‘There is a bridge on this crevasse.’ The scout was back on the radio, panting heavily now. ‘We came across it while moving along the bank.’ He was a good soldier and understood the importance of passing back contact information as promptly as possible. ‘It looked like a rope bridge. On the far side, there were men. We could see two.’ He paused to catch his breath. ‘They were on horseback, señor.’ Again, a pause. Then he continued, ‘As we approached this bridge, they shot at us with arrows.’
‘Arrows? Are you quite sure, Emmanuel? Or is it the gas talking?’ Stein hissed into the radio, trying to keep his voice low, alert to the men around him who were straining to overhear his side of the exchanges.
‘On the Sacred Mother, Mi Capitán, with
flechas
! One has hit Cristóbal. We are sending him back.’
‘What about the riders? The bridge?
Dime rapidamente
! Tell me quickly!’ Stein asked, his voice rising suddenly and betraying his anxiety.
‘We fired back at them, señor, and they turned and rode away, but not before… ’ He stopped in mid-sentence. ‘They have set the bridge on fire, señor. It appears to have been very dry and they probably used oil to set it on fire. It has been completely burnt down.’
The voice on the radio now sounded flat, tired.
Stein put the radio back on the clasp on his shoulder. The scouts would be no more than a mile ahead; they would get to them soon enough. There was a shout from one of the men; the ATV had been sighted on its way back and was racing towards them now, trailing a cloud of dust. It screeched to a halt in front of Stein. He saw Cristóbal slumped against the driver, his face white from shock and loss of blood. An arrow had pierced his thigh and, from the look of it, had barely missed a major artery, but he had still lost a great deal of blood which soaked his trouser leg in a dark, sticky, oval-shaped stain. The arrow was still embedded in his leg, with the protruding head covered in Cristóbal’s blood and parts of his thigh muscle.
‘Medic!’ Stein shouted, but he needn’t have, because the man was already there.
Stein ordered the men crowding around Cristóbal to keep moving, but he himself held back. He wanted to think.
So we have finally met the Jhagun
, he thought,
and they have sent us a message. That is why they did not kill Cristóbal
. Well, they would find out soon enough that he had come prepared for them; quite well prepared, in fact.
The medic laid the injured man, who was moaning in pain, on a groundsheet he had spread on the earth and gave him an anaesthetic shot which knocked him out. Then he tried extricating the arrow by pulling it out, but found he couldn’t. He broke the arrowhead off with a knife. Then with the help of another man, the medic tugged at the tail of the arrow and slowly pulled it out, leaving a huge, gaping wound. He bandaged it as best he could, knowing that Cristóbal would probably never walk normally again; that is, if he survived the infection. The medic crossed himself as he rose to his feet.
They left Cristóbal lying on the groundsheet in the lee of a boulder, with some water next to him. They would come back to him when they had sorted out these
savajes
.
They reached the crevasse. Emmanuel had given quite an accurate description of it. It could not be bypassed and ran like a river, cutting across the entire length of the valley floor. The gap was closest at the point where the now burnt rope bridge dangled. That was all right, Stein told himself. He was carrying equipment to bridge the gap.
He gathered the men around him. They had all seen what had happened to Cristóbal and needed a pep talk.
‘What we have encountered here are
savajes
,’ he told them, ‘of the kind all of you have enough experience dealing with.’
That was true enough. All of them had carried out ‘punitive missions’ against the indigenous tribes.
‘They were the ones who made two of our men disappear last night. It is they who have wounded Cristóbal. Maybe we have seen the last of them – or maybe not; it is of little consequence. If they come at us, we will teach them a little lesson, eh?’ He waited to hear an affirmative murmur from the men, before continuing, ‘And after we are finished with them, maybe we can have some fun with their women, like the old times? It has been a long time for all of us, no?’
There was a guffaw and Stein grinned back at them. Then he ordered the sergeant to send a reconnaissance team to one of the larger mounds about 20 feet high – the highest ground on the tabletop flat plain – and despatch detachments to either side to secure their side of the crevasse. With the ground thus prepared, he would begin working on making a crossing. He had no doubts at all that the
savajes
would be back and did not want to be taken by surprise or outflanked.
‘What are you planning on doing?’ Claire now asked, approaching him.
‘We have aluminium ladders. We will lash them together to form a makeshift bridge. Luckily, the gap is not too wide.’
‘Will it take the weight of the men?’
‘It should. We have ropes to anchor it securely and the horses should be able to cross one at a time. Let’s hope the ATVs are able to do so as well.’
‘Shouldn’t we wait for the helicopters?’ she suggested, then saw him squinting at her in incomprehension. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you,’ she went on. ‘I managed to get a signal as we crossed the ridge.’
He pondered her suggestion.
‘No,’ he said finally, ‘we have to get everyone across, which the helicopters won’t be able to manage. Anyway, there is no certainty that they will make it. Even if the weather is good here, it might have taken a turn for the worse en route. I don’t want to spend a single night on this lakebed.’
‘That makes sense,’ she said.
She was turning away, when he caught her by the arm.
‘And señorita,’ he said, leaning towards her, bringing his face up close, ‘henceforth, I would suggest that you not “forget” to tell me things. Is that understood?’
‘Of course,’ she said, disengaging her arm.
Her expression suggested an apprehension she did not feel at all. She had long learnt that men like Stein got off on women fearing them and she didn’t mind giving him what he wanted – for the present. When this mission was over, she would comply with the orders she had been issued and kill him.
Within an hour, the men had the bridge ready. They were fortunate, because they had found a point where the crevasse was not too deep. They had placed a ladder there, propping it at the centre to serve as a makeshift pier. Stein thought that with a bit of luck, they might just be able to get the ATVs across. He looked up at the sky; it was still clear, but there were no signs of the helicopters. He heard the receiver strapped on his shoulder crackle.
‘Ja?’ he enquired.
‘You should come here,
mi capitán
.’
It was the lookout he had sent to the mound, 300 yards from where they stood.
‘I can see dust and horses in the distance. It looks like the
savajes
are forming up again to attack.’
Stein hurried to join the lookout, climbing up to where he was positioned. Taking the binoculars from the man, he peered across the crevasse and into the haze. It was difficult to see clearly, but through the clouds of rising dust, he made out the forms of men on horseback. His man was right.
Stein realized he would have to hurry. They were forming up for an attack. He would need to get his own forces across the gap in sufficient strength, before the
savajes
succeeded in holding the far bank. If they got there first, it would be that much more difficult to manage a crossing, if at all. And if these
savajes
destroyed their makeshift bridge, nothing but disaster lay ahead.
He rushed back to the men and barked out his orders. They were to cross the crevasse as quickly as possible and establish a shallow, semi-circular bridgehead around their bridge. They would take the light machine guns and rocket launchers across, with as much ammunition as they could carry manpack; the horses would have to wait. He held the two mortar tubes on his own side; if the
savajes
closed in, he wanted to be able to bring down fire on them. He quickly established a command post on the mound which offered the best view of the ground ahead; he would control the troops through radio. Ashton and Susan were kept behind, along with the animals. They would all cross when the anticipated attack had been beaten back.
The battle of the bridgehead is the most complex of all military operations. Not only must the attacker build up enough forces across the obstacle, he must do so before the defender can muster enough forces to counter-attack and throw the attacker off. Stein was now replicating the same manoeuvres the Allies had resorted to on the beaches of Normandy and the Egyptians had carried out on the Suez Canal on the day of Yom Kippur in 1973. On both those occasions, the attacker had enjoyed the advantage of surprise. Stein had none; those
savajes
knew where he was.
They could now tell that the
savajes
were moving towards them; the dust cloud had increased in size and was much closer. The lookout, who was also scanning the ground, said softly, ‘They are coming,
mi capitán
!’
‘I can see them,’ he said in an undertone.
Stein spoke on the radio to his sergeant who was inside their bridgehead. The
savajes
had delayed too long and most of his men had got across. He knew now that he could take them on.
‘Do not open up – until you can see the horses’ hooves,’ he said on the radio, his voice low, ‘and then you can send them to
el infierno
.’
Stein watched the dust cloud closely. Though the air was cold, he could feel the sweat stinging his eyes. He made out the riders now –
there must be thirty or forty of them
– bunched closely together, riding hard at a gallop. He was tempted to bring the mortars down on them, set the fuses on air burst and break them up at a distance. But he decided not to; the riders were moving too fast and they would be ahead of the target area before the slow bombs began landing. His mortars were not ranged and there were not many landmarks on this flat valley floor to accurately judge distance and set the ranges for the bombs. Also, he needed to conserve his bombs. No, the automatics would break up the charge. He would use the mortars on a static target – if it presented itself. The automatics would mow down these
savajes
– bows and arrows and all!
Suddenly, the lookout shouted, ‘Capitán!
El cielo flechas
! The sky-arrows!’
Stein flung his head back and saw a black swarm, like angry bees, glide up over their bridgehead and descend in a downward arc, landing on his men.
Hijos de putas
! The archers must be hidden behind a cluster of boulders to the north. He couldn’t see them, but given the direction of the arrows, that’s where they had to be! He gestured to the lookout, asking if he had seen any movement to indicate where the archers were hiding, but the man shook his head and Stein, overcome by frustration and desperation, cuffed him hard.
He screamed into the radio for the men to take cover and fire at the riders. But even as he did, he knew the men were on their own now. His hands were trembling and he jumped up, almost running towards the mortar detachment which was sited at the base of their mound.
‘Fire,
tontos
, fools! Fire! Fire in the direction of those boulders!’
Stein did not even see the second set of arrows, coming now from the south, as they gracefully soared up, transcribing an arc before moving straight down towards them.
* * *
‘Now!’ Peter said to Tashi and the men who were crouched behind the boulder on Stein’s side of the bridge. They had lain in hiding from the previous night, keeping absolutely silent and still as they watched Stein’s men move up and initiate their manoeuvres for the battle of the bridgehead, waiting for the precise moment to swoop. The second lioness would now leap on to the bull elephant’s neck.
Peter was in awe of the absolute precision with which the Jhagun had acted on his orders, the different groups of soldiers perfectly coordinated and in symphony. Unlike Stein, they did not have the advantage of radios; yet they had followed up the plan immaculately. He was certain he had never seen better military men.
Peter felt the weapon in his waistband. Just before they moved, Tashi had given it to him – a well-worn, but beautifully oiled Walther PPK, with two loaded magazine clips.
‘You will need a weapon you are familiar with, Peter
bagatur
,’ he had said simply. ‘This was given to the monastery by a pilgrim who came many years ago, even before I was born.’
Peter had nodded in acknowledgement, not bothering to ask which pilgrim would come to the monastery with the favoured handgun of the Officer Corps of the Waffen SS.
The group of ten men who were with Peter now broke cover and emerged from behind the boulders, running hard across the broken ground, because they knew they could be spotted at any moment. It was a difficult choice for the men to give up their horses and move on foot, but there could have been no other way; the horses could not have lain as still and silent as their riders and their restless movements would have given them away. Peter was running hard, making straight for Ashton and Susan who were crouched behind a rock. Ashton saw him approach, turned away and started running himself.
‘It’s me, Colonel!’ Peter shouted, assuming that Ashton had not seen him and was trying to take cover from an attack. ‘I’ve come to get you!’
But Ashton had, indeed, spotted Peter. He was pulling Susan behind him and they both ran towards the tethered horses now and grasped the reins of three of the animals. Ashton lifted Susan onto one, gracefully mounted another and led a third towards Peter, who took the reins from him and clambered on its back. The three of them galloped away from the bridge.
That was moment Peter heard the steady drone overhead.
No! Sweet god in heaven, no
! he told himself.
Not now, not when we’re this close
!’
He looked up and saw the pair of Mi-8s moving over the valley like the heavy ungainly birds they were. It was already clear to him that they had spotted the groups and distinguished one from the other. One was descending to cover the top of the bridgehead, while the other was heading for the mound where Stein had set up his command post.