by Jack Higgins
He awakened suddenly to the cold night and realised that somebody was shaking him. He groaned and sat up. Ahmed said from the darkness. 'You were having a bad dream, I think, sahib.'
'Is it time?'
'Yes, sahib.'
Drummond breathed deeply a couple of times to steady himself, then pulled on his mittens. He picked up his sub-machine gun, opened the door and jumped down into the mud.
The rain rushed steadily through the darkness and the mist still blanketed the wet ground as he moved through the pine trees to the road.
After a while, he paused and called in a low voice, 'Amal, where are you?'
The Bengali moved out of the night to join him. 'Drummond sahib?'
'Anything doing?'
'Nothing, only the rain and yet more rain. Soon it will be snow. I have known it happen before this early in the year.'
'Let's hope not,' Drummond said and the Bengali faded into the darkness.
He found a fallen tree and sat on it, arms folded, sub-machine gun across his knee, but the cold ate into his bones and from time to time he stood up and walked around a little, stamping his feet to restore the circulation. Finally, with a complete disregard for caution, he lit a cheroot. It tasted terrible, but the glowing end somehow comforted him. When he had finished it, he lit another.
He became aware of the noise very gradually. He straightened up and listened carefully. He could hear the sound of feet squelching through the mud from the direction of the camp. There was silence for a moment as if the person approaching was momentarily at a loss and then the steps sounded again, this time much more cautiously.
Very carefully, Drummond placed his still burning cheroot in a branch of the fallen tree, then slipped quietly into the darkness.
He worked his way round in a wide circle until he was certain he was behind the intruder and then moved forward. The dim bulk of a man appeared from the gloom, and glowing faintly through the dark beyond him was the cheroot.
It was the stillness of the man that decided Drummond, that and the slight, ominous rattle of a gun sling as he eased from one foot to the other, still peering towards the glowing cheroot. Drummond took a pace forward, tapped him on the shoulder and punched him in the stomach as he turned round.
He lay moaning on the ground and Drummond struck a match. It was Brackenhurst, one of the Russian sub-machine guns lying in the mud beside him. The match hissed and was extinguished by the rain.
After a while, Brackenhurst groaned and sat up. 'What happened?' His voice quavered and he sounded sick.
'You shouldn't go creeping around in the dark like that,' Drummond said. 'People might get the wrong idea.'
'I wanted a word with you, that's all,' Brackenhurst said. 'Away from the others. I wanted to explain about what happened at Sadar. When the roof started to come down, I panicked. Didn't know what was happening. I got to the Land Rover and when no one else followed, I thought you'd all bought it.'
Which was a straight lie, but Drummond let it go. 'That's all right. These things happen.'
Brackenhurst hesitated. 'Have you told anyone else?'
Drummond shook his head. 'Only Hamid and I know and we've more important things to worry about.' He stood there, calm and somehow uncompromising in the darkness. 'You'd better get some sleep. You're going to need it.' He picked up the sub-machine gun and held it out. 'Better take this with you.'
Brackenhurst stumbled away without speaking and Drummond went back to his tree. Half an hour later, Sher Dil relieved him. 'Anything happened?'
Drummond shook his head. 'No, everything quiet up here,' he replied and trudged through the mud back to the camp.
He climbed into the back of the truck and lay down, hitching a blanket over his shoulders. He was cold, numb all over and yet he wasn't miserable. He was long past that point.
He came awake slowly, yawned and turned on one side. Janet crouched over the oil stove, waiting for the kettle to boil, her face half in shadow in the subdued glow.
'What time is it?' he asked softly.
She glanced at her watch. 'Just after three. I couldn't sleep.'
She made tea in two tin mugs and handed him one and they sat in companionable silence in the glow of the stove. After a while, he said gently, 'What is it, Janet? Are you afraid?'
'I think I am,' she said simply. 'Even Vietnam didn't prepare me for anything like this. Do you think we'll get out?'
He was tempted to answer with a false assurance and then looked into that calm, grave face and knew that he couldn't. 'I'm not sure. As Sher Dil says, if the Chinese have moved fast along the other side, they could be ahead of us. They're bound to find boats at Huma or one of the other riverside villages. They could put men across to cut the road with no trouble.'
'This bridge up ahead that Sher Dil mentioned. Do you think there may be trouble there?'
'Trouble is where you find it. There's never any sense in worrying too much in advance.' He smiled. 'What will you do when all this is over?'
'Carry on to Chicago with Kerim, I suppose. That still stands whatever else may be changed. I'm due three months leave anyway.'
'And afterwards?'
'I'm not sure. I go wherever the Society sends me.'
'Isn't it time you thought about settling down?'
'Is that a straight offer?'
He shook his head. 'I could offer you money, Janet, enough and to spare. But take a look at the debit side. I'm forty years old, a beat-up ex-Navy flyer who's seen too much of hot countries and strange cities, had enough of flying to places where no one else will go. I want to rest my head somewhere for a while. That doesn't sound like much of a catch to me.'
'I know one thing,' she said quietly. 'If we don't try, we'll regret it for the rest of our lives.'
He sat staring down at the light of the stove, her hand in his, sighed and got to his feet. 'I'll get a little air. I've got some thinking to do.'
Janet sat there in the darkness, and after a while Hamid climbed over the tailboard. He helped himself to tea and squatted on the other side of the stove from her.
'I should wake Jack. He's supposed to take over from me at four.'
'That's all right. He was here. He's just gone for some air.'
'Trouble?' Hamid said.
She shrugged. 'Four o'clock in the morning talk, that's all. He's just decided he's too old for me.'
Hamid nodded. 'He's tired, that's all.' He hesitated and then decided to carry on. 'Jack isn't aware that I know this, Janet, but for the past five years at least, he's been working for British Intelligence, mainly flying illegal reconnaissance flights across the borders of what might be termed the less friendly powers.'
The breath went out of her in a long sigh. 'You're sure about this?'
'Oh, yes, the information comes to me from friends in Indian Army Intelligence. A long time for a man to live on his nerves.'
'Which explains a great many things.'
'Last year he crashed in the Borneo jungle and was badly wounded. They nearly got him that time and the Indonesians do not care for the British these days. His fate would hardly have been a pleasant one.'
'Is that when he got that terrible scar on his face?'
He nodded and leaned across, his face grave in the diffused light of the stove. 'He's a good man, Janet, but he's had enough. Take him home, wherever that turns out to be.'
There was an obvious change in her, she seemed confident, assured, smiled suddenly and squeezed his hand. 'I will, Ali, I will.' She got to her feet. 'I'd better check on Kerim.'
Hamid poured himself some more tea, feeling strangely sad, and after a while Drummond climbed over the tailboard and joined him.
'Where's Janet?'
'Gone to have a look at Kerim. Who's on duty at the road?'
'Ahmed, I think.' Drummond hesitated and then went on, 'Brackenhurst turned up when I was doing my hour up there last night.'
'What did he want?'
'I'm not sure. I rather got the impression he was
toying with the idea of killing me, but basically he just wanted to make sure that we hadn't told the others what really happened at Sadar.'
He explained what had taken place. When he had finished, Hamid nodded slowly, a frown on his face. 'Of course, he could argue that he was carrying the gun merely as precaution in case of trouble. He could never have used it. Far too noisy. The knife is the weapon for darkness, Jack.'
'I'm not sure that he's rational enough to look at things in that way any more,' Drummond said. 'He's badly scared, and he's certainly never possessed the kind of cold-blooded guts it takes to go after a man with a knife.'
'We'll have to watch him from now on, that's all.' Hamid shivered suddenly. 'I don't like it at this time in the morning, Jack. Makes me think of other dawnings, other places and a lot of good men dead.' He laughed in a peculiar fashion. 'I must be getting old.'
'Aren't we all?' Drummond said.
He got to his feet and moved to the tailboard. It was already dawn, a grey light seeping through the mist. The heavy rain lancing into the ground and he stared out at it morosely, wondering what the day would bring.
Wrapped in a sheepskin on the floor in front of the fire in the headman's house at Bandong, Piroo was awakened suddenly by a savage kick in the side. He sat up with a start, aware, as if in a dream, of faces staring down at him, the shining Burp guns, the red stars in the peaked caps.
Somewhere, Yussuf cried aloud, running for the door. A foot tripped him and a rifle butt thudded savagely against the back of his skull, cracking the bone.
Piroo was dragged to his feet, gibbering with fear and then a sharp voice cut across the noise and confusion and there was silence.
Colonel Cheung paused in the doorway, the fur collar of his greatcoat pulled up around his neck, the face beneath the fur hat lined and drawn with fatigue.
There had been considerable delay in crossing the river at Kama. For one thing, the shallows had been deeper than usual owing to the heavy rain and one of the troop carriers had bogged down. They had wasted several hours in trying to salvage it. It had been almost dark when he had finally decided to push on with the remaining vehicle and a dozen men.
He had kept on the move for most of the night, often at no more than ten miles an hour in the appalling conditions, on several occasions almost losing the vehicle, but there was always the hope that Father Kerrigan and his party might be at Bandong. It was an obvious stopping place. When they had reached the village, he had sent the sergeant and ten men in on foot, giving them five minutes' start before following in the troop carrier.
'What's going on here?' he demanded.
The sergeant, a small, hard-faced Cantonese named Ng, hurried forward. 'The village is empty, Colonel, except for these two. Deserters from the look of them.'
'Deserters?' Cheung's face changed, went pale with excitement as he pushed his men aside and examined Piroo. 'Who are you?' he demanded in Urdu. 'One of Colonel Sher Dil's men? Did you escape across the river?'
'No, sahib,' Piroo said. 'I was with the supply convoy.'
'The convoy was here?' Cheung said. 'Where is it now?'
'Gone, sahib, to India with Colonel Sher Dil and the young Khan. They are hoping to reach the border.'
'Sher Dil was here?' Cheung said in amazement.
'Oh, yes, sahib,' Piroo babbled. 'Also Major Hamid and Drummond sahib. They all crossed the river from Sadar.'
'When did they leave?'
'Yesterday, two hours before dark. They intended to camp somewhere along the road when night fell. I heard the colonel say so.'
Cheung laughed excitedly, slapping his leather swagger stick across his gloved palm. 'Get the men together at once, Sergeant. We're going on.'
He turned to the door and Sergeant Ng said quickly, 'What shall I do with this one, sir?'
Cheung looked at Piroo with something close to affection. 'Let him go free, he has served us well.'
He went out and Piroo, to whom the interchange in Chinese had been completely unintelligible, turned eagerly to Sergeant Ng.
A strange man, the colonel, the sergeant told himself. Full of wild fancies, but a good officer for all that. He nodded to one of his men who grabbed Piroo suddenly, clamping a hand over his mouth.
Piroo saw the knife coming up, felt a coldness streaking under the ribs to the heart and plunged into darkness. They left him there by the fire, and a moment later the troop carrier moved away, its tracks scattering mud from the street across the walls of the houses.
11
The Bridge at Sokim
'I CAN see the bridge,' Sher Dil said, 'and it's still standing.'
'Thank God for that.' Drummond took the binoculars and focussed them quickly. 'There certainly doesn't seem to be anybody about.'
'And no cover for an ambush,' Hamid said. 'We'd better cross now while the going's good.'
They dispersed to the trucks and Drummond ploughed through the mud and heaved himself up beside Ahmed, glad to be back inside. It had rained without pause all morning, turning the road into a rutted quagmire through which they had progressed at little more than fifteen miles per hour.
They went over the hill and the road dropped steeply towards the great ravine which cut its way through the heart of the mountains. Ahmed selected bottom gear and followed Sher Dil cautiously.
The bridge was a narrow spindly thing, fit only for one-way traffic. As the road levelled off to approach it, the other trucks slowed to a halt and Ahmed braked quickly.
'I'll see what's happening,' Drummond said and jumped down.
Sher Dil leaned over the parapet examining the web of rusty steel girders. He turned as Drummond approached.
'It would take the Chinese a long time to construct another. A demolition expert's dream.'
'Thinking of doing it yourself?'
'I don't see why not. It wouldn't take long. We'll cross over first, though.'
As Drummond went back to his own vehicle, Hamid leaned out of the cab of the supply truck. 'What was he up to?'
'He wants to stop and blow up the bridge. What do you think?'
'An excellent idea. It would block the road for months.'
'Don't you think it might advertise our presence?'
'I can't see that it makes much difference. If there's anyone up ahead, they'll still be there whether we blow the bridge or not.'
Drummond climbed up beside Ahmed and the truck lurched forward and started the slow ascent on the other side. When they pulled over the hill, they saw that Sher Dil had stopped a little way up the road. They joined him as Amal and Brackenhurst drove up behind.
Brackenhurst came forward, his face white and strained. 'Why are we stopping?'
'I've decided to destroy the bridge before moving on,' Sher Dil said.
Father Kerrigan climbed down to join them and Janet stayed in the cab, an arm around young Kerim who was now sitting beside her.
'For God's sake,' Brackenhurst said. 'Haven't we lost enough time?'
'If we blow the bridge, the Chinese will lose even more,' Sher Dil said patiently. 'We'll use the contents of my truck, grenades, ammunition and some demolition charges. You can all help. We'll unload the stuff more quickly that way.' He turned to Father Kerrigan. 'You stay with Miss Tate and the Khan. We shan't be long.'
He took the wheel himself on the journey back down the hill. When they reached the bridge, he turned and reversed as far as the centre. Drummond climbed into the back with Hamid and handed the boxes out to the others. They worked fast and each time he passed a box down to Brackenhurst, he noticed that he was sweating.
'That's about it,' Sher Dil said at last as he surveyed the boxes stacked across the bridge. 'When that lot goes up, they'll hear it in Sadar.'
'What now?' Hamid said.
'I'll set the fuses myself. Corporal Nadin and Amal can stay and help me. The rest of you better get back up the hill. You'll have to walk. We'll need the truck to make a quick exit before the big bang.'
Brackenhurst was already hurrying
back across the bridge and Nadin stood rooted to the spot, dismay in his eyes. Sher Dil tossed him a coil of fuse wire which the Indian almost dropped.
'Pull yourself together, Corporal,' the colonel snapped. 'The sooner we get this set up, the sooner we can get out.'
At the top of the hill, Drummond turned and looked down. The bridge and the truck seemed like toys and the whole scene had an unreal, fake look.
Hamid came up the hill carrying Sher Dil's binoculars. He sat on a boulder and adjusted them until the truck and the bridge jumped sharply into focus.
'How are they doing?' Drummond asked.
'He's laying the charges. I must say Nadin doesn't look too happy. Neither does Amal.'
'They're both scared to death. I think that's why Sher Dil made them stay.'
Below on the bridge, they worked rapidly. Nadin running the fuse wire to the far end. He walked back towards the colonel, paused and pointed dramatically. His cry rose thin and clear in the rain.
As a Chinese troop carrier came over the crest of the hill on the other side of the ravine, Hamid focussed the binoculars quickly and the face of the officer standing upright beside the driver jumped out to meet him.
'It's Cheung.'
As the troop carrier started the descent, Drummond said, 'They haven't got time to blow the bridge now. We'd better get moving.'
'In the troop carrier, they would catch us within five minutes,' Hamid said calmly. 'Sher Dil knows that. He will blow the bridge. He will do it for the young Khan.'
Drummond turned to watch the drama being enacted below, saw Sher Dil take a step towards the charges and knew with cold certainty that Hamid was right, that he intended to blow the bridge even if it meant going up with it.