By Wynne WHITEFORD
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There was no doubt, now, that he was face to face with a technology far, far ahead of his own, and he was shaken by a deep sense of insecurity. Some impulse prompted him to crouch down inside the truck, but he realised that would be taken as an advertisement of fear. He remained standing, facing the machine, which slowed in its flight as it drew nearer, stopping altogether about thirty metres away. He could not see what force was keeping it up. It hovered less than a metre above the ground, yet there was no blast of rotor-driven air beneath it as there would have been from a helicopter.
He looked at Roy. " "All right," said Roy. But when they were half way to Bruno's car, he said, "Wait on. Might be better if I took one of the other roads. Hard to be sure of the direction a sound is coming from in these mountains. You go down the Cooma road, I'll run down to the Lake in the truck, then come up the other road to meet you. " "OK. That doubles our chance of finding him quickly. Hope you're wrong, though. " After Bruno had driven off in the Holden, which had been adjusted to run on alcohol fuel, Roy left more laboriously in the charcoal burner.
His altimeter showed nearly 1,500 metres when he flew across the narrow silver strand of the Murray River, which flowed northward at this point. The Gap was still above him, and the needle of his fuel gauge was almost at zero. The range towered in front of him like a giant rampart, flame-lit along its eroded crest, dark on its vast, timbered slopes. He kept his eyes fixed on the Gap, listening for any hesitation in the engine. He went over the Gap with his altimeter showing just 1,600 metres, and the wings of the aircraft rocked violently with the uptrend of air from the ground only a few metres below him.