Sacred Mountain Read Online Free Page B

reasonable progress, considering the terrain and their physical condition. They were now high in the Mangin Hills, about three hours walk, give or take, from their next food drop. It was due at midday the next day so they had enough time he hoped to get in position and recce the area first. He felt the urge to get the radio out and call HQ to confirm the drop but knew they only had enough power left in the batteries for a minute or two of transmission and needed to conserve them. He had to hold his nerve and trust that the RAF would be there.
He glanced up as a soldier arrived with a mug of tea, the steam rising into the air as if it was a chill winter’s morning. He took it and carefully placed it on the jungle floor beside him to cool. He lifted up his right foot, resting it on his left thigh so he could inspect a large ulcer that had formed on his shin. It had started as an ant bite but, like most cuts and scratches in this climate, it had quickly become infected and now formed an ugly crater the size of a Crown piece. Gingerly he peeled away the small piece of field dressing that covered it, wincing as it pulled pieces of dead flesh and crusty discharge with it.
He waved his hand to keep an excited fly from landing and in the fading light tried to examine it. It looked white and puffy, a little blood seeping into it but with no sign of a scab forming. At least he couldn’t see the bone and there weren’t any maggots. He picked up his tea, drinking the bitter brew quickly and feeling strength come back as the liquid ran into him. The last mouthful he left in his cup, added a couple of drops of iodine, and braced himself.
The pain as the liquid ran into the ulcer on his leg was excruciating, as if a knife was being dragged across it. He forced himself to keep still, trying to keep the liquid in it for as long as he could bear, before straightening his leg and letting the foul fluid run down his foot and into the forest floor.
Glancing up he saw Corporal Prem standing respectfully a few yards away and sitting up stiffly he beckoned the Gurkha over.
“Is the camp secure?” he asked, trying to keep his voice authoritative.
“Sir,” replied the soldier with a nod. “Teams of two on sentry all night, changing every three hours.”
Phillip nodded. “Good. Get the men to make enough tea and boiled parnee tonight for the morning, we’ll be breaking camp early. Canteens need to be full. Then get the fires out and everybody resting.” He looked around at the men, sitting exhausted around the small fires, their faces lit by the pale flickering light as thousands of insects swirled around them. “They’ll need their strength. At least hopefully they’ll get a decent meal tomorrow night.”
The corporal saluted. “How far to the drop?”
“About three hours if the terrain stays like this, then we’ll need to have a good dekko around and secure the drop zone.”
The corporal turned to go. “Oh, and send the burrif to me when he gets in please Corporal,” Philip added, “I want to hear how things went back there.”
Philip ate his food in silence, cutting cheese straight from the tin and then chewing half-heartedly on some dried dates. He popped some rock salt crystals in his mouth and sucked unenthusiastically. They’d run short of salt a week before, a serious problem given the sweltering heat in the jungle, but the burrif always somehow managed to find natural deposits of rock salt. It was gritty and course but kept them going, each man having to suck two pieces a day to supplement his meagre ration.
Having tidied everything away he took a small tin from the side of his pack and lay back, using his pack as a pillow. He could see a few stars through the canopy of trees high above, the branches motionless in the still night. Some thin shafts of moonlight sliced down to the forest floor, forming tiny pools of silver white in the otherwise dark jungle. The fires were out and with the lack of cigarettes it was the only