Heroes Don't Travel

by Roo I MacLeod

  As the two soldiers alighted the men threw their butts into the burnt out building and stood to attention.

  ‘Right. The business at hand,’ the soldier said. He wore a crimson beret over ginger stubble. He stood straight, his hands clasped behind his back. Dark shades protected his eyes from the early morning gloom. He stood no more than five ten, slim but solid wearing a crisp, but worn uniform. His boots were black and clean, but didn’t shine. He wore fingerless gloves and camouflage uniform from a campaign long gone. The driver, a tall man dressed in uniform and wearing a crimson floppy hat, stood with the other two men as the speaker paced the gravel in front of his jeep.

  ‘We don’t plan on being here long. We are here to run an exercise. Our target is a child. Location unknown. Possible targets was this farmhouse, now a negative, and a pub called the Hangman two and a half klicks south, south west from this farmhouse.

  ‘Our first task is to make contact with that shepherd in prison garb.’ His phone bleated. ‘At ease.’ He turned away from the soldiers and tapped at the phone before placing it on speaker.

  ‘Sarge, Baker here,’ Barney said. ‘My Guvnor has good intel that the Smith farm is smuggling children and could be a point of interest.’

  ‘That Smith farm has been bombed,’ the sergeant said. ‘We are about to interrogate the shepherd from the Prison farm. He’s just been speaking to the army and the law. We have surveyed the area. The pub has a shed of interest at the rear, but the area is quiet.’

  ‘The shepherd is good friends of Tommy the Car and Street Boy and doing his time for fiddling with children. He knows the target. Gave Street Boy up without hesitation, he did. You can’t be far behind him. Interrogate for sure, but I believe the child might be with a consignment sent to Henwell Colliery. Don’t lose him.’

  ‘Understood. Why the Colliery?’

  ‘To work the mines.’

  ‘Understood and out.’ He placed the phone on his belt and signaled for his men to man the vehicles. The two soldiers looked back to the hill, offered the salute, and ran for their jeep. ‘Drive on.’

  ***

  Pete sat against the smooth rock, resting his head on the cushion of straw. The alpacas stood halfway up the hill, hissing at the jeeps as they bounced across the grass. The sheep scattered from their path and the dog barked.

  ‘What’s up, Dog,’ he said. ‘It’s just more army.

  Pete eased himself to a sitting position as the first jeep parked facing the road. A drop of rain landed on his nose and he wiped it clear querying the low grey ceiling above. The second jeep drove close to Pete’s fire and parked facing the hill. The sergeant stepped out of the first jeep and approached the fire, his riding crop slapping at his combat trousers.

  Pete stood and smiled as Larry and Loretta moved back down the hill. He added a log to the fire and gave the embers a stir. He filled the billycan with water and tealeaves and sat it on a bed of coals to brew.

  The soldier stood with his feet wide apart and his hands clasped behind his back. The driver of the jeep approached from the rear and the soldiers in the second jeep placed their rifles across their chests.

  ‘I’m looking for a child.’

  The question confused Pete. ‘I just got sheep.’

  ‘Private, I know you got sheep. Are you taking the piss?’ The word piss was spat with vigor. ‘But I know there have been children through this area and I’m looking for a particular child. I can’t imagine you get many children in the prison grounds that I need to describe it to you?’

  ‘Well, not so many, not here. But the Smiths…’

  The soldier stepped forward, his face leering into Pete’s space. Pale blue eyes lacked warmth. They didn’t blink or flicker.

  ‘But there’s a child a lot of people have been looking for,’ Pete said. ‘But I haven’t seen it. No sir, I haven’t. Ben’s gone looking in Henwell at the mines, but Tommy’s thinking it got lost in the bush. We don’t know where it is. That might be the child. Do you think?’

  The face offered a nod, a smile with the warmth of a reptile, and his tongue slithered as he licked his lips.

  Pete felt obliged to offer more. ‘You see there was a crash earlier and Ben thinks the child he’s looking for was in that car, but it isn’t now. So we don’t know where it is.’

  ‘Where’s he gone?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ben.’

  ‘He’s gone to Henwell. I said that. Are you looking for Ben? A lot of people are getting right interested in Ben.’

  ‘Why’s he gone to Henwell?’

  ‘Well, the Smiths have sold a load of children to the Colliery, so Ben’s thinking that’s where the child might be. Then again it might’ve gone back to the pub. All we do know is the little fucker is missing, and it isn’t in the house. That’s that one over the hill. It got attacked last night. It was brilliant. Like fireworks it was. Larry and Loretta didn’t like it, but Dog and the sheep were cool.’

  ‘How many klicks to the pub?’

  Pete shook his head, having no idea how much a klick was worth. ‘It’s a good hour walk I’d say. I’ve never been there. You just got to follow the road to the Pig Pub and take a left. You can’t miss it, I’m told. I can’t leave the paddock on account of my anklet.’ He showed the soldier the gray tag attached to his leg. ‘They send the dogs to bring it back if I stray too far.’

  ‘At ease, Private.’

  Pete relaxed his shoulders and brought his pipe from his pocket. He lit up as the soldier turned to the jeep at the bottom of the hill. The soldiers jumped from the vehicle and stood before him.

  ‘Henwell Colliery. You’re looking for a child.’ He brought out his phone and eased through the menu. A picture, fuzzy and dark, showed on the screen. ‘The child looks like this. I’ll send you the picture. There’s a person of interest you need to be wary of. Again he flicked through his phone and showed the soldiers the picture of Ben in his cricket creams. Dismissed.’ He turned back to Pete. ‘Good work, Private.’

  Pete smiled as he hadn’t been praised in an age. He couldn’t remember ever being praised. He watched the soldier get back in his vehicle and head toward the Smiths’ place.

  ‘Well it’s good to help the armed forces, isn’t it, Dog?’ He reached for the Billycan and smiled. ‘Time for a brew.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Wrong Turn

  Shots had struck the vehicle as Abe drove away from the Smith’s property. Tommy, sitting in the backseat, offered a high pitched hysterical commentary as the Smiths ran to the road to pepper the jeep with shot. Abe ploughed off the road through the fence by Pete’s camp site and buried the jeep inside a copse of trees until the convoy of Smith vehicles passed. With the road clear Tommy, Loubie, and Claudia set off to tackle the road to the Hangman’s Noose, hoping to find little Lucas walking the road or at the pub. Abe and Ben headed back to Henwell to ensure Lucas hadn’t been smuggled into the mines.

  ‘So what’s your problem with Loubie?’ Ben asked.

  He and Abe sat in the stolen jeep, the red glare of Henwell five miles distant. Ben held tight to the dash, Abe driving at speed, accelerating through corners and braking at random points.

  ‘I don’t know. She’s never liked me. Her mother and I argued loads which didn’t help. I couldn’t do nothing right in that household.’

  He braked heavily and the car lurched left. Abe then accelerated, leaning with the wheel and staring into the gloom. ‘I never really got on with kids. Never.’

  Ben breathed freely when he pulled up at the entrance to the Henwell Collier. A gang of burrowers manned a barricade of crap-laden shopping trolleys. Bright mining hats glared and placards called for an end to Chelsea Mining Corp’s draconian practices. Jeers and chants hollered at the Jeep as more bodies toting rifles morphed from the gloom and surrounded the vehicle. Beyond the gate the pithead wheel turned and the earth shook with a rhythmic grinding. The pot banks emitted the same angry, red glare and black clouds of smoke crowded the sky.<
br />
  Ben took a last breath of the clean air inside the jeep and opened his window to the angry mob.

  ‘Bob the Burrower,’ he shouted.

  Machines thumped in the background. A jet boomed above the clouds and a helicopter hovered over the pithead wheel, churning the black coal cloud.

  ‘Tell him it’s Ben from the Projects.’

  The sound of gunfire cracked the night and an explosion rocked the earth. A bright flare lit up the black cloud and brightened the gloomy day.

  ‘Wow, this is serious smog,’ Abe said. ‘No wonder these guys are so short.’

  ‘I’m going to talk to the Burrowers,’ Ben said. ‘Park against the brick wall, but arse to the hill, just in case we need to leave in a hurry, eh? This town is full of Gypsies.’

  Ben stood before the barricade looking down at serious faces. Guns pointed at his back, his chest, and his face. ‘Escalation, eh?’ Ben said.

  ‘We blew the mine at change of shift this morning and they’re not happy. He was a serious fellow, with a sparse beard and large boggle eyes. ‘They’ve sent the army in and it’s been rough. So far we’re holding our own.’

  A Burrower approached with a rifle held across his chest, his face blacked, and his helmet shining into their faces. ‘Bob’s over in the command mine. Follow me,’ he said. ‘But keep low and run when I tell you. We got a right smart arse sharp shooter taking pot shots at anything moving.’

  ‘Is he hitting?’

  ‘He’s winged a couple. He’s struggling with our squat stature, but he might do better with you guys.’ He laughed and slapped his knee, digging Ben in the ribs. ‘Laugh it up, it don’t get any funnier.’

  They traveled at a slow paced jog past the pot banks, hesitating at the last conical structure, the piping hot bricks searing their bodies. The heat haze danced at the top, the red glare radiating from the narrow aperture a good hundred feet above them.

  ‘Do you see the site entrance?’

  He pointed to a crooked wooden sign above a dark gap, bordered by thick wooden pillars cut into the hillside. To their left, deep inside a massive crater, the pithead wheel dominated the skyline. Donkeys pulled at carts, and children, black as coal guided their beasts to the rail trucks.

  ‘This mine’s still working?’

  ‘No, it’s blown. Those kids are just cleaning up. The fighting’s going on over beyond that pithead wheel. I don’t know why the monk’s haven’t pulled the kids back.’ He pointed again at the site office. ‘But don’t be worrying about them. Just run and keep running. Hold your hands high and yell…projects. Yeah that should do. Bob will hear you and they won’t shoot.’

  Ben waited for Abe to run. Abe waited for Ben. ‘Projects should do?’ Ben questioned.

  The burrower gave Ben a push and he stumbled into the open, rubble-strewn area. He put his head down and dashed with arms flailing, kicking at lumps of stone and black coal. Yelps barked each time he heard a shot.

  ‘Projects,’ he cried.

  A Burrower grabbed Ben as he entered the dark tunnel and pushed him against the wall.

  ‘What’s Prophets, you lunatic,’ his gruff voice yelled. ‘Spread ‘em.’ He kicked at Ben’s legs until they parted wide.

  Abe fell into the dark space and ended up flat to the opposite wall.

  Ben lost his gun and knives, but the dragon tattoos on his inner arms stopped his assailant’s work. He held Ben’s hands so his comrade could witness the dragons.

  ‘Damn, this boy’s from the Projects, eh, Duck. That Black tattoo is serious shit.’ He looked at Ben, still holding his hands. ‘I’m right, yeah? You from the damn Projects, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s what I yelled. I wasn’t making it up.’

  ‘Serious, that’s what you was yelling. Damn, I didn’t hear that. But what’s going on with the damn Projects Duck? Man we could do with that old Jackie John giving the army a shot up the rear end. That we could Duck.’

  ‘Jackie John don’t like the hard fight,’ Ben said. ‘He’s more for taking out your electric and scaring your cat.’

  ‘Damn promised us, he did. Says he was going to attack the Man’s barrack so as to draw this squadron back to base. That damn Chelsea Mining Corp are getting that mine back open tonight and we can’t have that happen, no ways can that happen. That Jackie John, he promised us a rear assault.’

  Ben smirked at the idea of what a rear assault might be as he retrieved his weapons. ‘I got more bad news. We followed a bus load of children headed this way.’

  The two Burrowers shook their head. ‘They’re going to get that bloody mine open, eh Duck. Fuck it.’

  ‘Listen, I need to talk to Bob. I need his help.’

  A lamplight appeared from the dark, cold interior and Bob shuffled forward, a clipboard in hand, a rifle across his back and his face blacked. ‘Where are your bloody Projects?’ he said. ‘Please tell me you’ve got good news.’

  ‘I haven’t had contact since I spoke to you. So, sorry, but I have no news. I’ve followed a van load of children to this site. But I’m looking for one particular child.’

  ‘Brilliant for you Duck. We’ll give up our fight to the death just so you can shop for a bloody child.’

  He spat and paced back into the dark. A light flared and a red glow grew. He returned with the cigar pointing at Ben. ‘It’s bloody war here, Duck. This isn’t just about our rights as workers; no way. This fight is about our rights as citizens, because the Chelsea fucking Mining Corps is backed by the Man. The Man is putting us down, telling us what to do and we aren’t having it.’

  His short body strutted and his feet kicked at the loose gravel. At the rocky wall he stopped, head butted the solid rock with his helmet and then turned to face Ben. He jabbed with his stubby finger, the cigar clamped in his teeth. ‘He wants us to bow down and suck his dick but we aren’t going there Duck, no way. We are the Northern front and we don’t kneel to no one.

  ‘But you Duck,’ he said approaching Ben. ‘You’re looking for a child. Hold the fucking press. Who the fuck are you?’

  ‘You’re right and I don’t understand your fight. But I’m wanted by the Man and I’m a target of the armed forces. My struggle isn’t your struggle, but my foe is your foe. We’re fighting the twat that is the Man, eh?’

  Bob puffed clouds of smoke at Ben’s face. He shook his head and pulled the cigar form his mouth. ‘He’ll be in the orphanage.’

  ‘How do I get in there?’

  ‘Are you serious? It’s positioned in the heart of the battlefield. It’s war out there. Did I mention that?’

  ‘But you can get me into the orphanage, yeah?’

  Bob looked at the Burrower guarding the door. ‘Bill,’ he said. ‘If we take him through the tunnel then we could take out that damn sniper.’

  Bill smiled and nodded. ‘Distract the fucker and take him out from here.’

  ‘That’s what I’m thinking.’

  ‘You want to share these thoughts,’ Abe said. ‘I haven’t come here to get meself shot at.’

  ‘Right, I’ll give you an escort, because it might work out for us. You have to travel through the tunnel to the edge of the Colliery. Once you’re out in the open, you’ll need to do as told because the sniper will try to take you out.

  ‘While you’re distracting him, we’ll try to get a bullet up his arse.’

  Bob proffered Ben and Abe a tin hat with short stubby candles stuck in front. The flames flickered and offered a feeble, spooky light on the rocky walls. He led them down into frigid black. The sides narrowed, and the rough-hewn ceiling lowered. After a long, gradual descent, their bodies bent in half, they emerged into a vast atrium. Lamps dotted the floor, reflecting blues and greens sparkling in the smooth walls.

  ‘Wow,’ Ben said. ‘Who’d have expected a wonder like this in a coal mine?’

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’ Bob pointed at the rope ladder opposite. ‘We need to go up there. There’s a platform at the top. Keep your head down, but get your bearings before y
ou go over the top. There’s fifty yards before the shed. Run at it and run hard. Don’t stop until you’re hiding at its back. It’ll be tempting to take cover in the shed: Don’t do it, because you’ll never get out. That sniper has that door covered.

  ‘Who’s going first?’ Bob asked.

  Explosion after explosion rocked the ground. Dirt and rubble fell on their heads. Bob lifted their helmets from their heads and extinguished the candles.

  ‘Won’t they protect us from a bullet?’

  ‘No chance. The only protection from a bullet is when the sniper misses.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Ben said. ‘He’s missing, but we offer a better target.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s shit, but maybe he’s just playing with us and keeping us pinned down. If they kill us, they lose their work force. Maybe they think we’ll grow tired of all this and go back to work.’

  Bob held the rope ladder steady and Ben reached high and climbed. ‘When you hit the top, keep your head down until you spot your target. We’ve got a squad of lads set up at his rear waiting for you to divert him. So run hard. Don’t zigzag or any of that shit. Just get your arse behind the shed.’

  The rope swayed and Ben scraped his knuckles on the rough rock. He climbed, gripped and stepped looking up into the small ring of light above. It can’t have been more than five minutes, but his legs ached, and he’d given up trying to protect his knuckles from the jagged wall.

  He hit the top and fell onto a small metal platform. The hole in the tunnel glared red and yellow with a load of black swirling clouds darkening the day. Explosions sounded and debris fell on his face. A small metal ladder led to the lip of the shaft.

  His bloodied fingers gripped the rim and his head edged upward. Sweat ran down his face and back and his breathing rasped. He twisted trying to view his left side, searching for the shed. As he spotted the rusted structure a mortar exploded to his right. A wave of thick acrid smoke engulfed his position. Without thinking he stood and ran at the shed. The smoke covered his path, but he couldn’t see his target. His legs pumped. Pain stabbed at his shins and each intake clawed at his throat. He tripped and collided with the metal door of the shed and he fell down, dazed and disorientated. The cloud of smoke swirled and dissipated and he lay exposed. He crawled desperately, knowing a man with a gun was lining him up for the kill. With a lunge he stood and dived as a shot exploded behind him and smacked against the metal of the shed.