by John Marsden
That was where the action was. The rest of the airfield would get revved up sooner or later – the soldiers teeming out of the shed would be the first of many – but the guys on the tankers knew right away that this was life or death. Two or three just ran. Even though we hadn’t done anything yet to threaten them personally, they weren’t sticking around. The rest were going mental. They were jumping down off the wings of planes, they were unscrewing hoses off threads, they were running to the cabins of trucks. They knew that whatever we had in mind, they were the targets. They knew they had seconds to save their lives.
We had two problems. One was that as we skidded round we weren’t in a good position to line up the rifles. Fi was trying to get off the floor and I was yelling at her: ‘Get up, get up’, but with the centrifugal force of the turn she was very slow. The other problem was that we were now too close. Dangerously close. We could be incinerated.
As soon as we were far enough out of the turn I slammed on the brakes. Fi had just got up on the seat. Now she lurched forward, hitting her head on the windscreen. We didn’t need that windscreen anyway but this was not the way to get rid of it. I’d once seen a worker on our place punch his fist through a windscreen, when Dad sacked him. It was the windscreen on the old Datsun paddock basher. But Fi’s head didn’t even crack this one.
As I wrenched the gearstick into reverse I yelled at Fi again: ‘Come on.’ There was no time to sympathise about her head injury. With the truck stationary for a second, shuddering with the shock of what I’d done to it, Fi managed to twist back up onto her seat. There was blood running down her face and she looked as pale as a peeled banana.
‘The guns, the guns,’ I shouted at her. I still hadn’t found reverse. Bloody thing, where was it? It took me three goes. I thought our whole mad attempt might end there. Then with a crunch the gearstick went into its socket. ‘Thank God,’ I muttered. I hit the throttle again, foot flat to the floor. At least with hectares of airfield behind us there was nothing much we could hit. I didn’t even look in the side mirrors. If there was another jeep behind us it’d have to take its chances.
We went backwards, wheels spinning, lurching violently, Fi bouncing like a cork in a spa. We did run over something, probably a bit of debris from the jeep. But I knew we had to stop about then anyway. We just couldn’t take any more time. If we were too close and got barbecued, so be it. It was impossible to tell what was too close anyway. We didn’t have a lot of experience with this stuff. But to keep reversing for another five minutes – well, it wasn’t an option. If we were wiped out we had to do all the damage we could first.
So I hit the brakes again. This time I remembered to warn Fi and she braced herself – just – by hanging onto the seat with one hand and the windscreen with the other. She held the rifles between her knees, pointing up at the roof but as we braked they both swung towards me. I hoped to God the safeties were still on.
So the moment had come. All those careful plans Colonel Finley and Iain and Ursula had made, so carefully, so long ago, so far away – they came to nothing. Now it was up to us, using a plan we’d made up on the spur of the moment, using our own brains and initiative, and a lot of luck. Funny, the Kiwis had only wanted us to come on this trip as guides; they thought because we were young we wouldn’t be much use. Even though we’d done so much already, they thought it was all a fluke. You could tell by the way they looked at us, and the way they talked. Like they knew so much more than us.
Well, here we were, inside the airfield, about to inflict major damage. I just hoped they’d build a big memorial to us after this was over.
I grabbed one rifle as Fi lifted the other. Fi was the worst shot in the Southern Hemisphere, but at least she was marginally better at handling a gun now, compared to when the war started. I checked that my safety was still on, then swung it round and used the butt to bash through the windscreen. It was wild. Glass flew. We got showered with it. But there was no time to check for scratches and cuts. Beside me Fi tried to bash out what was left of her part of the glass. But she wasn’t aggressive enough. Or maybe she wasn’t strong enough. Whatever, I swung my rifle again, nearly braining Fi, and smashed out all the glass I could.
And then we were ready. Ahead of us were five tankers. Coming from the right, around the corner of a hangar, were two more jeeps. I didn’t dare look in the side mirrors. Anything could be happening behind us. I wished Kevin was functioning, so he could cover the rear. Or the right. Or the left. Anywhere. As it was, I had to make another quick decision, one of the most crucial I’d ever make. Fi was a lousy shot, sure. On the other hand, no-one could miss these tankers. They sat there like big fat chooks in a nice line, like geese on their way to the dam. Although soldiers were rushing frantically to get the hoses out and move the trucks I estimated it’d be thirty seconds before they got rolling. These rifles could empty their magazines in a lot less than thirty seconds. But the two jeeps were coming fast. They were out of the cover of the buildings already, in the sunshine. I still wanted to stay alive. Stupid, sure, but it’s the way I am. There was only one thing for it. I said to Fi: ‘You do the tankers.’
She looked at me in horror. ‘Oh, but Ellie ...’
‘Just do it,’ I yelled at her.
Further to my right, there was a massive blast. The ground rocked. A wave of hot air suddenly buffeted the truck, so that we rocked from side to side. From the left, I heard screams and shouts. Ahead of me, more soldiers started running away from the tankers. They knew what was coming now. Homer and Lee had struck, and they knew what we were going to do.
The force of the explosion made me realise we were probably still much too close, but it was too late to do anything about that. I didn’t have time to look for Homer and Lee either; I hoped they were OK, but if they weren’t there was nothing I could do. As Fi, trembling and looking sick, raised her rifle, I wriggled around further to my right and got into a comfortable position, head just above the bottom of the window and rifle resting on the sill. The jeeps were still coming and I didn’t have much time.
No sooner was I in position than there was a second explosion from the direction of the boys. Then another one, almost immediately. Seemed like they were going to be finished before we’d even started. I took aim, but my mind was on Fi, begging her to get a move on.
I think we both fired at the same time. There was the familiar BOOM of the rifles: less smoke than with other weapons I’d used, but a big recoil. I braced myself, waiting for the huge explosion, thinking there was a fair chance the truck would be blown right over. There was nothing. The only interesting thing was that the leading jeep, a bit to the left of the other one suddenly lost its windscreen. It shattered and blew out. I guess I was pleased but I didn’t have time to think about it. Instead I was looking around for Fi, to see what had happened.
She was distraught. ‘I missed,’ she sobbed. She was like a kid who’s grazed her knee. I couldn’t believe it. No-one, no-one, could miss at this range. They talk about people who can’t hit the side of a barn. Fi couldn’t hit the Empire State Building at twenty paces. From our right suddenly came a series of explosions that I thought would never stop. The sun seemed to disappear. Everything went dark. The truck was rocking and being pushed around like a bulldozer was attacking it. We were actually being turned around – a truck that weighed five tonnes, and we were being turned around. ‘Go again,’ I screamed at Fi. I looked out the front – that was how much we’d been pushed around – to see where the jeeps were. One had been blown right over, and there were soldiers clambering out of it. The other, to my horror, was only twenty-five metres away, stopped, and I could see rifles being levelled at us. You had to give those guys credit. I had about one second to get them. I’d have to waste some ammunition here. It’d be stupid to die with unused ammo in the magazine. I fired a few rounds but out of the corner of my eye I saw soldiers from the overturned jeep kneeling and preparing to shoot. I started taking aim at them and was about to fire when Fi fina
lly had her second shot. It felt like she spent five minutes lining it up. It wouldn’t surprise me, because she would have been so nervous about missing again.
But she didn’t miss.
Our whole plan was based on the simple fact that when Homer and I, in our immature youth, fired at those tin cans filled with fuel they exploded instantly, into groovy little fireballs. I guess the spark as the bullet penetrated the metal was what did it. We figured that if it worked on a small scale with a tin can it ought to work on a big scale with a petrol tanker.
We were right.
And we got blown away. I was right about that too. We’d been much too close.
God, I’ll never forget that feeling. Now I know what cyclone victims go through. The terrible noise, the complete loss of control, being shaken with bone-snapping violence, like a rabbit in the mouth of a terrier, like a sock in a tumble drier. Trying to keep my gun in the air so it wouldn’t go off and kill Fi. You feel so helpless. You are helpless. It was like when the four-wheel drive crashed in Wirrawee, only a thousand times worse. I hung onto the steering wheel but soon lost that, and ended up on top of Fi. All I could think of was those guns. I was still holding mine, still pointing it away, but what about Fi? Did she have a grip on hers? Once again, I’d forgotten poor Kevin in the back of the van.
I reckon we were blown more than fifty metres. Amazingly, the truck ended up the right way up again, sitting on its four wheels, if it still had four left. We were side on to the holocaust we’d created, but the other way around. I couldn’t see anything of the tanker Fi hit – the flames were too intense to look at. I caught glimpses of dark skeletons of planes through the fire. All their fabric had been burnt away and you could only see black ribs, like a balsawood framework of a plane. Then there was another gust of wind and the planes disappeared again.
Almost simultaneously there were another two explosions, from inside the fire. I think it was probably the next two tankers. Or maybe they’d already gone up while we were being blown away. I wouldn’t have noticed. Maybe it was some planes blowing up. They didn’t seem quite as strong as the first explosion, but then we were further away now. When they blew there was an amazing sky-rocket effect, huge fiery orange comets burning into the sky, with this weird, whistling, sizzling noise. I guess that happened with the first explosion too, but I hadn’t noticed among the spinning and rolling of the truck.
There were still two tankers the flames hadn’t reached. One at each end of the inferno. With a feeling of fierce joy in my heart I put the rifle to my shoulder. I had been burning for revenge for a long time, and now I was going to do some real burning, to get them back for all they’d done to us. It was the most primitive feeling I’ve ever had. It went further back than primitive: it was primeval. I was cave-woman swinging the club around my head and charging at the jackals and hyenas.
It only took two shots. I figured I’d better do it fast, because when the shock wave from the first blast hit us I wouldn’t have a chance to fire the second.
It was unbelievable. When these things blew, they sure blew. With each shot came a huge flash of light, lasting a second or more, then a column of fire that went up a hundred metres, more blazing comets rocketing into the stratosphere, and a fireball that rolled across the ground like a giant blazing tumble-weed. There wasn’t much smoke, but all of it was black. One part of the fireball met the rest of the fire and there was a sort of ‘wump’ as they connected. It started burning even harder and hotter at that point, though a second earlier I would have said it was impossible for this fire to get stronger or hotter.
Then the shock waves hit us again and we rocked backwards and forwards. We were getting used to it, I suppose. I started wondering if I’d get seasick. But it wasn’t too bad this time.
What was bad was the lack of air. It was like I couldn’t get any oxygen into my lungs. The heat was so intense, even at this distance, that I felt I was getting burnt. I glanced at Fi and tried to say, ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’ I couldn’t say the words but she seemed to understand, because she nodded.
Then she did something really heroic. First Homer, now Fi. I’m not kidding, we were in big trouble with air. I think the oxygen must have been sucked into the fire because I honestly felt I might suffocate. Fi looked very red in the face, but she suddenly started to climb through the hatch. I grabbed at her to ask her what she was doing, then I realised. Kevin! God, how could I have forgotten? As she disappeared into the darkness I forced myself up to peer after her. I couldn’t see anything. I hesitated, then decided the smart thing was to leave Fi to fix up Kevin while I tried to get the truck moving. I didn’t have much hope it would start, but I turned the key anyway. It actually whirred, which impressed me, but it didn’t sound like it had a hope in hell of starting. Besides, even if it did, the tyres and suspension were probably wrecked.
I left it and stood back up, turning round to look through the hatch again. I still couldn’t see anything. It was time to abandon ship. I went to open the driver’s side door but the frame must have been buckled, because I couldn’t shift it. So I struggled awkwardly through the window. My lungs felt like they were burning, like I was inhaling fire instead of air. They say smoking’s bad for your health. I should have dropped dead on the spot from lung cancer.
It was such a relief when my feet touched ground. I ran around to the back door. I was sobbing for lack of air but at the same time trying not to sob, because I’d read somewhere that when you panic you use up more oxygen. There wasn’t much of it left. I got to the back of the truck and wrenched at the doors. They wouldn’t open: the truck was so badly buckled and crumpled across the top. I was really sobbing now, thinking I’d never get Fi and Kevin out.
OK, they could still get through the hatch into the cab, but it was dangerously short of oxygen, and dangerously hot up the front. Radiant heat, that’s meant to be the big killer in bushfires. And I didn’t know if Kevin would be that easy to move. If he was still in the middle of his breakdown he mightn’t be too keen to do gymnastics through the little hole.
The roar of the fire sounded like it was right on top of us. Kevin and Fi must have felt they were in a microwave. I broke a few fingernails pulling at the door. The truck shook and shivered as another huge explosion, to my left, rocked the ground. The very air seemed to shiver and shake. There was a shimmer, like you get on a really hot day, when you feel there’s a distorting piece of glass between you and what you’re looking at. There were crashes and thumps all around me. I couldn’t figure out what it was, then I realised: red-hot bits of jagged metal raining out of the sky from the last explosion.
I was trying to think, desperately. ‘What can I do to get this door open?’ I needed a tool, but where could I get that? Then, suddenly, I heard a banging on the inside of the door. Fi or Kevin, or both of them, were hammering, trying to get out. But it sounded like all they had was their fists. It sure didn’t sound like a sledgehammer, which is what they’d need. The sound made me even more desperate. They were going to die in there. They must have a lot less oxygen than me and I didn’t have nearly enough. I flung myself against the door trying to push it back into shape. It didn’t work.
Then I heard a voice. It came from above my head. Honestly, I thought it was the voice of God for a moment. It was actually the voice of Homer. Never do I want him to know I confused him with God. His ego’s big enough already. His voice came from above my head because I was now crouched down, trying to rip the door open from the bottom.
‘Stand back,’ he said. ‘Make way for a man.’
Typical. I did make way though. Not because he’s a man but because he had something I didn’t. A crowbar. It was one of those jemmy-shaped ones, about a metre long, heavy and vicious. And very effective. It took him three quick moves, jamming it into the doorframe at three different points, and wrenching hard towards him with all his strength. With the third wrench the door flew open.
Fi and Kevin stood there. They looked pretty wild and
pretty upset. Kevin shook like an old man trying to walk for the first time in six months. They stumbled out, down the little step, into our arms. But there was no time for charity. Once their feet were firmly on the ground they had to take care of themselves. I grabbed my pack – it was the only one I could see – and spun around. Behind us, its engine still rumbling away, was the boys’ truck. Lee stood between us and the truck, his rifle cradled across his arms. He wasn’t looking at us. He was looking in every direction, his head constantly darting backwards and forwards, waiting for the inevitable counter-attack. One guy with one rifle ready for the swarms of soldiers who would soon be closing in. We ran towards the truck. I looked back once, and saw Kevin moving pretty well. He was actually a few metres ahead of Fi, so whatever nervous breakdown he was going through, it didn’t affect his speed when he wanted to get out of danger.
I got to the cab of the truck. Normally, in situations like this I’d drive. But Homer would be used to this truck by now. Used to the clutch. If I got in and stalled it, we could all die, just because of one stupid mistake.
Behind me Homer called, ‘Have you got your rifle?’
‘No, oh no. We left them in the van.’
I glanced around to look at him. In a way I wished I hadn’t. The view was horrifying. A wall of flame as high as the sky stretched to right and left, as far as I could see. It was all red, a vast flaring curtain. Somewhere there must be a top to it, but from what I could see it went up forever. Planes, tankers, hangars, sheds, barracks, everything must have been part of the blaze, everything in there would be incinerated. The heat was appalling. I felt as dried out as the beef jerky we’d brought from New Zealand for rations. Luckily I had a long-sleeved shirt on. I knew my face was burnt. My lungs felt burnt too, but that might have been the lack of oxygen.
