The Word of God (55 page)

“The Scroll!” Sir Miles gasped. “And the Black Knight. Oh! To be so close and to miss it!” He thumped his fist into his other hand in exasperation.

Peter read the whole message. As he did the stirrings of an idea made him tingle with excitement. “Graham, where is Moomin?”

“That siding on the railway where the railway crosses the Wild River,” Graham replied.

“And this is the Wild River?”

“South Branch. The two branches join just near Moomin,” Graham replied.

“How far?”

Graham shrugged. “Two, maybe three kilometres. Not far. Why? What do you have in mind? Are we going to attack a whole platoon of Confederates to get the bloody Scroll back?”

“Something like that, only you don't have to take part, any of you. It will be very risky,” Peter replied.

“I should think it would be,” Graham replied dryly. “Remember how much fire power these dudes pack? I don't like our chances.”

By then the idea had crystallized in Peter's brain. “I do. I'm not going to use brute force. Quick! We must move fast. We still have a chance,” he cried. He sprang to his feet and set off through the bush towards the road they had crossed.

The others followed; Graham, Joy and Gwen immediately; and the other three at a distance and less enthusiastically.

“What's the plan?” Graham asked as they strode through the bush.

“I'm going to hold up the OC and use him and his staff as hostages,” Peter replied.

“What if they don't stop?” Gwen asked.

“Then we clear out fast,” Peter replied.

“Fast!” Graham said. “Note that word. I don't know about you mate but I am feeling utterly buggered.”

Peter ignored the banter. It merely told him that Graham would do his part. As he hurried along towards the road junction he outlined his plan. He was very excited now. He knew it would be very risky and potentially deadly, but he also knew he had a burning desire to try.

“We've got a chance!” he said.

Chapter 35

MOOMIN

S
imple plan is best,
Peter told himself as he ran through the waist high grass towards the road junction. But it was still a terrible risk and his chest was tight with apprehension. “If there are two vehicles then we don't act,” he called.

And then he was at the road junction. He had been half expecting to run into a Confederate guard post but nothing happened. In the distance he thought he could hear a vehicle engine and that drove him to act fast. The road junction was at a bend in both roads, a Y-shape. He ran on towards Moomin for about another fifty paces so that he wasn't visible from the direction the vehicle was coming from.

Here. This will do,
he told himself as he glanced quickly around.

There were weeds and trees enough to provide cover right beside the road. He stopped running and pointed into the grass on the Wild River side of the road.

I have to give the others a chance to get away if things go wrong,
he thought.

As they moved into the long grass he struggled to get the radio off. And as always when in an urgent hurry, the blasted straps snagged on something on his webbing.

His heart went into his throaty and he gulped air.
It is a vehicle; and coming fast.

Driven by a sense of dread he pointed and waved: “Get down! Get under cover! Quick!”

Graham and Joy were near him by then and both went to ground. Gwen and Sir Miles were still twenty metres back. Old Ned and Frank were still fifty metres away.

On the edge of fluster Peter dropped the radio in the middle of the road. His idea was that the Confederates would see it there and assume it had fallen from one of their vehicles during their rush to the Dam during the night.

It will only fool them for a few minutes, till their sigs work out which radio it is. And that vehicle is very close. Get under cover!
he told himself.

Now in a state of extreme emotion he dashed back across the road and dived into the weeds near Graham. As he went down he noted that Old Ned and Frank were still on the other road. “Get under cover you bloody fools!” he snapped. To
his relief they both did, but not without looking resentful. Peter didn't care. They were out of sight.

Good. Now, the pistol,
he thought.

After wiping sweat from his face and gulping great gaps of air he wriggled around and onto his side. With shaking hands he pulled the pistol out of his basic pouch.

And there was the vehicle! It was the old green Land Rover and was travelling fast. It came roaring around the corner. Peter strained his ears to try to detect whether a second vehicle was following.

Don't think so.

The driver had obviously seen the radio. Peter saw his head turn towards the man in the passenger seat. It was Major Johnston, Peter noted with satisfaction; and only two others in the back. The major spoke and the vehicle's brakes squealed on. The Land Rover was going too fast however and it had to swerve sharply and overshot. Peter had not thought about that and for a moment wondered if the plan was still viable.

The Land Rover skidded to a stop on the sand and loose gravel. Dust billowed past. A Confederate jumped out of the back. Major Johnston turned in his seat. “And hurry up!” he called.

By then Peter was up and running forward. He saw the signaller bend down to pick up the radio, his head turning to gape in fear and surprise as he became aware of Peter's presence. Peter ignored him and ran on. He could see a face staring at him from the back of the Land Rover but ignored that person as well. Then he was beside the passenger door.

Major Johnston's face turned, a mask of annoyance. This changed fractionally to register surprise in the eyes as Peter pointed the pistol at him. As Peter held it aimed at the major's face he realized that he had not checked whether it was on ‘safe' or not.

Too late. Bluff!
his racing mind thought.

“Don't move. You are all prisoners!” he called.

Major Johnston moved his eyes from the pistol to Peter's, then back to the pistol. Peter was aware that Graham and Gwen were both with him, weapons pointing into the back of the Land Rover. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Joy pointing a shotgun at the signaller, who quickly raised his hands.

She must have taken that off Frank,
he thought.

Sir Miles was also moving forward, revolver at the ready. Major Johnston gave a small nod and a sardonic smile flitted across his face. “The elusive army
cadets eh?” he replied, his voice quite calm and pleasant. “Don't you say: ‘Stand and Deliver' in Australia?”

For a moment Peter was flustered and confused as his mind tried to work out what the major was talking about. Then images from old films about Bushrangers took their place.

Peter shook his head. “No. Bail up was the expression the Bushrangers used I think Major. Stand and deliver was the old English highwayman's term,” he replied.

Major Johnston nodded and raised one eyebrow slightly. “So you know my rank eh? Who are you?” he answered, still very cool and in possession of himself.

The major's manner made Peter feel he was losing the moral edge in the situation. He glanced at the others in the vehicle and saw that all had their hands up. On an impulse he switched the pistol to his other hand and saluted the major.

“Cadet Under-Officer Peter Bronsky sir. Now please step out of the vehicle.”

Major Johnston returned the salute: “Major Joseph E. Johnston, Mississippi Militia.”

Peter nodded. “I know. Now get out of the vehicle,” he ordered.

This time Major Johnston worked hard to hide his surprise but to Peter's enormous relief he moved to comply. Peter stepped back. Something about the major's composure made him feel suspicious that the Confederate had some trick up his sleeve. After looking carefully in all directions Peter ordered Major Johnston to stand to one side of the road. He then told Graham to get the other Confederates out of the vehicle.

“Search and disarm them Graham,” Peter ordered. Then he stood facing Major Johnston, his mind racing with options and doubts about whether the Confederate would comply. As he stood there he tried to appear as calm and detached as his prisoner but inside he was all a fluster.

Noting that Major Johnston had a revolver in a shiny black leather holster on his equally shiny black leather belt Peter gestured to it with his left hand. “Your pistol please sir,” he said.

“Of course,” Major Johnston replied. He slowly undid the holster flap. Peter kept his own pistol aimed carefully at him.

Remember your training
, he told himself.
Keep well back, out of arms reach. And watch out for tricks.

Peter stepped back and pointed down at the same time. “On the road please sir, then step away from it,” he ordered, managing to keep his voice sounding firm and confident although inside he was quaking and deeply anxious.

Major Johnston did as he was ordered. As he bent down Peter's eyes were drawn to the gold braid which was sewn onto the lower sleeves of the gray jacket. Having seen pictures of such embellishments he was fascinated but he found seeing the real thing felt quite unreal. Despite his anxiety and the situation he had sufficient self awareness to know he was light-headed from strain and hunger and he consciously tried to dispel the feeling.

After Major Johnston had stepped back Peter moved and bent down to pick up the revolver. It was another old fashioned, long barrelled type and was surprisingly heavy. Peter stood up and balanced the gun across his hand to admire it. The weapon was obviously very old, but well cared for. The metal was worn and had lost its sharp edges and most of the ‘bluing'. The stock was dark brown wood.

Major Johnston cleared his throat and for the first time looked unhappy. “It is a .44 calibre Navy Colt. Five shot. My Great Great Grandfather used it in the war between the states. It is a family heirloom.”

“It's a fine gun,” Peter replied. He felt a twinge of genuine regret to have to take the weapon. He looked at the revolver again with new respect, then met Major Johnston's eyes.

Major Johnston raised an eyebrow again. “What do you want?” he asked.

“The Scroll of course,” Peter replied.

For an instant a flicker of doubt crossed Major Johnston's face. Then he said: “And what makes you think we have it?”

Peter indicated the radio lying near the other prisoners. “We have been decoding your messages.”

For an instant Major Johnston's lips tightened, then he gave an ironic smile. “I'm impressed. But why should we give it to you? I've got a whole company of men with orders to shoot to get it.”

“But they aren't here,” Peter said. “Most of them are still back up at the dams.”

Major Johnston again raised one eyebrow fractionally. “You are remarkably well informed. So what is the deal? Don't tell me you will shoot us if you don't get the Scroll because I don't believe you. I can tell that you aren't those sort of people. You haven't got what it takes.”

That went to the heart of the matter. Peter knew that Major Johnston was right. It was no good bluffing. He said: “We will exchange you and your men here for the Scroll and our friends. If you don't then we will hand you over to the police.” It was a long shot mentioning Stephen and Megan but Peter played it anyway.

Again Major Johnston raised his eyebrows fractionally and then stroked his beard. “They aren't here. It might take time to get them.”

That told Peter that his guess had been right and also that Major Johnston was considering the offer.

Peter shook his head. “Tepon isn't far. You could drive there in ten minutes,” he said, putting his hunch into words.

Once again Major Johnston tried not to look surprised. Peter couldn't help being impressed by the man's demeanour and self-control. As he stood covering him his eyes took in every detail of the uniform: the gold stars on the collar, the blue silken sash under a gleaming black leather belt; the blue collar and cuffs on the gray coat, the gold braid.

Major Johnston looked at the others, then: “What exactly are you offering?”

Peter licked his lips, then said: “We get our friends back and you can go free. If we get the Scroll as well then we also set free your Master Sergeant here.”

“Sargent Major,” Major Johnston corrected.

Peter glanced at the man. “Sorry, Sargent Major. And if we get the Black Knight as well then this bloke can go free too,” Peter added, indicating the signaller.

“Bloke?”

“Person.”

“And what if my people have orders to hang onto the Scroll at any cost?” Major Johnston replied.

Peter shrugged. “That's a risk we will have to take,” he replied. “In that case you might get shot in the fight. If not we hand you over to the police. Either way you lose.”

“What about Private Simpkins?” Major Johnston asked, indicating the driver.

“We will let him go as well, if you do as we say.”

Major Johnston thought for a moment, then gave a wry smile. “I guess I don't have too many honourable options at this moment. But I am curious why you want that Devil Worshipper character.”

“It is personal. He is a murderer. This is Sir Miles, a Knight of the Holy Grail. He was sent by the Pope to get the Scroll. The Black Knight was his companion and turned out to be a traitor,” Peter replied.

Major Johnston looked at Sir Miles with interest. “It sounds like you boys have had a rough deal.”

“We have, now make your mind up,” Peter snapped. He was feeling very tired and stressed and deeply worried that more Confederates might turn up.

“I agree,” Major Johnston replied. “So what is the plan?”

Peter mentally heaved a sigh of relief, then told him. The others then set to work quickly, at Graham's direction. The Sargent Major, Signaller and Driver all had their hands tied behind their backs by Joy and Sir Miles. The captured weapons: a sub machine gun and two M14 rifles were picked up by the others. Peter shoved the revolver through his belt between two water bottles and took the SMG. It was of a type he had only seen on movies but a brief inspection showed him how it worked. Gwen and Sir Miles took the two M14s. Graham showed them how to use them. As they worked Peter called out: “Old Ned! Frank! It's alright. You can come out.”