by High Citadel
There was none of that here. Their packs were roughly cobbled together from blankets; they had an ice-axe which Willis had made -- a roughly shaped metal blade mounted on the end of an old broom handle; their ropes were rotten and none too plentiful, scavenged from the rubbish heap of the camp and with too many knots and splices for safety; their climbing-boots were clumsy miners' boots made of thick, unpliant leather, heavy and graceless. Willis had discovered the boots and Rohde had practically gone into raptures over them.
He lifted his pack and wished it was heavier -- heavier with the equipment they needed. They had worked far into the night improvising, with Willis and Rohde being the most inventive. Rohde had torn blankets into long strips to make puttees, and Willis had practically torn down one of the huts single-handed in his search for extra long nails to use as pitons. Rohde shook his head wryly when he saw them. "The metal is too soft, but they will have to do."
Forester heaved the pack on to his back and fastened the crude electric wiring fastenings. Perhaps it's as well we're staying a day at the mine, he thought; maybe we can do better than this. There are suitcases up there with proper straps; there is the plane -- surely we can find something in there we can use. He zipped up the front of the leather jacket and was grateful to O'Hara for the loan of it. He suspected it would be windy higher up, and the jacket was windproof.
As he Stepped out of the hut he heard Peabody cursing at the weight of his pack. He took no notice but strode on through the camp, past the trebuchet which crouched like a prehistoric monster, and so to the road which led up the mountain. In two strides Rohde caught up and came abreast of him. He indicated Peabody trailing behind. "This one will make trouble," he said.
Forester's face was suddenly bleak. "I meant what I said, Miguel. If he mate trouble, we get rid of him."
It took them a long time to get up to the mine. The air became very thin and Forester could feel that his heartbeat had accelerated and his heart thumped in his chest like a swinging stone. He breathed faster and was cautioned by Rohde against forced breathing. My God, he thought; what is it going to be like in the pass?
They reached the air-strip and the mine at midday. Forester felt dizzy and a little nauseated and was glad to reach the first of the deserted huts and to collapse on the floor. Peabody had been left behind long ago; they had ignored his pleas for them to stop and he had straggled farther and farther behind on the trail until he had disappeared from sight. "He'll catch up," Forester said. "He's more scared of the commies than he is of me." He grinned with savage satisfaction. "But I'll change that before we're through."
Rohde was in nearly as bad shape as Forester, although he was more used to the mountains. He sat on the floor of the hut, gasping for breath, too weary to shrug off his pack. They both relaxed for over half an hour before Rohde made any constructive move. At last he fumbled with numb fingers at the fastenings of his pack, and said. "We must have warmth; get out the kerosene."
As Forester undid his pack Rohde took the small axe which had been brought from the Dakota and left the hut. Presently F orester heard him chopping at something in one of the other huts and guessed he had gone for the makings of a fire. He got out the bottle of kerosene and put it aside, ready for when Rohde came back.
An hour later they had a small fire going in the middle of the hut. Rohde had used the minimum of kerosene to start it and small chips of wood built up in a pyramid. Forester chuckled. "You must have been a boy scout."
"I was," said Rohde seriously. "That is a fine organisation." He stretched. "Now we must eat."
"I don't feel hungry," objected Forester.
"I know -- neither do I. Nevertheless, we must eat." Rohde looked out of the window towards the pass. "We must fuel ourselves for tommorow."
They warmed a can of beans and Forester choked down his share. He had not the slightest desire for food, nor for anything except quietness. His limbs felt flaccid and heavy and he felt incapable of the slightest exertion. His mind was affected, too, and he found it difficult to think clearly and to stick to a single Line of thought. He just sat there in a corner of the hut, listlessly munching his lukewarm beans and hating every mouthful.
He said. "Christ, I feel terrible."
"It is the soroche," said Rohde with a shrug. "We must expect to feel like this." He shook his head regretfully. "We are not allowing enough time for acclimatisation."
"It wasn't as bad as this when we came out of the plane," said Forester.
"We had oxygen,'' Rohde pointed out. "And we went down the mountain quickly. You understand that this is dangerous?"
"Dangerous? I know I feel goddam sick."
"There was an American expedition here a few years ago, climbing mountains to the north of here. They went quickly to a level of five thousand metres -- about as high as we are now. One of the Americans lost consciousness because of the soroche, and although they had a doctor, he died while being taken down the mountain. Yes, it is dangerous, Senor Forester."
Forester grinned weakly. "In a moment of danger we ought to be on a first-name basis, Miguel. My name is Ray."
After a while they heard Peabody moving outside. Rohde heaved himself to his feet and went to the door. "We are here, senor."
Peabody stumbled into the hut and collapsed on the floor. "You lousy bastards," he gasped. '"Why didn't you wait?"
Forester grinned at him. "We'll be moving really fast when we leave here," he said. "Coming up from the camp was like a Sunday morning stroll compared to what's coming next. We'll not wait for you then, Peabody."
"You son of a bitch. I'll get even with you," Peabody threatened.
Forester laughed. "I'll ram those words down your throat -- but not now. There'll be time enough later."
Rohde put out a can of beans. "You must eat, and we must work. Come, Ray."
"I don't wanna eat," moaned Peabody.
"Suit yourself," said Forester. "I don't care if you starve to death." He got up and went out of the hut, following Rohde. "This loss of appetite -- is that soroche, too?"
Rohde nodded. . "We will eat little from now on -- we joust live on the reserves of our bodies. A fit man can do it i -- but that man . . .? I don't know if he can do it."
They walked slowly down the air-strip towards the crashed Dakota. To Forester it seemed incredible that O'Hara had found it too short on which to land because to him it now appeared to be several miles long. He plodded on, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other, while the cold air rasped in his throat and his chest heaved with the drudging effort he was making.
They left the air-strip and skirted the cliff over which the plane had plunged. There had been a fresh fall of snow which mantled the broken wings and softened the jagged outlines of the holes torn in the fuselage. Forester looked down over the cliff, and said. "I don't think this can be seen from the air -- the snow makes perfect camouflage. If there is an air search I don't think they'll find us."
Walking with difficulty over the broken ground, they climbed to the wreck and got inside through the hole O'Hara had chopped when he and Rohde had retrieved the oxygen cylinder. It was dim and bleak inside the Dakota and Forester shivered, not from the cold which was becoming intense, but from the odd idea that this was the corpse of a once living and vibrant thing. He shook the idea from him, and said. "There were some straps on the luggage rack -- complete with buckles. We could use those, and O'Hara says there are gloves in the cockpit."
"That is good," agreed Rohde. "I will look towards the front for what I can find."
Forester went aft and his breath hissed when he saw the body of old Coughlin, a shattered smear of frozen flesh and broken bones on the rear seat. He averted his eyes and turned to the luggage-rack and began to unbuckle the straps. His fingers were numb with the cold and his movements clumsy, but at last he managed to get them free -- four broad canvas straps which could be used on the packs. That gave him an idea and he turned his attention to the seat belts, but they were anchored firmly and it wa
s hopeless to try to remove them without tools.
Rohde came aft carrying the first-aid box which he had taken from the bulkhead. He placed it on a seat and opened it, carefully moving his fingers among the jumbled contents. He grunted. "Morphine."
"Damn," said Forester. "We could have used that on Mrs. Coughlin."
Rohde held up the shattered end of an ampoule. "It would have been no use; they are all broken."
He put some bandages away in his pocket, then said, "This will be useful -- aspirin." The bottle was cracked, but it still held together and contained a hundred tablets. They both took two tablets and Rohde put the bottle in his pocket. There was nothing more in the first-aid box that was usable.
Forester went into the cockpit. The body of Grivas was there, tumbled into an obscene attitude, and still with the look of deep surprise frozen into the open eyes which were gazing at the shattered instrument panel. Forester moved forward, thinking that there must be something in the wreck of an aircraft that could be salvaged, when he kicked something hard that slid down the inclined floor of the cockpit.
He looked down and saw an automatic pistol.
My God, he thought; we'd forgotten that. It was Grivas's gun, left behind in the scramble to get out of the Dakota. It would have been of use down by the bridge, he thought, picking it up. But it was too late for that now. The metal was cold in his hand and he stood for a moment, undecided, then he slipped it into his pocket, thinking of Peabody and of what lay on the other side of the pass.
Equipment for well-dressed mountaineers, he thought sardonically; one automatic pistol.
They found nothing more that was of use in the Dakota, so they retraced their steps along the air-strip and back to the hut. Forester took the straps and a small suitcase belonging to Miss Ponsky which had been left behind. From these unlikely ingredients he contrived a serviceable pack which sat on his shoulders more comfortably than the one he had.
Rohde went to look at the mine and Peabody sat slackly in a corner of the hut watching Forester work with lacklustre eyes. He had not eaten his beans, nor had he attempted to keep the fire going. Forester, when he came into the hut, had looked at him with contempt but said nothing. He took the axe and chipped a few shavings from the baulk of wood that Rohde had brought in, and rebuilt the fire.
Rohde came in, stamping the snow from his boots. "I have selected a tunnel for O'Hara," he said. "If the enemy force the bridge then O'Hara must come up here; I think the camp is indefensible."
Forester nodded. "I didn't think much of it myself," he said, remembering how they had "assaulted" the empty camp on the way down the mountain.
"Most of the tunnels drive straight into the mountain," said Rohde. "But there is one which has a sharp bend about fifty metres from the entrance. It will give protection against rifle fire."
"Let's have a look at it," said Forester.
Rohde led the way to the cliff face behind the huts and pointed out the tunnels. There were six of them driven into the base of the cliff. "That is the one," he said.
Forester investigated. It was a little over ten feet high and not much wider, just a hole blasted into the hard rock of the mountainside. He walked inside, finding it deepening from gloom to darkness the farther he went. He put his hands before him and found the side wall. As Rohde had said, it bent to the left sharply 'and, looking back, he saw that the welcome blue sky at the entrance was out of sight.
He went no farther, but turned around and walked back until he saw the bulk of Rohde outlined against the entrance. He was surprised at the relief he felt on coming out into the daylight, and said. "Not much of a home from home -- it gives me the creeps."
"Perhaps that is because men have died there."
"Died?"
"Too many men," said Rohde. "The government closed the mine -- that was when Senor Aguillar was President."
"I'm surprised that Lopez didn't try to coin some money out of it," commented Forester.
Rohde shrugged. "It would have cost a lot of money to put back into operation. It was uneconomical when it ran -- this is an experiment in high-altitude mining. I think it would have closed anyway."
Forester looked around. "When O'Hara comes up here he'll be in a hell of a hurry. What about building him a wall « the entrance here? We can leave a note in the hut telling Mm which tunnel to take."
"That is well thought," said Rohde. "There are many socks about."
"Three will do better than two," said Forester. "I'll roust out Peabody." He went back to the hut and .found Peabody still in the same corner gazing blankly at the wall. "Come on, buster," Forester commanded. "Rise and s hine; we've got a job of work on hand."
Peabody's eyelid twitched. "Leave me alone," he said thickly.
Forester stooped, grasped Peabody by the lapels and hauled him to hi« feet. "Now, listen, you "crummy bastard; told you that you'd have to take orders and that you'd have to jump to it. I've got a lower boiling-point than Rohde, you'd better watch it."
Peabody began to beat at him ineffectually and Forester shoved and slammed him against the wall. . "I'm sick, gasped Peabody. "I can't breathe."
"You can walk and you can carry rocks," said Forester callously. "Whether you breathe or not while you do it is immaterial. Personally, I'll be goddam glad when you do stop breathing. Now, are you going to leave this hut on your own two feet or do I kick you out?"
Muttering obscenities Peabody staggered to the door. Forester followed him to the tunnel and told him to start gathering rocks and then he pitched to with a will. It was hare physical labour and he had to stop and rest frequently, but he made sure that Peabody kept at it, driving him unmercifully.
They carried the rocks to the tunnel entrance, where Rohde built a rough wall. When they had to stop because of encroaching darkness, they had built little more than a breastwork. Forester sagged to the ground and looked at it through swimming eyes. "It's not much, but it will have to do." He beat his arms against his body. "God, but it's cold.''
"We will go back to the hut," said Rohde. "There is nothing more we can do here."
So they went back to the hut, relit the fire and prepared a meal of canned stew. Again, Peabody would not eat, but Rohde and Forester forced themselves, choking over the succulent meat and the rich gravy. Then they turned in for the night
ii
Oddly enough, Forester was not very tired when he got up at dawn and his breathing was much easier. He thought -- if we could spend another day here it would be much better. I could look forward to the pass with confidence. Then he rejected the thought -- there was no more time.
In the dim light he saw Rohde wrapping strips of blanket puttee-fashion around his legs and silently he began to do the same. Neither of them felt like talking. Once that was done he went across to the huddle in the corner and stirred Pea-body gently with his foot.
"Lemme alone," mumbled Peabody indistinctly. Forester sighed and dropped the tip of his boot into Peabody's ribs. That did the trick. Peabody sat up cursing and Forester turned away without saying anything.
"It seems all right," .said Rohde from the doorway. He was staring up at the mountains.
Forester caught a note of doubt in his voice and went to join him. It was a clear crystal dawn and the peaks, caught by the rising sun, stood out brilliantly against the dark sky behind. Forester said, "Anything wrong?"
"It is very clear," said Rohde. Again there was a shadow of doubt in his voice. "Perhaps too clear."
"Which way do we go?" asked Forester.
Rohde pointed. "Beyond that mountain is the pass. We go round the base of the peak and then over the pass and down the other side. It is this side which will be*difficult -- the other side is nothing."
The mountain Rohde had indicated seemed so close in the clear morning air that Forester felt that he could put out his hand and touch it. He sighed with relief. "It doesn't look too bad."
Rohde snorted. "It will be worse than you ever dreamed," he said and turned away. "We must eat agai
n."
Peabody refused food again and Forester, after a significant glance from Rohde, said, "You'll eat even if I have to cram the stuff down your gullet. I've stood enough nonsense from you, Peabody; you're not going to louse this up by passing out through lack of food. But I warn you, if you do -- if you hold us up for as little as one minute -- we'll leave you."
Peabody looked at him with venom but took the warmed-up can and began to eat with difficulty. Forester said. "How are your boots?"
"Okay, I guess," said Peabody ungraciously.
"Don't guess," said Forester sharply. "I don't care if they pinch your toes off and cut your feet to pieces -- I don't care if they raise blisters as big as golf balls -- I don't care as far as you're concerned. But I am concerned about you holding us up. If those boots don't fit properly, say so now."
"They're all right," said Peabody. "They fit all right."
Rohde said. "We must go. Get your packs on."
Forester picked up the suitcase and fastened the straps about Ms body. He padded the side of the case with the blanket material of his old pack so that it fitted snugly against his back, and he felt very pleased with his ingenuity.
Rohde took the primitive ice-axe and stuck the short axe from the Dakota into his belt. He eased the pack on his back so that it rested comfortably and looked pointedly at Pea-body, who scrambled over to the corner where his pack lay. As he did so, something dropped with a clatter to the floor.
It was O'Hara's flask.
Forester stooped and picked it up, then fixed Peabody with a cold stare. "So you're a goddam thief, too."
"I'm not," yelled Peabody. "O'Hara gave it to me."
"O'Hara wouldn't give you the time of day," snarled Forester. He shook the flask and found it empty. "You little shit," he shouted, and hurled the flask at Peabody. Peabody ducked, but was too late and the flask hit him over the right eye.
Rohde thumped the butt of the ice-axe on the floor. "Enough," he commanded. "This man cannot come with us -- we cannot trust him."