by High Citadel
iv
Peabody was blearily belligerent when he woke up and found O'Hara looking at him. At first he looked defensive, then his instinct for attack took over. "I'm not gonna take anything from you," he said shakily. "Not from any goddam limey."
O'Hara just looked at him. He had no wish to tax Peabody with anything. Weren't they members of the same dub? he thought sardonically. Fellow drunks. Why, we even drink from the same bottle. He felt miserable.
Rohde took a step forward and Peabody screamed. "And "I'm not gonna take anything from a dago either."
"Then perhaps you'll take it from me," snapped Forester. He took one stride and slapped Peabody hard on the side of me face. Peabody sagged back on the bed and looked into Forester's cold eyes with an expression of fear and bewilderment on his face. His hand came up to touch the red blotch on his cheek. He was just going to speak when Forester pushed a finger at him. "Shut up! One cheep out of you and I'll mash you into a pulp. Now get your big fat butt off that bed and get to work -- and if you step out of line again I swear to God I'll kill you."
The ferocity in Forester's voice had a chilling effect on Peabody. All the belligerence drained out of him. "I didn't!
mean to " he began.
"Shut up!" said Forester and turned his back on him. "Let's get this show on the road," he announced generally.
They took food and a pressure stove and fuel, carrying it in awkwardly contrived packs cobbled from their overcoats. O'Hara did not think that Forester's boss would thank him for the vicuna coat, already showing signs of hard use.
Aguillar said he could walk, provided he was not asked to go too fast, so Forester took the stretcher poles and lashed them together in what he called a travois. "The Plains Indians used this for transport," he said. "They got along without wheels -- so can we." He grinned. "They pulled with horses and we have only manpower, but it's downhill all the way."
The travois held a lot, much more than a man could carry, and Forester and O'Hara took first turn at pulling the triangular contraption, the apex bumping and bouncing on the stony ground.' The others fell into line behind them and once more they wound their way down the mountain.
O'Hara looked at his watch -- it was six a.m. He began to calculate -- they had not come very far the previous day, not more than four or five miles, but they had been rested, warmed and fed, and that was all to the good. He doubted if they could make more than ten miles a day, so that meant another two days to the refinery, but they had enough food for at least four days, so they would be all right even if Aguillar slowed them down. Things seemed immeasurably brighter.
The terrain around them began to change. There were tufts of grass scattered sparsely and an occasional wild flower, and as they went on these signs of life became more frequent. They were able to move faster, too, and O'Hara said to Rohde. "The low altitude seems to be doing us good."
"That -- and acclimatisation," said Rohde. He smiled grimly. "If it does not kill you, you can get used to it -- eventually."
They came to one of the inevitable curves in the road and Rohde stopped and pointed to a silvery thread. "That is the quebrada -- where the river is. We cross the river and turn north. The refinery is about twenty-four kilometres from the bridge."
"What's the height above sea-level?" asked O'Hara. He was beginning to take a great interest in the air he breathed -- more interest than he had ever taken in his life.
"About .three thousand five hundred metres," said Rohde.
Twelve thousand feet, O'Hara thought. That's much better.
They made good time and decided they would be able to have their midday rest and some hot food on the other side of the bridge. "A little over five miles in half a day," said Forester, chewing on a piece of jerked beef. "That won't be bad going. But I hope to God that Rohde is right when he says that the refinery is still inhabited."
"We will be all" right," said Rohde. "There is a village ten miles the other side of the refinery. Some of us can go on and bring back help if necessary."
They pushed on and found that suddenly they were in the valley. There was no more snow and the ground was rocky, with more clumps of tough grass. The road ceased to twist and they went past many small ponds. It was appreciably warmer too, and O'Hara found that he could stride out without losing his breath.
We've got it made, he thought exultantly.
Soon they heard the roar of the river which carried the melt-water from the snow fields behind them and suddenly they were all gay. Miss Ponsky chattered unceasingly, exclaiming once in her high-pitched voice as she saw a bird, the first living, moving thing they had seen in two days. O'Hara heard Aguillar's deep chuckle and even Peabody cheered up, recovering from Forester's tongue-lashing.
O'Hara found himself next to Benedetta. She smiled at him and said. "Who has the pressure stove? We are going to need it soon."
He pointed back to where Willis and Armstrong were pulling the travois. "I packed it in there," he said.
They were very near the river now and he estimated that the road would have one last turn before they came to the bridge. "Come on," he said. "Let's see what's round the corner."
They stepped out and round the curve and O'Hara suddenly stopped. There were men and vehicles on the other side of the swollen river and the bridge was down.
A faint babble of voices arose above the river's roar as they were seen and some of the men on the other side started to run. O'Hara saw a man reach into the back of a truck and lift out a rule and there was a popping noise as others opened up with pistols.
He lurched violently into Benedetta, sending her flying just as the rifle cracked, and she stumbled into cover, dropping some cans in the middle of the road. As O'Hara fell after her one of the cans suddenly leaped into the air as a bullet hit it, and leaked a tomato bloodiness.
Chapter III
O'Hara, Forester and Rohde looked down on the bridge from the cover of a group of large boulders near the edge of the river gorge. Below, the river rumbled, a green torrent of ice-water smoothly slipping past the walls it had cut over the aeons. The gorge was about fifty yards wide.
O'Hara was still shaking from the shock of being unexpectedly fired upon. He had thrown himself into the side of the road, winding himself by falling on to a can in the pocket of his over coat. When he recovered his breath he had looked with stupefaction at the punctured can in the middle of the road, bleeding a red tomato and meat gravy. That could have been me, he thought -- or Benedetta.
It was then that he started to shake.
They had crept back round the corner, keeping in cover, while rifle bullets flicked chips of granite from the road surface. Rohde was waiting for them, his gun drawn and his face anxious. He looked at Benedetta's face and his lips drew back over his teeth hi a snarl as he took a step forward.
"Hold it," said Forester quietly from behind him. "Let's not be too hasty." He put his hand on O'Hara's arm. "What's happening back there?"
O'Hara took a grip on himself. "I didn't have time to see much. I think the bridge is down; there are some trucks on the other side and there seemed to be a hell of a lot of men."
Forester scanned the ground with a practised eye. "There's plenty of cover by the river -- we should be able to get a good view from among those rocks without being spotted. Let's go."
So here they were, looking at the ant-like activity on the other side of the river. There seemed to be about twenty men; some were busy unloading thick planks from a truck, others were cutting rope into lengths. Three men had apparently been detailed off as sentries; they were standing with rifles in their hands, scanning the bank of the gorge. As they watched, one of the men must have thought he saw something because he raised his rifle and fired a shot.
Forester said,. "Nervous, aren't they? They're firing at shadows."
O'Hara studied the gorge. The river was deep and ran fast -- it was obviously impossible to swim. One would be swept away helplessly in the grip of that rush of water and be frozen to death
in ten minutes. Apart from that, there were the problems of climbing down the edge of the gorge to the water's edge and getting up the other side, not to mention the likelihood of being shot.
He crossed the river off his mental list of possibilities and turned his attention to the bridge. It was a primitive suspension contraption with two rope catenaries strung from massive stone buttresses on each side of the gorge. From the catenaries other ropes, graded in length, supported the main roadway of the bridge which was made of planks. But there was a gap in the middle where a lot of planks were missing and the ropes dangled in the breeze.
Forester said softly, "That's why they didn't meet us at the air-strip. See the truck in the river -- downstream, slapped up against the side of the gorge?"
O'Hara looked and saw the truck in the water, almost totally submerged, with a standing wave of water swirling over the top of the cab. He looked back at the bridge. "It seems as though it was crossing from this side when it went over."
"That figures," said Forester. "I reckon they'd have « couple of men to make the preliminary arrangements -- stocking up the camp and so on -- in readiness for the main party. When the main party was due they came down to the bridge to cross -- God knows for what reason. But they didn't make, it -- and they buggered the bridge, with the main party still on the other side."
"They're repairing it now," said O'Hara. "Look."
Two men crawled on to the swaying bridge pushing a plank before them. They lashed it into place with the aid of a barrage of snouted advice from terra-firma and then retreated. O'Hara looked at his watch; it had taken them half an hour.
"How many planks to go?" he asked.
Rohde grunted. "About thirty."
"That gives us fifteen hours before they're across," said O'Hara.
"More than that," said Forester. "They're not likely to do that trapeze act in the dark."
Rohde took out his pistol and carefully sighted on the bridge, using his forearm as a rest. Forester said. "That's no damned use -- you won't hit anything at fifty yards with a pistol."
"I can try," said Rohde.
Forester sighed. "All right," he conceded. "But just one shot to see how it goes. How many slugs have you got?"
"I had two magazines with seven bullets in each," said Rohde. "I have fired three shots."
"You pop off another and that leaves ten. That's not too many."
Rohde tightened his lips stubbornly and kept the pistol where it was. Forester winked at O'Hara and said. "If you don't mind I'm going to retire now. As soon as you start shooting they're going to shoot right back"
He withdrew slowly, then turned and lay on his back and looked at the sky, gesturing for O'Hara to join him. "It looks as though the time is ripe to hold our council of war," he said. "Surrender or fight. But there may be a way out of it -- have you got that air chart of yours?"
O'Hara produced it. "We can't cross the river -- not here, at least," he said.
Forester spread out the chart and studied it. He put his finger down. "Here's the river -- and this is where we are. This bridge isn't shown. What's this shading by the river?"
"That's the gorge."
Forester whistled. "Hell, it starts pretty high in the mountains, so we can't get around it upstream. What about the other way?"
O'Hara measured off the distance roughly. "The gorge stretches for about eighty miles down stream, but there's a bridge marked here -- fifty miles away, as near as dammit."
"That's a hell of a long way," commented Forester. "I doubt if the old man could make it -- not over mountain country."
O'Hara said. "And if that crowd over there have any sense they'll have another truckload of men waiting for us if we do try it. They have the advantage of being able to travel fast on the lower roads."
"The bastards have got us boxed in," said Forester. "So it's surrender or fight"
"I surrender to no communists," said O'Hara, There was a flat report as Rohde fired his pistol and, almost immediately, an answering fusillade of rifle shots, the sound redoubled by echoes from the high ground behind. A bullet ricocheted from close by and whined over O'Hara's head.
Rohde came slithering down. "I missed," he said.
Forester refrained from saying. "I told you so," but his expression showed it. Rohde grinned, "But it stopped them working on the bridge -- they went back fast and the plank dropped in the river."
"That's something," said O'Hara. "Maybe we can hold them off that way."
"For how long?" asked Forester. "We can't hold them off for ever -- not with ten slugs. We'd better hold our council of war. You stay here, Miguel; but choose a different observation point -- they might have spotted this one."
O'Hara and Forester went back to the group on the road. As they approached O'Hara said in a low voice, "We'd better do something to ginger this lot up; they look too bloody nervous."
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, Senor 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 fence-sitter, 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 Senor 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."
&nb
sp; Peabody muttered in exasperation. "What the hell!"
"The question at issue is whether to hand Senor 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 criticised, 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 Senor 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 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," 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 "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.