Hell Is Above Us: The Epic Race to the Top of Fumu, the World's Tallest Mountain by Jonathan Bloom (bookreader TXT) 📗

was especially dismayed by the turn of events. The last thing he needed was a team prematurely at odds with one another before they had even reached their destination. He had a deck of cards and a pair of dice in his pocket so he organized games of chance to keep people active and friendly. River Leaf would have nothing to do with it, so she spent almost every waking hour reading Morrow’s research papers and Junk’s copy of Don Quixote. The rest of the team shot craps and played poker.

When the games of chance became tiresome and bickering began again, Junk pulled out a roughly sketched map of Fumu – copied from another roughly sketched map that had been drafted by a surviving member of Hoover’s expedition - so they could return to the plan. After two days of tireless discussion, interrupted only by the pirates delivering food, they believed they had a strategy for Qila Pass. They decided they would not risk the more novice climbers’ lives this early in the ascent. They would build a platform about six feet by four feet with ropes attached to all four corners. The ropes would rise at roughly a 30-degree angle and meet each other above the board. Then a 50-yard length of rope would be tied to those lesser ropes. They would then have their entire Sherpa team - estimated count of 30 - climb first. After ascending about forty yards above the rest of the team, these Sherpa would grab the free end of the long rope and pull the rest of the team up one by one on the makeshift “lift.” It would be the lift passenger’s responsibility to ensure the board did not become snagged on any rocks or ice. They would have to continually push away from the mountain as the Sherpa pulled them up. The idea was imperfect, but it seemed like it would improve their odds of making it to the mountain proper.

River Leaf interrupted the men. “Your idea is broken” she said forcefully. Pointing to Junk’s pad of paper, she asked “May I?” Junk handed her the pad. River Leaf liked the idea of a lift, but she recommended an alternative structure. The one the men had proposed would only work if the grade of the pass was always perfectly vertical, which it was not. Any decrease of the angle to, say, eighty-five degrees, would cause the lift to drag along the mountain face. Those on the lift would have to use all of their energy – like an endless push-up - to continually keep the board away from the rock face. As an alternative, River Leaf proposed more of a sleigh. The big board of the sleigh would now slide up the face. A smaller board, big enough for two people to stand on, would stick out at a ninety-degree angle from the big board. The people on the sleigh would stand, back to the rock face and the big board, on the smaller board. Ropes would pull the big board from its “top” corners. Now the passengers of the sleigh would only need to use their strength if the big board became stuck under a protuberance in the rock face. Also, like a sleigh, they could easily fashion runners under the board to minimize the amount of surface touching the mountain.

Cole tut tutted, as if he were about to discredit the timid Indian girl’s idea. But nothing came. The men were all silent. River Leaf was right. Junk gently took his pad back, thanked River Leaf, and suggested they begin discussing where to set up Base Camp beyond the Qila Pass.

Near the end of the week, distant rumblings of artillery became audible in the distance. Soon they were surrounded by mortar concussions and yelling from the deck above. The ship rocked violently in man-made waves. They heard British voices over loudspeakers coming from ahead of them, the words impossible to make out over machine gun fire. A scream was heard above them and then the sound of something the size of a person breaking the surface tension of the sea. Chaos was all around them, but impossible to see.

Gibraltar.

“Junk banged on the door, demanding exit” Morrow wrote. “No one responded. My stomach was churning and my heart was racing. I felt every minute was our last. We would meet our maker and it would be Churchill who introduced us. The distant gunfire and yells of pain from on deck continued. I kept praying the Brits would board the ship and find us captive instead of simply blowing us from the water.”

Cole wrote “Poor McGee. He lay in a corner of the room near our pile of packs and tents, curled up into a ball. Useless. River Leaf was sitting not far from McGee, but her eyes were closed and she seemed totally calm (Why the two of them ended up on this voyage is beyond me). The rest of us stood by Junk as he banged on the door and simply listened to every sound.”

Running footsteps were heard on the other side of the door and then a chair being pulled out. A radio crackled to life - something they had not heard the entire time they had been at sea. A pirate’s voice was then heard speaking in German. None of the Americans spoke German, but they were able to make out series of numbers and letters. Perhaps coordinates. German voices responded in kind. The conversation went on for only a moment and then was over. The chair was kicked out and the footsteps ran away.

Moments later, enormous explosions were heard in the distance followed by cheering from the pirates. The explosions were followed by distant gun fire and then more explosions. The pattern continued but gradually became more distant and seemed to be coming from aft. Then there was silence save the creaking of the ship on gentle waves. Someone approached the door of the hold.