Down the Rabbit Hole- Nazis in Tibet

by Jason Walker

  “What did you think I’d be wearing, shorts and a bloody vest?” he replied, determined to demonstrate that the agent was not the only one capable of sarcasm.

  She looked around at her two men, and instructed them to make sure James was dressed properly before they left, otherwise he would freeze to death.

  James had a nagging question which he needed to ask.

  “The bloke I met in the hotel said this journey would be a safe one, and you’re telling me that we may be ambushed by the Krauts?” Who’s right, you or him?”

  “It’s not just about that. We have possible broken bones to think of. Altitude sickness as your friend will be aware, so I am told. Dehydration and frostbite are other considerations we have to take into account. There are several places I have to check out along our route, and, yes, there is the possibility that we may be ambushed by the Germans.

  That lying little shit, James muttered to himself.

  The rivalry between James McKinley and Agent Mere Dargaville was obvious as would always be the case whenever there were a Maori and Australian anywhere within earshot with each other, and Dargaville knew this.

  “Look. Here’s a fact. You and me, along with those guys there, are going on this trek together. If we are to have a good chance of coming out of this alive and in good health, we need to work together. You need to forget that I’m Maori, and I will try to forget that you are not,” she said, with the sentence dripping in more sarcasm.

  Gervesh walked towards James. He pulled a pistol from his hip holster and held it by his side. James’ cocky Australian personality suddenly disappeared and he looked nervous, very nervous. Gervesh held up the pistol to James for him to take, and, with the exception of the earlier chuckles, he spoke for the first time.

  “For extreme circumstances.”

  “You’re a real conversationalist, aren’t you,” said James.

  His quip was met with a blank stare showing little, if no emotion.

  James stood there holding the gun, not quite sure what to do with it. With a frightfully fast and smooth move, Agent Dargaville swiped it from his hand, spun it in her hand with expertise, and handed it back.

  “Get your new clothes on, James, we’re leaving soon,” she said with a wink and a smile. “Yeah, right.”

  No danger involved my arse.

  Over the course of that day, the group made their way over the mountains with one of the Sherpas leading. With every thousand feet in increased altitude, the temperature was dropping by an average of 3 degrees centigrade, and everyone in the team was now starting to feel the bite of the cold. As she had stated would happen, James was trekking directly behind Agent Dargaville.

  “So, can you talk about any of this, or is it all top-secret among you spooks?” he asked. “All in good time, Mr McKinley, all in good time,” she replied without looking back. “Oh, come on, give a guy a break, I’m going to find out sooner or later,” he protested.

  One of the Sherpas towards the front yelled for everyone to stop, and a split second later a huge boulder came tumbling down the mountain right in front of the group.

  “Let’s keep conversation to a minimum, shall we? Don’t underestimate the vibrations from our voices in these environments, they could easily set off an avalanche,” said the agent.

  The group continued - now in silence - all quite shocked at the danger they had just witnessed. They were far more alert now, as if they hadn’t already been so. A yell came from upfront. It was the voice of Babu Chiri. A crevice had opened up, and he had fallen through it. He’d managed to hold on to the edge and was dangling by just one hand, holding on to his icepick. Agent Dargaville lunged forward and dived down onto her front, distributing her weight over as much area as she could, and grabbed the man’s wrists. James jumped down behind her, and wrapped his arms around the back of her knees to anchor her into position.

  “Hold on, do not let go. Pasang, get some rope,” she barked.

  Pasang did as instructed. He tied a loop at one end and tossed it over the edge. “Put your foot in the loop.”

  After waggling his leg around wildly for a few seconds, Babu Chiri finally found the loop in the rope and managed to thread his foot into it. The rest of the group grabbed the rope at various points and heaved until he was safely back with them. Everyone was breathing heavily, not least Babu Chiri.

  “Shit. That was too bloody close for comfort,” observed James.

  “Call it an easy introduction to what we will be experiencing along our way,” said Agent Dargaville, smiling.

  When I get back to Nepal…IF I get back to Nepal, I’m going to find that little Batsa bastard and shove his head where the sun doesn’t shine, James promised to himself.

  After a few moments of rest, the group continued. The weather was now deteriorating, with the wind getting stronger, the cold getting fiercer and the snow falling harder. On top of that, the day was coming to an end, and the light was fading. They would have to find somewhere with shelter to stop for the night soon.

  Dargaville stopped and turned to the group. Everyone was breathing hard due to the thinner air. She asked Pasang to pass her the radio. He removed his backpack and knelt down to remove the huge communications kit. There was a crack, and a split second later, the snow and ice collapsed beneath his knees. In a flash, he was gone, so fast that no one heard his screaming as he fell into the abyss of a frozen hell.

  The rest of the group were frozen in terror and shock. Dargaville took the initiative and told the others to move back slowly and calmly, which they did. Gervesh wobbled and fell backwards, passing out momentarily. James crawled over to him and brought him around with a couple of slaps on the face. He threw James off.

  “It’s the altitude, I’m fine.”

  They all sat in silence for a few minutes, contemplating the fate which Gervesh had met, and one which they could all meet with the wrong placement of a single foot.

  “That poor unlucky bastard,” observed the Australian.

  “Gervesh was a good man. He didn’t deserve that,” said Dargaville.

  “Yeah, I’m sure he was, but, he’s gone and he’s not coming back. And, in case you haven’t noticed, nor is our bloody radio,” said James impatiently.

  “It’s a shame that you, our veteran climber didn’t see the cracks,” said Dargaville to James, accusatorily.

  “How the bloody hell do you expect me to see the cracks when I’m almost at the back of the goddamn line?” he retorted, growing angrier now.

  “You love to argue, don’t you, Mr McKinley?”

  “Too bloody right I do, especially when you try to pin that poor bugger’s death on me!”

  They both looked down, realising that they were both in the wrong, and more importantly, that they could stand right where they were and have a slanging match until the end of time, but it wouldn’t bring back Pasang.

  James pushed past the others, turned back and said, “Now I’m going to be at the bloody front,” before marching off, prodding the snow carefully before taking each step. The rest of the group followed without further argument.

  Babu Chiri called out and motioned for the group to stop. He pointed downwards, and there, at the foot of the mountain on which they were now standing, was situated a small village with several tiny dwellings.

  After some conversation, and at Dargaville’s insistence - albeit much to the chagrin of everyone else, not least James - the group started climbing back down the mountain which had taken so much effort to climb, and which had also claimed the life of their friend. Dargaville had said that she needed to speak with whoever was down there, and also, it would be an ideal place to rest overnight. Must better than sleeping out in the open, she assured them.

  “And what is it exactly that you wish to speak to a bunch of bloody mountain nomads about, your top-secret spook shit, which, by the way, you haven’t even spoke to me about yet?” asked James.

  Dargaville spotted something out of the corner of her eye. She grabbed James’
arm and dragged him down to the ground with her. A split second later, an arrow appeared in the snow right where he had been standing. It if hadn’t been for her lightening reflexes, James would now be talking about the day with Pasang in a new dimension.

  “Nepali, Nepali, we are here from the Bhutan King,” shouted Dargaville in fluent Nepalese, surprising James, if that was at all possible after the events of the last 48 hours.

  The Nepalese hunter shouted back: “Woman, I cannot allow you to…”

  He paused and observed Dargaville taking a bottle of water, drinking a mouthful of it, and handing it in his direction as an offering. The hunter stood still, and she tossed the bottle to him. It landed at his feet and he picked it up, removed the top and sniffed the contents with a great amount of suspicion.

  “Nepali, we are close to the Tibetan plateau, yes?”

  The hunter nodded, still fully on guard.

  “I need to speak to you and your kin,” continued Dargaville.

  Babu Chiri then spoke up. As good as being fluent in the local dialect was, it never hurts to have a native present and involved in the conversation too.

  “She is with me, and she is ok. You do not need to fear her. She needs to speak with you, her friend may be injured.”

  The hunter beckoned for the group to follow him, and they all headed down the mountain towards the village.

  James caught up to Agent Dargaville, and as much as it hurt for him to do so, he thanked her for saving his skin. He also asked how she knew the hunter was aiming at him.

  “Well, he wouldn’t assume that a mere Maori woman would be in charge of the group, now would he, Mr McKinley?” she replied, causing James to smirk for the first time in many hours.

  Chapter Eight

  The Small Village at the Bottom of the Mountain.

  The group, led by the hunter arrived at the village and stood by the dwellings. Dargaville asked him, continuing to converse in Nepalese, if he had seen the Nazis. The hunter looked confused and said nothing. Now, several of the other village dwellers had started to gather around, curious as to the identity of their new guests. Dargaville tried a different tactic.

  “Have you seen the men with the lightening on their sleeves?” Now, the hunter understood.

  “Ah, they were here before, but now they have gone,” he confirmed. “What did you tell them?”

  “We told them that they would find Yeti in the mountains,” said the hunter, smiling for the first time.

  James was now wondering if Yeti was some Nepalese word, or if they were actually talking about the Yeti itself.

  The hunter continued: “Many of our villages fled. They were afraid that the men with the lightening would kill them if they stayed here.”

  Dargaville nodded understandingly. Which way did they go?” she asked.

  The hunter pointed in what seemed like a random direction.

  Just then, a Monk appeared and joined the group. He was fully robed and badly mutilated. He was holding a lock of red hair - or fur - which he held out and offered to Dargaville.

  “What’s this?” she asked.

  The hunter told her that some time ago, the Yeti had been to the village and had attacked the Monk, hence the reason of his appearance now.

  James’ earlier rhetorical question to himself now didn’t need answering at all.

  Strewth.

  For the first time, the hunter spoke in English, talking directly to James.

  “He says it’s Yeti hair. They live deep in the mountains. They are feared by all around here.”

  “Right. I see,” said James, unsure of what else to say under the circumstances.

  Dargaville told her group that then needed to move out and head in the direction which the Nazis had been sent, and the hunter objected.

  “Much snow is coming, you cannot trek in these conditions. You must stay here overnight, you will be safe.”

  “Thank you, but we must find the Germans, the men with the lightening. That is why we are here. We are here to find out why they are here.”

  James looked forlorn at the prospect of climbing up that bloody mountain again, rather than staying in a nice warm hut in the small village.

  They thanked the hunter - and the other villagers - and went on their way, climbing the mountain in the same direction from which they had arrived.

  James and Dargaville were now walking side by side, at last forgetting their cultural rivalry.

  “You seem to know their language,” she suggested.

  “Oh, you know, I’ve picked up a few words here and there on my travels. I’m not quite as stupid as I look, or as you have assumed I am,” said James, deadly serious.

  “I would not be trekking with someone, and essentially placing my life in their hands if I thought they were in any way stupid,” replied the agent.

  “Finally, she admits the truth!” muttered James, smiling once again.

  Once again, Babu Chiri stopped and pointed off into the distance. With the fading light, it was almost impossible to make anything out, but they could just about see what appeared to be a flat plateau, and a row of tents. They all ducked down.

  James took his binoculars and looked into the distance. “Can you see anything?” asked Dargaville.

  “Not much. There’s not enough light left, but it’s definitely some kind of camp by the looks of things.”

  The group edged carefully and slowly towards the plateau. The suddenly found themselves standing on an ice field. It cracked, and Babu Chiri held out his hand, indicating for them to stop.

  “How thick is it likely to be?” asked James.

  The Sherpa stamped his foot gently. Again, with more force. The sound was solid rather than hollow.

  “We’re good,” he said confidently. “Remove your backpacks. Slide them ahead. It will reduce your weight, and if there is thin ice, the packs will tell us. Better we lose a pack or two than ourselves.”

  The rest of the group complied, pushing their respective backpacks ahead of them on the ice as far as possible before edging forward themselves.

  Another crack. This time it wasn’t just a noise, the ice actually cracked. Dargaville slipped due to the slight slant they were now standing on and fell to the ground. James grabbed her by the arm and stopped her from falling into the frozen water now visible at the edge of the tiny island they were now standing on. For a fleeting moment, he thought that there may have been evidence of a slight connection between the two of them, although she wouldn’t admit to it even if he did have the courage to ask. She grabbed his binoculars.

  They edged forwards for a few more minutes, and to their relief, found that they had finally cleared the ice field. They were safe, for now, at least.

  Tau, who had until now been quiet, spoke up.

  “Look,” he said pointing into the distance towards the camp.

  Dargaville once again took the binoculars, and through them in the dim light, she could clearly see a Nazi flag waving in the wind.

  There was no movement from the tents. They all agreed that they should camp exactly where they were until first light. They unpacked, set up their tent and settled down for the night, using each other’s body warmth as insulation, which James, laying behind Agent Dargaville, found himself enjoying more than he probably should have been given the circumstances.

  Chapter Nine

  The Next Morning.

  The wind had died down, and the group had managed to enjoy a relatively peaceful night.

  All woke up as the sun rose above the mountain peaks, and felt well rested. Out came the binoculars once again. They could now see the camp in more details with the new day’s light.

  The German camp looked abandoned and dilapidated. “So much for German cleanliness,” observed Dargaville. “What a shithole,” agreed James.

  They packed up everything, and moved cautiously towards the tents. As they approached, there was still no sign of movement. They made their way towards the largest tent of the row.

  Thei
r hearts were pounding, not knowing what to expect. Dargaville, James and then the Sherpas entered and immediately realised that whoever had once been here had left some time ago.

  “We can use this as our more permanent camp from now on. It’ll be warmer than those things we have been lugging around,” suggested Dargaville.

  “First you drag me up here under false pretenses, and now you want me to wake up on bed sheets that some Nazi bastard has been sleeping in?” protested James.

  They started looking around to see what they could find of interest. There wasn’t much. But, one thing that did strike them as strange, was the fact that the lanterns were still full of oil. The entire group was wondering why the Germans would have got up and left in such as hurry, leaving such valuable supplies behind. Lanterns provide both light and heat, two valuable commodities when trekking the mountains of Nepal, surely?

  Covering a desk was a tarpaulin which James removed. Under it, were stacked several manila folders containing sensitive documents. On top of the pile was a letter, written in German, addressed to Himmler himself.

  What the bloody hell is up here that could be of interest to Himmler, James asked himself.

  Outside the tent, Gervesh and Tau had found a pile of crates stacked up under some snow drifts, again, covered in tarp, and upon which all carried the Nazi insignia.

  “It’s as if they all disappeared suddenly,” said Dargaville.

  James then appeared from the tent carrying a bundle of documents, and handed one of the folders to his ‘boss’. She starts to read, and her eyes open wide with astonishment.

  The Sherpas had, by now, found something else, something even more intriguing; they were brushing off snow from a wooden board. When they removed that, it uncovered the entrance to an opening in the ground, which looked like it was the beginning of some kind of shaft leading straight down into the ground.

  “Get the climbing gear,” commanded Agent Dargaville.

  Are you sure you want to do this?” asked James warily, knowing what the answer would be. “It’s just that I climb up mountains, not down holes.”