Blood Prize (16 page)

U
ta watched Vogel and the rest of his SRP troop march into the hollow near High Knob. He seemed angry. He strode forward, ignoring the men from his forward reconnaissance and slapped Petra across the face.

“Who are you? I want your name and your position in the G11’s.”

“My name’s Marilyn. Marilyn Munro.”

“Alright, sergeant. Convince her we’re serious.”

Petra whimpered, but she continued to resist Vogel’s attempts at getting information from her.

“Look at me you stupid woman. This is your last chance.”

“I told you. I’m Marilyn.”

“Sergeant. Make it hurt.”

Uta maintained her vigil, fascinated as the SRP sergeant attacked Petra’s body with a knife.

Don’t die too quickly, bitch.

Uta trembled with want, as she witnessed the agonizing expression on Petra’s face. The girl looked frightened by Vogel’s rants, yet she still defied him.

“Cut her again, Sergeant. If she doesn’t spill her guts, you spill them for her.”

The Russian arched over backwards and tried to scream, yet only managed a choking gurgle. Even from her position, Uta could see liquid trickling down the Russian’s legs, colouring the snow yellow.

Go girl.

Uta knew this scenario from countless sessions of torture. Once you piss yourself in front of a group of men, there’s nothing you could ever do to restore your dignity.

She smiled as she continued her vigil; enjoying the men’s brutality.

They propped Petra up to stop her from falling; forcing her to confront the man who cut away pieces from her flesh. Around the interrogator’s boots, Uta could see sprays of red blood blending with the yellow patches of snow.

The critical moment arrived and Uta recognised Vogel’s growing desperation. If he didn’t get information from her soon, she might die.

“Do I have your attention, girl? Or do we need another demonstration?”

Petra raised herself and shook off her attendants. Her legs trembled and almost gave way, but she managed to take several steps towards Vogel before she answered.

“I’ve spent my life fighting bastards like you and dying here won’t be so bad.”

Several of the men broke into stifled laughter, but Vogel silenced them with a wave of his arm.

“Spare me the theatrics, you stupid bitch. Tell me what I want, or the pain gets worse.”

SRP torches lit Petra’s face; deepening her shadowed lines of anguish. She looked done for, but Uta realised the bony Russian would not beg for her life.

“As I said, my name’s Marilyn.”

Petra covered the three metres to the northern edge of the ridge without any reaction from the men around her. Without hindrance, she turned and faced her tormentors.

“You’re all cowards and you’ll never beat us.”

Uta gasped and Vogel yelled, but the Russian only laughed.

“No … Stop her …”

Petra dived over the edge as five bullets exploded into her flesh.

What a show … Almost better than doing it myself.

Uta shook her head in wonderment, amazed by Petra’s courage.

She noticed movement amongst the SRP.

Vogel readied his men, which meant she couldn’t delay leaving any longer; the SRP could follow and identify her tracks. She needed to reach the mish-mash of traffic further up the trail.

I’ve stayed too long. Wait for a wind gust and then go.

She needed to utilise the storm to cover her retreat. The exposed space between High Knob and Molly Hill provided no concealment. She knew it created a death zone without the cloud for cover.

Uta slid backwards, turned and ran headlong into the gloom; disappearing into the swirling snow. Once far enough away, she deemed it safe to switch on her own torch and search the eucalyptus scrub for her marker. Instead of following the track along the western side of Molly Hill, she climbed through the foliage and over the top, coming out and crossing the track leading to the summit of Mount Feathertop.

I still have the element of surprise. When the time comes, they won’t know what hit them
.

As she jogged west above the tree line, she tried to determine which track the G11 team might choose for a successful escape. This far north and west along the Razorback, they could only reasonably consider three choices, two of which meant travelling past the junction.

No way … Noah’s not that stupid.

That only left the Bungalow Spur, which began at Federation Hut.

_____________

Noah handed Tom an automatic machine pistol and he hesitated before taking it.

“We’re running out of people, Tom. You’re to use this if the enemy try to cut off our retreat.”

Tom massaged the grip of the Serbian Plaskovic automatic pistol. It felt heavy, yet balanced, even with the weight of the added silencer. Just holding the weapon made him feel powerful. With this he inspired fear; having the power to take life.

They trudged on through the snow in a tight group, the sleet stinging Tom’s face. They travelled as quickly as the conditions allowed and came to within metres of Luther before they saw him.

Surat gestured for Noah to come close.

“He’s still alive, but not for long.”

“Luther, it’s Noah, can you hear me?”

“Noah … Noah …”

Luther began to gurgle, as blood filled his throat.

“You’re a hero, my friend. You’ll make it through this.”

“Uta … She’s the killer.”

Noah called to Tom.

“I need you to hold his head up, so it’s not so hard for him to speak.”

“Noah, I’m sorry. I couldn’t help Petra … I let her down.”

Surat and Noah took hold of Luther’s arm and together they lifted him into a shaky standing position.

“You lived your life protecting others, Luther. You let no-one down.”

The men bore Luther’s weight, as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Tom followed close behind with Isobel. He could see her bottom lip quivering; everyone liked Luther.

They plodded along, heads down, solemn in their procession; each awaiting the inevitable outcome. It still shocked Tom when it happened. The big man stiffened and called out to Noah; his body shaking into violent spasms; his dead weight almost pulling Noah and Surat to the ground.

Surat bent down and closed Luther’s eyes.

“What’ll we do with him, Noah?”

Noah sighed, his expulsion of breath sounding rough and irregular. He knelt down and ran his hand through Luther’s hair.

“Goodbye old chum.”

“Noah, Look.”

Isobel tugged at Noah’s coat and pointed towards the north.

“They’re coming.”

Through the swirling cloud, the group could see a faint light to the north. It moved faster than several similar lights following behind. The leading light changed direction, moving upwards towards the summit of Molly Hill, before it disappeared from sight.

“She switched her light off to evade capture. She’s escaped Vogel. We have to move, there’s not much time left. The enemy are almost here.”

Surat nodded towards Tom and Isobel.

“We can’t outrun the SRP. Not with them.”

Tom swung around and glared at Surat; their faces almost touching.

“We can take care of ourselves, despite what you think.”

He turned back towards Noah, his face throbbing with anger.

“I’ve got an idea. If it’s time we need, then I think this might work.”

Noah gestured to Surat and they hefted Luther up the steps to the hut.

“Alright lad, what’s your plan?”

“To stay alive.”

Tom handed the gun back to Noah.

“And I don’t need this.”

After witnessing the death of such a brave man, his previous enchantment with the weapon, disintegrated into the horror of a wasted life.

T
he failure of his SRP commandos to perform their duty filled Vogel with anger. He might never understand the
what
and the
why
as a result of their incompetence.

“You. Come here.”

He jammed the barrel of his pistol into the side of the man’s head.

“You were the closest to the girl. Get on your knees.”

“Sir. We didn’t expect … I didn’t have a chance.”

“Idiot. I ask you to hold her and what do you do? A dead woman doesn’t help our cause, does it?”

The man slumped, bowing for his life.

“There’s no room for this kind of mistake. This man is nothing more than faeces to me. The next soldier that doesn’t obey me will not survive this journey. Is that clear?”

“Sir. Yes sir.”

The man remained prostrate, as Vogel strode away. He needed to think about how these events affected their mission. He needed clarity.

It could be a form of punishment. It could be a G11 mutiny, or Uta playing for another team. Taking all of these possible factors into consideration, he came to a realisation.

It doesn’t matter. I still hold the advantage.

He felt sure that the G11’s remained at Federation Hut and even if they didn’t, he held the three possible escape routes with a small force of men; enough to keep them in place and enforce his trap.

But I can’t have that woman at my back.

Uta created his biggest problem. He needed to kill her as a priority. Because of her deceit, he didn’t have any further intelligence on the G11’s. Did they have the Prize already? Could they be running at this very moment? Only a visual on the hut could give him these answers.

_____________

Uta took no chances; heading quickly away from the action; away from the net she knew Vogel intended to create.

You can’t outwit me, Vogel. I know how you tie your shoelaces.

She headed around the northern side of Little Mount Feathertop, skirting west, using the thick cover and steep slope to shield her approach. She planned to be in position to strike, before the SRP deployed their men around the hut.

The weasel will follow textbook tactics. He won’t expect an attack from this point.

Uta knew every trick the SRP could utilise against the G11’s and herself, especially the placement of their troops. She needed to kill off at least two of these positions on either the western or the north-western perimeter of the hut.

You’re about to be played, Vogel.

Uta laughed, as she moved away through the snow gums. With this weather on her side, nothing could stop her.

_____________

Tom stood in front of Federation Hut and addressed the others.

“Surat, we have to get Isobel out of here. We’ll follow you down the Bungalow Spur when we’re finished our business.”

Surat’s facial expression twisted with anger.

“Piss off, Fox.”

He turned towards Noah, but the big man only nodded his support for Tom.

“Do what he asks. Take her up the hill behind the hut and cut across to the Bungalow Spur. No tracks. We don’t want to be too obvious.”

Noah hurried to help his young protégé. Together they dragged a heavy log from a summer camping area; their hands uncertain on the wet slippery trunk. They placed it strategically, just inside the door.

Tom organised Noah and together they hung strips of paper and torn cloth above the fireplace; the heat making them sway creating a show of moving shadows. When viewed from outside, it created the illusion that people strolled about within.

“We have to get the fire burning as brightly as we can. The log will keep the hut door slightly ajar, so the light flickers out onto the verandah.”

Tom thought he understood Vogel’s dilemma.

“He can’t just rush in without securing the area. He’s committed to waiting. He wants to believe in the reality we’re going to provide.”

Tom turned and looked towards the north; checking the Feathertop trail for any sign of the enemy.

“They’ve switched off their lights. It’s time to get going, Noah. We’re done here.”

“It’s a nice deception, Tom. I hope for our sake that it works.”

V
ogel studied the muddle of bloody tracks between Molly Hill and the Twin Knobs; searching the detail for understanding. He could see that they travelled in both directions along the ridge and he wondered about what the implications might hold for his mission.

It’s a combat zone, but for what purpose?

He didn’t mind if they slaughtered each other; casualties helped his cause. His only goal required capturing the Prize, or keeping Fox alive until he did.

He ordered his men forward; keeping them in a tight formation as they set off towards Federation Hut. Employing no lights and no sound, they moved off to secure the junction, which eliminated several escape options for the G11’s.

After several hundred metres, they discovered yet another depression in the snow, with a profusion of tracks.

There’s more blood, yet it seems to be a different scenario.

Frederick needed no tracker’s translation to understand this story.

“I get it now.”

A large wounded man with huge deep footprints met with several others. They dragged him back towards the hut.

Vogel called to his sergeant and jabbed his forefinger at the evidence.

“Good. I’ve got them trapped and they don’t know we’re coming.”

“Sir …?”

“Look. Someone assisted our wounded big foot to this location and you killed the blond woman.”

The sergeant groaned.

“There’s a lot of tracks, sir. There could be others.”

“No. If a perpetrator still existed after the fight, they’d have gone after them, wouldn’t they? These tracks aren’t rushed, sergeant and they sent no-one to guard their backs.”

“Yes, sir, but …”

The sergeant’s strained expression portrayed a different opinion.

“You disagree?”

“There could be other possibilities here. Apart from surprise, we have no advantage at all. If the enemy got behind us …?”

“Rubbish.”

Vogel walked away, shaking his head.

No. This is my opportunity; my chance to hold power beyond any man’s reckoning.

He imagined himself face to face with Noah after they stormed the hut; making him kneel in front of him, like a slave; begging for his life.

Before I kill you, I’ll make you admit that your stupid cause is nothing but a joke.

He refocused on business; considering the benefits of the weather.

This is good. We’ll be right up close and they won’t see us.

The track between the junction and the hut wound down five hundred metres to the south-west and reached a position due south of Little Mount Feathertop. He sent four men to skirt the area. They set up checkpoints covering the exits behind the hut and any departure point leading down the Bungalow Spur. The rest of the party secured the main track.

“Sergeant. Once your men are in position, report back to me and we’ll attack without delay.”

He knew his team could be inside the building before the enemy found time to react.

He couldn’t contain his smile.

In a few moments, I’ll have the Prize.

_____________

Uta stepped higher, propelling herself through the deep snow, but the trees hampered her progress. Snow gum saplings grew from the butt of burnt parent stock and offered what appeared to be a soft passage, but the branches beneath created a trickery; claws that ripped at her clothing and tore at her flesh.

This isn’t good. To get there in time, I’ll have no face left.

She could feel her oozing blood begin to freeze as she traversed across the steep slope in the darkness. With no light, every metre gained caused damage. She wasn’t afraid of death, but her looks mattered.

She knew Vogel’s kill squad already surrounded the hut and possessed the advantage, but she held the benefit of surprise considering the invisibility created by the growing blizzard.

She spotted her first target.

He’s standing out in the open.

It could seem beneficial in the conditions. A potential foe couldn’t exploit the scrub and get too close, but in these conditions it seemed foolhardy.

She utilised the cover of fallen logs and eucalypt saplings, and waited for the wind to drive in the cloud and blot out her approach.

The soldier let out a strangled wheeze, as his last breath escaped from the slit in his throat.

“Ah. Ah. Ah …”

She stabbed him a further three times for pleasure, as she struggled to control her bloodlust.

Maintain your focus … Think about the next target.

She searched the body and took the soldier’s SRP communicator. Uta knew that Vogel required a check from each position before he proceeded with the attack, which caused a major predicament for him. She realised that he couldn’t afford to waste time, yet couldn’t begin with a lost man and a possibly compromised position in his net.

This left Vogel with two options.

A blind attack or dig in.

If they decided to wait, they could hold the G11’s inside the hut, until reinforcements arrived. It all depended on what Vogel wanted. She knew that if he didn’t get the Prize he needed to take Fox alive.

He won’t wait. He’ll attack, but only when he’s certain of success.

She considered her own strategic requirements. She needed to eliminate the next closest position; cutting off any chance of escape to the west of the track. The perfect positioning for her next assault, required good cover, a view of the hut and most importantly, that she keep the ridge at her back. If the G11 team broke free, she could retreat down the Bungalow Spur and welcome them in some lonely glade, further down the mountain.

Uta took a moment’s rest. She removed the glove from her right hand and used her fingers to trace the deep lesions that ran along her face.

Damn it … Damn it to hell.

The sensitive tips of her fingers explored her face, feeling the damage; determining the extent of the wounds and with this understanding, she felt beset with panic.

He won’t look at me the same way … If I’m scarred.

Uta knew the Black Cardinal didn’t consider sympathy a virtue. She loved his ruthless approach to life, but she never considered its impact on her.

And right now, he’s with my perfect sister …

She began to shake, feeling the cold for the first time.

Her face didn’t matter; nothing could ever matter, if she delivered the Prize.