The Dead of Night (26 page)

"So, what are you prepared to do?" Homer asked.

"I can't answer that in advance. Let's work out a plan and then I'll do all I can to make it work. For the time being, you'll have to be satisfied with that."

"What about you, Homer?" I asked.

His voice was as steady as his gaze, and he answered: "I'll fight. I won't back off from anything. Killing women soldiers, well, that'd be hard for me to do in cold blood, that'd be the hardest thing for me. It's not very logical but that's the way it is. But I think I could do it if the need was there."

We'd each made our statement. We knew now, roughly, where each of us stood. The next stage was to make some plans. We talked and talked. Fi hadn't done the maps she was meant to have, so instead we asked her a thousand questions. Where are the back doors in these houses? Where are the staircases? Do they have verandahs at the back? How many bedrooms are there? Where are the fuse-boxes? What kind of heating do they have? Fi answered all the questions she could but after a while she got muddled and couldn't remember which house had a wine cellar and which had a coolroom.

By then it was time for the next pair to go to the church, to do a day's watching. We agreed that we had to keep up our surveillance, that we needed more information, as much as we could get.

We maintained the same routine for another three long days, and in the end luck, rather than some grand
plan we'd spent the time carefully putting together, seemed to give us the break we wanted. One morning Lee and I sat and watched as a furniture van pulled up in Turner Street. It came from Stratton Removals—Wirrawee was too small to have its own removal business. It drove up the hill and turned around, and parked outside the house at the top end of the street. The soldier-driver left it and wandered off to another house. The truck sat there for a few hours without anything happening. But towards lunchtime an officer came out of the house that we now called the headquarters, and ordered the sentries to him. They obeyed, but they didn't look too excited. He gave them a little talk, then marched them into the end house. Within a few minutes I realised that some serious looting was going on. They started by carrying out a beautiful old dark dining table, that shone in the lukewarm autumn sunlight. Next came six chairs of the same dark timber, with burgundy coloured cushions. After that was a series of paintings in big heavy golden frames, each needing two people to Carry it. The officer fussed around, supervising but never doing actual work. It took a long time, because he was anxious for everything to be handled with the greatest care, but when they'd loaded the paintings he let them go to lunch. No one touched the truck for the rest of the day.

When Lee and I took ourselves off duty and trudged wearily back to our house, I put a plan to the other four. Sitting there all day watching that truck perched at the top of the hill had given me the idea.

"Listen," I said, "suppose one of us gets in the truck,
lets the brake off, puts it in neutral and jumps out again. The truck's pointing down the hill. It should roll straight down Turner Street and hit that house at the end. Now at that point every man and his dog, and every woman too, comes running. We take advantage of the distraction to sneak into the houses and start our fires. We can take one house each. We should be able to do a bit of damage. And when the fires start, that's another distraction, and we get away in the confusion."

It was a high-risk approach, but we'd all reached a state of such boredom and frustration that we decided to try it. The biggest advantage was that if it seemed too dangerous in the early stages we could sneak away into the darkness with no harm done. Once the houses started burning it wouldn't be so easy.

We set to work. We grabbed all the inflammables that we could find that would fit into our pockets. Turps, kero, metho and firelighters, and of course matches. We packed all our possessions and hid them in the garden where we could pick them up easily. Our getaway plan was to head right across town and meet in Mrs Alexander's, near the Showground. Last time we'd been there I'd seen two cars in her garage, both with keys in the ignition. I assumed they'd still be there, which would be useful if we decided that a car was our best means of escape.

We synchronised watches. Fi had the job of unleashing the removal truck. The rest of us took one house each, and worked out different routes to get into the back gardens. I chose Fi's neighbours'—the house where Major Harvey seemed to live. Fi's place was spared, only because it wasn't one of the four busiest
houses, and we only had four people for the attacks. We left ourselves plenty of time so we wouldn't be under too much pressure: almost an hour and a half for a 3 am attack. Then, with a quick exchange of hugs, we left.

It wasn't until I was getting over the back fence of Fi's neighbours that I really felt fear. Before that, everything had been chaotic, disorganised. But out here, in the cold darkness, knowing that a soldier with a gun was standing somewhere between me and the building, the chill that I felt in the ground seemed to run up my legs and through my body. I got the shivers or the shakes, I'm not sure which, and spent a few minutes trying to will them out of my system. When that didn't work I knew that I'd just have to go ahead anyway. I got over the fence easily enough—it was an old brick wall about a metre and a half tall—and found myself on a mound of compost in a pit in the rear corner of the block. The owner was a very efficient gardener—there was a row of pits, each containing different soils and compost. I'd sunk up to my knees in my pile, so I pulled myself out, shook the stuff off my legs, and started moving cautiously towards the house. There was a dim light inside somewhere; just a night light, I thought. I had about an hour to make a journey of forty metres and that suited me fine. I trained myself to take one step every few minutes and then wait. It was incredibly difficult even with the fear of a bullet ripping through me. The temptation was to say "what the hell," and take half a dozen quick steps. But I kept a tight control on myself, and continued to inch along. It was scary, but it was also very boring.

I finished up outside a room that had a laundry look
about it. I don't know why laundries always say laundry, but they do. Maybe it's a smell that you notice unconsciously. I huddled there, trying to read my watch face in the darkness. It took ages to work it out,'but eventually I was satisfied that it said 2.45. Once I was sure of the time, I spent five more minutes studying the object beside my left shin. It was, I decided, a gas meter and gas tap. Ten minutes to go. I checked out the vegetation beside my right foot. Forget-me-nots. Not very interesting.

I was shivering badly by three o'clock. But this time it was definitely from cold more than anything else. I was genuinely keen for Fi to get the truck rolling; unusual for me. I normally was in no hurry to risk my life.

Three o'clock ticked slowly past. "Hurry up Fi," I cursed. I was afraid I was going to start getting cramps. Five past three and the road was as quiet as a hayshed. Ten past three, and nothing. I couldn't believe it. I wondered how long I should wait before giving up. We hadn't worked that out. New sentries, fresh, wide-awake sentries, came on at four o'clock, and I wanted to be well gone by then. At 3.15 I stood slowly, hearing the little clicks in my knees, feeling the strain in my hammies. I'd decided 3.20 would be my deadline and at 3.24 I acted on that, beginning a retreat that was almost as slow as my arrival. By the time I got to the back wall it was 3.40. I paused in the compost pit for a few seconds, wondering if I was doing the right thing, then scrambled over the wall and set off at a jog for the music teacher's house.

Homer was already there, in a frenzy of worry. "What
the hell do you think's happened?" he kept asking. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," I kept answering, very helpfully.

"Do you think anyone would go straight to Mrs Alexander's?"

"Not without their swags."

Just after four Robyn arrived. "Nothing, no sign of anyone," she reported.

At 4.30 came Lee, and at last, at 4.45, came Fi. She was distraught. "The truck was locked!" she blurted out as soon as she saw us. "It was locked!"

I laughed. There was nothing else to do. Such a simple thing, and we'd never thought of it. I hadn't seen anyone lock it during the day, but I hadn't been watching especially.

"I couldn't think!" Fi sobbed. "I couldn't smash the window because of the noise. I kept waiting for one of you to come, but nobody did."

We were all exhausted, probably emotionally as well as physically. When I said we had to keep watch from the church for another day I got no support at all.

"Oh no," Fi groaned. "It's too much."

"We've done enough for one night," Robyn agreed.

"Do it yourself," Lee snapped. "I'm going to bed."

"All right, I will."

I was sure it was important. They watched sullenly as I got my gear together. No one said a word as I left the house. But I could hear them through the window, starting to argue about who'd do the first sentry duty. I pushed the window up and put my head in, to get the last word.

"Keep it to a whisper, guys. Sound travels a long way at night."

I knew it'd be a lonely day in the tower of St John's, but I didn't mind. I had a sleep for an hour or so when I got there, which left me feeling stiff and sore, but when I'd recovered I spent the day just watching and thinking. Not a lot happened in the street. The truck was moved down to the next house and had a baby grand piano loaded on it, and then to the next, where it collected a couple of rugs and a dresser. By then it was too far down the hill to give us any hope of trying to stampede it again. We had to come up with a better idea.

I saw Major Harvey emerge from his house at 9.30. The Range Rover had arrived and was waiting for him. He got in the back of the car, on his own except for the driver, and the Range Rover U-turned again and drove away. I wondered if he was going to the Showground. Maybe it was my parents he'd be interrogating today.

When he returned, just after four, he got out of the car and went into the house, but this time the driver got out too, and went to another house, leaving the Range Rover parked in the street. It was still there when I gave up and stole back through the darkness alone, at about ten o'clock. But by then my knowledge of the sentries' habits, and the smell of cooking food which had been making me drool all evening, had given me an idea. That time spent crouched behind the house in the cold early morning hadn't been wasted.

The others fussed over me when I got back. I think they were feeling guilty. I was so tired that I accepted it without protest. And when I told them my idea they
accepted it, almost straightaway. It was like the previous night: we were desperate for something that would work and so were clutching at any old straw.

What I wanted was to cause an explosion that would rattle windows in Los Angeles, that would make the San Andreas Fault seem like a minor mistake. My idea was based on the memory of our gas heater in the TV room at home. There was one thing I'd learnt in infancy about that heater — if you turned the gas on and it didn't ignite straightaway, you had to get it off again fast. If you waited a few seconds, then lit another match, you'd nearly lose your face. It was amazing how fast the gas poured out.

If that could happen so fast, what would be the effect of leaving on three or four heaters, full bore, for thirty minutes? And then striking a match? A huge, huge bang, that's what.

So that was the main part of the plan. But Homer and I made them go through everything carefully and closely. One thing had made me nervous during our failed raid and that was the feeling that we hadn't spent the time planning that we normally did. We'd left too much to chance.

So this time we worked out careful timetables, based on our succeeding or our failing. And we decided to collect five bikes and take them with us, so we could get to Mrs Alexander's garage faster if necessary. That left us with just one problem to solve. I'd known all along it would be our biggest one. The problem was the fuse. I'd suggested laying a trail of inflammable liquid, like we'd done when we'd destroyed the bridge with the petrol tanker, but I'd always known that was the weakest part
of the plan. And sure enough, the others ruled it out straightaway.

"The sentries'd smell it," Homer said. "We've already got one risk with smell, although they should have their windows shut on these cold nights. But we don't need another risk."

Lee solved the problem. He'd been sitting in silence for half an hour but he suddenly leapt to his feet, giving me a shock. He didn't actually yell "Eureka," but we got the general idea. "Go into any houses you can find open," he commanded, "and bring back toasters. And electric timers. Don't come back till you've got one each. And don't ask questions. There isn't time. We can still do this tonight if we hurry."

"And while we're at it, get the bikes too," Homer said, as we stirred our tired bodies into life. I'd lost track of the last time I'd had a proper sleep but I was operating on autopilot now.

I went with Fi. We were moving a little more confidently around the town. There were two other areas, apart from Snob Hill and the shopping centre in Barker Street, that were lit each night. We assumed people were living there and we kept away from them. But the rest of the town, the dark streets and silent houses, seemed to be left alone these days. We never saw patrols in them. It seemed like the soldiers were confident that they had Wirrawee under control. They'd probably caught everyone except us.

"Well," I thought grimly, "if we do what we want to do tonight, we won't be safe in Wirrawee for a long time."

Fi and I got into four houses, getting four toasters easily enough, but having trouble with the timers. But in the last house we struck a jackpot. There were timers in almost every room, each controlling a radiator. Seemed like a very organised person lived there.

By two o'clock we were back at the house, each with our little collections and each wheeling a bicycle. Robyn had a pump, which we all needed, as most of the tyres were quite flat. Lee hadn't been able to find a timer, so Fi and I solved that problem for him. But Lee did have a pair of pliers, and with those he gave a demonstration of what he wanted us to do. It was very simple and very clever and had a very good chance of success.