Behind Mt. Baldy

by Christopher Cummings

  Graham asked, “Which way did they come from? From the highway?”

  “No. From the other way, past our camp. That’s why I thought it was two of you,” Roger replied.

  Graham frowned and bit his lip. He dug out his map with one hand and looked at it. It was fully light by this time. “This road goes right up to the top of the mountain.”

  Roger looked up through the trees to where the mountainside vanished from view amongst trees and cloud.

  Cloud!

  “Cloud!” he said. “Assembly Area Cloud. I’ll bet it’s up there.”

  They all looked up in alarm.

  Stephen looked anxiously along the road. “So there must be more of them. Let’s get out of here,” he cried.

  “A whole company, if that message was right,” Peter added soberly.

  “Get a stretcher made, fast,” Graham ordered, a worried frown creasing his brow. He put his map back and removed the magazine from the rifle and cocked it. A shiny new bullet flicked out onto the road. He picked this up and then studied how the weapon worked before re-inserting the round in the breech and easing the working parts forward on it. Then he replaced the magazine. Roger met his eyes and he gave a grim smile.

  “Keep sorting Roger.”

  While Peter finished cutting the man’s trouser leg open Stephen returned to their camp to get twine and bandages. Roger sat and spread out the contents of the bag. He quickly sorted the personal items, then looked in the wallet. There was a Queensland Driver’s Licence with a photo of the man.

  “His name is Otto Witorski,” he said. There were credit cards and several printed cards which appeared to be business cards. The notebook was in German and in crabbed handwriting which he could not read but inside the cover was printed in neat block letters:

  KRA10612 LT O. M. WITORSKI

  6. B. 3 KPLG

  “There is what looks like a number, rank and name here. He is a Lieutenant, I think. Then it says six dot ‘B’; that is Capital BRAVO, dot three; then block letters KPLG. I wonder what it means?”

  “Kosarian Palace Guard?” Graham suggested.

  “What about the ‘L’?” Peter asked.

  “Never mind. We can work it out later. What else is there?” Graham asked.

  Roger put the notebook down and picked up the man’s map. “There is a pencil triangle at a track junction about a kilometre up this road; and a pencil circle at some ruins on top of the mountain,” he said.

  “Their camp, I’ll bet,” Graham said. Roger picked up a small printed book. On the cover was a set of letters and numbers:

  KPLG KB - 2 6109

  He opened it. Each page had a number at the top, then rows of random ‘trigrams’, with letters of the Alphabet, words or numbers beside them.

  “This is a code book. Like we use for signals training. One of those ‘once only’ tear out pads,” Roger said. He flicked through it, feeling his curiosity and excitement mount. They were back in the mystery again! He picked up several folded sheets of paper and unfolded them. As he smoothed them out he got another kick of excitement.

  “These are Message Forms with a message written on them!” he said.

  “Is it in code?” asked Stephen, who had returned and was helping Peter.

  “It was, but it’s been decoded. Now it’s only in what looks like German.”

  “In German!” Graham echoed.

  “Oh bugger!” Roger said. He had wanted to read the message as he felt it must be important.

  Stephen held out his hand. “Give me a look,” he said. Roger passed him the sheets.

  Graham called softly. “Roger, you help Pete. Bring the message here Steve.”

  Reluctantly Roger did as he was told. Peter walked into the bush a few metres and began to hack down a sapling with his sheath knife. Roger knelt beside the injured man. He averted his eyes from the ugly blue-black swelling and listened to Stephen and Graham.

  Graham studied the message and nodded. “It is a signal form alright. I wonder what KKG oblique ‘R’ means?” he murmured.

  “Kosarian King’s Guard?” Stephen suggested.

  “It’s in German remember.”

  “So? King is Konig and Guard is spelt in the French way: G-A-R-D-E,” Stephen replied.

  “You could be right. Well, the security classification is ‘Secret’ and this says ‘Officer only’.”

  “So he is an officer,” Roger said. He looked down and touched one of the gold lapel badges.

  “The ‘Action’ is BLITZ- Flash or Lightning.”

  “So it must be important,” Stephen suggested.

  “I’d say so. Now; Date-Time. it was sent at 0300 this morning and this bit says ‘Handling Instructions’- Hmmm. KODEX KPLG KB-2.”

  Roger looked at the cover of the code book. “That is what is on the cover of this code book,” he noted. He bent and picked it up. “KPLG KB-2 6109.”

  “That makes sense. Now then, it is from the ‘White Falcon’; whoever he is; to the Kommander KPLG PL 6 KKG.”

  Stephen snapped his fingers. “I know. KronzPrinz Leib Garde- the Crown Prince’s Life Guard,” he said. “Some of those model soldiers I make from alloy castings are Leib Gardes.”

  “Makes sense,” Graham agreed.

  Roger felt another surge of excitement. “So the Kosarian Crown Prince must be near here!”

  “Why Roger?” Stephen queried.

  “If the commander of his guard is here then he must be. It stands to reason,” Roger replied.

  “Not necessarily. This is to Commander 6 Platoon,” Graham said.

  “Are you sure?” Stephen asked.

  “No. But it might be,” Roger cried. “That’s what it says inside his notebook. Here. 6 dash BRAVO dash 3.”

  “6 Platoon, ‘B’ Company, 3rd Battalion,” Graham suggested.

  Peter asked, “Why 3rd Battalion?”

  “I read it the other night. The 1st Battalion of the Royal Guard is the King’s Guard; the 2nd Battalion the Queen’s Guard and the 3rd Battalion is the Crown Prince’s Guard,” Graham replied.

  Roger felt his chest tighten with excitement. “So we might bump into Prince Peter the fourth!” he squeaked breathlessly.

  “Peter the Fifth,” Peter reminded as he returned with a trimmed sapling.

  “Or sixth,” Stephen added.

  Peter looked serious. “If we do bump into Prince Peter they might bump us off,” he said.

  Graham nodded. “By Jove yes! We will have upset their plans and we know too much to let go,” he added. That thought made Roger feel so afraid he began to tremble.

  Peter gestured to the injured man. “Here Roger, hold this man while I straighten his leg,” he ordered. Roger did so. Peter gently moved the broken limb beside the other. The man uttered a groan and writhed feebly. Roger felt so nauseous he thought he was going to be sick.

  Peter frowned. “Not so good. We will splint it like that. I don’t want to try straightening the broken bone in case it cuts an artery or something. He’s got some bandages in his webbing. Use those,” he said.

  “Are we going to make a stretcher?” Roger asked.

  Peter shrugged. “I suppose so. We can easily enough.”

  Roger nodded. “Yes. But is it worth the effort, just to carry him a hundred paces. The ambulance can drive in here easily enough. It would be better if one of us hitch-hiked down to Atherton to get help.”

  Peter considered this. “You are right. Who should go?”

  Graham looked up from writing in his notebook. “We have to tell the police as well.”

  “That’s alright. I will go,” Peter offered.

  “Shouldn’t two of us go?” Roger cautioned.

  Graham shook his head. “No. One is enough. You keep watch for us while we work on this,” he said.

  Peter stood up. “I’ll get going then. I will just get my hat and lace my boots up,” he said. He walked quickly back to their camp.

  Roger looked at his watch. It was just on 6:30. The sun was touching
the tree tops. He bent to the unpleasant task of splinting the man’s legs together with the splint on the outside. Every time the man winced or moaned Roger stopped. He thought he was going to be ill. Gingerly he pushed padding between the legs. The task was completed by the time Peter returned.

  “See you in an hour or so,” Peter called as he walked past towards the highway.

  “Take care,” Roger called after him. He watched Peter walk out of sight and felt suddenly afraid.

  CHAPTER 25

  A RACE AGAINST TIME

  Roger watched his friend vanish among the trees with deep concern. In the aftershock of his own fear he was gripped by a nameless dread which overlay his excitement. Graham and Stephen still sat side by side on the edge of the gravel road with their heads together over the captured Signal.

  Graham looked up and held out the automatic rifle. “Here Roger, take this and keep watch.”

  Roger licked his lips and stood up. Nervously he walked around the injured Royal Guard and took the weapon.

  Graham held the rifle vertically. “It is on ‘Safe’, and in the ‘Action’ condition,” he stated. Roger turned the weapon over and examined it. His mind ticked off the items as he identified them:- safety catch, cocking handle, foresight, backsight and....and. Ah yes! There it was; the magazine release catch. He was satisfied he could use it- if he had to. The weapon felt heavy and cold; and knowing it was loaded with live ammunition made Roger tingle with apprehension. He crouched behind a tree near the other two and looked carefully in all directions; peering through, not at, the bush.

  Somewhere out there was a second armed man; the one who had fired at him; who had tried to kill him. And, if the injured Royal Guard was indeed a lieutenant, and a platoon commander, then there could be the rest of his platoon:- 20 or 30 soldiers. They would certainly come to rescue their leader as soon as the other man got back to them. It was only a kilometre or so. ‘A fit soldier could run that in five or ten minutes,’ Roger thought. ‘He could be there already.’

  Roger licked suddenly dry lips and wished Graham and Stephen would hurry up. “Graham, this blokes’ platoon could be here at any moment. Can’t we move and finish that later?”

  “We shouldn’t leave him,” Graham replied, gesturing towards the unconscious man. “Ah! That sounds as though Peter has been picked up.”

  They heard the noises of a car accelerating through its gears out on the highway.

  “Towards Atherton,” Stephen said.

  “Good,” Graham nodded. “Now; the Red Eagle fahren- that is travel or is travelling- from Atherton to Herberton between 190800K and 190900K.”

  “That is today. In just over an hours time,” Stephen said, glancing at his watch.

  “Red Eagle? Who’s he?” Roger asked.

  “Don’t know,” Stephen answered. “Now; Paragraph Two. ‘Hinterhalt ihm nach das Gipfel GR321819’. What is ‘Hinterhalt’?” he read.

  Graham spoke. “That GR could be a Grid Reference. Roger, have a look on the map for GR321819.”

  Roger stood up and pulled out his map, mumbling the numbers to remember them.

  Stephen kept muttering. “Hinterhalt? Hinterhalt ihm at the Gipfel. What the devil is a Gipfel? I wish we had that German Dictionary,” he said.

  “Well, halt means stop or halt,” Graham pointed out.

  Roger looked up from the map. “Hinter means behind doesn’t it? Like in Geography:- Hinterland.”

  “Behind halt. Behind stop. Stop behind at the Gipfel. Stop Red Eagle at the Gipfel,” muttered Graham, trying various combinations. “Maybe, but I don’t understand it. Where is this Gipfel thing Roger?”

  Roger bent back to where his thumb had followed a Northing across the map. When his mind registered what his eyes saw he sucked his breath in sharply. “It’s only about a kilometre away. No, less. Only a bit over five hundred metres. It is on the highway just near the railway tunnel.”

  They all turned to look in that direction although the trees obscured the view. The rising sun shone full on their faces.

  “That is where the highway crosses the saddle at the Pass,” Graham observed.

  “Gipfel- Pass?” Stephen suggested.

  “Stop behind him, that’s the Red Eagle, at the Pass?” Graham said in a puzzled tone.

  Roger had an idea. “What about ‘Hinder’, meaning delay or interfere with? Interfere with the Red Eagle at the Pass,” he suggested.

  Graham looked up. “Ambush!” he said, as though not wishing to think the word. He bent back to the message. “Look at the next paragraph. ‘Er toten muss.’ He must be killed! It is an ambush!”

  Roger felt a sharp chill. Ambush. He must be killed! It had a terrible reality and finality to it. But this was peaceful old Australia! That sort of thing didn’t happen here! But then he knew it did. Images of Captain Krapinski’s corpse rose mockingly into his thoughts.

  Stephen scribbled and read aloud. “Paragraph Four. There will be four autos. Cars they mean. Red Eagle will be in the second auto.”

  “So they know which car to hit,” Graham said. They were all silent for a moment.

  In his imagination Roger saw the four cars winding up the mountainside. In the first would be bodyguards. It would drive past, then the men in green uniforms crouching behind rocks and trees would aim at the second car. A savage rattle of automatic fire...

  Graham shook his head, a grim expression on his face. “What else does the signal say?” he asked.

  “’Andern’. ‘Andern’? That is ‘after’. After the ambush ‘zuruckziehen nach Sammelplatz Wolke’.”

  “Concentration Place Cloud!” Graham cried.

  “Up there I’ll bet,” Roger said, pointing up the slope to the north.

  Graham nodded. “After the ambush go back to Concentration Place Cloud,” he repeated.

  Stephen then queried Paragraph Six. “What do you make of this? It says ‘Bewachen’- beware or be awake- ‘gegen’- against.”

  Graham frowned. “You sure?”

  “Yeah. The Germans used to sing a song called ‘Wir fahren gegen England’. ‘We sail against England’. It’s on a video at home,” Stephen replied.

  “OK. Beware or watch out for or against KOSPUSS oder- that’s ‘or’, or KOSPAR. Both words all in Block Letters. What the hell is a KOSPUSS?” Graham asked.

  Stephen pushed his glasses up his nose. “Some sort of a big cat?” he replied.

  “Don’t joke Steve. This is deadly serious,” Graham chided.

  Roger had returned his map to his pocket and crouched down again. “Is it an Acronym? You know, a word made up of the Initial letters of other words?”

  “Might be. I’m sure I’ve heard it before,” Graham said. He chewed the end of his pencil thoughtfully.

  Roger was now very curious as well as anxious. “What else does the message say?” he asked.

  “It says ‘Ende’ and is signed by Stiltz, Adjutant from the Operations Branch; and there is a file number and date,” Stephen read.

  Roger turned to look at them. “Stiltz, Adjutant. He was in that other signal. He was one of the men in the grey Mercedes with the White Falcon,” he said.

  Graham nodded. “That’s right. So we have the adjutant of the White Falcon sending an order to the Royal Guard to ambush and kill the Red Eagle. Who is the Red Eagle?” he asked.

  Stephen answered at once. “Red- Communist. Prince Peter the whatever is the White Falcon. That is his badge. The Red Eagle is a communist leader; his enemy.”

  Roger clicked his fingers. “The Inspector told us the other night. The Kosarian government is Communist. He said their Embassy were very worried about the KSS because the Kosarian Deputy Premier was on a visit to North Queensland.”

  Graham nodded. “Yuri Stinkibitz.”

  “Do you mind! Keep your vile habits to yourself,” Stephen said.

  “Don’t be flippant Steve! That’s the bloke’s name; Yuri Stinkibitz, Deputy Premier.”

  “I know. The Inspector went mad at me for
laughing at it. If it was me I’d change it,” Stephen replied.

  Roger was puzzled. “But why does the White Falcon want to kill him?” he asked.

  “Because Communists and Royalty are natural enemies,” Graham answered.

  “More than that,” Stephen said. “Remember what the Inspector told us? Kosaria has been ruled by the Communists for more than half a century, by that dictator, Slimy Turdorov or something. He’s an old codger, nearly ninety. He is sick and ready to kick the bucket. Stinkibitz is his Number two, so probably next in line for the top job. If he is bumped off it might precipitate a crisis; a power struggle, in Kosaria.”

  “That sounds right,” Graham agreed.

  Roger nodded. “Yes. And I’ll bet the Royalists have a plot ready to start a revolution to put the king back on his throne. That’s what ‘Operation Return’ must be all about,” he said.

  Graham pointed at the unconscious lieutenant. “They have formed a secret army overseas, like here in Australia, and will move it back to Kosaria,” he suggested.

  Stephen shook his head. “More likely most of their supporters are in Kosaria already, in some sort of secret organization. They couldn’t smuggle an army half way round the world and into the country. Probably it is only the Prince and his bodyguard who have to do the returning.”

  “That sounds likely,” agreed Roger. “But where do the KSS come into this?”

  For a moment the boys were silent. The thing had too many sides. Stephen spoke first. “Obviously Prince Paul also wants to be king. Peter is his rival in the family feud. The KSS have infiltrated the Royal Guard and know their plans.”

  “How do you know that?” Roger asked.

  Stephen shook his head. “Oh Roger! We spent hours translating that other signal. Dorkoffsky is a KSS man, but he was also the contact man between Captain Krapinski and the Royal Guard.”

  Roger flushed. “I forgot. Strewth! This neck of the woods must be crawling with the foreigners having a three-sided civil war!”