by High Citadel
With trepidation Forester lay down by the edge of the crevasse and wriggled forward on to the bridge. It was only six feet wide and, as he went forward on his belly in the way he had been taught during his army training, he saw the snow crumble from the edge of the bridge to fall with a soft sigh into the abyss.
He was very thankful for the rope which trailed behind him, even though he knew it was probably not strong enough to withstand a sudden jerk, and it was with deep thankfulness that he gained the other side to lie gasping in the snow, beads of sweat trickling into his eyes.
After a long moment he stood up and turned. "Are you all right?" asked Rohde.
"I'm fine," he said, and wiped the sweat from his forehead before it froze.
"To hell with this," shouted Peabody. "You're not going to get me on that thing."
"You'll be roped from both sides," said Forester. "You can't possibly fall -- isn't that right, Miguel?"
"That is so," said Rohde.
Peabody had a hunted look about him. Forester said, "Oh, to hell with him. Come across, Miguel, and leave the stupid bastard."
Peabody's voice cracked. "You can't leave me here," he screamed.
"Can't we?" asked Forester callously. "I told you what would happen if you held us up."
"Oh, Jesus!" said Peabody tearfully, and approached the snow bridge slowly.
"Get down," said Rohde abruptly.
"On your belly," called Forester.
Peabody lay down and began to inch his way across. He was shaking violently and twice he stopped as he heard snow swish into the crevasse from the crumbling edge of the bridge. As he approached Forester he began to wriggle along faster and Forester became intent on keeping the rope taut, as did Rohde, paying out as Peabody moved away from him.
Suddenly Peabody lost his nerve and got up on to his hands and knees and scrambled towards the end of the bridge. "Get down, you goddam fool," Forester yelled.
Suddenly he was enveloped in a cloud of snow dust and Peabody cannoned into him, knocking him flat. There was a roar as the bridge collapsed into the crevasse in a series of diminishing echoes, and when Forester got to his feet he looked across through the swirling fog of powdery snow and saw Rohde standing helplessly on the other side.
He turned and grabbed Peabody, who was clutching at the snow in an ecstasy of delight at being on firm ground. Hauling him to his feet, Forester hit him with his open palm in a vicious double slap across the face. "You selfish bastard," he shouted. "Can't you ever do anything right?"
Peabody's head lolled on his shoulders and there was a vacant look in his eyes. When Forester let him go he dropped to the ground, muttering incomprehensibly, and grovelled at Forester's feet. Forester kicked him for good measure and turned to Rohde. "What the hell do we do now?"
Rohde seemed unperturbed. He hefted the ice-axe like a spar and said. "Stand aside." Then he threw it and it stuck into the snow in front of Forester. "I think I can swing across," he said. "Hammer the axe into the snow as deep as you can."
Forester felt the rope at his waist. "This stuff isn't too strong, you know. It won't bear much weight."
Rohde measured the gap with his eye. "I think there is enough to make a triple strand," he said. "That should take my weight."
"It's your neck," said Forester, and began to beat the ice-axe into the snow. But he knew that all their lives were at stake. He did not have the experience to make the rest of the trip alone -- his chances were still less if he was hampered by Peabody. He doubted if he could find his way out of the glacier safely.
He hammered the axe into the snow and ice for three-quarters of its length and tugged at it to make sure it was firm. Then he turned to Peabody, who was sobbing and drooling into the snow and stripped the rope from him. He tossed the ends across to Rohde who tied them round his waist and sat on the edge of the crevasse, looking into the depths between his knees and appearing as unconcerned as though he was sitting in an arm-chair.
Forester .fastened the triple rope-to the ice-axe and belayed a loop around his body, kicking grooves in the snow for his heels. "I've taken as much of the strain as I can," he called.
Rohde tugged on the taut rope experimentally, and seemed satisfied. He paused. "Put something between the rope and the edge to stop any chafing." So Forester stripped off his hood and wadded it into a pad, jamming it between the rope and the icy edge of the crevasse.
Rohde tugged again and measured his probable point of impact fifteen feet down on the farther wall of the crevasse.
Then he launched himself into space.
Forester saw him disappear and felt the sudden strain on the rope, then heard the clash of Rohde's boots on the ice wall beneath. Thankfully he saw that there was no sudden easing of the tension on the rope and knew that Rohde had made it All that remained now was for him to climb up.
It seemed an age before Rohde's head appeared above the edge and Forester went forward to haul him up. This is one hell of a man, he thought; this is one hell of a good joe. Rohde sat down not far from the edge and wiped the sweat from his face. "That was not a good thing to do," he said.
Forester cocked his head at Peabody. "What do we do about him? He'll kill us all yet." He took the gun from his pocket and Rohde's eyes widened. "I think this is the end of the trail for Peabody."
Peabody lay in the snow muttering to himself and Forester spoke as though he were not there, and it is doubtful if Pea-body heard what was being said about him.
Rohde looked Forester in the eye. "Can you shoot a defenceless man -- even him?"
"You're damned right I can," snapped Forester. "We don't have only our own lives to think of -- there are the others down at the bridge depending on us; this crazy fool will let us all down."
He lifted the pistol and aimed at the back of Peabody's head. He was just taking up the slack on the trigger when his wrist was caught by Rohde. "No, Ray; you are not a murderer."
Forester tensed the muscles of his arm and fought Rohde's grip for a moment, then relaxed, and said. "Okay, Miguel; but you'll see I'm right. He's selfish and he'll never do anything right -- I guess we're stuck with him."
iv
Altogether it took them three hours to cross the glacier and by then Forester was exhausted, but Rohde would allow no rest. "We must get as high as we can while there is still light," he said. "Tonight will weaken us very much -- it is not good to spend a night in the open without a tent or the right kind of clothing."
Forester managed a grin. Everything to Rohde was either good or not goad; black and white with no shades of grey. He kicked Peabody to his feet and said tiredly. "Okay; lead on, MacDuff."
Rohde looked up at the pass. "We lost height in crossing the glacier; we still have to ascend between five and six hundred metres to get to the top."
Sixteen hundred to two thousand feet, Forester translated silently. He followed Rohde's gaze. To their left was the glacier, oozing imperceptibly down the mountain and scraping Itself by a rock wall. Above, the clean sweep of snow was broken by a line of cliffs half way up to the top of the pass. "Do we have to climb that?" he demanded.
Rohde scrutinised the terrain carefully, then shook his head. "I think we can go by the cliffs there -- on the extreme right. That will bring us on top of the cliffs. We will bivouac there tonight."
He put his hand in his pocket and produced the small leather bag of coca quids he had compounded back in the camp. "Hold out your hand," he said. "You will need these now."
He shook a dozen of the green squares into Forester's palm and Forester put one into his mouth and chewed it. It had an acrid and pungent taste which pleasantly warmed the inside of his mouth. "Not too many," warned Rohde. "Or your mouth will become inflamed."
It was useless giving them to Peabody. He had relapsed into his state of automatism and followed Rohde like a dog on a lead, obedient to the tugs on the rope. As Rohde set out on the long climb up to the cliffs he followed, mechanically going through the proper climbing movements as though guided b
y something outside himself. Forester, watching him from behind, hoped there would be no crisis; as long as things went well Peabody would be all right, but in an emergency he would certainly break, as O'Hara had prophesied.
He did not remember much of that long and toilsome climb. Perhaps the coca contributed to that, for he found himself in much the same state as he imagined Peabody to be in. Rhythmically chewing the quid, he climbed automatically, following the trail broken by the indefatigable Rohde.
At first the snow was thick and crusted, and then, as they approached the extreme right of the line of cliffs, the slope steepened and the snow cover became thinner and they found that under it was a sheet of ice. Climbing in these conditions without crampons was difficult, and, as Rohde confessed a little time afterwards, would have been considered impossible by anyone who knew the mountains.
It took them two hours to get above the rock cliffs and to meet a great disappointment. Above the cliffs and set a few feet back was a continuous ice wall over twenty feet high, surmounted by an overhanging snow cornice. The wall stretched across the width of the pass in an unbroken line.
Forester, gasping for breath in the thin air, looked at it in dismay. We've had it, he thought; how can we get over this? But Rohde, gazing across the pass, did not lose hope. He pointed. "I think the ice wall is lower there in the middle. Come, but stay away from the edge of the cliff."
They started out along the ledge between the ice wall and the edge of the cliff. At first the ledge was narrow, only a matter of feet, but as they went on it became broader and Rohde advanced more confidently and faster. But he seemed worried. "We cannot stay here," he said. "It is very dangerous. We must get above this wall before nightfall."
"What's the hurry?" asked Forester. "If we stay here, the wall will shelter us from the wind -- it's from the west and I think it's rising."
"It is," replied Rohde. He pointed upwards. "That is what I worry about -- the cornice. We cannot stay below it -- it might break away -- and the wind in the west will build it to breaking-point. It is going to snow -- look down."
Forester looked into the dizzying depths below the cliffs and saw a gathering greyness of mist. He shivered and retreated to safety, then followed the shambling figure of Peabody.
It was not five minutes later when he felt his feet suddenly slide on the ice. Frantically he tried to recover his balance but to no effect, and he found himself on his back, swooping towards the edge of the cliff. He tried to brake himself with his hands and momentarily saw the smear of blood on the ice as, with a despairing cry, he went over the edge.
Rohde, hearing the cry and feeling the tug of Peabody on the rope, automatically dug the ice-axe firmly into the ice and took the strain. When he turned his head he saw only Peabody scrabbling at the edge of the cliff, desperately trying to prevent himself from being pulled off. He was screaming incoherently, and of Forester there was no sign.
Forester found the world wheeling crazily before his eyes, first a vast expanse of sky and a sudden vista of valleys and mountains half obscured by wreaths of mist, then the grey rock close by as he spun and dangled on the end of the rope, suspended over a sheer drop of three hundred feet on the steep snow slopes beneath. His chest hurt and he found that the rope had worked itself under his armpits and was constricting his ribs. From above he heard the terrified yammerings of Peabody.
With a heave Rohde cracked the muscles of his back and hoped the rotten rope would not break. He yelled to Peabody. "Pull on the rope -- get him up." Instead he saw the flash of steel and saw that Peabody had a clasp-knife and was sawing at the rope where it went over the edge of the cliff.
Rohde did not hesitate. His hand went to his side and found the small axe they had taken from the Dakota. He drew it from his belt, reversing it quickly so that he held it by the handle. He lifted it, poised, for a second, judging his aim, and then hurled it at Peabody's head.
It struck Peabody squarely on the nape of the neck, splitting his skull. The terrified yelping stopped and from below Forester was aware of the startling silence and looked up. A knife dropped over the edge of the cliff and the blade cut a gash in his cheek before it went spinning into the abyss below, and a steady drip of blood rained on him from above.
Chapter VI
O'Hara had lost, his flask.
He thought that perhaps he had left it in the pocket of the leather jacket he had given Forester, but then he remembered going through the pockets first. He looked about the shelter, trying not to draw attention to himself, but still could not find it and decided that it must be up at the camp.
The loss worried him unreasonably. To have a full flask at his side had comforted him; he knew that whenever he wanted a drink then it was there ready to hand, and because it was there he had been able, in some odd way, to resist the temptation. But now he felt an aching longing in the centre of his being for a drink, for the blessed relief of alcohol and the oblivion it would bring.
It made him very short-tempered.
The night had been quiet. Since the abortive attempt to burn the bridge the previous evening, nothing had happened. Now, in the dawn light, he was wondering whether it would be safe to bring down the trebuchet. His resources in manpower were slender and to bring the trebuchet from the camp would leave the bridge virtually defenceless. True, the enemy was quiet, but that was no guarantee of future inactivity. He had no means of telling how long it would take them to obtain more timber and to transport it.
It was the common dilemma of the military man -- trying to guess what the enemy was doing on the other side of the hill and balancing guesses against resources.
He heard the clatter of a stone and turned his head to find Benedetta coming towards him. He waved her back and slid down from his observation post. "Jenny has made coffee," she said. "I will keep watch. Has anything happened?"
He shook his head. "Everything's quiet. They're still there,, of course; if you stick your neck out you'll get your head blown off -- so be careful." He paused; he badly needed to discuss his problems with someone else, not to shrug off responsibility but to clarify the situation in his own mind. He missed Forester.
He told Benedetta what he was thinking and she said immediately. "But, of course, I will come up to the camp."
"I might have known," he said unreasonably. "You won't be separated from your precious uncle."
"It is not like that," she said sharply. "All you men are needed to bring down this machine, but what good can Jenny and I do down here? If we are att acked we can only run; and it does not take two to watch. Four can bring the machine from the camp quicker than three -- even though one of them is a woman. If the enemy attacks in force Jenny will warn us."
He said slowly, "We'll have to take the risk, of course; we've got no choice. And the sooner we move the better."
"Send Jenny down quickly," said Benedetta. "I'll wait for you at the pond."
O'Hara went up to the shelter and was glad of the mug of steaming coffee that was thrust into his hands. In between gulps he rapidly detailed his plan and ended by saying. "It puts a great deal on your shoulders, Jenny. I'm sorry about that."
"I'll be all right," she said quietly.
"You can have two shots -- no more," he said. "We'll leave both bows cocked for you. If they start to work on the bridge, fire two bolts and then get up to the camp as fast as you can. With luck, the shots will slow them down enough for us to get back in time to fight them off. And for God's sake don't fire them both from the same place. They're getting smart over there and they have all our favourite posts spotted."
He surveyed the small group. "Any questions?"
Aguillar stirred. "So I am to return to the camp. I feel I am a drag on you; so far I have done nothing -- nothing."
"God in heaven!" exclaimed O'Hara. "You're our kingpin. -- you're the reason for all this. If we let them get you we'll have fought for nothing."
Aguillar smiled slowly. "You know as well as I do mat I do not matter any more. True, it is m
e they want, but they cannot let you live as well. Did not Doctor Armstrong point out that very fact?"
Armstrong removed his pipe from his mouth. "That might be so, but you're in no condition to fight," he said bluntly. "And while you're down here you are taking O'Hara's mind off his job. You'd be better out of the way up at the camp where you can do something constructive, like making new bolts."
Aguillar bent his head. "I stand corrected and rightly so. I am sorry, Senor O'Hara, for making more trouble than I need."
"That's all right," said O'Hara awkwardly. He felt sorry for Aguillar; the man had courage, but courage was not enough -- or perhaps it was not the right kind of courage. Intellectual bravery was all very well in its place.
It was nearer three hours than two before they arrived at the camp, the slowness being caused by Aguillar's physical weakness, and O'Hara was fretting about what could have happened at the bridge. At least he had heard no rifle fire, but the wind was blowing away from the mountains and he doubled if he would have heard it anyway. This added to his tension.
Willis met them. "Did Forester and Rohde get away all right -- and our good friend Peabody?" asked O'Hara.
"They left before I awoke," said Willis. He looked up at the mountains. "They should be at the mine by now."
Armstrong circled the trebuchet, making pleasurable noises. "I say, you've done a good job here, Willis,"
Willis coloured a little. "I did the best I could in the time we had -- and with what we had."
"I can't see how it can possibly work," said O'Hara.
Willis smiled. "Well, it's stripped down for transport. It's more or less upside-down now; we can wheel it down the road on the axle."
Armstrong said. "I was thinking of the Russo-Finnish war; a bit out of my field, I know, but the Finns were in very much the same case as we are -- dreadfully under-equipped and using their ingenuity to the utmost. I seem to remember they invented the Molotov Cocktail."