Behind Mt. Baldy (44 page)
Adjutant Stiltz spoke up: “The
boy is right. We gain nothing by revenge; and would lose much more; our moral
strength.”
“There will be no murder,” Prince
Peter repeated. “They come with us as prisoners. They can...” He stopped and
spun round. From the north came the unmistakable rattle of automatic weapon
fire.
“The princess!
An ambush! But... but... surely
the police would not?” he gasped. He went very pale.
Colonel von Krapnoff stepped
across and called to the signaller who was now
back
in
the Rover.
“Call Hauptman Ritnik.
Find out what is
happening.”
“Sir!” the sig replied. “He has
just called us. He only said ‘Ambush’ and ‘Partisans’.”
“Partisans!” the three officers
cried simultaneously. They looked at each other in consternation, then back in
the direction of the shooting. This sounded about a kilometre away and had
become sporadic: occasional bursts and odd single shots.
“Call
Oberleutnant Markoff.
Get his group back,” Colonel von Krapnoff ordered, as he walked towards the
Rover.
“Partisans!”
Prince Peter cried again. “How
did they know we were here?” He turned to face Stiltz, who shrugged.
A ghastly thought had swum up
through the murk of Roger’s mind. Without thinking he voiced it.
“Treachery.”
“Eh!” They all turned to stare at
him.
“They were told.
By radio.”
“By radio!
But who?”
Colonel von Krapnoff cried, turning an accusing glare at the signaller who
looked appalled.
“Zumpitch,” Roger said, looking
up at the man.
Zumpitch’s face went hard and he
spluttered, “What rubbish! You
lie
boy!”
Adjutant Stiltz looked from one
to the
other,
then asked Roger, “Why do you make that
accusation kadet?”
“Because we found his pack on the
road,” Roger explained, jerking his head towards Zumpitch. “In it was
a.........”
Zumpitch let out a snarl. He
suddenly crouched, swinging the sub-machine gun up as he did.
Tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat-a-tat!
The gun rattled.
Cartridge cases flicked into the air.
Adjutant Stiltz just
had time to push Prince Peter aside but the burst took him full in the body. He
and Prince Peter went down in a sprawling heap on the muddy road.
Colonel von Krapnoff let out a
yell of rage and clawed at his pistol. Zumpitch swivelled the gun and fired
again. Bullets slammed the colonel back against the vehicle. He fell in a
crumpled, bleeding heap. Beyond Zumpitch’s legs Roger saw the signaller, his
mouth open in shock. Zumpitch fired again. The bullets smashed into the man,
knocking him backwards against the radio. Bullets whanged off metal and punched
into the set.
As though in slow motion Roger
saw the sentry further up the track turning to shoot and Prince Peter
scrambling to his feet. Zumpitch swung the gun towards the prince. Roger sprang
up, cannoning into Zumpitch. The gun went off. Roger saw Prince Peter dive
flat.
Zumpitch swore and swung the gun.
It struck Roger a sharp blow on the side of his face. He fell sideways. ‘Dead!’
he thought. ‘I’m dead! I shouldn’t have done that. Now he will kill me for sure.’
Yet he knew instinctively that he had no option. A man like Zumpitch would not
leave any witnesses.
But Zumpitch turned back to face
the sentry and sprang sideways as the man’s rifle cracked. Zumpitch fired a burst
at the sentry who twitched and rolled behind the Toyota. By then Prince Peter
was on his hands and knees. He scrambled frantically for cover behind the front
of the Land Rover. Zumpitch fired and missed, bullets smacking through the
steel. Then his gun stopped and he swore.
Zumpitch tore off the empty
magazine and dodged for cover behind the Rover as the sentry bobbed up to
shoot. Zumpitch scrabbled in the back of the Rover and pulled out another
magazine. In a moment he had clicked it in, cocked the gun and come up firing.
The bullets punched through the
Toyota. Glass broke. Ricochets screamed off into the jungle. Acrid smoke hung
in the air. The sentry cried out and went down. Zumpitch stepped to the left to
fire around the other side of the Rover.
Crack!
There was a single pistol shot.
Zumpitch staggered back and ducked behind the Rover. He began firing through
it.
Thud!
There was Graham!
He had struggled to his feet and
run forward the slam into Zumpitch. The shock slammed Zumpitch hard into the
back of the vehicle and they both went down in a struggling, swearing heap.
Zumpitch tried to roll free. He
kicked and beat at Graham with the gun. Graham tried to shield himself but his
hands were still tied behind his back.
“Roger!” he cried.
Roger scrambled up, senses still
reeling from the blow he had received. He ran at Zumpitch, yelling as he did.
Zumpitch saw him and rolled on his back. Roger saw the sub-machine gun swing in
his direction. He was three paces away! ‘I won’t make it in time!’ his mind
screamed.
Crack!
Zumpitch twitched and flopped
down. Roger stomped on the hand holding the gun, gaping at the blood spurting
from the man’s skull.
Zumpitch lay still. Roger looked
up and saw Prince Peter crouched at the back of the vehicle, a smoking pistol in
his hand.
The two stared at each other.
Roger gasped for air. The pistol swung to point at him. ‘Dead this time,’
he thought. ‘Well, at least I died fighting!’
Roger’s vision blurred. His heart
thumped wildly. He was aware that the sentry had emerged from behind the Toyota
and was walking towards them, but he was staggering and obviously hurt. Then
Roger saw things with total clarity. Prince Peter was wounded too. Blood was
soaking the shirt over his left shoulder.
Roger stood up. “You’ve been hit
sir,” he said.
A vehicle was coming up the slope
from the Walsh. ‘More royal guards, coming to investigate the shooting,’ Roger
thought. He considered escaping but at that moment the sentry dropped his
rifle, fell to his knees and pitched forward onto the track. Roger pointed.
Prince Peter nodded and lowered the pistol. He looked hard at Roger and said:
“You saved my life. Thank you for that.”
The vehicle ground to a stop.
Roger looked and saw, with surprise, that it was a white Queensland Police
Landcruiser. From the passenger seat Inspector Sharpe sprang out, pistol in
hand. DS Crowe jumped out from the other side. From the back appeared Detective
West. In the vehicle were a uniformed constable as driver, plus Peter and
Stephen.
For a tense moment nothing was
said. The police levelled their guns at Prince Peter. They appeared dumbfounded
by the scene. Inspector Sharpe then spoke: “Christ! There’s been a battle
alright. It certainly sounded like one. You, drop the gun!”
Prince Peter did as he was told.
Inspector Sharpe gestured to his
men, who were joined by the constable. “Collect the guns and check these
bodies.”
Roger suddenly felt weak at the
knees. Nausea welled up and he thought he was going to faint. He knelt down and
found he was
beside
his webbing. Graham lay nearby,
his nose bleeding but a grin on his face.
Moving as
though in a dream Roger felt in his webbing and extracted his pocket knife.
He opened it and walked over to
Graham.
“You OK mate?
Roll on your side so I can cut
you free.”
A minute later Graham was
standing up rubbing his wrists and alternately cursing and moaning. Peter and
Stephen joined them and helped the police collect the guns. They checked them
‘safe’ and lay them in a line along the side of the road. Stephen then leaned
on a tree and vomited.
Roger blinked and rubbed his
eyes. He looked around. There seemed to be bodies everywhere. And blood.
Lots of blood, all mixing with the mud and even dripping from the
back of the Land Rover.
Inspector Sharpe walked over.
“Are there any more?” he asked, his pistol still pointing at Prince Peter.
Roger shook his head. “No sir,
but some might return along that track.
Three vehicles and
about fifteen of them.
I don’t know if the signaller had time to call
them back or not.” He indicated the crumpled form in the back of the Rover.
Inspector Sharpe looked around.
“Who are they? Who are you?” this last directed at Prince Peter.
“I am Prince Peter the sixth of
Kosaria,” Prince Peter replied with stiff dignity. He was holding his arm and
was clearly in pain.
Inspector Sharpe blinked and bit
his lip. DS Crowe muttered: “Bloody hell!”
“What on earth happened?”
Inspector Sharpe asked. He shook his head in disbelief, then turned and
snapped: “West! Get on the radio to Headquarters and tell them to get
reinforcements and a couple of ambulances up here fast.”
Roger remembered something. “Sir,
if they come from Atherton up the road behind Mt Baldy
tell
them to watch out for Partisans. They just ambushed the princess and her escort
up that way.” He pointed north along the road.
“The princess?
Partisans?
What the devil is going on? What princess?”
Prince Peter replied. “Princess
Mareena,” he replied. “She is my cousin.” He swallowed and looked very
distressed.
“And who are these bloody
Partisans who have ambushed her?”
“Communists,” Prince Peter
replied.
“Tell me what is going on!”
Inspector Sharpe demanded. “Bell and Bronsky, get to work with first aid on that
joker. He’s still alive.” He indicated the sentry.
“Crowe,
check who else is alive.
Leave the dead ones where they are till we can
photograph them. Constable, get a camera and get to work.”
Prince Peter suddenly swayed on
his feet. Roger stepped forward and steadied him. “Sit down sir. Let me look at
the wound. Graham, get your First Aid kit.”
Roger helped Prince Peter to
remove his jacket and sat him on the front fender of the police vehicle.
Inspector Sharpe walked around, shaking his head in disbelief. He then came
back and Graham outlined what had happened while Roger opened the Prince’s
shirt and examined the wound.
“The bullet has gone right
through sir, er Your Majesty, er
..”
Prince Peter gave a wry smile:
“Your Highness,” he corrected gently. “But don’t worry about it. I am not your
prince. And I am very much in your debt. You saved my life.”
Roger felt embarrassed and
shrugged. He pretended to concentrate on bandaging the wound with two field
dressings Graham handed him. “I don’t like people who are disloyal,” Roger
said. Actually he had began to have severe doubts about what had happened,
wondering if he was to blame for all the killing by speaking while Zumpitch was
there with the sub-machine gun.
Prince Peter nodded and winced
with pain. “How did you know Zumpitch was a traitor?” he asked.
“The radio.
He went to the Land Rover and
took over on the radio just after your people received their orders. Feldwebel
Stegborz had given him back his pack just before. That reminded me. We found
Zumpitch’s pack on the road, Graham and I. It had fallen off a vehicle. We
looked inside and found signal codes and things so we knew he was a signaller.
And we also found a blue cloth cap with a red star on it and his name inside.
We didn’t know what it meant but the moment the signaller called ‘Partisans’ I
realized.”
“This blue cap, you are sure?
Where is it?” Prince Peter asked.
“In my left
basic pouch.
Here Graham, take over and wash off the blood. It’s only a flesh wound sir,”
Roger said. He turned and walked over to his webbing. The others had gathered
to listen and watched in silence as he opened the basic pouch. As he touched
the cloth Roger wrinkled his nose in distaste. The cloth now seemed tainted by
the treason of its owner. Shaking his head he took the cap out and unrolled it
and took it to the prince.
Prince Peter held the cap across
both hands and looked at the badge and then the name inside. He gave a sigh and
shook his head sadly.
“Two traitors.
And in such a
small group! All our plans turned to ashes; and such good people dead as a
result!” he cried, gesturing to where Colonel von Krapnoff and Adjutant Stiltz
lay sprawled on the muddy track.
Roger didn’t know what to say. He
shrugged and began to shiver. And then tears came. He turned away and went and
leaned on a tree and sobbed. What ugly things humans can be!
The others pretended to ignore
him. Graham went on bandaging Prince Peter’s shoulder. Peter and Stephen
continued with First Aid on the sentry. He had a bullet in the chest and
another in the leg.
