High Citadel / Landslide
He said, ‘In any of the villages round here you can see the old women doing this. Will you get me some small, smooth stones?’
Forester went out and got the stones and Rohde used them to roll and squeeze the paste like a pastrycook. Finally the paste was rolled out for the last time and Rohde cut it into rectangles with his pocket-knife. ‘These must dry in the sun,’ he said. ‘Then we put them back in the bags.’
Forester looked dubiously at the small green squares. ‘Is this stuff habit-forming?’
‘Indeed it is,’ said Rohde. ‘But do not worry; this amount will do us no harm. And it will give us the endurance to climb the mountains.’
Willis came back. ‘We can swing it,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the material to make this – what did Armstrong call it?’
‘A trebuchet,’ Forester said.
‘Well, we can do it,’ said Willis. He stopped and looked down at the table. ‘What’s that stuff?’
Forester grinned. ‘A substitute for prime steak; Miguel just cooked it up.’ He shook his head. ‘Medieval artillery and pep pills – what a hell of a mixture.’
‘Talking about steak reminds me that I’m hungry,’ said Willis. ‘We’ll eat before we get started.’
They opened some cans of stew and prepared a meal. As Forester took the first mouthful, he said, ‘Now tell me – what the hell is a trebuchet?’
Willis smiled and produced a stub of pencil. ‘Just an application of the lever,’ he said. ‘Imagine a thing like an out-of-balance seesaw – like this.’ Rapidly he sketched on the soft pine top of the table. ‘The pivot is here and one arm is, say, four times as long as the other. On the short arm you sling a weight, of, say, five hundred pounds, and on the other end you have your missile – a twenty-pound rock.’
He began to jot down calculations. ‘Those medieval fellows worked empirically – they didn’t have the concepts of energy that we have. We can do the whole thing precisely from scratch. Assuming your five-hundred-pound weight drops ten feet. The acceleration of gravity is such that, taking into account frictional losses at the pivot, it will take half a second to fall. That’s five thousand foot-pounds in a half-second, six hundred thousand foot-pounds to the minute, eighteen horse-power of energy applied instantaneously to a twenty-pound rock on the end of the long arm.’
‘That should make it move,’ said Forester.
‘I can tell you the speed,’ said Willis. ‘Assuming the ratio between the two arms is four to one, then the … the …’ He stopped, tapped on the table for a moment, then grinned. ‘Let’s call it the muzzle velocity, although this thing hasn’t a muzzle. The muzzle velocity will be eighty feet per second.’
‘Is there any way of altering the range?’
‘Sure,’ said Willis. ‘Heavy stones won’t go as far as light stones. You want to decrease the range, you use a heavier rock. I must tell O’Hara that – he’d better get busy collecting and grading ammunition.’
He began to sketch on the table in more detail. ‘For the pivot we have the back axle of a wrecked truck that’s back of the huts. The arms we make from the roof beams of a hut. There’ll have to be a cup of some kind to hold the missile – we’ll use a hub-cap bolted on to the end of the long arm. The whole thing will need a mounting but we’ll figure that out when we come to it.’
Forester looked at the sketch critically. ‘It’s going to be damned big and heavy. How are we going to get it down the mountain?’
Willis grinned. ‘I’ve figured that out too. The whole thing will pull apart and we’ll use the axle to carry the rest of it. We’ll wheel the damn thing down the mountain and assemble it again at the bridge.’
‘You’ve done well,’ said Forester.
‘It was Armstrong who thought it up,’ said Willis. ‘For a scholar, he has the most murderous tendencies. He knows more ways of killing people – say, have you ever heard of Greek fire?’
‘In a vague sort of way.’
‘Armstrong says it was as good as napalm, and that the ancients used to have flame-throwers mounted on the prows of their warships. We’ve done a bit of thinking along those lines and got nowhere.’ He looked broodingly at his sketch. ‘He says this thing is nothing to the siege weapons they had. They used to throw dead horses over city walls to start a plague. How heavy is a horse?’
‘Maybe horses weren’t as big in those days,’ said Forester.
‘Any horse that could carry a man in full armour was no midget,’ Willis pointed out. He spooned the last of the gravy from his plate. ‘We’d better get started – I don’t want to work all night again.’
Rohde nodded briefly and Forester looked over at Peabody, snoring on the bunk. ‘I think we’ll start with a bucket of the coldest water we can get,’ he said.
IV
O’Hara looked across the gorge.
Tendrils of smoke still curled from the burnt-out vehicles and he caught the stench of burning rubber. He looked speculatively at the intact jeep at the bridgehead and debated whether to do something about it, but discarded the idea almost as soon as it came to him. It would be useless to destroy a single vehicle – the enemy had plenty more – and he must husband his resources for more vital targets. It was not his intention to wage a war of attrition; the enemy could beat him hands down at that game.
He had been along the edge of the gorge downstream to where the road turned away, half a mile from the bridge, and had picked out spots from which crossbowmen could keep up a harassing fire. Glumly, he thought that Armstrong was right – the enemy would not be content to be docile targets; they would certainly take steps to protect themselves against further attack. The only reason for the present success was the unexpectedness of it all, as though a rabbit had taken a weasel by the throat.
The enemy was still vigilant by the bridge. Once, when O’Hara had incautiously exposed himself, he drew a concentrated fire that was unpleasantly accurate and it was only his quick reflexes and the fact that he was in sight for so short a time that saved him from a bullet in the head. We can take no chances, he thought; no chances at all.
Now he looked at the bridge with the twelve-foot gap yawning in the middle and thought of ways of getting at it. Fire still seemed the best bet and Willis had said that there were two drums of paraffin up at the camp. He measured with his eye the hundred-yard approach to the bridge; there was a slight incline and he thought that, given a good push, a drum would roll as far as the bridge. It was worth trying.
Presently Armstrong came down to relieve him. ‘Grub’s up,’ he said.
O’Hara regarded Armstrong’s smooth cheeks. ‘I didn’t bring my shaving-kit,’ he said. ‘Apparently you did.’
‘I’ve got one of those Swiss wind-up dry shavers,’ said Armstrong. ‘You can borrow it if you like. It’s up at the shelter in my coat pocket.’
O’Hara thanked him and pointed out the enemy observation posts he had spotted. ‘I don’t think they’ll make an attempt on the bridge today,’ he said, ‘so I’m going up to the camp this afternoon. I want those drums of paraffin. But if anything happens while I’m gone and the bastards get across, then you scatter. Aguillar, Benedetta and Jenny rendezvous at the mine – not the camp – and they go up the mountain the hard way, steering clear of the road. You get up to the camp by the road as fast as you can – you’d better move fast because they’ll be right on your tail.’
Armstrong nodded. ‘I have the idea. We stall them off at the camp, giving the others time to get to the mine.’
‘That’s right,’ said O’Hara. ‘But you’re the boss in my absence and you’ll have to use your own judgment.’
He left Armstrong and went back to the shelter, where he found the professor’s coat and rummaged in the pockets. Benedetta smiled at him and said, ‘Lunch is ready.’
‘I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ he said, and went down the hill towards the pond, carrying the dry shaver.
Aguillar pulled his overcoat tighter about him and looked at O’Hara’s retreating figure with curious eyes. ‘That one is strange,’ he said. ‘He is a fighter but he is too cold – too objective. There is no hot blood in him, and that is not good for a young man.’
Benedetta bent her head and concentrated on the stew. ‘Perhaps he has suffered,’ she said.
Aguillar smiled slightly as he regarded Benedetta’s averted face. ‘You say he was a prisoner in Korea?’ he asked.
She nodded.
‘Then he must have suffered,’ agreed Aguillar. ‘Perhaps not in the body, but certainly in the spirit. Have you asked him about it?’
‘He will not talk about it.’
Aguillar wagged his head. That is also very bad. It is not good for a man to be so self-contained – to have his violence pent-up. It is like screwing down the safety-valve on a boiler – one can expect an explosion.’ He grimaced. ‘I hope I am not near when that young man explodes.’
Benedetta’s head jerked up. ‘You talk nonsense, Uncle. His anger is directed against those others across the river. He would do us no harm.’
Aguillar looked at her sadly. ‘You think so, child? His anger is directed against himself as the power of a bomb is directed against its casing – but when the casing shatters everyone around is hurt. O’Hara is a dangerous man.’
Benedetta’s lips tightened and she was going to reply when Miss Ponsky approached, lugging a crossbow. She seemed unaccountably flurried and the red stain of a blush was ebbing from her cheeks. Her protection was volubility. ‘I’ve got both bows sighted in,’ she said rapidly. ‘They’re both shooting the same now, and very accurately. They’re very strong too – I was hitting a target at one hundred and twenty yards. I left the other with Doctor Armstrong; I thought he might need it.’
‘Have you seen Señor O’Hara?’ asked Benedetta.
Miss Ponsky turned pink again. ‘I saw him at the pond,’ she said in a subdued voice. ‘What are we having for lunch?’ she continued brightly.
Benedetta laughed. ‘As always – stew.’
Miss Ponsky shuddered delicately. Benedetta said, ‘It is all that Señor Willis brought from the camp – cans of stew. Perhaps it is his favourite food.’
‘He ought to have thought of the rest of us,’ complained Miss Ponsky.
Aguillar stirred. ‘What do you think of Señor Forester, madam?’
‘I think he is a very brave man,’ she said simply. ‘He and Señor Rohde.’
‘I think so too,’ said Aguillar. ‘But also I think there is something strange about him. He is too much the man of action to be a simple businessman.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Miss Ponsky demurred. ‘A good businessman must be a man of action, at least in the States.’
‘Somehow I don’t think Forester’s idea is the pursuit of the dollar,’ Aguillar said reflectively. ‘He is not like Peabody.’
Miss Ponsky flared. ‘I could spit when I think of that man. He makes me ashamed to be an American.’
‘Do not be ashamed,’ Aguillar said gently. ‘He is not a coward because he is an American; there are cowards among all people.’
O’Hara came back. He looked better now that he had shaved the stubble from his cheeks. It had not been easy; the clockwork rotary shaver had protested when asked to attack the thicket of his beard, but he had persisted and was now smooth-cheeked and clean. The water in the pond had been too cold for bathing, but he had stripped and taken a sponge-bath and felt the better for it. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen Miss Ponsky toiling up the hill towards the shelter and hoped she had not seen him – he did not want to offend the susceptibilities of maiden ladies.
‘What have we got?’ he asked.
‘More stew,’ said Aguillar wryly.
O’Hara groaned and Benedetta laughed. He accepted the aluminium plate and said, ‘Maybe I can bring something else when I go up to the camp this afternoon. But I won’t have room for much – I’m more interested in the paraffin.’
Miss Ponsky asked, ‘What is it like by the river?’
‘Quiet,’ said O’Hara. ‘They can’t do much today so they’re contenting themselves with keeping the bridge covered. I think it’s safe enough for me to go up to the camp.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Benedetta quickly.
O’Hara paused, his fork in mid-air. ‘I don’t know if …’
‘We need food,’ she said. ‘And if you cannot carry it, somebody must.’
O’Hara glanced at Aguillar, who nodded tranquilly. ‘I will be all right,’ he said.
O’Hara shrugged. ‘It will be a help,’ he admitted.
Benedetta sketched a curtsy at him, but there was a flash of something in her eyes that warned O’Hara he must tread gently. ‘Thank you,’ she said, a shade too sweetly. ‘I’ll try not to get in the way.’
He grinned at her. ‘I’ll tell you when you are.’
V
Like Forester, O’Hara found the going hard on the way up to the camp. When he and Benedetta took a rest halfway, he sucked in the thin, cold air greedily, and gasped, ‘My God, this is getting tough.’
Benedetta’s eyes went to the high peaks. ‘What about Miguel and Señor Forester? They will have it worse.’
O’Hara nodded, then said, ‘I think your uncle ought to come up to the camp tomorrow. It is better that he should do it when he can do it in his own time, instead of being chased. And it will acclimatize him in case we have to retreat to the mine.’
‘I think that is good,’ she said. ‘I will go with him to help, and I can bring more food when I return.’
‘He might be able to help Willis with his bits and pieces,’ said O’Hara. ‘After all, he can’t do much down at the bridge anyway, and Willis wouldn’t mind another pair of hands.’
Benedetta pulled her coat about her. ‘Was it as cold as this in Korea?’
‘Sometimes,’ O’Hara said. He thought of the stonewalled cell in which he had been imprisoned. Water ran down the walls and froze into ice at night – and then the weather got worse and the walls were iced day and night. It was then that Lieutenant Feng had taken away all his clothing. ‘Sometimes,’ he repeated bleakly.
‘I suppose you had warmer clothing than we have,’ said Benedetta. ‘I am worried about Forester and Miguel. It will be very cold up in the pass.’
O’Hara felt suddenly ashamed of himself and his self-pity. He looked away quickly from Benedetta and stared at the snows above. ‘We must see if we can improvise a tent for them. They’ll spend at least one night in the open up there.’ He stood up. ‘We’d better get on.’
The camp was busy with the noise of hammering and the trebuchet was taking shape in the central clearing between the huts. O’Hara stood unnoticed for a moment and looked at it. It reminded him very much of something he had once seen in an avant-garde art magazine; a modern sculptor had assembled a lot of junk into a crazy structure and had given it some high-falutin’ name, and the trebuchet had the same appearance of wild improbability.
Forester paused and leaned on the length of steel he was using as a crude hammer. As he wiped the sweat from his eyes he caught sight of the newcomers and hailed them. ‘What the hell are you doing here? Is anything wrong?’
‘All’s quiet,’ said O’Hara reassuringly. ‘I’ve come for one of the drums of paraffin – and some grub.’ He walked round the trebuchet. ‘Will this contraption work?’
‘Willis is confident,’ said Forester. ‘That’s good enough for me.’
‘You won’t be here,’ O’Hara said stonily. ‘But I suppose I’ll have to trust the boffins. By the way – it’s going to be bloody cold up there – have you made any preparations?’
‘Not yet. We’ve been too busy on this thing.’
‘That’s not good enough,’ said O’Hara sternly. ‘We’re depending on you to bring the good old U.S. cavalry to the rescue. You’ve got to get across that pass – if you don’t, then this piece of silly artillery will be wasted. Is there anything out of which you can improvise a tent?’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Forester. ‘I’ll have a look around.’
‘Do that. Where’s the paraffin?’
‘Paraffin? Oh, you mean the kerosene. It’s in that hut there. Willis locked it up; he put all the booze in there – we had to keep Peabody sober somehow.’
‘Um,’ said O’Hara. ‘How’s he doing?’
‘He’s not much good. He’s out of condition and his disposition doesn’t help. We’ve got to drive him.’
‘Doesn’t the bloody fool realize that if the bridge is forced he’ll get his throat cut?’
Forester sighed. ‘It doesn’t seem to make any difference – logic isn’t his strong point. He goofs off at the slightest opportunity.’
O’Hara saw Benedetta going into one of the huts. ‘I’d better get that paraffin. We must have it at the bridge before it gets dark.’
He got the key of the hut from Willis and opened the door. Just inside was a crate, half-filled with bottles. There was a stir of longing in his guts as he looked at them, but he suppressed it firmly and switched his attention to the two drums of paraffin. He tested the weight of one of them, and thought, this is going to be a bastard to get down the mountain.
He heaved the drum on to its side and rolled it out of the hut. Across the clearing he saw Forester helping Benedetta to make a travois, and crossed over to them. ‘Is there any rope up here?’
‘Rope we’ve got,’ replied Forester. ‘But Rohde was worried about that – he said we’ll need it in the mountains, rotten though it is; and Willis needs it for the trebuchet, too. But there’s plenty of electric wire that Willis ripped out to make crossbow-strings with.’
‘I’ll need some to help me get that drum down the mountain – I suppose the electric wire will have to do.’
Peabody wandered over. His face had a flabby, unhealthy look about it and he exuded the scent of fear. ‘Say, what is this?’ he demanded. ‘Willis tells me that you and the spic are making a getaway over the mountains.’
Forester’s eyes were cold. ‘If you want to put it that way – yes.’
‘Well, I wanna come,’ said Peabody. ‘I’m not staying here to be shot by a bunch of commies.’
‘Are you crazy?’ said Forester.
‘What’s so crazy about it? Willis says it’s only fifteen miles to this place Altemiros.’
Forester looked at O’Hara speechlessly. O’Hara said quietly, ‘Do you think it’s going to be like a stroll in Central Park, Peabody?’
‘Hell, I’d rather take my chance in the mountains than with the commies,’ said Peabody. ‘I think you’re crazy if you think you can hold them off. What have you got? You’ve got an old man, a silly bitch of a school-marm, two nutty scientists and a girl. And you’re fighting with bows and arrows, for God’s sake.’ He tapped Forester on the chest. ‘If you’re making a getaway, I’m coming along.’
Forester slapped his hand away. ‘Now get this, Peabody, you’ll do as you’re damn well told.’
‘Who the hell are you to give orders?’ said Peabody with venom. ‘To begin with I take no orders from a limey – and I don’t see why you should be so high and mighty, either. I’ll do as I damn well please.’
O’Hara caught Forester’s eye. ‘Let’s see Rohde,’ he said hastily. He had seen Forester balling his fist and wanted to prevent trouble, for an idea was crystallizing in his mind.
Rohde was positively against it. ‘This man is in no condition to cross the mountains,’ he said. ‘He will hold us back, and if he holds us back none of us will get across. We cannot spend more than one night in the open.’
‘What do you think?’ Forester asked O’Hara.
‘I don’t like the man,’ said O’Hara. ‘He’s weak and he’ll break under pressure. If he breaks it might be the end of the lot of us. I can’t trust him.’
‘That’s fair enough,’ Forester agreed. ‘He’s a weak sister, all right. I’m going to overrule you, Miguel; he comes with us. We can’t afford to leave him with O’Hara.’
Rohde opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw the expression on Forester’s face. Forester grinned wolfishly and there was a hard edge to his voice when he said, ‘If he hold us up, we’ll drop the bastard into the nearest crevasse. Peabody will have to put up or shut up.’
He called Peabody over. ‘All right, you come with us. But let’s get this straight right from the start. You take orders.’
Peabody nodded. ‘All right,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll take orders from you.’
Forester was merciless. ‘You’ll take orders from anyone who damn well gives them from now on. Miguel is the expert round here and when he gives an order – you jump fast.’
Peabody’s eyes flickered, but he gave in. He had no option if he wanted to go with them. He shot a look of dislike at Rohde and said, ‘Okay, but when I get back Stateside the State Department is going to get an earful from me. What kind of place is this where good Americans can be pushed around by spics and commies?’
O’Hara looked at Rohde quickly. His face was as placid as though he had not heard. O’Hara admired his self-control – but he pitied Peabody when he got into the mountains.
Half an hour later he and Benedetta left. She was pulling the travois and he was clumsily steering the drum of paraffin. There were two loops of wire round the drum in a sling so that he could have a measure of control. They had wasted little time in saying goodbye to Rohde and Forester, and still less on Peabody. Willis had said, ‘We’ll need you up here tomorrow; the trebuchet will be ready then.’
‘I’ll be here,’ promised O’Hara. ‘If I haven’t any other engagements.’
It was difficult going down the mountain, even though they were on the road. Benedetta hauled on the travois and had to stop frequently to rest, and more often to help O’Hara with the drum. It weighed nearly four hundred pounds and seemed to have a malevolent mind of its own. His idea of being able to steer it by pulling on the wires did not work well. The drum would take charge and go careering at an angle to wedge itself in the ditch at the side of the road. Then it would be a matter of sweat and strain to get it out, whereupon it would charge into the opposite ditch.
By the time they got down to the bottom O’Hara felt as though he had been wrestling with a malign and evil adversary. His muscles ached and it seemed as though someone had pounded him with a hammer all over his body. Worse, in order to get the drum down the mountain at all he had been obliged to lighten the load by jettisoning a quarter of the contents and had helplessly watched ten gallons of invaluable paraffin drain away into the thirsty dust.
When they reached the valley Benedetta abandoned the travois and went for help. O’Hara had looked at the sky and said, ‘I want this drum at the bridge before nightfall.’
Night swoops early on the eastern slopes of the Andes. The mountain wall catches the setting sun, casting long shadows across the hot jungles of the interior. At five in the afternoon the sun was just touching the topmost peaks and O’Hara knew that in an hour it would be dark.
Armstrong came up to help and O’Hara immediately asked, ‘Who’s on watch?’
‘Jenny. She’s all right. Besides, there’s nothing doing at all.’
With two men to control the erratic drum it went more easily and they manoeuvred it to the bridgehead within half an hour. Miss Ponsky came running up. ‘They switched on their lights just now and I think I heard an auto engine from way back along there.’ She pointed downstream.
‘I would have liked to try and put out the headlamps on this jeep,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t want to waste an arrow – a quarrel – and in any case there’s something in front of the glass.’
‘They have stone guards in front of the lights,’ said Armstrong. ‘Heavy mesh wire.’
‘Go easy on the bolts, anyway,’ said O’Hara. ‘Peabody was supposed to be making some but he’s been loafing on the job.’ He carefully crept up and surveyed the bridgehead. The jeep’s headlights illuminated the whole bridge and its approaches and he knew that at least a dozen sharp pairs of eyes were watching. It would be suicidal to go out there.