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Miss Ponsky came up. ‘Are you all right, Mr O’Hara – Tim?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘You did all right, Jenny.’
She blushed. ‘Why – thank you, Tim. But I had a dreadful moment. I really thought I’d have to shoot that man by the truck.’
O’Hara looked at Forester and grinned weakly and Forester suppressed a macabre laugh. ‘You did just what you were supposed to do,’ said O’Hara, ‘and you did it very well.’ He looked around. ‘Willis, you stay down here – get the gun from Rohde and if anything happens fire the last bullet. But I don’t think anything will happen – not yet a while. The rest of us will have a war council up by the pond. I’d like to do that before Ray goes off.’
‘Okay,’ said Forester.
They went up to the pond and O’Hara walked over to the water’s edge. Before he took a cupped handful of water he caught sight of his own reflection and grimaced distastefully. He was unshaven and very dirty, his face blackened by smoke and dried blood and his eyes red-rimmed and sore from the heat of the fire-bolts. My God, I look like a tramp, he thought.
He dashed cold water at his face and shivered violently, then turned to find Benedetta behind him, a strip of cloth in her hands. ‘Your head,’ she said. ‘The skin was broken.’
He put a hand to the back of his head and felt the stickiness of drying blood. ‘Hell, I must have hit hard,’ he said.
‘You’re lucky you weren’t killed. Let me see to it.’
Her fingers were cool on his temples as she washed the wound and bandaged his head. He rubbed his hand raspingly over his cheek; Armstrong is always clean-shaven, he thought; I must find out how he does it.
Benedetta tied a neat little knot and said, ‘You must take it easy today, Tim. I think you are concussed a little.’
He nodded, then winced as a sharp pain stabbed through his head. ‘I think you’re right. But as for taking it easy – that isn’t up to me; that’s up to the boys on the other side of the river. Let’s get back to the others.’
Forester rose up as they approached. ‘Miguel thinks we should get going,’ he said.
‘In a moment,’ said O’Hara. ‘There are a few things I want to find out.’ He turned to Rohde. ‘You’ll be spending a day at the camp and a day at the mine. That’s two days used up. Is this lost time necessary?’
‘It is necessary and barely enough,’ said Rohde. ‘It should be longer.’
‘You’re the expert on mountains,’ said O’Hara. ‘I’ll take your word for it. How long to get across?’
‘Two days,’ said Rohde positively. ‘If we have to take longer we will not do it at all.’
‘That’s four days,’ said O’Hara. ‘Add another day to convince someone that we’re in trouble and another for that someone to do something about it. We’ve got to hold out for six days at least – maybe longer.’
Forester looked grave. ‘Can you do it?’
‘We’ve got to do it,’ said O’Hara. ‘I think we’ve gained one day. They’ve got to find some timber from somewhere, and that means going back at least fifty miles to a town. They might have to get another truck as well – and it all takes time. I don’t think we’ll be troubled until tomorrow – maybe not until the next day. But I’m thinking about your troubles – how are you going to handle things on the other side of the mountain?’
Miss Ponsky said, ‘I’ve been wondering about that, too. You can’t go to the government of this man Lopez. He would not help Señor Aguillar, would he?’
Forester smiled mirthlessly. ‘He wouldn’t lift a finger. Are there any of your people in Altemiros, Señor Aguillar?’
‘I will give you an address,’ said Aguillar. ‘And Miguel will know. But you may not have to go as far as Altemiros.’
Forester looked interested and Aguillar said to Rohde, ‘The airfield.’
‘Ah,’ said Rohde. ‘But we must be careful.’
‘What’s this about an airfield?’ Forester asked.
‘There is a high-level airfield in the mountains this side of Altemiros,’ said Aguillar. ‘It is a military installation which the fighter squadrons use in rotation. Cordillera has four squadrons of fighter aircraft – the eighth, the tenth, the fourteenth and the twenty-first squadrons. We – like the communists – have been infiltrating the armed forces. The fourteenth squadron is ours; the eighth is communist; and the other two still belong to Lopez.’
‘So the odds are three to one that any squadron at the airfield will be a rotten egg,’ commented Forester.
‘That is right,’ said Aguillar. ‘But the airfield is directly on your way to Altemiros. You must tread carefully and act discreetly, and perhaps you can save much time. The commandant of the fourteenth squadron, Colonel Rodriguez, is an old friend of mine – he is safe.’
‘If he’s there,’ said Forester. ‘But it’s worth the chance. We’ll make for this airfield as soon as we’ve crossed the mountains.’
‘That’s settled,’ said O’Hara with finality. ‘Doctor Armstrong, have you any more tricks up your medieval sleeve?’
Armstrong removed his pipe from his mouth. ‘I think I have. I had an idea and I’ve been talking to Willis about it and he thinks he can make it work.’ He nodded towards the gorge. ‘Those people are going to be more prepared when they come back with their timber. They’re not going to stand up and be shot at like tin ducks in a shooting gallery – they’re going to have their defences against our crossbows. So what we need now is a trench mortar.’
‘For Christ’s sake,’ exploded O’Hara. ‘Where the devil are we going to get a trench mortar?’
‘Willis is going to make it,’ Armstrong said equably. ‘With the help of Señor Rohde, Mr Forester and myself – and Mr Peabody, of course, although he isn’t much help, really.’
‘So I’m going to make a trench mortar,’ said Forester helplessly. He looked baffled. ‘What do we use for explosives? Something cleverly cooked up out of match-heads?’
‘Oh, you misunderstand me,’ said Armstrong. ‘I mean the medieval equivalent of a trench mortar. We need a machine that will throw a missile in a high trajectory to lob behind the defences which our enemies will undoubtedly have when they make their next move. There are no really new principles in modern warfare, you know; merely new methods of applying the old principles. Medieval man knew all the principles.’
He looked glumly at his empty pipe. ‘They had a variety of weapons. The onager is no use for our purpose, of course. I did think of the mangonel and the ballista, but I discarded those too, and finally settled on the trebuchet. Powered by gravity, you know, and very effective.’
If the crossbows had not been such a great success O’Hara would have jeered at Armstrong, but now he held his peace, contenting himself with looking across at Forester ironically. Forester still looked baffled and shrugged his shoulders. ‘What sort of missile would the thing throw?’ he asked.
‘I was thinking of rocks,’ said Armstrong. ‘I explained the principle of the trebuchet to Willis and he has worked it all out. It’s merely the application of simple mechanics, you know, and Willis has got all that at his fingertips. We’ll probably make a better trebuchet than they could in the Middle Ages – we can apply the scientific principles with more understanding. Willis thinks we can throw a twenty-pound rock over a couple of hundred yards with no trouble at all.’
‘Wow!’ said O’Hara. He visualized a twenty-pound boulder arching in a high trajectory – it would come out of the sky almost vertically at that range. ‘We can do the bridge a bit of no good with a thing like that.’
‘How long will it take to make?’ asked Forester.
‘Not long,’ said Armstrong. ‘Not more than twelve hours, Willis thinks. It’s a very simple machine, really.’
O’Hara felt in his pocket and found his cigarette packet. He took one of his last cigarettes and gave it to Armstrong. ‘Put that in your pipe and smoke it. You deserve it.’
Armstrong smiled delightedly and began to shred the cigarette. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I can think much better when I smoke.’
O’Hara grinned. ‘I’ll give you all my cigarettes if you can come up with the medieval version of the atom bomb.’
‘That was gunpowder,’ said Armstrong seriously. ‘I think that’s beyond us at the moment.’
‘There’s just one thing wrong with your idea,’ O’Hara commented. ‘We can’t have too many people up at the camp. We must have somebody down at the bridge in case the enemy does anything unexpected. We’ve got to keep a fighting force down here.’
‘I’ll stay,’ said Armstrong, puffing at his pipe contentedly. ‘I’m not very good with my hands – my fingers are all thumbs. Willis knows what to do; he doesn’t need me.’
‘That’s it, then,’ said O’Hara to Forester. ‘You and Miguel go up to the camp, help Willis and Peabody build this contraption, then push on to the mine tomorrow. I’ll go down and relieve Willis at the bridge.’
III
Forester found the going hard as they climbed up to the camp. His breath wheezed in his throat and he developed slight chest pains. Rohde was not so much affected and Willis apparently not at all. During the fifteen-minute rest at the halfway point he commented on it. ‘That is acclimatization,’ Rohde explained. ‘Señor Willis has spent much time at the camp – to come down means nothing to him. For us going up it is different.’
‘That’s right,’ said Willis. ‘Going down to the bridge was like going down to sea-level, although the bridge must be about twelve thousand feet up.’
‘How high is the camp?’ asked Forester.
‘I’d say about fourteen and a half thousand feet,’ said Willis. ‘I’d put the mine at a couple of thousand feet higher.’
Forester looked up at the peaks. ‘And the pass is nineteen thousand. Too close to heaven for my liking, Miguel.’
Rohde’s lips twisted. ‘Not heaven – it is a cold hell.’
When they arrived at the camp Forester was feeling bad and said so. ‘You will be better tomorrow,’ said Rohde.
‘But tomorrow we’re going higher,’ said Forester morosely.
‘One day at each level is not enough to acclimatize,’ Rohde admitted. ‘But it is all the time we can afford.’
Willis looked around the camp. ‘Where the hell is Peabody? I’ll go and root him out.’
He wandered off and Rohde said, ‘I think we should search this camp thoroughly. There may be many things that would be of use to O’Hara.’
‘There’s the kerosene,’ said Forester. ‘Maybe Armstrong’s gadget can throw fire bombs. That would be one way of getting at the bridge to burn it.’
They began to search the huts. Most of them were empty and disused, but three of them had been fitted out for habitation and there was much equipment. In one of the huts they found Willis shaking a recumbent Peabody, who was stretched out on a bunk.
‘Five arrows,’ said Willis bitterly. ‘That’s all this bastard has done – made five arrows before he drank himself stupid.’
‘Where’s he getting the booze?’ asked Forester.
‘There’s a case of the stuff in one of the other huts.’
‘Lock it up if you can,’ said Forester. ‘If you can’t, pour it away – I ought to have warned you about this, but I forgot. We can’t do much about him now – he’s too far gone.’
Rohde who had been exploring the hut grunted suddenly as he took a small leather bag from a shelf. ‘This is good.’
Forester looked with interest at the pale green leaves which Rohde shook out into the palm of his hand. ‘What’s that?’
‘Coca leaves,’ said Rohde. ‘They will help us when we cross the mountain.’
‘Coca?’ said Forester blankly.
‘The curse of the Andes,’ said Rohde. ‘This is where cocaine comes from. It has been the ruin of the indios – this and aguardiente. Señor Aguillar intends to restrict the growing of coca when he comes into power.’ He smiled slowly. ‘It would be asking too much to stop it altogether.’
‘How is it going to help us?’ asked Forester.
‘Look around for another bag like this one containing a white powder,’ said Rohde. As they rummaged among the shelves, he continued, ‘In the great days of the Incas the use of coca was restricted to the nobles. Then the royal messengers were permitted to use it because it increased their running power and stamina. Now all the indios chew coca – it is cheaper than food.’
‘It isn’t a substitute for food, is it?’
‘It anaesthetises the stomach lining,’ said Rohde. ‘A starving man will do anything to avoid the pangs of hunger. It is also a narcotic, bringing calmness and tranquillity – at a price.’
‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ asked Forester. He opened a small bag he had found and tipped out some of the powder. ‘What is it?’
‘Lime,’ said Rohde. ‘Cocaine is an alkaloid and needs a base for it to precipitate. While we are waiting for Señor Willis to tell us what to do, I will prepare this for us.’
He poured the coca leaves into a saucer and began to grind them, using the back of a spoon as a pestle. The leaves were brittle and dry and broke up easily. When he had ground them to a powder he added lime and continued to grind until the two substances were thoroughly mixed. Then he put the mixture into an empty tin and added water, stirring until he had a light green paste. He took another tin and punched holes in the bottom, and, using it as a strainer, he forced the paste through.
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?’
