Uncommon Enemy (24 page)

“Stop!” Stuart ordered.

“But---.” began Brendan.

“Now!” shouted Stuart.

With a jerk the Morris came to an abrupt halt alongside the German vehicle. Resting his arm on the car window sill Stuart fired at the front tyre. With a faint hiss the vehicle sunk slightly to its right.

“OK. Go!”

As the car lurched away Stuart noticed that the people across the road had disappeared.

“What sort of night did he have?”

“Not very good, I’m afraid. He started sweating badly about 3 o’clock this morning. I bathed his head with cold flannels and, after tossing and turning for a couple more hours he went back to sleep.”

“Good. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on him. You’d better go now and have some breakfast. They’ll need you at the de-brief. They’ll want to hear what you have to say.”

Susan paused in the doorway of the little cubicle looking down at her sleeping uncle. She gave a long sigh and turning away she walked towards the ladder that led up to the woolshed. It had been an anxious night but Lisa’s competency as a nurse reassured her that he was receiving the best of care, under the circumstances. Several times Brendan had come into the tiny room where she was maintaining her vigil and had been very considerate and reassuring. His role in the rescue of her uncle had given her a new respect for him and she was now sure that she was genuinely in love with him and not just seeking some comfort in a difficult situation.

“Aufwachen. Wir mussen aufstehen.”

The sounds from the adjoining cubicle reminded her that they now had another two guests, the White Rose women. In the car on the way back to Albany it had been decided that it would be foolhardy for them to try to return to their medical unit. Consequently they’d accompanied Brendan and her uncle to the farm where they’d been given a cautious welcome and allocated a shared cubicle.

Slowly Susan climbed up the ladder into the woolshed. She still felt tired and heavy after the tensions of the previous day and the night’s vigil. Her relief and pleasure at the success of the rescue attempt had been dampened a little by the group’s considerable interest in the arrival of the two German women. However the prompt assistance that her uncle received had mollified her. She shrugged. Clearly in this situation nothing was predictable.

Earlier in the day there had been an increased wariness around the farm due to the German women’s arrival and the story of the professor’s rescue. The tranquil morning had done little to change the heightened caution of all members of the group whose eyes kept constantly scanning the surrounding countryside and listening for any change in the familiar daily sounds.

After the morning tasks that included the milking of the six house cows had been completed the meeting had been convened in the woolshed. As well as the usual precaution of leaving two people in the house, four others, using the pretext of making running repairs to the holding pens around the woolshed, had been posted to keep watch outside.

Dan cleared his throat and called for silence. “First of all, let me congratulate Stuart and Brendan on the success of their mission. Well done, both of you.”

The genuineness of the applause showed that the success of the audacious rescue of the professor from under the noses of the occupation forces had considerably buoyed everyone’s spirits.

“We’d also like to welcome our two German guests, Sophie and Gretchen.” He smiled. “I never imagined that I’d be offering refuge to a couple of Germans but their presence here this morning reminds us that we live in volatile times.”

Brendan, who was sitting on a wool bale between Susan and Gretchen leaned over and translated for the German girl who nodded and smiled warmly at him.

“Although they could probably have been of more use to us working undercover with the German forces, their knowledge of the system will still be an asset.”

“Sure, Dan,” called out Tony, “but can they shear a sheep?”

The laughter was abruptly interrupted by the sudden opening of the door at the end of the shed. John, one of the men who’d been assigned to guarding the farmhouse came bursting in.

“Sorry to interrupt the merriment, Dan,” he began.

“What is it, John?”

“A new radio bulletin. We’ve just heard that the authorities have sent a company of troops into the Albany village. They have arrested ten local men and crammed them into the small Albany War Memorial Library. They have announced that the people of Albany have been providing aid and comfort to the terrorists. Therefore if the terrorist pair of Stuart Johnson and Carol Peterson do not surrender or are not handed over, five of the men will be shot by firing squad in the main street tomorrow morning, and, if there is still no surrender, five more the following morning.”

All eyes turned to Stuart and Carol. Carol’s voice was barely audible. “We’ll have to surrender. We can’t let ten innocent men die.”

“We can’t let those bastards get away with this, you mean! If we do they’ll use this same tactic every time, all over the country.” Brendan had immediately stood up and, having spoken, his eyes circled the walls as if seeking a dissenter.

Dan’s response was measured. “We could always consider a raid on the place,” he said. “We’ve been doing the training and they’re probably not expecting any sort of structured military response. A couple of us could take the truck into town, recee the place and report back.”

“Or we could do absolutely nothing,” said John quietly.

“Nothing?” came from several voices.

“Yeah, nothing,” said John. “You’ll probably think I’m a cold blooded bastard but look at it this way. Up until now the Krauts and their Kiwi cronies have done a pretty good job of convincing the general population that life under the New Order’s not too bad and is going to get better. After all the hillside’s not exactly crawling with dissident partisan bands.”

“Your point?” asked Tony. John was known for his acid tongue and his penchant for frequently challenging ideas that were put forward by other members of the group.

John’s reply was slow and deliberate. “My point is this. If we do nothing and the bastards carry out their threat and shoot these men
in cold blood in broad daylight what effect will that have on the population? It will destroy most of the goodwill that the New Order has worked hard to develop over the past months. The result? Groups like us will have far greater support from all sectors of the civilian population.”

“But what about the men they’re going to shoot?” asked Susan.

“Yes,” echoed Stuart. “Men who are sons, brothers, fathers and husbands.”

“Look, all of you,” snapped John glaring round the group. “This is not Robin bloody Hood fighting the Sheriff of Nottingham’s buffoons. We’re up against one of the most efficient fighting forces ever assembled. We will never beat them on the field of battle.” Although his voice began to rise, he picked his words deliberately. “The only way we can win is by discrediting the Krauts among all sections of the population - showing them up for what they are, gathering people to our cause and harassing the enemy in any way we can. Eventually the New Order will become more and more desperate, carry out more and more reprisals, and alienate more and more of the common people. The result? More and more people will flock to our banner.”

“And do we have to needlessly sacrifice innocent people on the way?” A rumble of support accompanied Tony’s question.

“‘Innocent’?” John spread his arms wide. “From what Stuart and Carol have told us, only a few weeks ago innocent university students were shot down in cold blood. And, how many of you can be sure that Peter Fraser our Prime Minister hasn’t been killed by these bastards.” A few heads nodded. “Exactly, my friends. We’re not the grammar school military cadets enjoying a break from bloody Maths and English. This is war, and, surprise, surprise, in war sacrifices have to be made and innocent people sometimes get maimed and killed!”

With a final long hard look at the group John sat down with his back to a wool bale and taking out a tin of tobacco, began to roll a smoke.

After a long silence Tony stood up. “John’s right in many ways. This is war, and we need to be reminded that the stakes and the risks are high. Furthermore, like any wartime situation, as familiar patterns break down we could find ourselves facing all sorts of unpleasant choices that will test our loyalties and cause dissension within our ranks.”

His pause was greeted by silence and he continued.

“John’s probably right when he says that the more people the authorities shoot the greater will be the resistance. He paused briefly again. “However, I’m not prepared to stand idly by and let innocent men die.” He pointed to Stuart and Carol. “And I’m also not prepared to let these two give themselves up to the Blitzkrieg Boys.” He smiled grimly. “It will only encourage them.”

The debate continued for a further hour until it was agreed that, unless they had further information on the situation in Albany village, any plan of action they might decide on ran a considerable danger of failure.

On the basis that Tom and Jason were already known to the authorities as local farmers it was decided that they would immediately take the truck into the village on the pretext of buying groceries from the local store. In the meantime, those who had legitimate work to do around the farm would continue as normally as possible. All the newcomers would be confined to the woolshed, ready to immediately disappear underground at any sign of trouble.

The next few hours although tense, passed uneventfully. There was general relief when Tom and Jason, apparently unscathed, returned with two boxes of groceries.

Within a few minutes everyone except those on guard duty had assembled expectantly in the woolshed for the pair’s verbal report.

“The place has quite a few soldiers,” began Jason, “and a swag of those tedious little Boys Brigade twerps, who are helping out with guard duty and the like.”

“We managed to drive past the library,” continued Tom, “but several army trucks were parked in front so we couldn’t see much. There seemed to be a reasonable number of troops around it with their mates bivvied in a paddock near by. We both thought they all looked surprisingly relaxed.”

The question Tony asked was on everyone’s lips. “So, what’s your recommendation?”

The cacophonous explosion of the grenade shattered the stillness of the dark night. The flash of bright orange smeared a momentary silhouette of tents, trucks and sentries across the vision of the watching attackers. Two more explosions followed. Instantly the petrol tanks of three parked trucks ignited in a spectacular domino response.

Above the agonizing screams of the soldiers, Dan’s voice roared, “Now!”

Rising from their positions behind a large hedge, the six raced across the road towards the library. Dan, spotting a gap in the burning trucks, sped towards it. A figure loomed in front of him and he squeezed the trigger of his Sten gun. As the figure fell he noticed the uniform - black shorts and a white canvas band across a black shirt.

“Jesus!” Hearing the others behind him he headed straight down the short library path towards the door. On his second burst of fire it disintegrated.

Following the moves rehearsed repeatedly that afternoon, the other five immediately created a half circle with their backs to the library shooting instantly at any signs of movement.

For Stuart, the explosions had triggered off an emotional response bordering on ecstasy. His eyes were wide and as the adrenalin coursed through his system he shouted a commentary like a demented sports announcer as he shot at figures momentarily silhouetted in the flames.

“Here’s one coming!” Burst of fire. “Got you, you bastard! There’s another over there!” Burst of fire. “Great stuff, Tom!” Burst of fire. “That’s one for me!”

Behind him he was barely aware of Dan’s voice shouting into the library doorway, “Get up, you men! Make a run for it! Get as far away as you can!” Seconds later Dan raced past him shouting to his group, “Come on! Let’s get out of here!”

Stuart followed swiftly. As the group reached the other side of the road they linked up with the second smaller group that had been given the role of providing covering fire. Stuart called out a prearranged code word and Carol joined him within a few seconds. Earlier in the day her inclusion had led to a brief and intense debate. Initially there had been some opposition to the idea of having a woman as part of the attack team. In response she had presented a short but eloquent rationale based on the fact that one of Fightback’s key tenets was that everybody undertook every role. There had been no dissenting response.

The whole group immediately broke up into pairs as they headed rapidly away from the village and spread themselves as widely as possible across the paddocks. Although the military authorities had assembled a large contingent of soldiers, their response to the raid was less than impressive. The size of their force and the absence of any previous attacks on troops by locals had made them complacent. Consequently the soldiers, preferring to sleep or carouse, had assigned the unpopular role of the night guard to the hapless youths from the Boys Brigade supplemented by only a handful of regulars.

As the group spread, spasmodic shots followed them. In most cases they ricocheted off posts well away from the retreating pairs, indicating that the soldiers were firing more in hope than in expectation of hitting anyone. Stuart, still on adrenaline high from the action, turned with a laugh to Carol, who was a few paces behind.

“Come on, slowcoach! We’ve still got-------.”

The thump in his left leg sent him sprawling. Surprised he tried to scramble to his feet but immediately he fell heavily again. For a moment he lay there and then muttered, “I think I copped one in the leg. I can’t stand up.”

Swiftly Carol knelt by his side. “We can’t stay here. They’ll be following. Here, lean on me and try to stand.”

He threw his left arm across her shoulder and levered himself upwards on his right leg. He stood for a moment shaking and then moaned, “Christ! It’s staring to throb!”

“There’s a patch of bush over there. Let’s try and make it and then I’ll take a look. Come on.”

Progress was slow across the uneven surface of the paddock. Even though Stuart tried to put as much weight as he could on his right leg, Carol staggered and stumbled as she tried to support him.

“Need a hand?” The voice close by caused them to stop abruptly and lift their weapons.

“It’s OK,” said the voice. “I’m on your side. I was imprisoned in the library. We all got away, thanks to your team. You wounded, mate?”

“Yeah, in the left leg.”

“OK. Lean on me. I’m bigger than your mate. He can carry the weapons and lead the way.”

In spite of the situation they both laughed briefly.

“Yeah, my mate all right. But he’s a she.”

“‘A she’ How come-----?”

“It’s a long story,” interrupted Carol. She took Stuart’s Bren from his grasp and moved forward. “Come on. This way.”

After a few more steps they came to a gap in the edge of the bush that led to a narrow walking track.

“This’ll be easier,” said Carol.

“Where are you heading?” asked the man.

“With your help, to a point west of here,” she replied.

“With your friend’s wound, wouldn’t it be better if we could find water and then have a look at it?”

“Is there water nearby?” asked Stuart. The throbbing in his leg was steadily increasing and the thought of cool water on his wound, or flowing down his dry throat was an enticing one.

“Yeah, a branch of Lucas Creek. Over to the right,” responded the man.

They were about to resume their journey when the man paused.

“Look, er my name’s--------.”

“No!” snapped Carol. “We don’t want to know your name. And you don’t want to know ours. We’re on the same side. That’s enough for now. Come on.”

After five minutes of painful progress they reached the tributary’s banks. Carefully the man lowered Stuart to the ground. Dizzy with pain and loss of blood he collapsed onto his back.

“Stay in that position,” said the man. He looked up at Carol. “Now, let’s have a look at the wound. Got a knife?”

“A knife?” frowned Stuart.

“It’s OK. We’ll have to cut your trouser leg away to inspect the damage.”

Fortunately the clouds that had been covering the moon had scudded away creating sufficient light for them to make a cursory inspection of the damage. As the man began to carefully cut into the top half of Stuart’s trouser leg they could both see that it was heavily stained.

“He’s losing blood,” muttered Carol. She pulled a packet from her supply pack. “I’ve got a first aid kit but it’s pretty inadequate.”

“Pour some of that disinfectant on the wound and then see if you can cover it with your dressings.” The man removed his shirt and began to tear it into strips. “I’m going to have to try a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. I belong to the local volunteer fire brigade and I’ve done some first aid. Hope I can remember enough.”

The pain was acute and several times Stuart lost consciousness, as the other two disinfected and dressed the wound and applied the tourniquet. Through his haze of pain he heard them both agree that a bullet appeared to have passed right through his upper leg and therefore the priority was to contain the bleeding and prevent infection.

“There’s a more bushy area up ahead. We should try to make for it. I played in there with my mates when we were kids, so I know it quite well,” explained the man.

“But if he tries to walk the bleeding will get worse,” said Carol.

“Then I’ll carry him. We don’t have time to spare. Help me get him up on my back.”

Piggyback style Stuart was carried along the bush track. The occasional echo of shouting and rifle fire motivated them to move more swiftly into the deep sanctuary of the inner bush. When the sounds eventually became more distant and spasmodic, the man stopped, and stood breathing heavily with Stuart clinging to his back.

“Now, if my memory serves me, there may be a hut somewhere near by.” He paused, looked around and grunted. “Yes, let’s try down here.”

Two minutes later Carol’s torch flash confirmed that they were standing outside a hut about the size of a large garden shed. Originally it had been established in a small clearing but this was now overgrown by the encroaching bush. Scattered near the doorway were little skeletons and the curled up remains of small pelts. “Rabbits and possums,” grunted the man.

The door wasn’t locked and inside was a long wide bench, a couple of old chairs propped up against a chipped table on which were scattered some dusty cups, plates and cutlery, a tiny fire place with kettle, a billy can, and a small pile of wood.

“Here,” said the man to Carol. “Help me put your mate on the bench.” With a sigh of relief he eased Stuart off his back and onto the bench. “There we go, easy does it. Now, make a pillow with your woollen jersey.”

Although the pain had eased Stuart still felt sick and dizzy. He felt a coat go over his shoulders and Carol’s face next to his.

“Listen, Stuart, darling,” she whispered, “we’re safe in a hut. We’re both going to take it in turns to keep watch. What I want you to do now is to get some sleep.”

“Sorry.” He groaned. “I should have been more careful. I should have---.”

She kissed him gently. “Shhhh. Don’t be silly. As you’ve often said, ‘C’est la guerre’. Now close your eyes and go to sleep.”