‘They let you out alive?’ said Beast, referring to the intense passion rugby league aroused in Winton.
‘Yeah, mate,’ said Mac. ‘But the ref didn’t make it.’
As promised, the road was quiet, and at 4.16 am, they put the kijang in its hide and set off eastwards, aiming for the border of West and East Timor, about eight k south of Memo.
Keeping to a light jog now that there was moonlight, they covered the jungle floor quickly. Heaving for breath and fatigued, Mac came to a halt with the rest of the troop shortly after five o’clock. They were looking over the river that formed the border. Beyond were thick stands of forest that shone in the moonlight. Below them was a hairpin in the slow-moving river, an apron of river rocks on the inside of the bend and then a river flat of about five acres before the bush started.
‘That’s the bush market,’ whispered Robbo, pointing down at the grassed river flat at the big bend. ‘That’s our observation. There’s a hundred people down there most days,’ he said, referring to the OP – or observation post – that was a hide set up to observe a piece of territory.
Murmuring into his headset to let the team across the river know they’d arrived, Robbo waited for a response then gave the nod. Didge slid down the long river bank to the water’s edge, sweeping the area with his rifle.
Giving the thumbs-up, Robbo followed, taking Mac with him. The water was cold as Mac followed Robbo into the river and they waded across chest-high, covered by Didge. On reaching the other bank, Mac tucked in behind Robbo, who was now covering for Beast, and then they fanned out and covered for Didge as he waded across the river.
They followed the river downstream for five minutes and then went into the jungle and doubled around the long way before arriving in a totally concealed hide in the hills behind the bush market. Lifting a flap of branches, Robbo gestured Mac inside while Beast and Didge recce’d the approach area for unfriendlies.
Behind the flap was an area set up with sleeping bags – called ‘farters’ in the Australian Army – stacks of cold rations and radio equipment. Looking around, Mac was impressed with the place but caught his breath when he realised a large set of eyes were only a few centimetres from the left side of his face.
‘Shit, mate!’ he exclaimed. ‘Give me a fright, why don’t you?’
‘Johnno,’ came the voice. ‘You must be the spook?’
Mac shook hands, his heart pounding. As his eyes adjusted he realised Johnno was a Maori bloke. ‘Something like that.’
‘Johnno’s our comms guy,’ whispered Robbo as Beast and Didge squeezed into the hide. ‘Other two – Toolie and Mitch – are down at the OP. You can doss there,’ he said, pointing to a space in the gloom.
Throwing his rucksack into the corner, Mac paused.
‘It’ll be okay, mate,’ whispered Didge, seeing Mac’s hesitation. ‘Army rules – don’t mess with another bloke’s stuff. Okay?’
Didge said it like it was one of the Ten Commandments.
‘Okay,’ said Mac, his fatigues dripping river water as he pulled the briefing papers from his bag and followed Robbo through the exit on the other side of the hide.
CHAPTER 40
After crawling through thick undergrowth in total silence for ninety seconds, Mac and Robbo slipped under another screen made of branches and came out in a foliage-covered hide made of bamboo.
Inside the hide, two men were visible in the moonlight-dappled darkness. One was lying on his stomach, looking through a small telescope on a stand; the other sat cross-legged, a set of binos around his neck, eating an orange.
They swivelled, guns at the ready.
‘Boys, this is McQueen,’ said Robbo.
Both gave gruff hellos. It turned out the tall blond bloke eating the orange was called Toolie. The other, a thick-set, dark-haired man with a grumpy face, was Mitch.
‘Anything?’ asked Robbo.
‘Another mule line, Sarge,’ said Toolie, wiping his mouth.
‘How many?’ asked Robbo.
‘Counted two. Boys, local, well fed, no uniforms. Same old.’
‘No militia markings?’ asked Robbo.
‘No, Sarge – just those big packs on their backs.’
‘Gee, I’d love to snatch one of these blokes, just to see what they’re carrying,’ snarled Mitch.
‘Plenty of time for that, mate,’ said Robbo. ‘For now the orders are clear – no direct action, just eyes.’
‘Well, with those two boys,’ said Toolie, ‘there’s going to be a whole line tomorrow.’
‘Really?’ asked Mac.
‘Yeah, mate – I mean, sir,’ said Toolie. ‘They send out a couple of boys and then the next day a whole mule line comes through, with these packs on their backs.’
‘Okay,’ said Robbo. ‘Good work, boys. Get back to the bivvy and write it up. We’ll take over here.’
After Mitch and Toolie had cleared out, Mac and Robbo took their places, which allowed a perfect vista of the entire bush market area and the far side of the river crossing. Mac was impressed – it must have taken several days to build and finetune the OP, and he knew from operating with Aussie special forces that these structures were virtually invisible during the day.
‘So let’s get this sorted now, okay, Macca?’ said Robbo, squinting through the short, boxy telescope. ‘Don’t want the boys getting nervous.’
Although there were night-vision goggles hanging on the wall, Mac could see the OP was choosing not to use them.
‘Okay,’ said Mac, weighing his words as he took the map-reader from Robbo. He wanted to be very careful how he introduced the concept of a vaccine factory – he might even leave that part for later.
‘I need eyes at a site about half a mile outside of Maliana – operation name Saturn,’ said Mac, pulling the U2 pics from the satchel and aiming the dull red light of the map-reader on the first photo. ‘It’s this one here, and that’s the entrance. Reckon I need half an hour in there.’
‘Any intel on the security?’ asked Robbo, intent on the map.
‘Seems to be four or five MPs but they’re flatfoots – they’re not Kopassus, Marines, anything like that.’
‘You have a preference?’ asked Robbo, turning the photo to get a better angle.
‘Trucks are going in and out of this gate, into this loading area here,’ said Mac, pointing. ‘There’s a lot of activity. Thought we might infiltrate that way, or just do a break-in. The vents look like the weak point.’
‘Can do,’ muttered Robbo. ‘We’ll recce it today, maybe tonight, see what’s doing.’
‘The second recon job is an airfield halfway between Maliana and Memo,’ said Mac, shuffling the next photo to the top of the pile, where it glinted in the red light. ‘It’s a basic look-see with a camera.’
‘What are we looking for?’ asked Robbo.
‘General recce. Look, listen and report.’
‘We going into these hangars?’ asked Robbo, pointing.
‘Make a plan once we’re there, huh?’ said Mac, both of them knowing that Mac was going into those hangars.
‘Which leaves -’
‘Yeah, it leaves the girl,’ said Mac.
Shuffling the next photo to the top of the deck, he held back on tabling it.
‘Expecting trouble?’ asked Robbo. ‘What exactly are we talking about here?’
Exhaling, Mac decided it wasn’t smart to keep the details from Robbo for much longer. ‘Mate, you know the Ginasio in Maliana?’ he said, taking his hand away from the U2 pic.
‘Sure do,’ said Robbo, concentrating on the eight-by-five.
‘The Kodim 1636 base is adjacent – operation name Mars – this collection of buildings here, right?’ said Mac, gesturing to the photo.
‘Yep,’ said Robbo.
Kodim 1636 was the regiment covering the Bobonaro district and the command centre for most of the militia atrocities.
‘We have two credible sightings of our target – Blackbird – at this base,’ said Mac, avoiding Robbo’s looks.