The Word of God (53 page)

The cold was a problem for the others too. Gwen snuggled up against Peter's back but Graham was on his own and several times Peter heard his teeth chattering. Twice his own stomach rumbled from hunger and that caused him to freeze in fright, lest the Confederates hear. They had settled down for the night but had a sentry post right near them, close enough to hear muttered conversation.

On one occasion, just after a sentry change, Peter heard a Confederate say: “See anything?”

His companion replied: “Nope. Nothin' movin' out there.”

That reminded Peter that the Confederates had night vision equipment. The knowledge kept him still. Graham put his head near theirs at one stage and whispered: “We gotta get out of here before it gets light.”

He then tried to crawl away but it was instantly obvious that it would make too much noise as the ferns and deadfall crackled. The Confederate sentries heard it and one said: “What's that noise?”

“Dunno. Some sort of animal maybe?” his companion replied.

Graham froze. The first Confederate said: “Sounded just the other side of this log. I hope it ain't one of them snakes.”

“Snakes! Don't talk about the suckers,” his friend replied. “I seen one yesterday that was a monster. Musta bin ten foot long. An' they'se really deadly the Lootenant said.”

The two Confederates muttered on about snakes, causing Peter's imagination to conjure up images of them sliding through the ferns towards him.

Time slid by. Once he fell asleep but Graham reached over and shook him. “Snoring,” he whispered.

Peter battled to stay awake, shivering with cold. He realized Joy was asleep so gently eased himself apart from her, opened his fly with surreptitious movements and took out his penis. He held it into a small hole he had scooped in the ground and did a long, slow pee.

I hope she doesn't wake up now!
he thought.
She might get the wrong idea.
Then another thought came to him.
I hope I don't get bitten on the ‘old fella' by something!

His first thought was scorpions but then he thought of leeches. Before he put it away he carefully checked. Then he slowly checked himself over for leeches. To his surprise he found none.

Time dragged. The wind died down but the fog remained. It was very dark till about 3am when the moon rose over the mountains and a ghostly light filtered through the forest.

That makes it even harder to creep away!
he thought.

Other thoughts crowded his mind: Speculation about where the Devil Worshippers were; regret that the Black Monk had the Scroll, but relief that Gwen was safe.

I'm glad we got her back. It was worth it.
Then he wondered what had happened to Stephen and Megan. The ugly thought that they had been captured by the Confederates and talked kept returning.
I wonder what Inspector Goldstein is doing? He must have been puzzled when we went missing. And poor old Captain Conkey! He will be beside himself with worry!

But all those thoughts were secondary to worrying about themselves. With every passing minute Peter knew that daylight was getting closer, and with it went their chances of escaping.

He kept glancing at his watch, silently cursing as the time dragged by, wishing the night was over while hoping it would stay dark.

Finally the first pale glow of dawn showed through the trees to the east. Peter bit his lip.

Won't be long now!

He heard movement and muttered voices and knew the Confederates were being woken up. The sargent came along to check them and the radio operator sent a codeword. Peter nodded.

Platoon HQ must be just there,
he deduced.

Then there were more sounds: muffled thudding and the faint chink of metal on metal, then voices and shuffling. Peter felt his stomach tighten and his heart rate shot up again.

More troops arriving?
he thought.

Carefully he eased Joy's arms from around him and moved to see if he could get a look. Joy opened her eyes and Peter realized with a shock it was light enough to see them. She looked alarmed and opened her mouth to speak but he shook his head and leaned over to put his mouth over hers.

It worked. She relaxed and accepted the kiss, then nodded. Peter moved again, raising himself slowly in a body press, to peer through the gloom. Graham watched him with anxious eyes.

In the semi darkness Peter saw an astonishing sight. As far as he could see down along the road were Confederate soldiers. They appeared to be just grey shapes. Peter tried to count them. At least fifty or more, he decided. He also saw that their hiding place was right on the crest of the low saddle between the two hills and he could see about a hundred metres down the road.

More Confederates appeared, moving silently along the road in their direction, so he lowered himself back down and shook his head at Graham's questioning eyes. Graham then took a turn at having a cautious peek. When he lay down again he rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

Major Johnston's voice carried to them but they could not hear what he was saying.

They are going to do a company attack!
Peter decided.
Surely those Devil Worshippers won't still be there!

From the voices and sounds it was obvious the Confederate infantry were deploying along the road in extended line, ready to advance.

And we are right in front of them! As soon as they walk forward they must find us! What can we do?

Chapter 34

A CHANCE

P
eter glanced at his watch. It was now light enough to read without needing the luminosity. 0545. Fear churned in his stomach and he bit his lip with anxiety. He saw that the sunlight was just striking the tree tops on top of the hill and that the fog was lifting, to drift in thin swirls.

A peculiar ripple of sound made him go tense. Almost at once his brain worked it out: A signal had been sent along the line of waiting infantry.

This is it!
he thought, bracing himself ready to surrender before anyone got shot. Determined to avoid bloodshed Peter raised his head amongst the bushes.

Then he stared in amazement at the scene revealed before him.
Like an old photo from one of those Civil War battles!
he thought.

The Confederate soldiers wore a motley array of clothing, with grey and brown predominating. Some wore battered old felt hats and others wore the grey kepi. Their webbing and weapons were as varied as their dress: old bolt actions, modern semi autos and submachine guns. Peter thought that muskets would not have appeared out of place.

What really set the scene for him, to the extent that he nudged Graham and got him to raise his head too, was the flag bearer. The man stood in front of the line about thirty paces away. He had grey trousers and jacket and a battered felt hat. He was bearded and looked lean and tough. A bowie knife and holster adorned his belt. A blanket roll was draped across his left shoulder. The flag he held came as no surprise at all: it was the Confederate Battle Flag; the red field with white edged blue diagonals showing the thirteen stars of the Confederacy.

An officer strode into view: tailored grey jacket, blue and gold trimmings, blue sash and a revolver and sword.

A bloody sword!
Peter thought as he goggled.
I'm dreaming!

But he knew he wasn't because beside the officer was a radio operator who had his eyes fixed on him. The officer, Lt Bragg Peter decided, stood looking at his watch, sword raised. Suddenly he stiffened, looked right and left to check his men and brought the sword down to point towards the hill.

There was an anticipatory rustle of movement, then the line moved. Two
paces had the men in the ferns and long grass. Close beside Peter and Graham a man walked forward. To Peter's immense relief the man detoured around the end of the log. Peter lay flat and hugged the ground, almost cringing in anticipation. He knew from the spacing that at least one or two of the advancing infantry should walk through where they lay.

The sargent's voice growled from off to the left: “Travis you slug, climb over that bloody log. Don't go around it. Stop following Wilson! Catch up man!”

Peter raised his eyes and saw Travis come scurrying past only a pace or two from Graham's boots. The Confederate was hung about with a blanket roll and had an old M14 rifle with a bayonet fixed.

If he spots Graham he will be able to drive that right through him!
Peter thought.

But Travis was looking to his left to try to get back in line with the others. In five paces he was past them.

Another Confederate passed very close behind Peter, having walked around the other end of the log. Peter lay tensed and ready but the man did not see them either.

Perhaps we've got a chance!
Peter thought, hope soaring.

Graham obviously thought so too as he hissed: “Keep down! Lie still!” Peter looked and saw Sir Miles, who lay nearby among the weeds and ferns, nod.

Peter lifted his head a fraction to watch. Across his front passed the long line of attack, appearing as a flicker of movement through the trees. Then a second line moved into view: officers and radio operators and men carrying heavy weapons: M60 machine guns and rocket launchers and so on. Then a third line: Company HQ, with Major Johnston and his Sargent Major and signallers and a squad of infantry.

They have missed us!
Peter marvelled.

He raised his head higher and risked looking through the bushes beside a tree. There was no-one in sight at the road junction, which was only ten paces away. He swivelled his head the other way. All he could see were the backs of the advancing line, now fifty paces away and starting to climb the grassy, tree-covered hill.

Joy looked at him, her face grimed with dirt. “Is there going to be a battle?”

Graham was up too: “They'll be bloody disappointed if they don't get one!”

Gwen raised her head. “Surely those Devil Worshippers will be long gone?” she queried.

Peter shook his head. “I would be if I was…. Holy Mackerel!” he cried.

Two shots had rung out from up on the hill and one of the Confederates
let out a cry and pitched into the grass. Instantly a tornado of fire erupted. The advancing line halted and emptied their magazines up the hill. Down to the right at least two machine guns began flailing the hilltop with fire. Peter gaped at the streams of tracer fire flicking and hosing up through the trees.

Graham moved to a crouch. “At least two of them still there,” he observed. He crouched to watch, his face alight with excitement. “There they go! Fire and movement!” he cried.

Peter watched Confederates start to run from tree to tree in ones and twos, covered by the fire of the sections out on each flank and by their friends. It was both appalling and fascinating. Then he shook his head.

“Now is our chance. Let's get out of here.”

“Don't forget that squad down near the lake,” Graham answered, pointing to where the two machine guns still hammered at the hilltop.

Peter rose behind a larger tree and looked along the road in each direction. As he expected there was a medical squad and a vehicle down toward the other junction but even as he watched the men ran forward into the trees.

“Let's go! Follow me!” he snapped. He turned away from the battle and jumped over the log, then raced through the ferns to the road junction. He glanced left as he crossed but did not slacken his pace as he ran along the same road they had followed in the previous evening. To his relief the others followed: Joy, Gwen, Sir Miles, and Graham as rearguard.

Peter pounded along the road with his heart in his mouth, expecting at any minute to hear shots being fired at him. However none were. Even the ‘battle' seemed to be dying down and he could hear orders being shouted as the Confederates pushed up the hill. Just for a second, as he glanced over his shoulder, Peter glimpsed the Confederate Flag Bearer up near the top of the hill. The red of the flag was caught by the morning sun and shone brightly.

That looks great!
he thought, unable to withhold his admiration.

Joy was sucking in deep breaths close behind him. “Where are we going?” she gasped.

“Just along here a bit, then back up to where we left Old Ned and Frank,” Peter answered. He wanted to get far enough away so that the squad down near the lake would be unlikely to hit them, even if they saw them.

“Don't.. don't.. go… t..too far along … the .. road,” Joy puffed.

An image of the crucified man leapt into Peter's mind. “No. Don't worry. We won't,” he called back.

“I… I don't want Gwen to.. to see,” Joy replied.

“I know,” Peter said. With that he slowed and turned right to walk upslope through the grass and ferns.

The others followed. As they went up the slope the firing died away on the other hill and down near the lake. They heard shouted orders as the Confederates re-organized but could see no sign of them. Half way up Peter halted at a clump of rocks to get his breath. The others puffed up to stand or flop down beside him.

“We made it!” Gwen gasped. “Oh I was so sacred! Thank you. You are all wonderful.”

Graham grinned. “We know that,” he replied. Then he looked concerned. “Are you alright Gwen?”

Peter had turned to look at Gwen when she spoke. Now that it was light he was curious to know how she was, but afraid it might be bad news. To his relief she shook her head but said: “I'm alright. I'm just hungry- and I really need to go to the toilet.”

In answer to Joy's anxious look and unspoken question Gwen shook her head and said: “They didn't hurt me. I wasn't even tortured, although they threatened to do horrible things.”

“What happened?” Joy asked. “Where did they take you?”

“To a farm somewhere the other side of Herberton I think. When I wouldn't answer any questions they just tied me up and locked me in a room. They didn't feed me but did give me water and let me go to the toilet. That's how I know where I was; it was a horrible old outdoor dunny full of spiders.”