Chapter 4

A few minutes later we passed the ruined station. Then we turned north. A teetering signpost read "Christmas Creek." We'd driven through there after leaving Fitzroy Crossing. The Tamami had the look of a used road: Coke cans and paper litter were evidence of truckers and travellers. We drove for about three hours and, quite suddenly, came upon an unmarked track running due east, at right angles to the Tamami.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Nothing marked on the map," said Rob.

So I made a U-turn, bumped onto the track and ran about 200 metres. Then I stopped short. We both got out. Extending north and east was an almost perfect rectangular excavation: 40 by 15 by 3 metres deep. There were no heaps of rock or sand and no tire tracks.

"What is it?" asked Rob.

"I have no idea. It isn't that new. You can see the blown and drifted sand. But it's not ancient. We'll have to make a note and research it."

We returned to the main track. Only a few kilometres later, as the Tamami made a curve to the northeast, there was a 'Y'-fork to the left ... the northwest. "That's on the map," said Rob. "It looks like a blind spur that's not very long. Maybe two klicks." I continued a bit, then pulled over and stopped.

"Look!" I said. "'Seek and ye shall find!'" I pointed to the road where there were several clods of earth from between tire treads.

"Where did they come from?"

"Let's try and find out, my dear Watson."

We made a U-turn and drove a few minutes south. It was clear that there were no clods below the Y. We pulled into the spur and stopped. There were both tracks and clods.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said Rob.

We drove on. The road swerved to the left and we could see that it then curved to the right ahead. I pulled over and grabbed my kit.

"Time to take some samples?"

"Or, at least appear to do so. This is all irregular. I just can't get a handle on that excavation back there and the signs of heavy truck tires here. Look! There are some desert ants Melophorus bagoti, just as you'd expect. They forage at the hottest part of the day. That's normal. Here. Can you make sense of a clod?" I handed him one.

"It's not surface dirt. It looks like it was excavated from below the sand layer. But that's at least a few metres deep around here."

"You get out some water, I'm going to call Perk." I got out my radio/GPS and pushed the red button. "Hollister here. This is for Perkins. We're just off the Tamami, on what appears to be a blind spur. There are suspicious indications. We will continue up the spur. Over."

"Noted, Hollister. Will relay. Over and out."

Rob handed me a bottle of water. It was no longer cool, but it was wonderful.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know," I said. "This isn't promising terrain, to me. What do you think?"

"Well, this entire quadrant of Australia seems to overlay iron, gold and other ores. Maybe that ridge over there." He gestured toward the northwest. "It looks like there are several moraines there."

"Moraines? Here? In the Great Sandy Desert?"

"Well, there's Bindoo Hill inland from Geraldton. And some up in the tropics. But that looks like the ones in Tasmania."

"Seems weird. But who knows? Maybe there were glaciers here millions of years ago."

"I keep saying 'looks like' not 'are'."

"True. Have some more water, then we'll drive on a bit."

I pulled ahead quite slowly. We were now heading nearly due northwest. We were nearly at the elbow to the right that would take us north when something caught my eye and I stopped.

"What's that?"

"Sweets wrapper."

"Sweets?"

"Haw flakes."

"Haw flakes?"

"They're a traditional Chinese candy. They're made from the fruit of the Chinese hawthorn. The dark pink candy is formed into discs one millimetre thick, packaged in rolls of twenty-two discs, and sold in packs of ten rolls. There was a student last year who was positively addicted to them. I think they come from Shandong." I picked up the piece of a paper cylinder. "This hasn't been here long. It's hardly bleached." I put it into a specimen envelope. "Stay in the car. I want to walk ahead a bit and peruse the ground."

"Okay."

I walked ahead to the actual elbow. I could now see the three or four grooves in the hills quite clearly. I turned my attention to the turf. There was a small piece of paper. When I picked it up I could see a bit of a Chinese character. Probably part of that wrapper. I crossed to the other verge and walked back.

"Anything?"

"Another piece of paper. Nothing else. Pull ahead to the bend. I'll walk behind and see whether you stir up anything." Rob cleverly slid over on the seat, not making more tracks. He pulled ahead to where I had walked. I walked behind, but saw nothing unusual. On the rocks to my left a Pseudechis australis, a common Mulga snake, was soaking up the sun. If I had a weapon, I'd have tried to kill it, as it's dangerously venomous. But it was far enough away that I wasn't worried. I walked up to the Rover.

"Snake on the rocks. Nothing else."

"I hadn't noticed the snake."

"Roll ahead a bit more." He did, and I walked an the eastern verge. "Hold it!"

"Yes?"

"Look over there, in that larger gap between the second and third hills. I thought I saw something."

"I don't see anything."

"Over there," I pointed with my left arm.

There was a sudden crack! and I felt a sharp pain in my arm. I looked down to see a hole in my shirtsleeve and a growing line of red seeping through.

"Rob! I've been shot!" I got the radio out with my right hand and pressed the red button. "Mayday! Mayday! Hollister calling. Mayday! I've been shot. We're on that spur off the Tamami. About a klick off it. Mayday!"

"Message received. Copters being dispatched. Is wound serious? Over."

"I don't think so. It burns somewhat. Over."

"Two copters in the air. Two more getting ready. Have Mr. Scott look at your arm. Over."

"Right. Still only the one shot. Over and out."

Rob was already out of the car, first aid kit in hand. I struggled out of my shirtsleeve. There was a shallow groove from just above my elbow to just below the shoulder, just skimming my biceps. Rob poured some alcohol down it – it burned a lot. He dabbed at it with some gauze, then sprinkled the 15 or 20 centimetres with sulfa powder. Then he taped three large gauze pads slightly overlapping onto the arm. I rolled my sleeve down. I looked at my watch. Rob had been fast: barely 20 minutes gone.

"Thanks," I said.

"Self-protection," he replied. "Think what Weena would do to me." I both shuddered and laughed. "What do you think we should do?"

"Nothing. Wait for the military. Clearly there's something we're not supposed to see in there. Could you help me sit in the car? And do we have any sweets?"

"It's the adrenaline. Let me get on your right side and now step up, swivel, there you are. I've got a Snickers bar. Give me a moment to dig it out."

I felt somewhat woozy and my arm was beginning to throb. Rob handed me the bar and a water bottle. I ate and drank. Only a few minutes later I felt better. It was as though I could feel the sugar travel through my system. I drank a bit more tepid water.

"Better?"

"Much. Thanks. What do you think is going on?"

"No idea. I've never been shot at."

"Me neither. I used to carry a gun in the field because of snakes and such. What do you think I saw? The rifle? The marksman?"

"One of those. We'll find out when the Navy arrives."

"Yeah. I bet we ruined Perk's Sunday." We both laughed. We needed to relieve the tension. "Here they come." I could hear the thrumming of the helicopters in the distance. Then we could see them, coming from the northwest – Broome, I guessed.

One landed on the track behind us and an ensign ran up to us.

"Lieutenant Hollister?"

"Right here. Nearly able."

"Just stay calm. We've got a Seahawk right behind us and two 'hawks on their way from Pearce and Darwin."

Rob laughed: "Must be half the bleedin' RAAF!"

"Not quite, sir. Are you Mr. Scott?"

"Yes, I am."

"Captain Perkins asked me to enquire whether he should be in touch with Mrs. Hollister."

"He'd better not. She's scorch the hide off him."

"Are you comfortable, Lieutenant?"

"Yes. But embarrassed." While we were talking a second Seahawk landed in front of us. Perk came walking up.

"Well, Gordy. I guess you found something. Want to tell me about it before we get serious?"

I recounted our drive from Wolfe Creek Crater to the fork, my noticing the clods, the back-tracking, and our drive up this spur. Rob remarked on my finding the Chinese candy wrapper and I handed it over in its plastic envelope. Perk pulled out his transmitter and said: "Perkins. I want a Chinese interpreter out here asap. This is urgent. Perkins out."

"That sounded quite imperative."

"It is. Now hold on a minute. Perkins again. Does one of those Seahawks have a Magnetic Anomaly Detector?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Tell him I want a circuit of this area done prior to landing. But tell him to be careful. At least one idiot has a rifle. Over."

"Yes, sir. Over and out."

I looked at Perk. "Now what?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure. We've got God knows how many people. Probably at least one Chinese. At least one rifle. And we don't know that much about this area. Jones!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Do you have that map?"

"Here you are, sir."

"OK. These are the hills right there. You think the shot came from this side of the last or next to last."

"That's right," I said.

"Okay. Jones. Take one man – Simmons, if he's around – and walk back to that elbow. Then go about 200 metres or so due west. You should be behind the hills. Then head north. If you spot anything – anything unusual – lie doggo and radio in. Got that?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Just your radios and your arms. Okay?"

"Yes, sir!" Jones went off and tagged another man. They spoke for a minute and walked off towards the elbow. There was a louder helicopter sound. It appeared to be coming from above and behind the hills.

"That'll be a Seahawk. We may learn something."

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"The 'hawk reports a few large metal spots and a general magnetic layer."

"That would be iron ore underlying trucks and machinery," said Rob.

"Sounds reasonable," said Perk. "Okay. Tell them to land just this side – um – west -- of that Y."

"Excuse me, Lieutenant Hollister?"

"That's me."

"I'm a corpsman. May I look at your arm?"

"Of course."

He pulled off the tape and began lifting the gauze. "I'm going to spray this with alcohol, as it's sticking a bit. It shouldn't hurt." He was quite gentle and got it all off with a minimum of fuss. It was oozing in one or two spots and appeared quite enflamed.

"Captain. I think Lieutenant Hollister should be flown to the hospital in Derby."

"Right. Who's here? Taylor, get the gear out of that Rover and on board a 'hawk. Gordy, you and Rob are flying to Derby. I'll get the Rover back to Ferd. I'll come and talk to you in the morning." He turned away. "Now, what's up with Jones?"

We were bundled onto a copter together with our stuff. An hour later we were on the ground at Derby and they wheeled me into Derby Regional Hospital. Rob said he'd get a room for the night and be back. The emergency physician referred to me as "the walking wounded" when he heard it was a gunshot graze. He then gave me an antibiotic shot and, after getting me into a gown, a painkiller/tranquilizer cocktail. The next thing I was aware of, it was morning, Rob was sitting near my bed, and my mouth felt ghastly.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said.