Stephen chuckled. “That was good
Roger. Do that again!”
“Get knotted!” Roger retorted,
his heart hammering a frantic tattoo.
“His leg is broken alright. Badly
by the look of it,” Peter observed. “Let’s get him out. Give us a hand Steve.”
Peter tossed the man’s wallet
down to join the other belongings littering the road. Roger pulled out the
plastic bag he kept his toilet paper in and began placing the items in it.
Stephen joined Peter while Graham remained crouching on guard, holding some
sort of black automatic rifle similar to an AK47.
As Peter and Stephen tried to
lift the man by his arms he woke up. His eyes rolled around and a ghastly moan
escaped from his lolling jaw. The boys nearly dropped him in fright. The man’s
face looked horrible, all pale and sweaty. As they tried again the man groaned
in agony and slumped into unconsciousness.
“We can’t lift him. His leg is
caught,” Peter cried. “Help us Roger.”
Roger put down the plastic bag
and moved to the grid. He then saw just how badly the man’s leg was broken. It
was snapped below the knee and was twisted almost at right angles. He had to
nerve himself to kneel and grab the injured member. With trembling hands he
guided it up between the steel rails of the cattle grid while Peter and Stephen
lifted.
“It’s out,” he called, feeling so
nauseous he thought he was going to black out. They dragged the man clear of
the grid and stretched him out on the road.
“Phew! Broken alright,” Stephen whistled.
“Just as well he was out to it,”
Peter commented. He knelt and felt gently along the twisted leg. The
unconscious man moaned and thrashed feebly.
Graham walked over to join them,
his eyes still searching the bush in all directions.
“What are we going to do?” Roger
asked.
“Let’s get out of here before
that other bloke comes back,” Stephen suggested.
Peter shook his head. “This joker
needs hospital treatment,” he said. “We can’t just leave him.”
“Bugger him. Leave him for his
mates,” Stephen replied.
Roger’s conscience rebelled at
that. “We can carry him out to the road and wave down a car,” he said. “Then we
could get him to hospital in Atherton.”
Peter nodded.
“Or
Herberton.
There’s a hospital there too I think,” he suggested.
Graham looked around. “We have to
call the police too,” he added. He paused for a minute and scanned the
surrounding bush. Then he spoke firmly. “Pete, you and Steve carry out First
Aid. Splint the leg and make him comfortable. Roger, you sort out what we have
found. I will keep guard.”
That suited Roger. He didn’t want
to touch the injured man again. He was still trembling with shock but at least
his heart rate had slowed.
Graham moved into a kneeling fire
position at the base of a large ironbark and faced up the hill. “What
happened
Roger?” he asked.
“I’d just gone down there for a
crap,” Roger explained. “I was finished and as I walked back onto the road
these two blokes came along.”
Stephen snickered. “Just as well
you’d had your crap before you met them,” he called. Roger flushed with
embarrassment. It was too true to be funny. He remembered the moment of stark
terror when the second man had raised his rifle and fired. Then he remembered
the humiliating experience in the jungle at Mobo Creek. In response he just
gave a wry grin and pretended the jibe didn’t hurt.
Graham asked, “Which way did they
come from?
From the highway?”
“No.
From the
other way, past our camp.
That’s why I thought it was two of you,” Roger
replied.
Graham frowned and bit his lip.
He dug out his map with one hand and looked at it. It was fully light by this
time. “This road goes right up to the top of the mountain.”
Roger looked up through the trees
to where the mountainside vanished from view amongst trees and cloud.
Cloud!
“Cloud!” he said.
“Assembly Area Cloud.
I’ll bet it’s up there.”
They all looked up in alarm.
Stephen looked anxiously along
the road. “So there must be more of them. Let’s get out of here,” he cried.
“A whole company, if that message
was right,” Peter added soberly.
“Get a stretcher made, fast,”
Graham ordered, a worried frown creasing his brow. He put his map back and
removed the magazine from the rifle and cocked it. A shiny new bullet flicked
out onto the road. He picked this up and then studied how the weapon worked
before re-inserting the round in the breech and easing the working parts
forward on it. Then he replaced the magazine. Roger met his eyes and he gave a
grim smile.
“Keep sorting Roger.”
While Peter finished cutting the
man’s trouser leg open Stephen returned to their camp to get twine and
bandages. Roger sat and spread out the contents of the bag. He quickly sorted
the personal items,
then
looked in the wallet. There
was a Queensland Driver’s Licence with a photo of the man.
“His name is Otto Witorski,” he
said. There were credit cards and several printed cards which appeared to be
business cards. The notebook was in German and in crabbed handwriting which he
could not read but inside the cover was printed in neat block letters:
KRA10612 LT O. M. WITORSKI
6. B. 3 KPLG
“There is what looks like a
number, rank and name here. He is a Lieutenant, I think. Then it says six dot
‘B’; that is Capital BRAVO, dot three; then block letters KPLG. I wonder what
it
means?
”
“Kosarian
Palace Guard?”
Graham suggested.
“What about the ‘L’?” Peter
asked.
“Never mind.
We can work it out later. What
else is there?” Graham asked.
Roger put the notebook down and
picked up the man’s map. “There is a pencil triangle at a track junction about
a kilometre up this road; and a pencil circle at some ruins on top of the
mountain,” he said.
“Their camp, I’ll bet,” Graham
said. Roger picked up a small printed book. On the cover was a set of letters
and numbers:
KPLG
KB
- 2 6109
He opened it. Each page had a
number at the top, then rows of random ‘trigrams’, with letters of the
Alphabet, words or numbers beside them.
“This is a code book. Like we use
for signals training. One of those ‘once only’
tear
out pads,” Roger said. He flicked through it, feeling his curiosity and
excitement mount. They were back in the mystery again! He picked up several
folded sheets of paper and unfolded them. As he smoothed them out he got
another kick of excitement.
“These are Message Forms with a
message written on them!” he said.
“Is it in code?” asked Stephen,
who had returned and was helping Peter.
“It was, but it’s been decoded.
Now it’s only in what looks like German.”
“In German!”
Graham echoed.
“Oh bugger!” Roger said. He had
wanted to read the message as he felt it must be important.
Stephen held out his hand. “Give
me a look,” he said. Roger passed him the sheets.
Graham called softly. “Roger, you
help Pete. Bring the message here Steve.”
Reluctantly Roger did as he was
told. Peter walked into the bush a few metres and began to hack down a sapling
with his sheath knife. Roger knelt beside the injured man. He averted his eyes
from the ugly blue-black swelling and listened to Stephen and Graham.
Graham studied the message and
nodded. “It is a signal form alright. I wonder what KKG oblique ‘R’ means?” he
murmured.
“Kosarian
King’s Guard?”
Stephen suggested.
“
It’s in German
remember
.”
“So? King is Konig and Guard is
spelt in the French way: G-A-R-D-E,” Stephen replied.
“You could be right. Well, the security
classification is ‘Secret’ and this says ‘Officer only’.”
“So he is an officer,” Roger
said. He looked down and touched one of the gold lapel badges.
“The ‘Action’ is BLITZ- Flash or
Lightning.”
“So it must be important,”
Stephen suggested.
“I’d say so.
Now;
Date-Time.
it
was sent at 0300 this morning and
this bit says ‘Handling Instructions’- Hmmm. KODEX KPLG KB-2.”
Roger looked at the cover of the
code book. “That is what is on the cover of this code book,” he noted. He bent
and picked it up.
“KPLG KB-2 6109.”
“That makes sense. Now then, it
is from the ‘White Falcon’; whoever he is; to the Kommander KPLG PL 6 KKG.”
Stephen snapped his fingers. “I
know. KronzPrinz Leib Garde- the Crown Prince’s Life Guard,” he said. “Some of
those model soldiers I make from alloy castings are Leib Gardes.”
“Makes sense,” Graham agreed.
Roger felt another surge of
excitement. “So the Kosarian Crown Prince must be near here!”
“Why Roger?” Stephen queried.
“If the commander of his guard is
here then he must be. It stands to reason,” Roger replied.
“Not necessarily. This is to
Commander 6 Platoon,” Graham said.
“Are you sure?” Stephen asked.
“No. But it might be,” Roger
cried. “That’s what it says inside his notebook. Here. 6 dash BRAVO dash 3.”
“6 Platoon, ‘B’ Company, 3rd
Battalion,” Graham suggested.
Peter asked, “Why 3rd Battalion?”
“I read it the other night. The
1st Battalion of the Royal Guard is the King’s Guard; the 2nd Battalion the
Queen’s Guard and the 3rd Battalion is the Crown Prince’s Guard,” Graham replied.
Roger felt his chest tighten with
excitement. “So we might bump into Prince Peter the fourth!” he squeaked
breathlessly.
“Peter the Fifth,” Peter reminded
as he returned with a trimmed sapling.
“Or sixth,” Stephen added.
Peter looked serious. “If we do
bump into Prince Peter they might bump us off,” he said.
Graham nodded.
“By
Jove yes!
We will have upset their plans and we know too much to let
go,” he added. That thought made Roger feel so afraid he began to
tremble.
Peter gestured to the injured
man. “Here Roger, hold this man while I straighten his leg,” he ordered. Roger
did so. Peter gently moved the broken limb beside the other. The man uttered a
groan and writhed feebly. Roger felt so nauseous he thought he was going to be
sick.
Peter frowned. “Not so good. We
will splint it like that. I don’t want to try straightening the broken bone in
case it cuts an artery or something. He’s got some bandages in his webbing. Use
those,” he said.
“Are we going to make a
stretcher?” Roger asked.
Peter shrugged. “I suppose so. We
can easily enough.”
Roger nodded. “Yes. But is it
worth the effort, just to carry him a hundred paces. The ambulance can drive in
here easily enough. It would be better if one of us hitch-hiked down to Atherton
to get help.”
Peter considered this. “You are
right. Who should go?”
Graham looked up from writing in
his notebook. “We have to tell the police as well.”
“That’s alright. I will go,”
Peter offered.
“Shouldn’t two of us go?” Roger
cautioned.
Graham shook his head. “No. One
is enough. You keep watch for us while we work on this,” he said.
Peter stood up. “I’ll get going
then. I will just get my hat and lace my boots up,” he said. He walked quickly
back to their camp.
Roger looked at his watch. It was
just on 6:30. The sun was touching the tree tops. He bent to the unpleasant
task of splinting the man’s legs together with the splint on the outside. Every
time the man winced or moaned Roger stopped. He thought he was going to be ill.
Gingerly he pushed padding between the legs. The task was completed by the time
Peter returned.
“See you in an hour or so,” Peter
called as he walked past towards the highway.
“Take care,” Roger called after
him. He watched Peter walk out of sight and felt suddenly afraid.
Roger watched his friend vanish
among the trees with deep concern. In the aftershock of his own fear he was gripped
by a nameless dread which overlay his excitement. Graham and Stephen still sat
side by side on the edge of the gravel road with their heads together over the
captured Signal.
Graham looked up and held out the
automatic rifle. “Here Roger, take this and keep watch.”