Tomorrow When The War Began (22 page)

Homer was being modest. He was a natural with
stock. But he was still talking, ‘So, that’s how it seems to work
out. What I thought was, if you steal a tanker and bring it down to
the bridge by slow degrees, with Fi walking to each corner,
checking the coast is clear, then signalling you on. You hide it
round that corner near the bowling greens, nice and close to the
bridge. We’ll wait for a convoy to go through, which seems to get
the soldiers up to the right end of the bridge, and also gives us a
good chance of a clear interval before the next convoy. Then we’ll
move the cattle out into the road and stampede them. As the cattle
hit the bridge at one end you bring the tanker down under it at the
other – you might even be able to coast down with the engine off.
There’s a good slope there. Jump out, run a trail of petrol away to
a safe distance – one of you do it, so if she gets any on her
clothes she can get clear before the other one lights it. Then
light it and go like stink to a couple of motorbikes that we’ll
hide around the next corner. And you’re out of there. How’s that?
Simple, eh? Just call me Genius.’

We talked and talked for hours, trying to find
the flaws, trying to improve the arrangements. There were endless
ways it could go wrong of course. The cattle mightn’t move, another
vehicle might come along the road at the wrong moment, the tankers
might be guarded or empty – they mightn’t even be there. I thought
the most dangerous part might be when Fi and I were getting from
the tanker to the motorbikes. We’d be quite exposed then, for
thirty seconds or so. If the sentries saw us we’d be in real
trouble. But Homer was confident that they’d be occupied by the
cattle.

Yes, it was a good plan. It was very clever.
And maybe the thing I liked most about it was the effect it had on
Lee. He was determined to do it. He lifted his head more and more
as we talked; he became outspoken, he started smiling and laughing.
He’d been depressed a lot of the time since he copped the bullet,
but now he actually said to me, ‘If we do this, if we succeed, I’ll
be able to feel pride again’.

I hadn’t realised how ashamed he’d been of not
being able to help his family.

We made a list of all the things we needed,
just a little list: four motorbikes, two walkie-talkies, two pairs
of wirecutters, bolt cutters, torches, aerosol cans, matches,
cattle-prods, rope, and a petrol tanker. Just a few odds and ends
like that. We started our search on the Fleets’ place, and then
moved onto the neighbouring farm, collecting as we went. The
motorbikes were the biggest problem. Most rurals don’t take much
care of their bikes. Half the ones we found were held together with
fencing wire and masking tape. We had to have fast, reliable bikes,
that would start first time. Then they had to be fuelled up, have
their oil and headlights and brakes checked, and brought together
in a central spot, which happened to be Fleets’ garage. We worked
pretty hard that afternoon.

Chapter
Twenty

Curr’s Blue Star Fuel and Oil Distributors was
in Back Street, about six blocks from the bridge. Fi and I found it
with no trouble but with much relief. We’d agreed between the two
of us that we could have a rest when we got there, and we sure
needed one. We’d wheeled those bloody great bikes about four k’s,
stopping and hiding a dozen times when one or both of us imagined
we’d heard a noise or seen a movement. We were pretty twitchy just
doing that; I hated to think what we’d be like when the real action
started.

I was a bit nervous being paired with Fi, I
must admit. There was no way I was ever going to be a hero, but at
least I was used to doing outdoors, practical things, and I suppose
that gives you a bit of confidence. I mean just the little things
at home that I took for granted, chopping wood, using a chain saw,
driving, riding the horses (Dad still liked using horses for
stockwork), being a rouseabout, marking lambs and drenching sheep –
these were the commonplace routines of my life, that I’d never
valued a lot. But without my noticing it they’d given me the habit
of doing things without looking over my shoulder every sixty
seconds to see if an adult was nodding or shaking his head. Fi had
improved heaps in that respect, but she was still kind of hesitant.
I admired her courage in taking on the job Homer had given her,
because I guess true courage is when you’re really scared but you
still do it. I was really scared, but Fi was really really scared.
I did just hope that when the chips were down she wouldn’t stand
there frozen with fear. We didn’t want frozen chips. Ha ha.

Once we’d hidden the bikes we set off for
Curr’s. I tried to put into practice the lessons I’d learned from
computer games. My favourite game was Catacomb and I’d found the
only way I could get to level ten was to keep my head. When I got
angry or overconfident or adventurous I got wiped out, even by the
most simple and obvious little monsters. To get the best scores I
had to stay smart, think, be alert and go cautiously. So we crept
along, block by block, checking round every corner as we came to
it. The only time we spoke was when I said to Fi, ‘This is the way
we’ll have to do it on the way back with the tanker’. She just
nodded. The only time my concentration wavered was when I caught
myself wondering if I’d ever get to play computer games again.

As far as we could see it was all quiet on the
Curr’s front. There were big wire gates, locked with a chain and
padlock, and a high wire fence all the way around the depot, but we
were prepared for that with the wirecutters. We’d brought bolt
cutters as well but they were no match for the gate: the chain was
just too big. Plan B was to use the truck to break through the
gate.

We took a smoko for twenty minutes. We sat
behind a tree opposite the depot, getting our breath back, while Fi
tried to call up Homer and Lee on the walkie-talkie. Just as we
were about to abandon the attempt and go for the tanker we heard
Homer’s hoarse whisper coming from the receiver.

‘Yes, we can hear you Fi. Over.’

It was somehow vastly exciting, and a wild
relief, to hear his voice. Fi’s eyes glistened.

‘How’s Lee?’

‘Fine.’

‘Where are you? Over.’

‘Where we said we’d be. How about you?
Over.’

‘Yes, the same. We’re about to try to get in.
It looks OK. They’ve got plenty of what we want. Over.’

‘OK, good. Call us back when you’re in
business. Over.’

‘Bye,’ Fi whispered. ‘Love you.’

There was a pause, then the answer. ‘Yeah, I
love you too Fi.’

For Homer to say that to anyone was pretty
good; for him to say it with Lee and me listening was amazing. We
switched the walkie-talkie off and moved cautiously over to the
fence of the depot. There were big security lights along the wire
fence, but the power seemed to be switched off to this part of
town. I hoped that meant that any burglar alarms would be
inoperative too. I took a deep breath and made the first cut. No
bells rang, no lights flashed, no sirens howled. I cut again, and
kept cutting until I’d made a hole about big enough for a hare.

‘We’ll never get through that,’ Fi muttered.
As she was the size of a rabbit and I’m the size of a Shetland, it
was obvious who she meant by ‘we’.

‘We’ll have to,’ I said. ‘It makes me nervous
standing here. It’s too exposed. Come on.’

Fi put one leg through, then gracefully
twisted her body after it and followed with her other leg. All
those ballet lessons were good for something, I thought enviously.
It was obvious that the hole had to be bigger, so I cut some more,
but even when I did get through I ripped my T-shirt and scratched
my leg.

We scurried across the yard to where the
trucks were parked. I tried the doors of a couple but they were
locked. We went over to the office and peered through the grimy
window. On the opposite wall was a board hung with keys.

‘That’s our target,’ I said. I turned and
found a rock, picked it up and came back to the window.

‘Wait,’ Fi said.

‘What?’

‘Can I do it? I’ve always wanted to break a
window.’

‘You should have joined Homer’s Greek Roulette
gang,’ I said, but I handed over the rock. She giggled and drew
back her arm and smashed the rock hard into the window, then jumped
back as glass showered over us both. It took us a few moments to
shake it out of our clothes and hair. Then I leaned in and opened
the door from the inside.

The keys were neatly marked with the
registration numbers of the trucks, so we took a handful and went
back to the yard. I chose the oldest, dirtiest semitrailer, because
the newer smarter ones seemed to shine too much in the moonlight.
It was a flat-fronted International Acco. The first thing we did
was to go to the back of the trailer and climb up the thin steel
ladder to the top, walking along the curved surface to inspect the
storage compartments. It turned out that there were four lids,
spaced at equal intervals along the top. I twisted one of the lids
and took it off. It was much like the lids of the milk cans that we
still had in our old dairy. It came away easily, even though it was
quite heavy. I tried to see if there was any petrol inside but it
was impossible to tell. I searched my memory. When the truck came
to our place each month, what was it the driver did? ‘Hold this,’ I
whispered urgently to Fi, giving her the lid, then shinnying down
the ladder. Sure enough I found what I was looking for – the
dipstick on a bracket on the base of the trailer. I pulled it off,
and hurried back up the ladder. I dipped the tank that we’d opened.
It was too dark to get a reading but the glint of wetness in the
moonlight showed there was plenty of fuel in it.

We replaced the lid and checked the other
three. Two of them were full; we didn’t need to dip them. The last
one was nearly empty, but it didn’t matter. We had enough to cause
a bigger explosion than Krakatoa. We screwed the lids back on and
hurried down the ladder.

I went round to the driver’s door, unlocked
it, got in, and opened the passenger door for Fi, then began
inspecting the controls. It looked OK but when I switched on the
ignition a continuous beep began sounding, and a red warning brake
light started flashing. I waited for it to go off, but it
didn’t.

‘There’s something wrong with the brakes,’ I
said to Fi. ‘We’d better try another one.’

We spent ten minutes going along the row of
trucks, trying each one, but always with the same result. I began
to regret the time spent on our rest break. We might end up getting
to the bridge too late.

It’s no good,’ I said at last. ‘We’ll just
have to take the first one and risk it with no brakes. I’ll use the
gears as much as I can.’

We jumped back into the Acco, and started the
engine, which throbbed into immediate life. To my astonishment the
warning beep and the flashing light stopped within seconds.

‘Air brakes,’ I said to Fi, annoyed with
myself for not having thought of it earlier. ‘They have to build up
pressure or something. I’ve never driven anything with air brakes
before.’

I had more trouble finding first, having to
pump the clutch a few times to get it. I was sweating heavily and
Fi was trembling. The engine sounded so loud in the quiet night
air. Then I eased the clutch out. The prime mover jerked, took up
the strain of the trailer, and crept forward. I brought it well out
into the yard, clear of the other vehicles, so I had plenty of room
to make my turn. Then I swung it round and aimed at the gates.

It’s really quite frightening to crash a
vehicle directly and deliberately into something. At the last
moment my nerve failed me and I slowed right down, bumping too
gently into the gate to do any damage. I was really annoyed with
myself. With my typical arrogance I’d been worried about Fi’s
nerves, but I should have been more worried about my own. I cursed,
nearly destroyed the gearbox trying to find reverse, found it, and
was startled by the loud warning beeps that immediately began at
the back of the vehicle. Seemed like this truck beeped at any
excuse. In my impatience I then backed up too fast. The trailer
slewed and hit a stanchion, nearly jackknifing. Fi went white and
grabbed the back of the seat.

‘Ellie!’ she said. ‘It’s petrol in the back,
not water!’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’

This time I rolled it smoothly and firmly into
the gates, which strained for a moment, then sprang open like a
bursting dam. I gave Fi a quick grin, and made another wide turn to
get into the street without hitting anything. The trailer followed
beautifully. To keep the noise down I put the gearstick into
neutral and coasted down to a clump of trees, parking under them.
Fi was already trying to call the boys on the walkie-talkie, but
there was too much interference from the truck engine.

‘I’ll go down to the corner and check that
it’s clear,’ she said, ‘and call them from there.’

‘OK.’

She slipped out of the cab and set off for the
corner. I watched her through the windscreen I always admired so
much about Fi, but now it was her courage I was admiring, instead
of her grace and beauty. She looked like a breeze would blow her
over, but here she was going alone through the deserted streets of
a town in a war zone. Not many people would do it; still fewer
people who’d had the sheltered life she’d had. I saw her get to the
corner, take a long careful look in each direction, give me a
thumbs up and then start talking into her transmitter. After a few
minutes she waved me forward; I hit reverse again, but then found
first, and rolled the truck down to pick her up.

‘Did you get through?’

‘Yes. They’re fine. A couple of patrols have
been past, but no convoys. Oh Ellie,’ she said, turning suddenly to
me, ‘do you really think we can do this?’

I tried to give her a confident grin. ‘I don’t
know, Fi I think maybe we can. I hope we can.’

She nodded and faced forward again. We drove
towards the next corner. ‘I’ll walk from here on,’ she said, ‘and
call you from each corner. It’ll be just as quick. Turn the engine
off while you’re waiting each time though, do you think? It’s
pretty noisy.’

‘OK.’

We made two blocks that way, but at the next I
saw her take one look down the street to the right then draw back
and come sprinting towards me. I jumped down from the truck and ran
to meet her. She gasped just one word: ‘Patrol’, and together we
went over a low fence into someone’s front garden. There was a huge
old gum tree right in front of us. I was so nervous that it seemed
to be the only thing I could see. My eyes and mind focused entirely
on it; nothing else existed for me at that moment. I climbed it
like a possum, scratching my hands but not feeling any pain. Fi
followed. I got about three metres up before I heard voices from
the corner, which slowed me down, made me quieter, more cautious. I
inched out along a branch to take a look. I didn’t know if getting
up here had been a mistake or not. I remembered Dad, one day when
he’d put a big ugly patch on a hole in the eaves that possums had
made, saying ‘The human eye doesn’t look above its own height’. At
this moment in my life I sure hoped he was right. The trouble was
that if they did see us we’d be, not like possums up a tree, but
like rats up a drainpipe. There was no escape from here.

We waited and watched. The voices continued
for a while, then we heard them grow in volume as they turned
towards us. I felt intense disappointment. This marked the end of
our Grand Plan. It could mark the end of us, too, because once they
saw the tanker their first reaction would be to seal off the area
and search it. I was surprised they hadn’t seen it already. They’d
stopped talking now, but I could hear the scuffle of their boots.
My mind was racing; too many thoughts going through it too quickly.
I tried to grab one of them to see if it might be any use in
suggesting a way out of here, but I was panicking too much to get a
grip on it, on anything except the tree. Fi, I slowly realised from
the steady pain in my left leg, was gripping onto me as though she
were a possum on an insecure branch. She had her talons dug in so
hard that I was sure I’d end up with bruises. I saw a movement now,
through the foliage, and a couple of moments later the soldiers
slowly came into view. There were five of them, three men and two
women. One of the men was quite old, at least forty, but the other
two looked about sixteen. The women were maybe twenty. They were
dawdling along, two on the footpath and three on the road itself.
They’d stopped talking to each other and were just gazing around as
they walked, or looking down at the ground. They didn’t look very
military. I guessed they were conscripts. The tanker was on the
other side of the road, about fifty metres from them. I couldn’t
believe they hadn’t seen it yet, and braced myself for the sudden
cry of discovery. Fi’s fingers had now cut off the circulation in
my leg; it was only a matter of time before my whole limb, from the
shin down, dropped off into the garden below. I wondered how the
soldiers would react if they heard it drop, and almost let out an
hysterical giggle. The patrol kept walking.