocheted from close by and whined over O’Hara’s head.

Rohde came slithering down. ‘I missed,’ he said.

Forester refrained from saying, ‘I told you so,’ but his expression showed it. Rohde grinned. ‘But it stopped them working on the bridge — they went back fast and the plank dropped in the river.’

‘That’s something,’ said O’Hara. ‘Maybe we can hold them off that way.’

‘For how long?’ asked Forester. ‘We can’t hold them off for ever — not with ten slugs. We’d better hold our council of war. You stay here, Miguel; but choose a different observation point — they might have spotted this one.’

O’Hara and Forester went back to the group on the road. As they approached O’Hara said in a low voice, ‘We’d better do something to ginger this lot up; they look too bloody nervous.’

There was a feeling of tension in the air. Peabody was muttering in a low voice to Miss Ponsky, who for once was silent herself. Willis was sitting on a rock, nervously tapping his foot on the ground, and Aguillar was speaking rapidly to Benedetta some little way removed from the group. The only one at ease seemed to be Armstrong, who was placidly sucking on an empty pipe, idly engaged in drawing patterns on the ground with a stick.

O’Hara crossed to Aguillar. ‘We’re going to decide what to do,’ he said. ‘As you suggested.’

Aguillar nodded gravely. ‘I said that it must happen.’

O’Hara said, ‘You’re going to be all right.’ He looked at Benedetta; her face was pale and her eyes were dark smudges in her head. He said, ‘I don’t know how long this is going to take, but why don’t you begin preparing a meal for us. We’ll all feel better when we’ve eaten.’

‘Yes, child,’ said Aguillar. ‘I will help you. I am a good cook, Señor O’Hara.’

O’Hara smiled at Benedetta. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’

He walked over to where Forester was giving a pep talk. ‘And that’s the position,’ he was saying. ‘We’re boxed in and there doesn’t seem to be any way out of it — but there is always a way out of anything, using brains and determination. Anyway, it’s a case of surrender or fight. I’m going to fight — and so is Tim O’Hara here; aren’t you, Tim?’

‘I am,’ said O’Hara grimly.

‘I’m going to go round and ask your views, and you must each make your own decision,’ continued Forester. ‘What about you, Doctor Willis?’

Willis looked up and his face was strained. ‘It’s difficult, isn’t it? You see, I’m not much of a fighter. Then again, it’s a question of the odds — can we win? I don’t see much reason in putting up a fight if we’re certain of losing — and I don’t see any chance at all of our winning out.’ He paused, then said hesitantly, ‘But I’ll go with the majority vote.’

Willis, you bastard, you’re a fine example of a fence-sitter, thought O’Hara.

‘Peabody?’ Forester’s voice cut like a lash.

‘What the hell has this got to do with us?’ exploded Peabody. ‘I’m damned if I’m going to risk my life for any wop politician. I say hand the bastard over and let’s get the hell out of here.’

‘What do you say, Miss Ponsky?’

She gave Peabody a look of scorn, then hesitated. All the talk seemed to be knocked out of her, leaving her curiously deflated. At last she said in a small voice, ‘I know I’m only a woman and I can’t do much in the way of fighting, and I’m scared to death — but I think we ought to fight.’ She ended in a rush and looked defiantly at Peabody. ‘And that’s my vote.’

Good for you, Miss Ponsky, cheered O’Hara silently. That’s three to fight. It’s now up to Armstrong — he can tip it for fighting or make a deadlock, depending on his vote.

‘Doctor Armstrong, what do you have to say?’ queried Forester.

Armstrong sucked on his pipe and it made an obscene noise. ‘I suppose I’m more an authority on this kind of situation than anyone present,’ he observed. ‘With the possible exception of Señor Aguillar, who at present is cooking our lunch, I see. Give me a couple of hours and I could quote a hundred parallel examples drawn from history.’

Peabody muttered in exasperation, ‘What the hell!’

‘The question at issue is whether to hand Señor Aguillar to the gentlemen on the other side of the river. The important point, as I see it affecting us, is what would they do with him? And I can’t really see that there is anything they can do with him other than kill him. Keeping high-standing politicians as prisoners went out of fashion a long time ago. Now, if they kill him they will automatically be forced to kill us. They would not dare take the risk of letting this story loose upon the world. They would be most painfully criticized, perhaps to the point of losing what they have set out to gain. In short, the people of Cordillera would not stand for it. So you see, we are not fighting for the life of Señor Aguillar; we are fighting for our own lives.’

He put his pipe back into his mouth and made another rude noise.

‘Does that mean that you are in favour of fighting?’ asked Forester.

‘Of course,’ said Armstrong in surprise. ‘Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been saying?’

Peabody looked at him in horror. ‘Jesus!’ he said. ‘What have I got myself into?’ He buried his head in his hands.

Forester grinned at O’Hara, and said, ‘Well, Doctor Willis?’

‘I fight,’ said Willis briefly.

O’Hara chuckled. One academic man had convinced another.

Forester said, ‘Ready to change your mind, Peabody?’

Peabody looked up. ‘You really think they’re going to rub us all out?’

‘If they kill Aguillar I don’t see what else they can do,’ said Armstrong reasonably. ‘And they will kill Aguillar, you know.’

‘Oh, hell,’ said Peabody in an anguish of indecision.

‘Come on,’ Forester ordered harshly. ‘Put up or shut up.’

‘I guess I’ll have to throw in with you,’ Peabody said morosely.

‘That’s it, then,’ said Forester. ‘A unanimous vote. I’ll tell Aguillar and we’ll discuss how to fight over some food.’ Miss Ponsky went to help the Aguillars with their cooking and O’Hara went back to the river to see what Rohde was doing. He looked back and saw that Armstrong was talking to Willis and again drawing on the ground with a stick. Willis looked interested.

Rohde had chosen a better place for observation and at first O’Hara could not find him. At last he saw the sole of a boot protruding from behind a rock and joined Rohde, who seemed pleased. ‘They have not yet come out of their holes,’ he said. ‘It has been an hour. One bullet that missed has held them up for an hour.’

‘That’s great,’ said O’Hara sardonically. ‘Ten bullets — ten hours.’

‘It is better than that,’ protested Rohde. ‘They have thirty planks to put in — that would take them fifteen hours without my bullets. With the shooting it will take them twenty-five hours. They will not work at night — so that is two full days.’

O’Hara nodded. ‘It gives us time to decide what to do next,’ he admitted. But when the bullets were finished and the bridge completed a score of armed and ruthless men would come boiling over the river. It would be a slaughter.

‘I will stay here,’ said Rohde. ‘Send some food when it is ready.’ He nodded towards the bridge. ‘It takes a brave man to walk on that, knowing that someone will shoot at him. I do not think these men are very brave — maybe it will be more than one hour to a bullet.’

O’Hara went back and told Forester what was happening and Forester grimaced. ‘Two days — maybe — two days to come up with something. But with what?’

O’Hara said, ‘I think a Committee of Ways and Means is indicated.’

They all sat in a circle on the sparse grass and Benedetta and Miss Ponsky served the food on the aluminium plates they had found at the camp. Forester said, ‘This is a war council, so please stick to the point and let’s have no idle chit-chat — we’ve no time to waste. Any sensible suggestions will be welcome.’

There was a dead silence, then Miss Ponsky said, ‘I suppose the main problem is to stop them repairing the bridge. Well, couldn’t we do something at this end — cut the ropes or something?’

‘That’s good in principle,’ said Forester. ‘Any objections to it?’ He glanced at O’Hara, knowing what he would say.

O’Hara looked at Forester sourly; it seemed as though he was being cast as the cold-water expert and he did not fancy the role. He said deliberately, ‘The approaches to the bridge from this side are wide open; there’s no cover for at least a hundred yards — you saw what happened to Benedetta and me this morning. Anyone who tried to get to the bridge along the road would be cut down before he’d got halfway. It’s point blank range, you know — they don’t have to be crack shots.’ He paused. ‘Now I know it’s the only way we can get at the bridge, but it seems impossible to me.’

‘What about a night attack?’ asked Willis.

‘That sounds good,’ said Forester.

O’Hara hated to do it, but he spoke up. ‘I don’t want to sound pessimistic, but I don’t think those chaps over there are entirely stupid. They’ve got two trucks and four jeeps, maybe more, and those vehicles have at least two headlights apiece. They’ll keep the bridge well lit during the dark hours.’

There was silence again.

Armstrong cleared his throat. ‘Willis and I have been doing a little thinking and maybe we have something that will help. Again I find myself in the position of being something of an expert. You know that my work is the study of medieval history, but it so happens that I’m a specialist, and my speciality is medieval warfare. The position as I see it is that we are in a castle with a moat and a drawbridge. The drawbridge is fortuitously pulled up, but our enemies are trying to rectify that state of affairs. Our job is to stop them.’

‘With what?’ asked O’Hara. ‘A push of a pike?’

‘I wouldn’t despise medieval weapons too much, O’Hara,’ said Armstrong mildly. ‘I admit that the people of those days weren’t as adept in the art of slaughter as we are, but still, they managed to kill each other off at a satisfactory rate. Now, Rohde’s pistol is highly inaccurate at the range he is forced to use. What we want is a more efficient missile weapon than Rohde’s pistol.’

‘So we all make like Robin Hood,’ said Peabody derisively. ‘With the jolly old longbow, what? For Christ’s sake, Professor!’

‘Oh, no,’ said Armstrong. ‘A longbow is very chancy in the hands of a novice. It takes five years at least to train a good bowman.’

‘I can use the bow,’ said Miss Ponsky unexpectedly. Everyone looked at her and she coloured. ‘I’m president of the South Bridge Ladies’ Greenwood Club. Last year I won our own little championship in the Hereford Round.’

‘That’s interesting,’ said Armstrong.

O’Hara said, ‘Can you use a longbow lying down, Miss Ponsky?’

‘It would be difficult,’ she said. ‘Perhaps impossible.’

O’Hara jerked his head at the gorge. ‘You stand up there with a longbow and you’ll get filled full of holes.’

She bridled. ‘I think you’d do better helping than pouring cold water on all our ideas, Mr O’Hara.’

‘I’ve got to do it,’ said O’Hara evenly. ‘I don’t want anyone killed uselessly.’

‘For God’s sake,’ exclaimed Willis. ‘How did a longbow come into this? That’s out — we can’t make one; we haven’t the material. Now, will you listen to Armstrong; he has a point to make.’ His voice was unexpectedly firm.

The flat crack of Rohde’s pistol echoed on the afternoon air and there was the answering fire of shots from the other side of the gorge. Peabody ducked and O’Hara looked at his watch. It had been an hour and twenty minutes — and they had nine bullets left.

Forester said, ‘That’s one good thing — we’re safe here. Their rifles won’t shoot round corners. Make your point, Doctor Armstrong.’

‘I was thinking of something more on the lines of a prodd or crossbow,’ said Armstrong. ‘Anyone who can use a rifle can use a crossbow and it has an effective range of over a hundred yards.’ He smiled at O’Hara. ‘You can shoot it lying down, too.’

O’Hara’s mind jumped at it. They could cover the bridge and also the road on the other side where it turned north and followed the edge of the gorge and where the enemy trucks were. He said, ‘Does it have any penetrative power?’

‘A bolt will go through mail if it hits squarely,’ said Armstrong.

‘What about a petrol tank?’

‘Oh, it would penetrate a petrol tank quite easily.’

‘Now, take it easy,’ said Forester. ‘How in hell can we make a crossbow?’

‘You must understand that I’m merely a theoretician where this is concerned,’ explained Armstrong. ‘I’m no mechanic or engineer. But I described what I want to Willis and he thinks we can make it.’

‘Armstrong and I were rooting round up at the camp,’ said Willis. ‘One of the huts had been a workshop and there was a lot of junk lying about — you know, the usual bits and pieces that you find in a metal-working shop. I reckon they didn’t think it worthwhile carting the stuff away when they abandoned the place. There are some flat springs and odd bits of metal rod; and there’s some of that concrete reinforcing steel that we can cut up to make arrows.’

‘Bolts,’ Armstrong corrected mildly. ‘Or quarrels, if you prefer. I thought first of making a prodd, you know; that’s a type of crossbow which fires bullets, but Willis has convinced me that we can manufacture bolts more easily.’

‘What about tools?’ asked O’Hara. ‘Have you anything that will cut metal?’

‘There are some old hacksaw blades,’ Willis said. ‘And I saw a couple of worn-out files. And there’s a hand-powered grindstone that looks as though it came out of the Ark. I’ll make out; I’m good with my hands and I can adapt Armstrong’s designs with the material available.’

O’Hara looked at Forester, who said slowly, ‘A weapon accurate to a hundred yards built out of junk seems too good to be true. Are you certain about this, Doctor Armstrong?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Armstrong cheerfully. ‘The crossbow has killed thousands of men in its time — I see no reason why it shouldn’t kill a few more. And Willis seems to think he can make it.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve drawn the blueprints there.’ He pointed to a few lines scratched in the dust.

‘If we’re going to do this, we’d better do it quickly,’ said O’Hara.

‘Right.’ Forester looked up at the sun. ‘You’ve got time to make it up to the camp by nightfall. It’s uphill, but you’ll be travelling light. You go too, Peabody; Willis can use another pair of hands.’

Peabody nodded quickly. He had no taste for staying too near the bridge.

‘One moment,’ said Aguillar, speaking for the first time. ‘The bridge is made of rope and wood — very combustible materials. Have you considered the use of fire? Señor O’Hara gave me the idea when he spoke of petrol tanks.’

‘Um,’ said O’Hara. ‘But how to get the fire to the bridge?’

‘Everyone think of that,’ said Forester. ‘Now let’s get things moving.’

Armstrong, Willis and Peabody left immediately on the long trudge up to the camp. Forester said, ‘I didn’t know what to make of Willis — he’s not very forthcoming — but I’ve got him tagged now. He’s the practical type; give him something to do and he’ll get it done, come hell or high water. He’ll do.’

Aguillar smiled. ‘Armstrong is surprising, too.’

‘My God!’ said Forester. ‘Crossbows in this day and age!’

O’Hara said, ‘We’ve got to think about making camp. There’s no water here, and besides, our main force is too close to the enemy. There’s a pond about half a mile back — I think that’s a good spot.’

‘Benedetta, you see to that,’ Aguillar commanded. ‘Miss Ponsky will help you.’ He watched the two women go, then turned with a grave face. ‘There is something we must discuss, together with Miguel. Let us go over there.’

Rohde was happy. ‘They have not put a plank in the bridge yet. They ran again like the rabbits they are.’

Aguillar told him what was happening and he said uncertainly, ‘A crossbow?’

‘I think it’s crazy, too,’ said Forester. ‘But Armstrong reckons it’ll work.’

‘Armstrong is a good man,’ said Aguillar. ‘He is thinking of immediate necessities — but I think of the future. Suppose we hold off these men; suppose we destroy the bridge — what then?’

‘We’re not really any better off,’ said O’Hara reflectively. ‘They’ve got us pinned down anyway.’

‘Exactly,’ said Aguillar. ‘True, we have plenty of food, but that means nothing. Time is very valuable to these men, just as it is to me. They gain everything by keeping me inactive.’

‘By keeping you here they’ve removed you from the game,’ agreed Forester. ‘How long do you think it will be before they make their coup d’état?’

Aguillar shrugged. ‘One month — maybe two. Certainly not longer. We advanced our own preparations because the communists showed signs of moving. It is a race between us with the destiny of Cordillera as the prize — maybe the destiny of the whole of Latin America is at stake. And the time is short.’

‘Your map, Señor O’Hara,’ said Rohde suddenly.

O’Hara took out the chart and spread it on a rock, and Rohde traced the course of the river north and south, shaking his head. ‘This river — this gorge — is a trap, pinning us against the mountains,’ he said.

‘We’ve agreed it’s no use going for the bridge downstream,’ said Forester. ‘It’s a hell of a long way and it’s sure to be guarded.’

‘What’s to stop them crossing that bridge and pushing up on this side of the river to outflank us?’ asked O’Hara.

‘As long as they think they can repair this bridge they won’t do that,’ Aguillar said. ‘Communists are not supermen; they are as lazy as other people and they would not relish crossing eighty kilometres of mountain country — that would take at least four days. I think they will be content to stop the bolt hole.’

Rohde’s fingers swept across the map to the west. ‘That leaves the mountains.’

Forester turned and looked at the mountain wall, at the icy peaks. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t think Señor Aguillar could make it.’

‘I know,’ said Rohde. ‘He must stay here. But someone must cross the mountains for help.’

‘Let’s see if it’s practicable,’ said O’Hara. ‘I was going to fly through the Puerto de las Aguilas. That means that anyone going back would have to go twenty miles north before striking west through the pass. And he’d have to go pretty high to get round this bloody gorge. The pass isn’t so bad — it’s only about fourteen thousand feet.’

‘A total of about thirty miles before he got into the Santos Valley,’ said Forester. ‘That’s on straight line courses. It would probably be fifty over the ground.’

There is another way,’ said Rohde quietly. He pointed to the mountains. ‘This range is high, but not very wide. On the other side lies the Santos Valley. If you draw a line on the map from here to Altemiros in the Santos Valley you will find that it is not more than twenty-five kilometres.’

O’Hara bent over the map and measured the distance. ‘You’re right; about fifteen miles — but it’s all peaks.’

‘There is a pass about two miles north-west of the mine,’ said Rohde. ‘It has no name because no one is so foolish as to use it. It is about five thousand eight hundred metres.’

Forester rapidly translated. ‘Wow! Nineteen thousand feet.’

‘What about lack of oxygen?’ asked O’Hara. ‘We’ve had enough trouble with that already. Could a man go over that pass without oxygen?’

‘I have done so,’ said Rohde. ‘Under more favourable conditions. It is a matter of acclimatization. Mountaineers know this; they stay for days at one level and then move up the mountain to another camp and stay a few days there also before moving to a higher level. It is to attune their bodies to the changing conditions.’ He looked up at the mountains. ‘If I went up to the camp tomorrow and spent a day there then went to the mine and stayed a day there — I think I could cross that pass.’

Forester said, ‘You couldn’t go alone.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ said O’Hara promptly.

‘Hold on there,’ said Forester. ‘Are you a mountaineer?’

‘No,’ said O’Hara.

‘Well, I am. I mean, I’ve scrambled about in the Rockies — that should count for something.’ He appealed to Rohde. ‘Shouldn’t it?’

Aguillar said, ‘You should not go alone, Miguel.’

‘Very well,’ said Rohde. ‘I will take one man — you.’ He nodded to Forester and smiled grimly. ‘But I promise you — you will be sorry.’

Forester grinned cheerfully and said, ‘Well, Tim, that leaves you as garrison commander. You’ll have your hands full.’

‘Si,’ said Rohde. ‘You must hold them off.’

A new sound was added to the noise of the river and Rohde immediately wriggled up to his observation post, then beckoned to O’Hara. ‘They are starting their engines,’ he said. ‘I think they are going away.’

But the vehicles did not move. ‘What are they doing?’ asked Rohde in perplexity.

‘They’re charging their batteries,’ said O’Hara. ‘They’re making sure that they’ll have plenty of light tonight.’

II

O’Hara and Aguillar went back to help the women make camp, leaving Rohde and Forester watching the bridge. There was no immediate danger of the enemy forcing the crossing and any unusual move could soon be reported. Forester’s attitude had changed as soon as the decision to cross the mountains had been made. He no longer drove hard for action, seemingly being content to leave it to O’Hara. It was as though he had tacitly decided that there could be only one commander and the man was O’Hara.

O’Hara’s lips quirked as he mentally reviewed his garrison: An old man and a young girl; two sedentary academic types; a drunk and someone’s maiden aunt; and himself — a broken-down pilot. On the other side of the river were at least twenty ruthless men — with God knows how many more to back them up. His muscles tensed at the thought that they were communists; sloppy South American communists, no doubt — but still communists.

Whatever happens, they’re not going to get me again, he thought.

Benedetta was very quiet and O’Hara knew why. To be shot at for the first time took the pith out of a person — one came to the abrupt realization that one was a soft bag of wind and liquids, vulnerable and defenceless against steel-jacketed bullets which could rend and tear. He remembered the first time he had been in action, and felt very sorry for Benedetta; at least he had been prepared, however inadequately, for the bullets — the bullets and the cannon shells.

He looked across at the scattered rocks on the bleak hillside. ‘I wonder if there’s a cave over there?’ he suggested. ‘That would come in handy right now.’ He glanced at Benedetta. ‘Let’s explore a little.’

She looked at her uncle who was helping Miss Ponsky check the cans of food. ‘All right,’ she said.

They crossed the road and struck off at right angles, making their way diagonally up the slope. The ground was covered with boulders and small pebbles and the going was difficult, their feet slipping as the stones shifted. O’Hara thought that one could break an ankle quite easily and a faint idea stirred at the back of his mind.

After a while they separated, O’Hara to the left and the girl to the right. For an hour they toiled among the rocks, searching for something that would give shelter against the night wind, however small. O’Hara found nothing, but he heard a faint shout from Benedetta and crossed the hillside to see what she had found.

It was not a cave, merely a fortuitous tumbling of the rocks. A large boulder had rolled from above and wedged itself between two others, forming a roof. It reminded O’Hara of a dolmen he had seen on Dartmoor, although the whole thing was very much bigger. He regarded it appreciatively. At least it would be shelter from snow and rain and it gave a little protection from the wind.

He went inside and found a hollow at the back. ‘This is good,’ he said. ‘This will hold a lot of water — maybe twenty gallons.’

He turned and looked at Benedetta. The exercise had brought some colour into her cheeks and she looked better. He produced his cigarettes. ‘Smoke?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t.’

‘Good!’ he said with satisfaction. ‘I was hoping you didn’t.’ He looked into the packet — there were eleven left. ‘I’m a selfish type, you know; I want these for myself.’

He sat down on a rock and lit his cigarette, voluptuously inhaling the smoke. Benedetta sat beside him and said, ‘I’m glad you decided to help my uncle.’

O’Hara grinned. ‘Some of us weren’t too sure. It needed a little tough reasoning to bring them round. But it was finally unanimous.’

She said in a low voice, ‘Do you think there’s any chance of our coming out of this?’

O’Hara bit his lip and was silent for a time. Then he said, ‘There’s no point in hiding the truth — I don’t think we’ve got a cat in hell’s chance. If they bust across the bridge and we’re as defenceless as we are now, we won’t have a hope.’ He waved his hand at the terrain. ‘There’s just one chance — if we split up, every man for himself heading in a different direction, then they’ll have to split up, too. This is rough country and one of us might get away to tell what happened to the rest. But that’s pretty poor consolation.’

‘Then why did you decide to fight?’ she said in wonder.

O’Hara chuckled. ‘Armstrong put up some pretty cogent arguments,’ he said, and told her about it. Then he added, ‘But I’d have fought anyway. I don’t like those boys across the river; I don’t like what they do to people. It makes no difference if their skins are yellow, white or brown — they’re all of the same stripe.’

‘Señor Forester was telling me that you fought together in Korea,’ Benedetta said.

‘We might have — we probably did. He was in an American squadron which we flew with sometimes. But I never met him.’

‘It must have been terrible,’ she said. ‘All that fighting.’

‘It wasn’t too bad,’ said O’Hara. ‘The fighting part of it.’ He smiled. ‘You do get used to being shot at, you know. I think that people can get used to anything if it goes on long enough — most things, anyway. That’s the only way wars can be fought — because people can adapt and treat the craziest things as normal. Otherwise they couldn’t go through with it.’

She nodded. ‘I know. Look at us here. Those men shoot at us and Miguel shoots back — he regards it as the normal thing to do.’

‘It is the normal thing to do,’ said O’Hara harshly. ‘The human being is a fighting animal; it’s that quality which has put him where he is — the king of this planet.’ His lips twisted. ‘It’s also the thing that’s maybe holding him back from bigger things.’ He laughed abruptly. ‘Christ, this is no time for the philosophy of war — I’d better leave that to Armstrong.’

‘You said something strange,’ said Benedetta. ‘You said that Korea wasn’t too bad — the fighting part of it. What was bad, if it wasn’t the fighting?’

O’Hara looked into the distance. ‘It was when the fighting stopped — when I stopped fighting — when I couldn’t fight any more. Then it was bad.’

‘You were a prisoner? In the hands of the Chinese? Forester said something of that.’

O’Hara said slowly, ‘I’ve killed men in combat — in hot blood — and I’ll probably do it again, and soon, at that. But what those communist bastards can do intellectually and with cold purpose is beyond...’ He shook his head irritably. ‘I prefer not to talk about it.’

He had a sudden vision of the bland, expressionless features of the Chinese lieutenant, Feng. It was something that had haunted his dreams and woken him screaming ever since Korea. It was the reason he preferred to go to sleep in a sodden, dreamless and mindless coma. He said, ‘Let’s talk about you. You speak good English — where did you learn it?’

She was aware that she had trodden on forbidden and shaky ground. ‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Señor O’Hara,’ she said contritely.

‘That’s all right. But less of the Señor O’Hara; my name is Tim.’

She smiled quickly. ‘I was educated in the United States, Tim. My uncle sent me there after Lopez made the revolution.’ She laughed. ‘I was taught English by a teacher very like Miss Ponsky.’

‘Now there’s a game old trout,’ said O’Hara. ‘Your uncle sent you? What about your parents?’

‘My mother died when I was a child. My father — Lopez had him shot.’

O’Hara sighed. ‘We both seem to be scraping on raw nerves, Benedetta. I’m sorry.’

She said sadly, ‘It’s the way the world is, Tim.’

He agreed sombrely. ‘Anyone who expects fair play in this world is a damn fool. That’s why we’re in this jam. Come on, let’s get back; this isn’t getting us anywhere.’ He pinched off his cigarette and carefully put the stub back in the packet.

As Benedetta rose she said, ‘Do you think that Señor Armstrong’s idea of a crossbow will work?’

‘I don’t,’ said O’Hara flatly. ‘I think that Armstrong is a romantic. He’s specialized as a theoretician in wars a thousand years gone, and I can’t think of anything more futile than that. He’s an ivory-tower man — an academician — bloodthirsty in a theoretical way, but the sight of blood will turn his stomach. And I think he’s a little bit nuts.’

III

Armstrong’s pipe gurgled as he watched Willis rooting about in the rubbish of the workshop. His heart was beating rapidly and he felt breathless, although the altitude did not seem to affect him as much as the previous time he had been at the hutted camp. His mind was turning over the minutiae of his profession — the science of killing without gunpowder. He thought coldly and clearly about the ranges, trajectories and penetrations that could be obtained from pieces of bent steel and twisted gut, and he sought to adapt the ingenious mechanisms so clearly diagrammed in his mind to the materials and needs of the moment. He looked up at the roof beams of the hut and a new idea dawned on him. But he put it aside — the crossbow came first.

Willis straightened, holding a flat spring. ‘This came from an auto — will it do for the bow?’

Armstrong tried to flex it and found it very stiff. ‘It’s very strong,’ he said. ‘Probably stronger than anything they had in the Middle Ages. This will be a very powerful weapon. Perhaps this is too strong — we must be able to bend it.’

‘Let’s go over that problem again,’ Willis said.

Armstrong drew on the back of an envelope. ‘For the light sporting bows they had a goat’s-foot lever, but that is not strong enough for the weapon we are considering. For the heavier military bows they had two methods of bending — the cranequin, a ratchet arranged like this, which was demounted for firing, and the other was a windlass built into the bow which worked a series of pulleys.’

Willis looked at the rough sketches and nodded. ‘The windlass is our best bet,’ he said. ‘That ratchet thing would be difficult to make. And if necessary we can weaken the spring by grinding it down.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s Peabody?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Armstrong. ‘Let’s get on with this.’

‘You’d better find him,’ Willis said. ‘We’ll put him on to making arrows — that should be an easy job.’

‘Bolts or quarrels,’ said Armstrong patiently.

‘Whatever they’re called, let’s get on with it,’ Willis said.

They found Peabody taking it easy in one of the huts, heating a can of beans. Reluctantly he went along to the workshop and they got to work. Armstrong marvelled at the dexterity of Willis’s fingers as he contrived effective parts from impossible materials and worse tools. They found the old grindstone to be their most efficient cutting tool, although it tended to waste material. Armstrong sweated in turning the crank and could not keep it up for long, so they took it in turns, he and Willis silently, Peabody with much cursing.

They ripped out electric wiring from a hut and tore down conduit tubing. They cut up reinforcing steel into lengths and slotted the ends to take flights. It was cold and their hands were numb and the blood oozed from the cuts made when their makeshift tools slipped.

They worked all night and dawn was brightening the sky as Armstrong took the completed weapon in his hands and looked at it dubiously. ‘It’s a bit different from how I imagined it, but I think it will do.’ He rubbed his eyes wearily. I’ll take it down now — they might need it.’

Willis slumped against the side of the hut. ‘I’ve got an idea for a better one,’ he said. ‘That thing will be a bastard to cock. But I must get some sleep first — and food.’ His voice trailed to a mumble and he blinked his eyes rapidly.

All that night the bridge had been illuminated by the headlamps of the enemy vehicles and it was obviously hopeless to make a sortie in an attempt to cut the cables. The enemy did not work on the bridge at night, not relishing being in a spotlight when a shot could come out of the darkness.

Forester was contemptuous of them. ‘The goddam fools,’ he said. ‘If we can’t hit them in daylight then it’s sure we can’t at night — but if they’d any sense they’d see that they could spot our shooting at night and they’d send a man on to the bridge to draw our fire — then they’d fill our man full of holes.’

But during the daylight hours the enemy had worked on the bridge, and had been less frightened of the shots fired at them. No one had been hit and it had become obvious that there was little danger other than that from a freakishly lucky shot. By morning there were but six bullets left for Rohde’s pistol and there were nine more planks in the bridge.

By nine o’clock Rohde had expended two more bullets and it was then that Armstrong stumbled down the road carrying a contraption. ‘Here it is,’ he said. ‘Here’s your crossbow.’ He rubbed his eyes which were red-rimmed and tired. ‘Professionally speaking, I’d call it an arbalest.’

‘My God, that was quick,’ said O’Hara.

‘We worked all night,’ Armstrong said tiredly. ‘We thought you’d need it in a hurry.’

‘How does it work?’ asked O’Hara, eyeing it curiously.

‘The metal loop on the business end is a stirrup,’ said Armstrong. ‘You put it on the ground and put your foot in it. Then you take this cord and clip the hook on to the bowstring and start winding on this handle. That draws back the bowstring until it engages on this sear. You drop a bolt in this trough and you’re ready to shoot. Press the trigger and the sear drops to release the bowstring.’

The crossbow was heavy in O’Hara’s hands. The bow itself was made from a car spring and the bowstring was a length of electric wire woven into a six-strand cord to give it strength. The cord which drew it back was also electric wire woven from three strands. The sear and trigger were carved from wood, and the trough where the bolt went was made from a piece of electric conduit piping.

It was a triumph of improvisation.

‘We had to weaken the spring,’ said Armstrong. ‘But it’s still got a lot of bounce. Here’s a bolt — we made a dozen.’

The bolt was merely a length of round steel, three-eighths of an inch in diameter and fifteen inches long. It was very rusty. One end was slotted to hold metal flights cut from a dried-milk can and the other end was sharpened to a point. O’Hara hefted it thoughtfully; it was quite heavy. ‘If this thing doesn’t kill immediately, anyone hit will surely die of blood-poisoning. Does it give the range you expected?’

‘A little more,’ said Armstrong. ‘These bolts are heavier than the medieval originals because they’re steel throughout instead of having a wooden shaft — but the bow is very powerful and that makes up for it. Why don’t you try it out?’

O’Hara put his foot in the stirrup and cranked the windlass handle. He found it more difficult than he had anticipated — the bow was very strong. As he slipped a bolt into the trough he said, ‘What should I shoot at?’

‘What about the earth bank over there?’

The bank was about sixty yards away. He raised the crossbow and Armstrong said quickly, ‘Try it lying down, the way we’ll use it in action. The trajectory is very flat so you won’t have much trouble with sighting. I thought we’d wait until we got down here before sighting in.’ He produced a couple of gadgets made of wire. ‘We’ll use a ring-and-pin sight.’

O’Hara lay down and fitted the rough wooden butt awkwardly into his shoulder. He peered along the trough and sighted as best he could upon a brown patch of earth on the bank. Then he squeezed the trigger and the crossbow bucked hard against his shoulder as the string was released.

There was a puff of dust frum the extreme right of the target at which he had aimed. He got up and rubbed his shoulder. ‘My God!’ he said with astonishment. ‘She’s got a hell of a kick.’

Armstrong smiled faintly. ‘Let’s retrieve the bolt.’

They walked over to the bank but O’Hara could not see it. ‘It went in about here,’ he said. ‘I saw the dust distinctly — but where is it?’

Armstrong grinned. ‘I told you this weapon was powerful. There’s the bolt.’

O’Hara grunted with amazement as he saw what Armstrong meant. The bolt had penetrated more than its own length into the earth and had buried itself completely. As Armstrong dug it out, O’Hara said, ‘We’d better all practise with this thing and find out who’s the best shot.’ He looked at Armstrong. ‘You’d better get some sleep; you look pooped.’

‘I’ll wait until I see the bow in action,’ said Armstrong. ‘Maybe it’ll need some modification. Willis is making another — he has some ideas for improvements — and we put Peabody to making more bolts.’ He stood upright with the bolt in his hands. ‘And I’ve got to fix the sights.’

All of them, excepting Aguillar and Rohde, practised with the crossbow, and — perhaps not surprisingly — Miss Ponsky turned out to be the best shot, with Forester coming next and O’Hara third. Shooting the bow was rough on Miss Ponsky’s shoulder, but she made a soft shoulder-pad and eight times out of ten she put a bolt into a twelve-inch circle, clucking deprecatingly when she missed.

‘She’s not got the strength to crank it,’ said Forester. ‘But she’s damned good with the trigger.’

‘That settles it,’ said O’Hara. ‘She gets first crack at the enemy — if she’ll do it.’ He crossed over to her and said with a smile, ‘It looks as though you’re elected to go into action first. Will you give it a go?’

Her face paled and her nose seemed even sharper. ‘Oh, my!’ she said, flustered. ‘Do you think I can do it?’

‘They’ve put in another four planks,’ said O’Hara quietly. ‘And Rohde’s saving his last four bullets until he’s reasonably certain of making a hit. This is the only other chance we’ve got — and you’re the best shot.’

Visibly she pulled herself together and her chin rose in determination. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Good! You’d better come and have a look at the bridge to get your range right — and maybe you’d better take a few practice shots at the same range.’

He took her up to where Rohde was lying. ‘Miss Ponsky’s going to have a go with the crossbow,’ he said.

Rohde looked at it with interest. ‘Does it work?’

‘It’s got the range and velocity,’ O’Hara told him. ‘It should work all right.’ He turned his attention to the bridge. Two men had just put in another plank and were retreating. The gap in the bridge was getting very small — soon it would be narrow enough for a determined man to leap. ‘You’d better take the nearest man the next time they come out,’ he said. ‘What would you say the range is?’

Miss Ponsky considered. ‘A little less than the range I’ve been practising at,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I need to practise any more.’ There was a tremor in her voice.

O’Hara regarded her. ‘This has got to be done, Miss Ponsky. Remember what they did to Mrs Coughlin — and what they’ll do to us if they get across the bridge.’

‘I’ll be all right,’ she said in a low voice.

O’Hara nodded in satisfaction. ‘You take Rohde’s place. I’ll be a little way along. Take your time — you needn’t hurry. Regard it as the target practice you’ve just been doing.’

Forester had already cocked the bow and handed it up to Miss Ponsky. She put a bolt in the trough and slid forward on her stomach until she got a good view of the bridge. O’Hara waited until she was settled, then moved a little way farther along the edge of the gorge. He looked back and saw Forester talking to Armstrong, who was lying full-length on the ground, his eyes closed.

He found a good observation post and lay waiting. Presently the same two men appeared again, carrying a plank. They crawled the length of the bridge, pushing the plank before them until they reached the gap — even though none of them had been hit, they weren’t taking unnecessary chances. Once at the gap they got busy, lashing the plank to the two main ropes.

O’Hara found his heart thumping and the wait seemed intolerably long. The nearest man was wearing a leather jacket similar to his own and O’Hara could see quite clearly the flicker of his eyes as he gazed apprehensively at the opposite bank from time to time. O’Hara clenched his fist. ‘Now!’ he whispered. ‘For God’s sake — now!’

He did not hear the twang as the crossbow fired, but he saw the spurt of dust from the man’s jacket as the bolt hit him, and suddenly a shaft of steel sprouted from the man’s back just between the shoulder blades. There was a faint cry above the roar of the river and the man jerked his legs convulsively. He thrust his arms forward, almost in an imploring gesture, then he toppled sideways and rolled off the edge of the bridge, to fall in a spinning tangle of arms and legs into the raging river.

The other man paused uncertainly, then ran back across the bridge to the other side of the gorge. The bridge swayed under his pounding feet and as he ran he looked back fearfully. He joined the group at the end of the bridge and O’Hara saw him indicate his own back and another man shaking his head in disbelief.

Gently he withdrew and ran back to the place from which Miss Ponsky had fired the shot. She was lying on the ground, her body racked with sobs, and Forester was bending over her. ‘It’s all right, Miss Ponsky,’ he was saying. ‘It had to be done.’

‘But I’ve killed a man,’ she wailed. ‘I’ve taken a life.’

Forester got her to her feet and led her away, talking softly to her all the time. O’Hara bent and picked up the crossbow. ‘What a secret weapon!’ he said in admiration. ‘No noise, no flash — just zing.’ He laughed. ‘They still don’t know what happened — not for certain. Armstrong, you’re a bloody genius.’

But Armstrong was asleep.

IV

The enemy made no further attempts to repair the bridge that morning. Instead, they kept up a steady, if slow, light barrage of rifle fire, probing the tumble of rocks at the edge of the gorge in the hope of making hits. O’Hara withdrew everyone to safety, including Rohde. Then he borrowed a small mirror from Benedetta and contrived a makeshift periscope, being careful to keep the glass in the shadow of a rock so that it would not reflect direct sunlight. He fixed it so that an observer could lie on his back in perfect cover, but could still keep an eye on the bridge. Forester took first watch.

O’Hara said, ‘If they come on the bridge again use the gun — just one shot. We’ve got them off-balance now and a bit nervous. They don’t know if that chap fell off the bridge by accident, whether he was shot and they didn’t hear the report, or whether it was something else. We know it was something else and so does the other man who was on the bridge, but I don’t think they believe him. There was a hell of an argument going on the last I saw of it. At any rate, I think they’ll be leery of coming out now, and a shot ought to put them off.’

Forester checked the pistol and looked glumly at the four remaining bullets. ‘I feel a hell of a soldier — firing off twenty-five per cent of the available ammunition at one bang.’

‘It’s best this way,’ said O’Hara. ‘They don’t know the state of our ammunition, the crossbow is our secret weapon, and by God we must make the best use of it. I have ideas about that, but I want to wait for the second crossbow.’ He paused. ‘Have you any idea how many of the bastards are across there?’

‘I tried a rough count,’ said Forester. ‘I made it twenty-three. The leader seems to be a big guy with a Castro beard. He’s wearing some kind of uniform — jungle-green pants and a bush-jacket.’ He rubbed his chin and said thoughtfully, ‘It’s my guess that he’s a Cuban specialist.’

‘I’ll look out for him,’ said O’Hara. ‘Maybe if we can nail him the rest will pack up.’

‘Maybe,’ said Forester non-committally.

O’Hara trudged back to the camp which had now been transferred to the rock shelter on the hillside. That was a better defensive position and could not be so easily rushed, the attackers having to move over broken ground. But O’Hara had no great faith in it; if the enemy crossed the bridge they could move up the road fast, outflanking the rock shelter to move in behind and surround them. He had cudgelled his brain to find a way of blocking the road but had not come up with anything.

But there it was — a better place than the camp by the pond and the roadside. The trouble was water, but the rock hollow at the rear of the shelter had been filled with twenty-five gallons of water, transported laboriously a canful at a time, much of it spilling on the way. And it was a good place to sleep, too.

Miss Ponsky had recovered from her hysteria but not from her remorse. She was unaccustomedly quiet and withdrawn, speaking to no one. She had helped to transport the water and the food but had done so mechanically, as if she did not care. Aguillar was grave. ‘It is not right that this should be,’ he said. ‘It is not right that a lady like Miss Ponsky should have to do these things.’

O’Hara felt exasperated. ‘Dammit, we didn’t start this fight,’ he said. ‘The Coughlins are dead, and Benedetta was nearly killed — not to mention me. I’ll try not to let it happen again, but she is the best shot and we are fighting for our lives.’

‘You are a soldier,’ said Aguillar. ‘Almost I seem to hear you say, with Napoleon, that one cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs.’ His voice was gently sardonic.

O’Hara disregarded that. ‘We must all practise with the bow — we must learn to use it while we have time.’

Aguillar tapped him on the arm. ‘Señor O’Hara, perhaps if I gave myself to these people they would be satisfied.’

O’Hara stared at him. ‘You know they wouldn’t; they can’t let us go — knowing what we know.’

Aguillar nodded. ‘I know that; I was wondering if you did.’ He shrugged half-humorously. ‘I wanted you to convince me there is nothing to gain by it — and you have. I am sorry to have brought this upon all these innocent people.’

O’Hara made an impatient noise and Aguillar continued, ‘There comes a time when the soldier takes affairs out of the hands of the politician — all ways seem to lead to violence. So I must cease to be a politician and become a soldier. I will learn how to shoot this bow well, señor.’

‘I wouldn’t do too much, Señor Aguillar,’ said O’Hara. ‘You must conserve your strength in case we must move suddenly and quickly. You’re not in good physical shape, you know.’

Aguillar’s voice was sharp. ‘Señor, I will do what I must.’

O’Hara said no more, guessing he had touched on Spanish-American pride. He went to talk to Miss Ponsky.

She was kneeling in front of the pressure stove, apparently intent on watching a can of water boil, but her eyes were unfocused and staring far beyond. He knew what she was looking at — the steel bolt that had sprouted like a monstrous growth in the middle of a man’s back.

He said, ‘Killing another human being is a terrible thing, Miss Ponsky. I know — I’ve done it, and I was sickened for days afterwards. The first time I shot down an enemy fighter in Korea I followed him down — it was a dangerous thing to do, but I was young and inexperienced then. The Mig went down in flames, and his ejector seat didn’t work, so he opened the canopy manually and jumped out against the slipstream.

‘It was brave or desperate of that man to do that. But he had the Chinese sort of courage — or maybe the Russian courage, for all I know. You see, I didn’t know the nationality or even the colour of the man I had killed. He fell to earth, a spinning black speck. His parachute didn’t open. I knew he was a dead man.’

O’Hara moistened his lips. ‘I felt bad about that, Miss Ponsky; it sickened me. But then I thought that the same man had been trying to kill me — he nearly succeeded, too. He had pumped my plane full of holes before I got him and I crash-landed on the airstrip. I was lucky to get away with it — I spent three weeks in hospital. I finally worked it out that it was a case of him or me, and I was the lucky one. I don’t know if he would have had regrets if he had killed me — I think probably not. Those people aren’t trained to have much respect for life.’

He regarded her closely. ‘These people across the river are the same that I fought in Korea, no matter that their skins are a different colour. We have no fight with them if they will let us go in peace — but they won’t do that, Miss Ponsky. So it’s back to basics; kill or be killed and the devil take the loser. You did all right, Miss Ponsky; what you did may have saved all our lives and maybe the lives of a lot of people in this country. Who knows?’

As he lapsed into silence she turned to him and said in a husky, broken voice, ‘I’m a silly old woman, Mr O’Hara. For years I’ve been talking big, like everyone else in America, about fighting the communists; but I didn’t have to do it myself, and when it comes to doing it yourself it’s a different matter. Oh, we women cheered our American boys when they went to fight — there’s no one more bloodthirsty than one who doesn’t have to do the fighting. But when you do your own killing, it’s a dreadful thing, Mr O’Hara.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘The only thing that makes it bearable is that if you don’t kill, then you are killed. It reduces to a simple choice in the end.’

‘I realize that now, Mr O’Hara,’ she said. ‘I’ll be all right now.’

‘My name is Tim,’ he said. ‘The English are pretty stuffy about getting on to first-name terms, but not we Irish.’

She gave him a tremulous smile. ‘I’m Jennifer.’

‘All right, Jenny,’ said O’Hara. ‘I’ll try not to put you in a spot like that again.’

She turned her head away and said in a muffled voice, ‘I think I’m going to cry.’ Hastily she scrambled to her feet and ran out of the shelter.

Benedetta said from behind O’Hara, ‘That was well done, Tim.’

He turned and looked at her stonily. ‘Was it? It was something that had to be done.’ He got up and stretched his legs. ‘Let’s practise with that crossbow.’

V

For the rest of the day they practised, learning to allow for wind and the effect of a change of range. Miss Ponsky tightened still further her wire-drawn nerves and became instructress, and the general level of performance improved enormously.

O’Hara went down to the gorge and, by triangulation, carefully measured the distance to the enemy vehicles and was satisfied that he had the range measured to a foot. Then he went back and measured the same distance on the ground and told everyone to practise with the bow at that range. It was one hundred and eight yards. He said to Benedetta, ‘I’m making you my chief-of-staff — that’s a sort of glorified secretary that a general has. Have you got pencil and paper?’

She smiled and nodded, whereupon he reeled off a dozen things that had to be done. ‘You pass on that stuff to the right people in case I forget — I’ve got a hell of a lot of things on my mind right now and I might slip up on something important when the action starts.’

He set Aguillar to tying bunches of rags around half a dozen bolts, then shot them at the target to see if the rags made any difference to the accuracy of the flight. There was no appreciable difference, so he soaked one of them in paraffin and lit it before firing, but the flame was extinguished before it reached the target.

He swore and experimented further, letting the paraffin burn fiercely before he pulled the trigger. At the expense of a scorched face he finally landed three fiercely burning bolts squarely in the target and observed happily that they continued to burn.

‘We’ll have to do this in the day-time,’ he said. ‘It’ll be bloody dangerous in the dark — they’d spot the flame before we shot.’ He looked up at the sun. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to drag this thing out as long as we can.’

It was late afternoon before the enemy ventured on to the bridge again and they scattered at a shot from Rohde who, after a long sleep, had taken over again from Forester. Rohde fired another shot before sunset and then stopped on instructions from O’Hara. ‘Keep the last two bullets,’ he said. ‘We’ll need them.’

So the enemy put in three more planks and stepped up their illumination that night, although they dared not move on the bridge.