‘They’ve got the range now, damn them.’ Stephan rose quickly to his feet and peered down the gorge.
For long seconds he could see nothing, for a band of dark cloud had crossed the face of the moon: then the moon broke through and he could see the enemy all too clearly. Because of some almost certainly prearranged signal, they were no longer making any attempt to seek cover: they were pounding straight up the slope with all the speed they could muster, machine-carbines and rifles at the ready in their hands – and as soon as the moon broke through they squeezed the triggers of those guns. Stephan threw himself behind the shelter of a boulder.
‘Now!’ he shouted. ‘Now!’
The first ragged Partisan fusillade lasted for only a few seconds, then a black shadow fell over the valley The firing ceased.
‘Keep firing,’ Vukalovic shouted. ‘Don’t stop now They’re closing in.’ He loosed off a burst from his own machine-pistol and said to Stephan, ‘They know what they are about, our friends down there.’
They should.’ Stephan armed a stick grenade and spun it down the hill. ‘Look at all the practice we’ve given them.’
The moon broke through again. The leading German infantry were no more than twenty-five yards away. Both sides exchanged hand-grenades, fired at point-blank range. Some German soldiers fell, but many more came on, flinging themselves on the redoubt Matters became temporarily confused. Here and then bitter hand-to-hand fighting developed. Men shouted at each other, cursed each other, killed each other. But the redoubt remained unbroken. Suddenly, dark heavy clouds again rolled over the moon, darkness flooded the gorge and everything slowly fell quiet, In the distance the thunder of artillery and mortar fire fell away to a muted rumble, then finally died.
‘A trap?’ Vukalovic said softly to Stephan. ‘Yon think they will come again?’
‘Not tonight.’ Stephan was positive. ‘They’re brave men, but -‘
‘But not insane?’
‘But not insane.’
Blood poured down over Stephan’s face from a reopened wound in his face, but he was smiling. He rose to his feet and turned as a burly sergeant came up and delivered a sketchy salute.
‘They’ve gone, Major. We lost seven of ours this time, and fourteen wounded.’
‘Set pickets two hundred metres down,’ Stephan said. He turned to Vukalovic. ‘You heard, sir? Seven dead. Fourteen hurt.’ ‘Leaving how many?’
Two hundred. Perhaps two hundred and five.’ ‘Out of four hundred.’ Vukalovic’s mouth twisted. ‘Dear God, out of four hundred.’ ‘And sixty of those are wounded.’ ‘At least you can get them down to the hospital now.’ There is no hospital,’ Stephan said heavily. ‘I didn’t have time to tell you. It was bombed this morning. Both doctors killed. All our medical supplies – poof! Like that.’
‘Gone? All gone?’ Vukalovic paused for a long moment. ‘I’ll have some sent up from HQ. The walking wounded can make their own way to HQ.’
The wounded won’t leave, sir. Not any more.’ Vukalovic nodded in understanding and went on: ‘How much ammunition?’
Two days. Three, if we’re careful.’ ‘Sixty wounded.’ Vukalovic shook his head in slow disbelief. ‘No medical help whatsoever for them. Ammunition almost gone. No food. No shelter. And they won’t leave. Are they insane, too?’ ‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’m going down to the river,’ Vukalovic said. To see Colonel Lazlo at HQ.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Stephan smiled faintly. ‘I doubt if you’ll find his mental equilibrium any better than mine.’ ‘I don’t suppose I will,’ Vukalovic said. Stephan saluted and turned away, mopping blood from his face, walked a few short swaying steps then knelt down to comfort a badly wounded man. I Vukalovic looked after him expressionlessly, shaking his head: then he, too, turned and left.
Mallory finished his meal and lit a cigarette. He said, ‘So what’s going to happen to the Partisans in the Zenica Cage, as you call it?’
‘They’re going to break out,’ Neufeld said. ‘At least, they’re going to try to.’
‘But you’ve said yourself that’s impossible.’
‘Nothing is too impossible for those mad Partisans to try. I wish to heaven,’ Neufeld said bitterly, ‘that we were fighting a normal war against normal people, like the British or Americans. Anyway, we’ve had information – reliable information – that an attempted break-out is imminent. Trouble is, there are those two passes – they might even try to force the bridge at Neretva – and we don’t know where the break-out is coming.’
This is very interesting.’ Andrea looked sourly at the blind musician who was still giving his rendering of the same old Bosnian love-song. ‘Can we get some sleep now?’
‘Not tonight, I’m afraid.’ Neufeld exchanged a smile with Droshny. ‘You are going to find out for us where this break-out is coming.’
‘We are?’ Miller drained his glass and reached for the bottle. ‘Infectious stuff, this insanity.’
Neufeld might not have heard him. ‘Partisan HQ is about ten kilometres from here. You are going to report there as the bona-fide British mission that has lost its way. Then, when you’ve found out their plans, you tell them that you are going to their main HQ at Drvar, which of course, you don’t. You come back here instead. What could be simpler?’
‘Miller’s right,’ Mallory said with conviction. ‘You are mad.’
‘I’m beginning to think there’s altogether too much talk of this madness.’ Neufeld smiled. ‘You would prefer, perhaps, that Captain Droshny here turned you over to his men. I assure you, they are most unhappy about their – ah – late comrade.’
‘You can’t ask us to do this!’ Mallory was hard-faced in anger. ‘The Partisans are bound to get a radio message about us. Sooner or later. And then – well, you know what then. You just can’t ask this of us.’
‘I can and I will.’ Neufeld looked at Mallory and his five companions without enthusiasm. ‘It so happens that I don’t care for dope-peddlers and drug-runners.’
‘I don’t think your opinion will carry much weight in certain circles,’ Mallory said. ‘And that means?’
‘Kesselring’s Director of Military Intelligence isn’t going to like this at all.’
‘If you don’t come back, they’ll never know. If you do – ‘ Neufeld smiled and touched the Iron Cross at his throat – ‘they’ll probably give me an oak leaf to this.’
‘Likeable type, isn’t he?’ Miller said to no one in particular.
‘Come then.’ Neufeld rose from the table. ‘Petar?’ The blind singer nodded, slung his guitar over his shoulder and rose to his feet, his sister rising with him.
‘What’s this, then?’ Mallory asked. ‘Guides.’ ‘Those two?’
‘Well,’ Neufeld said reasonably, ‘you can’t very well find your own way there, can you? Petar and his sister – well, his sister – know Bosnia better than the foxes.’
‘But won’t the Partisans -‘ Mallory began, but Neufeld interrupted.
‘You don’t know your Bosnia. These two wander wherever they like and no one will turn them from their door. The Bosnians believe, and God knows with sufficient reason, that they are accursed and have the evil eye on them. This is a land of superstition, Captain Mallory.’
‘But – but how will they know where to take us?’
‘They’ll know.’ Neufeld nodded to Droshny, who talked rapidly to Maria in Serbo-Croat: she in turn spoke to Petar, who made some strange noises in his throat.
‘That’s an odd language,’ Miller observed.
‘He’s got a speech impediment,’ Neufeld said shortly. ‘He was born with it. He can sing, but not talk – it’s not unknown. Do you wonder people think they are cursed?’ He turned to Mallory. ‘Wait outside with your men.’
Mallory nodded, gestured to the others to precede him. Neufeld, he noted, was immediately engaged in a short, low-voiced discussion with Droshny, who nodded, summoned one of his Cetniks and dispatched him on some errand. Once outside, Mallory moved with Andrea slightly apart from the others and murmured something in his ear, inaudible to all but Andrea, whose nodded acquiescence was almost imperceptible.
Neufeld and Droshny emerged from the hut, followed by Maria who was leading Petar by the hand. As they approached Mallory’s group, Andrea walked casually towards them, smoking the inevitable noxious cigar. He planted himself in front of a puzzled Neufeld and arrogantly blew smoke into his face.
‘I don’t think I care for you very much, Hauptmann Neufeld,’ Andrea announced. He looked at Droshny ‘Nor for the cutlery salesman here.’
Neufeld’s face immediately darkened, became tight anger. But he brought himself quickly under control and said with restraint: ‘Your opinion of me is no concern to me.’ He nodded to Droshny. ‘But do cross Captain Droshny’s path, my friend. He is a Bosnian and a proud one – and the best man in the Balkans with a knife.’
‘The best man -‘ Andrea broke off with a roar laughter, and blew smoke into Droshny’s face. ‘A knife-grinder in a comic opera.’ Droshny’s disbelief was total but of brief duration. He bared his teeth in a fashion that would have done justice to any Bosnian wolf, swept a wickedly-curved life from his belt and threw himself on Andrea, gleaming blade hooking viciously upwards, but Andrea, whose prudence was exceeded only by the extraordinary speed with which he could move his bulk, was no longer there when the knife arrived. but his hand was. It caught Droshny’s knife wrist as it lashed upwards and almost at once the two big men crashed heavily to the ground, rolling over and over the snow while they fought for possession of the knife.