Sacred Mountain (17 page)

From the corner of his eye Philip saw that the third soldier had dived for his rifle. Everything seemed to slow. He started to swing his pistol but realised that he wasn’t going to make it in time, the barrel of the Japanese rifle was already rising to his chest. There was an explosion of sound and Philip staggered back. He opened his eyes to see the man lying prone against the wall, flung there like a ragdoll. He glanced round and saw the grim face of Tarun staring down the smoking barrel of his rifle.

Giri drew his khukri and cut Prem down. The corporal grimaced as he took the weight on his bruised legs and gingerly massaged blood back into his arms.

“Can you walk?” Philip asked.

“Of course,” replied the Gurkha. “I’m not hurt.”

Rana had released another Gurkha who’d been left tied in a corner, presumably waiting his turn to be interrogated. Both he and Prem recovered their weapons from where they’d been stacked and turned to face Philip.

“What happened to the others?” Philip asked grimly.

“They shot the burrif as soon as they caught us. He went in first and was told the village was clear by the headman. He came back for us but as we approached we were ambushed.” The corporal shrugged. “There was little we could do against their machine gun. Their Sergeant,” he stopped and nodded towards the dead soldier who’d been using the lash, “walked straight up to him and shot him in the head. He said he was a traitor.”

Philip shook his head. “And Balbir?”

“They tortured him first. I think because he was young they thought he’d be the easiest to break.” Prem shook his head. “He said nothing, which is why they thought we were alone and were not expecting to be attacked. Then he passed out. He was so covered in blood they made us drag his body to the hut next door so their uniforms stayed clean. He must be in there, but whether he’s alive or not, I don’t know.”

“How many are there of them?” Philip asked.

Prem shrugged. “I counted six. They seem to have been stationed here for the few days. They also have a radio which I heard them use. They will have told their HQ that we are here and will have requested reinforcements.”

Philip nodded. “OK. Time to get moving. Keep low and spread out when you hit the ground. Make your way towards the hut you took him to. And be careful. We know there’s at least a couple more of them out there and after all this noise, they know we’re here too.”

He took a deep breath and flung himself out of the door, to be met by the deafening evening chorus of frogs in the paddy fields, a noise disturbed only by their lumbering footfall’s and laboured breathing.

Chapter 12

Nepal, 1953

Philip couldn’t settle that night. Whenever he closed his eyes he smelt blood and saw the despair in the eyes of the dying monk. When he did finally doze he dreamt of being lost in a never ending jungle, never being able to find the right path out. He was woken on several occasions by loud snoring and coughing caused by the pungent smoke from the yak dung fire. He was also aware of Lhamu sleeping on the other side of the fireplace, almost invisible in a heavy woollen blanket.

He’d wanted to talk to her after the discussion had broken up but had been kept busy with the preparations. During one lull he’d glanced across but she’d already made up her bed on the floor and had settled down for the night. Soon after, the men returned from their search for weapons and it was obvious that it hadn’t been very successful. Philip looked at the five guns they’d manage to locate. Four were flintlocks so ancient that Philip doubted their barrels would survive another firing. The only serviceable weapon was a revolver from the Second World War. It was dirty and only had eight rounds of ammunition but at least it was more likely to kill the target rather than the shooter. When Prem had finished examining it he’d walked over to Philip, holding it out. Philip paused, looking the corporal in the eye, before nodding slowly and taking it from him.

The Gurkhas didn’t seem at all discouraged by their lack of firepower and spent a good twenty minutes sharpening and oiling the evil looking knives they all carried. Philip shivered as he watched the dull blades glinting in the firelight. Memories came back of these very blades slashing through skin and sinew, silently dispatching enemies who’d died drowning in their own blood. He’d rather have these men with knives on his side than any others with rifles. Where they were going, in the terrain and conditions they were going to be fighting in, with the Gurkhas knowledge and skill, they had a chance.

He’d just fallen into what he thought was his first deep sleep of the night when he felt his shoulder being shaken. It was Mingma. He sat up in his sleeping bag, rubbing his eyes and yawning, grunting a greeting to the Sherpa. The room was dark, lit only by the fire embers and a lamp Mingma was now hanging from a ceiling hook. The others men were stirring, heading out into the dark and cold morning to relieve themselves. He glanced across the hearth and saw that Lhamu had gone, the space where her bed had been now just an empty patch of floor.

Getting up, he quickly rolled his sleeping bag and shoved it into his rucksack. He then helped Mingma mix his own expedition food with supplies from the lodge, making twelve equal piles. When they were satisfied that they all weighed the same he picked one up and called the others over.

“Here’s the food. Take a pile each so we have some rations with us. I don’t want to take any more as it’ll slow us down and we need to travel quickly. We’ll try to buy more as we go.”

The Gurkhas took the food, stowing it away in their packs. When Lhamu came over Philip stepped forward and held out a small canvas bag.

“There’s no food for you to carry as I want you to be in charge of this.”

She reached out and tilted the package to see it better. On its side was stamped a large red cross and the words “First Aid”.

“As I’m the one with the gun I think it’s best that I don’t carry this. They’ll most likely shoot at me first.”

Lhamu nodded and took it, her hand brushing Philips as she did so. Their eyes briefly met before she turned and walked away.

Blankets were folded and stowed, boots laced and a quick breakfast of boiled eggs and chapatti eaten. As the first hint of morning silhouetted the eastern peaks, they walked from the lodge out into the deserted street. Their breath blew out in front of them in white clouds as they began the climb to the upper villages in the freezing dawn air. The whole valley lay silent except for the distant roar of the river and the occasional crow from a disturbed cockerel. Philip stopped and looked back over the silent town, wondering when he’d next get to sleep under a proper roof. He could hardly believe what they were setting out to attempt, slowly shaking his head and sighing as he turned and resumed the climb.

Everybody seemed to be thinking the same thing. The column climbed quickly and quietly towards the first ridge. It gave time for Philip to try to work out a plan for the next few days. He kept his thumbs tucked inside the straps of his rucksack, worried that he might be betrayed by his trembling hands. Old fears pushed their way into his head and he tried to steady his breathing, despite the exertion of the climb.

He forced his mind to work as it had once been trained, to live in the present and face problems as they arose. They were going to be outnumbered and outgunned, that much was certain. Following the trade route across the Nangpa-la to Tibet was the only option. There were other passes but they were either too far away or too dangerous for such an unprepared expedition. That meant they wouldn’t be able to outflank the enemy and set an ambush for them to walk into. They would have to catch the soldiers but then keep their distance and an element of surprise until they came to a place they could either overtake them unseen or attack.

Philip smiled grimly. If his Gurkhas got close enough they’d be able to dispatch the Chinese with their knives before they realised what’d happened. That’s how they stood a chance. In addition to himself, Corporal Prem and the nine men, he also had Mingma who would be able to supervise the cooking and camp, as well as help guide with Lhamu. He glanced up ahead but they were already well strung out and she was out of sight. They’d decided the previous evening that she and Prem would push ahead to pick up the trail of the soldiers and try to establish their exact position. They were to rejoin the rest that evening, hopefully at the snout of the Nangpa Glacier where they intended to camp. Anything they managed to learn would be invaluable.

He estimated that, if they were careful, they had food for three days. Mingma hoped to buy some from the villages they’d pass through that day, so that might give them an extra day or two. He’d selected food that could be eaten cold if necessary. They were carrying no fuel and when they got up above the snowline firewood would be hard to find. It should take two days to cross the pass; everything depended on what lay on the other side.

Lhamu knew of several settlements that she’d visited and stayed at on trips with her father, but the people on the Tibetan Plateau were nomads and they could have moved off if the grazing was poor this year. They’d just have to hope that they or some other settlers were there. Failing that, they would have to eke out the food out until they reached the monastery at Rombuk. The Gurkhas had, Philip thought grimly, survived for much longer on much less.

When he’d first been told of his assignment to Everest, Rombuk had been the place that had flashed into his mind. The stories of Mallory and Irvine’s attempt to climb the mountain from Tibet had filled the boys’ adventure books he’d read when he was young; whether or not they’d made it to the summit before dying in the storms that engulfed the peak. They’d started their climb from Rombuk, as in those days Nepal had been closed to all foreigners.

From these stories, and from his evening chatting to Lhamu and her father Karma, he knew that there was still a large monastery there, despite the Chinese persecution. They, at least, would be able to offer shelter and food if needed. Monks from Thangboche who’d been there recently had told Lhamu that there were still many monks there, with large herds of mountain sheep and yaks.

He’d settled into a good rhythm, walking steadily and in pace with his breathing. He felt fitter now; three weeks of constant exertion had made his body stronger. Excess fat had been burnt away and muscles built up so that he felt as if he’d be able to keep up with the rest of the men who all walked these mountains for their livelihood.

Slowly he became aware that there was somebody following behind, the occasional sound of a dislodged stone or of a boot scraping on rock carrying up to him. He thought he heard a cough and the sound of someone hacking and spitting. It was lighter now, the sun’s rays striking the very tips of the tallest mountains. As he watched it fell to the highest points of the valleys eastern ridge, bathing them in a morning light that glowed orange. Looking back down the trail he could now see the outline of a man catching him quickly, almost jogging as he sprang from rock to rock. As he got nearer and the light got brighter he recognised Tashi.

A minute or so later the Indian caught him, nodding in greeting as he panted for breath.

“You’re up early,” Philip remarked laconically. “Come to enjoy the sun rise?”

Tashi stood hands on hips and shook his head with a grimace. “I didn’t want you to have all the fun,” he wheezed. “Anyway, whenever I’m not around you get into such trouble.”

Philip shook his head, holding Tashi’s eye. “Why didn’t you say you wanted to come last night?”

Tashi shrugged. “By the time I returned last night you were all sleeping. The police had been uncooperative so I’d thought I’d be more use in Namche, pestering away at them. But this morning, after you’d left, I changed my mind.” He paused, still breathing heavily. “I realised that those flatfoots weren’t going to take any notice of a creep like me, whatever I showed them.” He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the ring, passing it to Philip. “Here,” he said smiling. “Take this. I don’t want you thinking I’ve sold it.”

Philip took it and stood looking at the Indian. “You do realise it’s going to be dangerous, don’t you?” he said at last. “There’s at least twice as many soldiers as there are of us and they’re all armed.”

Tashi nodded. “Another reason for me to come. Even up the numbers a bit.”

Philip continued. “Crossing the pass is going to be cold and exhausting and we haven’t even got enough food to get back. If we don’t find some friendly people over there we’ll freeze and starve.”

Tashi reached back and tapped his rucksack. “I’ve bought food for myself which I’ll either keep separate or throw into the communal pot.”

Philip studied Tashi’s face. “Why would you want to come?”

The Indian stood silently, considering his response. “I’ve seen some bad things in my life, many of which I’ve try hard to forget.” He stopped to compose himself for a few moments before continuing. “I’ve told you my two brothers were killed in fighting between the Chinese and Tibetans. They didn’t deserve to die. They were good men, caring and peaceful. I was too young to help them. My two elder sisters were taken and my youngest sister died on the journey to Sikkim. She froze to death. I woke one morning to find she had rolled from our blankets during the night. Her face was so peaceful I tried to wake her for a while until I touched her shoulder and felt she was solid. She was only seven.”

He looked at Philip. “Those monks didn’t deserve to die either. My brothers were Tibetan. I was Tibetan until we were forced to India. Seems to me that this is my battle as much as anyone’s.” He rubbed his mouth. “Anyway, I speak Chinese. I learnt it as a boy and have used it many times for my work. I think I might well be of use at some point.”

There was silence, the men standing looking at each other, the eastern horizon behind them lightening to a pale yellow that merged with the growing blue of the sky.

At last Philip nodded. “You can come but on one condition. You follow my orders. We’ll need to pull together if we’re to stand any chance.” He smiled at Tashi. He liked him and he had to admit that he’d been useful the previous day. “And remember,” he held up his finger, “this isn’t a trading trip. So forget any ideas you’ve got of buying the Dalai Lama’s prayer beads if we run into him!”

Tashi held out his hands and looked shocked. “The very thought is outrageous,” he replied good-naturedly. “I’m here only to help.” He smiled. “If they happen to reward me however I wouldn’t want to turn down a gift and offend them.” He continued walking up the trail, Philip turning back up the slope and following on behind.

They walked on in silence until they reached the village of Thamo, where Philip stopped and joined Mingma who was busy bartering with the villagers for supplies. They sat outside a large stone house, drinking some of the saltiest tea Philip had yet tasted. He had to stop himself gagging after every sip.

They soon had enough potatoes and onions for a meal and Mingma hired a local man to carry them up to that night’s campsite, hoping they’d arrive in time for supper that evening. They lingered for a few more minutes, questioning the villagers about what they knew about the events of the last few days. They’d all heard rumours of the massacre and of the soldiers marching through the higher villagers.

Mingma spent several minutes questioning a man who’d returned from Khunde that morning to see if they could learn anything more. When he’d finished he turned to Philip looking worried.

“This man was in the high street when the soldiers came through. He says there were more than twenty and they had big guns.” Mingma stopped and looked at the man. “There was one man in charge, with a different uniform, and shouting a lot at the others. They were walking fast but two of them were injured and being helped.” He turned towards Philip. “That’s good. The injured will slow them down and give us more of a chance to catch them.”

Philip nodded. “Let’s hope so. Did he see a prisoner?”