As they walked past the injured Royal Guard the enormity of what they were going to do hit Roger. It made him sick with fear. “Which way will we go?” he asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Graham replied. “I’ve read that the best place to set an ambush on a road is on the outside of a bend so you can fire both ways along it. And you don’t want any ‘dead ground’ or cover for the enemy. It is better to be level or only slightly above them so they have no escape by going over the bank and downhill.”
“That little hill above the railway tunnel. It looks right back down to here as well as down the road and railway,” Roger suggested.
“Yes. And it covers the re-entrant and hillside above the road. I reckon that is the place to start looking,” Graham agreed.
The sound of a vehicle coming from the direction of Herberton reached Roger’s ears. “There’s a car coming. Should we stop it?”
Graham shook his head. “No. Let it go.”
Roger really wanted to get away from there but knew that Graham was right. With a twinge of regret he watched the car rush past along the highway. It appeared as a flicker of blue coloured movement through the trees. For a moment it was clearly visible along the cleared lane of the road. Then it went up the slope towards the pass and was soon out of hearing.
“How will we go about it?” Roger asked. They were across the grid by then and in sight of the highway. Both halted a couple of metres back from the edge of the bitumen, from where the railway level crossing and small hill in the pass were both visible. It was mostly open ground all the way to the hill half a kilometre away.
“I think we should just walk straight up to it in the open,” Graham said as he carefully scanned the hill and the mountainside to the left of it.
“Shouldn’t we creep under cover?” Roger asked.
Graham shook his head. “No, we won’t try creeping up. I reckon we will be a lot safer if they see us at long range and we don’t suddenly surprise them. I am hoping they will think we are soldiers and that will worry them. They won’t know how many of us there are and I am banking on them not shooting at us. They will either think that the army is doing a security operation; or that their plan has been discovered. If they’ve any sense they will then pull out before we arrive, rather than risk a fight. If we sneak up and suddenly bump into them at close range with no warning they are liable to shoot first and think later.”
Roger gulped. His mind told him that Graham was right but suddenly he felt almost paralysed by fear and realized he was trembling. He wiped sweaty palms on his trousers. “I hope you are right.” he said.
“So do I!” Graham replied with a wry grin. “Now, pick up a stick that looks like a gun. We need to appear armed.”
Roger did as he was told. It made him feel even more defenceless and slightly foolish.
“Make sure the safety catch is on,” Graham quipped. Then he walked forward into the open, looked both ways along the highway and strode across. Roger took a deep breath and followed.
As he crossed the road Roger could see all the way up to the top of the pass. The highway went up in a wide sweeping curve, with the forested mountainside on the left above it. On the right, between the road and railway, was about four hundred metres of gentle slope covered with short grass. The small hill was covered with a scattering of trees and rocks. Having fired rifles at the range Roger knew with sickening certainty that a person on that hill could strike them dead even now. The thought chilled and almost paralysed him.
Graham angled over to the fence beside the railway. Roger watched a heavily laden truck come grinding into view over the crest. It came growling down towards them at an ever increasing pace. The driver glanced at them curiously. That gave Roger an even greater sense of unreality. Here was this man calmly going about his daily business while he and Graham were walking forward in fear of their lives.
Roger swallowed to ease his fear and said, “If those characters are really up there they must be able to see us now.” He was finding it harder and harder to keep walking towards the pass. His flesh seemed to be rippling as it cringed in anticipation of being struck by a bullet. But despite an almost paralysing fear he made himself keep pace with Graham, moving ten metres out to his left. The hill loomed larger and larger.
‘We are well within effective rifle range now,’ he told himself. ‘If they are going to shoot it will be soon or we will reach those trees.’
Two hundred metres to go. Keep walking. Breath coming in rasps. Sweat dripping off the nose and upper lip. Walking directly towards the sun. One hundred metres to go. Roger wanted to stop, to go back. He screwed his eyes up against the glare and anxiously searched the slopes for any sign of the ambush.
Graham kept beside the fence and this led them slowly further away from the highway. By the time they reached the first trees and began to climb the hill they could no longer see the actual road, which went into a cutting between the small hill and the mountain to their left. Roger approved. Graham had led them into dead ground, although a smart enemy who knew his job would have flank and rear security deployed watching the way they were coming.
Down to his right Roger glimpsed the deep cutting that led the railway into the tunnel. Graham led him to a grassy saddle almost above the tunnel and Roger saw the railway continue on down the mountain. He shivered and remembered his apprehension the previous day when they had stopped just down there. Perhaps the ambushers had been watching them through their rifle sights even then?
The small hill turned out to be steeper and larger than Roger had expected. As they went up it he began to puff and pant. He wiped sweat from his eyes and kept looking down to see where he was putting his feet. The route Graham had followed led them up into the rear of where he had suggested the ambush be set. As they neared the top and nothing happened he began to relax. A breeze came through the gap and cooled him. He got glimpses out over the Tablelands in the distance.
Graham had drawn ahead as they climbed. Soon he was twenty paces in front. As he reached the top and began to angle over towards the cutting he suddenly went down in a crouch.
At first Roger thought he must have tripped he went down so fast, but then he saw him look cautiously around a tree. His left hand went out, thumb down.
Enemy!
Roger froze. For a moment he was quite unable to move. His mind refused to accept the field signal. Enemy! It couldn’t be true! But it must be. Graham began scrambling forward through the grass, rocks and grass-tree.
Blood pounded in Roger’s temple. He twisted the stick he held in his sweaty hands, then scuttled over to a solid looking tree. As he reached it Graham rose and signalled him forward with urgent gestures. Roger did not want to move but he obeyed.
“Quick!” Graham hissed. “Look, there they go. Five of them at least.”
Roger was just in time to see an armed figure in a dark green uniform run across the highway at the next bend about a hundred metres away. He glimpsed others scrambling up the steep slope above the road. Quite distinctly he saw the shape of an armed man go back over the crest of the spur into the re-entrant beyond.
“So they were here!” he said incredulously.
“Yes. And they obviously saw us coming and bugged out. I wonder where they are going? Come on! We had better follow them.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” Roger asked. “After all, we’ve sprung their ambush.”
“Very dangerous,” Graham agreed. “But we have to be sure they don’t just move and set the ambush further down the road.”
Roger looked over his shoulder. He could see all the way back down to the junction of the Forestry Road where they had come from. Beside him was the cutting, at least five metres deep. Beyond it, in the direction of Atherton, the highway curved left to go out of sight behind the spur about a hundred metres away. There the road had a cut on the left and a steep drop on the right. The slope led down into the re-entrant which widened to become a valley further on. Up on the opposite slope away to his right he could clearly see the railway they had walked up the previous day. The highway wound its way down the mountainside, its next bend barely visible through the trees. The slope above the highway went up through an area of rocks and grass-trees into a steep, grass-covered ridge with an open forest of tall, white-trunked eucalypts on it. Above that was shrouded in cloud.
Graham grunted with approval. “Bloody good spot for an ambush alright,” he said admiringly.
“Here comes a car,” Roger said, hearing the sound of an engine climbing the range from Atherton. He hoped it was Peter with the police. To his sharp disappointment he saw it was a snappy ‘electric blue’ sedan driven by a smartly dressed young woman. She did not even see them and the car sped through the cutting and on towards Herberton.
Graham began walking along the top of the cutting in the direction taken by the Royal Guards. Reluctantly Roger followed him, wondering how he could stop him. When they descended to the road they did not cross over as the steep rock face of the cut continued on the other side and was far too high to safely climb. Instead the boys walked quickly down the side of the road.
Roger was acutely aware that they were now in the intended ‘Killing Ground’ of the ambush and his eyes searched the slopes above them anxiously. Once again he felt his flesh cringing and tingling in anticipation. Graham went first, eyes also searching, the rifle carried at the ready, pointing up the slope.
A red car came from behind and raced past. The driver, a young man in a white shirt and tie, gaped at them and called something rude. The vehicle vanished around the bend.
“I wish Peter would hurry up,” Roger said. He looked at his watch. It was half past seven. Peter had been gone three quarters of an hour; ample time surely?
Graham reached the bend. The road curved sharp left into the re-entrant; then sharp right around the side of the next spur before another sharp left took it out of sight. After a searching scrutiny of the mountainside Graham strode across the road and began clambering up the steep slope beyond.
“I think I can see them. Yes, there’s one,” he called, pointing up amongst the trees. He continued on.
Roger crossed the road and began climbing. He looked but could see no sign of the Royal Guards. “Wait Graham,” he called. “Shouldn’t we wait here to tell the police?”
Graham stopped and looked back. “But they will get away.”
“We know where they are going. It will be to that ruin on top of the mountain.”
“They may not. You stay here and tell the police. I will follow them,” Graham replied.
Roger felt very uneasy. “That’s not a good idea. Instead of a group of four we would then be four individuals scattered all over the place. Remember Stannary Hills.”
Graham hesitated. He moved restlessly, wiped sweat from his eyes with his sleeve, looked up the mountain in frustration; then put the safety catch on and swore. He took out his water bottle and had a big drink. Roger did likewise, feeling immensely relieved.
There was a cool breeze on that side of the slope, funnelling through the pass, and it chilled their sweat. Graham put his water bottle away and took up the rifle. “OK Roger, you walk back to Stephen. When the cops arrive tell them what is going on. I will meet you at the ruin on top.”
“Don’t be silly Graham!” Roger cried. He shook his head in annoyance at Graham. He knew he could get very stubborn and was apt to do things from sheer bravado. “We have taken enough risks. Someone could get killed.”
Graham turned and began walking rapidly up the steep, grassy slope. Anger welled up in Roger. “Don’t be such a bloody stubborn idiot Graham! We’ve stopped the ambush. Leave it to the police. Besides, what will Captain Conkey say?”
To his frustration Graham ignored him and kept on climbing. Roger swore and fidgeted in indecision. He had horrible thoughts of Graham being caught by the men. They would probably shoot him and his body would be dumped in the rain forest, never to be found.
“Oh blast you, you stubborn idiot!” Roger cried. He began climbing as well. “I can’t let him go on his own.”
Graham was fifty metres ahead by then. He glanced back and Roger saw his face darken with anger. He waited till Roger had struggled to within about ten metres of him.
“I told you to go back to Stephen to tell him what is going on,” Graham snapped.
Roger leaned on a tree, gasping for breath. His heart hammered so fast he feared he was going to have a heart attack. “Ya...you...puff, puff...you can’t follow ...puff...them on your own. Puff..cough, cough...puff. Something might happen to you.”
“Go back.”
“No.”
“That’s an order.”
“No. I will, if you do,” Roger replied.
“Then you are as silly as I am. Don’t slow me down. I’ll meet you at the ruin,” Graham snapped angrily, his chest heaving. He hefted the rifle to ready and went on up the slope as fast as he could walk.
Roger watched his departing back with anger and resentment. Then he resumed plodding upwards through the waist high blady grass, even though his pulse rate was still well above normal.
After a few minutes he had to stop again. Gasping for breath he leaned on a tree, alternately sweating and shivering. Anxiously he watched Graham vanish over a false crest a hundred metres further up. As he looked around he got another shock. He was enveloped in cloud.
The white vapour came seeping through the trees, cutting out the view down into the valley and limiting visibility to about a hundred paces. ‘Stephen is down there,’ he thought. Then other worries came to him: Was he alright? Had any of the Royal Guard turned up and taken him prisoner? ‘He must be feeling very lonely and wondering where we have got to.’ He saw by his watch they had now been gone more than an hour. Would Stephen be able to work out where they had gone? Yes, the ruin on top was the logical place. What was the ruin?
Roger had a drink and slogged on up. He only just reached the false crest before he had to stop again. The cloud closed in, cold and clammy. It did not effectively restrict his visibility which was affected more by the trees and bushes but it gave things a creepy, eerie atmosphere.
With relief Roger saw that the next section of the mountainside was not as steep. It went up for at least two hundred metres to another crest, dimly seen in the mist. Was that the top of the mountain? He hoped so.
After resting for a couple of minutes Roger continued walking. He found his trouser legs getting wet from the condensation forming on the grass and he was soon soaked from the waist down. There was no sign of Graham. The trees were much smaller now and formed a real thicket, being interspersed with masses of bushes, lantana and ferns.
Abruptly Roger halted. He looked down, then left and right. He had stepped onto an old vehicle track running up the spine of the ridge from his left, from the direction of their camp. It was just two wheel tracks and had not been used for a long time.
After a careful look around Roger began following the track. A quick check showed it wasn’t marked on the map but he guessed it would lead to the ruin which he surmised should be only a few hundred metres ahead. The slope gradually levelled out and the track entered a thick belt of chest-high ferns and small bushes which formed a real jungle under the trees.
Roger slowed down and began scouting cautiously forward. As he reached the gentle crest of the slope he heard voices. He froze for a moment. The sound came from down to his right-front. The belt of scrub appeared to end about fifty paces further on so Roger crept forward.
“Pssst! Roger!”
Graham’s voice from right beside him made Roger jump in fright. He looked down. Graham was crouched in the bushes. He reached up and grabbed Roger’s sleeve and roughly pulled him down.
“Get under cover before that sentry sees you,” Graham hissed.
Roger went down on hands and knees. “What sentry?”
“The one standing beside the track on the edge of the scrub,” Graham replied.
“I didn’t see anyone.”
“He’s there alright. It’s a wonder he didn’t see you. And he’s got a mate patrolling on the edge of those ferns.”
Roger cautiously raised his head and peered through a bush. For a moment he could see no-one. Then a movement attracted his eye and he clearly saw a soldier dressed in the green uniform. The man had put the butt of his rifle down and was adjusting something on his webbing. Realization of how close he had come to disaster made a chill sweep over Roger. His mouth went dry and his heart began to pound with excitement.
As they watched there was a faint rustling in the bushes and a second man appeared from their right-front. He was carrying a sub- machine gun. The soldier crossed the track and spoke to the sentry for a moment, then went on into the scrub.
“Come on,” Graham whispered. He started crawling to their right. Roger followed, his mouth dry with fear.
They crawled about twenty metres until Graham was sure the sentry could not see them. Then he rose and began ‘Ghost walking’, the rifle held ready. Roger did likewise. The pair angled down through thick scrub towards the sound of voices.
Roger wanted to call Graham back. He knew that what they were doing was deadly dangerous and stupid. If they met a sentry unexpectedly it would be ‘shoot first, ask later’. But his fear battled with the fear of being ridiculed or thought a coward. And he was curious. Was it the Royal Guard hideout? ‘Maybe I will see the Prince,’ he thought.
So he continued to creep along five paces behind Graham. There were a lot of dead twigs in the long grass but luckily things were so damp from the mist that these did not make too much noise when trodden on.
After a few minutes they reached the edge of the scrub, about fifty metres to the right of the sentry post. Ahead of them was a mass of ferns about a hundred metres across. These were waist high and covered a gentle down-slope, ending at a clearing. Beyond the clearing was a dark wall of pine trees and rain forest. Low cloud drifted past, shrouding everything in mist. There was constant dripping of condensation from the leaves.
They could not see into the clearing very well as several bushes and small trees obscured the view but they could see people, at least their top half. Roger was amazed. There looked to be a dozen or more, all in the green uniforms and most with guns. One, with the gold collar badges of an officer, was busily giving orders.
Graham leaned close. “They look like they are packing up,” he whispered. “Let’s go down to the right and see if we can get a better look.”
Roger didn’t agree and shook his head but Graham ignored this. He set off back into the scrub and began a wide semi-circle downslope. Roger reluctantly followed. They crawled most of the way, under bushes, between trees and through long grass.
All the while Roger was straining eyes and ears not only for the first sign of a Royal Guard, but also for any snakes. He was sure the repulsive reptiles would love this environment: wet and damp; lots of frogs and small animals! And he was right. Once Graham hissed and pointed. Roger looked, in time to see half a metre of black snake slither into a clump of grass, just like a hundred other clumps he had just crawled through. He shuddered and kept moving. Five minutes creeping brought them back to the edge of the ferns.
Graham pointed down. A line of trampled ferns made a rough foot track. “The sentry on patrol. Keep alert,” Graham whispered. Roger nodded and looked to his left.
His heart stood still. His voice choked up and he could only grunt as he grabbed at Graham. The soldier was coming their way and was not twenty paces away!
“Back! Hide!” Graham hissed. Roger turned and crawled back behind a bush, using all his training and will power to resist the urge to run, or even to crawl quickly. As soon as he was behind the shrub he pressed himself into the long grass and leaf-mould. Rising terror drove the thought of snakes out of his mind. He curled up his legs and lay still.