They hauled themselves through an increasingly dense field of the limestone outcrops. Sometimes the slabs were so large they presented the blank facade of a great wall. Ryan felt giddy and nauseous from the thinness of the air. He stopped at one point and made the nearly fatal error of sitting down. At once, deliciously warm waves of lassitude stole through every muscle in his body. Sinking down against the hard wet rock felt as luxurious and decadent as crawling into bed in some opulent hotel suite. He recalled, in almost Proustian detail, the soft pillows and thick blankets of his childhood bed. How nice it would be to tuck himself in under the covers for just a few . . .

Sergeant Kari manhandled him to his feet.

“Sorry, boss. No good to be sleeping up here. Never wake up again.”

Ryan apologized for his weakness. They’d been on patrol for weeks when the new orders came through for them at Kirkland’s, down near the river crossing. He was really in no fit state for this Lord Jim jungle wallah nonsense.

He put one foot in front of the other and painfully got himself moving again.

When they crested the saddle, there was no possum hunter’s hut, and thus no shelter for the night.

“Damn them,” cursed Ryan.

“Listen boss. Shush now.”

Kari cocked an ear to the higher ground.

Ryan couldn’t hear anything at first, but after a short time he noticed a faint, metallic banging, and perhaps the sounds of human voices.

“Japs,” said Kari.

“Good Lord, so they are here. We’d best push on for a look-see then,” said Ryan, a small surge of adrenaline flushing the fatigue from his bones.

From that point on, they slipped around through crevices and over nearly vertical naked rock faces like a bead of water running over a fat pandanus leaf. There were more banging noises and voices—definitely Japanese—as they neared the lip of the plateau. Ryan was quietly impressed that they had made it up here before him.

A stiff breeze quickly strengthened into a hard, cold wind and, within a few minutes, into a howling pitiless gale. That was good. It was blowing from their direction. Down from the peaks. The Japs wouldn’t hear him approach now. They would have to take care not to run into a sentry, but he didn’t think that likely. This mountain was evil. Men huddled together on its face. None would stray too far.

On hands and knees they slithered forward until he’d reached the lip of the little plateau. Crab-walking sideways until he made the cover of a small bush, Ryan chanced a peek over the edge.

About three hundred yards away, clearly visible through the thickening gloom, was a ship. A giant gray warship, sinking into the mountain, her bow pointed to the heavens.