Fire Eye

by Peter d’Plesse

  Johnny is a young fella but shaping up well. He hasn’t yet seen his twentieth year but is keen to work. He can spend all day on a bike checking cattle, tanks and fences. Like most up this way, he is also lean, tanned and tough. He has bugger all growth on his chin, even after two days camping out, but his long dark hair is barely kept in line by the Akubra perched precariously on his head at a rakish angle. It never seems to come off, except when thrown by a horse or bull.

  Billy is older and wiser. He is the chopper pilot and can turn his hand to anything, from handling a helicopter at low level among the trees to wielding a strainer on the fence line. He carries a serious air of wariness about him. They often stir him that he has the constant jitters characteristic of crop duster pilots. “Why wouldn’t I have the shakes?” he often retorts. “If something bad hasn’t happened, then it’s about to!”

  Maybe he has a point, Andy reflects. He’s crashed twice mustering cattle, the second time only last week when the tail rotor of the R22 clipped a tree after a control failure. He’d staggered out of the wreck and been back in the air the next day in the R44 on cross hire from another operator.

  A bloody good team, Andy thinks as he pumps fuel into the R44 from one of the drums on the back of the Toyota. They’d allowed themselves a leisurely breakfast of fried eggs and sausages clamped between slices of bread, flavoured with a touch of sauce. Once they finish loading they are outta here and onto the next job, repairing to the stockyards further south. Billy will be taking the chopper east to another muster. He is under pressure to keep it in the air, earning its keep. There’s always something that demands time, effort or money on cattle stations.

  “Full!” Andy calls as he lifts the pump out of the drum and screws the lid back on. He shoves his hip against the drum and removes the block of wood under its edge, holding the drum tilted at an angle to prevent the pump picking up dirt or flakes of rust. He jumps down and swaps places with Billy so he can do a water check on the fuel in the chopper’s tanks.

  Andy vaults the stockyard fence and encourages the last of the cattle through the gate and up the loading ramp into the truck. He and Johnny slam the tailgate shut, shake hands with the driver and walk over to the chopper as the truck pulls away through a cloud of dust.

  “A good bit of work boys. Didn’t take as long as I thought thanks to you. That was fuck’n good flying Billy. Your bloody nerves ain’t shot yet!” he chuckles.

  “Fuck’n oughta be! I’m think’n of applying for a safer job with the SAS. Maybe Afghanistan or somewhere in Africa! Would you miss me?”

  “Course we would Billy boy! You can even rely on me for a bloody good character reference. You’ll be fuck’n good at crash’n choppers! Those big ones just come down with a bigger thump!”

  Billy is used to the sparring and doesn’t rise to the stir. “Stuff your fuck’n reference Andy. How ‘bout you get the kettle on before we head out. It’s goin’ to be a bloody long day again!” He opens the access panel on the side of the helicopter to start his checks. Billy has switched into pilot mode and barely hears the reply.

  “Good idea Billy! There’s still dust to wash down. Johnny, go put the kettle on!” Andy delegates.

  “Sure fellas, coming up. I got noth’n better to do!” Johnny throws back as he finishes checking their truck for the day’s long haul.

  “That’s the boy! Just love working with you guys.” Andy tosses their swags into the tray of the Toyota and wheels the Suzuki onto the bike trailer. He loves the work and the comradeship. Stirring up the fellas is just a bonus!

  Johnny tosses dry sticks onto the coals and coaxes them back into life with a wave of the fry pan to encourage ripples of air across the lingering glow of red. The explosion of flames has the water boiling in no time. Johnny makes two cups of coffee and an English Breakfast for Andy, just the way they like it. He calls them over to squat beside the fire. They sip their choice of brew in the shade of an arching boab tree while they toss around idle banter. The boys have shared a lot of hard work and discomfort under demanding conditions and are comfortable with each other. Any brew tastes better in good company and from their point of view they are in the best company of all

  On an unspoken command honed by years of experience, they finish their brews with a final sip and stand up together, each moving off to his own tasks. Andy checks the tie downs on the loads while Johnny kills the fire with a dose of water and kicks dust onto the steaming embers. Billy heads for the helicopter with his relaxed but confident stride to do a final circle of the machine, running his eye over it before climbing into the cockpit and strapping in.

  A subtle change comes over him. He is now a different person. He focuses on the task and barely hears Andy call out, “We’ll wait till you’re outta sight before we head off!” It is standard practice in case there is an unexpected problem. Billy waves vaguely in response without interrupting his checks. He has over a thousand hours in helicopter flight time but doesn’t let familiarity breed carelessness.

  He is totally professional and sticks to the checks embedded in his mind from constant routine, but also listed on the knee pad strapped to his leg as backup. His fingers fly over the switches and his eyes flick over the instruments as he runs through the start up procedures. His life depends on consistent professional discipline.

  He keeps his left hand on the throttle, wary of the governor taking control and rolling up to full RPM. Before cranking the engine, he checks again that the throttle is closed to prevent any over speed of the engine. A mistake like that means boxing up the engine and sending it off for repair at huge expense. He turns the key to crank the engine and it fires first time. He waits for it to warm up as the downdraft stirs up a cloud of dust whipping into a violent frenzy around the machine.

  The engine has dual ignition with two magnetos. Checking them involves flicking a switch from Both to Left and then Right magneto. He counts down two clicks to test the first mag and two clicks back to return to Both. Then he counts down one click to test the other mag and one click to go back to the Both position. Flying away on only one magneto could cost him his life. He keeps his feet on the pedals as he does the clutch check and then checks the hydraulics to confirm he can turn them off if they start making undesirable inputs.

  Just before lift off he runs his eyes over the instrument panel again—upper warning lights out,

  RPM one hundred and four percent and governed, manifold pressure less than fifteen, lower warning lights out, temperatures and pressures okay, magnetos on both, fuel on, carburettor heat in, hydraulics on, hatches and harnesses, area clear left, right and above. Satisfied at last he raises the collective to lift the machine then pauses at seventeen manifold pressure to check the RPM is holding at one hundred and four percent.

  Even though he is clad in dirty jeans and dusty shirt with his sleeves rolled up, Billy is no longer a cowboy but a pilot and takes pride in the fact. The machine shudders under the power of the spinning rotors beating the air into submission in a thundering roar. With a fingertip touch on the collective and cyclic controls, he leaves the earth and the boys behind.

  Chapter Seventy-six

  Alex leads the way down the west slope of the ridge, following the game trail with Thor stepping gingerly behind. It is steep. They have to pick their way around and between the rocky outcrops jutting randomly out of the ground. Every step carries the risk of a slip that could twist or break an ankle or leg. It is slow going and Alex frets at the delay. The drovers are due to finish work today. She wants to mount Thor and cover ground as fast as possible but she has to preserve his energy and descend the slope safely. He is now her only ally. Her survival depends on him.

  The minutes tick by and break through the half hour as Alex and Thor pick their way down the slope. Alex evaluates every step and turns around regularly to check on Thor and murmur words of encouragement. The ridge isn’t high but it is rugged. She is glad they are going east to west. The reverse journey would be as tricky as hell. The climb up f
rom this direction wouldn’t be that bad but going down the other side would be something else. She wonders whether Charcoal has ever done it and promises herself to ask him if, no when, she sees him again.

  Finally they pick their way down onto the flats of the savannah country, red soil covered with clumps of tall yellow grass and some kind of miniature palm-like tree Alex can’t identify, dotted randomly between the ever present eucalypt. With final words of encouragement to Thor, Alex thrusts her foot into a stirrup and hauls herself back into the saddle. It is becoming a comfortable place to be and sitting astride Thor gives her confidence a welcome surge. She leans forward in the saddle on a bearing from the sun, arms stretched down and back behind her. Thor picks up the cue and launches himself into a canter, guided by the pressure of her knees. Alex has no idea how far they have to go. Judging distance from the top of the ridge would have been difficult at the best of times but she’s tired, and she is a stranger to the country. She estimates more than eight kilometres but less than fifteen.

  Alex settles into the saddle and maintains a steady pace, twisting between the trees and scrub but always coming back onto a line that keeps the sun in the same position over her shoulder. She uses shadows on the ground as another indicator of direction. She is tempted to go faster but is unsure how far they really have to go and can feel that Thor isn’t as spritely as yesterday. It would be a disaster to destroy his stamina before they reach the tank but an equal disaster to get there too late. She keeps up the canter, fighting the urge to go faster, eating up distance at a steady pace.

  Gradually, she becomes aware of a beating rhythm pulsating through the trees. She brings Thor to a stop, listening to the sound as he skits sideways in impatience. Alex turns her head from side to side but can’t identify the direction of the sound. It dances over and between the trees like a phantom butterfly. Suddenly it becomes louder, its direction clearer—directly in front of her. A helicopter!

  “Shit!” she spits out and impels Thor into a gallop. They’re leaving! The time for restraint is gone. She needs every last bit of Thor’s energy now! The thunder of his hooves drowns out the sound of the helicopter so she only has the angle of the sun and the shadows to guide him. She nurses Thor deftly between trees and patches of scrub but just as she needs speed, the vegetation increases in density. She uses the quarter horse’s heritage to full advantage, twisting and turning to maintain her charge to the southwest.

  Now she can hear the helicopter over the sound of Thor’s hooves pounding the hard red earth. She catches a hint of white between the trees. It is airborne, flashing overhead in a tight turn. She is too late! She reins Thor in, disappointment welling up inside her and tears threatening to explode as he rears up in frustration and excitement. Her rational mind kicks emotion out of the way. It is a small helicopter. There must be men on the ground if they are working cattle. They would need one vehicle at least, or a truck for the cattle, unless the cattle are penned up. Not likely! They’d wait for the helicopter to lift off. If they are still there they will head southeast on the track Charcoal described, back to the homestead.

  She takes a gamble, turns Thor’s head the long way round in a sweeping turn to the right and exhorts him once again into a gallop, not caring as branches claw at her face and tug at her clothes. There! A cloud of dust is rising above the scrub! She has guessed right! Someone is heading down the track. They are already some distance away and building up speed. The vehicle is shrouded behind the swirling red dust but she catches the occasional flash of reflection as it bounces along the track. There is no wind to speak of and the track is smothered by dust. She veers Thor to one side and spurs him into a final effort, twisting left and right around the scrub that seems deliberately planted to stop her closing the final gap.

  In sudden horror she sees a fallen tree whose grey trunk and dead branches rear up between clumps of dust-covered straggly scrub. Before she can react, she feels Thor’s muscles respond instinctively as he launches himself over the obstacle, aiming between branches reaching like skeletal fingers to claw her from the saddle. She feels the end of one branch thud into her shin and snap as Thor thumps back onto the ground and regains his pace with barely a falter.

  They are so close, but not close enough. In spite of their efforts, Thor is faltering and they are losing the race. In desperation she swings her hand back onto the Colt and draws it from the small of her back. From the saddle of a racing horse thundering through the bush, Alex struggles to remember what she has been taught. Is it in condition one or two? She risks a quick glance down at the gun in her hand, flicks the safety off with a definite downward push of her thumb and pulls the hammer back. She holds the Colt out at the end of her outstretched arm, has a brief flash of concern over whether Thor is desensitised to gun fire and pulls the trigger anyway. The stakes are too high not too! The Colt bucks in her hand as Thor pounds on without flinching. She lets the Colt roll back with the recoil, taking her hand up with it, then drops it back down and pulls the trigger again.

  Chapter Seventy-seven

  Johnny is leaning back in the seat, his shoulder resting against the door pillar. It is good to be sitting down in a soft, comfortable seat. It will be a good hour at least before they get to the stockyards. He is determined to enjoy the break and the cool caress of the breeze playing with the hairs on his tanned skin.

  “Much to do at the yards?” he asks.

  “With luck not much, me boy. That bloody lone brumby has smashed the fence again to get to the water. Gotta do something about that fella! If we knock it off by this arvo we can be back at the quarters tonight. Got everything we should need in the back,” Andy says. He likes being out in the bush but always looks forward to a good shower, home cooked food and a soft bed. Enough luxury to recharge him, but not enough to become tedious.

  A booming thud sounds, just loud enough to hear over the rattling of the trailer and thumping of the suspension. “What was that?” Johnny snaps.

  Andy swings to the left to cut around a fallen tree. “Might be a tyre…” He doesn’t get a chance to finish. The side mirror explodes in a shower of glittering shards of glass, accompanied by a sharp clang as something grazes across the bonnet.

  “Fucking shit!” Johnny spits as Andy hits the brakes. They are swallowed by the swirling cloud of dust that envelopes them from behind. It drifts into the Toyota, adding another layer to the brown tint of the interior. There is a commotion to their left and a shadowy apparition appears through the dust. They see a horse stepping nervously sideways alongside Johnny’s window, the legs of a rider visible below the roof line.

  Andy opens the door and jumps out. He takes in the sight of the horse, breathing heavily, still trying to step sideways in nervousness or the expectation of unleashing a burst of remaining energy. Andy squints his eyes to make out the rider trying to hold the horse steady. One hand holds the reins while the other holds a handgun. Over his years in the bush he has seen a lot and had a few surprises. He may look like a grizzled, worn-out old timer but is still as sharp as a drover’s knife.

  “If I ain’t mistaken, that looks a lot like Charcoal’s horse. And a lady with a gun! I got the feeling this’s go’n to be a good story.”

  Alex gasps with relief. “I had to get your attention! I nearly missed you!”

  “You didn’t bloody miss us lady!” Andy exclaims as he walks toward her, pointing at the bonnet and the side mirror. “I’d say that’s a bloody good hit!”

  It takes her a moment to realise what he is pointing at and understand what happened. “Sorry! I was desperate. You almost got away!”

  “What the fuck’s goin’ on!” Johnny exclaims as he climbs out to join Andy.

  Alex realises she is still holding the Colt. She flicks the safety on, drops the hammer, and tucks it into her belt before dismounting. She caresses Thor’s head and neck, a priority that doesn’t escape Andy’s notice, nor her ability to handle the big pistol. “Charcoal’s been shot. He’s alive, but hurt, with a friend
of mine. Another man has been shot. He’s dead. The man who killed him and his son are heading out, maybe stopping at the homestead. We stayed with Stuart a few nights ago. We need your help!”

  At this broadside of unexpected information, Johnny opens his mouth to ask questions but Andy puts his hand up to stop him. He’s dealt with more than his share of crises in the past and has learned the hard way that pointless questions just waste time. The lady has given him the gist of a bad situation in as few words as possible. He doesn’t need any more, not right now at least. “Johnny, break out the water for Thor and the lady.” To Alex, he says, “Where’s Charcoal?”

  Alex gathers her thoughts before responding. “I can’t say exactly where. I’ve been riding since yesterday afternoon. Back over the ridge and over the ridge before that,” she explains, pointing with her arm. I got to the second ridge last night, found water below the peak, just as Charcoal described. He said you’d be here, if I was lucky.” She accepts a mug of water from Johnny.

  Andy estimates the distances and times in his mind, takes a look at Thor and the woman and makes a string of decisions. “You did well lady! That’s a hell of a ride in that time and Thor could go further after a rest. If you’d missed us, he’d a got you out. I’m Andy, this is Johnny,” holding out a hand hardened and calloused by years of outback work.

  Alex shakes their hands and takes the mug away from her mouth just long enough to give her name. The ride has dehydrated her more than she’s imagined. She moves over to the ute to fill a bucket with water, ready for Thor to drink after his body has cooled down after the hard ride.

  “Give me a minute,” Andy says while Alex organises the water. He climbs back into the Toyota, picks up the microphone and switches frequencies on the radio. “Charlie Tango X-Ray, this is Narraburra ground. You reading me?”

  It doesn’t take long for a reply to come back through the ether, sharp and professional. “Charlie Tango X-ray, reading you fives.”