– nearly
half a tonne – and a couple of 44’s of diesel. We decided to leave
it all there while we checked other places. The third farm had been
thoroughly cleaned out. The fourth was a big place but old and run
down. We went straight to the sheds, as we had everywhere else. To
my disgust, we walked straight into a miniature battlefield. There
were three skeletons in the machinery shed, their clothes still
intact, except where ripped by bullets. There wasn’t much left of
the bodies, mainly bones.
There seemed to have been a full-scale
shooting war. We saw many empty shells on the floor and there was
damage all around the big dark shed: holes in the walls, shelves
shattered by bullets, even the steel plates on the old tractor and
header had holes in them. It was frightening to see how much damage
had been done. One person had been hiding behind the header, one
had been behind a heavy wooden workbench, but the other body was
out in the open.
I cried for a bit. I seemed to be doing more
of that these days. And there’s one thing about Kevin: when a
girl’s upset, really upset, you see Kevin at his best. He was
shaken by the sight of the bodies, of course, but when he saw me in
tears he managed to hold himself together and give me a bit of TLC.
We’d always looked after each other fairly well I suppose, even at
the worst times.
‘Come on, Ellie,’ he said, giving me a hug.
‘You’ve seen worse than this. You’ll be right.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ I said, sniffling. ‘But you
never get used to it. These poor people, just trying to look after
their land.’
‘Yeah, it’s a rotten business.’
‘And no one to bury them or have a funeral
service or anything.’
‘Well, when the war’s over maybe that sort of
thing’ll get done.’
I didn’t answer that, just sniffled for a bit
longer. Finally I disentangled myself and said, ‘Come on, let’s go.
There’s nothing we can do here and it’s giving me the willies.’
‘No, wait,’ Kevin said. ‘This is the perfect
sort of place for what we want. Let’s check it out.’
I was reluctant but he insisted. Occasionally
Kevin had these bursts of strength. We did a quick search of the
machinery shed but found nothing and with some relief went to the
other buildings. We went past some concrete runs that had been
built quite recently and fenced off for working dogs. We ignored
the skeletons of the poor desperate dogs who’d died in them and,
fifty metres further along, entered an old dark hut. And there we
found what Kevin had been looking for.
‘Wowee,’ he said. ‘Look at this!’ He had a
wooden box, about the same size as a box of shotgun cartridges, and
he was holding a small shiny aluminium tube, maybe three
centimetres long and five or six millimetres in diameter. It was
blocked at one end but open at the other.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘Plain detonator. Told you we’d find some.
Look, there are dozens of them.’
I picked one up and handled it curiously. It
had DANGER and EXPLOSIVE written on its side, but it seemed
harmless enough.
‘Is this all we need?’ I asked.
‘Well, the ammonium nitrate and the diesel,
obviously. But they’re not a problem. And the fuse.’
‘We could make our own.’
‘That’s what you think. Anyway, they’re sure
to have some here. They should have everything stored in separate
sheds, but most farmers don’t bother. They’ll have safety fuse
somewhere, which’ll be better than anything we’d make. Look, here
we go.’
He pulled down a roll of grey-white cord,
about the size of the cord in my board shorts, but with black
tarry-looking stuff running through it.
‘Is that it?’
‘Yeah, I’d say so. It’s gunpowder wrapped in a
waterproof cover, more or less. We shove this in the detonator,
then we’ll get some pipe, to make our miniature bomb. There’ll be
some in that machinery shed. And a hacksaw, to cut it.’
By the time we left that farm of death we had
enough material, as far as I
half a tonne – and a couple of 44’s of diesel. We decided to leave
it all there while we checked other places. The third farm had been
thoroughly cleaned out. The fourth was a big place but old and run
down. We went straight to the sheds, as we had everywhere else. To
my disgust, we walked straight into a miniature battlefield. There
were three skeletons in the machinery shed, their clothes still
intact, except where ripped by bullets. There wasn’t much left of
the bodies, mainly bones.
There seemed to have been a full-scale
shooting war. We saw many empty shells on the floor and there was
damage all around the big dark shed: holes in the walls, shelves
shattered by bullets, even the steel plates on the old tractor and
header had holes in them. It was frightening to see how much damage
had been done. One person had been hiding behind the header, one
had been behind a heavy wooden workbench, but the other body was
out in the open.
I cried for a bit. I seemed to be doing more
of that these days. And there’s one thing about Kevin: when a
girl’s upset, really upset, you see Kevin at his best. He was
shaken by the sight of the bodies, of course, but when he saw me in
tears he managed to hold himself together and give me a bit of TLC.
We’d always looked after each other fairly well I suppose, even at
the worst times.
‘Come on, Ellie,’ he said, giving me a hug.
‘You’ve seen worse than this. You’ll be right.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ I said, sniffling. ‘But you
never get used to it. These poor people, just trying to look after
their land.’
‘Yeah, it’s a rotten business.’
‘And no one to bury them or have a funeral
service or anything.’
‘Well, when the war’s over maybe that sort of
thing’ll get done.’
I didn’t answer that, just sniffled for a bit
longer. Finally I disentangled myself and said, ‘Come on, let’s go.
There’s nothing we can do here and it’s giving me the willies.’
‘No, wait,’ Kevin said. ‘This is the perfect
sort of place for what we want. Let’s check it out.’
I was reluctant but he insisted. Occasionally
Kevin had these bursts of strength. We did a quick search of the
machinery shed but found nothing and with some relief went to the
other buildings. We went past some concrete runs that had been
built quite recently and fenced off for working dogs. We ignored
the skeletons of the poor desperate dogs who’d died in them and,
fifty metres further along, entered an old dark hut. And there we
found what Kevin had been looking for.
‘Wowee,’ he said. ‘Look at this!’ He had a
wooden box, about the same size as a box of shotgun cartridges, and
he was holding a small shiny aluminium tube, maybe three
centimetres long and five or six millimetres in diameter. It was
blocked at one end but open at the other.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘Plain detonator. Told you we’d find some.
Look, there are dozens of them.’
I picked one up and handled it curiously. It
had DANGER and EXPLOSIVE written on its side, but it seemed
harmless enough.
‘Is this all we need?’ I asked.
‘Well, the ammonium nitrate and the diesel,
obviously. But they’re not a problem. And the fuse.’
‘We could make our own.’
‘That’s what you think. Anyway, they’re sure
to have some here. They should have everything stored in separate
sheds, but most farmers don’t bother. They’ll have safety fuse
somewhere, which’ll be better than anything we’d make. Look, here
we go.’
He pulled down a roll of grey-white cord,
about the size of the cord in my board shorts, but with black
tarry-looking stuff running through it.
‘Is that it?’
‘Yeah, I’d say so. It’s gunpowder wrapped in a
waterproof cover, more or less. We shove this in the detonator,
then we’ll get some pipe, to make our miniature bomb. There’ll be
some in that machinery shed. And a hacksaw, to cut it.’
By the time we left that farm of death we had
enough material, as far as I
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