The Word of God (57 page)

They came to a barbed wire fence near the bottom of the slope. All had a drink while the fence was negotiated. After that their course led them across a shallow valley with a small dry creek in its bottom. The going was easy and there was insufficient cover within a few hundred metres for any group to move into position to ambush them.

They might spot us but will have trouble getting close,
Peter thought. He was deeply worried about the Confederates getting ahead and setting an ambush. Once again he swapped the sack with the Scroll to his other shoulder. Carrying it was causing his forearm muscles and fingers to cramp up.

Their course led them up over a wide, gentle ridge and then down to another similar dry creek. As they approached the bottom Graham, who had been a hundred paces ahead, pointed to his right. Peter saw that a dirt vehicle track was running parallel to them. He took out his map and checked. It was, as he remembered, the dirt track that went off at the place where the 7 Platoon HQ
had been. It ran along roughly parallel to the old railway. The Wild River was beyond that and then the highway, all running along the bottom of the valley towards Herberton. The dense line of trees along the river hid the highway but the traffic on it was now clearly audible. The town was now only 2 kilometres away in a straight line.

Graham stopped and waited for them at the creek crossing. Peter saw that the railway was now in sight. It came around in a curve on their right and was only fifty metres away. Graham pointed down at the dirt surface of the road. “No sign of wheel tracks or boot prints,” he said.

Peter looked at the high ground ahead and the trees lining the river to their right. “They could still have got ahead of us along the highway and cut across to get in front of us,” he said. He pointed to two side tracks on the map.

Graham nodded. “They might have. We can just walk through the bush to avoid any ambush.”

“Do that,” Peter said. He took out a water bottle and had another drink.

Major Johnston licked his lips so Peter passed the water bottle to him. Another bottle was shared between Old Ned and Frank. Joy gave the Sig a drink but nobody gave any to Sir Richard.

Old Ned passed the water bottle back and wiped his face with his sleeve. “How much further?” he whined.

“A couple of kilometres,” Peter replied. “Half an hour.”

“I can't make it!” Old Ned complained.

“Tough! So sit here and wait till we send the police to find you,” Peter replied. He was in no mood to allow blisters and chafing to get in the way.

Graham met his eye. “Do you want me to go on ahead?” he asked.

Peter shook his head. “Only fifty paces. We are split up enough as it is. We might need all the firepower we can muster. Let's move.”

They resumed walking, trudging through the bush on the left of the dirt road. This was easy going as the undergrowth was mostly small bushes of suckers and these gave good cover while not being difficult to walk through. As before Graham pushed on further ahead, following a weaving course which allowed him to check likely ambush sites.

Ten sweaty minutes of painful walking took them over another low ridge and down to yet another dry creek. As they progressed they came steadily closer to the range of hills on their left. A check on the map showed Peter that a straight line would lead up over these; the lower spurs of Mt Ida. The hillsides were fairly open savannah: dry grass and black trunked Ironbarks.

That will be no good,
Peter thought. Not only would it be hard going but they would be visible from a long way off, from the highway across the river.

Graham obviously thought the same thing as he angled to cross the dirt road and then moved between the road and railway. However the hills closed in until the railway went around the end of them in a series of cuttings. Off to the right Peter saw the roofs of houses and his heart lifted.

Herberton! Won't be long now.

The dirt road went up over a fairly open spur. The choices were the road, the railway or the bed of the Wild River. The river bed was safest but it looked very thick with trees and jumbled with rocks.

Graham stopped to discuss it. “The first houses on this side of the river should be just ahead of us over this ridge,” he said.

Peter felt his stomach twist in apprehension. It was somehow too easy. Into his mind flitted all the stories he had heard about patrols being at their most vulnerable as they relaxed close to home.

And the terrain is squeezing us into a defile,
he thought.

Graham offered his opinion: “I think we should just push on along here. I will keep scouting. It is only just over a kilometre to the cop shop now.”

Peter agreed and they moved on. The route led them up a steep grassy slope which got them all puffing and perspiring. Graham went on over the crest. From the top they were granted a clear view of the quaint old town. Herberton was only a small place with the main part of the town on the lower slopes of the mountains on either side of the river.

Smiles broke out and Joy cried out: “Oh thank God!”

“Safe!” Gwen sighed with relief.

“Not yet,” Peter cautioned. He pointed to the buildings on their side of the river where it curved right. “We have to get to there yet.”

The first houses were only a hundred paces further on and Graham was standing at the front fence of the second one. Peter forced his aching muscles into action and continued walking. The others followed in a straggling line, with Old Ned and Frank hobbling along fifty metres back.

They came to bitumen at the first houses and Peter felt relief surge through him. Now they were ‘in town' and people were visible. These stared at them from doorways and gardens and dogs rushed out to bark. Several small children eyed them curiously as they plodded along.

Graham waited for them. “Keep walking. I'll get on the phone and call Inspector Goldstein. The local copper won't know what is going on. I will catch up.”

Peter nodded and waved the others on while Graham walked up the path to the front door of the house where a worried looking middle aged woman stood. A little girl of about four sat on a tricycle at the side of the house and gaped at them.

The road went down into a dip, then up over another spur dotted with houses, then down again. The walk became a real test of endurance. Peter was in agony now from his chafing. He felt so tired and sore he just wanted to collapse. Down beyond the houses was the railway with the Wild River beyond. The large buildings of Mont St Bernard's Catholic Girls Boarding School stood out prominently on the opposite slope.

The worst thing, Peter decided, was actually being able to see their destination. They never seemed to get any closer to it. The road went down into another dip, then up another slope. Now the houses were almost continuous on both side of the road, a suburban street. But there was no traffic at all which was both a relief and a worry. The group trudged along the grass footpath in a straggling line. Old Ned and Frank fell even further behind but Peter could not bring himself to stop and wait. He just wanted to get it over with.

As he topped the next rise Peter looked back and saw Graham striding along down the slope behind them. That cheered him up because it meant he had phoned the police. The wheels of officialdom would now be in motion.

From that crest Peter saw the police station only two hundred metres ahead. The road dipped down across a small creek, then went up a grassy slope to the main part of the town. The railway curved in on the right to vanish behind a row of buildings and a park, before plunging under the highway through a short tunnel. The Police Station was an old timber building with wide verandas. It was L shaped and was set back in a large yard along with several large trees. Next to it, on a corner allotment, was a house which Peter knew was a police residence. A side street led uphill beside the house from a wide intersection.

As he plodded down the slope Peter studied the layout carefully because this was where they were to exchange the major. He had every intention of doing this, regardless of what the police said or thought.

I need someone to watch the rear of the buildings,
he decided. A grassy slope dotted with a many trees and a few houses swept down to a street that ran diagonally across the rear of the cluster of police buildings.

Then it was the last upslope. Peter found he was almost crying with pain. He had to force his muscles to keep working. His breath came in sharp gasps and near the top he had to stop. As he stood with his chest heaving he had to fight
back tears and knew he was near the end of his endurance. It was obvious the others were as well. Joy was panting hard and looked utterly exhausted and Gwen was pale and drawn. Even Major Johnston and his Sig were looking hot and tired.

Old Ned and Frank were just coming over the crest behind when Graham appeared beside them. He was striding along and said something as he passed. The display of fitness was enough to annoy Peter even more.

At that moment a car appeared from the direction of the main street and Peter tensed as he studied it. But it was only an old man going home and he drove slowly on past. The car went down across the bridge and on over the crest past Graham. Peter turned and continued walking. With what he felt was the last of his energy reserves he turned left and crossed the street and reached the gate in the low chain wire fence. Opening it he trudged up the concrete path to the steps leading up to the veranda. To his dismay the front door was closed.

Going up those few steps was a challenge as his leg muscles hurt but he did so, waving the others to stop on the path. At the front door he knocked loudly and waited. The others stood in a puffing line behind him. There was no response. Peter knocked again.

Joy looked up. “What's wrong?” she asked.

“Nobody here,” Peter replied.

Gwen nodded. “It is only a country police station after all,” she said. “They can't be here all the time.”

Peter tried again, then he grabbed the door handle and turned it. The door was locked. For an instant a surge of intense emotion welled up. To be frustrated in this way when they were so close to safety! Angrily he turned, placing the Scroll on a bench seat against the wall.

Pointing he said, “Back downstairs. Major, you and your Sig sit against that tree. Sir Richard, you go over there to the other tree. Sir Miles, you cover Sir Richard. Joy you watch the two Confederates. Gwen, you go and see if there is anyone at the house next door. I will look around the back.”

When the prisoners were all seated Peter picked up the Scroll and walked along the veranda testing each door as he came to it. All were locked so he went down the stairs and around to the rear of the building. It was built on a slope so that the rear was almost at ground level. There were two doors. The first was locked but the second was not.

Opening that door he knocked, then called out: “Hello! Anyone there?”

There was no answer so he went inside. It was some sort of kitchen or recreation room. He went through into the front room, feeling worried that he
was trespassing. The front room was an office. There was a computer terminal, photocopier, fax machine and two telephones, plus two desks and several cupboards and filing cabinets.

With a sigh of relief Peter laid the Scroll down and picked up a phone. From his sweat soaked notebook he extracted Inspector Goldstein's number and dialled it. The connection was made within seconds. He was patched through to a mobile and to his utter relief Inspector Goldstein's voice answered.

“I'm on my way,” Inspector Goldstein said. “Twenty minutes to half an hour. Where are you?”

“In the police station at Herberton,” Peter replied. “And we've got the Scroll.” As he said that he stroked the sack with its precious contents.

“I know. Kirk told me. Stay put. We are on our way. Sergeant Pearson, the local man, should be there in a few minutes. Now tell me what is going on.”

Peter described the events of the last few days in outline. As he did he opened the Scroll and slid it out onto the desk to check it was alright. There was a knock at the front door. It was Graham. Peter looked up. “I'll be out in a minute,” he called.

He finished the phone conversation and then busied himself for a few minutes. Then he slid the Scroll back into its sack and went to the front door. He was able to open it from inside and went out onto the veranda. Graham and Gwen met him.

“No-one next door,” Gwen replied.

“Doesn't matter. Inspector Goldstein is on his way and he says the local sergeant will be here in a few minutes. Let's get these people inside.”

Peter led the way down the stairs to where the others waited under the trees on the lawn. Old Ned and Frank had just arrived and lay on the lawn in the shade. Peter walked over to them. As he did an old green Land Rover came over the hill from the direction of the main street.

“Confederates!” Graham hissed, nudging Peter's arm and pointing. He at once moved to a firing position lying half under the building and using one of the posts for cover.

Peter felt his heart rate shoot up. He put the Scroll down on the lawn and hefted the SMG into a fire position. “Get down you guys,” he said. Joy and Gwen did so, crouching behind posts. Sir Miles moved behind the tree that Sir Richard sat against. Old Ned and Frank both sat up. Old Ned blanched with fear and moved quickly behind a post. Frank lay flat on the lawn.

The Land Rover did a U-turn in the middle of the intersection and stopped
facing back the way it had come. From out of the front stepped the Sargent Major. He now had a sub machine gun cradled purposefully in his arms. From out of the back climbed a Confederate Private First Class with an M60 machine gun. He moved into a fire position lying on the foot path, the belt of 500 rounds glinting in the sunlight.

For an instant Peter feared there would be a bloodbath but then out of the back of the Land Rover climbed a person in a camouflage uniform: Megan.