dumpster started to roll. I noticed the dust and thought it was funny on a military base, where everything was so immaculate. I followed him out, then stopped and waited for Lee. He closed the door. There were a couple of soldiers down the other end of the road, but they had their backs turned. Lee jumped into the cab, with a last wave to us. I revved my engine and followed Homer.
Outside everything seemed bright and clear. It was like watching a very sharp movie on a very big screen. There was so much space. I swung the truck to the right, still following Homer, and peeped further to my right, to where the soldiers were parading. For a moment I couldn't believe what I was seeing. But it had to be real. A crowd of men were at the end of the road, coming our way. I thought we'd been busted already, they were attacking us. Then I realised it couldn't be that. They must have finished their drill and were heading back to the barracks for a cup of tea and a good lie down. Bad timing. It meant the bodies of the officers would probably be found in three or four minutes. Not necessarily: they might not go into the messy dormitory, but I thought the odds were stacking even higher against us.
As if they weren't high enough already.
Homer swung off quickly to the left, down a side road. That was OK; it still took us in the direction of the parked jets. I followed him equally quickly, but at the same time worrying that we were driving too fast. We couldn't afford to draw attention to ourselves. We had to buy a minute and a half, at least, so we could get into position to cause the havoc that we wanted to cause.
And it was havoc we wanted. Havoc, chaos, destruction. If we succeeded, this airfield would be an inferno. We had a chance to wipe out more aircraft in a couple of minutes than the New Zealand Air Force had wiped out in the last six months.
I could see them now. God, so many of them. That was good but frightening. I'd been feeling sick for so long it shouldn't have worried me any more, but at this moment I felt I was going to lose everything in my stomach, and what's worse, lose it at both ends. The jets looked like hornets and I felt we were ants. Ants attacking hornets.
There were nine tankers fuelling planes, and another four planes in a line waiting to fill up. Thirteen altogether. Unlucky number for someone. There were about forty, maybe fifty, planes parked along the apron. This all fitted with what we'd seen before. We hadn't seen more than nine tankers out there and we suspected there weren't any more. Their whole security depended on speed. They couldn't afford to have planes sitting on the ground for ages with no fuel in them, or with fuel lines running from trucks to planes. They were at their most vulnerable then. Colonel Finley and Iain had both made some comment like that to me, somewhere sometime.
We drove towards them. Homer's big truck lumbered on in front of us. Our speed was controlled by him. If he hadn't been there I don't know what speed I would have accelerated to. Probably about a hundred and forty. But the dump truck was a bit like the kind of person Homer had become. Solid and dependable and strong.
"I hope the bullets work," Fi said suddenly.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, just because it worked when Homer did it in a paddock with a tin can doesn't mean it'll work here."
I drove on, feeling I'd been hit over the head with a piece of four by two. Fi was right. This might be some special fuel, or'they might have special shields on the tankers.
Homer veered to the left. This was as we'd agreed. We were now only four hundred metres from the nearest jet. Our plan was simple. Homer and Lee would take the further group of planes; we'd take the closer ones. As the boys drove towards their target, we slowed down and moved out to the right, to get in the best possible position for firing.
Up until then we'd had an amazing run. No one had come near us or shown the slightest interest in us. But now things
Outside everything seemed bright and clear. It was like watching a very sharp movie on a very big screen. There was so much space. I swung the truck to the right, still following Homer, and peeped further to my right, to where the soldiers were parading. For a moment I couldn't believe what I was seeing. But it had to be real. A crowd of men were at the end of the road, coming our way. I thought we'd been busted already, they were attacking us. Then I realised it couldn't be that. They must have finished their drill and were heading back to the barracks for a cup of tea and a good lie down. Bad timing. It meant the bodies of the officers would probably be found in three or four minutes. Not necessarily: they might not go into the messy dormitory, but I thought the odds were stacking even higher against us.
As if they weren't high enough already.
Homer swung off quickly to the left, down a side road. That was OK; it still took us in the direction of the parked jets. I followed him equally quickly, but at the same time worrying that we were driving too fast. We couldn't afford to draw attention to ourselves. We had to buy a minute and a half, at least, so we could get into position to cause the havoc that we wanted to cause.
And it was havoc we wanted. Havoc, chaos, destruction. If we succeeded, this airfield would be an inferno. We had a chance to wipe out more aircraft in a couple of minutes than the New Zealand Air Force had wiped out in the last six months.
I could see them now. God, so many of them. That was good but frightening. I'd been feeling sick for so long it shouldn't have worried me any more, but at this moment I felt I was going to lose everything in my stomach, and what's worse, lose it at both ends. The jets looked like hornets and I felt we were ants. Ants attacking hornets.
There were nine tankers fuelling planes, and another four planes in a line waiting to fill up. Thirteen altogether. Unlucky number for someone. There were about forty, maybe fifty, planes parked along the apron. This all fitted with what we'd seen before. We hadn't seen more than nine tankers out there and we suspected there weren't any more. Their whole security depended on speed. They couldn't afford to have planes sitting on the ground for ages with no fuel in them, or with fuel lines running from trucks to planes. They were at their most vulnerable then. Colonel Finley and Iain had both made some comment like that to me, somewhere sometime.
We drove towards them. Homer's big truck lumbered on in front of us. Our speed was controlled by him. If he hadn't been there I don't know what speed I would have accelerated to. Probably about a hundred and forty. But the dump truck was a bit like the kind of person Homer had become. Solid and dependable and strong.
"I hope the bullets work," Fi said suddenly.
"How do you mean?"
"Well, just because it worked when Homer did it in a paddock with a tin can doesn't mean it'll work here."
I drove on, feeling I'd been hit over the head with a piece of four by two. Fi was right. This might be some special fuel, or'they might have special shields on the tankers.
Homer veered to the left. This was as we'd agreed. We were now only four hundred metres from the nearest jet. Our plan was simple. Homer and Lee would take the further group of planes; we'd take the closer ones. As the boys drove towards their target, we slowed down and moved out to the right, to get in the best possible position for firing.
Up until then we'd had an amazing run. No one had come near us or shown the slightest interest in us. But now things
Similar Books
