Colin Forbes - Precipice

A menacing rumble like thunder made Paula look back. She was awestruck as she gazed at the spectacle. The whole mountain below the peak was collapsing, a tidal wave of snow and rocks thundering down, smashing through the fence surrounding the ground station, overwhelming the buildings, smashing the wooden edifices housing the scientists. She had no way of knowing Craig had earlier shut off the air-conditioning system.

The ground station vanished, the wooden houses crumbled, disappeared, the tidal wave of rocks and snow rushed down the mountain with gathering speed. Newman caught a glimpse of what was happening in his rear-view mirror and his expression became grim.

'We've done it!' shouted Paula.

'Now we have to survive,' Newman warned.

You can't out-race an avalanche.

The words of his advanced instructor when he was once skiing at St Moritz came back to Newman. They did not make him feel any better as he reached the road and began the frightening descent. He knew he couldn't go as fast going down as he had coming up. He'd observed that the avalanche had divided into two great rivers of flooding rock and snow. The major river was veering away from the road. It was the second, smaller river -still an awesome killer – which worried him. It was heading straight for the cliff edge and at some point would roar over the mountain road.

Marler was close behind him as he swung round the bends again, keeping up as fast a pace as he dared. In his vehicle Newman was aware Paula was talking to Butler, her mouth close to his ear, and then she began unfastening his black leather jacket. It was only then he realized Butler was wounded.

He forced himself to resist the impulse to move faster. He couldn't call back, ask Paula how badly Butler was hurt. The implacable roar of the descending avalanche was deafening. At a bend he slowed for a few seconds, glanced back. Paula had taken out her first-aid kit from her shoulder bag.

'Just keep going.' he said to himself. 'Maybe pray a little:'

Paula had opened Butler's jacket, which had a tear in it where a bullet had penetrated. His shirt underneath was bloodstained. She had a tricky job – to cut away a portion of the shirt with the vehicle rocking from side to side. She managed it, was surprised – and relieved – to find he wore only one woollen vest, very bloodstained. She told him to keep as still as he could, then carefully cut away a portion of the vest. The bullet could be seen, embedded in his flesh.

'This will hurt.' she warned him, mouth close to his ear. 'I have to guard against infection. Now…' She treated the wound. Butler remained quite still.

'Does it hurt?' she asked.

'Only when I laugh.'

God, she thought, he's tough, is our Mr Harry Butler. She applied dressings and a bandage, then tucked his clothes back in position. Looking up, she shuddered.

Newman's hands instinctively tightened on the wheel. Ahead was a huge overhang of rock, way above them but curving over the narrow ledge the road ran along. Pouring across the overhang was an endless cascade of huge rocks, snow and shale. At the moment it was carried by its momentum straight into the precipice on one side of the road.

Was it his imagination, Newman wondered? The overhang seemed to be slowly bending under the strain of the second river crashing over it. The cascade was about fifty yards below Newman on a rare straight stretch. He saw patches of ice appearing under the snow covering the road. Once again he resisted an almost overpowering impulse to speed up dangerously. His eyes never left the overhang as he drove closer and closer.

The deafening rumble rose to a crescendo. Paula felt relieved about one thing only. She had dealt with Butler's wound. It would have been impossible for him to hear a word she said now. She sat transfixed, gazing at the oncoming cascade as larger rocks – boulders – toppled from the overhang. Butler nudged her.

She glanced at him. He was grinning, gave her a thumb's-up sign. She forced herself to smile, squeezed his arm, then stared ahead again. Remembering that Marler, behind him, had to pass under the cascade, Newman took a chance, pressed his foot gently on the accelerator. He felt the vehicle begin to skid towards the abyss, went with it, turned the wheel slowly. Inches from the drop the vehicle responded, returned to the ledge. Now he was passing under the cascade. The sound hammered at their eardrums. Then they were past it.

Paula looked back quickly. She saw Marler's face and he had never looked so grim. He nodded at her, passing under the cascade, smiled at her. As she continued looking back she saw the overhang give way, a vast chunk of rock falling on to the ledge, followed by a stream of rocks, snow and shale piling up over the immense rock now blocking the road. She sighed with relief and sagged against the back of the seat. The horrific noise was fading. Butler leaned towards her.

'Bit close that, wasn't it?'

To his right Newman saw the helicopter escaping with Brazil on board descending towards the airfield outside Sion. He wondered what Tweed was doing, how he would react.

Tweed endured one of the most agonizing experiences of his career. Standing outside the canteen in the bitter cold, he had witnessed the cataclysmic events high up on the Kellerhorn through a pair of field glasses.

If only I could have been up there with them, was his recurring thought.

He had not been able to pick out individual figures, but he had seen the enormous collapse of the mountain as it turned into a rolling avalanche. He guessed that Newman's rocket launcher had triggered this off. He felt thankful he had brought the weapon, but fearful for the survival of his team.

His vigil had been interrupted by phone calls from Beck.

'How is it going, Tweed?'

'The ground station has been destroyed. A huge avalanche.'

'A natural one, of course,' Beck had replied quickly. 'We do get them at this time of the year. There have been a number of small ones in the Valais already.'

'This is a monster.'

'I understand. Tweed, Brazil's pilot has filed a flight plan by radio, a flight plan for the jet to take off soon for Zurich.'

'I'd better let him go.'

'Please do,' Beck had urged. 'We shall track his movements nonstop …'

That had been the third call. Tweed had rushed outside with his glasses again. Even without his glasses he could see an immense cloud of dust rising above the Kellerhorn. Then he saw the helicopter. He decided to stay under cover when it landed. Brazil was escaping, leaving behind his own men to face the music. Some music, Tweed thought, then he caught sight of vehicles moving down the mountain road.

Fearfully, he focused his binoculars on the two four-wheel-drive vehicles. He thought he could see Newman driving the first one and Marler behind the wheel of the one close behind. Then, appalled, he saw the avalanche cascading over the precipice, the two vehicles approaching it.

He held the glasses very steady, glued to his eyes. He was counting how many people were in the vehicles. Six. He heaved a sigh of relief. He thought he saw Paula in the rear of the first vehicle. Then his relief turned to chronic anxiety. They were close to the hideous cascade.

He had an almost irresistible desire to stop watching, but continued to stare through the lenses. He saw them pass under the cascade, then saw the overhang collapse, realized that had that happened seconds earlier it would have hurled both vehicles over the precipice.

'Christ,' he said aloud.

Few people had heard Tweed swear. No one had heard him use sacrilegious language.

He lowered the glasses. His arms and wrists were aching with the tension. The helicopter was coming closer. His team was safe now. They'd make it the rest of the way down the mountain. Time to get under cover. He went into the canteen where a nice Swiss girl was on duty.