Free Jack Higgins - Chavasse 02 by Year of the Tiger

contact some of his men, that would be another story.
    The tent flap opened and the man in the Tyrolean hat and hunting jacket crawled out carrying a first-aid box.
    He crouched down beside Chavasse and grinned sympathetically. “How do you feel?”
    Chavasse shrugged. “I’ll survive, if that’s what you mean.”
    The man produced a packet of cigarettes. “Try one of these. It might help.”
    He was about thirty-five, tall and well-built, and the match flared in his cupped hands to reveal a strong, sensitive face and mobile mouth.
    Chavasse drew smoke deep into his lungs and coughed as it caught at the back of his throat. “Russian!” he exclaimed, holding the cigarette up, and suddenly things became a little clearer.
    â€œBut certainly.” The man smiled. “Andrei Sergeievich Kurbsky at your service.”
    â€œI hope you won’t be offended if I don’t return the compliment.”
    â€œPerfectly understandable.” Kurbsky laughedgood-naturedly. “Rather bad luck for you, our happening along when we did.”
    â€œCome to think of it, what are you doing out here at night anyway?” Chavasse demanded. “I understood this was a bad security area.”
    â€œI was on my way to Changu. Our engine broke down and by the time we’d diagnosed the trouble, it was dark so I decided to camp here for the night. It was quite a surprise when you flew in. Almost as great as when I heard you cry a warning to your comrade in English.”
    â€œI must be getting old.” Chavasse sighed. “So it was your light we saw?”
    Kurbsky nodded. “You interrupted my supper. Of course, I turned off the spirit stove as soon as you appeared. You obviously intended to land, and I didn’t want to discourage you.”
    â€œAnd we thought it was a herdsman’s fire,” Chavasse told him bitterly.
    â€œThe fortunes of war, my friend.” Kurbsky opened the first-aid box. “And now, if you’re ready, I’ll see what state you’re in.”
    â€œIt’s only a scratch,” Chavasse said. “The bullet ploughed a furrow across my shoulder, that’s all.”
    The Russian examined the wound and then expertly bandaged it with a field dressing.
    â€œYou seem to know your stuff,” Chavasse told him.
    Kurbsky grinned. “I was a war correspondent in Korea. A hard school.”
    â€œAnd what are you doing in Tibet?” Chavasse said. “Seeing firsthand how well the grateful peasants are responding to the new regime?” “Something like that.” Kurbsky shrugged. “I have what you might describe as a roving commission. I’m a staff writer for Pravda, but my work appears in newspapers and magazines all over the Soviet Union.”
    â€œI’ll bet it does.”
    â€œThis little adventure will make most interesting reading,” Kurbsky continued. “The mysterious Englishman, if that is what you are, landing guns by night disguised as a Tibetan. It’s a great pity you couldn’t have been an American. That would have made it even more sensational.”
    The flame of the spirit lamp, flickering in the wind, danced across Kurbsky’s face and there was a glint of humour in his eyes. An involuntary smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and Chavasse sighed. It was hard not to like a man like this.
    â€œWhat happens now?”
    â€œSome coffee, a little supper and sleep if you can manage it.”
    â€œAnd tomorrow?”
    Kurbsky sighed. “Tomorrow we go on to Changu and Colonel Li, the military commander in this area.” He leaned forward, and his good-humoured face was solemn. “If you take my advice, I would tell him what he wants to know,without any foolish heroics. They tell me he is a hard man.”
    For a moment, there was a silence between them, and then Kurbsky slapped his thigh. “And now, some supper.”
    He made a sign and one of the