to gauge the strength of the fading breeze, screwing up his eyes against the sun as he estimated distances and trajectories. While they waited for the staff-sergeant to complete his calculations Macomber helped Prentice to fix his hand in a makeshift sling with the aid of his scarf, a hand which was swelling ominously, and he watched Burckhardt's progress tensely as he attended the injury. The half-tracks were crawling steadily forward like mechanical bugs – bugs which were now almost two-thirds of the distance across the lake as they approached the road up to the monastery. And even from the great height he looked down on them, Macomber could at last hear a faint purring sound travelling up through the cold mountain air, the purr of engines and caterpillar tracks grinding over the ice.
'That must be Burckhardt – in that car.' Prentice had looked up after testing the sling, and Macomber focused his glass quickly to where the lieutenant had pointed with his good hand. A compact open car, strangely shaped, was driving over the ice slowly as it reached a position mid-way between the distant shore and the leading half- tracks. Ford left the wall, lurching unsteadily towards the mortar as he made his comment.
'It will be a Kubelwagen. The car, I mean. Looks a bit like a squashed bucket close up – they'd bring that in by glider. Now, I need your help, Mac.'
First, they had to move the mortar, to drag it round away from the sea so that its muzzle aimed out over the lake, and then Ford, with considerable difficulty, cradled a bomb in bis arms and showed Macomber what he must do. 'There are three basic things to remember – don't put a bomb down the barrel nose first, or else we can all say good-bye; slide it in – don't push; and keep your hands out of the way afterwards if you want to hang on to them. I'll try and give you a demonstration, and then you're on your own – I've got to be by the wall to see what's happening…'
'They're going up the mountain, too!' Prentice, who had again borrowed the Scot's Monokular, was focused on a point beyond the bluff as he shouted out. Colonel Burckhardt was proving himself an excellent tactician and was leaving nothing to chance: the greater portion of his force was assembled on the lake, but beyond the distant shore two straggled lines of dots were ascending the lower slope of Mount Zervos itself as ski troops made for the monastery by a different route. Seeing those two lines climbing higher, already disappearing behind the bluff, Macomber guessed the route they would follow. The southern shore of the lake was blocked by the bluff climbing vertically from the water's edge, but ski troops could ascend to a point above the bluff and then cross the mountain slope above it, until they reached a position where they could ski downwards over a slope which ended close to the monastery entrance. The snowbound mountain had an overloaded look above the bluff and Grapos, who also guessed at their route, spoke grimly.
'They will need care and luck up there.'
'Why?' demanded Macomber.
'The thaw is coming – the time for the mountain to move.'
'You mean an avalanche?'
'Yes.'
'We'll worry about them later.'
Ford completed his demonstration for the Scot's benefit. Replacing the bomb on the canvas, he then crouched down to make a careful adjustment to the angle of fire, went quickly back to the wall to check the target, and returned to the mortar to adjust it again. Macomber, in a rising fever of impatience to get the thing firing, also went briefly to the wall for a final appraisal. The Kubelwagen was moving closer to the front line, halting frequently for a few seconds, presumably while Burckhardt had a word with his troops. The six half-tracks in front were now three-quarters of the way across the lake and within minutes they would have reached firm ground. Feeling automatically for a match to light his cigar, he brought out his hand empty; this was going to be tricky enough as it was without smoke getting in his eyes. He went back to the mortar, checked to make sure that the blood on his hand was dried, wiped both hands briskly on his handkerchief, and then stooped to lift the first bomb as Ford took up position by the parapet and warned Prentice and Grapos to stay in their corners.
Prentice had the best view, squeezed into the north-east corner where he looked down on the entire lake. The first bomb went away seconds later, soaring out over the wall, diminishing rapidly in size as it described an arc and landed on the ice ahead of the leading half-tracks. Prentice's teeth were clenched with anxiety as he watched its fall. He saw a brief spurt of snow where the projectile hit. Then nothing happened. Nothing. His eyes met Ford's as the sergeant pressed his hands harder on the wall, his face expressionless.
'It didn't go off,' said Prentice bitterly.
'No. It must have been a dud. Let's hope the whole batch isn't. I hear there's a lot of sabotage in German factories.' He looked over his shoulder at Macomber who stood ready with a fresh bomb, gave a brief order. 'Fire!' The second bomb was away, vanishing to a pinhead. It landed close to the dud, followed by the sound of detonation, a burst of snow. Prentice swore out loud. The ice had remained intact. Was it too solid for penetration? The fear was in all their minds and Prentice's hopes hadn't been high from the beginning. 'Fire!' Ford had rushed to the mortar to make a fractional adjustment before returning to the wall and giving the order. The third bomb soared through its parabola, curved to its descent. It landed close to the leading half-tracks and the distant thump echoed back to the tower as snow flew in the air with the burst of the bomb. An area of black shadow fissured the lake as ice cracked and disintegrated and water opened up under three half-tracks. 'Fire!' The fourth bomb spread the fracturing process as the three half-tracks disappeared almost simultaneously. One moment they were there and then they were gone, swallowed up as a new lake spread, a lake of ice-cold water. Over fifty metres deep, Grapos had said. So the half-tracks were now settling one hundred and fifty feet below the lake's surface. Fire!' Ford had made a further minor adjustment before he rushed back to the wall, his head thrust forward as he scanned the whole lake and Macomber, already drenched in sweat, fed in a fresh bomb. At this stage even Prentice, who could see everything happening, had not grasped the magnitude of the plan the precise Ford had devised for the destruction of the entire German force.
The fifth bomb sped out over the wall, almost too fast for the eye to follow, descended, struck the lake in the middle of the three surviving half-tracks closest to Zervos. Another spray of snow flashed upwards, another thump reached the distant tower, and then a huge area of ice cracked. Prentice gazed in astonishment as a sheet of ice became a temporary island separated from the rest of the frozen lake, a sheet supporting the three half-tracks and a group of Alpenkorps gathered behind them. The island's existence was momentary. The sheet fissured in all directions, broke up and sank. With the Monokular screwed hard against his eye, Prentice saw one half-track at the outer edge of the ice go down, wheels first, the tracks tilting upwards into the air, and then the whole vehicle slid out of sight under the ink-dark water which had appeared. The chances of a single man surviving in those sub-zero waters was nil. 'Fire!' The next bomb landed farther to the right, just reaching the ragged rim of the still-intact ice, detonating while still above the water-line. Figures beyond the rim were thrown into confusion, some falling and some scattering in a hopeless search for safety. The whole ordered array on the lake was beginning to change, to falter, to break up into a vast disorganized chaos as Ford increased the rate of attack, frequently adjusting direction or angle or both as Macomber, the pain in his back now stabbing at him non-stop, his clothes sodden with sweat, his bruised body protesting with growing aches, worked away methodically stooping, grasping, lifting, feeding the barrel.
'Fire!' This bomb travelled much farther, the zenith of its parabola far higher above the lake, the descent point more distant. Prentice pressed the Monokular into his eye, focusing it on the Kubelwagen. He heard the thump and saw the snow dust at almost the same moment – dust which immediately rose behind Burckhardt's vehicle. The whiteness surrounding the car dissolved, became pitch-black water, and as the vehicle went straight down Prentice saw there were still four people inside. Burckhardt was drowning, surrounded by his own men. The fresh area of sinking ice stretched out towards the monastery road, tilting as men on top of it ran in all directions trying to escape. Prentice saw one man run straight off the edge into the water and as he took the glass away from his eye the ice sheet went under. A huge channel of dark water, perhaps a hundred yards wide, separated the frozen area of the lake from the road on the western shore leading up to the monastery.
'Fire!'
Ford had again made an adjustment and Prentice saw that the mortar's barrel was pointing at an extreme angle, saw also the bomb cradled in Macomber's arms nearly slip as the Scot forced his wearied body to further effort. The bomb coursed out over the lake, became a tiny dark speck against the whiteness below, and landed close to the distant eastern shore on the far side of the scattering troops. The thump was fainter. A fresh channel of water opened up, starting at the shoreline and spreading inwards towards the centre as three more bombs landed and black dots scurried over the diminishing white surface. Two mountain guns vanished. A half-track driving
