She led the way from the rock pile across the slope of the hilltop towards where the Partisans had completed constructing their rampart of boulders at the brink of the drop.
'This is not my idea,' she told them. 'It is Heljec who insisted on this… demonstration.' 'Demonstration?' queried Lindsay.
'Of the Partisans' will to fight. I argued with him but still he insists. So, you will see…'
Heljec stood with a group of men behind the boulders, his waist decorated with grenades slung from a belt, a normal Partisan technique Lindsay found most alarming. They were all there. The amiable, round-faced Milic who smiled at Lindsay. Bleak Bora who looked away at the trio's approach. Dr Macek whose expression was anything but happy (Lindsay wondered why). Heljec's deputy, Vlatko Jovanovic who, behind Heljec's back, made a gesture of resignation to Paco. What on earth was going on?
Heljec himself seemed delighted. He beckoned them forward and placed them between two massive boulders where they could stare down the vertical drop into the abyss. He even laid an arm across the Englishman's shoulder and said something to Paco.
'He wants you to watch the road,' Paco translated. 'They are coming now,' she added.
In the depths a file of tiny figures were marching steadily along the winding thread of a road. As the column came closer, began to pass underneath them, Heljec handed a pair of field-glasses to Lindsay and spoke again. Hartmann was provided with his own pair of binoculars.
'He wants you to study the column,' Paco said tersely.
Mystified, Lindsay focused his glasses. In the twin lenses he was astounded to see the entire column was composed of women, women between approximately the ages of twenty and forty, women armed with every conceivable weapon.
At their waists swung the inevitable hand grenades, festooned round them like some hideous decorations. Pistols were shoved inside their belts. Sheathed knives adorned their sides. Many carried rifles, a few machine-pistols.
They wore the Partisan cap with a red blotch which, Lindsay assumed, was the five-pointed Communist star. There was an eery atmosphere about the endless column which plodded past remorselessly. Not a single woman glanced up to the sheer rock wall rising above them, although Lindsay felt sure they knew a group of their compatriots was watching.
'Who are they?' he asked, lowering his glasses.
'The Amazon Brigade,' replied Paco tonelessly.
Heljec began talking excitedly and Paco, her eyes blazing, turned to confront him, arguing back, her voice and manner as cold as ice. Heljec's expression became ugly as Paco shook her head. He raised his pistol and pointed it at Lindsay. For Hartmann's benefit Paco spoke in German, turning her back on the Partisan leader.
'Heljec wishes me to tell you both this. The Amazon Brigade are the survivors of a small town which was attacked by a German company. All their men were killed in the battle. They formed themselves into this so-called Amazon Brigade, trained with the Partisans – and then went to hunt down the company which had attacked their town. You both understand that I am telling you this story only at Heljec's urging?'
'Get it over with,' Lindsay suggested.
'They thought they had found the Germans they sought trapped in a defile. The German were surrounded, had not eaten for days and were exhausted. They surrendered…'
'Go on,' Lindsay said quietly.
'After the Germans surrendered, those women down there castrated every man with their knives. The next bit Heljec does not know I am telling you. They had found the wrong Germans. The men were innocent. Now Heljec parades those women to show you how all his people – women as well as men – fight the enemy. Sometimes I wish I had never joined these people.'
Hartmann's expression was grim. Heljec lifted his pistol and placed the muzzle against his forehead. He said something to Paco.
'He wants you to look at those women through your binoculars again,' Paco told him. 'He says if you don't he will pull the trigger..
'Tell the murdering swine to go ahead..
Hartmann threw the field-glasses at the Partisan leader's feet and braced himself. Lindsay saw Heljec take the first pressure. Paco burst out with a stream of Serbo-Croat. The Englishman had never seen her look so contemptuous. Heljec pulled the trigger.
There was a click.
There had been no bullet up the spout. Hartmann remained very still. His face was now bloodless. Heljec removed the weapon and spoke again.
'He says you are a very brave man,' Paco translated.
'Tell him I can't repay the compliment,' Hartmann retorted.
The German shoved both hands inside his jacket pockets and walked away. Paco and Lindsay followed him up the hill to the rocks where they had sat earlier. Hartmann sat down and looked at Lindsay.
'You know why I concealed my hands? They are trembling uncontrollably. I nearly messed myself back there…'
'We have to get away from these bastards as soon as we can,' Lindsay said savagely.
The Heljec incident seemed to have forged a bond between the German and the Englishman. And Paco made no attempt to object to what had just been said. Escape…'
Chapter Thirty-Three
They brought Sergeant Len Reader into the Partisan camp after darkness had fallen like a black cloak. It might be more accurate to say Sergeant Reader brought in the three Partisans – led by Milic – who had found him.
Dressed in British Army serge uniform, Reader marched in front of the group as though in charge. Twenty-seven years old, about five feet eight inches tall, he had a beaky nose, alert eyes, was clean-shaven and exuded an air of confidence.
'Who's in charge of this bloody mob?' he enquired. 'You're English..!'
Lindsay stood up, holding the bowl of food he had been consuming with no great enthusiasm, stupefied by the appearance of the new arrival. Reader displayed no such surprise. He addressed his compatriot as though meeting him was the most natural thing in the world.
'London, born and bred. Sergeant Len Reader, Royal Corps of Signals. Plumber by trade – so naturally they say we're going to make a wireless operator of you, Reader. Oh, I'm insubordinate, too.
Would you by any chance be Wing Commander Lindsay?'
'I would.'
'Sir!' Reader threw up the most impressive salute he had encountered. 'Any of these buggers crowding us understand English?'
'Only a blonde girl called Paco – she's elsewhere just now…'
'So I can talk and only you'll get my drift?'
Reader was holding in one hand a sten gun and Lindsay was beginning to understand how he had managed to retain possession of the weapon. From his belt hung ammunition pouches which appeared to be bulging to capacity. A backpack completed his equipment.
'Yes, Sergeant. And this would be a good moment to talk.
'I was supposed to join up with the Brigadier – Fitzroy Maclean, that is – who jumped with his lot from the first aircraft. I was with the team in the second plane. I jumped all right then my bleedin' parachute has to drift away from the rest of 'em. So I find myself all on my own-some. Funny thing, the container with my transmitter lands plonk! Nearly bashed my brains out.'
'This Brigadier Maclean – can you tell me what he's doing in this part of the world?'
'Suppose I can tell you – seeing as part of the job was to airlift you out and fly you back to where we came from…' Reader lowered his voice. 'Tunisia.
Maclean's main job is to contact the Partisan boss over here, better not mention his name, seeing as we're surrounded with all these Peeping Toms. So I find myself wandering round for days dodging Jerries and some of the locals who seem to be hobnobbing with the enemy. A right balls-up, if you ask me…'
Cetniks,' murmured Lindsay, 'the locals collaborating with the wrong people…'
'We was warned about them. Had a lecture – situation appraisal as the toffee-nosed Intelligence lot call it. Slovenes, Croats, Serbs and God knows what they've got over here. A regular goulash of a place this is. This lot who found me didn't get the old transmitter,' Reader added with some relish.