Sacred Mountain (27 page)

“Of course,” said Philip. “We’ll do our very best to get you to safety.” He looked at the young man. “May I suggest one thing. We should disguise you as one of us. I’m sure we can find some spare clothing. That way, if we’re pursued, they’re less likely to recognise you. Also, they’ll be warmer than the ones you have and easier to travel fast in.”

The Rinpoche waved his hand dismissively. “I am the Rinpoche of Tibet and will not try to hide that for fear of my enemies. My faith makes me strong and I will not deny it. As for the cold, I spent the first seven years of my life living on the Steppe with my parents, herding and following the pasture. I’m used to it.”

Philip nodded and turned to Prem. “Get yourself fed and everybody warm and settled. We need to be off at first light and I want them as rested as possible.”

Prem hurried from the shrine and they sat talking, the Rinpoche asking about Britain. “I’ve heard many things about your country,” he said. “They say it is the Great Britain, so magnificent that the sun never leaves it.” He looked at Philip. “Do you think they will help Tibet?”

Philip shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve always tried to help those who need it but the war changed things. Then there were people who needed our help, people who’d relied on us for many years and we were unable to save them.” He looked at the young man. “But I’m sure you’ll find many supporters on your mission. The most important thing is to let the world know what’s happening.”

They settled down for the night on bedding that was carried in by some aged monks, each of whom then fell to the floor and prostrated themselves before the Rinpoche and had to be almost dragged up by the young llama before they’d leave. The bedding looked filthy, greasy to the touch and reeking of smoke. It didn’t matter for as soon as Philip’s head was on it he fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.

Chapter 20

It was still dark when they roused themselves next morning. The moon had set and the sky was now covered by thick cloud that blotted out the morning stars. Philip shivered as he walked out behind the complex to relieve himself. A wind was blowing, whipping up dust that stung his face and whining its way through the rocks and moraine that littered the valley.

They ate breakfast in silence; a thick tsampa mash and were on the trail before the first tinge of morning touched the eastern horizon. Two monks came with them, guiding them along the trails they used when grazing their sheep, and they made fast progress, lit by several hand-held lamps supplied by the monastery.

Prem was keen to get back to the main valley to the Nangpa la as soon as they could, worried that the Chinese reinforcements might march directly down this trail and cut them off from the pass. When they finally reached the junction the sun had long risen, although hidden behind a featureless slab of thick grey cloud. Climbing a small outcrop, they gazed down cautiously into the main valley.

The glacier that tumbled down from the pass looked enormous from their vantage point, towering seracs of ice teetering above gaping crevasses that slashed their way across the ice flow. The trail they’d followed was a tiny line zigzagging its way along the valley’s rocky edge. Where the glacier finally ended Philip could see the raging torrent of melt water pouring from its snout, tumbling in a series of frothing rapids beneath them and on down the valley. He scanned along it, briefly removing his snow goggles, to see if he could see any movement. It looked clear and he was just starting to relax when one of the guides grunted and pointed down the valley.

Philip followed his finger, squinting to cut out some of the glare. In the distance, perhaps two or three miles away, he could make out a line of small black dots slowly moving across a large boulder field. It was the soldiers.

“How long do you think we have?” he asked, replacing his goggles.

“About an hour,” Prem replied, his eyes scanning the terrain between them. “We won’t be able to outrun them,” he added.

Philip looked back up the valley. “We need to find somewhere where their numbers cannot be used against us.” He ran over in his mind the terrain from the previous few days. “What about just below their last camp? There are boulders there to give us cover and they’ll have to funnel through the gorge where the path climbs up onto the glacier.”

“Get the men moving,” he ordered Prem. “We must give ourselves time to prepare before they arrive.” He called to Mingma. “Thank the guides and send them back. Tell them to inform the abbot that the soldiers are after us on the pass but that we’ve got in front of them.“ He thought for a moment. “Suggest that they leave the monastery for a day or two in case the soldiers turn their attentions to them. Perhaps they should all become hermits for a while.”

They moved out, dropping quickly to the main valley floor and turning south towards the pass. As they started climbing the trail beside the glacier Philip felt a large snowflake land on his face. He wiped it away but it was immediately replaced by another and then more.

“Keep close together,” he yelled at the men. “Mingma and Lhamu, you lead. Prem and I will follow at the rear. Don’t lose sight of the person in front otherwise you’ll lose your bearings.”

They maintained a decent pace, the men climbing strongly and without complaint despite having had little rest over the previous few days. As the snow grew heavier he was grateful that he was at the rear and not having to kick steps in the soft white blanket that was already building underfoot.

They didn’t stop for rests, but ate dried fruit given to them by the monastery as they went. They were apricots, tough to chew but giving a burst of delicious sweetness as they softened in the mouth. He wondered how far they’d travelled, from some distant orchard, to end up in this inhospitable place.

He lost track of time, marching through a white, featureless landscape. Occasionally he was aware of the path switching back as it climbed remorselessly upwards, but otherwise his mind kept wandering, dreaming of armchairs and woollen slippers. Occasionally he noticed Prem stopping to check behind, but as you could see no further than ten yards it was more a case of keeping their ears open for any sounds not muffled by the heavy fall. Other than the squeaking of their boots in the snow and the sound of laboured breathing there was nothing.

They seemed to walk for days. Other than cold feet Philip felt surprisingly warm, the exertion of the climb making him sweaty and itchy inside his warm wool clothing. It made him drowsy, so it was with a start that he became aware of the rising cliffs pushing in around them as they entered into the bottleneck of the gorge, scrambling up onto the glacier to reach the upper valley. This was it, he realised, the campsite wasn’t much further. He made his mind focus, taking care that he didn’t slip into one of the many small crevasses that yawned open beside the rough trail. Occasionally they were slowed when one cut across the path, making it necessary to leap over its black void that fell away beneath.

He tried to plan what they needed to prepare. It was, he was relieved to see, an excellent ambush site. There were fourteen of them, although the Rinpoche and Lhamu wouldn’t be fighting and Giri had the minor shoulder wound he’d picked up at Rombuk. If they were to hold off a force four or five times their size then they needed to be set out right and know what they were doing. Another ten minutes and they’d reached the old camp site. It was unrecognisable. The snow had eased as they’d dropped off the glacier and had now all but stopped. Everything was buried in a layer of snow well over a foot deep.

“You two,” Philip said, nodding at two of the Gurkhas. “Clear the snow by the rock face and get a fire going. We’ll need some tea to keep warm.”

The men nodded and, dropping their packs to the ground, started unpacking the dried dung they’d been carrying from the monastery as fuel. He walked off up the valley, followed by Prem, searching for positions that offered the best lines of fire back towards the narrow ravine.

They stood and surveyed the valley from a small outcrop of rock, panting from the exerting of scrambling up through the soft powder.

“That snows done us a favour,” Philip exclaimed, looking up at the valley sides. “It’s made it impossible for them to try to climb and outflank us. It would be suicide going up there, they’d slip and fall.”

Prem followed his gaze and nodded grimly. “They’ll have to come up the glacier like us,” he agreed. “They won’t know the layout of the valley either which helps us.” He scratched at his chin. “Unless that Indian is with them.”

Philip stood thinking. Tashi did know this part of the valley as he’d climbed down through it to warn the soldiers. It would, however, have looked different at night and after all the snow they’d have to hope he’d be disorientated.

They continued on and selected three more decent positions before returning to the fire. The men were gathered around, the Rinpoche amongst them, drinking black, sweet tea. In the freezing air a column of steam rose from each mug. Philip watched it rise, his eyes drawn up to the leaden blanket of cloud that sat over the valley, hiding the surrounding ridges and peaks. It was like being in a tunnel, claustrophobic and smothering, as if their world had shrunk to this one small bubble.

Philip gratefully accepted a mug himself. Between mouthfuls, which made his teeth ache from the heat, he briefed the men.

“We’ll be in four groups of three, each with an equal split of the ammo.” He pointed at a nearby rifle. “After Rombuk we now all have guns and about fifteen rounds each. You must be sparing. There’s over fifty of them and we’ve less than 200 rounds in total. Only shoot when you have a clear shot. From our positions we’ll be able to pick them off as they come over the glacier. But first I want to draw them in a bit, let them get closer and hit as many as possible with the first volley. That way we’ll be able to scavenge their guns and ammo.” He looked around the men. “Nobody shoots until I shoot, is that understood?”

The men nodded, a determination etched on their faces that gave Philip a glimmer of hope and a welling of pride.

“We’ve got to finish this here, we’ve no other choice. If we try to fall back up the pass they’ll pick us off as we climb. At worst we need to hold them off so we can retreat when it’s dark.” He tried to smile. “Good luck everyone. Now follow Corporal Prem. He’ll put you in your positions.”

The men retrieved their packs and head off behind Prem. Philip turned to Mingma and Lhamu who, along with the Rinpoche, were the only ones left by the fire.

“I want you all to stay here. There are no more weapons and little you can do in the fighting. Keep close to the cliff face and you’ll be out of the line of fire. Try to keep the fire going and water hot. If this thing drags on we’re going to need to keep warm. Lying in the snow is going to be cold.”

They nodded, immediately starting to kick snow out of the way, clearing a place to sit and building a wall of snow behind which they’d be hidden. Philip turned and looked up at where the men were bedding in. He could see them clambering into their positions, two groups behind rocky outcrops on the ridge that he and Prem had climbed earlier, the others behind piled debris that had slid down to the valley floor in rock falls. As the men settled down they vanished into the landscape.

Philip grunted contentedly. If he couldn’t see them, there was no way the Chinese would. He’d just taken a couple of steps towards where he was to fight when he felt a hand catch his sleeve. He turned and saw Lhamu staring up at him, her mouth open as if trying to say something but with no words coming out. Slowly he turned to face her, taking both her hands in his. They stood motionless for a few second and then, without warning, she threw herself into his arms. He could feel her squeeze him tightly, despite the thick layers of clothes they each wore. He held her, nuzzling his mouth and nose into the exposed crown of her head, feeling its warmth radiate onto his cold face.

Nothing was said. They stood, holding each other for a few moments until she let him go, turning away and walking back to the cliff without a backwards glance. Philip watched her go, wanting to call after her and reassure her. He realised it was more than that but still nothing came, his mind confused by emotions he’d never felt able to experience before. He turned and slowly walked to where Prem had positioned them, lying behind a large boulder that gave an excellent field of fire back towards the glacier. He looked up and saw Prem nod at him. They were ready.

Time passed so slowly. Philip fought the urge to constantly glance at his watch, not wanting to take his eyes off the fringe of the glacier or to allow cold air up his sleeve. The thick cloud blotted out all traces of the sun, throwing a dull pall that gave no hint of the time. It must be afternoon; breakfast seemed a distant memory. Not too late though, he hoped. He didn’t want the Chinese camping before the gorge. Every few minutes his goggles misted up and he had to put down his rifle to clear them.

He’d just replaced his goggles when he saw a movement on the crest of the glacier. He picked up his rifle and resting it against the boulder to steady his aim, he looked down the sights towards the gorge. A figure was emerging about 200 yards away, cautiously following their footsteps which, now the snow had stopped, lay uncovered along the trail. He was the point, Philip was sure of it. He moved steadily but warily, watching his footing while constantly checking what lay ahead. As if to confirm this he stopped, raising his hand as a signal to those who must be following behind. He crouched and stayed there unmoving for several seconds.

Philip was holding his breath, willing his men to remain motionless. After what felt like an eternity the man stood and beckoned those behind him forward. Another soldier appeared and then another, all carrying their weapons at the ready. His body tensed as he recognised the figure of Tashi appear on the crest of the glacier, stumbling on the rough ice and sitting down heavily on a half-buried boulder to adjust a boot. The dogs obviously hadn’t got him. Philip made himself relax, a grim smile coming to his face. He was glad they’d brought him. There was a debt to pay.

Philip’s eyes moved to the next man who’d appeared carrying something more bulky than the rest, a large tube that was resting casually across his shoulders. A bazooka. Christ, he thought, if they got the chance to use that then they’d be annihilated. By now there were about twenty men in view, the first of which was no more than a hundred yards away. He forced himself to breathe steadily, long, slow inhalations followed by a steady release. When the lead man was no more than fifty yards away, he’d emptied his lungs, paused and squeezed his trigger.

The shot seemed deafening and was immediately followed by a volley from the Gurkhas that reverberated around the gorge, a wall of sound that enveloped their world. Soldiers fell, some dead, others throwing themselves down into the soft snow for cover. He swung his rifle around, pointing it to where Tashi had been. The rock he’d been sitting on was now empty. A few of the Chinese were trying to return fire, but whenever they did they were being picked off by the Gurkhas, who calmly waited for the muzzle flashes before firing.

Looking around Philip searched for the soldier with the bazooka and saw him crouching low in some loose moraine. With the help of another soldier he was setting up the weapon. Philip pivoted round and fired. The second man fell to the ground, this head exploding in a spray of red. Seemingly unperturbed by this, the handler calmly shouldered his weapon, steadying it with his left hand. With his right he pulled out the sighting mechanism and settled into a firing position.