Chavasse examined the map carefully. “When did you see all this?”

“An hour ago. Not much more.”

Chavasse nodded. “I came that way myself. The terrain is terrible. Even a jeep is lucky to cover ten miles in an hour. Rough ground and boulders everywhere.”

“So?” Ram Singh said.

“That means the Chinese are still on the other side of the Cholo Gorge. Hundreds of feet deep. There’s an old wooden bridge there. It’s the only way across. Destroy that and they’ve had it. The Dalai Lama will be home free.”

“An attractive idea, Mr. Chavasse, but if you are suggesting that Lieutenant Piroo should somehow bomb their bridge, I must say no. Chinese territory, that is what they claim, and we are not at war with China.”

“Well I am.” Chavasse turned to Piroo. “You carry parachutes on that thing?”

“Of course.”

Chavasse said to Ram Singh, “Meet me halfway, Colonel. You’ve already allowed Piroo to fly over there. Let him volunteer again. You find me some explosives. On the way in we drop a message to the Dalai Lama’s column to alert Hamid as to what’s going on, then I’ll parachute in at the bridge and blow it up.”

“But what happens after?” Piroo demanded. “You’ll be all alone out there on foot.”

“Hopefully Hamid will ride back for me.”

There was a long silence as all the officers exchanged glances. The colonel looked down at the map, drumming his fingers on it. He glanced up.

“You would do this, Lieutenant?” he asked Piroo.

“My pleasure, Colonel.”

“Madness,” Ram Singh said. “Total madness.” Suddenly he smiled. “We’d better get cracking, Mr. Chavasse. Not much time.”

Ram Singh said, “A very simple explosive, Mr. Chavasse.” He opened an army haversack and produced one of several dark green blocks. “We get it from the French army.”