High Citadel / Landslide

by Desmond Bagley

  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 fencesitter, 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 inacti
ve.’

  ‘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.’