I stood there with my mouth open like a baby maggie. After a minute Fi looked up from her pack, gave a little sly grin and said: ‘See? I’m not as stupid as you think. I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘I don’t think you’re stupid,’ I said automatically, trying to buy time, but not sure that Fi was as right as she thought.
Fi, who was obviously in an extremely aggravating mood, just shrugged and started rolling up her black T-shirt.
‘I was in love with Steve,’ I said.
‘No you weren’t. Oh, you liked him, and you had a crush on him, and he got you hot, but it wasn’t serious love like this.’
‘How do you know what I feel for Lee? I never talk about it.’
‘No, but you talk about him. Three-quarters of your conversation is about him. Even if you’re criticising him, you’re still talking about him. You’re obsessed with him. Sometimes I wish you’d find someone else to talk about.’
I stood there sucking on the corner of my sleeping bag. It was true that I thought about Lee a lot. I was always watching him. When he appeared on the scene I’d straightaway be distracted from whatever I was doing. When I was teaching the kids about question marks and all that punctuation stuff, in our homemade bush school, I’d lose the thread as soon as Lee came walking through the trees. I’d have one eye on the kids and one eye on Lee. If he brushed a fly away I’d be wanting to know what kind of fly it was.
Was that love? I didn’t know. Maybe it was. It sure was something.
A lot of the time I was extremely irritated with him, but I’d learned enough to know that irritation could be just another symptom of love.
I felt like I was on my toes more when Lee was around. If I was half asleep and he wandered in from somewhere I’d snap wide awake. Every time he said something I’d respond, either in my mind or out loud. Usually by arguing with him, but sometimes I was moved, or deeply impressed, by what he said.
Sitting there thinking about all this I told myself not to be so silly: it was the worst possible time to be getting emotionally involved again, just as we were going out to fight. I needed my full concentration to stay alive; never mind this love stuff. It was no good thinking about love as a storm of bullets came at you.
That didn’t work though. Shoving my sleeping bag into the pack I sighed. You couldn’t escape your feelings. I just wished I knew what my feelings were. I thought again of the two steers on the ramp going up to the abattoir lolling floor. One mounting the other; the two of them still trying to mate, even though the conditions weren’t exactly ideal, in more ways than one. We were on the ramp to the killing floor too, but at least we weren’t steers. I ought to be grateful for that much.
I finished the packing without much thought. After all the fussing I’d been doing, now I didn’t care much what went in. Fi didn’t say another word, which was lucky for her.
At dusk we plodded off towards the wetlands, on our way to the helicopter rendezvous, each walking in our different ways. I felt better, knowing that here in the paddocks, in the dark, we should be safe. The kids weren’t happy though. They whined and whimpered and dragged their feet, except for Gavin who insisted on coming last, and in fact came so far last that we lost sight of him from time to time. Lee and Ryan, on the other hand, were so far in front that we almost lost sight of them too. Fi was very quiet and I think scared of what was to come. Kevin made stupid jokes and talked too loudly. Homer was serious, like he was miles away.
About halfway to the island, as we paused again waiting for Gavin, Homer said to me: ‘I think we’re heading into big trouble.’
I glanced at him. He made me nervous, the way he said it.
‘Why do you think that?’
He shrugged. ‘Male intuition.’
I thought for a moment, then decided to bite. It had been a while since I’d given Homer the satisfaction. ‘Male intuition? Is that like the Prime Minister before the war, when he said there was no threat of invasion?’
‘That’s different,’ Homer said, suddenly losing the distant look in his eyes. ‘That’s politicians. Male intuition is what told me you were in trouble at the airfield. It’s what tells me when a girl’s melting with lust for me.’
‘When’s a girl ever melted with lust for you? You’re in fantasy land.’
As Gavin arrived we started off again, but I couldn’t resist saying: ‘It was the sound of the shotgun that told you I was in trouble at the airfield. And the only girl I’ve seen melting for you was that old black and white milker you had for years. The one you nearly killed with Ratsak.’
‘You don’t understand guys,’ Homer said. ‘You’re a typical girl; you think you’ve got us figured out, and I’m here to tell you that no girl has ever figured out any guy yet.’
‘This is in your wide experience, huh?’ I asked.
We sniped at each other a few more times, but it was too much like hard work thinking of good comeback lines against Homer, as well as trying to stay on course and keep an eye on the kids. The trouble was, with all that happening I forgot about Homer’s warning.
Maybe it did influence me a bit though. Suddenly I got sick of the sloppy way we were travelling. It wasn’t the right approach for this all-important trip. So I called a halt, got Ryan and Lee back, waited for Gavin, then gave them a lecture about how we had to do it. Ryan and Lee in front still, me at the rear, Homer out on the left, Kevin on the right, and Fi with the kids in the middle, and the same code as usual: if one person stopped everyone stopped. Then if it seemed safe behind you, you started moving back. It was the way Ursula and Iain taught me in Wirrawee, even if it hadn’t quite worked there.
They agreed, some of them kind of sulkily, but I got my reward when Ryan said to me: ‘You just beat me to it. This is good now. You guys are pretty impressive. I can see how you got your reputation.’
I blushed, wanting to tell him some of the other things we’d done, but knowing that’d be a bit of a wank. I knew he was patronising us, but I was still glad he’d said it.
It was a slow way to get along. By 11.30 pm we were clear of the wetlands again, our packs creaking at the seams with grenades and plastic explosive, detonators and ammo. Just past midnight we left the track and struck out across the paddocks. We were in Burnt Hut, one of the paddocks that used to be on Mr Cooper’s place but was now ours. Well, before the war they were ours. I didn’t know who the new owners were.
We’re not very imaginative when it comes to naming paddocks. A hundred or so years ago a boundary rider had lived in this paddock, but the only remains of his hut were a pile of burnt timber, some roofing iron, and a ceramic stove thingy that sat in the ruins looking like it was six months old.
It was easy travelling through there: the ground was reasonably soft with the recent rain, and most of it was flat.
I had the luxury of being able to look around a bit more, to think about things, and daydream. Ahead of me Casey plodded on patiently. I could see all the ferals, and Fi and Kevin and Homer, but not Ryan and Lee. Our numbers sure were about to drop dramatically. It would be a relief not having to worry about the little kids; not having to fuss over grazed knees, or listen to boring descriptions of dreams, or admire pieces of art produced in Lee’s art class, or watch plays written by Casey, produced by Casey, and starring Casey, with minor performances by the other three.
I sighed. I was going to miss those grazed knees and the long plays that seemed to lose their way halfway through and start going in circles. Speaking of which, we seemed to be drifting too far to the left. We’d be going in circles ourselves before long, if we weren’t careful. I picked up my pace and made my way forward, giving Casey a little pat as I did, until I caught up with Lee.
It was hard to navigate through this section. We were too far below the ridgeline to see the moon, and the ridgeline zigzagged all over the place, making it tricky to stick to our route. As we moved out of the cleared part of the paddock, into light scrub, things would be even tougher. Lee realised how difficult it was g
etting. ‘You take the lead,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll go down the back.’
‘Good,’ I said. He’d taken the words out of my mouth.
He disappeared into the darkness behind me. Now I could only see Ryan, who was out to my left, about forty metres away and back a bit. But I knew that as long as I kept going at the right pace the others would keep me in sight.
I started out again. We weren’t that far from the landing zone now. I think when you’re getting close to your goal like that, something happens: you start to look ahead more. You don’t notice what’s at your feet so much. Your eyes search the distance, looking for the signs that you’ve arrived.
In a lot of situations that doesn’t matter at all. In a war, when you’re in the middle of enemy territory, it can matter quite a lot.
I led the way to the gate, slipped the catch off quietly and opened it. It was funny how little things suddenly caught me by surprise, making me feel desperately sad. This gate had a homemade catch to secure it: Dad had used a bit of wire off a barbed wire fence, so the chain fastened straight onto the mesh of the gate. Touching that catch again reminded me of when he had made it. It wasn’t any great moment or special occasion, it was just another day in the paddocks, when a rusty bit of wire that held the gate snapped, and Dad used his pliers to make a new one.
But I could see his face so clearly, so suddenly, as he cut the wire. Maybe it was a warning. Maybe he appeared like a vision or an angel or something, to tell me to watch out, to take special care. Unfortunately I didn’t think of it that way. I left the gate for Lee to close, and kept walking. There was a slight downward slope and a track that led to the area where the helicopter was meant to land, but we hardly ever used tracks these days: I pushed through some long grass to my right, getting flicked by a low-growing blackberry, then straightened up again. Looking back and to the left I saw Homer and Kevin close to each other and Ryan moving across behind me. I walked forward, probably twenty paces, and stepped onto an enemy soldier.
He was lying on the ground with his feet towards me, facing the landing area. I actually trod on his boots, which meant I lost balance for a moment, although the shock didn’t help me keep my balance either. I teetered over sideways and backwards throwing out my left arm to break my fall. It was happening so fast the fear didn’t have time to reach my brain. If I’d died at that instant it wouldn’t have been too bad, because I hadn’t felt any terror yet. That was about to change though. The soldier was scrabbling around on the ground. Whatever shock I’d got, he was getting a worse one. Thinking back on it I wonder if he’d been asleep, or at least half-asleep. He seemed so slow to move. I got my balance first but he did something totally unexpected. He was starting to stand, but then he turned as he was standing. He twisted his whole body while he was still off-balance and dived onto me. I’d thought I had another half-second yet, so he caught me by surprise.
I went flying backwards, losing my hat. I should have landed flat on the ground but my pack was in the way. It gave me a bit of leverage to push up again. It was my turn to surprise him when I did push up. It was such a little advantage, but when you’re fighting for your life, even the littlest advantage is worth something. I rolled him half-over but that was as far as I could get him; he was too strong for me, and he rolled me back. The whole thing was so shocking that I couldn’t think what to do. It flashed through my mind that in this whole war I’d never grappled one on one with any of the enemy. I’d wrestled with Homer quite a lot when I was younger, and that was an even match, but once he got some muscle it stopped being even. I gave up wrestling him because I had no hope.
I had no hope now, as this guy got on top of me, held me down and drew his head back. I knew what was coming: he was going to headbutt me into oblivion. I closed my eyes and tried to twist my head to the side, to avoid the full impact. It seemed a long time coming. I’d been in situations before in this war where a split second was like ten minutes. This was one of them. I waited for the blow. When it came it was weird. It was more like a flop than a full-blooded smash. I felt I was in a dream. Nothing was happening. The man’s head was lying on me but his hands still gripped my arms, like barbed wire. I had a flashback to Adam in New Zealand and felt sick, worse than sick, mad and hysterical. In a frenzy of fear I fought to get him off. Then he kind of lifted off. I realised I still had my eyes shut but I didn’t want to open them. His hands still hung onto my arms but they were looser now. Then they slid away like wet seaweed. I felt a great hotness on my stomach. I heard Ryan’s voice saying: ‘Get up Ellie, quick.’ I still thought it was a dream but Fi was whispering too, and both my arms were being pulled.
I opened my eyes. In the moonlight I saw Fi pulling at my left arm and Ryan my right. I suddenly decided it was incredibly urgent to get to my feet. I staggered up, staggered two steps to the right, and promptly half-tripped over a body in the grass. Then at last my brain cleared and I understood everything. I wanted to vomit but swallowed it again. When Ryan muttered, ‘We’ve got to get out of here’, I was the first to start retreating. The others followed. They must have been more than happy to see me come to my senses. We left the body of the soldier there in the darkness. I don’t know who killed him, but I guessed it was Ryan. He had been closest.
I couldn’t move freely or easily but I stumbled along, trying to make as little noise as possible. Where there was one soldier there would be others. These guys never did anything on their own.
A dark shape loomed up on my right and disappeared again: Homer.
The pace got faster and faster. We were going uphill. I didn’t know why I was going in that direction, then I realised Ryan was behind me, prompting me. Maybe I’d been hearing him unconsciously.
Someone shouted, from not far away, in the darkness. Then a whistle blew. I ran even harder.
We sprinted for fifteen or twenty minutes. God it was hard, going uphill. Before I could get my second wind, assuming I ever would, I ran into Lee, who was coming from my left. The kids were behind him. They must have detoured around my battle with the soldier. They looked like startled possums, their hair all frizzy and their eyes wide open. Even Gavin looked shocked. I wondered how much of the brief fight he’d seen.
‘Is this far enough?’ Lee asked someone over my head.
‘Yes,’ Ryan answered.
Lee pulled his hand out from his pack, like Little Jack Horner, and there was the radio. Ryan grabbed at it. Faster than we ever could, he had it on and tuned and was broadcasting. I had the impression he’d used them before.
Once he made contact he only needed a dozen words.
‘This is Fritters. Three-nine-three. Go to backup. Go backup.’
He got his confirmation, then switched off fast.
‘Fritters?’ I asked, as he started packing up the radio. I was shivering uncontrollably, even though it wasn’t that cold.
‘I eat a lot of them,’ he said, without a smile.
He beckoned the others in closer, although we were packed in pretty close anyway.
‘The second drop zone,’ he said to me. ‘Where is it?’
‘Six kilometres that way,’ I said, pointing.
Casey gave a little whimper, realising she had a lot more walking ahead of her.
‘OK,’ Ryan said. ‘Do you all know the place? Fi? Kevin?’
They nodded; so did Homer and Lee.
‘All right. Keep an eye on the little kids, so we don’t lose them. Homer, you lead. Let’s go.’
Ryan must have been prophetic. All through this war we’d hardly lost anyone when we were in enemy territory. Now, just when he especially said to keep an eye on each other, it went wrong. I’d say we’d gone less than a kilometre when I suddenly realised I couldn’t see anyone any more. It was my fault. I had been too busy reliving the horrors of the fight with the soldier. In my mind I kept going through it, wondering how I could have handled it differently, ticking myself off for the mistakes I’d made. I should have watched more carefully, I should have thrown myself the
other way, I should have found more strength when I was rolling him over . . .
In going over the old stale mistakes I distracted myself so much I made new ones. Life’s always playing tricks like that. But when I realised I’d lost sight of everyone I quickened my pace, eyes searching anxiously ahead for the dark familiar shapes. I stopped thinking about the fight with the soldier.
The dark seemed to swallow me up suddenly. From being in touch with my friends, linked by a net of complicated invisible cords, I was in a world of just me and the black night and nothing else. I felt like I was in zero gravity. I got faster and faster, trying to force the darkness apart with the power of my eyes, knowing I couldn’t call out, but praying that the next step would show me a friendly human silhouette.
The only silhouettes I saw were of trees. Then I started panicking, thinking, ‘Oh, I went too fast, I’ve probably passed them, they’re probably waiting back there somewhere for me’.
I paused, not knowing what to do. Stay there, go back, go forward? I tried to guess what the others would do. I got angry, thinking, ‘How could this happen? One minute I’m going along in a group, following the others, the next minute I’m totally on my own.’ I took a few steps back, then realised that was hopeless; I didn’t know what route Homer was taking. I could search all night and still not get anywhere near them. I had no real choice after all. I had to head for the second landing place and hope to God they’d be there.
My target was a point where two creeks met in a Y shape. One was called Breakfast Creek; the other usually flowed only in winter and didn’t have a name. The helicopter was meant to land between the arms of the Y. It was no problem for me to navigate there, yet it felt strange, hurrying through the dark night, like I was the only person on Earth. I felt like I was no-one, in a world of nothing, going to a place that would be empty when I arrived.
I climbed through a fence. The wire felt cold to the touch. I straightened up, but as I did I glanced down at my stomach, and realised a huge patch of blood from the dead soldier was on my shirt. A big sticky patch around the bottom buttons. A foul taste filled my mouth. I spat it out and hurried on. A series of dim grey shapes floated across the ground in front of me. A scream rose in my throat like a column of mercury. I stopped it but couldn’t cut it off completely. Something still came out, a half-sob, half-whimper. The sheep plodded away into the darkness. I clutched myself around the elbows and kept walking. More movement ahead: a willy-willy of mist where the middle of the paddock dipped. I walked through the white strands, feeling their cold touch on my face and hands.