Burning for Revenge (29 page)

It was a funny sort of relationship; it went on pause for long periods of time, but to me it was always there in the background.

But, on the other hand, Lee betrayed more than whatever relationship we might have had. He betrayed us in almost every way possible. He betrayed us in more ways than I could count. We were putting our lives on the line every minute of every day, just to get these people out of our country. So what does Lee do? Get on with one of them. I thought Lee had more brains than most guys but it seemed that when it really counted his brains were in the same place as theirs.

Our relationship became one of embarrassed silences, avoiding each other, being uncomfortable together. That's the worst relationship of all, I reckon. It's the one thing I've never been able to stand. I like things to be out there, open and direct.

Despite the tension between us, we never told the others what had happened. They gave up asking in the end. I didn't even tell Fi. Homer was actually the most persistent. He couldn't get a word out of Lee so he concentrated on me.

To distract him one day I asked him how he felt about Fi. It sure distracted him. He stopped mid-sentence and gaped at me. "Why ... why do you ask?" he stammered. "Has she said something?" Then he looked suspicious. "Has Lee said something? Did Lee say something about me?"

I felt a great secret delight when he said that. It could only mean one thing. He had talked to Lee about Fi. And he must have said something about liking her, or he wouldn't have reacted that way. Somehow I kept the smile off my face, but it wasn't easy.

"You still like her, don't you?" I teased him.

Now it was his turn to block the questions. I couldn't get any more from him, but I was convinced Fi needn't give up yet. He had strong feelings about her. I just couldn't figure out what the feelings were.

Physically I eventually got better. I moved upstairs to a bedroom and convalesced there. My ribs were the colours of a Pizza Cappricciosa and they kept aching for a long time. My knee was always going to be a problem, but I'd learnt to live with that. The burn on the side of my face stung and itched and blistered a bit, then it healed. I'd thought I might end up with a scar like Fi's, but I was lucky.

I hated the lying around though. I just naturally like to get stuck in and do things. I'm not very patient. The only times I enjoyed were when Homer came upstairs and lay on the other bed and we talked about things we could do, attacks we could make, targets to hit.

Perhaps it was because of those conversations that Homer answered Colonel Finley the way he did. We were out in the paddocks one night, about three kilometres from Stratton. All five of us were there, partly to get another lamb, partly just to have a walk, and get away from the dead weight of the city. Stratton was suffocating sometimes: the awful silence, the fear, the knowledge we were living in an enemy environment. The strains between us.

We really shouldn't have still been in Stratton. My injuries kept us there a bit longer, sure, but no one seemed to have the energy or motivation to start the long walk to Hell. It was dumb, because we could never feel as safe in Stratton as we did in Hell. We weren't even safe from our own people—the feral kids were as much a threat as the soldiers, and none of us had made another move to help them.

On this night Homer, unbeknown to all of us, brought the radio. We had a new system now when we caught a lamb. While Homer and I killed, skinned and gutted it, and then cut it up, Lee, Kevin and Fi would dig a hole and light a fire. When it was down to coals we wrapped the bits of lamb in wet paper. We did the same with the vegetables we'd brought. If we couldn't find any other paper we used old newspaper, although it made the food taste a bit funny.

Then we covered the pit and went back to Stratton. The next night we came out again and dug it up. It was a great system. We didn't need any special tools, the food never got overcooked, and it was safer than any other method we'd tried. The fire in the pit was invisible from a distance, because it was below ground level, and once we'd covered it there was no sign of it. Plus the flies couldn't get in.

The only problem came one time when we couldn't find the pit again. We had to prod around in the ground with sticks, each of us certain we knew where it was, each of us telling the others they were looking in the wrong places. Kevin eventually found it.

This particular night, after we'd buried the food we were lying around trying to find the energy to go back to town. And Homer pulled out the radio. "Thought we should have another go," he explained. "We've given it a good break now. Time to try again."

No one said anything. We were all too surprised, I think. We watched as he pulled up the aerial. Then he began the ritual of making the call.

It was obvious from the start that things were different. There was none of the whistling or buzzing or weird stuff we'd heard the other times, just normal static. We sat up and took more interest.

And within a few minutes there was an answer. A woman's voice, with her unmistakable New Zealand accent, responding with "Lomu." She knew who we were, which was always reassuring: that we hadn't been completely forgotten.

"Colonel Finley's orders are that he be woken at any time if we make contact with you," she said. "Do you want to go off the air for fifteen, then call me again? Over."

We sat grinning at each other. I felt very warm, and it wasn't from my burnt face. It made us feel important, having Colonel Finley woken up to talk to us.

When Homer called back we got the Colonel. It was nice to hear him again. He absolutely raved about the Wirrawee Airfield. He didn't mention it by name—it was safer not to—but he said it was one of the defining moments of the war, that it had come at the perfect time, that we'd be recognised "in the appropriate way" when we got back to New Zealand. Even when he was raving he talked in a formal military way. But it was wonderful to hear it. We thought we'd done all right, but we hadn't been sure what it all meant.

Then, out of the blue, came the offer none of us expected. Colonel Finley was going on in his usual dry way, never changing tone even when he was excited. But suddenly I realised where he was heading. "...and that's freed us up a little in some of those critical areas like transportation. Even civilian transportation, and strictly speaking you still come under that classification. Over."

I grabbed Homer's arm and leaned over him to ask the question. "Are you saving what I think you're saying? Over."

He confirmed it. "I'm saying we feel we can probably bring you home. Over."

I stared at the others, in shock. They looked at me, at Homer. No one spoke for what seemed like half an hour. The only sound was the busy static of the radio. I thought of my parents and realised what my answer had to be. Then Lee said, very quietly: "There's still heaps to do."

Homer nodded, like it was the answer he wanted. Kevin stirred, as if to say something, then stopped again, and sat leaning forward, gazing anxiously at Homer like a little kid. Fi put her hand to her face. She looked at Homer too for a moment, then looked away at the dark paddocks.

Homer cleared his throat and spoke. As he did, the words seemed to hang in the air as though they were engraved there. Like they were written in rock.

"We're home already."