Burning for Revenge (14 page)

Lee was looking grim as death. We'd had so many smashes already, so many near-misses, come close so many times. I didn't know how much more we could cope with, how much luck we had left. The pings started again, and what's worse, they were getting louder. Maybe they sounded louder because I was crouching down, but maybe it was because the range was shortening. Even though Homer had his foot to the floor I knew the jeeps must be gaining. I realised there were actually holes starting to appear in the back panel of steel. First there were dents, then some of them became holes. The metal was being forced open like flowers budding. One hole opened as I watched. Obviously it was time to stop watching. I gripped my rifle and stood, nervously, hunching up and peering over the tailgate of the truck.

The middle jeep was forty or fifty metres behind. The other two, to the right and left of'it, were a bit further back. They were starting to converge though. I tried to think of a way to do them some damage without wasting too much ammunition. The answer, I realised straight away, was rolling at our feet. The fuel drums! We could miniaturise what we'd just done on such a big scale.

The nearest drum was a jerry can, flat on its side and, because of its shape, not rolling. I shoved my rifle at Lee, without even looking at him. Then I lifted the jerry can, which felt maybe half full, heaved it over the tailgate, and grabbed my rifle back.

Failure. The jerry can split the moment it hit the ground and its contents flew everywhere. Amazingly, it didn't ignite. Maybe it held water, not petrol. But I didn't stand there thinking about it. I gave Lee my rifle again and grabbed one of the round drums as it rolled towards me, hoicking it over in the same movement.

The jerry can had achieved one thing at least. The driver of the middle jeep must have got a shock when he saw it fly off the back of the truck. Maybe he guessed what I was trying to do. Wouldn't surprise me. So he slammed on the brakes for a second, which dropped him back quite a way and gave us a little more room.

The next can didn't burst. It bounced surprisingly high, then bounced a few more times. By then Lee had already fired twice at it, and missed. I fired once and hit it, when it was just ten metres from the jeep.

It gives me a lot of satisfaction to say that. I'm not the world's best markswoman, not by a long way. But this was a pretty fair shot. And the timing was perfect. The jeep driver must have gotten his confidence back, because he was coming on at full speed. The drum went up like a bomb: blazing fuel and bits of metal flew everywhere. There was no way he could miss it. He tried, of course. Who wouldn't? He swerved radically, spinning his steering wheel to the right, as hard as he could. Coward, I thought, conveniently forgetting the odd moment of cowardice of my own. Because this guy, by spinning the wheel to the right was getting himself as far away from the explosion as possible, but putting the man in the passenger seat in maximum danger. I'd put people in big danger once when I lost my nerve, but not deliberately like this.

Anyway, what he did was to roll the jeep. And it sure did roll. It went side over side—about three times, I think—and ended up on its roof, facing away from us, wheels spinning wildly.

There was no time to look any more. Lee suddenly yelled "Duck!" and I realised we were about to hit the fence.

He and I went down together. There was a thump, a cracking noise, and a series of wild twanging sounds, each one sounding like a gunshot, but actually high-pressure wires snapping. Horrible screeching metal noises. A wire whipped across our heads. If I'd been standing I would have been decapitated. I'm not kidding. But although I didn't dare stand up I knew that we had made it through the fence.

It was impossible, but we'd actually got out of the airfield. And as far as I could tell every one of us was alive. It didn't mean the terror of death had disappeared, because death was still very likely at any moment: much more likely than not. It was remarkable though that we had done such enormous damage, damage almost beyond my understanding, and despite it all we had actually managed to get out of the place.

I suppose the big difference now was that I let myself consider for a moment that we might survive. It seemed a dangerous thought, more likely to do harm than good, but it snuck into my head, and sat there like a little flower in a bitumen playground.

When the snapping, whining, singing sound of the broken wires was gone I slid down to the end of the truck and got up to have a look. It was difficult, because Homer still had us moving at full speed. Now things were different though, because we were racing along the road beside the airfield and already it was starting to climb and twist. Soon it would climb and twist more, as it ran up into the hills to the north of Wirrawee.

I was bruised and battered from being knocked around so much, but I had to ignore that and concentrate. It was desperately important to find out what was behind us.

The other two jeeps were right on our tail. I don't think they'd fired at us again since leaving the airfield, but they were right on our hammer. If they weren't angry before they would be now. Angry, and probably scared too. That didn't make them any less dangerous. Someone who's scared can be really savage.

I raised my rifle and started shuffling my feet, getting my legs wider apart so I'd be in a good stance to fire. As soon as I did, the soldiers in the back seat of the first jeep popped up and raised their rifles, aiming for me. I wondered why they hadn't been firing at us all the time. Maybe they were low on ammunition. They wouldn't have had much time to collect stuff. We hadn't given them much time to react. Maybe they were just trying to get their balance after the sharp turn onto the road. Or maybe they thought the bullets weren't penetrating the dumpster.

Whatever, they were evidently going to make up for it now. I ducked into cover as a volley of shots rained against the back of the truck. A dozen flowers blossomed in the steel tailgate. It was incredibly dangerous out there. Yet we had to do something.

I popped up, fired off two quick shots at their windscreen, and dived down, listening for the crash I hoped would follow.

Nothing. Just the roar of our engine, the thundering sound of every single part, from piston to fanbelt, working like never before. If I'd hit anything it hadn't made much difference.

Lee peeped over the top. We were into another series of curves, and the shooting seemed to have stopped again. One of the fuel drums rolled past me and I wondered if I should keep throwing them over. There wouldn't be time to take a shot at it but maybe it would burst and explode. Even though the other two hadn't.

Then Lee yelled something and beckoned me towards him. I scurried over. He pointed to the pin at the top of the back panel. Instantly I realised what he had in mind.
"We won't have much cover" I yelled, but he shrugged, without saying anything. I think he was saying: "Worry about that when it happens."

I shrugged too and got myself to the other side. I began to work at the pin. If they saw my hand on the top of the panel they might guess what we were doing, but they'd have no hope of shooting my hand. They probably wouldn't see it anyway.

Lee already had his pin out. That increased the pressure on mine, and made it harder to work it up from the socket. The panel was in two halves, and we were working on the top half. There was nothing else holding it to the truck but my pin, and a bolt in the middle that secured it to the bottom half. My fingers shivered as I realised how close we were already to the moment when the heavy slab of steel would be free to fly wherever it wanted.

Well, that wasn't quite true. It would fly where the wind and the velocity of our truck took it. And that would be straight backwards.

Lee pulled the bolt free. But the pin was stiff and resistant. I tried to be patient. I wrestled and tugged at it. It didn't want to come at all. Maybe the panel knew what would happen to it. It seemed to have jammed completely. I fought desperately. I only needed it to come an extra three centimetres and I'd have it. But the bottom part of the pin felt swollen, like it was too big to squeeze out. My fingers were getting red and raw and sore.

Then, with a rush and a little grinding sensation, the pin came.

I stayed kneeling, feeling a bit silly, holding it in my hands. The panel hung as though suspended for a moment. Then suddenly it was gone. It blew out like a piece of paper. Lee and I were quite exposed now, watching with a kind of horrified fascination to see what would happen.

It was terrible to see what did happen. Obviously no one in the jeep had noticed our little fingers working at the top of the pins. Or they hadn't worried about it.

When they saw it coming at them they started to brake, but it didn't make much difference. The truck was going at over a hundred k's I'd say, and so were they. The steel panel flew into them at that speed. It was like the upper halves of the guys in the front seat just disintegrated. You'd have needed half a dozen plastic bags to pick up the bits. The guys in the back wouldn't have fared any better. I had a glimpse of the bottom halves of two bodies still sitting in the front seat as the jeep ran off the road straight into a tree and exploded.

You see some awful things in this war. Lee and I just looked at each other. If I was as pale and shocked as him I must have looked pretty pale. Probably even paler, given my Anglo skin. I think we were both stunned by how sudden and powerful and total the whole thing had been. It was one of the most dramatic and frightening things I'd seen. I don't know why it was so much more powerful than the fuel drum exploding in front of the first jeep, but it was. Maybe we'd seen so many explosions now and by comparison, this piece of steel flying into the car was such a cold and violent death. Death by explosion was hot and powerful.

The other jeep was still in sight. They began firing at us. Lee and I ducked behind the bottom panel and crouched there for a moment. Then I had another peep. Was it my imagination or were they hanging back a little? I wouldn't blame them.

When we went round a couple of tight corners we lost sight of them completely for a few seconds.

We were climbing steadily now and the truck was slowing. For these guys to keep back they'd have to use the brakes a bit, and I think that's exactly what they were doing.

I couldn't speak for Lee, but I knew I didn't have any cute tricks left. The road was still winding too much for us to use the fuel drums again. I got my rifle and lay down behind the remaining panel. After a moment Lee did the same. I figured we were in for a shoot-out, and we had to win. The sooner we got on with it the better.

When the jeep reappeared I fired off three shots. I heard Lee's rifle too: twice I think. I aimed at the windscreen again—because that was the biggest and best target—and I saw it shatter, but I don't know if that was Lee's shooting or mine. Losing the windscreen didn't seem to make much difference—the driver was obviously alive and well and the jeep kept coming. But it did fall even further behind. I began to worry about that. If it dropped right back and followed at a safe distance it would cause us enormous problems. Wherever we went, whatever we did, it would follow. When we did stop or try to hide, or even when we ran out of petrol, they'd be there. We simply had to shoot them out of the way.

I checked my magazine again. I had four bullets left. I raised my eyebrows at Lee, asking him how many he had. He held up one finger. I grimaced. This was desperate. I raised the rifle again, shuffled my body a bit to get the most comfortable position, and squinted through the sights.

This time I waited until we were on a straight stretch. When they came into view I had a good line on them even though they were quite a way back. Not till the blurred face of the driver was in my sights did I squeeze off a round. But as I did I heard Lee swear. Lowering the rifle I could see why. They'd started zig-zagging, just like Homer had at the airfield. My shot probably missed by metres.

In the next two minutes I tried twice more. I'm not sure what damage I did, but I saw something fly off the roof from one bullet and I thought I might have hit a guy in the back seat with the other When we did finally stop them it was almost an anticlimax. Lee and I were both waiting, with our rifles to our cheeks, and when the jeep straightened up for a brief second we both fired, almost simultaneously. We'd agreed we'd aim for the engine, as that seemed our best chance now, at such a long range. The moment we fired, a cloud of white smoke, and then flame, erupted from it. The jeep stopped fast, like it had hit a wall, and I saw two soldiers jumping out. I didn't watch any more.

I lowered my rifle and looked across at Lee. Still alive! It seemed impossible. Down to our last rounds, and still alive.

I wanted to relax. No, I wanted to let go completely and collapse in a corner and cry and talk and sleep and go hysterical—any or all of those. But I knew we were still in the most critically dangerous situation. Their radios and phones would be working flat out, going crazy, as they called up every man, woman and child they could find. All with one aim in mind. To kill us.

So there was no rest, no chance to draw breath. I went up the front to see how they were going in the cab. From the little I could see they looked OK. Then Fi turned, peering through the back window, and saw me. She put her hands together half-a-dozen times, clapping. I felt pleased about that, and I realised they knew we'd got rid of the hunters, for the time being anyway.

Homer drove on for another three minutes. It was pretty obvious what he was thinking: we had to get a safe distance away from the last jeep. But we couldn't go too far either, as enemy soldiers might be coming from the other direction. We'd be totally stuffed if they arrived. We'd been lucky so far. Maybe it wasn't entirely luck though. Desperation can take you a long way.

We gathered on the thin ragged grass line at the edge of the road. Even Kevin got out of the truck. Sure he was an emotional mess, but he was smart enough to realise there was no future for anyone in there. The truck had served us well, and maybe after the war I'd come back and find it and put it in a nice garage where it could live in comfort for the rest of its days. I'd feed it premium unleaded petrol, beautiful thick black oil, mineral water for the radiator, whatever it wanted. But for now we had to say goodbye. Homer had run it into some weedy-looking scrub, with trees about five metres high. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.