High Citadel

I

Forester awoke at dawn. He felt refreshed after having had a night’s unbroken sleep. O’Hara had insisted that he and Rohde should not stand night watches but should get as much sleep as they could. This was the day that he and Rohde were to go up to the hutted camp to get acclimatized and the next day to go on up to the mine.

He looked up at the white mountains and felt a sudden chill in his bones. He had lied to O’Hara when he said he had mountaineered in the Rockies — the highest he had climbed was to the top of the Empire State Building in an elevator. The high peaks were blindingly bright as the sun touched them and he wrinkled his eyes to see the pass that Rohde had pointed out. Rohde had said he would be sorry and Forester judged he was right; Rohde was a tough cookie and not given to exaggeration.

After cleaning up he went down to the bridge. Armstrong was on watch, lying on his back beneath the mirror. He was busy sketching on a scrap of paper with a pencil stub, glancing up at the mirror every few minutes. He waved as he saw Forester crawling up and said, ‘All quiet. They’ve just switched off the lights.’

Forester looked at the piece of paper. Armstrong had drawn what looked like a chemist’s balance. ‘What’s that?’ he asked. ‘The scales of justice?’

Armstrong looked startled and then pleased. ‘Why, sir, you have identified it correctly,’ he said.

Forester did not press it further. He thought Armstrong was a nut — clever, but still a nut. That crossbow of his had turned out to be some weapon — but it took a nut to think it up. He smiled at Armstrong and crawled away to where he could get a good look at the bridge.

His mouth tightened when he saw how narrow the gap was. Maybe he wouldn’t have to climb the pass after all; maybe he’d have to fight and die right where he was. He judged that by the afternoon the gap would be narrow enough for a man to jump and that O’Hara had better prepare himself for a shock. But O’Hara had seemed untroubled and talked of a plan, and Forester hoped to God that he knew what he was doing.

When he got back to the rock shelter he found that Willis had come down from the hutted camp. He had hauled a travois the whole way and it was now being unpacked. He had brought more food, some blankets and another crossbow which he was demonstrating to O’Hara.

‘This will be faster loading,’ he said. ‘I found some small gears, so I built them into the windlass — they make the cranking a lot easier. How did the other bow work?’

‘Bloody good,’ said O’Hara. ‘It killed a man.’

Willis paled a little and the unshaven bristles stood out against his white skin. Forester smiled grimly. The backroom boys always felt squeamish when they heard the results of their tinkering.

O’Hara turned to Forester. ‘As soon as they start work on the bridge we’ll give them a surprise,’ he said. ‘It’s time we put a bloody crimp in their style. We’ll have breakfast and then go down to the bridge — you’d better stick around and see the fun; you can leave immediately afterwards.’

He swung around. ‘Jenny, don’t bother about helping with the breakfast. You’re our star turn. Take a crossbow and have a few practice shots at the same range as yesterday.’ As she paled, he smiled and said gently, ‘We’ll be going down to the bridge and you’ll be firing at a stationary, inanimate target.’

Forester said to Willis, ‘Where’s Peabody?’

‘Back at the camp — making more arrows.’

‘Have any trouble with him?’

Willis grinned briefly. ‘He’s a lazy swine but a couple of kicks up the butt soon cured that,’ he said, unexpectedly coarsely. ‘Where’s Armstrong?’

‘On watch down by the bridge.’

Willis rubbed his chin with a rasping noise. ‘That man’s got ideas,’ he said. ‘He’s a whole Manhattan Project by himself. I want to talk to him.’

He headed down the hill and Forester turned to Rohde, who had been talking to Aguillar and Benedetta in Spanish. ‘What do we take with us?’

‘Nothing from here,’ Rohde said. ‘We can get what we want at the camp; but we must take little from there — we travel light.’

O’Hara looked up from the can of stew he was opening. ‘You’d better take warm clothing — you can have my leather jacket,’ he offered.

‘Thanks,’ Forester said.

O’Hara grinned. ‘And you’d better take your boss’s vicuna coat — he may need it. I hear it gets cold in New York.’

Forester smiled and took the can of hot stew. ‘I doubt if he’ll appreciate it,’ he said drily.

They had just finished breakfast when Willis came running back. ‘They’ve started work on the bridge,’ he shouted. ‘Armstrong wants to know if he should shoot.’

‘Hell no,’ said O’Hara. ‘We’ve only got two bullets.’ He swung on Rohde. ‘Go down there, get the gun from Armstrong and find yourself a good spot for shooting — but don’t shoot until I tell you.’

Rohde plunged down the hill and O’Hara turned to the others. ‘Everyone gather round,’ he ordered. ‘Where’s Jenny?’

‘I’m here,’ called Miss Ponsky from inside the shelter.

‘Come to the front, Jenny; you’ll play a big part in all this.’ O’Hara squatted down and drew two parallel lines in the dust with a sharp stone. ‘That’s the gorge and this is the bridge. Here is the road; it crosses the bridge, turns sharply on the other side and runs on the edge of the gorge, parallel to the river.’

He placed a small stone on his rough diagram. ‘Just by the bridge there’s a jeep, and behind it another jeep. Both are turned so that their lights illuminate the bridge. Behind the second jeep there’s a big truck half full of timber.’ O’Hara placed a larger stone. ‘Behind the truck there’s another jeep. There are some other vehicles farther down, but we’re not concerned with those now.’

He shifted his position. ‘Now for our side of the gorge. Miguel will be here, upstream of the bridge. He’ll take one shot at the men on the bridge. He won’t hit anyone — he hasn’t yet, anyway — but that doesn’t matter. It’ll scare them and divert their attention, which is what I want.

‘Jenny will be here, downstream of the bridge and immediately opposite the truck. The range is one hundred and eight yards, and we know the crossbow will do it because Jenny was shooting consistently well at that range all yesterday afternoon. As soon as she hears the shot she lets fly at the petrol tank of the truck.’

He looked up at Forester. ‘You’ll be right behind Jenny. As soon as she has fired she’ll hand you the bow and tell you if she’s hit the tank. If she hasn’t, you crank the bow, reload it and hand it back to her for another shot. If she has hit it, then you crank it, run up to where Benedetta will be waiting and give it to her cocked but unloaded.’

He placed another small stone. ‘I’ll be there with Benedetta right behind me. She’ll have the other crossbow ready cocked and with a fire-bolt in it.’ He looked up at her. ‘When I give you the signal you’ll light the paraffin rags on the bolt and hand the crossbow to me, and I’ll take a crack at the truck. We might need a bit of rapid fire at this point, so crank up the bows. You stick to seeing that the bolts are properly ignited before the bows are handed to me, just like we did yesterday in practice.’

He stood up and stretched. ‘Is that clear to everyone?’

Willis said, ‘What do I do?’

‘Anyone not directly concerned with this operation will keep his head down and stay out of the way.’ O’Hara paused. ‘But stand by in case anything goes wrong with the bows.’

‘I’ve got some spare bowstrings,’ said Willis. ‘I’ll have a look at that first bow to see if it’s okay.’

‘Do that,’ said O’Hara. ‘Any more questions?’

There were no questions. Miss Ponsky held up her chin in a grimly determined manner; Benedetta turned immediately to collect the fire-bolts which were her care; Forester merely said, ‘Okay with me.’

As they were going down the hill, though, he said to O’Hara, ‘It’s a good plan, but your part is goddam risky. They’ll see those fire-bolts before you shoot. You stand a good chance of being knocked off.’

‘You can’t fight a war without risk,’ said O’Hara. ‘And that’s what this is, you know; it’s as much a war as any bigger conflict.’

‘Yeah,’ said Forester thoughtfully. He glanced at O’Hara sideways. ‘What about me doing this fire-bolt bit?’

O’Hara laughed. ‘You’re going with Rohde — you picked it, you do it. You said I was garrison commander, so while you’re here you’ll bloody well obey orders.’

Forester laughed too. ‘It was worth a try,’ he said.

Close to the gorge they met Armstrong. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked plaintively.

‘Willis will tell you all about it,’ said O’Hara. ‘Where’s Rohde?’

Armstrong pointed. ‘Over there.’

O’Hara said to Forester, ‘See that Jenny has a good seat for the performance,’ and went to find Rohde.

As always, Rohde had picked a good spot. O’Hara wormed his way next to him and asked, ‘How much longer do you think they’ll be fixing that plank?’

‘About five minutes.’ Rohde lifted the pistol, obviously itching to take a shot.

‘Hold it,’ O’Hara said sharply. ‘When they come with the next plank give them five minutes and then take a crack. We’ve got a surprise cooking for them.’

Rohde raised his eyebrows but said nothing. O’Hara looked at the massive stone buttresses which carried the cables of the bridge. ‘It’s a pity those abutments aren’t made of timber — they’d have burnt nicely. What the hell did they want to build them so big for?’

‘The Incas always built well,’ said Rohde.

‘You mean this is Inca work?’ said O’Hara, astonished.

Rohde nodded. ‘It was here before the Spaniards came. The bridge needs constant renewal, but the buttresses will last for ever.’

‘Well, I’m damned,’ said O’Hara. ‘I wonder why the Incas wanted a bridge here — in the middle of nowhere.’

‘The Incas did many strange things.’ Rohde paused. ‘I seem to remember that the ore deposit of this mine was found by tracing the surface workings of the Incas. They would need the bridge if they worked metals up here.’

O’Hara watched the men on the other side of the gorge. He spotted the big man with the beard whom Forester thought was the leader, wearing a quasi-uniform and with a pistol at his waist. He walked about bellowing orders and when he shouted men certainly jumped to it. O’Hara smiled grimly as he saw that they did not bother to take cover at all. No one had been shot at while on the other side — only when on the bridge — and that policy was now going to pay off.

He said to Rohde, ‘You know what to do. I’m going to see to the rest of it.’ He slid back cautiously until it was safe to stand, then ran to where the rest were waiting, skirting the dangerous open ground at the approach to the bridge.

He said to Benedetta, ‘I’ll be posted there; you’d better get your stuff ready. Have you got matches?’

‘I have Señor Forester’s cigarette lighter.’

‘Good. You’d better keep it burning all the time, once the action starts. I’m just going along to see Jenny, then I’ll be back.’

Miss Ponsky was waiting with Forester a little farther along. She was bright-eyed and a little excited and O’Hara knew that she’d be all right if she didn’t have to kill anyone. Well, that was all right, too; she would prepare the way and he’d do the killing. He said, ‘Have you had a look?’

She nodded quickly. ‘The gas tank is that big cylinder fastened under the truck.’

‘That’s right; it’s a big target. But try to hit it squarely — a bolt might glance off unless you hit it in the middle.’

‘I’ll hit it,’ she said confidently.

He said, ‘They’ve just about finished putting a plank in. When they start to fasten the next one Rohde is going to give them five minutes and then pop off. That’s your signal.’

She smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry, Tim, I’ll do it.’

Forester said, ‘I’ll keep watch. When they bring up the plank Jenny can take over.’

‘Right,’ said O’Hara and went back to Benedetta. Armstrong was cocking the crossbow and Benedetta had arranged the fire-bolts in an arc, their points stuck in the earth. She lifted a can. ‘This is the last of the kerosene; we’ll need more for cooking.’

O’Hara smiled at this incongruous domestic note, and Willis said, ‘There’s plenty up at the camp; we found two forty-gallon drums.’

‘Did you, by God?’ said O’Hara. ‘That opens up possibilities.’ He climbed up among the rocks to the place he had chosen and tried to figure what could be done with a forty-gallon drum of paraffin. But then two men walked on to the bridge carrying a plank and he froze in concentration. One thing at a time, Tim, my boy, he thought.

He turned his head and said to Benedetta who was standing below, ‘Five minutes.’

He heard the click as she tested the cigarette lighter and turned his attention to the other side of the gorge. The minutes ticked by and he found the palms of his hands sweating. He wiped them on his shirt and cursed suddenly. A man had walked by the truck and was standing negligently in front of it — dead in front of the petrol tank.

‘For Christ’s sake, move on,’ muttered O’Hara. He knew that Miss Ponsky must have the man in her sights — but would she have the nerve to pull the trigger? He doubted it.

Hell’s teeth, I should have told Rohde what was going on, he thought. Rohde wouldn’t know about the crossbow and would fire his shot on time, regardless of the man covering the petrol tank. O’Hara ground his teeth as the man, a short, thick-set Indian type, produced a cigarette and carelessly struck a match on the side of the truck.

Rohde fired his shot and there was a yell from the bridge. The man by the truck stood frozen for a long moment and then started to run. O’Hara ignored him from then on — the man disappeared, that was all he knew — and his attention was riveted on the petrol tank. He heard a dull thunk even at that distance, and saw a dark shadow suddenly appear in the side of the tank, and saw the tank itself shiver abruptly.

Miss Ponsky had done it!

O’Hara wiped the sweat from his eyes and wished he had binoculars. Was that petrol dropping on to the road? Was that dark patch in the dust beneath the truck the spreading stain of leaking petrol, or was it just imagination? The trigger-happy bandits on the other side were letting go with all they had in their usual futile barrage, but he ignored the racket and strained his aching eyes.

The Indian came back and looked with an air of puzzlement at the truck. He sniffed the air suspiciously and then bent down to look underneath the vehicle. Then he let out a yell and waved violently.

By God, thought O’Hara exultantly, it is petrol!

He turned and snapped his fingers at Benedetta who immediately lit the fire-bolt waiting ready in the crossbow. O’Hara thumped the rock impatiently with his fist while she waited until it got well alight. But he knew this was the right way — if the rags were not burning well the flame would be extinguished in flight.

She thrust the bow at him suddenly and he twisted with it in his hands, the flame scorching his face. Another man had run up and was looking incredulously under the truck. O’Hara peered through the crude wire sight and through the flames of the burning bolt and willed himself to take his time. Gently he squeezed the trigger.

The butt lurched against his shoulder and he quickly twisted over to pass the bow back into Benedetta’s waiting hands, but he had time to see the flaming bolt arch well over the truck to bury itself in the earth on the other side of the road.

This new bow was shooting too high.

He grabbed the second bow and tried again, burning his fingers as he incautiously put his hand in the flame. He could feel his eyebrows shrivelling as he aimed and again the butt slammed his shoulder as he pulled the trigger. The shot went too far to the right and the bolt skidded on the road surface, sending up a shower of sparks.

The two men by the truck had looked up in alarm when the first bolt had gone over their heads. At the sight of the second bolt they both shouted and pointed across the gorge.

Let this one be it, prayed O’Hara, as he seized the bow from Benedetta. This is the one that shoots high, he thought, as he deliberately aimed for the lip of the gorge. As he squeezed the trigger a bullet clipped the rock by his head and a granite splinter scored a bloody line across his forehead. But the bolt went true, a flaming line drawn across the gorge which passed between the two men and beneath the truck.

With a soft thud the dripping petrol caught alight and the truck was suddenly enveloped in flames. The Indian staggered out of the inferno, his clothing on fire, and ran screaming down the road, his hands clawing at his eyes. O’Hara did not see the other man; he had turned and was grabbing for the second bow.

But he didn’t get off another shot. He had barely lined up the sights on one of the jeeps when the bow slammed into him before he touched the trigger. He was thrown back violently and the bow must have sprung of its own volition, for he saw a fire-bolt arch into the sky. Then his head struck a rock and he was knocked unconscious.

II

He came round to find Benedetta bathing his head, looking worried. Beyond, he saw Forester talking animatedly to Willis and beyond them the sky, disfigured by a coil of black, greasy smoke. He put his hand to his head and winced. ‘What the hell hit me?’

‘Hush,’ said Benedetta. ‘Don’t move.’

He grinned weakly and lifted himself up on his elbow. Forester saw that he was moving. ‘Are you all right, Tim?’

‘I don’t know,’ said O’Hara. ‘I don’t think so.’ His head ached abominably. ‘What happened?’

Willis lifted the crossbow. ‘A rifle bullet hit this,’ he said. ‘It smashed the stirrup — you were lucky it didn’t hit you. You batted your head against a rock and passed out.’

O’Hara smiled painfully at Benedetta. ‘I’m all right,’ he said and sat up. ‘Did we do the job?’

Forester laughed delightedly. ‘Did we do the job? Oh, boy!’ He knelt down next to O’Hara. ‘To begin with, Rohde actually hit his man on the bridge when he shot — plugged him neatly through the shoulder. That caused all the commotion we needed. Jenny Ponsky had a goddam tricky time with that guy in front of the gas tank, but she did her job in the end. She was shaking like a leaf when she gave me the bow.’

‘What about the truck?’ asked O’Hara. ‘I saw it catch fire — that’s about the last thing I did see.’

‘The truck’s gone,’ said Forester. ‘It’s still burning — and the jeep next to it caught fire when the second gas tank on the other side of the truck blew up. Hell, they were running about like ants across there.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Both the men who were by the truck were killed. The Indian ran plumb over the edge of the gorge — I reckon he was blinded — and the other guy was burned to a crisp. Jenny didn’t see it and I didn’t tell her.’

O’Hara nodded; it would be a nasty thing for her to live with.

‘That’s about it,’ said Forester. ‘They’ve lost all their timber — it burned with the truck. They’ve lost the truck and a jeep and they’ve abandoned the jeep by the bridge — they couldn’t get it back past the burning truck. All the other vehicles they’ve withdrawn a hell of a long way down the road where it turns away from the gorge. I’d say it’s a good half-mile. They were hopping mad, judging by the way they opened up on us. They set up the damnedest barrage of rifle fire — they must have all the ammunition in the world.’

‘Anybody hurt?’ demanded O’Hara.

‘You’re our most serious casualty — no one else got a scratch.’

‘I must bandage your head, Tim,’ said Benedetta.

‘We’ll go up to the pond,’ said O’Hara.

As he got to his feet Aguillar approached. ‘You did well, Señor O’Hara,’ he said.

O’Hara swayed and leaned on Forester for support. ‘Well enough, but they won’t fall for that trick again. All we’ve bought is time.’ His voice was sober.

‘Time is what we need,’ said Forester. ‘Earlier this morning I wouldn’t have given two cents for our scheme to cross the mountains. But now Rohde and I can leave with an easy conscience.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’d better get on the road.’

Miss Ponsky came up. ‘Are you all right, Mr O’Hara — Tim?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘You did all right, Jenny.’

She blushed. ‘Why — thank you, Tim. But I had a dreadful moment. I really thought I’d have to shoot that man by the truck.’

O’Hara looked at Forester and grinned weakly and Forester suppressed a macabre laugh. ‘You did just what you were supposed to do,’ said O’Hara, ‘and you did it very well.’ He looked around. ‘Willis, you stay down here — get the gun from Rohde and if anything happens fire the last bullet. But I don’t think anything will happen — not yet a while. The rest of us will have a war council up by the pond. I’d like to do that before Ray goes off.’

‘Okay,’ said Forester.

They went up to the pond and O’Hara walked over to the water’s edge. Before he took a cupped handful of water he caught sight of his own reflection and grimaced distastefully. He was unshaven and very dirty, his face blackened by smoke and dried blood and his eyes red-rimmed and sore from the heat of the fire-bolts. My God, I look like a tramp, he thought.

He dashed cold water at his face and shivered violently, then turned to find Benedetta behind him, a strip of cloth in her hands. ‘Your head,’ she said. ‘The skin was broken.’

He put a hand to the back of his head and felt the stickiness of drying blood. ‘Hell, I must have hit hard,’ he said.

‘You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Let me see to it.’

Her fingers were cool on his temples as she washed the wound and bandaged his head. He rubbed his hand raspingly over his cheek; Armstrong is always clean-shaven, he thought; I must find out how he does it.

Benedetta tied a neat little knot and said, ‘You must take it easy today, Tim. I think you are concussed a little.’

He nodded, then winced as a sharp pain stabbed through his head. ‘I think you’re right. But as for taking it easy — that isn’t up to me; that’s up to the boys on the other side of the river. Let’s get back to the others.’

Forester rose up as they approached. ‘Miguel thinks we should get going,’ he said.

‘In a moment,’ said O’Hara. ‘There are a few things I want to find out.’ He turned to Rohde. ‘You’ll be spending a day at the camp and a day at the mine. That’s two days used up. Is this lost time necessary?’

‘It is necessary and barely enough,’ said Rohde. ‘It should be longer.’

‘You’re the expert on mountains,’ said O’Hara. ‘I’ll take your word for it. How long to get across?’

‘Two days,’ said Rohde positively. ‘If we have to take longer we will not do it at all.’

‘That’s four days,’ said O’Hara. ‘Add another day to convince someone that we’re in trouble and another for that someone to do something about it. We’ve got to hold out for six days at least — maybe longer.’

Forester looked grave. ‘Can you do it?’

‘We’ve got to do it,’ said O’Hara. ‘I think we’ve gained one day. They’ve got to find some timber from somewhere, and that means going back at least fifty miles to a town. They might have to get another truck as well — and it all takes time. I don’t think we’ll be troubled until tomorrow — maybe not until the next day. But I’m thinking about your troubles — how are you going to handle things on the other side of the mountain?’

Miss Ponsky said, ‘I’ve been wondering about that, too. You can’t go to the government of this man Lopez. He would not help Señor Aguillar, would he?’

Forester smiled mirthlessly. ‘He wouldn’t lift a finger. Are there any of your people in Altemiros, Señor Aguillar?’

‘I will give you an address,’ said Aguillar. ‘And Miguel will know. But you may not have to go as far as Altemiros.’

Forester looked interested and Aguillar said to Rohde, ‘The airfield.’

‘Ah,’ said Rohde. ‘But we must be careful.’

‘What’s this about an airfield?’ Forester asked.

‘There is a high-level airfield in the mountains this side of Altemiros,’ said Aguillar. ‘It is a military installation which the fighter squadrons use in rotation. Cordillera has four squadrons of fighter aircraft — the eighth, the tenth, the fourteenth and the twenty-first squadrons. We — like the communists — have been infiltrating the armed forces. The fourteenth squadron is ours; the eighth is communist; and the other two still belong to Lopez.’

‘So the odds are three to one that any squadron at the airfield will be a rotten egg,’ commented Forester.

‘That is right,’ said Aguillar. ‘But the airfield is directly on your way to Altemiros. You must tread carefully and act discreetly, and perhaps you can save much time. The commandant of the fourteenth squadron, Colonel Rodriguez, is an old friend of mine — he is safe.’

‘If he’s there,’ said Forester. ‘But it’s worth the chance. We’ll make for this airfield as soon as we’ve crossed the mountains.’

‘That’s settled,’ said O’Hara with finality. ‘Doctor Armstrong, have you any more tricks up your medieval sleeve?’

Armstrong removed his pipe from his mouth. ‘I think I have. I had an idea and I’ve been talking to Willis about it and he thinks he can make it work.’ He nodded towards the gorge. ‘Those people are going to be more prepared when they come back with their timber. They’re not going to stand up and be shot at like tin ducks in a shooting gallery — they’re going to have their defences against our crossbows. So what we need now is a trench mortar.’

‘For Christ’s sake,’ exploded O’Hara. ‘Where the devil are we going to get a trench mortar?’

‘Willis is going to make it,’ Armstrong said equably. ‘With the help of Señor Rohde, Mr Forester and myself — and Mr Peabody, of course, although he isn’t much help, really.’

‘So I’m going to make a trench mortar,’ said Forester helplessly. He looked baffled. ‘What do we use for explosives? Something cleverly cooked up out of match-heads?’

‘Oh, you misunderstand me,’ said Armstrong. ‘I mean the medieval equivalent of a trench mortar. We need a machine that will throw a missile in a high trajectory to lob behind the defences which our enemies will undoubtedly have when they make their next move. There are no really new principles in modern warfare, you know; merely new methods of applying the old principles. Medieval man knew all the principles.’

He looked glumly at his empty pipe. ‘They had a variety of weapons. The onager is no use for our purpose, of course. I did think of the mangonel and the ballista, but I discarded those too, and finally settled on the trebuchet. Powered by gravity, you know, and very effective.’

If the crossbows had not been such a great success O’Hara would have jeered at Armstrong, but now he held his peace, contenting himself with looking across at Forester ironically. Forester still looked baffled and shrugged his shoulders. ‘What sort of missile would the thing throw?’ he asked.

‘I was thinking of rocks,’ said Armstrong. ‘I explained the principle of the trebuchet to Willis and he has worked it all out. It’s merely the application of simple mechanics, you know, and Willis has got all that at his fingertips. We’ll probably make a better trebuchet than they could in the Middle Ages — we can apply the scientific principles with more understanding. Willis thinks we can throw a twenty-pound rock over a couple of hundred yards with no trouble at all.’

‘Wow!’ said O’Hara. He visualized a twenty-pound boulder arching in a high trajectory — it would come out of the sky almost vertically at that range. ‘We can do the bridge a bit of no good with a thing like that.’

‘How long will it take to make?’ asked Forester.

‘Not long,’ said Armstrong. ‘Not more than twelve hours, Willis thinks. It’s a very simple machine, really.’

O’Hara felt in his pocket and found his cigarette packet. He took one of his last cigarettes and gave it to Armstrong. ‘Put that in your pipe and smoke it. You deserve it.’

Armstrong smiled delightedly and began to shred the cigarette. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I can think much better when I smoke.’

O’Hara grinned. ‘I’ll give you all my cigarettes if you can come up with the medieval version of the atom bomb.’

‘That was gunpowder,’ said Armstrong seriously. ‘I think that’s beyond us at the moment.’

‘There’s just one thing wrong with your idea,’ O’Hara commented. ‘We can’t have too many people up at the camp. We must have somebody down at the bridge in case the enemy does anything unexpected. We’ve got to keep a fighting force down here.’

‘I’ll stay,’ said Armstrong, puffing at his pipe contentedly. ‘I’m not very good with my hands — my fingers are all thumbs. Willis knows what to do; he doesn’t need me.’

‘That’s it, then,’ said O’Hara to Forester. ‘You and Miguel go up to the camp, help Willis and Peabody build this contraption, then push on to the mine tomorrow. I’ll go down and relieve Willis at the bridge.’

III

Forester found the going hard as they climbed up to the camp. His breath wheezed in his throat and he developed slight chest pains. Rohde was not so much affected and Willis apparently not at all. During the fifteen-minute rest at the halfway point he commented on it. ‘That is acclimatization,’ Rohde explained. ‘Señor Willis has spent much time at the camp — to come down means nothing to him. For us going up it is different.’

‘That’s right,’ said Willis. ‘Going down to the bridge was like going down to sea-level, although the bridge must be about twelve thousand feet up.’

‘How high is the camp?’ asked Forester.

‘I’d say about fourteen and a half thousand feet,’ said Willis. ‘I’d put the mine at a couple of thousand feet higher.’

Forester looked up at the peaks. ‘And the pass is nineteen thousand. Too close to heaven for my liking, Miguel.’

Rohde’s lips twisted. ‘Not heaven — it is a cold hell.’

When they arrived at the camp Forester was feeling bad and said so. ‘You will be better tomorrow,’ said Rohde.

‘But tomorrow we’re going higher,’ said Forester morosely.

‘One day at each level is not enough to acclimatize,’ Rohde admitted. ‘But it is all the time we can afford.’

Willis looked around the camp. ‘Where the hell is Peabody? I’ll go and root him out.’

He wandered off and Rohde said, ‘I think we should search this camp thoroughly. There may be many things that would be of use to O’Hara.’

‘There’s the kerosene,’ said Forester. ‘Maybe Armstrong’s gadget can throw fire bombs. That would be one way of getting at the bridge to burn it.’

They began to search the huts. Most of them were empty and disused, but three of them had been fitted out for habitation and there was much equipment. In one of the huts they found Willis shaking a recumbent Peabody, who was stretched out on a bunk.

‘Five arrows,’ said Willis bitterly. ‘That’s all this bastard has done — made five arrows before he drank himself stupid.’

‘Where’s he getting the booze?’ asked Forester.

‘There’s a case of the stuff in one of the other huts.’

‘Lock it up if you can,’ said Forester. ‘If you can’t, pour it away — I ought to have warned you about this, but I forgot. We can’t do much about him now — he’s too far gone.’

Rohde who had been exploring the hut grunted suddenly as he took a small leather bag from a shelf. ‘This is good.’

Forester looked with interest at the pale green leaves which Rohde shook out into the palm of his hand. ‘What’s that?’

‘Coca leaves,’ said Rohde. ‘They will help us when we cross the mountain.’

‘Coca?’ said Forester blankly.

‘The curse of the Andes,’ said Rohde. ‘This is where cocaine comes from. It has been the ruin of the indios — this and aguardiente. Señor Aguillar intends to restrict the growing of coca when he comes into power.’ He smiled slowly. ‘It would be asking too much to stop it altogether.’

‘How is it going to help us?’ asked Forester.

‘Look around for another bag like this one containing a white powder,’ said Rohde. As they rummaged among the shelves, he continued, ‘In the great days of the Incas the use of coca was restricted to the nobles. Then the royal messengers were permitted to use it because it increased their running power and stamina. Now all the indios chew coca — it is cheaper than food.’

‘It isn’t a substitute for food, is it?’

‘It anaesthetises the stomach lining,’ said Rohde. ‘A starving man will do anything to avoid the pangs of hunger. It is also a narcotic, bringing calmness and tranquillity — at a price.’

‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ asked Forester. He opened a small bag he had found and tipped out some of the powder. ‘What is it?’

‘Lime,’ said Rohde. ‘Cocaine is an alkaloid and needs a base for it to precipitate. While we are waiting for Señor Willis to tell us what to do, I will prepare this for us.’

He poured the coca leaves into a saucer and began to grind them, using the back of a spoon as a pestle. The leaves were brittle and dry and broke up easily. When he had ground them to a powder he added lime and continued to grind until the two substances were thoroughly mixed. Then he put the mixture into an empty tin and added water, stirring until he had a light green paste. He took another tin and punched holes in the bottom, and, using it as a strainer, he forced the paste through.

He said, ‘In any of the villages round here you can see the old women doing this. Will you get me some small, smooth stones?’

Forester went out and got the stones and Rohde used them to roll and squeeze the paste like a pastrycook. Finally the paste was rolled out for the last time and Rohde cut it into rectangles with his pocket-knife. ‘These must dry in the sun,’ he said. ‘Then we put them back in the bags.’

Forester looked dubiously at the small green squares. ‘Is this stuff habit-forming?’

‘Indeed it is,’ said Rohde. ‘But do not worry; this amount will do us no harm. And it will give us the endurance to climb the mountains.’

Willis came back. ‘We can swing it,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the material to make this — what did Armstrong call it?’

‘A trebuchet,’ Forester said.

‘Well, we can do it,’ said Willis. He stopped and looked down at the table. ‘What’s that stuff?’

Forester grinned. ‘A substitute for prime steak; Miguel just cooked it up.’ He shook his head. ‘Medieval artillery and pep pills — what a hell of a mixture.’

‘Talking about steak reminds me that I’m hungry,’ said Willis. ‘We’ll eat before we get started.’

They opened some cans of stew and prepared a meal. As Forester took the first mouthful, he said, ‘Now tell me — what the hell is a trebuchet?’

Willis smiled and produced a stub of pencil. ‘Just an application of the lever,’ he said. ‘Imagine a thing like an out-of-balance seesaw — like this.’ Rapidly he sketched on the soft pine top of the table. ‘The pivot is here and one arm is, say, four times as long as the other. On the short arm you sling a weight, of, say, five hundred pounds, and on the other end you have your missile — a twenty-pound rock.’

He began to jot down calculations. ‘Those medieval fellows worked empirically — they didn’t have the concepts of energy that we have. We can do the whole thing precisely from scratch. Assuming your five-hundred-pound weight drops ten feet. The acceleration of gravity is such that, taking into account frictional losses at the pivot, it will take half a second to fall. That’s five thousand foot-pounds in a half-second, six hundred thousand foot-pounds to the minute, eighteen horse-power of energy applied instantaneously to a twenty-pound rock on the end of the long arm.’

‘That should make it move,’ said Forester.

‘I can tell you the speed,’ said Willis. ‘Assuming the ratio between the two arms is four to one, then the... the...’ He stopped, tapped on the table for a moment, then grinned. ‘Let’s call it the muzzle velocity, although this thing hasn’t a muzzle. The muzzle velocity will be eighty feet per second.’

‘Is there any way of altering the range?’

‘Sure,’ said Willis. ‘Heavy stones won’t go as far as light stones. You want to decrease the range, you use a heavier rock. I must tell O’Hara that — he’d better get busy collecting and grading ammunition.’

He began to sketch on the table in more detail. ‘For the pivot we have the back axle of a wrecked truck that’s back of the huts. The arms we make from the roof beams of a hut. There’ll have to be a cup of some kind to hold the missile — we’ll use a hub-cap bolted on to the end of the long arm. The whole thing will need a mounting but we’ll figure that out when we come to it.’

Forester looked at the sketch critically. ‘It’s going to be damned big and heavy. How are we going to get it down the mountain?’

Willis grinned. ‘I’ve figured that out too. The whole thing will pull apart and we’ll use the axle to carry the rest of it. We’ll wheel the damn thing down the mountain and assemble it again at the bridge.’

‘You’ve done well,’ said Forester.

‘It was Armstrong who thought it up,’ said Willis. ‘For a scholar, he has the most murderous tendencies. He knows more ways of killing people — say, have you ever heard of Greek fire?’

‘In a vague sort of way.’

‘Armstrong says it was as good as napalm, and that the ancients used to have flame-throwers mounted on the prows of their warships. We’ve done a bit of thinking along those lines and got nowhere.’ He looked broodingly at his sketch. ‘He says this thing is nothing to the siege weapons they had. They used to throw dead horses over city walls to start a plague. How heavy is a horse?’

‘Maybe horses weren’t as big in those days,’ said Forester.

‘Any horse that could carry a man in full armour was no midget,’ Willis pointed out. He spooned the last of the gravy from his plate. ‘We’d better get started — I don’t want to work all night again.’

Rohde nodded briefly and Forester looked over at Peabody, snoring on the bunk. ‘I think we’ll start with a bucket of the coldest water we can get,’ he said.

IV

O’Hara looked across the gorge.

Tendrils of smoke still curled from the burnt-out vehicles and he caught the stench of burning rubber. He looked speculatively at the intact jeep at the bridgehead and debated whether to do something about it, but discarded the idea almost as soon as it came to him. It would be useless to destroy a single vehicle — the enemy had plenty more — and he must husband his resources for more vital targets. It was not his intention to wage a war of attrition; the enemy could beat him hands down at that game.

He had been along the edge of the gorge downstream to where the road turned away, half a mile from the bridge, and had picked out spots from which crossbowmen could keep up a harassing fire. Glumly, he thought that Armstrong was right — the enemy would not be content to be docile targets; they would certainly take steps to protect themselves against further attack. The only reason for the present success was the unexpectedness of it all, as though a rabbit had taken a weasel by the throat.

The enemy was still vigilant by the bridge. Once, when O’Hara had incautiously exposed himself, he drew a concentrated fire that was unpleasantly accurate and it was only his quick reflexes and the fact that he was in sight for so short a time that saved him from a bullet in the head. We can take no chances, he thought; no chances at all.

Now he looked at the bridge with the twelve-foot gap yawning in the middle and thought of ways of getting at it. Fire still seemed the best bet and Willis had said that there were two drums of paraffin up at the camp. He measured with his eye the hundred-yard approach to the bridge; there was a slight incline and he thought that, given a good push, a drum would roll as far as the bridge. It was worth trying.

Presently Armstrong came down to relieve him. ‘Grub’s up,’ he said.

O’Hara regarded Armstrong’s smooth cheeks. ‘I didn’t bring my shaving-kit,’ he said. ‘Apparently you did.’

‘I’ve got one of those Swiss wind-up dry shavers,’ said Armstrong. ‘You can borrow it if you like. It’s up at the shelter in my coat pocket.’

O’Hara thanked him and pointed out the enemy observation posts he had spotted. ‘I don’t think they’ll make an attempt on the bridge today,’ he said, ‘so I’m going up to the camp this afternoon. I want those drums of paraffin. But if anything happens while I’m gone and the bastards get across, then you scatter. Aguillar, Benedetta and Jenny rendezvous at the mine — not the camp — and they go up the mountain the hard way, steering clear of the road. You get up to the camp by the road as fast as you can — you’d better move fast because they’ll be right on your tail.’

Armstrong nodded. ‘I have the idea. We stall them off at the camp, giving the others time to get to the mine.’

‘That’s right,’ said O’Hara. ‘But you’re the boss in my absence and you’ll have to use your own judgment.’

He left Armstrong and went back to the shelter, where he found the professor’s coat and rummaged in the pockets. Benedetta smiled at him and said, ‘Lunch is ready.’

‘I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ he said, and went down the hill towards the pond, carrying the dry shaver.

Aguillar pulled his overcoat tighter about him and looked at O’Hara’s retreating figure with curious eyes. ‘That one is strange,’ he said. ‘He is a fighter but he is too cold — too objective. There is no hot blood in him, and that is not good for a young man.’

Benedetta bent her head and concentrated on the stew. ‘Perhaps he has suffered,’ she said.

Aguillar smiled slightly as he regarded Benedetta’s averted face. ‘You say he was a prisoner in Korea?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘Then he must have suffered,’ agreed Aguillar. ‘Perhaps not in the body, but certainly in the spirit. Have you asked him about it?’

‘He will not talk about it.’

Aguillar wagged his head. That is also very bad. It is not good for a man to be so self-contained — to have his violence pent-up. It is like screwing down the safety-valve on a boiler — one can expect an explosion.’ He grimaced. ‘I hope I am not near when that young man explodes.’

Benedetta’s head jerked up. ‘You talk nonsense, Uncle. His anger is directed against those others across the river. He would do us no harm.’

Aguillar looked at her sadly. ‘You think so, child? His anger is directed against himself as the power of a bomb is directed against its casing — but when the casing shatters everyone around is hurt. O’Hara is a dangerous man.’

Benedetta’s lips tightened and she was going to reply when Miss Ponsky approached, lugging a crossbow. She seemed unaccountably flurried and the red stain of a blush was ebbing from her cheeks. Her protection was volubility. ‘I’ve got both bows sighted in,’ she said rapidly. ‘They’re both shooting the same now, and very accurately. They’re very strong too — I was hitting a target at one hundred and twenty yards. I left the other with Doctor Armstrong; I thought he might need it.’

‘Have you seen Señor O’Hara?’ asked Benedetta.

Miss Ponsky turned pink again. ‘I saw him at the pond,’ she said in a subdued voice. ‘What are we having for lunch?’ she continued brightly.

Benedetta laughed. ‘As always — stew.’

Miss Ponsky shuddered delicately. Benedetta said, ‘It is all that Señor Willis brought from the camp — cans of stew. Perhaps it is his favourite food.’

‘He ought to have thought of the rest of us,’ complained Miss Ponsky.

Aguillar stirred. ‘What do you think of Señor Forester, madam?’

‘I think he is a very brave man,’ she said simply. ‘He and Señor Rohde.’

‘I think so too,’ said Aguillar. ‘But also I think there is something strange about him. He is too much the man of action to be a simple businessman.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Miss Ponsky demurred. ‘A good businessman must be a man of action, at least in the States.’

‘Somehow I don’t think Forester’s idea is the pursuit of the dollar,’ Aguillar said reflectively. ‘He is not like Peabody.’

Miss Ponsky flared. ‘I could spit when I think of that man. He makes me ashamed to be an American.’

‘Do not be ashamed,’ Aguillar said gently. ‘He is not a coward because he is an American; there are cowards among all people.’

O’Hara came back. He looked better now that he had shaved the stubble from his cheeks. It had not been easy; the clockwork rotary shaver had protested when asked to attack the thicket of his beard, but he had persisted and was now smooth-cheeked and clean. The water in the pond had been too cold for bathing, but he had stripped and taken a sponge-bath and felt the better for it. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen Miss Ponsky toiling up the hill towards the shelter and hoped she had not seen him — he did not want to offend the susceptibilities of maiden ladies.

‘What have we got?’ he asked.

‘More stew,’ said Aguillar wryly.

O’Hara groaned and Benedetta laughed. He accepted the aluminium plate and said, ‘Maybe I can bring something else when I go up to the camp this afternoon. But I won’t have room for much — I’m more interested in the paraffin.’

Miss Ponsky asked, ‘What is it like by the river?’

‘Quiet,’ said O’Hara. ‘They can’t do much today so they’re contenting themselves with keeping the bridge covered. I think it’s safe enough for me to go up to the camp.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Benedetta quickly.

O’Hara paused, his fork in mid-air. ‘I don’t know if...’

‘We need food,’ she said. ‘And if you cannot carry it, somebody must.’

O’Hara glanced at Aguillar, who nodded tranquilly. ‘I will be all right,’ he said.

O’Hara shrugged. ‘It will be a help,’ he admitted.

Benedetta sketched a curtsy at him, but there was a flash of something in her eyes that warned O’Hara he must tread gently. ‘Thank you,’ she said, a shade too sweetly. ‘I’ll try not to get in the way.’

He grinned at her. ‘I’ll tell you when you are.’

V

Like Forester, O’Hara found the going hard on the way up to the camp. When he and Benedetta took a rest halfway, he sucked in the thin, cold air greedily, and gasped, ‘My God, this is getting tough.’

Benedetta’s eyes went to the high peaks. ‘What about Miguel and Señor Forester? They will have it worse.’

O’Hara nodded, then said, ‘I think your uncle ought to come up to the camp tomorrow. It is better that he should do it when he can do it in his own time, instead of being chased. And it will acclimatize him in case we have to retreat to the mine.’

‘I think that is good,’ she said. ‘I will go with him to help, and I can bring more food when I return.’

‘He might be able to help Willis with his bits and pieces,’ said O’Hara. ‘After all, he can’t do much down at the bridge anyway, and Willis wouldn’t mind another pair of hands.’

Benedetta pulled her coat about her. ‘Was it as cold as this in Korea?’

‘Sometimes,’ O’Hara said. He thought of the stonewalled cell in which he had been imprisoned. Water ran down the walls and froze into ice at night — and then the weather got worse and the walls were iced day and night. It was then that Lieutenant Feng had taken away all his clothing. ‘Sometimes,’ he repeated bleakly.

‘I suppose you had warmer clothing than we have,’ said Benedetta. ‘I am worried about Forester and Miguel. It will be very cold up in the pass.’

O’Hara felt suddenly ashamed of himself and his selfpity. He looked away quickly from Benedetta and stared at the snows above. ‘We must see if we can improvise a tent for them. They’ll spend at least one night in the open up there.’ He stood up. ‘We’d better get on.’

The camp was busy with the noise of hammering and the trebuchet was taking shape in the central clearing between the huts. O’Hara stood unnoticed for a moment and looked at it. It reminded him very much of something he had once seen in an avant-garde art magazine; a modern sculptor had assembled a lot of junk into a crazy structure and had given it some high-falutin’ name, and the trebuchet had the same appearance of wild improbability.

Forester paused and leaned on the length of steel he was using as a crude hammer. As he wiped the sweat from his eyes he caught sight of the newcomers and hailed them. ‘What the hell are you doing here? Is anything wrong?’

‘All’s quiet,’ said O’Hara reassuringly. ‘I’ve come for one of the drums of paraffin — and some grub.’ He walked round the trebuchet. ‘Will this contraption work?’

‘Willis is confident,’ said Forester. ‘That’s good enough for me.’

‘You won’t be here,’ O’Hara said stonily. ‘But I suppose I’ll have to trust the boffins. By the way — it’s going to be bloody cold up there — have you made any preparations?’

‘Not yet. We’ve been too busy on this thing.’

‘That’s not good enough,’ said O’Hara sternly. ‘We’re depending on you to bring the good old U.S. cavalry to the rescue. You’ve got to get across that pass — if you don’t, then this piece of silly artillery will be wasted. Is there anything out of which you can improvise a tent?’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Forester. ‘I’ll have a look around.’

‘Do that. Where’s the paraffin?’

‘Paraffin? Oh, you mean the kerosene. It’s in that hut there. Willis locked it up; he put all the booze in there — we had to keep Peabody sober somehow.’

‘Um,’ said O’Hara. ‘How’s he doing?’

‘He’s not much good. He’s out of condition and his disposition doesn’t help. We’ve got to drive him.’

‘Doesn’t the bloody fool realize that if the bridge is forced he’ll get his throat cut?’

Forester sighed. ‘It doesn’t seem to make any difference — logic isn’t his strong point. He goofs off at the slightest opportunity.’

O’Hara saw Benedetta going into one of the huts. ‘I’d better get that paraffin. We must have it at the bridge before it gets dark.’

He got the key of the hut from Willis and opened the door. Just inside was a crate, half-filled with bottles. There was a stir of longing in his guts as he looked at them, but he suppressed it firmly and switched his attention to the two drums of paraffin. He tested the weight of one of them, and thought, this is going to be a bastard to get down the mountain.

He heaved the drum on to its side and rolled it out of the hut. Across the clearing he saw Forester helping Benedetta to make a travois, and crossed over to them. ‘Is there any rope up here?’

‘Rope we’ve got,’ replied Forester. ‘But Rohde was worried about that — he said we’ll need it in the mountains, rotten though it is; and Willis needs it for the trebuchet, too. But there’s plenty of electric wire that Willis ripped out to make crossbow-strings with.’

‘I’ll need some to help me get that drum down the mountain — I suppose the electric wire will have to do.’

Peabody wandered over. His face had a flabby, unhealthy look about it and he exuded the scent of fear. ‘Say, what is this?’ he demanded. ‘Willis tells me that you and the spic are making a getaway over the mountains.’

Forester’s eyes were cold. ‘If you want to put it that way — yes.’

‘Well, I wanna come,’ said Peabody. ‘I’m not staying here to be shot by a bunch of commies.’

‘Are you crazy?’ said Forester.

‘What’s so crazy about it? Willis says it’s only fifteen miles to this place Altemiros.’

Forester looked at O’Hara speechlessly. O’Hara said quietly, ‘Do you think it’s going to be like a stroll in Central Park, Peabody?’

‘Hell, I’d rather take my chance in the mountains than with the commies,’ said Peabody. ‘I think you’re crazy if you think you can hold them off. What have you got? You’ve got an old man, a silly bitch of a school-marm, two nutty scientists and a girl. And you’re fighting with bows and arrows, for God’s sake.’ He tapped Forester on the chest. ‘If you’re making a getaway, I’m coming along.’

Forester slapped his hand away. ‘Now get this, Peabody, you’ll do as you’re damn well told.’

‘Who the hell are you to give orders?’ said Peabody with venom. ‘To begin with I take no orders from a limey — and I don’t see why you should be so high and mighty, either. I’ll do as I damn well please.’

O’Hara caught Forester’s eye. ‘Let’s see Rohde,’ he said hastily. He had seen Forester balling his fist and wanted to prevent trouble, for an idea was crystallizing in his mind.

Rohde was positively against it. ‘This man is in no condition to cross the mountains,’ he said. ‘He will hold us back, and if he holds us back none of us will get across. We cannot spend more than one night in the open.’

‘What do you think?’ Forester asked O’Hara.

‘I don’t like the man,’ said O’Hara. ‘He’s weak and he’ll break under pressure. If he breaks it might be the end of the lot of us. I can’t trust him.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ Forester agreed. ‘He’s a weak sister, all right. I’m going to overrule you, Miguel; he comes with us. We can’t afford to leave him with O’Hara.’

Rohde opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw the expression on Forester’s face. Forester grinned wolfishly and there was a hard edge to his voice when he said, ‘If he hold us up, we’ll drop the bastard into the nearest crevasse. Peabody will have to put up or shut up.’

He called Peabody over. ‘All right, you come with us. But let’s get this straight right from the start. You take orders.’

Peabody nodded. ‘All right,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll take orders from you.’

Forester was merciless. ‘You’ll take orders from anyone who damn well gives them from now on. Miguel is the expert round here and when he gives an order — you jump fast.’

Peabody’s eyes flickered, but he gave in. He had no option if he wanted to go with them. He shot a look of dislike at Rohde and said, ‘Okay, but when I get back Stateside the State Department is going to get an earful from me. What kind of place is this where good Americans can be pushed around by spics and commies?’

O’Hara looked at Rohde quickly. His face was as placid as though he had not heard. O’Hara admired his self-control — but he pitied Peabody when he got into the mountains.

Half an hour later he and Benedetta left. She was pulling the travois and he was clumsily steering the drum of paraffin. There were two loops of wire round the drum in a sling so that he could have a measure of control. They had wasted little time in saying goodbye to Rohde and Forester, and still less on Peabody. Willis had said, ‘We’ll need you up here tomorrow; the trebuchet will be ready then.’

‘I’ll be here,’ promised O’Hara. ‘If I haven’t any other engagements.’

It was difficult going down the mountain, even though they were on the road. Benedetta hauled on the travois and had to stop frequently to rest, and more often to help O’Hara with the drum. It weighed nearly four hundred pounds and seemed to have a malevolent mind of its own. His idea of being able to steer it by pulling on the wires did not work well. The drum would take charge and go careering at an angle to wedge itself in the ditch at the side of the road. Then it would be a matter of sweat and strain to get it out, whereupon it would charge into the opposite ditch.

By the time they got down to the bottom O’Hara felt as though he had been wrestling with a malign and evil adversary. His muscles ached and it seemed as though someone had pounded him with a hammer all over his body. Worse, in order to get the drum down the mountain at all he had been obliged to lighten the load by jettisoning a quarter of the contents and had helplessly watched ten gallons of invaluable paraffin drain away into the thirsty dust.

When they reached the valley Benedetta abandoned the travois and went for help. O’Hara had looked at the sky and said, ‘I want this drum at the bridge before nightfall.’

Night swoops early on the eastern slopes of the Andes. The mountain wall catches the setting sun, casting long shadows across the hot jungles of the interior. At five in the afternoon the sun was just touching the topmost peaks and O’Hara knew that in an hour it would be dark.

Armstrong came up to help and O’Hara immediately asked, ‘Who’s on watch?’

‘Jenny. She’s all right. Besides, there’s nothing doing at all.’

With two men to control the erratic drum it went more easily and they manoeuvred it to the bridgehead within half an hour. Miss Ponsky came running up. ‘They switched on their lights just now and I think I heard an auto engine from way back along there.’ She pointed downstream.

‘I would have liked to try and put out the headlamps on this jeep,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t want to waste an arrow — a quarrel — and in any case there’s something in front of the glass.’

‘They have stone guards in front of the lights,’ said Armstrong. ‘Heavy mesh wire.’

‘Go easy on the bolts, anyway,’ said O’Hara. ‘Peabody was supposed to be making some but he’s been loafing on the job.’ He carefully crept up and surveyed the bridgehead. The jeep’s headlights illuminated the whole bridge and its approaches and he knew that at least a dozen sharp pairs of eyes were watching. It would be suicidal to go out there.

He dropped back and looked at the drum in the fading light. It was much dented by its careering trip down the mountain road but he thought it would roll a little farther. He said, ‘This is the plan. We’re going to burn the bridge. We’re going to play the same trick that we played this morning but we’ll apply it on this side of the bridge.’

He put his foot on top of the drum and rocked it gently. ‘If Armstrong gives this one good heave it should roll right down to the bridge — if we’re lucky. Jenny will be standing up there with her crossbow and when it gets into the right position she’ll puncture it. I’ll be in position too, with Benedetta to hand me the other crossbow with a fire-bolt. If the drum is placed right then we’ll burn through the ropes on this side and the whole bloody bridge will drop into the water.’

‘That sounds all right,’ said Armstrong.

‘Get the bows, Jenny,’ said O’Hara and took Armstrong to one side, out of hearing of the others. ‘It’s a bit more tricky than that,’ he said. ‘In order to get the drum in the right place you’ll have to come into the open.’ He held his head on one side; the noise of the vehicle had stopped. ‘So I want to do it before they get any more lights on the job.’

Armstrong smiled gently. ‘I think your little bit is more dangerous than mine. Shooting those fire-bolts in the dark will make you a perfect target — it won’t be as easy as this morning, and then you nearly got shot.’

‘Maybe,’ said O’Hara. ‘But this has got to be done. This is how we do it. When that other jeep — or whatever it is — comes up, maybe the chaps on the other side won’t be so vigilant. My guess is that they’ll tend to watch the vehicle manoeuvre into position; I don’t think they’re a very disciplined crowd. Now, while that’s happening is the time to do your stuff. I’ll give you the signal.’

‘All right, my boy,’ said Armstrong. ‘You can rely on me.’

O’Hara helped him to push the drum into the position easiest for him, and then Miss Ponsky and Benedetta came up with the crossbows. He said to Benedetta, ‘When I give Armstrong the signal to push off the drum, you light the first fire-bolt. This has got to be done quickly if it’s going to be done at all.’

‘All right, Tim,’ she said.

Miss Ponsky went to her post without a word.

He heard the engine again, this time louder. He saw nothing on the road downstream and guessed that the vehicle was coming slowly and without lights. He thought they’d be scared of being fired on during that half-mile journey. By God, he thought, if I had a dozen men with a dozen bows I’d make life difficult for them. He smiled sourly. Might as well wish for a machine-gun section — it was just as unlikely a possibility.

Suddenly the vehicle switched its lights on. It was quite near the bridge and O’Hara got ready to give Armstrong the signal. He held his hand until the vehicle — a jeep — drew level with the burnt-out truck, then he said in a whispered shout, ‘Now!’

He heard the rattle as the drum rolled over the rocks and out of the corner of his eye saw the flame as Benedetta ignited the fire-bolt. The drum came into sight on his left, bumping down the slight incline which led towards the bridge. It hit a larger stone which threw it off course. Christ, he whispered, we’ve bungled it.

Then he saw Armstrong run into the open, chasing after the drum. A few faint shouts came from across the river and there was a shot. ‘You damned fool,’ yelled O’Hara. ‘Get back.’ But Armstrong kept running forward until he had caught up with the drum and, straightening it on course again, he gave it another boost.

There was a rafale of rifle-fire and spurts of dust flew about Armstrong’s feet as he ran back at full speed, then a metallic thunk as a bullet hit the drum and, as it turned, O’Hara saw a silver spurt of liquid rise in the air. The enemy were divided in their intentions — they did not know which was more dangerous, Armstrong or the drum. And so Armstrong got safely into cover.

Miss Ponsky raised the bow. ‘Forget it, Jenny,’ roared O’Hara. ‘They’ve done it for us.’

Again and again the drum was hit as it rolled towards the bridge and the paraffin spurted out of more holes, rising in gleaming jets into the air until the drum looked like some strange kind of liquid Catherine wheel. But the repeated impact of bullets was slowing it down and there must have been a slight and unnoticed rise in the ground before the bridge because the drum rolled to a halt just short of the abutments.

O’Hara swore and turned to grasp the crossbow which Benedetta was holding. Firing in the dark with a fire-bolt was difficult; the flame obscured his vision and he had to will himself consciously to take aim slowly. There was another babble of shouts from over the river and a bullet ricocheted from a rock nearby and screamed over his head.

He pressed the trigger gently and the scorching heat was abruptly released from his face as the bolt shot away into the opposing glare of headlamps. He ducked as another bullet clipped the rock by the side of his head and thrust the bow at Benedetta for reloading.

It was not necessary. There was a dull explosion and a violent flare of light as the paraffin around the drum caught fire. O’Hara, breathing heavily, moved to another place where he could see what was happening. It would have been very foolish to pop his head up in the same place from which he had fired his bolt.

It was with dejection that he saw a raging fire arising from a great pool of paraffin just short of the bridge. The drum had stopped too soon and although the fire was spectacular it would do the bridge no damage at all. He watched for a long time, hoping the drum would explode and scatter burning paraffin on the bridge, but nothing happened and slowly the fire went out.

He dropped back to join the others. ‘Well, we messed that one up,’ he said bitterly.

‘I should have pushed it harder,’ Armstrong said.

O’Hara flared up in anger. ‘You damned fool, if you hadn’t run out and given it another shove it wouldn’t have gone as far as it did. Don’t do an idiotic thing like that again — you nearly got killed!’

Armstrong said quietly, ‘We’re all of us on the verge of getting killed. Someone has to risk something besides you.’

‘I should have surveyed the ground more carefully,’ said O’Hara self-accusingly.

Benedetta put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t worry, Tim; you did the best you could.’

‘Sure you did,’ said Miss Ponsky militantly. ‘And we’ve shown them we’re still here and fighting. I bet they’re scared to come across now for fear of being burned alive.’

‘Come,’ said Benedetta. ‘Come and eat.’ There was a flash of humour in her voice. ‘I didn’t bring the travois all the way down, so it will be stew again.’

Wearily O’Hara turned his back on the bridge. It was the third night since the plane crash — and six more to go!