II

The next two hours passed swiftly. Once the decision was made, we

all became so involved in the details of preparation as to have no more

time for reflection, either upon the nature of what we should find on

the island of Yat, or the possible personal consequences of our

expedition.

First Stimson briefed us on the geography of our objective. Yat was a

volcanic island, one of a group strung across the shallow sea east of

Borneo and north of Celebese. It was almost circular, with a diameter of

about seven miles, and was entirely covered by a dense tropical forest.

The principal feature of the island was an extinct volcanic crater,

rising to an altitude of 2,000 feet, at the east end of the island. The

crater measured about two miles across, and perhaps a third of its area

was filled with water from a narrow channel leading to the sea. Photos

taken before the closure of Yat by the Indonesians showed a typical

Malay isle: cocoanut and mango plantations, with forests of gum and

mahogany climbing and filling most of the crater. The entrance channel

was narrow and quite deep and the interior lake constituted an ideally

sheltered anchorage. On the east coast the land rose steeply in a series

of mossy cliffs over which waterfalls poured, while to the west, away

from the volcano, plantations stretched inland from the coral beaches.

As we studied the pictures and charts, Stimson briefed us on the course

of action.

"Your first objective is to find out what they're doing in that crater.

Are they building some new weapon, or training an army, or what. You'll

have Geiger counters and a krypton analyser of course, although the

analyser is no guarantee in detecting fissionable material production.

Then we want to know what their plans are, particularly in the next few

days or weeks. Finally, just who is involved in it? Is New Buddhism

entirely Asiatic, as they claim, or has Russia cut herself in too?"

"You will be landed on the west coast of the island just after sunset.

The east, with its cliff and entrance channel is undoubtedly too well

guarded, but on the west side, with four miles of flat country, they may

depend on defense in depth, so that you'll have a better chance of

getting past the beach. The plane will come in low, make a landing just

off the breakers and drop you off in rubber swim suits. It will then

taxi to the north of the island and make a fairly long stop, to divert

attention, since it will certainly be picked up by radar. Your job will

be to swim ashore, bury the rubber suits, and make your way east to the

crater. If you reach the rim, see what you can, and report by radio at

any hour. If you don't make it to the top, observe as much as possible

on the island, make your reports, and rendezvous with the plane at your

landing point at 2400 the next day. If you miss that time, a plane will

be back daily at the same time for four days. After that, we will assume

that you have been caught."

We were driven to the harbor in the same disreputable taxicab which had

brought us to the consulate a few hours before. Time was a little past

three in the afternoon as the seaplane roared down a lane in the swarm

of junks, tramp freighters and warships of the Indonesian state. We

hoped that we were not too well observed; there was no way of knowing

until we arrived on Yat, and the learning might not be too pleasant.

The flight northeast from New Macassar was uneventful. We passed over a

blue tropical sea, dotted with island jewels. For a time the low coast

of the great island of Celebes made a blue haze on the eastern horizon,

and then we had the ocean to ourselves. At dusk there were still two

hundred miles between us and Yat, a flight of about forty minutes.

Pulling down the shades, lest the cabin lights reveal us to a chance

Indonesian patrol, we busied ourselves with packing the portable radio

equipment and putting on our watertight clothing.

The last fifty miles were made on the deck--in fact, once or twice the

hull actually touched a wave-top. The pilot extinguished the cabin

lights and we peered ahead for a first glimpse of our objective. The sky

was clear, but the moon would not rise until nine, so that the only

indication we had that Yat was at hand was a slight deepening in the

tropic night ahead and to the right, which the pilot said marked Mount

Kosan, the ancient crater. But no sooner had we gotten this vaguely

orienting information, than the flaps were lowered, the plane slowed to

under 100 miles per hour, and we touched the water. The co-pilot opened

the side door, and we crouched together peering out. The plane taxied

over a choppy cross sea toward the shadow of the island, while we

squinted through the salt spray. Presently the engines dropped to idle,

and the rumble of surf became audible.

"Practically dead calm tonight," said the co-pilot reassuringly. "Wind

usually dies out at sunset. You won't have any trouble getting through.

Just watch your step when you're ashore."

"That's always good advice for sailors," remarked Baker.

As the plane lost headway, the white line of surf and the silhouettes of

cocoa palms took shape. Evidently the plantations came right to the

water's edge at this point, a circumstance for which we were all

thankful. I was just turning to Martin with some remark about this when

the pilot called softly and urgently. "We're as close as we can drift

safely. Jump, and good luck."

"Righto, and thanks," came Baker's voice, and then a splash. I was next.

I took a deep breath, and clutched my rubber covered bundle of radio

gear. I leaped out into darkness. An instant later I was gasping for air

beside Baker. Two more splashes in quick succession and then the engines

picked up speed, the dark shape of the wing overhead moved off, and we

were alone.

* * * * *

For a moment we swam in circles, getting our bearings. Baker had

removed his glasses for the jump, and so we depended mainly on Martin

for directions. There was really no need for worry, however, for it soon

became apparent that a strong onshore current was bringing us in to the

breakers at a good clip. The line of phosphorescence marking their

crests was now hardly a hundred yards away.

With Martin in the lead we began to swim. Presently one of the swells

picked us up quite gently, moved us forward, and then suddenly exploded

into a foamy torrent which tossed us head over heels and left us gasping

and spitting sand on the beach.

As quickly as possible we got into the shelter of the first ranks of

trees. Here we dug a hole at the base of a great cocoanut palm and

buried the rubber suits and cases of radio gear, along with a small vial

of radium D. This had been provided for us, along with the Geiger

counter, by the thorough Mr. Stimson as a means for locating our cache

when we returned, if we should miss our bearings.

It was 7:45 when this chore was completed. We had an hour and

twenty-three minutes to moonrise.

Turning inland, we walked in silence through the grove for a few hundred

yards, and then came upon a road. This we recognized, from our map

study, as the main coastal highway. We hurried across, rather elated at

the progress we were making and a little surprised at the lack of fences

or other protective devices on the island. Things seemed just too easy.

On the other side of the road we encountered a rice paddy, which made

the going a good deal more difficult. But after about ten minutes of

sloshing through this, we came to a diagonal road, or rather path which

seemed to be going our way. Thanks to this, by 8:45 we felt the ground

rising underfoot and sensed a darker bulk in the shadows ahead, which

could only be Mount Kosan itself. Here we came to our first fence, an

affair of steel posts and barbed wire, which appeared to be a guard

against cattle, but hardly more. After inspecting one of the posts for

signs of electrification, we crawled under the bottom wire and started

up the slope.

"Are you sure we're on the right island?" asked Chamberlin. "From the

security measures I don't think we're going to find anything more secret

than a copra plantation."

Baker shushed him, and whispered back, "We're on the right island, but

that's the only thing that's right. This is simply too easy to be true."

"Well," said Martin, "Stimson could be all wet. Maybe they're just

sculping a king sized Buddha after all."

The slope had now steepened considerably, and further conversation died

out in the effort of climbing. The volcano was heavily forested all the

way up with mahogany and gum trees, and a dense undergrowth of vines and

ferns entangled our feet. Twice we came upon rapidly flowing streams.

We were perhaps two thirds of the way up when the moon appeared. Its

light didn't penetrate very far into the dense foliage, but it did

enable us to make out the top of the mountain, which took the form of a

vine covered outcrop of lava. We altered our course slightly, and at

9:50 P.M. the forest fell away and we faced a rough wall of rock some

two hundred feet in height.

Before tackling this last obstacle, we paused for a rest and some hot

coffee from the thermos which was included in our equipment. Then, at

five minutes past ten, we started the final ascent.

The cliff proved to be more of a climb than we had anticipated, and the

time was close to eleven before we pulled ourselves up over the last

boulder and could look across the crater to the other rim.

The last few feet we negotiated with the greatest caution. Martin, I

think, was first, and he pulled himself on his belly across to the

beginning of the inner slope. He lay quietly for a half minute, then

muttered something under his breath which sounded vaguely like "I'll be

damned", and made way for Baker, who was next. I squeezed in beside him,

and so we got a look into the crater at the same time. Baker, being a

very self-contained man, made no audible comment, but I must have, for

the sight which met our eyes was certainly the last thing I had expected

to see.

The crater of Mount Kosan was filled with steel and concrete structures

of gargantuan size, and of the most amazing shapes I had ever seen. I

say amazing, but I do not mean in the sense of unfamiliar, on the

contrary these incredible objects had the commonest shapes. Had it not

been for trees and normal buildings to give the scene a scale, I would

have sworn that we were looking into a picnic grounds a hundred feet

across instead of a two mile diameter plain ringed by mountains 2,000

feet high. The buildings seen in the aerial photo occupied only a small

part of the crater--all of the other structures must have been concealed

by clouds.

* * * * *

Directly below our perch the rim dropped vertically into deep

shadows, as the moonlight reached but half the crater. A thousand yards

west of us, where the light first touched the floor, we could make out

several clumps of brush or small trees, among which was set a

rectangular concrete surface measuring perhaps four hundred feet square,

and resting on hundred foot steel columns. Near this, and partly

supported by the side of the mountain was what appeared to be a great

table, of roughly the same area, but standing on trussed columns the

height of a thirty story building. In front of this was a chair, if by

chair you understand me to mean a boxlike building twenty stories high,

with a braced back rising as far again. A half mile along the rim was an

even larger structure whose dimensions could only be measured in

fractions of miles, which resembled nothing more than a vast shed built

against the cliff.

Next my attention was attracted to a number of objects lying upon the

platform immediately west of us. One of these appeared to be a steel

bowl-like container some thirty feet deep and a hundred in diameter,

like the storage tanks used in oil fields. Nearby was an open tank

measuring perhaps fifty feet in each dimension, and beside this were the

most startling of all--several hundred foot pieces of built-up

structural steel resembling knife, fork and spoon.

In retrospect, the deduction from this evidence was obvious, but as we

stared down at this spectacle, a sort of numbness took hold of our

minds. As a later comparison of impressions verified, none of us came

remotely near guessing the truth in those incredible seconds. For what

seemed like minutes we just stared, and then the spell was broken. Walt

had squeezed in beside me, where he gave vent to a low whistle of

amazement. Baker shushed him, and then shifted to a better position, in

so doing knocking a rock from the ledge. This started a small avalanche

which went clattering down the cliff with a sound, to our hypersensitive

ears, like thunder. We all froze in our places, abruptly aware that the

moon illuminated us like actors in a spotlight. For a good minute we

waited tense, and then gradually relaxed. Baker started to say something

when without warning the ground beneath us shook, starting a score of

rockslides. We recoiled from the edge and braced for a stronger

earthquake shock. Then suddenly Baker uttered a hoarse cry. He was

pointing--pointing down into the blackness at our feet where our eyes

had as yet been unable to penetrate. Something was there, something vast

and dim and shapeless like a half inflated airship. Then a part of it

was detached and came up almost to our level. It moved too rapidly for

any detail to be seen--our only impression was of a vast white column

large as the Washington monument which swung up into the moonlight and

then was withdrawn. At the same time the ground quivered anew, starting

fresh slides.

We blinked stupidly for several seconds, and then became conscious for

the first time of the sound. It was like a vast cavernous wheeze at

first, and then a series of distinct wet thuds followed by a prolonged

gurgling rumble. If these descriptive phrases sound strange and awkward,

let me give assurance that they are as nothing to the eerie quality of

the noises themselves. We lay glued to our rocky perch, hardly daring to

breathe, until the last windy sigh had died away.