Seven Steps to the Sun (22 page)

Mike was in very high spirits when he reached the flat ground in the valley. He waited for John and Bernie who were gamely lolloping down the mountain, some four hundred feet behind.

'Where do you think you're going?' asked a puffing Bernie.

'For a ramble,' he said, watching John come slowly up to them. 'What's wrong?'

'It's my foot,' the young man said taking off his very flimsy shoe. His sock was stuck to his foot.

'No, don't try and take it off. Put your shoe back on.' The lad's foot was probably one whole blister and once he stopped walking, it would be sometime before he'd do so again.

'You all right?' Mike asked Bernie.

'Sure.'

'Fine. From now on, stick close to John.' They slowly crossed a field of burnt stubble and halted at a broken fence that ran alongside a road.

'You two stay here, while I go and have a look round,' said Mike, taking the rifle off his shoulder.

He gave John a pat on the shoulder and, climbing the fence slowly, made his way up the road, keeping to what cover he could find. When he was satisfied there was no one on his side, he crossed over for the return. As he did so, he noticed a post sticking out of the ground some two hundred yards farther up the road. Reaching it, he found that at one time it would have told him where he was going but now the sign post arms had gone. Mike looked at the road and followed it with his eyes. The compass showed that it went north east. Although it would be risky he felt it would lead them into the mountains quicker than a long slog over the next hill. He ran back to the two fellows, who were sitting quietly by the roadside with their eyes closed.

'Come on you lively lot, I'm going to make life easy for you by taking the road for a bit.'

'I bet it goes up hill,' said John, getting up.

'By the way, what's your name?' asked Bernie.

'Mike.'

'All right, Mike we're ready,' said Bernie, standing unsteadily on his feet.

'Good, off you go up the road. Stick to the side and any cover you can find, I'll be with you in a minute,' he said, helping John over the fence. He started covering up any clues indicating which way they might have gone. The job he did wasn't very thorough but it would gain them a few more minutes. He climbed over the fence, crossed the road, and started to trample the grass on the far side. Satisfied with this, he turned to look back at the way they'd come. High above him on the mountainside he could see the little bobbing lights.

Mike stood looking back, dumbfounded at the speed with which their pursuers had gained on them. He checked that the rifle was fully loaded, then crossed the road into what cover he could find and quickly moved up to the two young men.

'How much time have we got?' asked John, sitting on the ground.

'I should think about an hour,' said Mike, following their gaze.

'Then what?' asked Bernie, without any emotion.

'Come on, we haven't time to speculate on what happens if they catch up with us. We've got to keep our advantage,' said Mike, taking hold of John's arm and helping him to his feet.

'Where are we going?'

'We'll follow this road for a while.'

'But they'll see us.'

'They must have done already, so it won't make any difference.'

'That means we don't have a chance.'

'If you feel like that, stay here,' said Mike, turning in anger.

'Come on, John,' said Bernie, taking his friend's arm.

Mike set off up the road at a fair old pace. He pondered on what would happen if they were caught. He looked back just to make sure he hadn't lost his charges and then pressed on, eyes alert, up the increasing gradient of the road. Suddenly, in the ditch not too far in front of him, he saw something glinting in the moonlight. Dropping onto one knee he signalled the others to do the same. The object didn't move. Taking a calculated risk he walked along the verge in full view of anyone in the ditch. Below him a metal object glinted.

'What is it?' asked Bernie, coming alongside.

'I don't know.'

Bernie started down into the ditch to see what it was.

'Hang on, it may be a trap. Here, hold on to these,' Mike said, giving up the rifle and revolver.

Bernie stood looking at the object and then back at Mike.

'Go on, get your head down,' Mike said firmly, beginning to feel the sweat break out. He moved carefully into the ditch and then wondered what the bell he was doing this for. He should have just left the glinting metal and moved on, time was too precious. Mr. foot hit something hard and, groping in the long grass, his hand touched a rubber tyre. Gone was the fear of a booby trap, as his searching revealed what looked like a very old-fashioned motor bike.

'What is it?'

'Looks like an antique motor bike,' said Mike, I Milling the machine upright.

'Shouldn't we be moving on?'

'In a minute, in a minute.' He was weighing up the possibility that the bike might work. It was an awful risk, but he had to find out, for, if it worked, it could put them hours in front of their pursuers. Mike unscrewed the petrol filler cap. The cool liquid suggested that the bike might not have been abandoned very long. He tried to turn it around, but it was too heavy.

'Bernie, give me a hand,' he said urgently.

They pushed the bike out onto the road and quickly cleared it of earth and grass.

'Come on, we're wasting time, that's not going to work,' said John.

'It's worth a try.'

Mike put his foot on the starter and pushed down hard. The engine revolved and coughed. The adrenalin in Mike's body was now working overtime. He gave the starter another kick. The engine coughed again and stopped.

'It's not going to go,' said Bernie, in a disappointed tone of voice.

'Wait, let me think.' His mechanical knowledge was limited, but he knew from the feel of the starter that the compression was all right and the magneto was sending a spark. The answer must be lack of fuel. He felt for the carburettor and pulled at the odd bits of earth that were blocking the inlet throat. Mike pushed down hard on the starter, but the engine still only coughed.

'The lights are getting closer,' said John, trying to be calm as the tension of the situation rose.

'One more try. I'm going to see if a push start down hill will fire the engine.'

'What shall we do?' said John.

'You two start walking along the road, if it doesn't start I'll soon catch you up,' said Mike, getting astride the bike. The two young men didn't move.

'Go on.' They reluctantly turned and left him to his own devices. It was a heavy piece of metal, and even with the help of the gradient it was reluctant to start rolling. He balanced the bike with his feet for a moment while he manipulated the clutch and gears. He let the clutch out, the engine coughed and spluttered and then caught. Mike frantically twisted the throttle, but the engine died. He tried again, with the same results. Now almost at the bottom of the gradient, he had one more try, but the bloody thing wouldn't run. He stopped the bike and sat with the sweat running freely from his forehead. Once again he got up on top of the starter and brought all his weight to bear in a final effort. Suddenly the valley was filled with 1 he harsh rasp of the bike's exhaust as it fired and died, then caught and revved. He gingerly found a gear, turned the bike and let the clutch out. The engine revs dropped and almost died. Mike selected another gear and tried again. This time the bike jumped forward and accelerated up the hill. The sound of the engine and the bite of the chill early morning air were exhilarating.

'All right,' he shouted, above the noise, as he pulled up to his companions, 'climb on.' He put the Pike in gear and off they went, weaving from one side of the road to the other, until he had the balance of the machine right. At a corner Mike managed to take a quick look back. The lights were almost at the bottom of the mountainside. The night was bright enough to see most of the road even at the speed they were going. At the top of the gradient, Mike managed to find another gear and the bike moved forward with even more momentum.

The road was in a terrible state and he had to weave the bike and its load in and out of the pot holes. After twenty kilometres or so he took a left hand fork. He had no idea of where he was going, but at the moment the most important thing was time. Not long after the fork, the road deteriorated into nothing more than a wide track.

Mike's leg was beginning to feel very bruised for every time they went over a bump the rifle, which Bernie had over his shoulder, banged onto the top of his leg. The road now rose steadily and he could make out the giant sleeping forms of the Alps. Dawn was beginning to come up, when a side road appeared on their left leading to the mountains high above them. He turned the bike onto the road and accelerated up the even steeper gradient. Somewhere to his right he could see the first rays of the sunrise as they entered a small ruined village. The place seemed deserted, but he stopped on the outskirts.

'What now?' said Bernie, refreshed by the ride.

'Better take a thorough look round. Can you use one of those?' he said, taking the rifle.

'Yes,' replied Bernie, competently handling the revolver.

'Good. John, you stay here. Bernie, you take the left-hand side of the village. Remember there may be booby traps in the houses, so go carefully. O.K.?'

'Sure.'

'Don't shout out if you find anything, come back here.'

Mike gave John a reassuring pat on the shoulder before moving off" himself. The village had once been inhabited by small Alpine farmers and there were still signs of animal life, although the houses had been destroyed by fire.

'Find anything?' asked Bernie, when they got back.

'Nothing of interest to us. And you?'

'Well, there's a small track leading up into the mountains.'

'Then that's where we'll go,' said Mike climbing onto the bike.

'I don't think you'll get that up,' said Bernie, sceptically.

'Maybe, but before we ditch it, we may as well go as far as we can,' said Mike, engaging the lowest gear .mil starting up the narrow track. He was glad the weather was dry, otherwise the rubber tyres wouldn't have had much grip on the rocky surface. The sun was now somewhere just below the mountain tops, making it easy to see where they were going.

The track eventually vanished and they found themselves on a flattish shoulder that led up onto the main ridge of the mountain. A yell from John made Mike stop the bike and turn to see what had happened. At first Mike couldn't see why he was making all the fuss. Then he saw it. Just below a col, about a mile away was a hut, or what looked like a hut.

He cut across the shoulder towards the col and stopped the bike about a quarter of a mile from the hut. Bernie and John stretched themselves while he looked round the open mountainside. There wasn't too much he could do with the bike to hide it, so he just lowered it to the ground.

'Come on,' said Bernie, starting towards the hut.

'Wait, you follow me. When we're within a hundred feet of the hut take cover, while I have a look around.'

'But if there's anyone there they'd have heard us by now,' said John, rubbing his legs.

'Possibly.'

Mike left them just short of the hut, well hidden by rocks, and moved to the hut. With his back flat against the wall, he pushed hard against the door with the butt of the rifle. It creaked slowly open, leaving him staring into the dark interior. There wasn't a sound, so with the rifle at the ready he moved into the hut.

Going over to the shuttered window he opened it a little. The room was bare except for a pile of straw in one corner.

'O.K., lads, it's all yours,' said Mike, rejoining the others.

'Empty?' asked Bernie.

'Absolutely.' It was the first time he'd had a chance to look at his two companions. Bernie's face was a mess, all bruised and battered as though he'd withstood ten rounds with a heavy-weight champion. John's face was white from the pain of his feet and legs. He cursed himself for lack of foresight in not picking up the emergency rations from the soldiers.

'Boy, does this look good after some of the places we've been in recently,' said Bernie, as he walked into the hut.

'Mike?' said John, stopping him going in.

'Yes?' said Mike quietly, looking at the grey face.

'It's my feet,' said John simply.

'We'll soon have them feeling better,' said Mike, encouragingly, not knowing what on earth he could do for the man's feet. He had nothing really clean to use as a bandage, and if they weren't attended to, they'd soon be septic.

'I'm really hungry,' said Bernie, from the door. 'How about doing a bit of hunting?'

'Afraid not, one shot will be heard miles away.'

'Then if we can't shoot anything, we must find other ways of catching our lunch,' said Bernie, very perkily.

'Fine, you have a good think about that, but listen, before you go hunting or in fact doing anything, I'm going to take a look round. If you could stay here and keep an eye on the way we came, I'll be back.'

He slung the rifle over his shoulder and moved towards the top of the col. High above him, he could nee the remains of the previous winter's snow sparkling in the warm golden rays of the sun. He satisfied him-self that it would be virtually impossible for anyone to tome up the col and surprise them from behind and n turned to the hut.

Any ideas on hunting?' he said cheerfully to Bernie on his return.

'Yes, I reckon I could make a snare if I had some wire'

‘Good, we'll get you some in a moment. Let's have a at John's feet.'