by Dave Freer
“We see them fall out of the sky. You tellem go quick-quick, ’cause lots of soldiers in trucks comin’. Maybe seventy trucks. We goin’ north. Thems comin’ down your tail, maybe a day’s walk back now. They’re coming faster than we walk.” At this he turned and slipped away.
Tim turned and ran himself. This news needed to get straight to the Old Man. And Clara, because she was driving, and was good at backing him up when he needed it. “Captain Malkis, sir. I just had one of the aboriginals, the ones that saved me out there, come up and tell me that the convoy of soldiers is coming. I don’t know how well they counted them, sir, but he says seventy trucks are a day’s walk away from us.”
Tim had been afraid that the captain might not believe him, but the captain showed no such doubts. “Tell the lieutenants to get a move on, Barnabas. How well does this thing do at night for lights, Miss Calland?”
Tim heard Clara say “pretty good,” as he ran to find the lieutenants. Any thought of stopping or slowing for the night was not happening.
Soon they were bouncing on their way again.
Clara focused on driving. The steam mole’s steady thumping helped to drown some of the more distressing groans when she hit a bad bump—things she’d barely noticed on her search for Tim. Well, they might have been in a flatter piece of the desert. She’d realized by now that it wasn’t all the same. Lieutenant Willis, poor man, was trying to pad and strap and protect people as they trundled along. He’d used most of the precious supply of laudanum, and still McLoughlin and the two men with compound fractures were in considerable pain. McLoughlin was delirious and babbling—alternating between blowing up things and talking to his mother.
The moon helped, but it still took a great deal of concentration to pick the best and smoothest path possible. The one headlight stabbed ahead in the darkness, and they tried to keep a compass bearing. And then news came from those perched on top of the tender.
There was a ribbon of lights far off in the desert.
“Will they see our light?” asked Clara warily.
“It’s not that likely, Miss. We’re looking back at them, and our light shines forward.”
“Where are they?”
“They’re behind us, somewhere out on the plains a little to the southwest of us. They must have scouted a route.”
“We’ve been going uphill slowly but steadily,” said Clara. “Tim said the termite run went along the higher ground to avoid flooding.”
“Well,” said Nichol, who had climbed down to report this, “we’re guessing they’re still about as far off as we can see. They disappear every now and again.”
“I just don’t think we can go any faster,” said Clara.
“The mole is built more for endurance than speed,” said the captain. “We need to get news to the power stations and Sheba as soon as possible. I’m just not sure why the vehicles would be south of us. Sheba is to the north.”
“Rougher country for driving up that way, maybe,” suggested the flying wing’s engineer. “Maybe they want to take over the clankers and arrive by surprise.”
“Maybe their trucks can run on rails,” said her father. “It wouldn’t be that hard to engineer for. I assume there are rails in the tunnels?”
“Monorail overhead, two below,” said Clara.
“Well, they can move really fast if they can run on rails…until they meet an oncoming train. That could be ugly.”
“Not if they cut the cable,” said Clara. “Then the Westralian trains won’t go anywhere. They’re hauled by cable, not locomotives.”
“Well…” said her father. “How’s the foot, Lampy? We can ride a lot faster than this and give them warning.”
“Someone else can, sir,” said Lieutenant Willis. “Not you. You’re staying with your wife. Both of you under my eye. I’ve been told you fell over during that wood parade.”
“Lack of food and a lot of exercise,” said her father. “And not having ridden for some years, I admit. I’m pretty stiff. But I could still do it.”
“That may be, but we have thirty-seven people, and twenty-six have no injuries at all,” said Captain Malkis.
“But how many of them can ride well?”
“Ah. Most of my men are from Under-London.”
“I can ride,” said Linda. “I used to ride every day until we moved into Ceduna. I still ride two afternoons a week. I was hoping to take you, Clara.”
“We can’t send you, Linda,” said the captain, putting Clara in mind of his reaction to her volunteering to do the diving on the submarine. “Ask around. Get young Barnabas onto it, and no, I won’t believe he can ride. Besides, I think he needs to take over from the driver a little. I need real riders, not heroes.”
But the answer that Tim brought back was not what Captain Malkis wanted to hear. The only person who had ridden at all was the copilot, and that not for a good five years.
Lampy heard this with mixed feelings. He had no love for Westralia, but he knew what the army would do to Jack, Jack’s family, and the rest of them if they caught up with them, let alone to him. The rest of these people…it was odd, but maybe because they were used to Tim, they treated him, if anything, with respect. And if the soldiers captured Sheba, and the Cuttlefish people were still free…well, there was no way they could survive living out here in the desert. Not with summer coming.
It seemed Tim understood, too. “Sir,” he said to the captain. “If you’re going to ask this of Lampy…he needs some protection. They shot his uncle for no reason. Sir, I see some of the men are wearing police uniforms. Could he at least have that to wear? They won’t shoot at the uniform, and he could go with the copilot.”
“I’ll do that, and better,” said Lieutenant Ambrose, clinging just outside the door. “You remember, sir, I still have some temporary commissions. And as the ranking representative of the Westralian Mounted Police I am authorized to use them. I can make you into a policeman, Lampy. Anyone shoots you, besides the fact they will have to answer to us, they’re shooting a policeman. You are entitled to shoot back, and I gather the Westralians will hang anyone who shoots a policeman, no matter what the reason.”
“Me? A policeman?” Lampy could scarcely believe his ears.
“Too right,” said the copilot. “And you could even make them investigate your uncle’s murder.”
“I’m a blackfeller. I can’t be a policeman.” Still. It was an odd thought. Something to show that old nun back at the mission school who had said he was born to be hanged.
“You could,” said Jack. “It’d be a good thing, I think. It will change the way people see you.”
“You’d be with me,” said the copilot. “I just am not sure about finding my way on my own.”
“And me,” said Linda, firmly. “They won’t touch you while you’re with us. And yes, I am going, sir.”
“If they ride north they’ll be farther off from the invaders, and moving faster than us,” said Clara. “When we hit the termite run we’ll go south unless we can see the power station. If they go north Linda will be farther away and safer, and we won’t have all our eggs in one basket.”
“Two horses apiece, nearly full moon, three of them. I think they’d be reasonably safe,” said Mary. “Yes, Captain. I worry, too. But Clara is right. Linda might just be safer without us.”
“Provided you can find her some trousers that fit better than those ones I had,” said Clara. “I’m rubbed raw in a few places, and that was only for an hour or two.”
The girl was bigger than Jack’s kid. A swap for the railway-man’s trousers and with one of the smaller submariners and she’d be right. Lampy was just surprised that she was willing to do it. She was Westralian, not one of these Cuttlefish people. Jack’s ‘change the way people see you’ was still running around his head.
“I’ll do it,” he said slowly. “If you make me a policeman for that. Are you sure I can ride with this thing on my foot, Mr. Lieutenant?”
The lieutenant nodded. “Your foot will swell and be sore
, but it’s not going to be a disaster. Just don’t fall off.”
“It ain’t something a bloke plans on,” said Lampy, grinning. “I’ll do me best to land on me head if I take a purler then.”
They laughed. But they laughed with him. And a lot of them said things like, “Good for you, Lampy.”
A bloke could get to like this mob. Even a bloke in a new policeman’s slouch hat and jacket, with a letter in the top pocket, saying he was now a special constable and a member of the Westralian Mounted Police.
Linda wondered just how clever her bravado had been. She wasn’t really like Clara, much as she’d like to be. Clara, she was sure, would have jumped to be able to ride off into the dark in borrowed trousers. Right now Linda would have rather jumped back onto the crowded steam mole. But instead the three of them rode off in the moonlight, with no real way of knowing how far they had to go.
She also wondered just what her father would have said. He was the one who encouraged her to ride. Little had he ever guessed what she’d do with it, she thought. Lampy had got the measure of them very quickly, she realized. He might just be an aborigine, but he rode as if he was a part of that horse, and it was he who set the pace, and he decided when they stuck to a fast walk and where it was safe to go a little faster. It was obvious the copilot Ned could ride, but he seemed happy to take orders. Linda might have felt a bit different about it otherwise, but soon realized he was dead right, and Lampy was no fool.
When they slowed to a walk, Ned said, “You know, Lampy, Tim was talking to me about what happened to your uncle. I want to introduce you to Sergeant Morgan. He tried to find your uncle’s body. He couldn’t get any trackers to help him, and the man that shot him said it never happened.”
“It did, Mister. I was there,” said Lampy grimly.
“I believe you. That’s why Morgan needs you. He only had one witness come forward, and the others all denied it had happened. And they never found the body.”
“Uncle’s still there. I went back. He was like my father to me, that man. I wanted to bury him proper. Couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was just a kid.”
He isn’t that old now, thought Linda, absorbing this.
“Well, I think it would be time to do it. And to bring the person who did it to justice.”
Lampy was silent a while. Then he said, “I reckon.”
“I’ll back you up,” said Ned.
“Um. Me too,” said Linda.
Lampy flashed them a grin in the moonlight. Touched his hat. “I’m a copper now. I’ll do it meself.”
There was another pause. “Thank yous, both,” he said awkwardly.
After the riders left, Tim had taken a spell of driving. Then, when he’d felt his concentration was not at its best anymore, Clara had taken over. The convoy out in the dark was closer now. The topmast men reckoned they were about five or six miles back now, but still southwest a little.
And then when Tim was just coming in to do a second spell, to their relief, the headlight showed the mound of the termite run.
“Which way do we turn?” he asked.
“I thought we said south unless we can see a power station,” said Clara, peering at it.
“It’s a gamble, really,” said Tim. “We have no way of knowing where we are on the line. We could be, say, nineteen miles from one side and one from the other. Or worse, if we’re on the last section, the termite run hits some deep ground for a few miles, no mound on the surface, and then comes to the surface and ends. We could get there after the invasion, if they’re going straight to the power station.”
“Nonetheless we will bear south,” said the captain. “We can see the convoy lights. We can turn and flee. They have bigger fish than us to fry, I suspect.”
“Ah. I think I see an answer,” said Tim. “That’s an emergency exit hatch, sir. If we stop for a minute I can go down and see if there’s a cable running there. If there isn’t, we’re on the section they’re drilling and need to go north.”
They stopped, and Tim took the Davy lamp, and along with Submariner Gordon, climbed down. It made Tim feel uneasy and claustrophobic, going back down into that tunnel. “We’d better hold our breath,” he said, before opening the inner door.
They both took several deep breaths and went in.
To Tim’s delight the cables were there, and running. That meant he’d held his breath for nothing, but that wasn’t so much to ask.
The steam mole turned south. Now they ran without their lights, because they would be visible.
They could see the dark bulk of the power station chimneys before they got to the next emergency hatch.
But they could also see the lights of the convoy turning north. Were they heading straight for the power station, too?
Linda had been so glad to spot the ridge of the termite mound and head north after about an hour’s ride. They’d occasionally caught sight of the single light of the steam mole at first, and since then, nothing but darkness and the moonlit desert. She’d begun to wonder if somehow they’d missed it, or had much farther to go than she’d imagined.
“All right! We change horses,” said Lampy, plainly also relieved.
“How are you doing?” asked the copilot
“Foot’s gettin’ a bit sore,” admitted Lampy. “But I c’n ride. That soldier, he stayed in the saddle even when he was passing out. I c’n do better. Can’t have far now.”
“What do we do with the horses we’ve ridden?” asked Linda.
“Hook the reins up an’ leave ’em,” said Lampy, already gingerly lifting his sore foot over. “They follow us or they don’t. We need to make a little speed see. Those blokes are goin’ straight to where they goin’. We done one side of a triangle.”
“Oh,” said Linda, absorbing this. “So they have less distance to do. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Yeah, them nuns taught me a few things,” said Lampy, managing a smile by the flash of white teeth in the dark. You could hear he was sore, just in the way he spoke. “Think we can manage a trot.”
They did several sessions when the moon showed flat ground and no obstacles, making more speed. Eventually Lampy said, obviously through gritted teeth, “I think I keep to a canter or a walk now.”
“Is it bad?” asked Linda.
“Nothin’ I can’t manage,” he said tersely. “If I have to stop, yous go on without me. Can’t be far now. I reckon we done maybe eight-ten mile.”
“It’s twenty miles between power stations,” said the copilot.
“I’ll try to stay in the saddle, eh?” said Lampy.
But he wasn’t the one to fall off.
It was the copilot. Something must have made that tired horse stumble just as Linda smelled something utterly delightful: coal smoke.
They pulled their horses up as the copilot sat on the ground, using words he would be embarrassed for his mother to hear. His horse had trotted off into the dark a bit and stopped, standing and looking at them.
“You right?” Lampy was already starting to dismount.
“Don’t get down,” said the copilot. “Just keep going. My legs…they’ve had it. I can’t stand up, and I’ve done my wrist. But I’m all right. You keep going. That’s an order. They can fetch me.” Linda got down. “Mount up, Miss,” said the copilot. “Lampy can’t go on alone. And there are a lot of people relying on us.”
“But…but we can’t just leave you.”
“Go and get help! Ride, the two of you.”
“We be back,” said Lampy. “Bin able to smell the place for a while now. Reckon it’s not more than a mile.”
They cantered now, and, sure enough, there was the dark bulk of the power station ahead. They rode straight to the upper doors, and Lampy didn’t even get out of the saddle. He just leaned down and opened them, and they rode into the corridor that led down into the power station on horseback, both of them yelling their lungs out. They got quite far in before doors started opening. Obviously at this time of morning most of the power stat
ion staff was fast asleep.
A bleary-eyed man in a singlet stepped into the passage and looked at them. “Bloody hell! It’s a drunken boong! I’ll beat the…”
Linda prodded her horse forward. “You idiot!” she screamed at him.
He rubbed his eyes as Linda jumped down in front of him. “Uh. Miss…? Who are you?”
She was shaking with rage and reaction, and slapped him. “Half the British Army is behind us. And we’ve got an injured man out there. Get everyone!” She jibbed her horse. “Quickly!”
“Better do it, man,” said Lampy. Linda saw he was swaying in the saddle.
“Help me get him down!” she said to the man she’d just slapped, as another fellow in his nightclothes appeared.
“What’s going on? What’s the boong doing in a wimp’s clothes?”
Linda and the first man helped Lampy down. She felt like a volcano of rage was bubbling in her. “He is a policeman. And he’s a hero who has ridden halfway across the country with a broken leg to save us. You will treat him with respect!”
“Uh…what?” said the man, plainly nonplussed.
“Can either of you ride?” she demanded.
“Yeah,” said the first man. “Sorry Miss. I…wasn’t really expecting this.”
That, thought Linda, was one of the silliest things ever said. “Get up on Lampy’s horse,” she ordered. “The copilot of the flying wing is out there, about half a mile away. I’ll go with you. You!” She pointed at the other man. “You need to get everyone up and see to Lampy. He’ll tell you everything, but you need to see Sheba is warned. There’s a convoy of trucks full of British soldiers coming!”
“Bloody hell!” said the third man on the scene. “We heard about the wing being down last night, Miss! A clanker come through with the search party. Here, Fred, get moving. We need the Puffing Billy fired up. Johnny, go with her, jump to it.”
And things began to happen.
On the ride back to find the copilot with the man she’d slapped, Linda started shaking. “I…I’m sorry I hit you,” she said.