Desert Strike (Sundown Apocalypse Book 4)

by Leo Nix

  Desert Strike

  Sundown Apocalypse Book 4

  Leo Nix

  Copyright (C) 2017 Leo Nix

  Layout design and Copyright (C) 2018 by Creativia

  Published 2018 by Creativia

  Cover art by Stephen Kingston

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Contact the author, Leo Nix: http://www.leo-nix.com/

  Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/LeoNixSundown/

  Web: http://www.wingtipdesign.com.au/

  A special 'thank you' to Marja and Terrie for your generous support and the difficult task of proof reading; to Peter, for his ongoing technical assistance in all things military. I am especially indebted to Danny for his awesome editing and US military insights without which this book would be far less readable and enjoyable.

  I would like to take this opportunity to acknowledge and show respect, to the first Australians, our land's traditional custodians, the Australian aboriginal people.

  Dedication: To my brothers, James and Mark, who supported my every hair-brained idea.

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  Use anger to throw them into disarray, use humility to make them haughty.

  Tire them by flight, cause division among them.

  Attack when they are unprepared, make your move when they least expect it.

  Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness.

  Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness.

  This way you become the director of your opponent's fate.

  Sun Tzu, The Art of War (circa 5th Century BC)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 - Of Horses, Camels and Donkeys

  Chapter 2 - Post-Apocalypse Newcomer

  Chapter 3 - By Snake Or By Arms

  Chapter 4 - Thunderdome Cup

  Chapter 5 - Diamantina Massacre

  Chapter 6 - Wiram's Worry

  Chapter 7 - The Conundrum

  Chapter 8 - The Saviour

  Chapter 9 - Girls Train to Kill

  Chapter 10 - Secrets of Pine Gap

  Chapter 11 - Special Operatives

  Chapter 12 - Camel Patrol

  Chapter 13 - Camel Camp Fire Show

  Chapter 14 - The Warrior Sisterhood

  Chapter 15 - Sundown's Sacrifice

  Chapter 16 - Desert Strike

  Chapter 17 - Treaty

  Chapter 18 - Snakes, Sand Dunes and Salt Bush

  Chapter 19 - Rescue Patrol

  Chapter 20 - McFly's Initiation

  Chapter 21 - Dreaming

  Chapter 22 - Heroes Return

  Chapter 23 - Negotiations

  Chapter 24 - Whiskey Special Operations Patrol

  Chapter 25 - Whiskey is Go-go

  Chapter 26 - Shamus Day Celebrations

  Chapter 27 - Love Rules

  Epilogue

  Glossary of Australian words

  Characters of Desert Strike

  To His Coy Mistress – Andrew Marvel (1621-1678)

  Chapter 1 - Of Horses, Camels and Donkeys

  “Hey, watch out there!” yelled Nulla instructing the Alice Springs boys working with one of the wild horses. “These brumbies can kick backwards so don't walk around his tail 'til he knows you better.”

  Nulla's leading horse-breaker was Kristofer, he loved horses, always had. In Darwin he would go riding when he was off duty. It was a good opportunity to pick up girls but right now he wasn't so keen on horses or girls. They'd been at it all week and he'd lost count of how many horses and camels they'd rounded up and broken in.

  “Nulla, it's got to be knock-off time, mate. Come on, we're all stuffed,” cried the lean, suntanned horseman coughing up a lungful of dust and sand.

  “Not until we finish this mob. Only three more to go then we'll call it a day,” said Nulla, wiping the sweat from his eyes for the umpteenth time.

  “That should only be an hour or so, beauty.” Kris smiled at Nulla for the first time that day.

  “That's three each, mate,” grinned Nulla back at him, they were all exhausted.

  Sundown made sure Chan was taken off patrol to help. The young ex-Revelationist was doing way too many back-to-back patrols, trying to get payback for losing his best friend, John. It was good to see him laughing as he helped along with the bike patrol boys, and a dozen of the Alice Springs troops experienced in working with horses and camels.

  Some were kangaroo, dingo and pig shooters; some were stockmen and cattlemen from the cattle stations; and some just loved animals. Together they'd broken in over two hundred horses and camels.

  “Nulla, what sort of horses are these anyway?” asked Simon. The dark-haired, lanky teenager, leaned heavily on the stockyard rails. His chest still heaving with the effort of lifting the bar for the wranglers as each horse or camel entered for training.

  “Most of these are Walers. They're what's left over from the Australian Light Horse. They had the last successful cavalry charge in the history of warfare. It was at Beersheba, in the deserts of Palestine during World War One,” Nulla called over his shoulder as he was about to head over to see if Fat Boy had arrived with their lunch. “They bred Walers for the British soldiers of the East Indian Company a few centuries ago. They're tough, courageous and have a gentle nature.” But catching them in the wild and breaking them in was time consuming, and hard work.

  Arthur was seated just above Simon on the timber railings of the yard. His face was covered in fine, red desert dust, and there were rivulets of dirt running from his scalp to his chin. “Hey Nulla, where did camels come from? Are they Australian too?”

  Nulla turned and trotted his horse over to the boys. “Arty, both horses and camels were brought to Australia. Horses with the convicts and the camels later, to carry supplies to the stations and homesteads out in the desert.” Nulla shook his head and wondered what on earth kids learned at school these days. “They carried wool, minerals and farm produce to be sold in the cities. With the arrival of the railways and trucks they were left to run wild.”

  Simon was deep in thought and looked up as Nulla finished explaining. “So, if camels came from England, how come they can live in the hot desert? Shouldn't they die from heatstroke?” he asked.

  Again Nulla shook his head in disbelief. “Camels came from Arabia and the horses came from India,” he paused and thought for a moment, “at least I think so anyway.” He tipped his hat back off his forehead and considered how to extract himself. He'd only had a few years of schooling himself, just enough to read and write. “You'd better ask Heidi or Tricia… or someone who finished school. I'm not really sure where horses or camels come from.”

  Simon winked at Arthur who grinned back. “Does that mean you don't know, boss?” he asked, his mischievous grin caught Nulla's eye and he knew Simon was back to his old tricks.

  “I tell you what, boys. If Luke knows where horses and camels come from, I'll shout you all a beer.” Nulla knew this would shut them up.

  “Boss, what if Luke doesn't know? Do we still get a beer then?” Simon was always willing to push Nulla every chance he got.

  “Well, let me just say, if Luke doesn't know then you all owe me a beer.”

  “Ah boss, we're under age, and you're not allowed to give us alcohol
. So if we win then we still don't win do we?”

  Nulla grinned, his eyes crinkled into slits and he laughed. “I think you grow smarter by the day, Simon. I can't give you alcohol but I can give you a kick up the rear-end if you don't open the gate for Kris here.” Kris waited patiently to enter the training yard with his camel while Simon jumped down off the fence. With the help of his friend, Arty, they lifted the solid timber gate open for what was probably the hundredth time that day.

  “Come on boys, slowly, just let them get use to you. You're their friend, their protector not their dominatrix,” called Kris, teaching the boys how to break in the sensitive camels the 'Nulla way'. “Remember, camels are like horses, they're herd animals, they like company. They form friendships and they like to follow. Herd animals like to belong to a group. We're their herd and you're their leader, so do it gently and calmly.” It became his mantra: 'gentle, calm, slow'.

  “Boys, all my life I've broken horses the old way, but this sure beats a jarred spine and a broken head. Where I came from horse breaking was a trial of manhood. For Nulla it's a game of out-psyching them. I'd rather this way.” Kris eased his muscled, raw-boned frame onto the stock yard railing.

  “Nulla said he learned it from his uncle. They trained horses on the properties they worked together. He said his uncle could talk to horses and they listened,” said Simon as the three heard Fat Boy's raucous call and headed over to his food truck for lunch.

  Sergeant Nulla made sure everyone had a full plate in front of them before he helped himself to Fat Boy's food. When he saw Luke sit down he walked over to join his boys. “Hey Luke, can you tell us where horses and camels come from? Your mates wanted to know and I said if anyone knew, it was you.”

  Luke looked up at him and considered the request. “Well boss, seems to me that camels came here with the Afghans so they must have come from Afghanistan. And horses came with the British back in 1788 with Captain Phillip and the first fleet from England. So, horses came from England and camels from Afghanistan. Did I get it right?”

  Some of the stockmen were listening and gladly pitched in their opinion. “Luke, horses came from England? Nah, mate, they're from Asia. The Mongols introduced them to the rest of the world. Genghis Khan conquered India and Asia and right up into Europe at one time, all on the backs of their horses. Did you know the Mongols had twenty remounts each?” said one beefy cattleman through a mouthful of stew.

  “I read it was from America. They had little horses growing there millions of years ago. They had camels too, I think, before they migrated around the world across that land bridge in the Arctic. Those little camels turned into big camels in Asia and into lamas in South America,” offered another cattleman considered to be a bit of an intellectual.

  “The Spanish brought them to America you dumb-arse, they weren't already there. That Columbian guy, Christopher someone, he invaded America with his horses and killed all the indians with them,” said another who was considered not quite as intellectual but always offered everyone the benefit of his opinion.

  Simon piped up, “Nulla, which is it? You have to choose the answer.”

  Nulla held up his hand, he knew he was screwed no matter which opinion he chose. “Well boys,” Nulla pulled his hat off and scratched his head in exasperation, “I have no bloody idea which is the right answer. I'm going to ask Tricia and Andy tonight, I reckon they can decide. For someone who never finished high school, let alone primary school, I haven't got a damn clue.”

  “Does that mean we win?” Arty had taken to speaking freely with Nulla, since their time on the Arkaroola wilderness to Birdsville trip. After Luke told everyone how Arty had been blown up and shot twice he'd become a bit of a legend in the commando.

  For once Nulla didn't have an answer. “Well, Arty…” he paused, thinking, he knew he was cornered but he wasn't in the habit of backing down or giving up either. “I tell you what, let's raise the stakes. If Andy or Tricia don't know I'll make you boys a special drink of herbs and spices. How's that?”

  The three teenagers looked at each other suspiciously. “Herbs and spices? Nulla, if it's curry powdered then the answer is, yes!” said Simon but now his mates, not as keen on curry as Simon, decided to take the initiative.

  “Nulla, Arty and I'll settle on a glass of Andy's home brew, cut in half and you can add the other half from Fatima and Mel's lemonade – a shandy.” Luke smiled up at his friends who nodded excitedly.

  The men around the camp fire were finishing up their meal and listening intently to the conversation. They were interested now they knew the boys were in a competition with their sergeant.

  “So this is a competition is it?” The boys nodded. “Well in that case we need to discuss it as unionists and decide on the proper rules for a competition.” The others sitting around the camp fire called out in agreement.

  “I propose that if Andy and Tricia come up with the same answer, an agreement that is, then let that be the official answer,” proposed the cattleman who said horses came from Asia. The men replied, “hear hear”.

  The bloke who said the Columbian named Christopher defeated the indians with horses then said, “and let the reward be a shandy, one glass of Andy's brew mixed fifty fifty with lemonade for the boys to share. And Simon can get a curry drink if he wants,” he added to more “hear hears”.

  Nulla was a union man from way-back as well and joined in. “Yep, that's fair, I'll agree to that. Now what's my reward if Andy and Tricia don't agree where horses and camels come from?”

  The horsemen started to argue over Nulla's reward. “But why should Nulla get a reward in the first place?” called a red haired giant finishing his second helping. “Why don't we all get a reward then if that's the case?”

  “That's right,” came the union view. The intellectual said, “If Tricia and Andy can't agree, and if the boys got it wrong, I propose Nulla gets a day off nagging everyone.”

  To that everyone roared with laughter and Nulla was forced to accept a surrender. “Righto fella's, I give in. History was never my best subject anyway. In fact none of them were.” He joined in the genial laughter. It was a perfect ending to another day in the bush where they could all enjoy just being alive and free.

  “Hey, Fat Boy!” called one of the sunburned stockmen as he finished his meal. “Has Andrew finished brewing that beer he promised us thirsty horsemen? We haven't had a beer in two weeks and I'm about jack of it.” He looked around at the nodding heads.

  “We've run out,” replied Fat Boy. “Andy said it's gonna take a few more weeks for the current brew to mature ready to drink.” Fat Boy had lost weight but not an ounce of muscle. He was still the biggest bloke in the commando. “Come on, fella's, even Halo wouldn't drink it.” He laughed and his roar echoed through the dust-flecked shafts of the setting sun.

  Halo called out from somewhere among the cattlemen, “I heard that, Fat Boy!”

  “Andy said,” he paused for emphasis, “we have to preserve the wine and spirits at the palace because we're running out of that too.”

  “That's just bullshit, Fat Boy,” called another one of the men. “I think it's time some of us brewers made our own and challenged you and Andy's monopoly. I reckon we could out-brew you pair hand's down,” he added, “and I reckon we can make better whiskey too.”

  The boys had scoured the countryside for miles to bring in saddles, bridles and all kinds of horse and camel gear. They found some food and other goodies like four wheel drives, trucks and trail bikes but sadly, what beer they did find went in the first week. Sometimes it was 'finders-keepers' and many didn't return until their hangovers had cleared. Although this did happen, most of the commando shared what they found, but it wasn't enough to go around.

  Since the apocalypse, alcohol had become an important defense mechanism for everybody in the commando - perhaps for everybody in the world.

  “Tomorrow we start bringing the camels and horses in to the house paddocks and start training them to handle people, r
ifle fire and then patrolling as a group. We all need to learn how to handle them. We'll each need a dozen remounts so that means you'll work with your own mounts, horses and camels, every day. They're your mounts and if you treat them properly, they'll stand by you through thick and thin.” Nulla gazed into the red sky of the afternoon sun remembering.

  “My uncle knew some of the Light Horse fellas who were at the Beersheba cavalry charge in 1917. I told you that already, but you know what?” The broad shouldered aboriginal looked at his attentive troops. “He said that when they came home many of them went straight out to the bush to find a replacement for their neddys. Sadly some blokes never recovered after they found out their horse was shot and sold for meat at the end of the war.”

  Simon tipped some of Fatima's precious, home-made curry powder, onto the remains of his beef stew. As insensitive as ever to the sentiment of the conversation he said, “Hey boss, I'd rather ride my bike.”

  Nulla turned to look at Simon and screwed up his face, he was always amazed by his teenage protégé's comments. He watched Simon massacre his food with his never-ending supply of curry. “When your bike runs out of fuel, then what?”

  “Get some more. We've got trucks and fuel drums,” replied Simon speaking through a mouthful of food.

  “Arty, would you please tell Simon what's wrong with that?” said Nulla now sitting with his own plate of Fat Boy's delicious stew and Mel's fresh baked 'desert bread'.

  Arty spoke up clearly, he did that more often these days. It seemed the more time he spent with the men of the commando, the more his confidence grew.

  “Well, Simon, Nulla is saying that horses and camels can eat the grass and stuff in the bush but bikes need caches of fuel everywhere. They use the same fuel as cars and four wheel drives. Don't forget, the Bushmasters and ASLAV's burn diesel, so to save on diesel, any cars and trucks that use it have been grounded, except for emergency use. We need to conserve what we have and not waste it. Horses and camels can help us do that.” Arty smiled and looked around at the nodding heads as the men grabbed their cups of black tea and sat back to enjoy the boy's banter.