the Iron Tiger (v5)

by Jack Higgins

  He could see two of his men, Galur and old Abdul, standing beside the fire, hands raised high in the air. There was the sudden roll of an automatic weapon and Abdul fell back across the fire. Galur turned, burst through the ring of men and ran for the trees, head down. For a moment it seemed that he might make it and then a burst from a sub-machine gun drove him on to his knees.

  The soldiers were calling excitedly to each other as they started to search the tents. More and more of them pressed into the camp and with a sudden roar, a troop carrier came down the road, followed by another and yet another, half-tracks at the rear for mountain warfare, instead of wheels.

  Brackenhurst had seen enough. He turned and scrambled back up the hill. From somewhere to his left, there was a cry and a bullet passed through the trees severing a branch.

  He put down his head and ran faster, one arm raised before his face to ward off flailing branches. A moment later he floundered across the ford and staggered up the hill to the Land Rover.

  The engine was still warm and it burst into life with a surge of power when he pressed the starter. He reversed quickly, the tyres skidded for a moment, searching for a grip on the soft, crumbling edge of the track, and then they found it and he drove away rapidly.

  Sitting at the wheel of the Land Rover in the courtyard of the mission and remembering what had happened at Howeel, Brackenhurst shivered involuntarily. He could hear the rise and fall of voices and looked out again at Father Kerrigan, at Drummond standing in the doorway, the old priest holding a lamp in one hand.

  After a moment, Father Kerrigan went back inside, closing the door and Drummond ran down the steps and scrambled into the passenger seat.

  'Right, let's get moving.'

  'What did the old man have to say?' Brackenhurst asked as he drove away.

  'What could he say? He's going to pack up as fast as he can and follow on in the jeep with Janet and the boy. No sense in staying to face what's coming. You know what they do to people like him.'

  'What do you think the Khan will do?'

  'What in the hell can he do except get out? He hasn't got a defence pact with India, which means they're going to sit tight on their side of the border, and if I know them, the Chinese will be smart enough to go just that far and no further.'

  'But why?' Brackenhurst demanded. 'What in the hell can they possibly want with a dump like this? There's nothing here that's worth having.'

  'You could say the same about the Aksai Chien and the Ladakh, but they moved in there and for the same reason. Prestige, a paper victory. The glorious Army of the People's Republic takes back what was part of the Chinese Empire a thousand years ago. The fact that Balpur is a few thousand square miles of the most sterile territory on God's earth doesn't matter. It'll take the people's mind off the bad harvest back home.'

  As they drove through the deserted streets, the sky was beginning to lighten over the mountains, and beyond the scattered, flat-roofed houses, grey and sombre, the river roared through the valley, swollen by the rain.

  Later, at the palace, waiting for the Khan in the room where they had dined in what now seemed another age, another time, Drummond opened the french windows and stood on the terrace in the rain, listening.

  The Khan was taking his time, but when he came in, he was wearing a khaki drill uniform, the medals above the left hand pocket, a splash of vivid colour in the grey morning. The major domo to whom Drummond had given the original message followed him with a decanter of brandy and glasses on a silver tray.

  The Khan had dropped twenty years and there was a new vitality in his step. 'It seemed to me that a drink might be in order, gentlemen. If what Ahmed has told me is anywhere near the truth, it may well be some considerable time before we have another.' The major domo filled three glasses, passed them round and left the room. The Khan toasted them silently. 'Now, Mr. Brackenhurst, perhaps you would be good enough to tell me in your own words exactly what happened at Howeel.'

  When Brackenhurst had finished, the old man turned to Drummond. 'What do you think?'

  'I don't understand it,' Drummond said. 'Last time I was up there, there was nothing. Not a damned thing.'

  'But that was ten days ago now, am I right?'

  'What are you going to do?'

  'I'm not sure. First I must confer with Colonel Sher Dil and Major Hamid. I have sent messengers already telling them both to meet me urgently at Army Headquarters.'

  'Seventy-five men,' Drummond said. 'They won't go far and you can't rely on the tribesmen. They'll simply take to the hills and stay out of trouble. And I don't think the Indian Army will interfere.'

  'A pessimistic view, but a correct one, I fear. How many can your plane take?'

  'Not more than fifteen in this kind of country. I've got to get over those mountains, remember, and if we're going we must go quickly. Once the people get hold of the news we'll have a howling mob running for the airstrip. Father Kerrigan's the only other person I've told so far. We called at the mission and left my jeep. He's going to pack up as quickly as he can and follow us in with Kerim and Miss Tate.'

  The Khan nodded. 'Good, my son must certainly be saved at all costs.'

  'Then by my reckoning that gives us a possible passenger list consisting of yourself, Kerim, Father Kerrigan, Miss Tate, Brackenhurst here and Major Hamid, Colonel Sher Dil, too, of course, if he wants to come.'

  'What about Cheung?' Brackenhurst put in.

  'I was forgetting him.' Drummond turned to the Khan. 'Your Highness is probably well aware of Mr. Cheung's true politics. God alone knows what the Reds would do if they got their hands on him.'

  The major domo returned and handed the Khan a polished leather belt and holster containing a heavy British Army service revolver. He belted it around his waist, and smiled grimly.

  'Then I think it is time to move, gentlemen. You may drop me at Colonel Sher Dil's headquarters. suggest you then continue on to the airstrip and prepare the plane for immediate take-off.'

  Outside, it was even lighter now, the sky a heavy uniform grey, the rain turning the dirt road into a quagmire as they drove down through the streets to the main square, braking to a halt outside the grim, barrack-like building that was Sher Dil's headquarters.

  There was already a bustle of activity, and as the Khan got out the colonel came down the steps to meet him, Major Hamid at his shoulder. The Pathan glanced enquiringly at Drummond who held his thumb down and Brackenhurst drove away quickly.

  Beyond the city, one or two tents were pitched, a flock of heavy, mountain sheep crowding in close to where a herdsman's fire already trailed grey smoke into the morning.

  They bounced over the rutted track, skidding slightly in the mud, and went over the escarpment and down towards the airstrip.

  The corrugated iron hangar looked ugly and forsaken in the grey morning and Brackenhurst braked to a halt a few yards away and nodded towards the airstrip itself, already a sea of mud.

  'Not much of a surface to take off on.'

  'Anything will do for a Beaver,' Drummond said. 'That's why they're so good for this kind of country.'

  He took out his key, unlocked the padlock and pulled the doors wide, revealing the red and gold plane, and a quiet, precise voice said, 'Excellent, my friend, now move away, please.'

  Cheung came round the corner of the building, an automatic pistol in one hand. In the other, he held a grenade. 'Going somewhere, Jack?'

  'That was the general idea.' Drummond slipped his hands casually into the slanting pockets of his flying jacket, fingers closing around the butt of the Smith & Wesson. 'What is this?'

  Famia moved from behind one of the doors and stood at Cheung's shoulder, looking faintly ridiculous in Drummond's sweater, which was by now so sodden and heavy with rain that it almost reached her knees.

  'Well, I'll be damned,' he said.

  Cheung smiled gently. 'No one is going anywhere, Jack. It was not in the plan.'

  In one quick movement, he pulled the ring from the grenade
with his teeth and tossed it inside the hangar. In the same moment, Drummond pulled the Smith & Wesson from his pocket and loosed off a wild shot that splintered the door behind Cheung's head, sending him running for cover.

  Drummond turned and ran. Brackenhurst was already scrambling behind the wheel of the Land Rover. As the engine roared into life, the grenade exploded, hot air reached out to enfold Drummond, and the entire hangar seemed to sag.

  As he jumped in, the Land Rover shot away, wheels churning the mud to liquid. Cheung moved into the open, firing steadily, the gun held in both hands with all the expertise of the marksman.

  Brackenhurst took the Land Rover into a gully that slanted up the hillside giving them some kind of cover, and a moment later the Beaver's fuel tank blew up.

  'And I hope that's taken the bastard with it!' he shouted.

  They roared out of the gully on to a plateau which jutted like a shelf from the side of the mountain and gave a view of the plain below.

  Cheung was standing a little distance away from the burning hangar looking up towards them and the girl lay face down in the mud a yard or two away from him.

  Drummond was conscious of nothing, no anger, no pain. There was no time to wonder about what had happened or why. Survival was the thing from now on. The only thing that mattered.

  Brackenhurst braked on the edge of the plateau seeking the safest way down, and beneath them the town was spread out like a map. Already people were stirring, moving in the streets in spite of the heavy rain.

  'Bad news travels fast,' Drummond said.

  In the square outside headquarters there was considerable activity. Three trucks moved up and parked outside and the drivers got down and stood in a small knot, obviously discussing what was happening.

  Somewhere, Drummond was conscious of the noise, dulled by the rain, and then Brackenhurst screamed and pointed up into the sky to where a couple of planes flew out of the grey morning side by side, turned and broke formation, spiralling down like leaves falling from the branches of a tree.

  The leading jet roared down the valley beside the river, banking so close to the mountain that for one frozen moment Drummond was able to distinguish the red stars on the wings.

  'God in heaven, Chinese Migs!' Brackenhurst cried.

  In the town below there were cries of alarm, people were standing in groups looking up at the sky, and as they scattered to run, the leading Mig swooped and fired its rockets, ploughing a double furrow across the square and scoring a direct hit on the first truck in line outside Sher Dil's headquarters. The truck's petrol tank exploded and debris and flames cascaded outwards to enfold the panic-stricken people who ran past.

  The second Mig came in fast, rockets ploughing into the other two trucks and the flimsy mud and wattle houses beyond. As it swooped up into the grey morning, the leader was already banking, turning in to make his second run. He roared down, rockets hammering into the closely packed houses, and scored a direct hit on the ammunition store on the other side of Sher Dil's headquarters. A tremendous explosion sent a column of flame shooting up through the dark pall of smoke that was already enveloping the town as the second Mig followed the other in fast.

  'Let's get moving.' Drummond slapped Brackenhurst on the shoulder.

  Brackenhurst turned, his face veiy white, eyes staring. 'Down there? You must be mad.'

  Drummond didn't argue. He dragged Brackenhurst across the seat and scrambled into his place behind the wheel. He took the Land Rover down the steep hillside and across the plain, and the smoke enveloped them so that he had to drive blind for several moments, swerving as a half-ruined house loomed out of the gloom. They bounced across a tangled mass of timber and masonry and turned into the main square.

  A man ran out of the swirling darkness, his petrol-soaked body flaming like a torch. He vanished in the direction of the river. Someone screamed monotonously above the crackling of the flames and ammunition started to explode.

  The Land Rover crunched across a burned and blackened body and Drummond braked hard. The screaming had stopped and the silence was somehow intensified by the crackling of the flames. On this side of the square there was hardly a house standing, and one end of Sher Dil's headquarters was a heap of rubble.

  As Drummond jumped to the ground, Hamid staggered out of the entrance and leaned against the wall at the top of the steps, gasping for air, his uniform smouldering in several places.

  Drummond ran up the steps and caught him as he started to fall. 'Easy does it. I've got you. What about the Khan?'

  There was blood on Hamid's right cheek and he wiped it away mechanically. 'I don't know. Inside somewhere. The place is a bloody shambles.'

  As Brackenhurst came up the steps to join them, the Migs came down the valley again. They grabbed Hamid between them and ran. As they staggered in through the door and hit the floor, cannon fire ripped up the surface of the square again, fragments of stone rattling against the shattered windows.

  Drummond lay against the wall and waited while the earth trembled. Two soldiers sprawled on their faces in the centre of the room and Brackenhurst crouched in the far corner, eyes wide and staring.

  The firing ceased as quickly as it had begun and the Migs faded into the distance, leaving only the smoke and the flames and the ruins behind.

  Drummond got up and helped Hamid to his feet and Brackenhurst joined them. When he spoke, his voice shook a little. 'We've got to get out of here, Drummond. We've got to get moving.'

  Drummond ignored him and turned to Hamid who was leaning against the wall, shaking his head from side to side like a wounded bull. 'Where was the Khan when the attack began?'

  Something clicked in Hamid's eyes and he took a deep breath. 'In the radio room. Through here.'

  The door was off its hinges and the room beyond was a shambles. Four or five men dead or badly wounded, lay sprawled amid the wreckage and Colonel Sher Dil knelt by the window, the Khan in his arms. In one corner, the wireless operator still crouched by his seat, earphones in place.

  Sher Dil was covered in dust, his uniform singed and torn, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. Drummond dropped on one knee beside him and looked down at the Khan. The front of the old warrior's uniform was soaked in blood and when he opened his eyes, death stared out.

  He gazed uncomprehendingly at Drummond for a moment and then his eyes seemed to clear. He reached out one bloodstained hand and held on tight, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to speak.

  'Kerim,' he croaked. 'You will save Kerim? Your word on it.'

  'It's all right,' Drummond said. 'I give you my word. We'll get the boy to safety, I promise you.'

  The hand tightened on the front of his flying jacket, there was a hollow rattling in the Khan's throat and blood erupted in a sudden flow between his lips.

  Drummond forced the bloodstained fingers apart and Sher Dil laid the Khan gently down on his back. The colonel removed his tattered tunic and covered the face and Drummond stood up and turned to Hamid.

  'Any sign of the party from the mission?'

  Hamid shook his head as Brackenhurst stepped in through the shattered doorway. 'The Land Rover's still intact, thank God. At least we've got transport. I hope that bastard Cheung rots in hell.'

  Hamid turned to Drummond. 'What's he talking about?'

  'It seems our good friend Cheung was working for the opposition all along. He got to the plane with a grenade before the Migs came in.'

  'But we checked him out with Formosa,' Hamid said. 'He was a Nationalist agent, there can be no doubt about that. They communicated with him regularly. We looked the other way for obvious reasons, but we knew all about it.'

  'Probably a double agent,' Drummond said and turned to Sher Dil. 'If you heard that, you'll know we're on our own and it's one hell of a step to the border. Have you managed to contact the Indian Army yet?'

  'No, but the operator's still trying.'

  There was the sound of sporadic gunfire and they all turned and looked out of the window. A
current of warm air had momentarily snatched away the veil of smoke revealing a small sugar loaf hill on the other side of the town. People were running towards the river, refugees from the town, men, women and children, a few herdsmen on horseback, their panic-stricken flocks rushing this way and that, getting in everyone's way.

  A second later, the top of the hill was alive with troops in drab quilted uniforms. They started to fire as they swept on and the screams of the mob rose into the air like the smoke as they started to fall.

  The tidal wave surged on, the soldiers calling to each other like hounds in full cry, running down the hill towards Sadar and the pall of smoke dropped back into place.

  Hamid turned to Sher Dil. 'We've got perhaps five minutes before they get here. You must contact Indian Army headquarters.'

  A section of the roof crashed through into the room, scattering flame and sparks, and as Hamid and Drummond ran forward to stamp it out, Brackenhurst rushed outside. A second later, the engine of the Land Rover roared into life. When Drummond reached the door, it was already disappearing into the smoke.

  Hamid cursed savagely and went back inside and Drummond stayed there, listening to the sound of the Land Rover fade into the distance, aware of the wireless operator's excited voice as he finally contacted Indian Army Headquarters.

  The smoke swirled around him, touched with crimson, and the sickly-sweet stench of burning flesh was everywhere. In the great heat, things seemed to lack definition and nothing was real any more.

  A bullet splintered the wooden framework of the door and several Chinese ran out of the smoke. He ducked inside as Hamid appeared at a shattered window and emptied a Sten gun, driving them back into the smoke.

  Sher Dil turned from the radio and dropped the hand mike he had been using. 'From the sound of things we'd better get moving. Every man for himself, and try to get across the river. There's a village called Bandong ten miles due south on the road. We'll meet there.'

  The rear door led into a fenced yard. It was strangely quiet and the smoke hung low in the heavy rain, reducing visibility considerably.