We’d only been able to find one prod and we’d ruled out the aerosol can as too dangerous, but we’d found a battery-operated flash attachment for a camera, and Homer was confident that the quick, blinding flashes of light would do the trick.
‘So there we were,’ Homer continued. ‘Nicely set up, just lying back in the paddock, watching the stars and dreaming of huge fresh T-bone steaks. We had a few chats to you, as you know, and we were happy to wait for a convoy to roll through. Then we hit our two big problems. One was that no convoy came. That wouldn’t have been so bad maybe, if we could at least have called you and told you we were going ahead anyway. Although there was still the big danger that we’d suddenly find a convoy up our backsides. But the other problem was that the bloody walkie-talkie packed it in. We couldn’t believe it. We tried everything – in the end Lee just about took it to bits – but it was as dead as the dinosaurs.
‘Well, we were pretty desperate. We knew you’d be sitting there, in a lot of danger, waiting for a signal that wasn’t going to come. We got close to panic at that point, I guess. We had two choices – to go ahead with the cattle and hope you’d be able to react in time, or to call it off. But we couldn’t call it off without telling you – that would have left you in an impossible situation. That was a weakness in our planning – we relied too much on the walkie-talkies. That’s one thing I’ve learnt – don’t put too much trust in machines.’
‘So we only had one choice really. It was getting so late we couldn’t wait any longer for a convoy. Lee went out in the road to do his flashing, and I got the cattle moving.’
‘How?’ Fi asked.
‘Eh?’
‘How? How do you get a big mob of cattle to do what you want, in the middle of the night?’
I remembered she’d wanted an answer to this question before. She was serious about becoming a rural.
‘Well,’ said Homer, looking a bit silly. ‘You hiss.’
‘You what?’
‘You hiss. Old cattleman’s trick. Old Miss Bamford taught me. They don’t like hissing, so you walk around behind them making like a snake.’
I half expected to see Fi take out a notebook and earnestly write it down. Having given away one of his professional secrets, Homer went on.
‘Our big ambition was to hold them in the road until the sentries were at the right end of the bridge, but it was hopeless. The cattle were too restless and we were scared that a convoy or a patrol would turn up. So we got the prod and the flash and away we went.’
‘It was fun,’ Lee said reflectively. ‘Except for the first few seconds, when I thought they were going to charge me.’
‘But the guards were at the right end of the bridge,’ I said. ‘They were in the perfect spot.’
‘Were they? Well, that’s the best bit of luck we had in the whole business then. That was totally unplanned. We just worked the cattle up to a frenzy, till they were outrunning us, then we raced back and got the bikes. Next thing we saw was when we stopped the bikes along the riverbank to have a look. And I tell you what, I wished we’d brought the camera as well as the flash. It was unbelievable. The last cattle were rumbling off the bridge, and the soldiers were still hanging off the sides of it, but they were firing at you Ellie, like it was the duck season. Ellie, to the end of my days I’ll never understand how those bullets didn’t hit you. The air must have been just full of them. We were screaming: “Go Ellie, go, go!” You were still holding the rope, that was the amazing thing. We could see the tanker sitting patiently under the bridge, waiting to be blown up. Then you disappeared into the bushes. Tell the truth, you seemed to float into them, like an angel. I had this bizarre idea that you’d been hit and you were dead and I was watching your spirit.’
I just laughed and didn’t say a word.
‘Then,’ Homer said, ‘a second later along came this flame. I don’t think the soldiers could work it out. They just stood there, pointing at it and calling to each other. They couldn’t see the tanker, cos it was tucked very nicely in under the bridge. But then they all suddenly decided that they were in danger. They turned around and went belting off the bridge. They were just in time. You’ll be glad to know,’ he said, looking at me, ‘that I don’t think any of them were hurt.’
I nodded a thank-you to him. It meant a lot to me, but not everything. If I knowingly did things like blowing up bridges, then the fact that by sheer good luck no one was hurt didn’t let me off the hook. Once I’d made my decision to go with the tanker I’d been ready to live with the consequences, whatever they were.
‘There was a pause of another second,’ Homer went on. ‘And then she blew. I tell you, I’ve never seen anything like it. The bridge lifted about five metres at the tanker end. It actually hung in the air for a few seconds, before it fell back. But when it fell back everything seemed just slightly out of alignment. Then suddenly there was a second explosion and bits flew everywhere. This massive fireball went straight up, then there were two more explosions, and all we could see was fire. There were spot fires everywhere, as well as the main fire. The whole park seemed to be burning, let alone the bridge. Like Lee said, it was a real blast.’
‘Well, Wirrawee’s been wanting a new bridge for a long time,’ Lee said. ‘Looks like they’ll have to get one now.’
Homer’s bedtime story had been exciting, and I’d enjoyed it, even though I was almost scared by the power of what we’d done, and what we were able to do. The only thing Homer had left out was the way he’d wept when he’d found us both safe. I saw the sweetness of Homer then, that he’d had as a little guy, but which some people probably thought he’d lost as a teenager.
We went off to some shady spots in among the rocks. Lee had first sentry duty. I wanted to sit up with him, to keep him company, but suddenly a wave of fatigue hit me, so powerfully that I really did buckle at the knees. I crawled into a cool gap between some boulders, and with a purloined pillow made myself comfortable. I went into a sleep so deep that it was more like unconsciousness. Lee told me later that he’d tried to get me up to do a sentry turn, but he couldn’t wake me, so he did my shift for me. I didn’t wake till 4 o’clock.
It was nearly dark before any of us showed much life or energy. The only thing that got us going was a desire to get home, to see the other four again. We decided it was safe to use the bikes – we worked out a route that would both take us back to my place, where we’d left the Landrover, and a leapfrog pattern of travelling that should protect us from unwelcome patrols.
It’s funny, when I look back on that trip, I wonder why I didn’t feel any premonition. We were all too tired I suppose, and we felt that the worst was over and we’d done our job and now we deserved a rest. You’re sort of brought up to believe that that’s the way life should be.
So, at about ten o’clock we set off. We were careful, we travelled slowly, we were as quiet as possible. It was about midnight when we rode up my familiar driveway, bypassing the house and going straight to the garage. The Landrover was hidden in the bush, but I wanted some more tools from the shed. I switched the bike off and put it on its stand then turned the corner into the big machinery shed.
What I saw there was like one of those Christmas tableaus at church, with Joseph and Mary and the shepherds and stuff, standing in their positions, lifelike but frozen. The tableau in our shed was lit by a dim torch, its batteries starting to weaken. Kevin was sitting against an old woolpress that was up against the wall. Crouched beside him was Robyn, with one hand on his shoulder. Chris was standing on his other side, looking down at Corrie. Corrie was lying across Kevin’s lap. Her eyes were closed and her head was back and there was no colour in her face. As I stood there Kevin and Chris and Robyn all turned their faces towards me, but Corrie still didn’t open her eyes. I couldn’t move. It was as though I too had joined the tableau.