The firing continued for several minutes. They must have had tonnes of ammo. They certainly weren't taking risks. Then suddenly I heard a truck engine cough into life. Then another, then another. They merged into a loud purring and I heard the heavy clunks of gears engaging. The convoy was on the move.
I wasn't though. I lay there, waiting for the night to become silent and clear again. But before it did, Homer and Lee arrived, two big dark clumsy figures crashing through the scrub in front of me. Fi and I hauled ourselves up, shaking off twigs and leaves and dirt.
"What happened?" I begged them.
Kevin arrived, behind me.
"What the hell happened?" he echoed.
"They were just so paranoid," Homer said. Both he and Lee looked wild-eyed with excitement. "We couldn't do anything. Once they started popping off bullets we hid behind trees and hoped to God they wouldn't come looking for us."
"Did they see you?" Kevin asked.
"No, no, they were just being cautious."
"Where's Robyn?"
"I don't know. Up on the road I hope. We didn't dare look out from behind our trees. I don't think she was caught or we would have heard. But I don't know if she managed to get the timer on. It would have been hard."
We ploughed our way up to the road. There was no sign of Robyn, no sheep either. I was starting to panic. Then I saw a pair of white eyes, and the gleam of white teeth, coming towards us. It proved to be not a wolf, but Robyn.
We engulfed her with questions and emotion.
"Wait! Stop!" she said. "Let's walk and talk. We can't waste time." We hurried along behind her, like a gaggle of geese. The first thing we saw was the paddock where they'd put the sheep. Both Homer and I stopped in disgust.
"We can't leave them in there!" Homer exploded.
"We haven't got time," Lee said.
"We'll have to make time," I said. "These sheep helped us a lot tonight. We owe them."
Homer and I ran to the gate and opened it. I realised we'd have to fake it, so the sheep looked like they'd escaped by themselves.
I called out to Lee: "See if you can knock the fence down somewhere. Make it look like the sheep did it themselves."
Grumbling, he went off to do it. Homer and I ran into the paddock and exhausted ourselves rounding the stupid animals up again. The paddock was very small, with no feed at all, and thirty starving tukidales in it already, to go with the merino crosses we'd been droving. We ran them out of the gate so fast that it's a wonder they didn't smother themselves. A few did go down but they got themselves up again. We let them spread out along the sides of the road and graze where they wanted. The road was much wider here and with the sheep off the bitumen I hoped the convoys would let them stay there. Whatever, there was no more we could do for them. At least they'd have full bellies for their next adventure.
We ran off after Robyn and Fi, who were further up the road, talking.
"So what happened?" I asked Robyn, panting.
She was grinning. I got the impression she'd enjoyed herself, despite the danger.
"It was insane."
"OK, OK, I believe you; but what happened?"
"Well, they stopped and I picked one right away, a semi with a container on the back. It was only a short one, about six or seven metres long I'd say, but the long ones were all diesels, I think. I just went straight to it in the shadows before people started getting out of their trucks, and I got in from underneath, like we'd said. It wasn't hard finding the lead, but just after I'd cut it the security guys came past. That's when things got serious. There was nothing to do except crouch there and pray. But they were more interested in the bush than what might be happening in the trucks. The outside, not the inside."
"Makes sense," I said. "They'd be thinking of guerilla attacks, not of one person putting a timer on a distributor lead."
The others had joined us at this stage and we were walking along fast, hoping to find a broken-down truck. But although the convoy had been travelling slowly we knew we'd have a long way to go.
"Then they started firing," Robyn continued. "That was awful. I thought they'd spotted you guys. I turned to stone. I'd thought I was the one in the dangerous spot, then it seemed like you were. I couldn't seem to think or function at all. But I noticed there was no excitement: no one calling out or running like you'd expect if they were suspicious. Then one of the soldiers doing the shooting walked past me firing into the bush, and I realised it wasn't aimed at anyone: they were just playing it safe. I hoped you guys hadn't copped an accidental bullet. But I unparalysed myself and got back to work. It was really hard because my hands were so wet and sweaty. I couldn't get a proper grip. The wires wouldn't do what I wanted, then I dropped the pliers. But I'm pretty sure I got it right. Then I taped the timer way down and tried to make my move. That's when my real problems started—people were coming back to' their trucks and security guys were still wandering around. The truck started' and revved up and I still couldn't get off. I thought, 'Better flatten myself,' and I did. I waited till the truck had gone over me, then rolled off the road full speed. I was terrified then. The trucks travel so close together. You should have seen me roll. Still, I survived. Bruises, scratches, scars for life, that's about all."
"How sure are you that you got it on right?" Homer asked.
"She must have, or the truck wouldn't have started again," Lee said.
"Yeah, true. If the timer works OK it'll definitely stop it," Kevin confirmed. "The problem then will be if they find the timer. At this time of night, and after being held up already, I don't think they'll have the patience to make the whole convoy wait while they look for a reason for one truck breaking down. They sounded tired enough when they were chasing the sheep."
"I thought you were a long way back in the bush," I said.
"No, no, I was really close," he said, but I wasn't sure of that.
"If they find the timer we'll walk straight into an ambush," Lee said quietly and calmly.
We all slowed down and looked at each other in shock. We'd reached that stage of exhaustion where we were overlooking obvious things.
"But we haven't got time to sneak along in the bush," Fi said. "It'll be light soon."
"We have to," Homer said. "Don't forget, this raid is a chance in a million. If anything goes wrong we can call it off, no harm done, no need to feel bad. It's much too big for us, anyway. I think we should put our own safety higher than going on with this."
I was really staggered. I'm sure Homer wasn't scared. His voice was steady and strong. I think he'd just weighed the risks and made a scientific judgement. For hot-headed Homer this was very cool. Something about it pleased me a lot, though, and not only the fact that it slightly increased my chances of staying alive. I think it was the hope that maybe Homer no longer felt a great macho need to prove himself by leaping wildly into action at every opportunity.
I had strong memories of other amateur soldiers we'd worked with, the adults of Harvey's so-called Heroes, being shot down like skittles as we'd watched helplessly from the bush. They'd been walking towards a disabled enemy vehicle too, taking it for granted that it had been deserted.
So we went bush, we quit talking, we threaded our way through the trees, tripping over roots and rocks, getting bashed in the face by stray branches. Oh, it was hard. "Won't life ever be easy again?" I begged myself. At about 4.45 in the morning we saw the dull gleam of the stationary container truck, reflecting a little moonlight as it sat at the side of the road.
Thirteen
I wondered as I looked at it whether I was looking at my own coffin. It was a horrible feeling, to think that I'd be locking myself into that big metal box. We'd crept up on it very gingerly, but everything seemed normal. I know if I were a driver whose truck broke down at that hour of the night I wouldn't want to hang around trying to fix it. I'd leave it to the mechanics.
Kevin took the timer off, wired the lead together again, then pulled the positive wire off the coil. He assured us that they
'd think that had caused the breakdown. But he did something to the fuel line as well: ran some water through it, I think. He said they'd have to call a tow truck for that. I took his word for it. I'm good on basic mechanics but I'm not into the deeper mysteries of engines.
We got the container open by swinging one bolt to the right and the other to the left. I'd been thinking—hoping—it might be locked but really that was the easiest part of the whole operation. You could open it from the inside too, which was another thing I'd been wondering about. I didn't want to end up like a possum in a trap.
The inside was a metal cave. It looked much bigger than from the outside. Our footsteps echoed as we tiptoed nervously along its full length. But of course there was nothing to see. It was the same at one end as it was at the other.
"Come on," I said to the others, knowing Homer was just opening his mouth to say the same thing, and determined to beat him to it. I never wanted to let Homer think he was our lord and master. "Time to do some hard yakka."
It was hard yakka, too. Our dump of fertiliser and diesel was about two k's away. We'd calculated the time and speed of the convoy fairly well but I was still whingeing about it. I'd only have been happy if the truck had pulled up neatly next to our pile, had backed up to it even. Homer told Kevin he shouldn't have wrecked the fuel supply, because then I could have driven the truck to the dump and driven it back to the breakdown point after we'd loaded it. Of course there was no way. Those things were too hard to reverse, and in that narrow road, with no good places to turn a semi around, I might have had to drive it right down to Cobbler's Bay to find a place to manoeuvre. That wouldn't have looked so good to the soldiers.
So it was back to the wheelbarrows, back to another trundle through the cold night air, heavy arms struggling to hold up heavy handles, heavy legs wobbling as we tried to keep our balance. We stuck to the road now, listening for convoys and patrols, but knowing that dawn was another enemy for us to beat. But there were no convoys, and there seemed to be no patrols at all in this area.
The hardest part was getting the bags and the drums up into the actual container. I've got to admit, Homer was good there too. He might be just a big lump of bone and muscle but he did a good job with the sacks. Fi especially had no chance of getting her bags up high enough, and Homer did all of hers. I know he had the strength, but I don't know where he got the energy.
Then suddenly, too fast for my liking, we were ready. I stood on the road behind the truck looking at the others, trying to cope with my flood of feelings. I felt like you do when you realise a polypipe's about to come apart at the join. What do you do first? Try to jam it back on? Rush to the valve? Rush to the pump? It was like that in my head. I'd half thought we might have a mushy farewell scene with everyone kissing and hugging and making speeches. I should have known it wouldn't be like that. In fact what happened was that Kevin handed me the fuse and detonator, and we gave the others our boots, socks and heavy clothes, and the contents of our pockets, so we could swim the bay easily. Then we stood and looked at each other feeling a bit embarrassed, then Homer said, "Oh well, see you guys at the creek," which was the meeting place we'd arranged, and Kevin said, "Yeah, see you," and I winked at Fi and waved to Robyn and in we went and shut the huge doors behind us.
As soon as we were in that darkness I wanted to rush out again and throw myself around all of them like an emotional boa constrictor but no matter what happened I was going to be as cool as Homer.
It was quite black in there. I held up my hand about five centimetres from my face and could' see only the faintest gleam of pale skin. Outside I'd just had evidence that there was still light in the world, with the smudging of grey along the horizon, but in here I could hardly believe it. It was scary in a way that nothing else had been before. This was a totally new kind of venture for us. The other times were kind of local, us doing what we could do in our own neighbourhood, using petrol and gas, stuff that we used every day of our lives. Now it was war and we were soldiers. Anfo, detonators, fuses, trying to infiltrate a harbour and blow up shipping: this wasn't small time. This was a major act of sabotage that we were attempting. This was the Battle of Cobbler's Bay, serious war, real war, the kind of thing that should only be attempted by hundreds of soldiers with uniforms and guns, people who'd been training for years.
"Homer," I said, suddenly terrified that he'd disappeared and I was all alone in the world. "Homer, where arc you?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here." I heard him move towards me and I felt out in front of my face. My fingers found his face: I was touching the rough skin of his chin. lie put his arms around me and I gratefully accepted his big wide hug. Being hugged by Homer felt funny; he didn't do it often and you could feel his awkwardness when he did. He was all sharp angles, not relaxed or comfortable, but it was nice to feel some closeness with him again. I admired him a lot these days, though I didn't ever let him know that.
We sat against the bags of ammonium nitrate and talked in tiny whispers. Although it was amazing how much stuff we'd collected, there was still heaps of room in the container. I was sure the weight wouldn't be noticed. These trucks were used to carrying twenty-five tonnes or more.
We talked about everything: the Deb Ball, embryo transplants for ewes, a heavy-metal CD by a group called Bigger than Boeing, why Robyn sometimes irritated Homer so much, whether stalactites go up or down. We talked about our dreams for the future. Boy, had they ever changed. No more talk now of overseas trips on Rotary Exchanges, hotted up utes for B & S's, courses in hotel management or marine biology. Now it was all small stuff. Having our families back together. Being able to walk around in daylight. Eating fresh fruit. Going to school again. Seeing kids playing on swings and seesaws. That was all we wanted. Little things.
As the light outside strengthened we realised that there were cracks and pinpoint holes in the sides of the container. We could see that the light outside was getting bright and strong. Even without that, we still could have worked it out by the heat in the container, which rose quite fast. Seemed like it was probably heading for a fine winter's day out there. I kept trying to read my watch, wondering when they would come, but I'd say it was about ten o'clock before we heard them. A slow grinding noise of a low-geared vehicle was our warning. We stopped talking and waited, straining every muscle to hear, as though our arms and legs and stomach were as much involved in listening as our ears. We heard the vehicle stop. We heard the opening and shutting of two truck doors. Although there was little point, we crouched lower behind the sacks. Homer thought that our most dangerous time would be getting through the gate into the wharf. I didn't agree. I thought the sentries would take it for granted that the mechanics had checked the container. I thought our most dangerous time would be getting lifted onto a ship, and having the crane driver notice the weight of the load. Homer didn't agree with that. He said the crane driver wouldn't be used to thinking for himself. No one would bother to tell him anything. He'd just sit there all day pressing buttons. If one container was heavier than the others he'd think it was for some reason that he hadn't been told about.
The dangers after that would be of a different type-full of action, physical dangers. But this, this sitting and waiting in the dark, this was all mental.
When I heard those little noises outside, the thumps and bangs, when I felt the container shake a few times, I stopped caring about future dangers. This was danger enough for me. I prayed just to survive this. I heard voices, quiet voices, muttering occasionally to each other. I heard the clang of metal. I heard the rattling of tools. I heard a swear word: not in English, but there's no mistaking the sound of a swear word. Then someone started up the engine. It started OK but it didn't run well: there were a lot of backfires, and it sounded really rough. I heard a shout, the engine went off, and then there was nothing; just a long silence. Soon it started to give me the creeps. I imagined them quietly surrounding the container, quietly raising their weapons, until I was certain that the doors were about to be flung open a
nd we would be caught and dragged away and tortured and killed. I didn't have a relaxed muscle in my body. I could feel trembles running through me as though I'd been wired up to a twelve-volt generator and someone had turned on the power. Only Homer's hand on my arm stopped me from jumping to my feet and screaming. At last the rumble of the lowgeared vehicle started again. I whispered in Homer's ear, "What do you think?" and felt him give an impatient shrug. He didn't like guessing, speculating.
I could hear the vehicle revving and turning. The noise sounded like it was coming from all around us. There were a few shouts, then the engine settled down to a steady throb. And suddenly the container moved. Even though I'd been half expecting it, I took a grip on Homer's arm so tightly that I felt the bone. The container gave a quick lurch, then started moving slowly and steadily forward and upward, until it was at an angle that felt like 45 degrees, but probably wasn't quite so steep. A container of diesel not restrained by the fertiliser bags slid slowly downhill. I grabbed it as though I were drowning and it were a lifebuoy, clutching it hard and hoping the men outside hadn't heard the noise. Homer grabbed me and I realised that on the fear scale we were rating about the same figure. Then we really started moving. There was a clanking noise and slowly we felt ourselves bumping forwards. I wanted to cheer, but didn't. I knew that somewhere Robyn and Lee and Kevin and Fi would be watching, and wondered if they would be cheering, or whether they would be too scared for that. We hadn't talked about covering fire for us, but I'd taken it for granted that they'd have the shotguns out. I'd have lost too much face if I'd mentioned it, but now I prayed that they had them pointing straight at the truck.