Behind Mt. Baldy (42 page)
“Because we were there when the
police arrested him and the other KSS men,” Graham replied.
“KSS!”
The feldwebel sprang to his feet
in agitation. The four men almost gabbled at each other,
‘KSS’
punctuating
every sentence. The man knelt beside Graham again. He was
clearly both very worried and confused.
“Vot you know about der KSS?”
“There were five of them
searching for something in the jungle in the Danbulla State Forest,” Graham
replied. He quickly described their encounter. Now all four of the royal guards
crouched listening and the SMG was no longer pointed at him. Roger watched the
men’s faces. He could see they had received a real shock. Their muscles were
quivering with tension. When Graham described the KSS badge Roger had found the
men all hissed involuntarily and Roger saw the feldwebel’s fingers fidgeting
nervously with the SMG. The royal guards had another rapid discussion in their
own language.
Then the feldwebel went and
picked up the rifle Graham had been carrying. Again he gasped in astonishment
and turned it over to look at its serial number.
“Ver you get zis?” he snarled at
Graham.
“From Leutnant Witorski,” Graham
said, pronouncing the rank in the German way.
Roger wouldn’t have thought the
men were capable of further astonishment but they gasped and gabbled at each
other. He wished Graham wouldn’t tell them so much and tried to catch his eye
to frown his disapproval. Not only was he very afraid but he was also getting
very cold and uncomfortable.
The feldwebel asked: “Ver is
Leutnant Witorski? How you know ihm?”
“We captured him. He was injured.
The police have him now, in hospital,”
lied
Graham.
“They will be here soon.”
“Vot did Schutzer Nitsky do?”
“If he is the
bloke who was with the leutnant and who just captured us then not much.
He fired a couple of shots at
Roger and ran off into the bush.”
One of the men spoke in a ‘told
you so’ tone and Roger saw Nitsky scowl several times while the others made
comments in a derisory tone. ‘Sounds like the silly bugger can’t navigate,’ he
thought. The feldwebel shrugged and the men began a discussion which seemed to
be over what to do with their prisoners. Roger began to dissolve in fear again
as he realized they could well be shot.
Then the felwebel made up his
mind. He gave rapid orders. One man ran off and returned a minute later with a
chain saw. The feldwebel picked up a radio and began typing on a small keyboard
on its face. The other man scooped up their belongings and shoved them roughly
back into their map pockets. Then he picked up their webbing and the rifle and
carried them down to where Roger now saw a Land Rover under a camouflage net.
The soldier rolled the net up and then came back and with Nitsky hauled Graham
to his feet and pushed him towards the vehicle. He was shoved in the back.
Then it was Roger’s turn. It hurt
to be wrenched to his feet by one arm but it was also a relief. Clearly they
were being taken somewhere and would not be shot immediately.
Roger was pushed into the back of
the Land Rover beside Graham. The soldier, a kaporal, climbed in and sat
opposite, with his rifle across his knees.
“No talk,” he cautioned.
Through the front Roger could see
the feldwebel at the radio. The man stood up and called something, then picked
up the radio and walked towards them. The soldier who had captured them
scrambled in the back and sat beside Roger. The third soldier sparked the chain
saw into life and began to attack the base of a large tree. By the time the
feldwebel had put the radio into the vehicle and climbed in the tree had been
cut through. It fell with a crash of splintering branches so that it lay
diagonally down the road, completely blocking it. The harsh clatter of the
chain saw died and the man began walking towards them.
Suddenly he stopped and
half-turned, then broke into a run, shouting. Roger understood the words
‘Polizei’ and ‘kommen’. He writhed with mortification. The police were coming but
they were a few minutes too late!
The soldier heaved the chain saw
in the back, hitting Roger’s leg with it as he did. He then ran and jumped into
the driver’s seat, handing his rifle to the feldwebel. The engine whirred and
burst into life and the vehicle lurched out onto the road.
They swung right towards the top
of the mountain and rapidly accelerated. The driver ignored the bumps and ruts.
The vehicle bounced and swayed violently so that gear clattered and tumbled.
Roger felt his elbow whack against the side so hard he yelled in pain. The
chain saw dug sharply into his ankle. He tried to grip the seat behind him but
his hands had gone numb.
He was also terrified that the
soldier opposite would accidentally pull the trigger as they crashed and
bounced over the bumps. To his relief he saw the man take his hand away from
the pistol grip to hold on. The soldier shouted something and the feldwebel
also shouted. The vehicle slowed down.
Roger glimpsed the grassy clearing
as they roared past and then the feldwebel called out again. The vehicle braked
violently. The feldwebel got out, to reappear at the back with the pack in his
hand.
“Zumpitch,” he said, reading the
name tag on the pack. He tossed it on Roger’s feet and returned to the cab.
Roger met Graham’s eye but tried not to look as though the pack meant anything
to them. The drive resumed.
They were back in the cloud and a
cold wind swirled through the vehicle, rapidly chilling Roger so that his teeth
began to chatter. The windscreen wipers were turned on as they encountered
rain. The vehicle roared down a long, greasy slope too fast for safety, sliding
so much that the feldwebel spoke sharply to the driver who, much to Roger’s
relief, slowed down.
As they drove along, Roger tried
to visualize the map. He was sure where they were going: to the Royal Guard HQ
at the Walsh River crossing. The road wound down steeply to the left with thick
jungle on both sides. They dipped below the cloud briefly before starting up a
long, slippery uphill grind in low gear.
At the top the vehicle stopped
and both driver and feldwebel got out. The motor was left running. A steady
drizzle started. Fear clawed at Roger. Were they to be shot and their bodies
tossed over the near-vertical side of the ridge to rot in that tangle of
jungle?
The driver leaned in the back,
swore, tossed the pack and loose items aside and hauled the chain saw out. He
walked back into the swirling mist to where the feldwebel indicated a large
tree. Roger relaxed and allowed misery to engulf him. He began to shiver so
much his teeth started to chatter. The guard looked at him and shrugged
sympathetically. He was cold too.
The chain saw screamed into life
and the driver went to work. In a couple of minutes a huge hardwood fell with a
crash across the road, bringing down a mass of creepers and vines with it. The
two men walked back to the vehicle. The chain saw was dumped on Roger’s boots
and the journey resumed.
Roger looked back glumly at the
tangle of greenery blocking the road. ‘The police will never get through that
in time!’ he thought.
The Land Rover ground on,
half-bogging from time to time in muddy patches, swerving to avoid fallen logs
(and going so close to the edge that Roger’s heart leapt into his mouth in
fright), and bouncing and slipping up greasy pinches in four-wheel drive. The
road levelled off for about a kilometre, cutting around the western side of a
jungle covered mountain. ‘We are definitely going north along the spine of the
Herberton Range,’ Roger decided.
The vehicle slowed and swung
around a hairpin bend and began to descend. Roger caught a glimpse of a green
clad man with a machine gun, an MG55 or MG3. The soldier had a belt of shining
ammunition draped over his shoulder. They passed another 4WD parked beside the
road with more royal guards in it.
That vehicle began to follow
them. Roger was in a state of near collapse by this. His hands and arms were
numb, his body frozen, and his brain a maggot’s nest of fear. Graham appeared
to be sitting there calmly, observing everything. Roger wondered if it was just
a front and tried to control his own face. ‘At least I can try to die with a
bit of dignity,’ he told himself.
The vehicle slowed, to slosh
through a muddy hollow where water was flowing across the road. Its wheels
crunched over a rotten log. Vines and leaves slapped and scratched at the
vehicle. The road was obviously not used much and the jungle was encroaching on
it.
Up a muddy slope, around and down
past a road junction and another 4WD, a brown one. A royal guard in a rain coat
stood beside it holding a radio handset. Roger wished the journey would end so
that whatever was going to happen could.
Then they were bumping and
grinding through a swiftly flowing stream of crystal clear water.
“Walsh River,” Graham murmured.
The guard looked at him but said
nothing. Roger felt all his muscles tense up. Won’t be long now!
Bump! Crash! Roar! Bump! The
rover lurched over rocks and runnels as it clawed its way up the far bank. The
vehicle growled up a long, slippery slope, the wheels spinning and spraying
mud. Roger watched the following 4WD splash into the creek behind them.
They were stopping!
Roger looked through the front
and saw more vehicles and at least half a dozen royal guards. Suddenly his mouth
went dry and his tongue felt too big for his throat. He wanted to cry out but
restrained himself. He also urgently wanted to do a pee.
The vehicle stopped and the motor
died. The feldwebel came to the rear and reached in to grab Roger’s sleeve.
“Out!”
Roger had to wriggle over the
pack and chain saw. His arms and left leg had ‘gone to sleep’ so that he slid
to the ground and fell in a heap on the muddy track.
Thump!
The feldwebel kicked him in the
thigh and hauled him to his feet. Another royal guard, with one stripe on his
sleeve and a bayonet fixed to his rifle, appeared and pointed. Roger stumbled
up the track to where a group of officers in overcoats stood. The lance
corporal pointed to the side of the track. “Sit there.”
Roger did as he was told, slumping
down on the wet soil a few metres behind another green Land Rover. Graham
joined him. Their webbing was tossed down near their feet. Roger was aware of
other vehicles arriving, of engines switching off, doors slamming, voices,
commands
.
The feldwebel marched up to a
tall young officer with a moustache, snapped to attention and saluted, clicking
his heels while he did so. There were three other officers there and two senior
NCOs: one with three stripes across and one down though their centres; and the
other with a gold crown: A sergeant major?
The feldwebel talked rapidly for
several minutes. The officers listened intently, their faces worried frowns.
From time to time they looked surprised or shocked and glanced at the boys.
Roger tried to breathe slowly to
calm his heartbeat. He looked around. In the back of the Land Rover on his left
was a signaller wearing earphones connected to a large radio mounted in the
back. Nearby were two infantrymen lying behind an LMG facing into the
jungle.
Other soldiers were just visible further along,
crouched behind trees. The misty rain continued to fall and there was a
continual heavy dripping from the leaves.
The squelch of boots made Roger
look up in alarm. The officers and senior NCOs now stood facing them. Roger
licked his lips and pressed his legs together to stop from wetting himself. He
felt faint and shook with fear.
The officer with the moustache
spoke to Graham. His English was excellent and he sounded like an upper-class
Englishman. “Tell us who you are, what you are doing here, and what you know,”
he said.
Graham proceeded to tell the
story of the hike, explaining they were only cadets doing a map reading
expedition. He described how they had started from Tinaroo and how Roger had
seen Krapinski’s body. At that all their eyes turned to Roger. He met some of
them and knew he had never seen harder or more hostile eyes in his life. He was
terrified. A vivid recollection of Krapinski’s corpse rose in his mind and fear
of death so gripped him that for a few minutes he was speechless.
The young officer spoke: “Speak
boy! Tell us. How did he die?”
“G...G...Gun...Gunshot sir. In
the... the...h...h...head,” Roger replied. He sobbed and took a deep breath and
recounted how they had helped the police search at Platypus Rock; then of the
meeting with the two KSS men at Robsons Creek and the finding of the badge.
The officers exchanged worried
glances and the young one snapped, “Describe the badge.”
Roger did so. He saw that the
audience was intensely interested and they all nodded in unison.
The young officer asked, “Do you
have the badge? Where is it?”
