The keys were in the ignition. Les started the motor, turned on the lights and checked out the four-wheel drive and that. Satisfied all was in order, he switched off the engine and stepped out of the cabin, straight into the silently approaching lights coming down the ridge, which heralded Murray’s return. Murray pulled the SPATV up next to the Land Rover and got off.
‘Have you worked out what to do with the rocket?’ asked Les.
‘Yep. I sure have,’ nodded Murray. He looked at the missile for a moment then turned to his brother. ‘Well, firstly, I don’t want the fuckin’ thing — unless you do.’
‘I’m bloody sure I don’t want it,’ said Les. ‘Make a terrific doorstop. But thanks anyway.’
‘Okay. Well, I don’t fancy burying it, just in case some dope might come across it with a metal detector and dig it up. And it’s no good throwin’ it in the river. It could get washed down stream or leak or anything.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘And I’m sure as hell not putting the fuckin’ thing on the back of the Land Rover when I dynamite it. Imagine if the thing blew up.’
‘Christ!’
‘So you know what I reckon we ought to do with the bloody thing, Les?’
‘What?’ Les suddenly got this feeling he shouldn’t have asked.
The look on his brother’s face turned into this weird grin. ‘I reckon we ought to let the fuckin’ thing off.’
Les looked at his brother as if he’d just turned into a werewolf. ‘What did you say, Murray?’
‘We’ll let the cunt off. I’ll fire it straight up in the air. I’ve never seen a nuclear explosion — except on the movies.’
‘Neither have I,’ protested Les. ‘And I don’t fuckin’ want to either. You ratbag.’
‘Get out, you big, weak sheila. What’s wrong with you? It’d look grouse.’
‘Murray. You can’t…’
‘Bullshit! Come here, look, I’ll show you.’
‘Murray for Christ’s…’ But Les had seen this look on his brother’s face before when he’d get a bee in his bonnet about something, and knew there’d be no stopping him.
‘Anyway, what are you shitting your pants for. It’s only a low-yield thing. It’s not like there’s gonna be another Hiroshima.’
Les shook his head, knowing the futility of even trying to reason with his brother. ‘I don’t believe this. I honestly don’t fuckin’ believe it. You are stone, raving fuckin’ mad.’
Murray simply shrugged. ‘Runs in the family — don’t it.’ Murray walked over and got the Tilley lamp from the table and placed it on the ground next to the Bofors Ray Rider. He took the torch from his overall pocket, studied the instruction manual then had another good look at the missile. ‘Piece of piss,’ he said, looking up at Les. ‘I told you I’ve been playing war games with the kids on their computers. This is the same thing. Easier if anything.’
Murray slid open a kind of metal hatch on the back of the Bofors launch tube and got Les to give him a hand to slide the missile in, then closed it. There was a small panel on the launch tube between the shoulder rest and the digital fire control system. Murray slid that open, pushed a couple of buttons, inserted a short, thick length of cable through a small, square hole then closed that too. With Les’s help he leant the Bofors Ray Rider against the roof of the Land Rover, then opened another panel on the digital fire control system. Murray pushed another button and the control panel lit up in red and white like a small chess board full of glowing digital numbers.
‘See that, Les?’ said Murray, pushing at the buttons and numbers. ‘You set your altitude proximity guidance control. We’re on land, not at sea, so I don’t have to worry about that gyro-stabilized mirror. Just make sure the ballistic reticle connects the terminal mode to the engine thrust.’
‘Yeah, and the leg bone conecka to the thigh bone,’ said Les, half wishing he was somewhere else.
‘Yeah, something like that,’ chuckled Murray. ‘Now I’m not going to get an optical signature, so I’ll just set this for…’ Murray pushed some more buttons. ‘Ten thousand metres. That ought to do. Okay. Now give me a hand to get it up on my shoulder. The bloody thing’s heavy, ain’t it?’
With Les’s help again, Murray got the Bofors onto his right shoulder with the front of the launcher resting on the roof of the Land Rover. He looked through the sights up into the stars and flipped open the firing button near the thumb joy-stick. The weapon was now armed and in full launch mode.
‘Which way are you going to aim, for Christ sakes, Muzz?’
‘Straight up.’
‘What if the thing don’t go off and comes back down?’
‘Shit! That’s a thought.’ Murray took his eye from the sight and seemed to take a bearing from the river. ‘Okay. Give us a hand to move it round the other side of the car. I’ll aim it towards those cunts out in Chinchilla.’
‘Yeah, good idea, Muzz,’ said Les, helping to move the Bofors to its new position. ‘I never liked those bastards. Remember when they beat us in the grand final?’
‘Remember it. The bludgers. They didn’t only beat us. They flogged us as well. I could hardly walk for a week.’
‘Tell me about it,’ agreed Les. ‘I had to take three days off from work myself. It was only because Big Harry Proudfoot trod on a rusty nail two days before and couldn’t play. And Jimmy Monshall got sent off.’
‘Yeah,’ said Murray, getting his face back behind the sights. ‘Didn’t we miss them.’
‘And those bastards knew it too. Yeah, go on, Muzz. Aim the fuckin’ thing towards Chinchilla. Liven those Kooris up, too.’
Murray placed his hand back on the thumb joy-stick and screwed his eye further into the sights. ‘Well, twinkle twinkle little star. How I wonder where you are. I think I’ll just pick the closest one. That one looks all right.’ Murray gave a bit of a sardonic chuckle. ‘I hope Dick Smith’s not flying around in his helicopter tonight. Not at ten thousand metres over Chinchilla, anyway. Righto Les. Stand back, son. Here we go.’
Les didn’t have to be told twice. Leaving Murray holding the Bofors Ray Rider up against the Land Rover, Les got back about five metres from where the blast would come from the rear of the launcher and waited; for what, he didn’t quite know. One thing Les did know, here was his brother, a Queensland hillbilly living out in the middle of nowhere, who could work out computers and guidance systems. Les had been living in the city all those years and was flat out programming a VCR. He didn’t have long to wait.
The Bofors seemed to quiver for a second, then a red glow came from out the back, followed by a roaring swoosh, something like the sound of a kid’s skyrocket, only about a hundred times louder. A cloud of dust, leaves and high octane smoke swirled round the Land Rover as the nuclear missile launched itself in a blinding red and white glow that screamed up into the night sky, leaving a thick, smoky vapour trail disappearing towards the stars.
Murray let go of the Bofors, stepped back and joined his brother staring up into the night, trying to pick a tiny red pin-point of light amongst the billions of stars. ‘Well, at least it wasn’t a dud.’
Les didn’t reply. Alongside his brother he stared up into the sky waiting for what, he didn’t know. His adrenalin was still moving around after the killings and his nerves were a bit on edge. Now Les began to feel awfully apprehensive. They waited for what seemed like an eternity.
‘Hey, Murray, are you sure you set that thing for ten thousand metres?’
‘Yeah. Positive.’
‘Seems to be taking a bloody long time to get there.’
‘Give it a chance.’
‘Christ! I hope the bloody thing doesn’t land on Chinchilla. I was only half joking, you know.’
Murray rubbed at his chin as he gazed up into the sky. ‘I wasn’t.’
Les stared up at the stars, trying to follow the vapour trail and pick out the rocket’s glow. At not quite 12 o’clock high, more like 11.55, another, bigger star seemed to form between the oth
ers that quickly enveloped the surrounding ones in a blinding, silver glow. The silver quickly turned into a huge, equally blinding orange, red and black cloud of rolling, roaring flames lighting up the sky. The cloud spread and got brighter, like a thousand sun flares all rolled into one. From where Les was standing, if the explosion was ten thousand metres up, the epicentre had to be twenty kilometres across; though it seemed to be spreading towards the horizon. The rolling furnace of flames intensified and brightened to finally reach a terrifying climax that momentarily bathed the landscape in an iridescent, soft glow. From a distance it looked something like a thunderstorm, only instead of black, blue and mauve, it was orange, red and black, all turning in on itself.
Then the sound hit. It too was like a thunderstorm, only instead of a distant, rumbling boom it was more an explosion followed by a great crackling hiss. Like a monstrous pair of speakers blowing up on full bass and treble. The dreadful sound lasted for a few moments then, behind the orange glow, it seemed as if the sky was filled with a glowing white criss-crossing as the shock waves hit the sound waves, vaporised themselves around the nuclear explosion and hung in the sky. The cauldron of boiling fire rolled on for a few more moments till the crackling sound diminished and then there was just this orange glow in the sky, something like the aftermath of a late summer storm, only surrounded by a lattice-work of white shock waves. In a strange way it was almost beautiful. It was also quite terrifying. Christ! thought Les. Is that what the end of the world’s going to look like? I sure bloody hope not. And these nutters managed to get hold of one. And there’s another hundred thousand or more bigger ones sitting in silos all over the world. Bloody hell! Les didn’t know what to think. Awestruck, he turned to his brother.
‘Well, what do you reckon, Muzz?’
‘What do I reckon?’ Murray continued to stare up at the orange glow still flickering across the night sky. ‘I reckon if we hadn’t come along, they’d have got the both of them for sure.’
‘No, Muzz,’ replied Les, gaping back up into the sky. ‘You definitely deserve all the credit.’
Murray smiled at his brother. ‘Why thanks, mate.’ Then Murray turned back to the glow in the sky, put his hand over his heart and saluted. ‘God bless the President. God bless the flag. And God bless the United States of America.’
‘What about our bloke?’
‘Ahh fuck him.’
‘Fair enough.’ Les turned to his brother. ‘So what do you reckon we ought to do now? General Norton. NATO computer genius.’
‘What do I reckon?’ Murray turned and looked evenly at his brother. ‘I reckon we ought to get to the shithouse out of here. Because if that’s a low-yield one, I don’t ever want to see the fuckin’ real thing. And I reckon half of Queensland saw that. So let’s piss off. We still got to blow that opal mine and get rid of our mates yet.’
Les didn’t need to be told twice. In no time flat they had the Bofors, the pieces of wooden crates, and anything else they could find thrown in the back of the Land Rover and tied down with rope. Plus the Tilley lamp out and on the front floor. Typical bloody Murray, thought Les, as he followed the SPATV through the scrub in the lights of the Land Rover. Gets some shit going for a lark then we all have to bail out. He’s no different to when we were kids. Though for some mad reason Les still couldn’t help but laugh as he bounced along behind his brother.
After about ten minutes of bumping up and down trails and gullies through the barren scrub, Murray pulled the SPATV up in front of the old abandoned opal mines. In the lights of the two vehicles it looked like four holes spread out around a barren, dusty clearing, surrounded by several heaps of mulloch, rocks, old machinery and other rubbish. Murray guided Les through a gap in the mulloch heaps into the middle of the clearing. Les stopped the Land Rover, turned everything off and got out. With the lamp in his hand, he walked over to Murray, framed in the headlight of the SPATV, and gave it to him.
‘That’s perfect, Les,’ he said. ‘Right on the button.’ Murray lit the lamp, put it on the roof of the Land Rover and walked back to Les. ‘Righto, hop on. There’s a bit of a knoll behind this mulloch heap. We can watch it from over there.’
They bumped through about two hundred more metres of scrub, up a slight rise to the knoll and pulled up next to a few big boulders, sheltered by a couple of stumpy red gums above. Les got off and sat down behind one of the boulders; in the short distance he could see the lamp flickering in the clearing now surrounded by swarms of moths and other insects. Murray took a remote-control from the carry tray, sat down next to Les and flicked a switch which made two red buttons glow in the darkness.
‘This’ll probably be small potatoes after that other shindig,’ said Murray. ‘But it should look all right. Anyway, here we go,’ he added and pressed one of the red buttons.
There was a deep, muffled explosion that seemed to shake the ground around them and the clearing under the Land Rover lifted up as four bursts of sparks and flame shot out of the old mine shafts, momentarily lighting up the surrounding scrub. These were quickly snuffed out, along with the lamp as the whole clearing and the Land Rover collapsed in a great cloud of dust. The sound of the explosion echoed dullishly across the scrubby landscape.
‘Well, that one worked okay,’ said Murray. ‘Let’s see how number two goes.’
Murray pressed the other red button as Les peered into the dust swirling round in the moonlit darkness. This time it sounded like a crescendo of explosions, slightly louder. The four mulloch heaps seemed to burst out, tumbling and crashing into the hole where the clearing had been in another great cloud of grey dust and smoke. They watched it settle for a minute or so, then Murray tapped Les on the arm and tossed the remote-control back in the carry tray.
‘Come on. Let’s go down and have a look.’
They bumped their way back down to the scene of the explosions and peered into the smoke and swirling dust through the headlight on the SPATV. Where there had once been mine shafts and mulloch heaps was now a clearing strewn with rocks and rubble, settled in a bit of a basin shape. Somewhere, about twenty metres below, was the Land Rover, the six Arabs, their prayer mats and all their other junk, plus the lamp.
Murray turned round to his brother and grinned. ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, if the devil don’t get you, the Norton boys must. What did I tell you, Les, I said they’d disappear. Unless you want to go and dig them up. I’d take a bloody big shovel though.’
‘No thanks, Muzz.’
‘And it’s all kosher too. With respect to the dead of course. I just did my job as a good citizen and a government employee. And not a bad one either I might add. For a public servant.’
‘What about the other one?’ asked Les.
‘Well, that was in my own time, wasn’t it? You can’t expect too much,’ Murray slapped his brother on the leg. ‘Well, come on. You want a lift back to your car or do you want to stay here gawking at this all night?’
Les grabbed his brother by the overalls, giving him a bit of a thump up under the ribs. ‘Warp ten, Mr Sulu. And don’t spare the hologenous solar cells.’
Murray spun the SPATV around in the dust and smoke and headed for a trail that lead back to the park by the river.
Both brothers knew there’d be no time and no real need for lingering goodbyes as Les left town. Unlike a conventional machine, the SPATV was virtually noise-free as they bumped along in the night and Les was able to tell Murray pretty much what he could expect in Surfers Paradise. He told him about the boarding house, where the Boulevarde was, a bit about the six blokes they’d be getting stuck into drinking in the back bar. Les would meet him there at nine-thirty a.m. but no matter what he’d ring Murray at six at the boarding house. After the fight they’d both go their separate ways and Les would meet him back at the boarding house for a ‘debriefing’. Then they might both move into a good hotel down at Burleigh Heads for a couple of days and get on the piss; all on Les. There might be some recriminations after the fight, but stiff shit, they’
d both be out of town if it came to that. And as for KK and his girl, once Les had sorted out one or two things with them, they could both go and get stuffed. There was a little more, but Murray quickly got the picture.
The journey back took considerably less than going out. Murray wheeled the SPATV into the park and pulled up next to the Jag, still sitting quietly beneath the trees next to the silver ribbon of the Balonne, running slowly past in the moonlight.
Les immediately peeled off his overalls and tossed them in the carry tray. Apart from his face and hands he wasn’t all that dirty, just hot and sweaty and a bit uncomfortable, especially where the dust and grime had mingled with the sweat and trickled down his neck. He opened the Jag and handed Murray a thick envelope.
White Shoes, White Lines and Blackie Page 20