'A gripping adventure.'

Newcastle Herald

'A grand historical novel..'

Brisbane Sunday Mail

Highly recommended.'

Australian Broadcasting Corporation

SOMEDAY SOON

by David Crookes

First Published in 2000 by Hodder Headline (Australia)

Republished Hodder Headline (Australia) in 2000

This Smashwords ebook edition published in December 2010

by David Crookes

Copyright © David Crookes 1999

CHAPTER ONE.

The morning air was hot and steamy. It was the nineteenth of February, 1942, nearing the end of the wet in the Northern Territory, and already the weather pattern was building for the inevitable afternoon tropical deluge.

Faith Brodie put down her two heavy suitcases when she reached the wharf and loosened her light cotton dress which clung stubbornly in places to her slim young body. An unexpected wisp of cooling air came off the water and she felt the sting of perspiration in her eyes. She quickly took off her broad-brimmed hat and wiped her brow with the palm of her hand then ran her fingers through her long fair hair. But the puff of wind disappeared as quickly as it came and feeling the searing heat of the morning sun on her face, she put her hat back on and looked out over the harbor.

Although the port was crammed with shipping but there was barely a ripple on the emerald-green water. Australian, American and British transports were tied up at the wharf and many more were riding at anchor among Royal Australian Navy tenders and the American destroyer USS Peary. One of the largest ships in the harbor was the Australian hospital ship Manunda.

Things had changed so quickly in just a few weeks. The Japanese had devastated the American Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor, destroyed General MacArthur’s air force on the ground in the Philippines and his Army, facing certain defeat, had withdrawn to the Bataan Peninsular on Manila Bay. Just days earlier, the supposedly impregnable British fortress of Singapore had fallen to the Japanese after their triumphant sweep down the Malayan Peninsula. Now, after the rout of Australian forces in Timor, the Netherlands East Indies and at Rabaul in New Britain, the enemy was literally on Australia’s doorstep. The humble port of Darwin had been transformed into a strategic allied supply base for a new war in the Pacific.

Fearing an imminent Japanese invasion, the Australian government had ordered the evacuation of all women and children from Darwin and the stepping up of the remote outpost’s meager fortifications. Already over two thousand people, half the town’s population, had left. Faith was one of the very last evacuees, scheduled to sail to Perth aboard the coastal steamer Zealandia.

Faith picked up her suitcases and began weaving her way down the dock in and out of huge piles of war supplies and building materials stacked high on the wharf. The Zealandia lay at the far end beyond another coastal steamer, the Neptuna. The area around the Neptuna was a hive of activity as scores of waterside workers unloaded her cargo of munitions and high explosives. When her holds were empty the Neptuna would also sail southward with the last of the Top End evacuees.

The drone of aircraft overhead caused Faith to look up. She saw several aircraft approaching over the harbor. They seemed to be flying very low. Then she saw a second wave of planes behind the first, then another behind that. Soon she could see many times the combined total of the few RAAF Wirraways and American Kittyhawks based at Darwin.

Faith smiled and put down her suitcases again. There had been talk around town of more Americans coming to Darwin. From what she’d heard and seen of the handful of flamboyant American flyers at the RAAF station, it would be just like the Yanks to show off the arrival of reinforcements with a low-level fly-past. They certainly seemed to be doing it in style. Now there were so many aircraft in the sky they were beginning to block out the sun. Then suddenly Faith’s smile vanished when she saw the bellies of the leading aircraft open up and start disgorging strings of bombs.

In seconds the tranquility of the morning was shattered by thunderous explosions. Faith was lifted off her feet and flung through the air in a roaring blast of scorching hot air. She landed heavily on the hardwood planking of the wharf. There were more ear-numbing explosions and from where she lay Faith saw the port’s huge oil storage tanks take direct hits and become instant infernos of flame and dense black smoke. Then a rapid series of small blasts ignited ruptured oil pipelines around the dockside and all at once there was fire everywhere.

Faith skinned her hands and knees as she scrambled over the rough planking to a stockpile of steel girders at the edge of the dock and squeezed herself into a small space between them. Crouched inside her makeshift air-raid shelter she watched in horror as wave after wave of aircraft emptied their bomb bays, raining death and destruction with deadly accuracy on the sitting-duck targets riding at anchor in the harbor and lying alongside the wharf. When the waves of bombers had droned by, squadrons of fighter planes roared in at lightening speed. They swooped down low over the harbor, dive bombing ships and raking fleeing dockworkers on the wharf with machine gun fire. Some were so low that the Japanese red moon emblems on their wings and even the grinning faces of their pilots were plainly visible as they banked away after their deadly strafing runs.

Apart from land-based anti-aircraft fire, the only real resistance came from the destroyer, USS Peary. Faith watched wide-eyed as the warship was hit almost immediately and repeatedly but the Peary’s guns stubbornly kept blazing until finally her magazine blew, ripping the ship apart. As she sank, the sea around her turned into a fiery cauldron of burning oil which devoured what was left of her hapless crew. Then a big tanker, the British Motorist, took direct hits, rupturing her cavernous tanks and igniting millions more gallons of oil, adding to the inferno on the harbor.

Unable to watch the horror a moment longer, Faith closed her eyes and clamped her hands over her ears, trying to shut out the explosions which, amplified by the steel girders surrounding her, threatened to burst her eardrums. But there was no hiding from the blitz. Another incredibly loud blast reverberated through the canyons of steel which shook and shuddered around her. Faith opened her eyes. The entire stockpile of girders was swaying. Even the wharf beneath her seemed to be moving. But Faith heard no sound. Everything seemed strangely serene. In terror, realized she’d been deafened by the nightmare going on around her.

Faith peered down the wharf. Now the Neptuna and the Zealandia were in flames and both ships appeared to be sinking. A section of the dock beside the Neptuna had vanished and Faith knew it must have been the blast of munitions exploding in the holds of the transport that had deafened her. When she felt the dock beneath her move again she got up and ran for her life with the wharf crumbling beneath her feet until she reached a grassy slope leading towards the town's esplanade.

Halfway up the slope, Faith stopped for a moment and looked up. The sky was still full of aircraft bombing and strafing, not only over the harbor but all over the town. She continued running. In a few moments she reached the Esplanade, darted across it and ran into the courthouse where until the day before she had worked as a stenographer. She found no one inside the building and ran back outside onto the veranda overlooking the harbor.

More of the bigger ships were sinking now and many others were on fire including the hospital ship Manunda. As Faith watched, the Manunda took another hit, the huge vessel’s prominent red cross markings ignored by the Japanese pilots. Faith’s blood boiled in a surge of anger. She was temporarily heartened when she saw a group of American P-40 Kittyhawks overhead engaging Japanese aircraft, but her joy was short lived as she watched the hopelessly outnumbered American aircraft shot out of the sky by swarms of Zeros.

Faith felt vomit rise in her throat. She leaned forward and emptied her stomach over the veranda rail. Then, shell-shocked and trembling, she slowly sank to the floor and closed her eyes.

*

‘Faith… Faith…. Faith ’

The voice was faint. It seemed a million miles away. Faith opened her eyes and saw the familiar face of Sergeant Maxwell from the police barracks next door to the court house.

‘Faith, are you all right?’ The sergeant eyed her cautiously. ‘We didn’t know you were here. Everyone in the court house and the police station dived into slit trenches just as soon as we realized the planes were Japs. I only just saw you lying here.’

Faith opened her eyes and looked groggily out over the harbor. The air was filled with smoke and fires were raging everywhere. There were no planes overhead now but crowds of people were running and shouting along the Esplanade. Faith faintly heard the wail of an air raid siren in the distance and was thankful that at least she could hear again.

‘Yes, I’m all right, Sergeant. I must have blacked out. When did the bombing stop?’

‘The fist raid ended nearly two hours ago but then there was another by high altitude bombers. They concentrated on the RAAF station. They’ve only just gone. We don’t think there can be much of anything left over there. We can’t tell for sure because all the communications are out. But we do know the hospital has been hit too. I was just heading over there when I saw you.’ The sergeant looked at blood stains on Faith’s dress. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘I think so, Sergeant Maxwell. Never mind the blood. I just skinned my hands and knees down on the wharf.’

Faith moved to get up. The sergeant helped her to her feet.

‘Look, I’ve got to get over to the hospital,’ he said quickly. ‘Why don’t you slip over to the police barracks and grab a cup of tea? But be sure to jump into the slit trenches in the back yard if those bastards come back again.’

Faith looked at the people running down the Esplanade. ‘Where is everyone going?’ she called out as the sergeant hurried to his police utility standing, door open and engine running, at the kerb.

‘A lot of people are going bush,’ Maxwell shouted back as he climbed behind the wheel of the ute. ‘They think the bloody Japs are going to land any minute.’

CHAPTER TWO

Faith watched the utility drive off down the Esplanade. She shuddered at the thought of Japanese soldiers landing. For weeks the newspapers had been full of speculation of what they would do to Australian women if they did. Several girls who worked with her at the courthouse had said they would kill themselves if the Japs landed before they were evacuated. A surge of panic swept through her. For a moment she was tempted to join the runners in the street. But then she decided to take the sergeant’s advice and seek refuge in the police barracks. Then she changed her mind again, in favor of going home, thinking that if the Japanese did land and she had to make a fateful decision, at least there was a gun in the house.

The Brodie house was less than a mile from the courthouse on a shady street just off the Stuart Highway, the only road leading into or out of Darwin. Faith had been just twelve years old when the family moved from Queensland to Darwin after her father joined the Northern Territory Police Force. At first the family felt as if they had come to a foreign land. Darwin was so different from any other place in Australia they had ever seen. But eventually they came to love the friendly and often boisterous, cosmopolitan community.

After six years, their house had been all but demolished in the great cyclone of 1937. The tropical storm also took the lives of Faith’s mother and her father when their small sailing boat, caught out in hundred-knot winds in Van Diemen Gulf, capsized and sank to the bottom. After the cyclone Faith had wanted to leave Darwin and its awful memories behind but her older brother Joe had stubbornly rebuilt the house and persuaded her to stay.

Faith hurried homeward through the business and shopping district. It was in absolute chaos. The streets were filled with people, many frantically screaming out the names of missing loved ones. Almost everyone was heading for the Stuart Highway, on foot and in motor vehicles of every description. Their progress was often slowed by rubble, smoking bomb craters and debris from burning, bombed-out buildings. Several people were taking advantage of the confusion and smashing shop windows along the way, grabbing everything and anything they could carry.

As she neared her home, the crowds pouring southward to the highway had swollen. Now she was being pushed and jostled by an unruly mob bent on putting as much distance between themselves and Darwin as possible. People were fleeing their homes in their hundreds, with little more than the clothes on their backs, leaving food cooking on stoves, uneaten meals on kitchen tables and household pets to look after themselves.

Faith looked on in amazement as the terrified faces of cosmopolitan Darwin rushed by. There were Europeans, Malays, Timorese, Chinese, Torres Straight Islanders, Aborigines and every conceivable combination of racial mixture. But there was no sign of any Japanese. All but a handful of the Japanese in the Top End had been rounded up and sent off to internment camps in the southern states after the attack on Pearl Harbor. With emotions running so high among the fleeing townspeople, Faith knew that the few who had escaped arrest would be lying low to avoid any mindless retribution. A horn honked loudly behind her and she jumped to avoid a speeding truck as it hurtled south. The truck bore RAAF markings and was full of airmen.

When Faith turned into the street where she lived, it seemed peaceful compared to the mayhem on the main road. She broke into a run, anxious to see if the house was still standing. To her relief she saw it was. Only one house in the street had been hit by the bombs but already it looked as if all the others had been abandoned.

Faith’s hands were shaking as she turned the key in the front door. But once inside the house, the orderly and undisrupted familiarity of the old family home calmed her nerves. She walked through to her bedroom and pulled a trunk out from under the bed. Taking out her father’s Walther P5 semi-automatic pistol, she loaded it with a clip of ammunition. Pausing for a moment to look at the initials BB engraved in the steel at the bottom of the grip, she couldn’t help remembering happier days when her father had been alive. Then, thankful she had left a few clothes hanging in her wardrobe, she changed quickly and taking the handgun with her went to make some tea in the kitchen.

As she waited for the kettle to boil she put the gun into a drawer in the kitchen table. Then she sat down and prayed to God that wherever Joe was he was safe and sound and that he would be home soon.

*

Just after dark there was a knock on the door and Faith heard Sergeant Maxwell call out her name. She opened the door. Maxwell looked exhausted. He stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him.

‘Be careful about any lights, Faith,’ the sergeant cautioned. ‘Don’t want to show the Jap bombers where we are, do we?’

‘I’ll make you a nice fresh cup of tea, Sergeant,’ Faith said. ‘You look like you need one.’

‘No, I can’t stay’, Maxwell replied. ‘I must be off. The boys and I will be going all night.’

Faith took the policeman’s arm and led him to the kitchen. ‘Sit down,’ she said sternly, as she put the kettle on the stove. ‘You won’t last all night without a cup of tea and a sandwich.’

Maxwell sat down at the kitchen table and took off his hat. His grey hair was soaked with sweat. There were patches of dried blood on his trooper’s uniform. Faith knew he was in his mid-fifties but suddenly he looked much older.

‘When I got back to the barracks they told me they hadn’t seen you,’ Maxwell said anxiously. ‘I thought you must have come home. I’ll take you down to the railway station later. The Army’s organizing a train to take evacuees to Adelaide River and Katherine.’

‘No thank you, Sergeant. From what I saw this afternoon, I think I’d get trampled in the rush. Anyway, I want to be here when Joe gets home.’

‘Then at least come over to my house. Mrs Maxwell’s still there. She won’t leave either. She said there’s so much to do here. The town hospital and the RAAF and Army hospitals are already full of casualties brought from the Dutch East Indies and Malaya. God only knows how we’ll cope with our own people.’

‘I can help out too, Sergeant,’ Faith said quickly. ‘Just tell me what to do. I’d go mad just sitting around doing nothing waiting for Joe.’

The policeman smiled grimly. ‘Okay, but you’ll have to be evacuated eventually, you know. Orders are orders. In the meantime, I’ll take you up to the hospital. They need all the help they can get. The power’s out over there and the doctors are working by torch and candle-light.’ Maxwell wiped the sweat from his forehead with a soiled handkerchief. ‘Where’s Joe, anyway?

Faith poured boiling water into the teapot and put the brew on the table to steep. ‘He took Faraway up to the northern island missions ten days ago.’

‘Shouldn’t he be back by now?’

‘I expected him back before the Zealandia sailed. But Faraway’s an old boat. She’s slow even with favorable winds and petrol is almost impossible to come by these days.’

‘Joe’s lucky Faraway hasn’t been commandeered by the Navy. Most of the other private vessels on the Northern Territory coast have been.’ The sergeant’s eyes narrowed. ‘By the way, is Koko Hamada with him?’

‘Yes.’ Faith put sandwiches down in front of the policeman and poured the tea. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘People out there have gone crazy, Faith. They’ll kill any Japanese they see on sight. Now nobody can avoid internment.’

Faith was horrified. ‘But Koko’s an Australian. He was born here. I think even his father was born in the Territory.’

‘That’s why we used our discretion in Koko’s case when the government’s internment orders came through. But now, it doesn’t matter that the Hamadas have lived here for generations. They’ve still got almond-shaped eyes. In Darwin today that’s enough to get your head blown off. For his own protection we’ll have to arrest him. Everyone thinks that every Japanese in Australia is an enemy spy.’

‘You mean you’ll put Koko in goal?’

Maxwell sipped his tea and picked up a sandwich. ‘We can’t do that. The Territory Administrator ordered us to let all the prisoners out of goal in case the Japs land. He said if we didn’t, they’d be beheaded, or shot like fish in a barrel. The blackfellas all went bush heading for their tribal lands and the whites are all running for their lives down the Stuart Highway with everyone else.’

‘What will you do with Koko?’

‘Hand him over to the Army, I suppose. Although with the kind of discipline I’ve seen among some of the soldiers here today, they’d be just as likely to shoot him as anyone else.’

‘Do you think the Japs will really land, Sergeant?’

Maxwell shrugged his shoulders. ‘No one knows. But in the meantime those of us that stay here have to do what we can.’

‘How bad is it out there, Sergeant?’

‘It’s awful, Faith. There must be hundreds and hundreds of dead and wounded, mainly the men from the ships and the wharfies on the dock. Just about everyone who survived panicked. Most of the airmen at the RAAF station and a lot of sailors and soldiers have deserted. Even the staff at the leper colony on Channel Island have run off and left the inmates to fend for themselves. The blacks among them are planning to come over to the mainland at low tide and head for their tribal lands. I hope the Asian lepers have the brains to stay put. If they come over here, they’ll probably get shot—by the Army if there are no civilians left in town.’

‘Is the whole town on the Stuart Highway?’ Faith asked incredulously

Maxwell nodded. ‘Just about. Those with their own transport took it, those without stole whatever they could lay their hands on. They took cars, utes, motorcycles, bicycles, anything, even the town dunny-truck. The highway is like a bloody racetrack. There were even people on horseback. One of the blokes at the station called it the Adelaide River Stakes.’

‘But they can only drive seventy miles,’ Faith said. ‘After Adelaide River, there are only dirt roads which are impassable in the wet. What will they do then?’

‘Try and get on a train to Larrimah, I suppose. But that’s only another two hundred miles or so on and its far as the track goes. After that, I just don’t know what they’ll do.’ Maxwell stood up to leave. ‘To tell you the truth, I don’t care. I’m more concerned with looking after the folk who are still here and what’s left of Darwin. Now, if you feel you’re up to it, Faith, I’ll take you over to the hospital.’

CHAPTER THREE

The Army pressed every available railway carriage into service with the night train taking evacuees southward to Larrimah. Many were open flat-top freight wagons and cattle transports. Soldiers had been assigned to oversee the evacuation. But the orderly boarding of the train quickly turned into a stampede when it became clear there wasn’t going to be enough room for everyone. When things began to get out of hand the officer in charge ordered the soldiers to turn back at gun point any men forcing their way past women, children and the aged.

Most of the selfish louts were young fellows but two of the worst offenders were older men. Both had the same stocky build and wore filthy, ragged clothes. Long flowing hair and unkempt beards made them almost indistinguishable from each other. Each man carried a tightly packed canvas sea-bag swung over his shoulder and used it to bludgeon a path through the crowded platform. In their free hands both men carried .303 rifles. Their belligerent progress toward the train was only halted when a young Army lieutenant fired a shot from a pistol into the air above their heads. The crowd quickly scattered leaving the men standing alone with the lieutenant’s long-barreled Luger trained on them.

‘Who are you bastards?’ the officer shouted. ‘Where did you get those rifles?’

‘I’m Nick Horan,’ one of the men replied. He cocked his hairy head toward the other. ‘This is my brother, Henry. We’re croc-shooters. We’ve had these guns since before you were born, sonny.’

The young lieutenant ignored the sarcasm. ‘Croc-shooters! Where’s your boat?’

‘Down in the swamp at Mindil Beach.’

‘Where are you from?’

‘Groote Eyelandt in the Gulf of Carpentaria.’

‘Why don’t you leave Darwin by sea?’

‘Oh yeah. And sail straight into the arms of the Japs, you bloody fool.’

The lieutenant would not be drawn. ‘From what I’ve just seen,’ he said calmly, ‘you two shouldn’t have any trouble forcing your way through a few Japs.’ He turned his head slightly and shouted: ‘Sergeant?’

An armed sergeant stepped quickly to the lieutenant’s side. The officer lowered his Luger. ‘Escort these men out of the station, Sergeant. If you see them here again, blow their bloody heads off.’

*

Aki Hamada had been sitting at her sewing machine beside the window in her living room when the first Japanese warplanes swooped down on Darwin. Her small, but comfortable cottage stood on Myilly Point almost two miles from the harbor. From the window, beyond her colorful garden of flowering tropical trees and plants, she had a clear unobstructed view of the invaders as they roared in over the ocean.

When the bombs had started falling, Aki had rushed to the bedroom and taken cover under her bed where she stayed until long after the second raid had ended. When she eventually came out, she locked the front and back doors, then returned to the sewing machine at the window and stared out to sea, hoping that her son Koko and the ketch Faraway were a long, long way away.

Aki had been born in Japan in the small town of Marugame on the southern shores of the Inland Sea. She was just seventeen when she had met Hayato Hamada, a diver with the Darwin pearling fleet who had come to Japan for a few months in search of his origins. Aki and Hayato were attracted to each other the moment they met. She was captivated by his easy smile, his happy, carefree nature and was fascinated by his stories of the Australian tropics. Hayato thought Aki was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen.

When Hayato had told Aki’s father he wanted to marry her, her father had laughed out loud and said his daughter would never marry a foreign pearl-diver and forbade them to see each other again. But when Hayato told him Aki was already pregnant, the only way for her family to save face was to consent to the union, which they did on the proviso that the couple left for Australia immediately and remained there.

Aki soon found Darwin bore little resemblance to the idyllic tropical town that Hayato had described; its wild, frontier lifestyle couldn’t have been further removed from the quiet sophistication of the Inland Sea landscape from where much of Japan’s ancient culture had evolved. However, through the years, their love for each other and their only child had always carried them through. But in 1937, Hayato had been killed by flying debris when their home had lost its roof in the great cyclone.

Ever since then, although still an attractive woman, Aki had become a recluse, living only for her tropical garden and for the time Koko spent with her when Faraway was in port.

*

With the only evacuation options left open to the Horan bothers being a long trek southward across the Australian continent on foot, or an immediate escape by sea to the north, the decision was not hard to make. As they plodded, grumbling and cursing, through the darkened, rubble-strewn streets towards their boat at the swamp on Mindil Beach, they stopped frequently to help themselves to whatever they could carry from abandoned shops and homes along the way. With their sea-bags and rifles making it impossible to steal bulky items, their prime booty was liquor and cigarettes. Occasionally they saw police and military vehicles, but with the authorities having more urgent matters than looters to attend to, the croc-shooters were never challenged.

From time to time they stopped for a breather, put down their heavy loads and drank greedily from a whisky bottle. When they finally reached Myilly Point, the headland seemed strangely peaceful. The nearby Darwin civil hospital had been hit by bombers because of its close proximity to anti-aircraft batteries and the army barracks, but mercifully the buildings on the point itself had somehow been spared.

The brothers sat down in the moonlight on a rocky outcrop overlooking Mindil Beach and drank more whisky. From where they sat they could make out the dark shadow of their thirty foot sloop, the Groote Eylandt Lady, at the edge of the swamp. When they had abandoned the old run-down vessel earlier in the day to go ashore in the sloop’s dinghy, she had been sitting in six feet of water. Now they could plainly see the silhouette of the mast leaning over at a sharp angle after being left high and dry by the outgoing tide.

With several hours to kill before they could set sail, the croc-shooters decided to look for a more comfortable place to pass the time. Noticing a small cottage which faced out over the sea, they were surprised to find both the front and back doors locked. Most people had left the doors of their homes wide open in their haste to join the exodus from town. Horan raised a big foot and kicked hard. The back door flew open revealing a dark kitchen.

‘Anyone home?’

Both men cocked their heads and listened. There was no answer. They stepped inside and laid their gear on the floor. Nick struck a match and looked around. There was a candlestick in a jar on the kitchen table which he lit.

Holding the candle high, he led the way through a narrow corridor to the front of the little house. It was as neat as a pin with no sign of a rushed departure. In the living room, the flickering candle illuminated oriental wall pictures and polished rosewood furniture. At a window overlooking the ocean, a sewing machine stood on an ornate teak cabinet and beside it was a high-backed rocking chair. When the candlelight fell on the face of a small figure sitting motionless in the rocking chair, both men were almost startled out of their wits.

Nick was the first to recover. He lunged forward and grabbed Aki Hamada’s tiny throat in a huge hand and lifted her out of the chair. She stood eyes lowered, wearing a black silk kimono, her little body trembling with fear.

Nick’s eyes widened. ‘God Almighty, Henry. It’s a bloody Jap.’

Henry lurched back into the kitchen and groped around in the darkness. He returned almost immediately with his rifle in his hands. He leveled it at Aki. ‘All right, how many more bloody nips are in the house?’

Aki was terrified. Horan’s choking grip on her throat was so tight she could hardly breath. ‘There is no one,’ she gasped. She felt the hold on her throat ease a little and added quickly, ‘but my son will be here soon with many of his shipmates.’

Henry grinned. ‘And I suppose they are all in the bloody Imperial Japanese Navy.’ His eyes were becoming used to the candlelight now and, with his rifle pressed against his shoulder, he moved around the cottage. Just outside the living room there were two closed bedroom doors off the narrow corridor. He kicked one door open and charged inside. Finding the room empty he repeated the exercise with the second room. Satisfied there was no on else in the house, he lowered the rifle and returned to the living room.

Both men stood for a long time, their eyes appraising Aki. Without releasing his iron grip on her throat, Nick laid the candle down on a table and tore off her kimono. She was naked beneath it. As his eyes travelled over her slim, firm body he let out a whistle of appreciation.

‘Which room has the biggest bed, Henry?

‘In there.’ Henry nodded his hairy head to the first door without taking his eyes off Aki.’

Nick took his hand from Aki’s throat and grabbed her long black hair. ‘I think I’ll give this bitch a little of what the Japs gave us this morning,’ he said as he dragged her across the floor to the bedroom. ‘Keep an eye open for anyone coming, Henry. And don’t get too impatient. There’s plenty here for both of us.’

*

It was two hours before the incoming tide was deep enough to float the croc-shooters’ dinghy, and two more before there was enough water under the Groote Eyelandt Lady’s shoal draft keel to allow her to nose her way out to sea in the darkness.

In the little cottage on the headland, Aki’s torn and ravaged body lay prone on her bed, the life choked out of her by Henry Horan’s huge hands in a final act of physical debasement.

CHAPTER FOUR

The forty-six foot ketch Faraway approached Bathurst Island in darkness. That morning she had weighed anchor at Trepang Bay on the northern coast of the Coburg Peninsular, rounded Cape Don, then slogged her way south-westward all day, using a favorable breeze and the notorious tidal streams of Van Diemen Gulf to her best advantage. Now, as the crew lowered the vessel’s sails, the usual evening thunder storms associated with the wet were beginning to put on their spectacular show of lightening.

The old ketch’s engine coughed to life. Joe Brodie stood at the controls in the wheelhouse clad only in cut-off khaki army shorts, his lanky body glistening with sweat. In normal times he could bring Faraway into the Catholic mission jetty on Bathurst under sail, even in the dark. But when the Japanese had entered the war, the familiar guiding lights on shore had been blacked out when the military had enlisted the missionaries as coast watchers. Now, all the Top End island missions had become legitimate targets for enemy warplanes because of their airstrips and their radio communications with the mainland. As he strained to see the way ahead, Joe cursed the Japanese for the darkness and for forcing him to use precious petrol.

Fast moving clouds intermittently obscured the moon, forcing Joe to rely on the occasional flash of lightening and his local knowledge to guide Faraway through the patches of shallows and rocks. From time to time he swung the wheel hard to the left or right when his crewman, Koko Hamada, standing lookout on the bowsprit, shouted out instructions as he sighted hazards in the water ahead. Joe’s two other crewmen, both young Aborigines, stood fore and aft, ready with mooring lines, their black bodies only visible when lightening lit up the night.

‘Lantern on the jetty,’ Koko shouted out when he spotted a light on the shore moving to and fro.

Joe cut back the engine and edged toward the light. When Faraway gently nudged against the jetty pilings, the two Aborigines jumped ashore, made fast the mooring lines and laid down a gangplank. A little man in a clerical collar and shorts and sandals hurried aboard. His white hair glowed in the lantern light as he crossed the deck to the wheelhouse.

‘Father Jack.’ Joe held out a big hand. ‘I’m sorry I’m a couple of days late. I hope you didn’t think I’d forgotten your evacuees.’

Father Jack grimaced. ‘After what happened this morning, I’ve been thanking the Lord all day that they’re still on Bathurst Island.’

Joe looked surprised. ‘Oh, what happened?’

‘Don’t you know?’ The priest glanced from Joe to Koko as he clambered down into the wheelhouse. ‘But of course you wouldn’t,’ he added quickly. ‘You’ve been sailing all day from the north-east.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘The Japs hit Darwin around ten o’clock this morning. There were hundreds of aircraft—bombers and fighters. They strafed the mission as they flew over us on their way to the mainland.’

Joe was stunned. ‘Oh, my God. How bad was it in Darwin, Father?’

‘We don’t really know. We got on the radio of course to sound the alarm. But within minutes the Japs had jammed the emergency frequency. We’re fearing the worst. There were two attacks and so many aircraft.’

Joe and Koko exchanged anxious glances.

‘Well, we did manage to send the warning,’ Father Jack said, reading their thoughts. ‘And it’s almost fifty miles to the mainland. There should have been enough time for civilians to take cover and for the Army to man the anti-aircraft guns. And there must have been some aircraft at the RAAF station.’

‘Sometimes there is, sometime there isn’t,’ Joe said quietly.

‘We know the Japs met air resistance from the Americans,’ Father Jack said grimly. ‘One of their planes crashed into the sea about a mile offshore. We went out in a small boat and picked up the pilot. He was alive.’

‘Alive?’ Joe’s eyebrows rose. ‘What did he say, Father?’

‘Nothing much yet. He was conscious when we found him floating in his life jacket. But he passed out in the boat on the way to shore. He doesn’t seem to be hurt badly, just a few bruises here and there. But he’s still unconscious. He’s up at the house. Sister Mary’s been at his bedside since we brought him in.’

‘He’s a lucky man,’ Koko said. He suddenly frowned. ‘If he went down a mile out, how did you know he wasn’t a Jap?’

‘We didn’t.’ Father Jack smiled benignly. ‘But we are missionaries here, Koko, and the pilot was a human being in need.’

‘The boat’s secure, boss,’ one of the two Aboriginal crewman said as they both appeared at the wheelhouse door.

‘Well, we’d best be going up to the mission.’ Father Jack said. ‘We saw your sails hours ago so we had plenty of time to prepare you a good meal.’ The priest looked at the Aborigines and smiled. ‘I told cook to be sure she made enough for Sunday and Monday as well.’

The black faces of Sunday and Monday broke into wide white grins.

*

There were over three hundred Aborigines living in the mission village. Supervised by the missionaries, they raised livestock and grew most of their own food in the surrounding fields. Any other requirements were brought to the island by small supply vessels like Faraway or, in an emergency, by light aircraft. As the group walked up to Father Jack’s house in the darkness there were friendly waves from the shadows.

Father Jack’s cook, an old Aboriginal named Rosie, served lamb stew and potatoes as soon as everyone arrived at the house. Joe, Koko and Father Jack sat in the glow of a candle at the kitchen table. Sunday and Monday ate outside on the front porch. After the meal, Rosie brought a pot of tea to the white men at the table. An hour later they were still speculating on the aftermath of the air raids when a young white woman hurried into the kitchen.

‘What is it, Sister Mary?’ Father Jack asked anxiously.

‘The American flyer. He’s awake. He’s asking all sorts of questions. He’s….’

‘He’s well and damn glad to be alive,’ a voice with an American accent called out. A barefoot young man wrapped in a bed sheet followed Sister Mary into the room. He had a sharp angular face and dark hair. Joe took him to be in his mid-twenties. The young man thrust out a hand, clutching the bed sheet around him with the other. ‘I’m Captain Dan Rivers. I want to thank you all for fishing me out of the sea.’

Everyone stood up and shook hands. The pilot’s dark eyes narrowed when he saw Koko’s face in the candle glow.

‘It’s all right, mate.’ Koko said quickly. ‘I’m as Australian as steak and eggs.’

‘Sit down, Captain.’ Father Jack gestured to a chair. He turned to Sister Mary. ‘Ask Rosie to prepare another plate and would you fetch my dressing gown, please.’ He turned back to the pilot. ‘Are you sure you feel well enough to be up, young man?’

The pilot grinned. ‘Nothing wrong with me that a square meal won’t fix, Father.’

A few minutes later, clad in Father Jack’s too-small dressing gown and heartily eating a generous serving of stew, Captain Rivers fielded questions about the air raids on Darwin.’

‘I don’t think it could have been worse,’ he said somberly. ‘By the time we all realized what was happening, half the ships in the harbor and a lot of buildings had been hit. Everyone was caught completely by surprise.’

‘But we sent a radio message,’ Father Jack interjected. ‘We warned Darwin the Japanese were coming.’

‘Yes, but no-one sounded the alarm. Ten American P-40 fighters had left Darwin for Koepang twenty minutes earlier, then radioed in saying they were returning on account of poor weather. The radio operators thought the planes you saw were the Kittyhawks coming back.’

‘Were you flying one of them?’ Joe asked.

‘No, I was left behind because my airplane was unserviceable. I was in a hangar on the airfield when five of the Kitty’s landed just minutes before the Japs arrived. They were all shot up on the ground. The five still in the air were so outnumbered they didn’t have a chance. Some of those poor guys had never seen an enemy aircraft before.’

‘Have you, Captain?’

‘Yes, I was with the US Army Air Force in the Philippines.’

‘But if your plane was unserviceable, how did you get shot down?’ Koko asked.

‘Our maintenance guys kept working on it during the raid. They finished it about an hour after it ended and I was ordered to fly to Batchelor Field to join a small P-40’s squadron there. I just got airborne when the Japs came a second time. This time it was high-altitude bombers. But they had fighter cover. A couple of zeros spotted me and chased me out over the ocean. When they caught up with me I took them on. I knocked one of them out but the other one got me. Suddenly I was smoking bad and going down. I almost made it to the strip here at the mission. I don’t know what happened to the zero I hit but the other one must have figured I was a goner and took off. He would have gone back to cover their bombers. Only thing was, there were no fighters in Darwin to take them on.’

‘What about the RAAF Wirraways?’ Joe asked.

‘There’s only nine or ten and they were sixty miles south at Batchelor Field. And it was probably just as well because they wouldn’t have stood a chance. The Wirraway’s top speed is a hundred and fifty. Zeros can do more than double that and they’re armed with better guns.’

Joe sighed resignedly. ‘Was the steamer Zealandia still in port?’ he asked.

‘Yes, the Jap Betty bombers really did a job on the docks. The Zealandia took direct hits. Why do you ask?’

‘My sister was to be evacuated on her.’

The captain looked at Joe, then Koko. ‘You guys from Darwin?’

Joe nodded. ‘I’m the skipper of a coastal trader, the ketch, Faraway. Koko’s sailed with me for years. He has family in Darwin too—his mother. We’re on our way there now. We called in at Bathurst to pick up evacuees.’

‘When do you leave?’

‘At first light tomorrow.’

‘I must get back to my unit,’ the pilot said anxiously. ‘I figure today’s raids were just to soften Darwin up for a Jap landing. You will take me with you, won’t you?’

Joe glanced at Father Jack. ‘Yes. If Father Jack says you’re well enough to travel.’

*

The scattered thunderstorms had cleared by morning. With the first streaks of dawn’s light, eight part Aboriginal children carrying all their worldly possessions in brown paper parcels tied up with string boarded Faraway. Koko told them to sit down on the deck, out of the way of the workings of the ketch, until she was underway. As the sun lumbered up out of the ocean burning off a steamy early morning mist, Sunday and Monday hoisted the sails and the ketch put to sea, leaving Father Jack and a crowd of blacks waving on the jetty.

As soon as the vessel came out of the lee of the land a fresh westerly filled her sails. Joe set a direct course for Darwin across Beagle Gulf and Faraway began to leave a bubbling wake astern. With the vessel making such a good turn of speed, Koko told the evacuees to stay seated where they were on the deck and to keep a sharp lookout for ships and aircraft.

Captain Rivers climbed part way up the companionway steps and handed Joe a mug of tea. A moment later he climbed up into the wheel house with a cup of his own. He wore his pilot’s fatigues and moved with sure-footed agility in spite of the motion of the vessel. He stood beside Joe at the wheel, sipping tea, watching Sunday and Monday nimbly trimming the sails.

‘Those two Aborigines,’ he said after a few moments. ‘It’s hard to tell one from the other. Are they twins?’

Joe grinned. ‘Yes, they are.’

‘Have they got real names?’

‘Sunday and Monday are their real names. One was born just before midnight on a Sunday and the other an hour later, or so the story goes.’

The pilot turned his attention to the sky and the water.

Joe handed him a pair of binoculars. ‘Do you think the Japs will come back today, Captain?’

‘Hard to say,’ the pilot raised the glasses. ‘If they’re going to land they’ll come by sea. If they think they missed anything worth hitting yesterday there may be another air strike. But if they accomplished all they wanted to do yesterday they may not be back for a while.’

‘God, let’s hope so.’ Joe gestured toward the women and children on the deck. ‘At least until I get this lot ashore and on their way to Adelaide.’

‘How long before we reach Darwin, Joe?’

‘About six hours if this wind keeps up. A lot longer if it doesn’t.’

‘Can’t you start the engine?’

‘We’ve only got enough petrol to run the engine for an hour at most.’

The American lowered the glasses. ‘How come you’re ferrying their kids to the mainland anyway?’

‘All the island missions were told the Navy would be evacuating them. But the ships never arrived. The mission on Bathurst is one of the lucky ones. It’s close to Darwin, so some of the private coastal vessels have been picking up a few at a time This lot is the last to leave.’

‘But there’s still plenty of people left there.’

‘Just blacks. The government only evacuates whites or half-whites. Father Jack and Sister Mary don’t agree with that. That’s why they’re staying on. He told me last night they must do what they feel God wants them to do.’

The captain sipped more tea and swallowed. ‘What are you going to do, Joe? There won’t be much work for a coastal trader in these waters now.’

‘I know,’ Joe said grimly. He felt the wind ease and shouted at Sunday to Monday to sheet-in the sails. ‘The last few months there’s been shortages of everything. Now there are practically no cargoes at all. Even if there were, I can’t get the petrol I need. And the bank’s screaming because I’m behind on the boat payments. Soon they’ll have to deal with the Army or the Navy because Faraway will probably be commandeered soon after we get to Darwin.’

‘So where does that leave you?’

‘Since I’ll no longer be performing an essential service, the Army will call me up like everyone else. This damn war has changed everything for everyone.’

‘You can say that again.’ The American drained the last of his tea. ‘Last summer I was looking forward to getting out of this man’s Army and going home to New Mexico. Now I’m in the Top End of Australia. Three weeks ago I didn’t even know where it was.’

‘What kind of work do you do in civvy-street, Captain?’

‘I’m an engineer.’ The captain raised the binoculars again and scoured the ocean. After a few moments he said: ‘Look, over there.’ He pointed over the port bow. ‘What’s that?

Joe took the glasses. About three or four miles off he saw a small vessel travelling towards them under power. He handed back the binoculars. ‘Looks like a small private craft. Must have been able to scrounge up enough fuel to get out of Darwin. As they eyed the little boat the wind suddenly dropped again. Robbed of air the sails flapped noisily. In minutes the ketch was wallowing in a sloppy sea.

Koko came to the wheelhouse from the fore deck. ‘Looks like that’s all the air we’re going to get for a while, Skipper. We’ll be sitting ducks if the Japs come back again today. What do you reckon? Do we start the engine?’

‘I suppose.’ Joe said. ‘But I don’t think we’ve even got a gallon of petrol.’

The engine died less than half an hour later just as the small boat they had sighted earlier passed them heading in the other direction. It was a sloop and looked to be in poor condition. The vessel wasn’t close enough to hail but two people could be plainly seen sitting in the cockpit. Captain Rivers trained the glasses on her transom. Under the crusted salt and grime he could just make out her markings.

She was the Groote Eylandt Lady.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Darwin Civil Hospital near Myilly Point was almost brand new, having recently replaced a decrepit old facility on the same site. It was widely regarded as one of the most modern and well equipped in Australia. In spite of being severely damaged by bombs during the first raid, the police and the military brought in a steady stream of casualties throughout the day. Most of the badly wounded were dock-workers or sailors from ships sunk in the harbor. There were scores of men suffering bullet and shrapnel wounds and scores more blackened and burnt from bomb blasts and burning oil. Doctors and medical staff were stretched beyond their limits and were grateful for any volunteer assistance they could get.

After Sergeant Maxwell had dropped Faith off, she worked continuously all through the afternoon and night. She labored hard and willingly, soothing the wounded awaiting treatment, holding candles for doctors performing operations without electric power, and disposing of the seemingly endless bags of soiled medical dressings in incinerators outside the building. Faith even surprised herself at what she was capable of in the face of so much bloodshed and human suffering.

By the early hours of the morning the hospital seemed to have the worst of the emergency cases under control. Everyone, including Faith, was exhausted. Then word came through that because of the risk of another air raid at first light on the nearby Larrakeyah Army Barracks and the possibility of the hospital being hit yet again, all patients were to be moved to the military hospital at Berrimah several miles away. Army vehicles began arriving just before dawn to transfer hundreds of seriously wounded patients on stretchers.

Faith rode over to the military hospital in a truck with a number of badly burned sailors from the USS Peary. Some of them were so young they were still in their teens. At Berrimah, she helped to carry them inside and get them settled into the hospital. With all the beds already filled, many by patients transferred from another hospital at the RAAF station which had been hit badly in the second raid, casualties from the Civil Hospital were put on mattresses scattered around on the floor in corridors and outside on verandas.

It was mid-morning when Sergeant Maxwell found Faith, almost dead on her feet, helping to prepare food in the hospital kitchen. On the way home to the sergeant’s house she fell asleep in the police van.

*

The wasn’t even a ripple on the sea when a fresh north-easterly swept across Beagle Gulf around noon. In seconds, Faraway’s listless sails filled with air and the ketch came alive and charged southward at almost eight knots.

The evacuees, who had gone below earlier seeking relief from the searing midday sun, quickly came back up on deck to feel the cooling wind on their skin. As the mainland drew closer, Sunday and Monday climbed to vantage points in the ratlines. But long before anyone sighted land, an ominous pall of black smoke towering high in the sky was visible over the Port of Darwin. Anxious to get home as fast as he could, Joe kept a steady hand on the helm, never allowing Faraway to wander even a fraction off-course, while Koko constantly trimmed the sails and Captain Rivers kept a sharp lookout for Japanese raiders through raised binoculars.

The wind held. Just before sunset, Faraway shortened sail and glided into the Port of Darwin. There was a stunned silence on the deck of the ketch. The entire area was devastated. Every strategic target seemed to have been demolished in the raid. Only the leper colony on nearby Channel Island appeared to have escaped the wholesale destruction. It was now almost thirty hours since the Japanese warplanes had unleashed their fury, but oil fires were still burning on the shore and the port area was strewn with debris. As Joe spun the wheel to avoid hitting some floating rubbish he was horrified to see a burnt, bloated body break the surface of the oily water and realized that the sea was still giving up her dead.

Joe steered past two naval launches ferrying wounded military personnel to Catalina flying boats moored in the harbor. Their crews looked surprised to see a private vessel entering the harbor with children scattered around her decks. As Faraway drew closer to what remained of the wharf, Joe could see that the hospital ship Manunda, although badly damaged, was taking on stretcher cases and preparing to sail. Beyond the Manunda, half the hull of the steamer Neptuna lay partially submerged on its side. It had been blown in two when her cargo of munitions blew up

From a distance it appeared that many more casualties were laid out on the dock area. But as the ketch drew closer, the putrid stench of decomposing flesh wafting over the deck made it plain that the casualties on the shore were in fact corpses, stacked up in piles like firewood. Suddenly all the children began to cry and Joe told Koko to get them below. Moments later, a naval launch drew alongside and an angry officer ordered the Faraway out of the harbor area.

Joe steered out from the shore and sailed toward the lower reaches of Frances Bay, past the town’s pearling fleet anchorage, to a patch of shallow water close to the edge of Darwin’s huge mangrove swamps. There Sunday and Monday lowered the sails. Even before the anchor had taken hold, all the passengers were anxious to get ashore. Joe called everyone around him on the aft deck.

‘Right, from what we’ve seen, it looks like the authorities in town have their hands full, so we’ll probably have to fend for ourselves.’ Joe turned to Dan Rivers and Koko. ‘Captain, you’ll want to get back to your unit right away, and Koko, you’d better get over to Myilly Point, so I’ll take you two ashore first.’ He turned to the children. ‘Then I’ll take you lot ashore a few at a time and we’ll see what can be done about getting you out of Darwin. If anyone gets lost or separated, come back to the anchorage here and sing out. Sunday and Monday are staying aboard to mind the boat.’

It was dark when the dinghy reached the shore at the edge of the mangroves. Koko jumped out and took off at a run, slipping and sliding through the mud, heading for Myilly Point. When the captain clambered out he hesitated, then turned and stepped back into knee-deep water and grabbed the dinghy by the gunwales.

‘It’ll be pitch black in a few minutes, Joe. I think I’d better walk into town with you and those kids. I figure it’s the least I can do.’

‘You’ll make better time on your own, Captain.’

‘I know that, but I’m going to go with you and the kids.’ The American pushed off the dinghy. ‘Now let’s hurry it up. I know there’s crocodiles and snakes in these mangroves.’

When the last of the children were put ashore, Sunday rowed the dinghy back to the ketch. Then everyone struggled through the mangroves to dry land and up to a railway line on higher ground which ran parallel to the shore. They followed the tracks in the darkness towards town. Joe led the way, with the children grouped behind him and Captain Rivers bringing up the rear. They walked for about half a mile through heavily bombed scrub to the town railway station. Somehow the railway line itself had miraculously escaped being hit.

The station was deserted except for two military police trucks parked on the platform. As the weary group straggled in, the headlights of the vehicles on the platform above them suddenly lit up. The doors swung open and several provosts jumped out with drawn revolvers.

‘Stop right where you are, you lot.’ a loud voice shouted out.

Blinded by the glare, everyone stopped dead. The Aboriginal children clung to each other, frightened out of their wits. Captain Rivers stood perfectly still holding two of the smallest youngsters by the hand.

‘Who are you?’ The loud voice belonged to a provost sergeant. He was standing about twenty yards away with his Luger pointed directly at Joe. ‘Where do you think your going with those Abos?’

‘I’m Joe Brodie, the skipper of the coastal trader, Faraway.’ Joe squinted through the glare. Now he could see the provost sergeant and the gun. ‘Put the bloody gun down. Do I look like a Jap or something? I’ve brought these children here to be evacuated.’

‘Are you bloody mad?’ the sergeant shouted. ‘Lepers can’t come near anyone. Take them back to Channel Island where they belong. We know they’ve been sneaking over to the mainland and setting up camps in the mangroves. I’ll shoot anyone who takes a step closer.’

‘They’re not from Channel Island. We’ve just sailed in from Bathhurst Island.’

The sergeant hesitated. He seemed unsure what to do next.

‘It’s okay, Sergeant,’ the captain called out. He walked toward the platform. ‘It’s true. I sailed over with them. I’m Captain Dan Rivers, United States Army Air Force.’

‘It’s only okay when I say it’s okay,’ the sergeant shouted. ‘So don’t come any closer, Yank. Nobody’s going anywhere. Darwin’s under martial law now. That means Australian military provosts are in charge here.’

‘Sergeant,’ Joe said quickly ‘take a look at these children. They’re not lepers. They’re all healthy. Look at their skin. It’s quite normal. None of them are disfigured or deformed. I just want to hand them over to the authorities for evacuation.’

‘It’s too late to evacuate anyone, now. All the government people and civilians have gone south and all the Abos have gone bush. As I told you, the provosts are in charge of everything now. So I’m telling you lot to go back where you came from.’

‘You’re not in charge of me.’ Captain Rivers walked towards the sergeant. ‘I’m going back to my unit if there’s anything left of it. Are there still Americans left at the RAAF station?’

‘There’s not much left of the station. The Yanks have set up bush camps out of town the same as we have. But if you’re lucky you might find some of your MPs around town.’

‘What about the Northern Territory Police?’ Joe asked. ‘Are there any officers still here?’

‘Yeah, they’re still here. Most of them are still burying dead sailors down on the beach by the harbor.’

‘Is Sergeant Maxwell there?’

The sergeant nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘I want to go and talk to him about these children.’

‘You know Sergeant Maxwell, do you?’

‘Yes. My father was with the Territory Police for years.’

‘All right then. But those kids don’t move an inch.’ The sergeant holstered his revolver. He turned to Captain Rivers and cocked his head toward the platform. ‘All right, you can come up now too.’

Dan Rivers looked at the children gathered around him. They all looked very frightened. He turned back to the provost. ‘If it’s all the same to you, Sergeant,’ he said quietly. ‘I figure I’ll just hang around here until Joe gets back.’

*

Koko ran across the mile and a half wide neck of land which separated Frances Bay from Myilly Point without stopping. Streets he had known since boyhood now suddenly seemed alien and strange. Open doors of deserted homes swung eerily to and fro. Now and then, plaintive sounds pierced the night as abandoned household pets searched for absent owners and scraps of food. There were bomb craters everywhere, and on many blocks of land there was only rubble where houses had stood the day before. Apart from the passage of an occasional military vehicle, Darwin had become a ghost town.

As he neared Myilly Point, Koko was glad to see the destruction didn’t seem to be quite so bad. Apart from the new hospital which had been hit and obviously abandoned, there seemed to be little damage to the nearby houses. Without breaking his stride he bounded over the low white picket fence surrounding his mother’s garden and rushed through the back door.

Koko called out his mother’s name. There was no answer. He called out again but still there was no reply. He fumbled in the darkness in the kitchen drawer where he knew his mother kept a torch. Finding it, he shone it ahead of him as he hurried through the passageway to the front of the house. Koko stopped in his tracks when he saw an empty whisky bottle on the floor outside his mother’s bedroom. Then he saw her black kimono lying in shreds on the living-room floor. At once he knew something was terribly wrong. The bedroom door was ajar. With his heart pounding, he pushed it open and shone the torch inside. He cried out in anguish when the light fell on Aki’s lifeless body.

*

Sergeant Maxwell was about to climb into his utility when Joe reached the police barracks on the Esplanade. The policeman looked tired and grim-faced. When he saw Joe he managed a tight smile.

‘So you made it back all right, Joe? Someone said they thought they saw Faraway coming into Frances Bay. I was just about to go home and tell Faith. She’s at my place. I expect she’s awake by now. She worked fourteen hours straight at the hospitals last night.’ The sergeant opened the door of the van. ‘Hop in.’

‘Thank God, she’s all right.’ Joe’s relief showed on his face but he made no move toward the vehicle. ‘Tell me what the hell is happening here, George. I just brought some children and a shot-down American pilot over from Bathhurst. I anchored at the edge of the mangroves and when we walked down to the railway station we were held at gun point by the Army provosts.’

Maxwell sighed and shook his head. ‘They are in charge now, Joe. They are mostly just young militia conscripts and they’re being a bit heavy-handed. But the town went mad yesterday after the raids. Everyone was scared the Japs were going to land any minute. People just dropped everything, abandoned their homes and businesses, and headed south any way they could. And it wasn’t just civilians. Most of the airmen at the RAAF station deserted and they were joined by a lot of soldiers and sailors. It was like rats deserting a sinking ship. Then the looters went to work. There’s hardly a house in town that hasn’t been vandalized.’

‘Mine included, I suppose?’ Joe said resignedly

‘I expect so, Joe. But I drove by it earlier today. It looks okay.’

‘But, if everyone’s gone, who doing the looting?’

‘Mainly servicemen. The barracks in town have been deserted. The soldiers are carting stuff off to bush camps. Some of them told me they’d been ordered by their officers to swipe anything that was useful. The rest are stranded civilians who can’t get out of town, or sailors off ships that got wrecked or sunk in the harbor. They’re breaking into homes just to get a feed and a roof over their heads.’

‘What a damn mess,’ Joe said angrily. `What am I supposed to do with the children I brought from Bathurst?’

‘The Army told me there’s a freight train leaving Larrimah for Darwin late tonight. It probably won’t be here until sometime tomorrow. As soon as it’s unloaded it will going straight back. They won’t allow civilians to board it; it contravenes some stupid regulation I suppose. But I got the Territory Administrator to persuade the Army to turn a blind eye if the few remaining civilian women in Darwin travel on it as far as Katherine. They’ll have to ride on open flat-top wagons but it’s the only way out now. I’ve told Mrs Maxwell and Faith that they’d better be among them. Perhaps we can get your kids on it too. Where are they?’

‘Still at the railway station. The provost sergeant won’t let them move. He thinks they’re from the leprosarium on Channel Island.’

‘Oh, God.’ The sergeant threw up his hands. ‘And what about the American pilot?’

‘He’s staying with them until I get back.’

‘Come on.’ Maxwell opened the door of the ute and climbed in.

Joe quickly got in beside him. ‘Where are we going, George?’

‘There are some American military police further down the beach. We’ll tell them about their pilot, then we’ll all go back to the station.’

‘What are the MPs doing on the beach?’ Joe asked as the ute swung out onto the Esplanade.

‘They’re trying to identify Americans among the bodies that keep coming up out of the harbor. We’ve been burying men on the beach all day with no way of telling the nationality of most of them. In this heat we’ve had to move quickly. There were so many bodies we even had to send some out to sea for burial. And we’re not getting them all. The ones that surface down near the mangroves will be eaten by the crocs, I suppose.’

Joe closed his eyes and grimaced. After a moment he said, ‘How are you going to convince the provosts to release the children?’

‘I’ll tell them I’ve got permission from their commanding officer to use my discretion regarding evacuees.’

‘Have you?’

‘No.’

‘What if he checks with the Army?’

‘They’ve got more important things to do than deal with a jumped-up provost sergeant who thinks he’s a real policeman, Joe.’

Joe glanced at the sergeant. ‘You could get yourself into a lot of trouble, George.’

‘We’ll all be in a lot more trouble if the bloody Japs land. Oh hell...’ Maxwell turned his head quickly to Joe. ‘What did the provosts do with Koko?’

‘Nothing. He didn’t go to the station, he went straight home.’ Joe sensed something in Maxwell’s tone. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I’ll have to go and pick him up. It will be better if I turn him over to a senior army officer than let the provosts grab him. There’s no telling what they’ll do. I’ll take Aki in at the same time.’

Joe eyes widened in amazement. ‘But why, George. Why?’

The sergeant swung off the Esplanade and braked sharply beside a cluster of men and military vehicles on the beach. ‘Because they’re Japanese, Joe. That’s why.’

*

Dan Rivers was sitting in the middle of the platform with the children, when Sergeant Maxwell’s ute and a US Army military police jeep pulled up beside the provosts at the station. He got up quickly and walked over to them.

‘Sir.’ A Negro MP sergeant saluted smartly. He nodded towards Joe. ‘This civilian says he brought you in from Bathurst Island, Captain. Is that so?’

‘Yes. I was shot down yesterday. What’s left of the airfield, Sergeant?’

‘Not much, sir. The Japs really did a number on Darwin. If you don’t need medical attention, I’d best take you to a bush camp. Most of them are about ten miles out.’

‘Thanks, I’ll just be moment.’ Rivers turned to Sergeant Maxwell and the provost sergeant who were engaged in a heated conversation. Joe was looking on, saying nothing. Rivers took Joe’s arm and led him aside. ‘What’s going on, Joe? What going to happen to the kids?’

‘Sergeant Maxwell thinks he can get the children out of town on a train tomorrow. He wants the provost sergeant to release them into his care. I told him they can stay at my house overnight. But the provost says Maxwell’s got no authority under martial law. He says he can’t release them without direct orders from a superior military officer.’

Rivers turned abruptly and stepped up to the provost. ‘Sergeant, as the ranking officer here,

I’d appreciate it if you would release these children to the police sergeant as he’s requested. I’ll take full responsibility.’

At first the provost sergeant looked surprised, then confused, as if unsure of the extent of the authority of an Allied officer. After a few moments he said:

‘Is that an order, sir?’

‘Yes, it is, Sergeant.’

‘Very well, sir.’

CHAPTER SIX

There wasn’t room for everyone in the police van but Captain Rivers and the US military police sergeant were happy to transport the overflow in their jeep. When the vehicles pulled up outside the sergeant’s house, Mary Maxwell, a plump, grey-haired woman, came out onto the veranda with Faith. When Faith saw Joe, she flew down the steps, raced across the yard and hugged him tightly.

‘These youngsters all look like they need a good feed,’ Mrs Maxwell said when her husband explained what was going on. ‘They can go over to your place later, Joe,’ she called out over her shoulder as she herded the children into the house.

Captain Rivers stepped out of the jeep and reached for Joe’s hand. ‘I want to thank you again for everything, Joe. I wish there was some way I could make it up to you.’

Joe brushed the gratitude aside. ‘I just gave you a boat ride, that’s all.’ Joe was standing with his arm around Faith and he noticed the American’s eyes were on her. ‘Oh, Faith,’ he said quickly. ‘This is Captain Rivers, his plane was shot down yesterday. We brought him over from Bathhurst. Captain, this is my sister, Faith.’

The captain took her hand and shook it gently.

She smiled. ‘Captain Rivers.’

‘My pleasure, Faith.’ He looked intently into her pale blue eyes. ‘Please call me Dan.’

Faith smiled again, then she and Joe turned to go into the house.

Dan climbed back into the jeep. ‘Let’s go, Sergeant.’ He spoke without taking his eyes off Faith. As the jeep pulled away he remained watching her until she disappeared inside the house.

*

‘You’ll stay with Uncle Richard and Aunt Helen when you get to Brisbane, of course.’ Joe was concerned for his sister..

‘Yes, if they’ve got the room,’ Faith replied. She reached across the table and took her brother’s hand. ‘Oh, Joe, say you’ll come with me on the train tomorrow.’

It was almost midnight and Faith and Joe were talking in hushed tones in the glow of a candle at their kitchen table. The mission children, well fed at the Maxwell’s earlier in the evening, were now all fast asleep in beds or on mattresses scattered around the floor of the Brodie house.

‘I just can’t go that soon,’ Joe said. ‘I can’t leave the boat and the house and everything. I’ll need a few days and I want to see if there’s anything that I can do for Koko.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do for Koko. It’s just awful, I know. But at least he’ll be safe, Joe. As for everything else, why do you need to stay? The house and the boat will probably be destroyed if the Japs come back. Even if there’s no more bombing, or they’ve got no intention of landing, there’s no trade left for a small private vessel anyway. It’s just too dangerous. Besides, you told me Faraway will probably be commandeered.’

Joe shrugged. ‘Perhaps she won’t. They may think she’s too old or too small to be of any use.’

‘Well, if they don’t, the bank will take her if she can’t pay for herself.’

‘George Maxwell told me all the banks are closed. Apparently the Territory Administrator made special arrangements for the staff, cash and negotiable securities to be taken south last night.’

Faith sighed. ‘They’ll still get your boat, Joe.’

‘Not if I volunteer or get called up. There’s a government-enforced debt moratorium on anyone who enlists in the services.’

‘What good is a debt moratorium if you’re dead?’

Joe shrugged again. ‘Not much, I suppose. But I’m going to enlist. And I’d better do that as soon as I can.’

‘You can’t join up here. You have to go to Adelaide River or Katherine.’

‘Then I’ll see if I can get on that train tomorrow. I’ll have to go down to the boat first thing though and tell Sunday and Monday to go bush. And I want to see Koko before George Maxwell goes over to Myilly Point in the morning to pick him and Aki up.’ Joe stood up and stretched. ‘But now, I think we’d both better try and get a bit of sleep.’

Faith got up, went to the sink and began filling the kettle. ‘I’m going to make some tea, Joe. You go and put your head down on the settee. I don’t need any sleep now, I slept most of the day. I’ll wake you at dawn.’

*

Around 2 a.m. the candle on the kitchen table had burnt itself out. Faith was just nodding off, still sitting upright in her chair, when she thought she heard a noise outside. She got up quickly, moved to the kitchen door and stood listening in the darkness. After a moment she heard soft footsteps on the porch outside, then a sharp rap on the door.

Faith crept silently back to the table, took her father’s Walther from the drawer and held it up in front of her with both hands.

‘Who’s there?’

‘Faith, it’s me, Koko. Let me in. I must speak with Joe.’

Somehow, Koko’s usually familiar voice sounded different. Faith wasn’t quite sure if it was him. She made no move to open the door or lower the gun.

There was another rap on the door. ‘Please, Faith. Let me in.’

Still unsure if it was Koko outside, Faith was about to go and wake Joe when her brother appeared in the kitchen beside her.

‘Someone’s outside,’ Faith whispered. ‘He says he’s Koko.’

Joe took the pistol from Faith’s hands and went to the door.

‘Koko?’

‘Yes, Joe, it’s me.’

Joe quickly unbolted the door and opened it. Koko stepped in from the night.

‘Joe…’ Koko’s voice was shaking. ‘They’ve killed Aki.’

‘What are you saying, Koko? What do you mean?’

‘It’s true, they’ve killed my mother. I found her body when I went home from the boat. They…’ Emotion choked off Koko’s voice.

Faith put a match to a new candle. Koko’s face glistened with sweat. His shirt and shorts were caked with dirt. There were nicks and cuts on his hands and knees. His eyes were wide with fear. Joe steered him to a chair at the table; then he and Faith listened in horror and dismay as, struggling to hold back tears, he told them of the terrible circumstances in which he had found Aki.

‘And I was so afraid,’ Koko said after he had told them the worst. ‘I knew there would be people who would have seen Faraway sail back into the harbor last night—people who hate my mother and me only because we’re Japanese. I was afraid they would come for me before I had a chance to bury her properly. I had to dig and scrape with my bare hands. One day, if they don’t kill me first, I will go back and bury her properly.’ Koko buried his face in his hands. ‘I’m sorry Joe. But I had to come here. There’s nowhere else I can hide.’

‘You did the right thing, Koko. And no one is going to kill you.’ Joe tried to sound reassuring. He glanced at Faith and from the look on her face he knew he hadn’t.

‘Sergeant Maxwell won’t let that happen, Koko,’ Faith said quickly.

Koko lifted his head from his hands. ‘How can he stop it? After what the Japanese have done to Darwin, I wouldn’t even be safe in jail.’

‘The jail’s empty.’ Faith said. ‘All the prisoners have been set free. Sergeant Maxwell told me he’d have to hand you over to the Army for your own protection.’

Joe shook his head. ‘From what I’ve seen of the provosts here today and after what’s happened to Aki, I don’t think Koko would be safe anywhere in Darwin, not even here in this house.’

No one spoke for some time. Joe stared thoughtfully into the kitchen table pondering the situation. Eventually he looked up and said:

‘Look, Koko, I’ve got an idea. I don’t know if it will work. I’ll need more time to think about it. But for now, nip over to the boat while it’s still dark and lay low. I’ll see you down there first thing in the morning.’

*

In pale moonlight Koko ran all the way to Faraway, keeping a sharp lookout for anyone along the way. Intending to swim out to the ketch, he waded knee-deep into the water before he saw two telltale beads gleaming in moonlight at the edge of the mangroves. Koko knew the eyes of the submerged crocodile would have been on him since before he entered the water and that the reptile was patiently waiting for the best moment to strike.

Knowing a hasty scramble back to the shore would only draw a swift attack, Koko began retreating very slowly. But the primal instincts which had allowed crocodiles to survive since prehistoric times detected Koko’s defensive movement immediately and the beast attacked. It swam through the water at incredible speed, then noisily splashed and padded it’s way up onto the shore. Well aware of the saltwater crocodile’s speed on land as well as in the water, Koko ran for his life. It was only when he reached the railway line that he dared to look back, and with his heart bursting in his chest he was relieved to find the terrifying predator had given up the chase.

From where he stood, Koko could see the silhouette of Faraway out on the water. He saw shadows moving on the deck, then he heard a splash and knew the dinghy had been lowered. He crept down as close to the shore as he dared. After a few moments he saw the dinghy and heard a voice call out.

‘Who is there…? Is that Mr Joe…?’ The voice belonged to Sunday.

Koko called back. ‘It’s me, Koko. I must come aboard. Watch out for croc’s.’

‘We heard them.’ This time it was Monday’s voice. ‘I got Mr Joe’s rifle.’

Koko watched as the dinghy glided in toward the shore. Monday stood in the bow, the rifle raised defensively. Sunday was at the oars. When the dinghy reached shallow water Koko quickly clambered aboard. Monday gave Koko the rifle and sat down in the stern. Sunday pulled hard on the oars and the boat moved back out into deep water.

‘Me and Monday bin takin’ turns on watch, like Mr Joe told us,’ Sunday said between oar strokes. ‘Monday wake me when he heard the croc. Why you come in the middle of the night, Mr Koko?

‘There are people looking for me,’ Koko said. ‘They blame me for the bombs because I’m Japanese. Joe told me to come to the boat. He said to tell you he’ll be here later. If anyone comes asking for me, you must tell them I’m not aboard Faraway, all right?

As soon as he was aboard, Koko went to the galley and made a pot of tea, then he sat alone outside on the deck in the moonlight nursing a cup in his hands. Just before dawn he got up and went below to a tiny cabin in the forepeak of the vessel where he lay down among a pile of sail bags with his grief until mercifully, sleep overtook him.

An hour later Koko was awakened by the throbbing of an engine. For a moment he thought Faraway was underway but a quick look through a small porthole in the cabin told him the vessel was still at anchor and the noise was coming from an approaching naval launch. Two ratings and an officer stood on her deck. Koko could see they were preparing to board Faraway. He dived back into the sail bags and burrowed underneath them. Moments later the throb of the launch’s engine stopped and he heard the scuffle of feet on the deck above him.

‘I’m Lieutenant Commander Grimshaw, Royal Australian Navy. Is the master of this vessel aboard?’

‘No, Mr Joe in town. No one on board but Monday and me.’

Koko could hear the voices of the lieutenant and Sunday clearly.

‘I have orders to commandeer this vessel,’ the lieutenant continued. ‘I have here a document detailing the terms and condition of secondment. It states that the ketch Faraway is to be given up to the Navy here in the Port of Darwin with her entire inventory intact. In the absence of her master I am obliged to nail this notice to the mast. Please draw it to his attention, when he returns. He will see that it allows for the removal of all personal effects from the vessel within twenty four hours, after which time the Navy will take formal possession of her. Do you understand what I have said?’

‘No, boss.’ Sunday said. ‘But I show Mr Joe the paper when he come back.’

Koko heard footsteps moving around the deck and the sound of a hammer at the mast. Moments later the engine of the launch roared to life and the little craft sped away.

*

Chatter from the Aboriginal children woke Joe from a short sleep just before dawn. He got up and went outside. It was a hot sultry morning. He filled a galvanized tub with water from the rain catchment tank in the back yard and the children began washing themselves while Faith made a makeshift breakfast from an assortment of tinned food left in the house.

While the children were eating, Joe went out to the garden shed and was glad to see his BSA motorcycle had not been stolen and used in the Adelaide Stakes. He straddled the old machine, unscrewed the petrol cap and shook the bike from side to side. There was a faint sloshing sound. At least there was some petrol in the tank. Later he returned to carry several empty boxes from the shed. The children had finished eating and Faith sent them all out to play in the backyard where she could keep an eye on them through the kitchen window.

‘What was the idea you spoke to Koko about last night?’ Faith asked as she laid a plate of food on the table. ‘And what are the beer crates for?’

‘I’m not going to get on that train today, Faith.’ Joe said as he sat down to eat. ‘I’m going to sail Faraway to Queensland. I can join up in Cairns or Townsville just as easy as in Adelaide River or Katherine. And I’ll feel better having Faraway’s deck under my feet until the day I enlist and get the serviceman’s debt moratorium.’

Faith gasped. ‘But it’s too dangerous, Joe. There are Japanese airplanes and submarines all along the coast these days. I know, I’ve talked to sailors off the ships at the hospital. Don’t you realize how lucky you were to get back in yesterday? Anyway, you said you’ve got no petrol for the engine.’

‘HMS Beagle didn’t even have an engine when she brought Charles Darwin here,’ Joe said defensively. ‘Besides, these days I only use mine to get in and out of anchorages when there’s no wind.’

‘Why would you go to Queensland? Western Australia is closer.’

‘This time of the year the most favorable winds are from the north-east. We should get to Cape York before the trade winds are right on the nose.’

‘We,’ Faith sat down quickly beside her brother and grabbed his arm. ’My God, Joe, you’re not thinking of taking Koko with you are you?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Joe slammed his knife and fork down noisily on the table. ‘This damn town has gone mad. And after today, there’ll be no-one left here but strangers. There’ll only be a few Yanks and a bunch of servicemen from the southern states who think Darwin is a Godforsaken, malaria ridden hole they’ve been sent to in order to kill Japs. As far as they’re concerned Koko’s just another Japanese. Well, he’s my friend and after what’s happened to Aki, I can’t just leave him here.’

Faith knew Joe’s mind was made up. She nodded at the empty boxes on the floor. ‘So they’re to take whatever you need to the boat, I suppose.’

Joe nodded. ‘I might as well take anything I can use. As soon as we’re gone the looters will only take it anyway.’

‘Well, you’d better get more boxes from the shed,’ Faith said resolutely. ‘Because I’m going with you.’

‘You can’t,’ Joe protested. ‘You said yourself, it’s too dangerous.’

They were interrupted by a knock on the front door. When Joe went to answer it he found Sergeant Maxwell pacing the porch outside.

‘Joe, I’ve just been over to Myilly Point. There’s no sign of Aki or Koko. Any idea where they may be?’

‘No, I haven’t, George.’ Joe was surprised how easily the lie rolled off his lips.

Maxwell shook his head. ‘God, I hope they haven’t tried to go into hiding.’ The policeman took off his broad-brimmed hat and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Sometimes I hate this job, Joe.’ He was half way to his ute when he turned around and called out. ‘We expect the train about midday. I’ll come over with Mary around two this afternoon for Faith and the kids.’

Joe walked back into the kitchen. Faith looked at him disapprovingly.

‘I heard what Sergeant Maxwell said, Joe. It’s hard to lie to our friends. I don’t know how you can do it.’

‘It would be harder to betray Koko,’ Joe said grimly. He picked up a box from the floor. ‘If you’re coming with us, Faith, we’d better start putting a few things together.’

An hour later Joe left the house for Faraway with two boxes, filled to overflowing, perched precariously on the petrol tank between his arms. He had to slow right down as he picked his way across the scrub land near the mangroves. When he eased the bike over the railway track he looked down at Faraway to see Sunday was already lowering the dinghy.

‘We heard you comin,’ Boss,’ Sunday called out excitedly even before the dinghy reached the shore. ‘You come quick. Navy fella come to steal Faraway.’

Joe took the secondment notice down from the mast as soon as he boarded. He read it quickly then went below. Koko sat nervously in the main cabin. Sunday and Monday squatted at the top of the companionway anxiously peering down.

‘What are you going to do, Joe?’ Koko asked.’ You said last night you had an idea.’

Joe sighed. ‘Up until five minutes ago, I thought we could just shove off and head for Queensland. I was going to join up in Cairns or Townsville. I reckoned if you have to be interned it would be better to turn yourself in there. At least you would have made it safely to an internment camp. Or if you wanted to, you could have sat out the war somewhere with people you know, perhaps at the mission on Croker or Elcho Island, or somewhere like that.’

‘The Navy came a day too soon.’ Koko said sadly, then he added resignedly, ‘I’ll come with you when you go ashore, Joe. I’ll give myself up to Sergeant Maxwell.’

No one spoke for some time while Koko pondered his fate and Joe re-read the secondment notice. The silence was broken by Sunday. ‘Someone comin’, boss. Someone comin’.’

Joe bounded up the companionway. An Army truck was driving through the scrub. As it drew closer Joe saw a five pointed star on the bonnet and knew it was American. The truck drove down close to the shore then the driver jumped out, cupped his hands to his mouth and called out across the water.

‘Is this the boat named Faraway?’

‘Yes it is.’ Joe shouted back.

‘Are you Joe Brodie?’

‘Yes.’

‘Got something for you, sir. Compliments of Captain Rivers.’

‘What is it?’

‘Gasoline, sir.’

Joe looked on in amazement as the driver walked to the back of the truck, opened the tailgate, rolled a forty-four-gallon drum off onto the ground, then drove away without saying another word.

*

‘You can’t be serious,’ Faith said incredulously. ‘You can’t just sail off for Queensland when the Navy’s already commandeered the boat.’

Joe picked up another box from the kitchen floor to carry out to the motorbike. ‘Yes I can, Faith. And I’m going to. The Navy’s not taking possession until first light tomorrow. Now I’ve got fuel, we’ll be miles over the horizon by then.’

‘But there must be severe penalties for doing something like that.’

‘Like what?’ Joe said. ‘As far as I’m concerned, when I came back to the boat there was no crew aboard and I didn’t see any notice nailed to the mast.’

But what about Sunday and Monday. They’ll question them.’

‘No they won’t. They’ll be gone too. They’re from Croker Island. I told them I’d take them home.’

‘And what am I supposed to do? I can’t tell Sergeant Maxwell and Mary that I won’t be on the train now.’

Joe reached out and took Faith’s hands in his. ‘I know,’ he said gently. ‘That would give the game away. So you’ll have to go with Mary and the children. I’m sorry. But it’s probably best this way. And I’ll write to you at Uncle Richard’s in Brisbane as soon as I can.’

‘And what about you? What are you going to tell Sergeant Maxwell?’

‘I’ll say I’m not leaving until I’ve taken everything I want off the boat and the Navy have signed off on the secondment and taken formal possession.’ Joe grimaced. ‘He’ll probably see me running around with boxes on the bike anyway. With any luck he’ll think I’m taking gear off the boat not putting it on.’

*

The train from Larrimah arrived just after midday carrying equipment and munitions for the Army. All the wagons were open flat-tops except an old guard’s van at the end of the train which was loaded with foodstuffs. It was late afternoon before soldiers had unloaded everything. When the officer in charge finally told Sergeant Maxwell that the women and children, who had been patiently waiting on the platform all afternoon, could board the empty guard’s van, the station was already dark under a starless overcast sky.

As Sergeant Maxwell bade farewell to his wife, Faith looked around the station hoping to see Joe. She was just stepping up onto the small steel platform at the rear of the van when he raced up.

‘Bloody bike ran out of petrol,’ he said, hugging her tightly.

‘Are you all set?’ she whispered..

‘Yes.’

‘When will you leave?’

‘In an hour or two, I hope,’ he whispered back, his lips touching her ear. ‘This overcast is perfect. It’s almost pitch black. All I need is a little wind.’

The train shuddered, then began to move.

‘I’ll write soon,’ Joe called out as it pulled away.

Faith went inside the van and sat down on the floor with Mary Maxwell and a few other women and the children. There was a dim glow from a lantern hanging overhead on a hook in the roof. A sack was nailed over the only small window in the van to prevent the light from being a target for enemy aircraft. All the women had brought food and water and blankets to sit on, and everyone began to settle in for the long hot ride to Katherine.

The train moved out of the station slowly, picking up speed as it went along. After seven or eight minutes it slowed down at the edge of town and came to a stop beside a water tower, just as Faith knew it would. A few minutes later there was a loud clanging of carriages and with a violent jerk the van started rolling again.

Faith turned her head to Mary Maxwell. ‘I think I’ll just stand outside for a moment, Mary.’ she whispered.

‘What is it, dear?’ the sergeants wife asked anxiously. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I think everything has finally caught up with me,’ Faith said, getting up from the floor. ‘I just need to be alone for a while.’

The train was gathering speed when Faith stepped outside onto the small guard’s platform at the back of the van. She quickly closed the door behind her, then swung her legs over the low rail of the platform and jumped from the van into the scrub.

Joe and George Maxwell remained talking on the platform station after the train left the station. Maxwell told Joe that neither he nor any of the other officers had seen either Aki or Koko all day. Joe lied again and said he hadn’t either. But this time, judging by the way the sergeant looked at him, Joe wasn’t sure if George Maxwell believed him.

When Maxwell climbed into his van to return to the police station, Joe set off down the railway track in the darkness towards Faraway. As he approached the dark shadow of the dinghy which he’d left on the shore high above the water line, he was startled to see someone sitting on the gunwale of the little craft. When he drew closer he was even more startled to see it was Faith.

‘What happened,’ he asked in amazement.

‘I said I’d get on the train like you wanted me to, Joe,’ Faith said stiffly. ‘But I didn’t say I’d stay on it all the way to Katherine.’

*

Faraway lay in dead calm water under a shroud of dense low cloud. In accordance with the military blackout orders, not a glimmer of light was visible from buildings on shore or from ships lying at anchor in the harbor. Joe knew even the slightest sound would carry across the still water and attract the attention of naval vessels and the Army gun emplacements on the shore. Unable to start the engine, and with no prospect of wind, his only option was to wait for the tide to turn.

Just before midnight, ever so slowly, Faraway began to swing on her anchor chain. In the late afternoon Joe had carefully marked the position of the other vessels in the harbor and charted a clear course through them which he hoped he could follow out to the open sea without mishap, even in total darkness. With the tide turning at last, it was now or never.

Joe whispered to Koko to carefully lift the anchor and told Sunday and Monday to raise the sails, warning them that the slightest sound could betray them. When the anchor broke free, Joe held Faraway to her predetermined course and with Faith beside him at the wheel, the ketch ghosted silently out of the harbor on the ebbing tide.

By dawn, she was nearly forty miles out to sea, in the centre of Van Diemen Gulf, charging along at full throttle and heading northward for Cape Don and the Arafura Sea.

CHAPTER SEVEN

As Faraway thrust her bow through the emerald green waters of Van Diemen Gulf in brilliant sunshine, it was still dark two thousand miles to the south where the Prime Minister of Australia anxiously paced the floor of his office in Canberra.

Just four months earlier, fate had decreed that fifty-seven-year-old John Curtin, a socialist, one-time trade union leader, journalist and antimilitarist, should hold the destiny of the nation in his hands at the very time when its greatest fear—the dreaded invasion by the Asian ‘yellow peril’—looked more and more like becoming a reality with every passing hour.

In the short time since taking the reins, Curtin had seen a staggering succession of Allied military reversals resulting in the greatest threat to the tenuous hold of Europeans on the continent of Australia than at any time during the course of the nation’s entire history. Not the least was the loss of the supposedly impregnable British fortress of Singapore and with it the grim realization that the Royal Navy could no longer guarantee Australia’s security as it had for over a hundred and sixty years. Now the bombing of Darwin had brought the Pacific War to Australia’s very shores and Curtin had been forced into action.

Following a secret session of Parliament he had authorized the sending of a cable to Winston Churchill in London, demanding the return of the fifty thousand men of the Australian Imperial Force serving with the British forces overseas. He had stated emphatically that the Imperial Force, already weakened by severe losses in Malaya, Singapore and the Dutch East Indies, were the only seasoned soldiers Australia had and they were now desperately needed to defend their homeland against an imminent Japanese invasion.

The cable was the most recent of several forceful exchanges over the past week between Curtin to Churchill. It left no room for maneuvering by the British Prime Minister whose intransigence on the matter prior to the bombing of Darwin had been absolute, insisting the bulk of the Imperial Force be deployed in the defense of Burma, to where a convoy was already taking them.

Curtin continued to pace the floor. He hoped the decision to recall the 6th and 7th Divisions of the Imperial Force hadn’t been taken too late. It would still be some time before the convoy carrying the troops could return to Australia. In the meantime, with much of the Royal Australian Navy serving abroad with the Royal Navy, and the cream of the Royal Australian Air Force engaged in Europe and the Middle East, Australia would have to rely on around eighty thousand untrained and poorly equipped conscripted militia soldiers, many of whom had never held a rifle let alone fired one.

But Curtin was heartened by the fact that not every setback of the past few months had been a total disaster for Australia. The successful attack on the United States Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor, and the United States Army Air Force in the Philippines, had made Australia a natural staging area from where the Americans could halt Japan’s advance across the Pacific.

The few American aircraft that had escaped destruction in the Philippines, mainly P-40 fighters and B.17 bombers, had already been sent to Australia and more men and equipment were beginning to arrive from the United States. The first Americans had come aboard an eight-ship convoy of men and equipment escorted by the cruiser USS Pensacola, which had been diverted to Brisbane while en route from San Francisco to Manila at the time of the Japanese attacks on Pearl Harbor and the Philippines.

Three days after the Pensacola convoy reached Brisbane, Curtin had made an emotional public appeal to the United States to help Australia in her hour of need. The appeal fortunately coincided with an American plan to wage war on Japan from Australia. Although the arrival of the Americans was unheralded, because of strict government censorship of troop movements, the sight of American servicemen on the streets of Australia’s capital cities had become commonplace in recent weeks.

Curtin knew the presence of the Americans gave heart to an increasingly alarmed Australian public which, until the entry of Japan into the war, had generally treated the far-off European conflict with casual indifference. But now, with the bombing of Darwin, Australians were afraid as they had never been before, even though the official government censor, newspaper magnate Keith Murdoch, had complied with Curtin’s personal direction to withhold the true extent of the death and destruction from the public.

The Prime Minister walked over to his office window and drew back the curtain. The dawn was just breaking on a new day. Curtin was wondering what it might hold when there was a knock at the door and Frank Forde, the Deputy Prime Minister and Army Minister entered the room.

‘John, wonderful news,’ Forde said with a wide smile on his face. ‘We’ve just had a signal from Washington. President Roosevelt has ordered General Douglas MacArthur to leave the Philippines for Australia to assume command of a new South-west Pacific Theatre.’

*

When Faraway passed through Dundas Strait separating Melville Island and the Coburg Peninsular and nosed into the Arafura Sea, she found a favorable wind. For the first time since leaving Darwin Joe shut down the engine and the ketch entered the almost silent world of sail. The only sound was the chuckle of the ketch’s bow as she gently pushed her way north-easterly through a calm sea.

There had been no sightings of Japanese warplanes or even reconnaissance aircraft all day. The only visual reminder of the horror of Darwin, which now lay a hundred miles astern, was Koko’s small figure sitting alone with his sadness near the bow of the vessel. That night they dropped anchor in Trepang Bay and ate fresh fish which Faith had frying in the pan just minutes after Sunday and Monday had caught them.

The next morning they set a course for Croker Island. It was almost dark when Faraway arrived in Mission Bay. The vessel was well-known at the island and was greeted warmly. That evening, Joe, Faith and Koko dined with the missionaries. They learned of the fearful reaction of the Methodist and Anglican missions across the Top End to the Japanese attack on Darwin. None of the many missions had been evacuated by the Navy as promised. Now, fearing a full-scale Japanese invasion, the missions were using their radio network to try and organize the evacuation of white female staff and mixed-race children themselves, using the church owned lugger Larrpan to transfer evacuees from the islands to the mainland.

The missionaries at Croker Island had decided it was too dangerous for the Larrpan to sail to Darwin because of sightings of Japanese submarines in Van Diemen Gulf being reported over the airwaves. Instead, a plan was being formulated to take all evacuees over seven hundred nautical miles to the south-east, to the mouth of the Roper River in the Gulf of Carpentaria. From there they would travel inland, on the river and overland, over a hundred and fifty miles to Mataranka, a small settlement three hundred miles south of Darwin on the road to Alice Springs.

When one of the priests asked Joe for his opinion of the plan, he expressed reservations. ‘It’s a long, difficult voyage during the cyclone season in the best of circumstances, Father. I know Kolino Saukuru, the master of the Larrpan. He’s a fine sailor and a good missionary, but it is an awesome responsibility he is taking on, having to contend with the Japanese as well as the weather. It’s not one I would want myself.’

The priest glanced apprehensively at the other missionaries seated around the table, then turned back to Joe. ‘When we saw Faraway approaching this afternoon, my son, we knew that your coming was God’s own work, his answer to all our prayers. Because we are the most westerly mission, our evacuees will be the last to be picked up by the Larrpan and that could be weeks away. We know Faraway can’t carry a lot of passengers but since you are sailing eastward we would be more than grateful if you would take some of the younger girls with you.’

Joe didn’t answer right away.

‘You would only lose a couple of days in the Gulf by sailing south to the Roper River,’ the priest urged. ‘You see, it’s the younger mixed-race girls who would be abused the worst by the Japanese.’

Joe was conscious of everyone’s eyes on him, including those of Faith and Koko.

‘We can, of course, provide rations for everyone for the entire voyage, Joe’ the priest persisted. ‘And we’ll arrange for people to be waiting for them when you reach the Roper River.’

‘There must be some other way, Father,’ Joe said, reluctant to commit himself to such a long voyage with evacuees. ‘Are there no other boats?’

‘The only vessel we’ve seen since you were here last, Joe, was a small ketch with two rough looking sea-tramps aboard. They anchored here overnight on their way eastward to the Gulf of Carpentaria. They said they were croc-shooters and volunteered to take some of the girls with them. But we were afraid their fate might be worse on board that vessel than at the hands of the Japanese.’

‘What was the boat’s name?’

‘The Groote Eyelandt Lady’

‘I saw her leaving Darwin. She didn’t look very seaworthy.’

‘I’m afraid we were more concerned about the morals of the men than the condition of their boat, Joe.’

Faith reached out and laid her hand over her bother’s. ‘It’s a huge responsibility for you, Joe. But surely it’s the least we can do. I’ll see to it that the girls don’t get in the way.’

Joe sighed resignedly. ‘All right. We’ll take as many as we can, twelve, perhaps fourteen. But with only basic facilities and accommodation on board we will have to anchor each night and sail only in good weather. You would know well, Father, that the Top End coast is strewn with uncharted reefs and I won’t take any unnecessary risks.’

The priest smiled happily. ‘Your kindness will be repaid a hundred times in this life, Joseph. We will have the girls ready to leave in a few days, just as soon as we can make arrangements for them with the missions along the Roper River. And don’t you worry about your charges, Joe. The Lord has sent you to us and he will see they come to no harm.’

*

An American B-17 Flying Fortress, en route from Mindanao to Batchelor Field in the Northern Territory began its descent over the Coburg Peninsular. As the roar of the huge bomber’s four engines eased, General Douglas MacArthur, tall and handsome, but underweight and sallow from weeks of short rations in the Philippines, peered down at the flat almost featureless face of northern Australia.

It had been almost a month since he had been ordered by the President of the United States to leave his embattled army in the Philippines and take command of US forces in Australia. In July, 1941, MacArthur, a former Chief of Staff of the United States Army, had been serving as military advisor to the newly formed Philippine Commonwealth when he was recalled to active service and given command of all US Army Forces in the Far East. At the same time, by executive order, the entire Philippine army had been inducted into the United States Army to provide the strongest possible deterrent against Japanese aggression in the region.

But less than two months after the start of the Japanese offensive in the Philippines, MacArthur’s combined army of over one hundred thousand men was in tatters and desperately in need of reinforcements and provisions. With the Philippines blockaded by the enemy and with food and munitions rapidly depleting, it was clear the American and Filipino forces were doomed and it was only a matter of time before they were forced to surrender or be wiped out to the last man. Unwilling to leave his command with his troops facing certain defeat, MacArthur only acceded to the President’s order to go to Australia on the condition that he could leave at a time and place of his own choosing.

When he had finally left several weeks later, MacArthur was forced to break his vow to die with his besieged troops on the island fortress of Corregidor in the mouth of Manila Bay and had to flee in a small boat to the island of Mindanao where the B.17 was waiting to take him to Australia. But before he left he made a solemn promise to return to the Philippines, the place where he had first seen military service as a young lieutenant in 1903.

The Flying Fortress skimmed over the scrub at the edge of Batchelor Field and touched down on a dirt runway, only recently extended to accommodate such a large aircraft. While the B.17 was being refueled, MacArthur, his Filipino wife and young son stepped from the plane to stretch their legs, as did several high-ranking officers the general had brought with him from Corregidor. In less than half an hour the plane took off again for Alice Springs.

There, MacArthur was met by a military contingent of American officers including Lieutenant-General Richard Sutherland. Sutherland had been MacArthur’s Chief of Staff in the Philippines and had preceded him to Melbourne to confer with Australian officials. MacArthur had decided to make the long journey southward to Adelaide and Melbourne by train, in order to have time to get a full appreciation of the situation in Australia before meeting with Prime Minister Curtin and his war cabinet. As the train rattled southward through the South Australian desert, MacArthur was stunned by what he heard.

‘There are somewhere in the region of twenty thousand Allied combat-ready troops in Australia, sir,’ Sutherland told him. ‘The rest are all untrained and poorly equipped conscripts. The Australian Air Force has about eighty assorted aircraft; most are obsolete, some of them very old biplanes and we only have about a hundred and sixty operational airplanes. More crated P-40 fighters have already arrived from the United States and are presently being assembled and put into service. More aircraft have been promised from the States and the British say they are sending Spitfires. The Australian Naval forces in home waters are small but by all accounts, very well trained.’

MacArthur’s eyes widened in amazement and disbelief. Then his jaw tightened and for a long time he stared out of the carriage window in shocked disappointment without uttering a word. Eventually he said: ‘If thirty thousand American soldiers and a hundred thousand Filipinos, backed up by a hundred and fifty P-40’s, thirty-five B-17’s, thirty Catalinas and sixty warships couldn’t save the Philippines, what chance does this country have if the Japs invade?’ MacArthur turned his eyes back to his Chief of Staff. ‘Do the Australians have any kind of plan at all?’

Sutherland pointed to a map of Australia spread out on the table between them.

‘Their chiefs of staff say if the Japs mount a full-scale invasion, they intend to only try and defend the most populated and industrialized area of the country which is about twenty percent of the land mass lying behind a line drawn between Brisbane and Adelaide.’ Sutherland ran a finger across the map between the two cities. ‘They call it the Brisbane Line, sir.’

‘And what about the rest of the country?’ MacArthur said incredulously.

‘They say they’ll have to abandon it to the enemy, sir.’

The look of stunned amazement returned to MacArthur’s face. ‘Who else knows about this Brisbane Line plan?’

‘Just Allied top brass and a few senior members of the Australian government. General, I think the people would go berserk if they knew. It’s a desperate situation, sir.’

‘Have the people any idea just how desperate it is?’

‘Not really, sir. It’s all happened so quickly. The average Australian never paid much attention to the war in Europe or their Imperial Force volunteer soldiers who went to fight with the British. They’re kind of isolationists out here. Since World War One, successive governments have told them they don’t need a regular army. Now there’s a war on their doorstep, the people are scared and the politicians are ducking for cover. The people have been kept pretty much in the dark. The press is only allowed to publish the official government line. Even the truth of what happened in Darwin was suppressed.’

MacArthur shook his head. ‘Well, now you’d better give me the good news, if there is any. What support is coming in from the States?’

‘Not a hell of a lot yet, sir. There’s about forty thousand men on the way, mainly ground forces. They’re expected here over the next few weeks. Most of them are aboard the Queen Mary and the Queen Elizabeth and almost all are untrained.’ Sutherland frowned. ‘I’m afraid the amount of equipment and supplies isn’t very encouraging either. The problem is, the war in Europe gets top priority from the White House and there’s a chronic shortage of shipping to transport what little is allocated to us here. Then there are more problems when the ships do get here.’

‘What kind of problems?’

‘Trade union problems. Sometimes a ship doesn’t get unloaded for weeks.’

‘Then we’ll unload our ships ourselves.’

‘The Australian Waterside Workers Federation says if American troops unload ships they’ll shut down all the ports in the country. They say their working conditions were too hard won to relax them even if there is a war going on. They’ll only work at their own speed or not work at all.’

‘God Almighty. Is there any good news at all?’

‘Yes, there is.’ Sutherland smiled reassuringly. ‘Some of the Australian Imperial Force serving overseas with the British has been recalled. Up to fifty thousand men will be back in Australia soon. And they are all seasoned soldiers. They’re battle hardened and they’ve got more experience than any of our guys, sir. If we’re going to try and beat the Nips back to Japan we’re going to need the AIF badly, at least until we can get our own forces trained and get the hardware we need from the States.’

‘And what’s the present command set-up?’

‘It’s already been announced that you are to take over command of all US forces in Australia,’ Sutherland said. ‘And its certain that you’ll be made Supreme Commander of a new south-west Pacific area command very soon. The command will include all Australian and American forces in and around Australia. I understand the Commander in Chief of Australian Forces, General Blamey will be your second in command. He’s on his way home from Cairo right now. He boarded the Queen Mary in Cape Town. We expect the announcements to be made after you meet with Prime Minister Curtin in Canberra in a few days.’ Sutherland’s lips widened in a guarded grin. ‘You’ve been getting a lot of ink in the Australian newspapers in the last few days, sir, and it’s certainly lifted the morale of the Australian public.’

‘And their expectations, I suppose.’ MacArthur said without much enthusiasm. ‘You know as well as I do, this command will just turn into another Philippines if we don’t get men and equipment here before it’s too late to fight back.’

Deeply troubled by the grim situation in Australia, MacArthur took leave of Sutherland and his senior officers and returned to his family’s quarters to ponder the situation and to try and get some rest. After lying awake for several hours in a small, uncomfortable bunk, MacArthur got up, put on a pair of pants and a silk smoking-jacket and began pacing the dimly-lit corridors of the train as it thundered through the night towards Adelaide.

There were just three carriages on the train. Two were set aside for the general’s family and his military entourage which had been swollen considerably at Alice Springs. Everyone was sleeping as MacArthur made his way through the carriages. When he reached the last one, a US Army Military Policeman stood on guard at the door. At first, in the half-light, the soldier didn’t recognize the tall man in the smoking-jacket and he barred the way. But when he realized it was MacArthur, the MP snapped to attention and saluted smartly.

‘What are you doing here, Soldier?’ MacArthur asked. ‘Who’s in there?’

‘There’s some Allied officers and enlisted men and a few civilians, sir,’ the MP said, staring straight ahead. ‘They’re not part of your official party, sir. They’re just tagging a ride south. I was told to make sure they are confined to this car.’

‘At ease, Soldier.’ MacArthur said and passed through into the carriage.

It was even darker inside the last carriage than in the others. As MacArthur walked down the corridor he saw the forms of a few servicemen stretched out and sleeping on seats in the compartments. At the end of the corridor he was about to turn around and begin walking back when he saw an American officer standing at a window looking out into the night. Outside, the rugged South Australia landscape was silhouetted by bright moonlight. In the reflection of the moon glow on the window, MacArthur saw the insignia of a captain on the officer’s shirt.

‘Can’t you sleep, son?’ MacArthur said from the shadows.

‘No.’ The captain half turned his head towards MacArthur and seeing the silk smoking-jacket assumed the question had come from a civilian. ‘It’s so damn hot in the compartments, I came out to try and get a little air.’

‘Strange-looking country out there, isn’t it?’ MacArthur said as the officer resumed staring out of the window.’

‘Not so strange if you come from the south-western United States. This country looks pretty much like parts of Arizona or New Mexico to me.’

‘Is that where you’re from, Captain?’

‘The captain nodded his head. ‘I was born in the Carrizo Mountains in north-western New Mexico, but I live in Gallup now.’

‘I know that country well, son. I’ve been there many times.’ MacArthur said. ‘I lived on Army posts in New Mexico as a young boy. My father was a soldier in the Union Army. After the Civil War he had a command in the south-west during the Indian campaigns. He saw that whole region settled as a Navajo Indian reservation.’

The captain turned from the window. ‘What was your father’s name?’

‘Colonel Arthur MacArthur.’

‘Sir.’ The captain quickly stood to attention and saluted. Any doubt about the identity of the tall man in the smoking-jacket was dispelled when MacArthur took a step forward into the dim light. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize…’

‘As you were, Captain.’ MacArthur returned the salute. ‘I see you are wearing the uniform of the Army Air Corps. What’s your name?’

‘Rivers, sir, Captain Dan Rivers.’

‘How did you come to be in Australia, son?’

‘I was stationed at Clark Field when the Japs hit in the Philippines. I came to Darwin aboard one of the B-17’s we managed to salvage. I’m going south now to help organize facilities for assembling P-40’s coming in from the States.’

‘Assemble them? Don’t you prefer to fly them?’

‘Yes, but I’m also an engineer, sir. I joined the service to get my degree through the military.’

‘Damn good way to get an education, son. I was commissioned as a second-lieutenant of engineers at West Point.’ MacArthur smiled at the recollection. ‘What did you plan to do before this war came along?’

‘I wanted to build good roads and decent housing for my people all across the south-west, sir. They supported me while I was away at military school getting an education.’

‘You said you were born in the Carrizo Mountains, Captain.’ MacArthur stepped closer so he could see Dan’s face more clearly. After a few moments he said, ‘You’re an Indian, aren’t you, son?’

‘Yes sir, I’m a Navajo.’

MacArthur smiled again and said, ‘My father would have been glad if he could have seen all Americans fighting on the same side this time.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

Faraway spent a week at Croker Island, hidden away in a channel deep in the mangroves more than a mile away from the mission. At low tide the channel emptied, leaving the ketch high and dry, but in the dense foliage that surrounded her she was almost impossible to see, even from the air.

Every morning a Japanese reconnaissance aircraft flew over the island. Often it appeared as if from nowhere, diving silently from high altitude with its engine cut, restarting it just a few hundred feet above the ground, then roaring at tree-top level over the mission. Sometimes the pilot even grinned and waved to any of the islanders who hadn’t been quick enough to get under cover. The missionaries told Joe that the plane had only strafed the island once, when an aircraft from the mainland had been parked on the airstrip. But every time the plane flew over the island Joe was afraid the pilot would spot Faraway.

Although Croker Island was home to Sunday and Monday, they asked to sail on to the Roper River and Joe agreed, happy to have a full crew for the long voyage. Faraway finally set sail early one morning with fourteen girls between ten and sixteen years old on board. Also aboard was a large quantity of provisions supplied by the mission, mainly salted meat, vegetables and tinned food, but there was also freshly baked bread, and a variety of fruit. The missionaries had also made arrangements on the radio network for more food to be taken on at the Elcho Island mission, over two hundred miles to the east.

Joe took his time sailing east along the Top End coast. He knew that with nineteen people crammed onto a small vessel, without privacy or proper facilities, the voyage could soon become a very difficult passage. So he stuck to his plan to only sail in daylight and used his intimate knowledge of the desolate and featureless Arnhem Land coast to rock-hop between mainland and island anchorages. With generally light breezes, which often disappeared for hours on end, and anxious to conserve fuel, Faraway rarely made more than thirty miles a day.

They reached Elcho Island without incident and without sighting any other vessels. Koko spotted two aircraft along the way, but both were so high in the sky no one could tell if they were Allied or Japanese. The missionaries on Elcho told them the Japanese had bombed Broome in Western Australia with great loss of life and the destruction of over twenty Allied aircraft. Most were Dutch Air Force flying boats, blown to smithereens as they lay at anchor on Roebuck Bay, only hours after bringing evacuees in from the Netherlands East Indies.

Joe expected Koko to remain on the island. The mission superintendent and his wife, who had refused to be evacuated aboard the Larrpan a week earlier, knew Koko well and they pleaded with him to stay. But Koko was gradually coming to terms with his grief and his situation and, although undecided what he would do in the end, chose for the time being to stay aboard Faraway.

Two days out from Elcho Island, Faraway arrived in the Gulf of Carpentaria under clear skies and blustery winds. Now, with the greater part of the voyage behind her she charged southward with a freshening north-easterly wind filling her sails and leaving a boiling wake astern. With the strong favorable wind, Joe hoped to cover the last three hundred miles to the Roper River and hand his charges over to the waiting missionaries before there was a change in the weather.

The strong north-easterly held. Three days later, Faraway had covered over two hundred miles and was safely anchored at Bickerton Island, seven miles off the eastern Arnhem Land coast. Groote Eylandt was clearly visible about the same distance further out in the Gulf. With only seventy miles remaining, Joe planned to leave the anchorage at dawn and try and reach the mouth of the Roper River before dark.

The dawn brought a patchy, cloudy sky but the wind still hummed in the rigging. Outside the sheltered anchorage, whitecaps were beginning to form and the seas were building. Joe told Sunday and Monday to cram on as much sail as they could and Faraway was soon making a steady eight knots through flying spray. Everyone was in high spirits.

Around mid-morning everybody got a scare when a large aircraft appeared over the bow. It was flying at very low altitude and directly towards them. Joe shouted to everyone on deck, telling them to take cover below and there was a mad scramble down the companionway. But Joe’s fears were allayed when he recognized the aircraft as a Catalina flying boat and saw RAAF markings on its fuselage, and he assumed it was preparing to set down at the aircraft refueling depot at Groote Eyelandt. As the Catalina thundered by overhead Joe waved and the pilot dipped a wing.

When Joe gave the all-clear, Faith and two of the older girls began preparing the usual mountain of sandwiches in the galley for the midday meal and most of the other girls came back up on deck. With the foredeck streaming wet from flying spray, they sat in safe positions around the aft section under Koko’s watchful eyes. Two of the smallest girls sat in a favorite spot, tucked away in a small space between the wheelhouse and the foot of the mizzen mast, beneath the boom cradle. An hour later when everyone had eaten one of the girls saw something in the sky.

‘What’s that, Mr Joe?’ she called out loudly and pointed a finger up into the gathering cloud.

The child was pointing high above Faraway’s wake. Joe took one hand off the wheel and glanced up over his shoulder. At first he saw nothing, then sunlight caught something high in the sky between two clouds. Joe gave Koko the wheel and reached for his binoculars. He focused the lenses but saw nothing. Whatever he had seen was now hidden behind the clouds. Just as he was lowering the glasses an aircraft burst silently through the clouds. It was in steep dive with its engine turned off and Joe realized with horror that the pilot was using the surprise tactic employed by the Japanese pilot over Croker Island.

‘Everyone below, now!’ Joe screamed out at the top of his voice, ‘Now... now… now!.’

Faith and the children rushed to the companionway, almost falling over each other in their haste to scramble down the steps into the main cabin. Joe remained in the wheelhouse, his eyes on the aircraft as he pushed Koko, Sunday and Monday down behind the children. Suddenly the engine of the aircraft roared to life just a few hundred feet above the water and about three hundred yards astern. As the Zero leveled out from the dive, Joe could plainly see its Japanese markings. A moment later its machine guns started to chatter as it began a strafing run.

At the last moment Joe jumped down into the companionway and slammed the hatch shut above his head. A second later, above the roar of the Zero’s engine, there was a loud thumping as machine gun bullets hammered into the two inch thick hardwood decking, sending a flurry of splinters flying around the cabin.

The children clung to each other in terror. Sunday and Monday crouched under the companion way steps, wide-eyed with fear. Joe held Faith and waited. He could feel the ketch losing some of her speed as, unattended, she gradually began to come up into the wind. The sound of the Zero grew fainter. Koko moved quickly through the vessel to the forward cabin, cautiously opened the hatch and peered out. He closed it quickly and hurried back to the main cabin. ‘The bastard is coming back for another go at us, Joe.’

The low whine of the Zero’s engine rose to a loud scream again and more machine gun fire raked the ketch, slamming bullets into the deck and sending splinters flying again. As the sound of the aircraft receded, Joe bounded up the companionway and slid open the hatch and stuck his head out. He stood on the steps and watched the Zero roar away steadily gaining altitude as it went, until it disappeared completely from view.

There was a loud scream. It came from Faith. Joe spun around. Faith’s blouse was spotting with blood. It was dripping through the deck above her head.

‘Oh God, the children,’ Joe cried out.

He sprang up into the wheel house. It’s windows were crimson with blood. In the confusion no one had thought of the two little girls tucked away under the mizzen-mast boom cradle. Joe reached them in an instant. The Zero’s guns had done the deadly job they were designed to do. The two lifeless, mangled bodies lay in a sea of blood. Joe raised a clenched fist at the sky and screamed out in anguish:

‘You bastard. You rotten bastard. You rotten, stinking, sodding, bastard.’

*

Faraway limped into shore. Joe stood grim-faced at the wheel. Everyone was in a stunned silence. Unable to start the engine because a fluke hit by machine gun fire had pierced the engine box beneath the wheelhouse floor and shot away the distributor, Joe had no option but to sail. Fortunately it was less than ten miles to the mouth of the Rose River on the mainland. Joe knew there was a safe anchorage there and a small Aboriginal settlement nearby. The wind in the ketch’s old, worn sails had quickly turned dozens of bullet holes from the strafing into ever-lengthening rips and tears. When Faraway finally nosed her way into still water just inside the mouth of the Rose River, the sails were in tatters.

By providence, Faraway’s dinghy had not been holed and Sunday began ferrying everyone ashore to a small beach. Joe and Koko went first with the bodies of the two little girls wrapped in blankets. Joe laid them gently under a tree at the top of the beach and told Koko to wait there while he walked to the settlement about a mile away. When he returned everyone was sitting waiting on the beach. Joe sat down among them .

‘There’s no one down at the old mission,’ Joe said. ‘There was a notice on one of the bark huts saying all the blacks have been moved to a control camp somewhere back in the bush.’

‘Whereabouts?’ Faith asked.

‘The notice didn’t say. But I reckon they’d have taken them south-west towards Ngukurr. It’s about seventy miles from here on the Roper River, about thirty miles inland.’

‘What’s a control camp?’ Koko asked.

Joe shrugged. ‘The notice said they were moved by order of the Army. Sergeant Maxwell said something in Darwin about the Army wanting to keep all the blacks under surveillance in case they help the Japs when they land.’

Koko shook his head. ‘That’s about the stupidest thing I ever heard.’

Joe said, ‘Maxwell told me some of the Army officers reckon the Japs have already told the Aborigines that if they help them when they land, they’ll give them back the country the Europeans stole from them.’

‘That’s even more stupid,’ Faith said. She looked around at the girls gathered on the beach. ‘What are we going to do now?’

‘I’m going to bury the girls first,’ Joe said. ‘After that I don’t really know. After what happened today, I don’t want to take these children out to sea again. It’s still over thirty miles to the Roper River. We were just plain lucky today. We could have all been shot or drowned. I won’t take that chance again. I should have realized there would be Jap planes around Groote Eylandt looking to knock out tankers supplying the flying boat refueling depot. When they get bored, I suppose they shoot up anything they see.’ Joe got to his feet. ‘Look, I think we’d all better go down to the settlement and spend the night there At least it’s good shelter and we can think about what we’re going to do.’

Faith said, ‘I’ll tell Sunday and Monday to fetch some food and things we’ll need from the boat.’

Joe nodded. ‘And tell them to bring a shovel and my rifle.’

Later that night, Joe, Faith and Koko talked quietly around an open fire at the abandoned settlement. All the younger children were asleep in nearby bark huts. Some of the older girls sat huddled around the fire staring into the flickering flames.

‘I won’t take those children out again to be shot at like sittings ducks,’ Joe said somberly. ‘It’s just too bloody dangerous. Besides, we’ve been at sea so long we don’t know what's going on ashore. Anything could have happened. Look at this place—everyone carted off to God only knows where. Things change. We don’t even know for certain that there’ll be anyone waiting for us at the Roper River.’

‘We can’t stay here for long, Joe.’ Faith said. ‘We don’t have much food and nothing’s been left here.’

Faith and Joe fell silent and stared into the fire.

‘I have an idea.’ Koko said after a long silence. ‘We have another suit of sails in the forward cabin. They’re even older than those we’ve been using but they’re in better condition now. I’ll hank them on and sail Faraway over to Groote Eylandt tomorrow. It’s not much more than thirty miles. I can find out what’s happening on the mainland from the blokes at the depot and ask if the Air Force can help us. If they can’t, at least I can use their radio to talk to the missions along the Roper River.’

Joe shook his head. ‘That’s not such a good idea Koko. It’s too risky. Those sails won’t stand up to more than a fifteen-knot breeze and if they do the mainmast won’t. It took several hits in the strafing. And besides, if you did make it, they’d shoot a Japanese on sight.’

‘What are we going to do then?’ Koko asked softly.

Joe stared thoughtfully into the fire. After a few moments he said:

‘First thing in the morning we’ll dig out those sails and take a good look at the boat. If I think she can make it and if the weather doesn’t play up, I’ll sail her over to Groote Eylandt tomorrow night. I won’t risk going in daylight and I won’t risk anyone’s else’s life, so I’ll be going alone.’

*

The next morning Joe and Koko went over Faraway with a fine-toothed comb. They found plenty of places where the machine gun fire had hit the hull. Most had been glancing shots and none had penetrated the hard-as-concrete, jarrah planking. But a few bullets had embedded themselves in caulking between the timbers and Joe knew that water would slowly seep into the boat in these places. Also, both masts had been hit and would be unreliable under strain. But when the old sails were taken out of their bags and spread out on the beach for inspection, Joe was pleased to find they were in better shape than he expected.

After the horror of the day before, all the girls were plainly glad to be staying on dry land. Joe decided to take off Faraway everything that could be of any use ashore and each time Monday and Sunday brought a fresh load to the beach in the dinghy, the girls carried the contents down to the settlement. By mid-afternoon there was little remaining on Faraway except a small amount of food and water, marine charts and Joe’s father’s pistol.

Joe was ready to leave at dusk but waited a few more hours to allow the incoming tide to give him more clearance over the sandbars at the mouth of the river. While he waited he eyed the weather anxiously. Patchy clouds at times hid the moon. The wind which had been slight all day, was picking up. Joe hoped the wet wouldn’t decide to pick that particular night to finally end with a violent electrical storm.

Just after nine o’clock, Joe climbed in the dinghy to row out to Faraway. ‘It’s a clear run over to Groote Eylandt,’ he said. ‘If the wind holds, I’ll be off Tasman Point around dawn. I should be back in a couple of days. If I’m not, don’t worry. You know you can’t set a timetable when your dependent on the wind.’

Joe had told Sunday and Monday to build up the fire at the settlement in case he needed it as a reference point as he sailed out over the shoals to the open sea. But as he raised the anchor and hoisted sail, the clouds parted and the river mouth was bathed in moonlight. An hour later he was five miles out to sea. During the night the wind gradually shifted and kept increasing in strength. By midnight, the wind was howling in the rigging and Joe had reduced sail to just the main alone. At times the gusts were so strong he worried about the strain on the mainmast.

As the hours passed, the sky became cloudy, blacking out the moon and the stars. Visibility was reduced to practically zero and with the wind still increasing, the sea was becoming very rough. But with Faraway taking the heavy weather in her stride and still making good headway, Joe was reluctant to shorten sail further. He knew he was pushing the ketch to the limit but was determined to be off Groote Eylandt by daybreak.

Around five o’clock it started to rain with the suddenness and intensity only found in the tropics. Jagged flashes of lightening lit up the sky. What Joe saw was frightening. The wind had whipped up the sea into a seething, frothing mass of white water. Then a powerful gust almost laid the ketch on her side. Joe realized he had left it too late to put a reef in the mainsail. Just as Faraway was righting herself, there was a loud crack; the mainmast broke like a match-stick and came crashing down. As it fell, it ripped the mizzen mast right out of the deck and everything collapsed in an avalanche of splintered timber and twisted rigging, crushing the wheelhouse roof and leaving Joe unconscious under a pile of debris.

Faraway was rocking gently on a sloppy swell when Joe groggily came to. It was a little while before he could think clearly and remember what had happened. A rhythmic thumping on the side of the boat told him a section of the mainmast, still attached to the shrouds was trying to punch it’s way through the hull. He moved to get up. The sudden motion made his head swim and he realized from a stab of excruciating pain in his left arm that it was broken. Joe sank back down into the small, dim cavity in the crushed wheelhouse that had saved his life. He raised his right hand to his head. When he felt a deep gash in his forehead was crusted with dried blood, he realized he had been unconscious for a long time.

Joe stared up into the debris above him. Bright sunlight was trying to penetrate through crumpled sail canvas. He tried again to raise himself up. There was no part of his body that didn’t hurt. Joe thought he would pass out again from the pain but after several minutes of agonizing maneuvering he managed to get to his knees. He began trying to push the heavy canvas aside. Eventually he made a peep hole and sunshine came streaming in.

The hole was just large enough to poke his head through. The bright sunshine hurt Joe’s eyes, but everything outside seemed very peaceful. The skies had cleared completely and there wasn’t even a wisp of wind. Joe turned his head slightly. Relief surged through him when he saw what could only be Tasman Point about three miles away. Aided by currents, Faraway must have been drifting towards the island since she was dismasted.

After a few moments Joe noticed what looked like white water breaking over a small reef halfway between the boat and the shore. When he realized the whiteness on the water was actually the sails of a small boat which was heading directly for Faraway, his relief turned to sheer joy. For the first time since he had been a small boy, Joe closed his eyes and unashamedly gave thanks to God.

His kneeling position soon became almost unbearable and Joe was afraid he would pass out again. But he tried desperately to ignore the pain, determined to make his presence known to his rescuers as soon as they came within earshot. Then, when the boat was very close, Joe’s knees gave way beneath him and he fell heavily on his broken arm. Beside himself with pain, he lay doubled up on his side until mercifully he lost consciousness again.

*

‘This boat’s a goner, mate. Her planking’s been split and she takin’ on water. And she was shot up bad before she was dismasted by the looks of it. Apart from the petrol I’ve siphoned from her tank and the Walther I found in the cabin, there’s nothin’ here worth takin. It’s almost like someone already took everything worth havin’.'

The man’s words were loud and clear, shouted out at the top of his voice. Joe had regained consciousness just moments before. He listened in stunned disbelief. Above him through the gap in the canvas he could see two big calloused feet standing on the staved-in wheelhouse roof.

‘Then put what you’ve got in the dinghy and get back over here quick,’ a distant voice called out over the water. ‘Let’s get outta here before our boat gets tangled up with that bloody wreck.’

‘What about the poor bastard in the wheelhouse?’

‘I thought you said he was as good as dead.’

‘He is.’

‘Then leave ‘im. There’s nothing we can do. We can’t be luggin’ a dead man all over the Gulf. Come on, Henry. Get in the dinghy ’

Joe saw the feet disappear from above him. Somehow he struggled back onto his knees and stuck his head out of the hole in the canvas. ‘Hey, you... Come back … please...’

Joe didn’t get to finish his plea. The two huge calloused feet returned and one of them smashed down on his head like an enormous mallet. It was several minutes before he could get to his knees again in a final desperate bid for survival. But it was too late. By then the man had returned to his yacht. It was an old sloop. As it sailed away Joe saw two long-haired men sitting in the cockpit with their backs turned to him. Beneath them on the transom he just made out the words: Groote Eylandt Lady.

CHAPTER NINE

For national security reasons, General Douglas MacArthur’s arrival in the Top End of Australia had been veiled in secrecy. But when the American general left South Australia aboard the Adelaide Express for Melbourne, John Curtin was quick to bolster his own political support and the flagging morale of the Australian public by announcing the Supreme Commander’s impending arrival at Spencer Street Station. When the train pulled in, thousands of people turned out in glorious sunshine to greet him.

MacArthur stepped down from the train, calm, confident and immaculate in a smart cotton uniform and sunglasses, looking every inch the conquering hero. He was officially met by the Deputy Prime Minister and Minister for War, Frank Forde, and a contingent of senior Australian and US military officers. When assailed by newspaper reporters, MacArthur smiled and said, ‘I am glad indeed to be in immediate cooperation with the Australian soldier. I knew him well from the Great War and I admire him greatly. I have every confidence in the ultimate success of our joint cause. But success in warfare requires more than courage. It requires careful preparation, and the provision of all necessary men and materials with which to fight the enemy. No general can make something of nothing. My success or failure will depend on the resources put at my disposal. But I shall do my best.’

Outside the station the crowds waved and cheered as MacArthur inspected a two hundred and fifty man guard of honor, then limousines whisked Forde, MacArthur and the military entourage off to the Menzies Hotel.

‘My Chief of Staff and senior officers have briefed me on the situation here in Australia, Deputy Prime Minister,’ MacArthur said later in informal discussions with Forde. ‘In the very near future, naval vessels and airplanes, fighting men and weapons of war will be arriving in Australian waters and soon we’ll be pushing the Japanese back, island by island, from your country’s doorstep. Just how soon we get our hands on the necessary will depend on how loudly we make ourselves heard in Washington. It will be vital in the days, weeks and months ahead that your government and my command work in complete unison.’

The words were music to Forde’s ears. ‘You can expect every cooperation from the Australian government, sir,’ he said quickly. ‘As soon as you get settled into your headquarters here in Melbourne, I’d like to make arrangements for you to travel to Canberra to meet the Prime Minister and address the war cabinet.’

‘I’ll be ready whenever you are,’ MacArthur said. ‘We have no time to waste.’

‘Excellent, General. I’ll get things organized.’

*

After his discussion with MacArthur, Forde was driven to the offices of the Australian chiefs of staff. As soon as he arrived, one of his personal assistants, Professor Bill Stanner, took his arm and escorted him to a third floor meeting room. Inside the room, the Australian chiefs of staff were gathered around a conference table.

‘My apologies for being late, gentlemen,’ Forde said as he took his seat at the head of the table. He nodded to an officer at the other end. ‘Shall we begin, Lieutenant-Colonel Wake?’

The officer rose to his feet. ‘As you gentlemen are all aware, as Deputy Director of Military Intelligence, I was asked to lead a delegation to the Northern Territory recently to look into national security matters there.’ Wake paused and looked somberly at the faces of the men around the table. ‘Gentlemen,’ he continued. ‘I’m afraid what we found in the Top End is to say the least, alarming. We gathered a great deal of evidence which points to large scale pre-war espionage operations by the Japanese. It became obvious to us that the enemy has penetrated deep into the hearts and minds of the Aborigines, promising to drive the white race out of their country and restore to them their rightful ownership of the land. I have no need to tell anyone in this room of the enormous benefits an alliance with Aborigines would bring to an invading enemy, especially with regard to local knowledge, scouting and tracking, to say nothing of the possibility of arming the blacks to fight against us.’

‘Something like that couldn’t be done overnight,’ one officer interjected. ‘How long has this kind of thing been going on?’

‘For a long time it seems,’ Wake replied. ‘We believe the enemy has recently dropped agents by parachute in Arnhem Land and elsewhere in the north to make contact with militant Aborigines who have been under the influence of Japanese infiltrators for months, perhaps even years. From our inquiries we are convinced that Japanese commercial fishing vessels visiting our northern shores in the past, were manned by Japanese naval personnel and spies who, over a period of time, have won over many of the native people. At the same time they have probably produced better charts of our northern waters and rivers than we have ourselves.’

There was a murmur of surprise from around the table and raised eyebrows from the Naval Chief of Staff.

‘British Admiralty charts are generally accepted as the best in the world,’ Wake continued, ‘but many of the charts we use today were prepared by Matthew Flinders, nearly a hundred and fifty years ago. Many areas have never been charted at all. In the event of an invasion, we must assume the Japanese would expect to move large concentrations of troops overland and on the northern river systems aided by Aborigines.’ Wake paused again allowing time for his message to sink in. ‘But we have acted quickly to minimize Aboriginal coercion with the enemy. Just recently, all unsupervised Aborigines along the northern coastal regions are being rounded up and placed in control camps where we can keep an eye on them. But there are other security problems that must be addressed.’

‘Well,’ Forde said impatiently. ‘What are they?’

‘It became clear during our inquiries,’ Wake said solemnly, ‘that Darwin has become a hotbed of Japanese espionage. We believe there is an active fifth column operating throughout the north and all information gathered by enemy spies and infiltrators is collated in Darwin and then transmitted to the enemy. The timing of the Darwin and Broome raids certainly supports our belief. The Darwin raid took place only hours after a convoy arrived in port from the Netherlands East Indies, and the attack at Broome came when the greater part of what remained of the Dutch Air Force was sitting like ducks on the water in Roebuck Bay.’

‘How do you think the fifth columnists communicate with the Japs?’ Forde asked.

‘We have no doubt there are radio transmitters based in Darwin and elsewhere on the mainland, possibly some at German-run missions on outlying islands, and possibly some aboard small private coastal vessels. These transmitters could be manned by traitors working as paid spies, or foreign nationals of non-British stock who, for one reason or another, have escaped internment.’

Forde rubbed his jaw. ‘And what do you propose we do to counter these problems, Colonel?’

‘As everyone in this room knows, it’s impossible for us to defend our entire northern coastline, but what we can do is take steps to minimize the enemy’s element of surprise when he invades us. I have worked closely with Professor Stanner on this matter and he has already worked out a plan of action. Stanner has discussed it in detail with General Herring, commanding officer in the Northern Territory and he has asked for its immediate implementation.’ Wake nodded at Stanner. ‘Would you please explain your proposal Professor?’

Bill Stanner rose to his feet. He was an intense, aloof-looking man in his mid-thirties.

‘Some years ago,’ Stanner said stiffly, ‘while working at the London School of Economics, I went on an expedition to Kenya. It was there I learned of a small German commando force of fourteen thousand men in East Africa which had successfully contained a hundred and sixty thousand British soldiers in that region during the Great War. I believe we should organize a similar force. It would be nowhere near as large but I envision it working on similar principles. What I proposed to General Herring was the formation of a top secret observer force operating across the Top End, from the Gulf country in Queensland to Broome in Western Australia. It’s an enormous area, almost four million square miles with almost six thousand miles of coastline. But I think a small force of about five hundred men, operating in small radio-equipped scouting groups, could serve an early warning invasion alert unit and also be able to harass the enemy after he’s landed. I propose these men would patrol on horseback throughout the remote regions, practically living off the land. They would be essentially a brigade of bushmen, similar in many ways to the Australian Light Horse.

‘You mean as a sort of commando force?’ one of the chiefs asked.

‘Yes.’

‘They would of course be behind enemy lines after a Japanese invasion?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, as far as you are concerned Stanner, they would be expendable?’

‘Yes.’

‘All very easy for you to say from the safety of Melbourne, over two thousand miles away from action,’ the chief persisted.

‘That’s exactly what General Herring said in Darwin,’ Stanner said quietly. ‘I believe that is why he demanded that I personally raise the force and become it’s commanding officer, even though my background is more academic than military.’

‘And did you accept?’

‘Yes, I did. Now all that remains for this special unit to become a reality, is for you gentlemen to approve its creation, and for the necessary funding to be secured from Canberra.’

Stanner’s proposal was quickly approved as were several other defense measures on the agenda of the meeting. When all matters had been dealt with, Forde said, ‘Gentlemen, I had the honor of meeting and speaking with General MacArthur earlier today. I have to tell you, I was most impressed. I believe his presence among us at this critical time will prove to be our deliverance. I am convinced he is the man to galvanize and inspire our joint military forces to drive the Japanese from our shores. I hope you will welcome him, not just as a comrade in arms, but also as a friend, just as the Australian people have opened up their hearts and homes and welcomed the thousands of American servicemen who are already among us.’

*

Joe was jolted back into the real world when a sudden stab of pain in his left arm ended a short period of blissful unconsciousness. It had been five days since the terrible encounter with the Groote Eylandt Lady, and one look at the ever-rising water in the cabin told him that even if he could survive another day, Faraway certainly could not.

After he had been abandoned, he had managed to lower himself down into the boat. Somehow he had fashioned a rough splint from a short length of wood he used for measuring the level of water in the vessel’s storage tanks. Bit by bit, using his teeth and his right arm he had been able to bind the splint with strips of cloths ripped from a bunk pillow. Later, he had noticed a small amount of water on the cabin floor, so little that he had wetted a finger and put it in his mouth to see if it was salt water or fresh. From its bitter taste he had realized that the sea was beginning to seep through Faraway’s bullet-scarred planking and that the flow would gradually increase, eventually sinking the vessel if he was unable to keep her bailed out.

Joe struggled to keep bailing. He knew he was fighting a losing battle. Faraway was listing badly now with almost two feet deep of water sloshing around in the cabin. He had only been able to dump a bucket every ten minutes or so, after spilling much of it while struggling up the companionway with his broken arm. What little strength he had was almost spent. The day before he had eaten the last of his food—a raw potato and a crust of rock-hard bread taken aboard at the Elcho Island Mission and he had less than a pint of fresh water remaining.

Joe paused for a moment to look out through a porthole. Outside the sea was dead calm and the sky a cloudless hazy blue as it had been every day since the storm. Inside the cabin it was so hot he could hardly breath. He was just about to resume bailing when he thought he heard the drone of an engine. At first he thought his mind was playing games. But the drone grew louder, building up to an ear-splitting roar. Then for a moment the cabin darkened as a huge shadow passed over Faraway. Oblivious to pain, Joe waded through the water and scrambled up the companionway and stuck his head out into the sunshine.

When he saw a flying boat just a few hundred yards away, he had mixed feelings of fear and elation. But as the aircraft slowly turned around he saw the markings of the United States Army Air Force on its side and was overcome with relief. And when the Catalina revved its engines and taxied towards him, tears of joy streamed down his face.

As the flying boat’s crew transferred Joe to the Catalina in an inflatable, he was slipping in and out of consciousness. He tried to tell them he had left a party of Aborigines at the mouth of the Rose River. He heard one of the American airmen say the RAAF would be notified when they reached their base in Townsville, then he heard another voice say Faraway must have drifted a long way with the currents because they were now closer to Cape York Peninsular than the Arnhem Land coast.

Joe was barely conscious when the Catalina took off. But after the flying boat’s powerful engines lifted her from the possessive grip of the sea, he heard someone say, ‘I guess we got this guy just in time. Look down there, his sailboat’s going under.’

There was a window in the fuselage beside Joe but he made no effort to turn his head. His years aboard Faraway had given him the freedom and simple pleasures of life only a sailor could understand, and so close a bond with the old ketch that she night as well have been a living thing. Now all that was ending, Joe couldn’t bring himself to watch her die.

*

General MacArthur journeyed to Canberra a few days after arriving in Melbourne. As his car neared the capital, the Supreme Commander and his chief of staff discussed the priorities to be aired at the War Advisory Council meeting to be held later in the day.

‘One thing we’d better get straight is what the Australians are going to do about their two-army set up,’ Lieutenant-General Sutherland said. ‘If they’re not going to change their legislation to allow their militia conscripts to fight outside Australia, and we are to go ahead and try and secure the whole country, instead of the little patch behind their Brisbane Line, there’s no point in channeling any American equipment to the Chockos. All of it should go to the returning Australian Imperial Force units which will fight beside us anywhere in the Pacific.’

MacArthur looked up from the notations he was making in preparation for the War Council meeting. ‘Chockos! What the hell are Chockos?’

‘It’s what the Imperial Force soldiers call their militia. It’s short for chocolate soldiers.’

MacArthur smiled, almost to himself.

‘And another thing,’ Sutherland continued, ‘we’ve got to get a commitment from the Australian government that it will do something about ending the obstruction from the wharfie’s.’ Sutherland smiled and added, ‘That’s another Australian colloquialism for longshoremen, sir. Right now, we’ve got American soldiers and airmen waiting for guns and fighter-planes that have been sitting in the holds of ships in Melbourne and Sydney for nearly two weeks because of a Waterside Worker’s Union ban on overtime. And every minute the Japs are getting closer and closer.’

‘It took Pearl Harbor to wake up the American people,’ MacArthur said. ‘You’d think Darwin and Broome would have woken up the Australians.’

‘You’d think so, sir,’ Sutherland said, ‘but here, the full story of what’s going on is withheld from the public, which brings me to another point. The government censor doesn’t allow any mention of US troop movements. That’s all right for security reasons but it seems everyone figured all the American troops coming here would be white. Back in January, when some of our black GI’s arrived in Melbourne, Australian Customs officers refused them permission to land because of their White Australia Policy. Of course, the Australians backed down but they’ve asked Washington to make sure that we keep Negro soldiers out of sight of white civilians. So we’ll have to train them somewhere out in the sticks.’

MacArthur shook his head. ‘I’m beginning to wonder just on how many fronts we’re going to have to fight the war here in Australia.’

*

Frank Forde met MacArthur’s car at the steps of Parliament House and personally took him to John Curtin’s office where the two men greeted each other warmly. Any reservations the American general had about working with the Australian Prime Minister were dispelled during the course of a long day spent in private talks and at the Advisory War Council meeting. During the course of the meeting, MacArthur stated his intentions were to preserve the territorial integrity of Australia, maintain a foothold in the Philippines, keep the lines of communication and supply between the United States and Australia open, establish military bases and a build up of forces and equipment in order to mount a major offensive against the enemy.

That evening when MacArthur dined with senior government members in the Parliamentary dining room, it was plain to see that Curtin and MacArthur had established a friendly and genuine rapport.

As the evening drew to a close, Curtin rose to his feet and said, ‘May I assure you, General, of the ongoing cooperation and support of my government and the people of Australia. Our armed forces will be at your disposal to serve the common goal of the total defeat of the enemy and our civilian human resources are presently being mobilized under a war-effort initiative known as the Manpower Directorate. The Directorate is charged with the responsibility of meeting the material needs of a nation at war and it is empowered to conscript civilians to work in any industry or profession it sees fit. You may be sure that whatever this nation can produce to assist the fighting men under your command, it will be supplied as quickly and efficiently as humanly possible.’ Curtin turned to MacArthur and smiled. ‘Sir, I am confident that together, Australians and Americans will overcome any obstacles that lie in the path of our complete victory.’

MacArthur rose to his feet and shook Curtin’s hand.

‘We shall win,’ the general said gravely. ‘We shall win or we shall die. And to this end I pledge you the full resources of my country and the blood of my countrymen. You take care of the home front, Prime Minister, and I’ll take care of the war.’

CHAPTER TEN

Dan found himself with time on his hands. When he reported to the USAAF temporary headquarters on Collins Street in Melbourne, he was given leave until such time as a new posting could be confirmed. Like all newly arrived American forces in Australia, the Air Corps commanders were desperately trying to organize their personnel and resources at the most strategic locations and facilities around the country. While he awaited his orders, Dan was given accommodation at the fashionable Chevron Hotel which had been made available exclusively for American officers.

All the Air Corps personnel at the Chevron were fresh out from the United States. They were enjoying the adventure and eagerly looking forward to seeing action against the enemy. Dan, like most veterans, declined to be drawn into conversations about the realities of combat. He preferred not to dampen the young flyers’ enthusiasm, knowing the brash bravado of many of them would be tempered soon enough by more accomplished Japanese pilots. Dan just hoped they would all live through their first engagements with the enemy.

After the rough and ready tropical outpost of Darwin and raw desert town of Alice Springs, Dan was surprised to find a city like Melbourne in Australia. He found it much like Boston in Massachusetts, a city he had visited once during his Air Force training. As with Boston, he was impressed by the sheer size of Melbourne, its air of permanence and its unmistakable English tradition, features unknown in the small multi-racial frontier towns of his native New Mexico.

But what surprised Dan most during the days he spent looking around the bustling city was the huge concentration of Americans. Every available inner-city park had became a sea of tents, housing thousands of servicemen who had disembarked from troopships and were awaiting transport to military bases being set up around Australia. Dan was told one of the largest camps, Camp Pell, was named after Major Floyd ‘Slugger’ Pell, Dan’s P-40 squadron commander, shot down and killed over Darwin the same day he was forced down off Bathurst Island. Another camp, Camp Murphy, set up on the Melbourne Cricket Ground, was also named after an American officer killed in action while serving in Australia.

During his time in the city, Dan saw the entire American melting-pot on the streets of Melbourne. There were Hispanics from the south-west and California, fair-haired Germanics and Nordics from Minnesota and Wisconsin, white Anglo-Saxons and black Afros from the deep south and Cajans from the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. And there was every shade of light and olive-skinned European, whose forebears had migrated to the United States to find a new life and to build a new nation—a nation which now called on her youngest sons to defend her, half a world away, in a far-off land many of them had never heard of.

Some were wide-eyed farm boys, some street-wise kids from big city slums, others were mine, mill and factory workers, average boy-next-door Americans, forced by circumstance to abandon their daily lives and the comfort of their homes for canvas tents and straw-filled mattresses on the cold, hard ground of Melbourne in early winter. In the weeks and months that lay ahead, most would find themselves posted to tropical Queensland and the Northern Territory. But it was unlikely any would find a warmer welcome than that given them by the people of Melbourne.

Crowds of well-wishers often lined the streets, sometimes in the middle of the night, dressed in pajamas, to cheer on and wave to marching GI’s disembarking from troopships at the docks. The lounge rooms and kitchens of Melburnians were thrown open to the young Americans’ friendly invasion, as were many of the city’s clubs and entertainment venues. Special clubs run by volunteers were set up to cater for the needs of servicemen, providing showers, hair-cuts, laundry and cleaning facilities, and the Salvation Army, church groups and hospitality organizations established drop-in centres providing hot dogs, hamburgers and friendly conversation.

Dan often wondered if the war in the Pacific even gained a mention by the Navajo in New Mexico or whether the far-off conflict had any effect at all on the daily lives of the pickup truck cowboys and storekeepers on Main Street in Gallup. Thoughts and images of Faith Brodie, the pretty blue-eyed, fair-haired girl he had met so briefly in Darwin also frequently crept into his mind. He was thinking of her again one afternoon, lying on his bed at the Chevron Hotel, when there was a knock on the door. He answered it to find an Air Force sergeant standing outside in the corridor.

Captain Rivers, sir?’

‘Yes, Sergeant.’

‘I’ve come from HQ, Captain.’ The sergeant handed a Dan a brown envelope. ‘Your orders, sir.’

*

Faith was worried for Joe’s safety right from the moment she had been woken by the first ear-splitting thunderclap of the violent storm that had rolled in from the sea the night Joe left for Groote Eylandt.

Under normal circumstances she would have been unconcerned, secure in the knowledge of her brother’s good seamanship. But knowing Faraway’s seaworthiness was doubtful after the Zero attack, she found it impossible to ignore a growing sense of foreboding which grew with each passing hour. At daybreak each morning, Faith and Koko would go down to the beach and stand at the water’s edge scanning the horizon hoping for a glimpse of sails. But there was never a sign of Joe. As the days passed, and as food supplies ran down, the responsibility for the lives of the children stranded in one of the most remote and inhospitable regions of the country and Joe’s continued absence weighed heavily on Faith’s mind.

They were all surviving at the settlement thanks to Sunday and Monday. The twin bothers had taught them how to catch fish, using an age old Aboriginal method. By stripping toxic bark from a certain reddish tree among the mangroves, then chopping it up and tossing it into tidal pools near the mouth of the river that had been left brimming with mullet by the outgoing tide, they were always assured of a feed. After about half an hour, the toxic bark fragments paralyzed the mullet and they floated up to the surface to the eager hands of the fishermen.

‘We’re going to have to decide on some kind of a plan,’ Faith said trying to hold back tears as once again she and Koko walked back from the beach one morning after scanning the horizon for Joe. ‘We have to face up to the possibility that something’s happened to Joe and that he won’t be coming back. I have the feeling we’re on our own now. Sooner or later we must try and get the children out of here. And there’s no point trying to get to the mouth of the Roper River, the missionaries that were waiting for us will have left by now.’

‘But what can we do?’ Koko asked.

‘Joe said that the Army probably took the Aborigines from the settlement in trucks. He said he thought there was a dirt track leading south-west from here, to a place called Ngukurr. It’s about forty miles upstream from the mouth of the Roper. He said the track crosses the Phelp River about thirty miles from here, then runs just south of the Collera mountains to Ngukurr. We should be able to follow it all right. Even if it was washed away in the wet, there should be fresh tracks now from the Army vehicles. It won’t be easy but I think we have to try and make it on foot.’

‘Ngukurr must be seventy miles from here. And twisting and turning through rough, hilly country it could turn out to be more like over a hundred.’ Koko shook his head. ‘I think that’s asking too much of the children. And what if we made it to Ngukurr and find it’s been evacuated like this place?’

‘Joe said it’s only a few more miles upstream from Ngukurr to the police station at the settlement of Roper Bar.’

‘Police?’ Koko stopped and turned to face Faith, ‘You know what will happen if the police see me. It will be straight to an internment camp. I don’t think I want to go to Ngukurr, Roper Bar or anywhere else. I think I’d sooner take my chances here. Besides, what if we wander off the track and lose our way?’

‘I doubt we’ll lose it with Sunday and Monday with us and even if we did, you and Joe never had any problem getting your bearings at sea from the sun and the stars. The Roper River is due south. If the worst comes to the worst we just keep going south until we reach the river, then follow it inland.’

Koko admired Faith’s determination but remained skeptical. ‘Look, I’ll go with you if that’s what you want, Faith.’ He turned away and carried on walking up the beach. ‘But I won’t give myself up to the Army or the police if we do make it to Ngukurr or Roper Bar. And from what Joe said about uncontrolled blacks being herded into camps, I don’t think Sunday and Monday will want to get into the clutches of the authorities either. Perhaps it’s best just to stay here. We’re getting plenty of fish, we caught a couple of turtles the other day and I can try to shoot a croc again tonight. We can hold on here indefinitely if we want to. At least we have food and shelter.’

‘Sunday told me there’s still plenty of traditional ways to live off the land if we leave the coast. The Aborigines have ways of surviving we know nothing about.’

Koko shrugged ‘We’re not Aboriginal tribesmen, Faith. Neither are the girls. If we head off overland there are other things to consider. To start with, the bloody mosquitoes and sand flies will eat us alive sleeping outdoors. We don’t have immunity like the blacks.’

‘A small price to pay for saving the children, Koko. Even if we had enough proper food and basic medical supplies, we could be stuck here forever, perhaps in the middle of the Japanese Army. We’ve got to go, Koko, while we’ve got the chance. If Joe did go down in that storm and there’s no help coming, we’ve got to get out of here while we’re still strong enough to make it. We’ve got to think of the children. I’ve already spoken to Sunday and Monday. They’re going to find the track this morning. I think we’d better spend the day getting ready to pull up stakes.’

*

The settlement was abandoned just after dawn two days later, after Faith had scanned the ocean one more time for a sign of Faraway. Sunday and Monday had spent the two days catching mullet, as well as a few goannas, snakes and even a small wallaby. Any kind of small container found around the village had been filled with water from the well and Faith had used a sack of salt found in one of the huts to salt the food, hoping to preserve it for at least two, or three days.

The party headed off with Sunday and Koko leading the way and Monday and Faith bringing up the rear. Everyone but the smallest of the girls carried something Those not carrying food or water carried a cooking utensil, a pot or something that Faith thought might come in handy along the way. Koko had Joe’s .303 rifle slung over his shoulder with a full clip of five rounds. Sunday and Monday had fishing nets strung around their waists that had been left behind on the beach when the Army took the Aborigines away.

The track ran westerly along the northern bank of the Rose River. In places close to the water, deep-treaded wheel tracks of Army vehicles were clearly visible, making the way ahead easy to follow. But robbed of sea-breezes, the further inland the party travelled, the hotter it became. After a couple of hours, some of the younger girls were dawdling and constantly asking for water.

By mid-morning the very youngest children were riding on the shoulders of the bigger girls and the adults. Faith knew they must reach a river crossing in order to head south and hoped it would be far enough away from the sea that the water would be fresh so they could top up their containers. Once they left the river, she knew the water would have to be strictly rationed. Just before midday the party stopped in the shade of a clump of tall gums on the riverbank. It had been decided the night before that they would stop for two hours or so during the hottest time of the day to give the children a chance to rest before starting a shorter afternoon walk.

Just before sunset, tired and footsore, they made camp near some rocky, fast-flowing shallows where, from deep wheel ruts leading into the water, they could tell the Army had crossed the river. Faith reckoned they had covered about ten miles during the course of the day. Everyone was tired and many of the children fell asleep the moment they lay down. Faith lay awake a long time, plagued by mosquitoes and uneasily listening to the chorus of the insects of the night. She was staring up into the stars, wondering what had become of Joe, when sleep finally came.

She was woken at dawn by the chatter of wild turkeys and a host of other birds in the trees. Koko told her he had topped up the water containers half an hour earlier with fresh water from the river and that Sunday and Monday had already been over to the other side and back to test the crossing. It seemed the shallows was just a short strip of firm shale which formed a natural ford. Sunday and Monday said it would be safe for the bigger girls to walk across in spite of heavy run-off from the wet still gushing over it, but the smaller children would have to be carried over. After eating salted-mullet and wallaby, which had no taste at all except salt, they broke camp and crossed the river.

The second day passed much the same as the first and the children’s demand for water was just as great. Faith’s plan to ration water wasn’t helped by their breakfast of salted meat. The rough track wound through scorching scrub country. Each dusty, sweltering mile was identical to the one before it. When they stopped at midday, Faith’s feet were aching and swollen. When Koko eased off his shoes, Faith could tell from the watery blisters on his feet that the long hours of walking were just as hard on him. Only Sunday, Monday and the children who wore no shoes at all were untroubled by their feet.

That night they made camp beside the track. Away from the river the mosquitoes were not as bad as the night before and after forcing down more salted fish, everyone slept long and well. In the morning, Faith found what was left of the food was rancid, the extreme daytime temperatures having overcome her attempt at preservation of the meat and it had to be thrown away. Koko said they should remain where they were while he and Sunday and Monday went hunting for food. Sunday and Monday seemed less concerned and said they should continue on and assured Faith they would find something to eat along the way.

Just before midday they were crossing a dried up claypan with small scattered patches of long grass. Sunday told Koko it was a good place to catch wild-turkeys and told Faith to get everyone to hide in the bushes while he and Monday set up a trap. As soon as everyone was hidden out of sight the Aborigines joined several lengths of fish netting together and spread it out over the ground at the end of one of the grass patches. When it was in place, Sunday and Monday cut sticks and made pegs which they drove into the ground to hold down one side of the big net. Then they took two lengths of string, tied one end of each to the loose corners of the net, then tied a small stone to each loose end of the string. Then they walked onto the grass patch and set it on fire.

Dense smoke swirled up into the air and, fanned by a light breeze, the fire raced through the grass. Almost immediately birds of all kinds appeared from every direction and swooped down to feed on the swarms of grasshoppers and other insects which scrambled helter-skelter out of the grass ahead the approaching fire. The first arrivals were smaller birds. They gorged themselves frantically before being driven off by a large gaggle of wild turkeys which moved in for the lion’s share of the unexpected feed.

Sunday and Monday, who had been upwind when they set the fire, now gradually moved downwind behind the flames but still close enough to the fire to be hidden from view by the thick billowing smoke. When they neared the end of the patch of grass, the exodus of insects was at its height. As fast as the hordes of insects emerged from the grass onto the claypan, a sea of cackling turkeys gobbled them down. Then, at the very last moment, Sunday and Monday hurled their stone weighted lengths of string as far and as high as they could, lifting the fishnet up over the feeding frenzy.

Most of the big birds sensed the danger immediately and escaped. But when Sunday and Monday burst out of the smoke, there were more than a dozen turkeys tangled up and struggling to escape from the netting. Koko and Faith led the charge from the bushes to pounce on the big birds and wring their necks while Sunday and Monday, grinning from ear to ear and howling in delight, raced across the claypan in pursuit of two big snakes which had also fled the inferno.

They walked no further that day and made camp at the edge of the claypan and lit fires. It was mid-afternoon before all the turkeys had been plucked, cleaned and cooked along with the snakes. After everyone had eaten their fill, there was food left over. Faith urged everyone to try and eat more because the fresh meat would be spoiled by morning. When darkness came, everyone was sound asleep.

They broke camp early the next morning. Faith was determined to try to make up some of the miles they had lost the day before. Because the wildlife that could provide fresh food might be disturbed by the main party, she sent Koko and Sunday on ahead to hunt, telling them to stop at midday for the usual rest break. In the late morning, Faith heard a single gunshot and later they found Koko and Sunday cooking kangaroo meat over a fire beside the track.

They made around fourteen miles that day. Faith was glad her feet didn’t seem to be swelling anymore and she was amazed at how well the girls were coping. Even at such young ages it was plain they had a natural affinity with the harsh environment. Everything seemed to be going well. No-one was going hungry, and according to Faith’s calculations, with any luck they would reach the Phelp River sometime the next day where they could top up on water.

They followed the same procedure the next day. Sunday and Monday went on ahead to scout for food and hoping to reach the Phelp River by the midday rest break. Sunday knew the closer they got to the river the more wildlife there would be. Around mid-morning they saw hundreds of geese flying low in the distance. Then they saw them suddenly drop down out of sight. Sunday knew the river or a patch of wetland was close.

A little further on they saw kangaroo heading for the same area where the geese had gone down. It was off to the right of the track through a patch of dense brush. Koko and Sunday left the track and began to move cautiously through it. Gradually the vegetation became even thicker and they could barely see more than a few yards ahead. Koko raised the rifle defensively and crept forward, treading softly and intermittently stopping to look and listen. With only four rounds remaining in the clip and with the rifle almost useless against ducks, Koko’s mind was set on kangaroo. Any moment he expected to have one in his sights.

Sunday heard a movement in the scrub ahead of them. He tapped on Koko’s shoulder and raised a finger to his lips. Both men stood still and listened. After a moment, Koko too, could hear the sound of something moving through the foliage directly in front of them. The sounds grew louder and louder. Still they saw nothing. But it was plain either a mob of kangaroo or something very large was approaching.

Koko’s heart began to thump when he realized that with the river or wetlands so close there might be water buffalo roaming about. He wondered if he could keep his nerve if one of the huge beasts suddenly appeared and charged them. As quietly as possible he worked the action of the rifle sending a round up into the firing chamber and leveled the gun at the bushes ahead. The noise in the scrub became even louder. Koko’s heart raced faster. He tried desperately to stay calm. But when he pressed the rifle-butt against his shoulder and held his forefinger on the trigger his hands were trembling. And when he tried to squint through the gun-sights, he couldn’t hold a line because the barrel of the .303 was shaking so badly.

When at last the bushes suddenly parted only about ten yards away, Koko was so startled he didn’t even feel the weight of his finger on the trigger when the gun went off. Instantly he felt a series of searing, stabbing pains and for just a moment before he fell to the ground he stared in disbelief as a soldier repeatedly fired a handgun at him from point blank range.

Sunday turned and bounded away the moment Koko fell. A hail of gunfire whistled around his ears as he dashed back the way he and Koko had come. After a few minutes he emerged unscathed from the thick scrub and looked back. When the soldiers chasing him burst out into the open they were almost a hundred yards behind him.

Sunday was still looking over his shoulder when he saw the soldiers stop running. Now he was plainly visible and a clear running target, the soldiers dropped to their knees and took careful aim. He heard several well spaced shots but none found their mark. He ran like the wind and was just beginning to think he had outrun the soldier’s rifles when a lucky shot hit him in the back of the head. Sunday was dead before he hit the ground.

*

‘They’ve been shot?’ Faith could hardly believe her ears.

She sat opposite an Australian Militia Force lieutenant inside a small clapboard administration hut on the recently established Phelp River Aboriginal Control Camp. Outside the hut, Monday and the half-caste girls sat in the dirt under the watchful eyes of armed soldiers.

‘What did you expect my men to do, Miss Brodie?’ the lieutenant snapped ‘It’s a bloody miracle none of my soldiers were killed. They come under fire from an armed Japanese and an Aborigine who were sneaking up on the control-camp for God only knows what purpose. Did you expect us to offer them a cup of tea or something?

‘Are they badly hurt, Lieutenant?’

‘The Japanese was shot several times in the arms, shoulder and upper chest. He’s damn lucky to be alive. The black is dead.’

Faith gasped. ‘What happens now?’

‘The Japanese will be taken to headquarters in Katherine as soon as possible for interrogation, after which I expect he will be transported south as a prisoner of war.’

‘Prisoner of war? I told you he’s an Australian,’ Faith blurted out angrily. ‘He’s worked for my brother for years. He’s no more the enemy than you are, Lieutenant.’

‘The Army will decide what he is or what he isn’t, Miss Brodie,’ the lieutenant said dismissively. He stood up from the desk. ‘In the meantime, I’ll make arrangements to get you and your half-caste refugees up to the civilian authorities at Roper Bar. They’ll make arrangements to get you all taken south. But the full-blooded Aborigine you call Monday will be detained here at the control camp, of course.’

PART TWO

CHAPTER ELEVEN

By early May, 1942, with the surrender of American forces in the Philippines, the seemingly invincible military might of Imperial Japan had decimated the last real resistance in the Far East. It occupied all the colonial territories of Great Britain, Portugal and the Netherlands in the region, had a toe-hold in New Guinea at Lae and Salamaua, and also at Bougainville in the northern Solomons. Now the outstretched claw of the samurai was about to close into an iron fist around the throat of Australia and choke her into submission.

All that remained to be done before a full-scale invasion of the sparsely populated island continent could be launched, was for Japan to overrun the Australian forces in Papua and the small garrison at Tulagi, in the Solomon Islands. Once this was achieved, the Japanese could use Port Moresby’s strategic airfield to mount a major offensive against Australia, and establish bases in the Solomon Islands to block the movement of American forces from US staging positions being set up in American Samoa, New Zealand, Fiji and New Caledonia.

In April, American Intelligence in Hawaii had intercepted and decoded Japanese naval signals learning that a huge Japanese force was being assembled to proceed to Port Moresby and Tulagi Island. In early May an allied fleet including the Australian cruisers HMAS Australia and HMAS Hobart, gathered around the US aircraft carriers Lexington and Yorktown in the Coral Sea to intercept the Japanese invasion fleet.

On hearing the Japanese had landed at Tulagi and the Australian garrison had withdrawn, the Yorktown and a few support vessels sped north to engage the enemy. They sank a Japanese destroyer and a few small vessels, but finding the main enemy fleet, including the aircraft carriers Zuikaku and Shokaku and the light carrier Shoho, had already left the area, they raced back south to rejoin the Lexington and the allied fleet to defend Port Moresby.

For three days carrier-based reconnaissance aircraft from both fleets combed the Coral Sea looking for each other. On the second day a few support vessels on each side were sighted and sunk by torpedo bombers. On the third day both American and Japanese reconnaissance aircraft located their respective fleets and the Battle of the Coral Sea began.

For the first time in history, a naval engagement was fought by carrier-based aircraft without warships ever coming within sight of each other. By the time it was over, serious losses were sustained by both fleets, including the Japanese light carrier Shoho and the US carrier Lexington, which went to the bottom after taking several direct hits from bombs and torpedoes, finally being scuttled by a US destroyer. Aircraft losses were also high: nearly a hundred were shot down on each side with six hundred Allied personnel and over eleven hundred Japanese killed. On the eighth of May, at the end of a long, brutal and bloody day, both commanding Admirals withdrew their fleets from battle.

Although neither side could claim to be the winner of the Battle of the Coral Sea, it was the first time in the war that a Japanese invasion force had not achieved its objective. For the time being Port Moresby, and perhaps Australia, had been saved.

*

Joe heard the news of Coral Sea while waiting to be interviewed at the Army recruiting office in Townsville. Since his discharge from hospital, he had twice tried to enlist but on both occasions the Army had told him to come back when he had a doctor’s certificate saying that his arm had mended satisfactorily.

Everyone in the recruiting office let out a cheer when a grinning sergeant shouted out excitedly that a Jap invasion fleet had been kicked ‘hard in the arse’ out in the Coral Sea. Although there had been no official announcements, everybody in Townsville had known for some time that something big was going on. Fearing the worst, hundreds of residents had fled the city on every available southbound train. For almost a week those that remained had seen Allied reconnaissance planes, fighters and bombers head out over the ocean from the RAAF station at Garbutt at the crack of dawn each morning. Now everyone knew the reason why.

When Joe’s name was called he walked over to the sergeant brandishing his clearance from a local doctor. The sergeant rose from his chair.

‘Brodie. Just the man I want to see. Come with me.’

The sergeant led Joe to an office at the back of the recruiting centre and knocked on the door.

‘Enter.’

The sergeant opened the office door. An elderly Major sat at a desk inside.

‘This is Joe Brodie, sir.’ the sergeant explained, ‘The bloke I was telling you about. The one who’s boat got sunk by the Japs in the Gulf of Carpentaria.’

Joe’s eyebrows rose, surprised his story had reached such high ranking ears. The sergeant withdrew leaving Joe standing stiffly in front of the major’s desk.

‘The sergeant told me all about your run-in with the Japs, Brodie.’ The major said with a wry smile. ‘Must have been a hell of an experience. I spoke with the American flyers at Garbutt who brought you in. They confirmed your story.’

‘Did you talk to the RAAF, sir?’ Joe broke in quickly. ‘The Yanks said they would tell them about a party of evacuees I left at the mouth of the Rose River.’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact I did,’ the major replied. ‘A squadron leader at the station told me they had a Catalina fly over the old settlement you spoke of but there was no sign of anyone there. Didn’t they tell you that?’

Joe shook his head ‘No, sir. It’s hard to get any information out of the RAAF at Garbutt.’

‘Yes, well…’ The major unnecessarily cleared his throat. ‘The boys in blue can be like that, Brodie. Kind of an aloof lot. The American’s have got the right idea you know, making the Air Force part of the Army. Anyway, let me tell you why I wanted to talk to you.’ The officer hesitated just for a moment. ‘You do have your medical clearance, don’t you?’

Joe laid the doctor’s certificate down on the desk.

The major’s eyes scanned the paper briefly then laid it aside. ‘Very well. Now, Brodie, recently the Army circulated a confidential memorandum to all units of the Imperial Force and the Militia, requesting volunteers for a specialized top-secret unit to serve in a sort of commando observer force scattered all across the Top End. Its purpose is to keep our remote northern coastline and inland waterways under constant observation, report any Japanese movements, and impede and harass the enemy’s progress inland if they land. Also the force will be on the lookout for any fifth column activity. If we learned nothing else from Darwin and Broome, it certainly came home to us that the Japs must have a very efficient intelligence and spy network in place across the Top End. Because of your extensive knowledge of our northern coastline you would be ideally suited to this new force, Brodie. What do you think?’

‘I was hoping to join the AIF, sir. After seeing what happened in Darwin and my experience in the Gulf, I just want to kill Japs.’

‘That’s what we all want to do, son. We all want to be in the thick of it.’ The major sighed. ‘If I had my way, I’d be with the AIF Ninth Division in the Middle East or with the Militia up in Papua. I’ve seen combat you know, I fought in France in the Great War. But this time my age is against me and the Army thinks my place is behind a desk. They always deploy their resources to the best advantage, you know. That’s why they need young chaps like you in this new Top End force.’

‘I would have thought they’d do better with experienced soldiers, sir.’

The major opened a desk draw and pulled out a single sheet of paper and ran his eyes over it. ‘What they’ve asked for here in this circular, Brodie, are volunteers who are fit, between twenty and forty years of age, have bush experience, possess initiative, intelligence, courage, and can handle small firearms and horses. I reckon you qualify, don’t you?’

Joe managed a tight smile. ‘I’ve never ridden a horse, sir.’

‘But you could if you had to, couldn’t you?’

‘I suppose I could, sir.’

‘Good, I’ll put you down for this force then?’

‘When would I actually be in the Army, sir?’

‘In about five minutes, just as soon as you sign the necessary papers.’

‘When will I get my first pay, sir? I had eleven pounds in my shorts when the Yanks brought me to Townsville. Now I’ve got six shillings and a hospital bill.’

‘The Army looks after its own, Brodie.’ The major smiled reassuringly. ‘Just see the sergeant outside and sign up.’

*

The orders given to Dan in Melbourne were to report to the RAAF station at Amberley in Queensland. The station, just thirty miles west of Brisbane, was an almost new facility which already had a production line assembling fighter aircraft shipped in crates from the United States. As an engineer, Dan had been assigned to assist in streamlining the assembly procedure at Amberley, and to see the system put in place in other strategic locations as the supply of aircraft from America increased.

After three weeks at Amberley, Dan was sent to Brisbane to set up a similar assembly depot. He found the Queensland capital, like Melbourne, was bursting at the seams with US military personnel. Most were raw Army recruits, housed in various camps in and around the city. A high percentage were Negroes, and in deference to the Queensland government and the local authorities, segregated camps of the blacks were set up just outside the city limits, with the central district and better middle-class suburbs placed strictly off-limits to them.

The facility was to be at Archerfield, a congested airfield on the edge of the city. In addition to being a RAAF base, Archerfield also served as a commercial airport and housed a pilots’ training school. Dan was assigned accommodation in a nearby hotel and went to work right away. Soon Archerfield was ready to begin assembly of its first shipment of P-40s which were eagerly awaited by Australian and American pilots.

One night, soon after the battle of the Coral Sea, the US transport ship Shenandoah steamed up the Brisbane River to the wharves at Hamilton. She tied up just before eleven o’clock and at midnight a fresh shift of wharfies began unloading her cavernous holds. In the morning, as was customary when a large shipment arrived from the United States, several American officers arrived to check the ship’s manifests. One of the officers was Captain Dan Rivers, anxious to find out how many P-40s aboard the Shenandoah were consigned to his unit at Archerfield. For security reasons, a detail of armed American soldiers was also present on the dock..

Most of the officers left as soon as they had confirmed the type and quantities of equipment and materials aboard the transport. Dan, having nothing better to do, decided to hang around the wharf a little longer, in the hope of seeing the first of his unit’s P-40s unloaded. By midday the only officers present were Dan and a lieutenant commanding the security detail. By now the wharf was piled high with cargo and heavy transports were beginning to haul it away.

At one o’clock a loud whistle sounded signaling the end of the shift which had started at midnight and the start of new shift. The stevedores made the change-over quickly and efficiently, almost without the methodical unloading of the vessel missing a beat. It was just minutes after the new shift started that gantries began to lower the first of the crates containing P-40s onto the dock. It was then that Dan and the lieutenant became aware of a disturbance at the wharf’s main gate. When they hurried over to the guard’s shed beside the gate to investigate, they found the dock manager accompanied by a police sergeant, refusing to allow the stevedores off the wharf unless they submitted to being searched.

‘You’ll not get off this wharf until we’ve inspected every man and every lunch box, package and every container of any kind,’ the wharf manager shouted from outside the gate. ‘I don’t care if it takes a week.’

A howl of indignation went up from the crowd of angry wharfies and they rushed the gate in an attempt to push it down. The sturdy barbed-wire topped gate held and the wharfies backed off to regroup and mount another charge. As they began to surge forward again, the police sergeant signaled to a bus parked nearby. The vehicle rolled forward quickly, pulled up at the gate and when the door flew open dozens of uniformed policemen poured out drawing their batons..

‘You men will do exactly as you’re told,’ the police sergeant shouted out above the clamor. ‘The large scale theft of materials from ships at this and other wharves will no longer be tolerated. Now proceed through the gate in single file, and have all containers in your possession open and ready for inspection.’

The gate was opened just wide enough to allow the men to pass through in single file. But none of the wharfies moved an inch.

The wharf manager’s jaw tightened. ‘As I said, I don’t care if it takes a week.’

‘I’m Dick Sharkey, I’ll handle this.’

The voice belonged to a short stocky man with a thick shock of prematurely white hair. Dan and the lieutenant looked on from inside the guard’s shed as the crowd of wharfies parted to allow Sharkey through.

‘I’m the Waterside Workers Union representative on this wharf,’ Sharkey said defiantly when he reached the gate. He stood with his nose against the wire. ‘And I don’t care if it takes a month before this vessel gets unloaded, Sergeant. Because that’s exactly what will happen if you don’t allow these men to go home immediately, without being treated like common thieves. I’ll give you exactly two minutes, then I’m shutting down this wharf until further notice.’

Suddenly reluctant to press the matter, the police sergeant turned to the dock manager looking for a solution to the impasse. Grim-faced, the dock manager shook his head. The policemen, batons at the ready closed ranks defensively.

The lieutenant grabbed the telephone in the guard shed. After a few moments he was connected with his commanding officer. He reported the situation on the wharf and asked for instructions.

‘The brass is mad as hell.’ The lieutenant said when he put the phone down. ‘They’re sending GIs down to unload the ship. They said the most senior American officer down here is to take charge and do whatever is necessary to get every bit of gear off that ship.’ The lieutenant shrugged. ‘So I guess that means you, Captain.’

Dan stepped out of the shed and approached the group of men at the gate. ‘Whatever dispute you men have, it’s none of the Army’s business,’ he said. ‘Our business is to get on with this war and we can’t do that without our supplies. So the Army’s sending troops to unload this ship, all right?’

‘I hope they’re sending heaps,’ Sharkey said quickly. ‘Because blood will flow, Yank, if they try and do our work. I’ve got two shifts of wharfies here and they’ve all had lots of experience in dealing with scabs.’

‘Like I said, Mr Sharkey, there’s a war on, and you or any of your longshoremen had better not lay a hand on the soldiers or try and stop them unloading this ship.’ Dan nodded toward the lieutenant’s detail. ‘I’ve got armed soldiers here. So don’t push your luck.’

There was a loud murmur of protest from the wharfies.

Sharkey eyed Dan with contempt. He nodded toward the unionists.

‘See these men, Yank? Before the Japs came along they had another war all of their own. It lasted almost ten years. During the Depression, when there was no work around, the government and their mates in big business broke the back of our union and scabs took our jobs when we were too weak to fight back. These poor bastards and their families were reduced to beggars and had to pay the government for a license to work. Only there wasn’t hardly any work. With their rights stripped away and sometimes so weak from hunger they were ready to drop, these men were forced to stand here on this dock with those bloody licenses hanging around their necks like dog collars, while the foreman picked maybe twenty poor buggers out of four hundred to work a ship. And when things got a little better and there was a bit more work around, these blokes risked losing their livelihoods again by refusing to load pig iron bound for Japan. It was the same pig iron the Japs used to make the bombs they dropped on our boys in Rabaul, Malaya, Timor, Darwin and Broome, as well as on you blokes in the Philippines. So don’t tell me there’s a bloody war on, Yank, because I know that. And I know perhaps one or two things have been swiped off the ships by a few wharfies. But that’s no excuse to treat every waterside worker like a bloody criminal. So I’m telling you, work on that ship stops now, and your troops will have to shoot us all down before you can board her.’

Dick Sharkey turned and strode off across the wharf towards the Shenandoah followed by a crowd of cheering wharfies.

‘Mr Sharkey,’ Dan shouted out after him. ‘We can settle this before the troops get here. If you leave the shift on the job, I’ll see to it that no one harasses your men and they can walk out of here right now.’

Sharkey walked back to the gate. ‘I’d be happy to do that, Captain. But you don’t have the authority to let my men out without being searched. Only the dock manager or the police can do that.’ Sharkey looked at the men outside the gate. ‘Well?’

Again the police sergeant turned to the wharf manager for direction.

‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got my orders, Captain,’ the wharf manager said stiffly. ‘These men have to be searched.’

‘And I’ve got my orders too, mister,’ Dan said firmly. ‘And while we’re standing here talking about it, the Japs are just getting that much closer and the weapons aboard that ship remain out of the hands of Allied forces.’ He turned to the officer in charge of the security detail. ‘Lieutenant.’

‘Yes, sir,’

‘Have your men escort these longshoremen off the docks. Give them any protection they may require. If any one tries to stand in their way, arrest them.’ Dan looked the police sergeant directly in the eye. ‘And I mean anyone at all, Lieutenant. Is that absolutely clear?’

*

It was several weeks before Faith got to Queensland. The Army took her and the Croker Island children to Roper Bar where they spent two weeks while the Methodist mission there made arrangements for the girls to be accepted by an Adelaide convent and organized transportation across the continent.

Faith accompanied the girls to Adelaide, travelling the hundred miles from Roper Bar to Mataranka in a mission truck, then by goods train to Larrimah where the rail line south from Darwin ended, then by American Army truck to Alice Springs, and finally by train again across South Australia to Adelaide.

After she had left her charges in the City of Churches, Faith spent another two weeks struggling to get to Brisbane via Melbourne and Sydney, on trains crammed with Allied soldiers and nurses. She was down to her last two pounds when her taxi from the railway station pulled up late one evening outside her aunt and uncle’s home in New Farm in the Queensland capital.

With the street blacked out because of air-raid regulations, Faith wasn’t certain she was at the right house. Any doubts she had were dispelled when, candle in hand, Dick Sharkey answered her knock on the door.

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t you recognize me, Uncle Richard?’ Faith said smiling. ‘I’m your niece Faith, from Darwin.’

Sharkey took her hands in his. ‘Oh, my word. I’d never have recognized you, Faith.’

A door opened and Helen Sharkey, Faith’s father’s sister came out of the lounge room to greet her. She was a slim woman wearing an apron with her hair pinned in a tight bun. Except for her hair, which was now streaked with grey, Faith thought her aunt looked exactly the same as she had all those years ago before the family had moved to Darwin. Aunt Helen was followed by a teenager who Faith took to be her cousin, Mike.

Aunt Helen embraced Faith tightly. ‘Actually we were half expecting you, dear,’ she said when they drew apart. ‘We got a letter from Joe the other day. He said you and he were separated up north somewhere and he hoped you had come here.’

Faith was overjoyed. ‘Oh, that’s wonderful news. Where is he?’

‘We don’t really know that, Faith,’ Aunt Helen replied. ‘All we know is that he’s in the Army and for some reason they’ll only allow him to say he’s somewhere in Australia.’

CHAPTER TWELVE

Koko’s travel arrangements from the Top End to southern Australia were given a much higher priority than Faith’s. As soon as his wounds began to heal and he was deemed well enough to travel, he was taken under close guard to Katherine, where he was interrogated for twelve hours by high-ranking Army officers. Then he was flown by an RAAF Hudson transport to a detention centre in Melbourne where he was questioned almost continuously for two weeks by Military Intelligence.

Because of the circumstances of Koko’s capture, the military authorities in Katherine and Melbourne, were convinced his version of events leading up to his capture was just a smoke screen to hide his real purpose of spying on Aboriginal Control Camps in the Top End and reporting his findings to the enemy. In their thirst for intelligence information, his interrogators were desperate to find out what part Koko had played in Japanese plans to coerce Aborigines to fight with their invasion forces. They also pressed him relentlessly for information about any proposed Japanese landings.

When Koko protested his innocence and demanded his rights as an Australian-born, British subject, he was told he had none. He was told the Army was well aware of long-term espionage planning by Asiatics and that it was common practice for Japanese nationals to be born in foreign countries in order to camouflage their illegitimate activities later on in life. His inquisitors were quick to point out that a Japanese, unlike a Caucasian, could live anywhere for a hundred years and appear to assimilate into a foreign culture, but he would always look and think like a Japanese, and would always stand ready to answer his country’s call when the need arose.

Even when Koko told them about Aki, his captors showed no trace of empathy. When he tried to explain his involvement with Faith and the children, they told him it was normal procedure for infiltrators to go to great lengths to gain the confidence and trust of local people while surreptitiously gaining intelligence for the enemy. After his interrogation sessions ended, Koko was told that he was to be sent to an internment camp. And he was told he should be grateful he was not being executed, which was the normal and lawful fate of enemy aliens and traitors.

From Melbourne, Koko was taken by rail and road to the Hay interment camp in outback New South Wales. After the weeks of endless interrogation and confinement in cramped quarters, he found some solace in the space and amiable company the internment camp afforded. There were several hundred Japanese in the camp ranging from small children to very old people. They included pearling lugger captains and their traditional indentured laborers from Japan who worked Australia’s northern waters, small shopkeepers and fishermen from all over the Top End, businessmen resident in Sydney, Melbourne and other major centers, and a number of Japanese visitors to Australia who had been unlucky enough to have been in the country at the time of the attack on Pearl Harbor.

Koko found the accommodation clean and adequate, although with twenty or more single men to a hut there was little privacy. But the food was good and there was even a ration of cigarettes. Soon his outrage at his treatment by the authorities began to subside. He slowly accepted that it would be his lot, like thousands of Japanese, Italian and many other nationalities in Australia, to remain interned for the duration of the war. His anger was also tempered by a degree of freedom he enjoyed when he joined work parties which were regularly allowed off the camp to help local farmers on their properties around Hay.

Koko found most of the internees went out of the way to stay out of trouble and cooperate in every way with the guards who were mainly older men in Australian Militia units specifically raised for internment and concentration camp duties. At first, he harbored occasional thoughts of escaping when he was out working on one of the farms. It would be so easy. But where could he run? There was nowhere he could hide. His oriental features meant he could never show his face anywhere in his own homeland without being apprehended.

Koko was told by other internees that there were six young men in the camp who were actually prisoners of war. It was rumored they were members of the Japanese Air Force, shot down over the Top End. Their leader was a brooding, defiant young man named Yosi Yakimoto and his attitude, like the rest of the group, was hostile to the internees. When Koko tried to talk to them in English in the compound one day, they appeared not to understand a word he said. And when he spoke to them in Japanese, Yakimoto became very suspicious and angrily told him they were not airmen, but merchant seamen whose vessel had been shipwrecked in the Arufura Sea.

Koko wondered if Yakimoto thought he was trying to get information out of them for Australian Military Intelligence. It occurred to him that because he had not satisfied his own interrogators at the detention centre in Melbourne, someone might approach him for information in the same way. But he was not unduly concerned about that because he had nothing to hide.

*

Joe was ordered to report to the temporary headquarters of the North Australia Observer Unit near the tiny township of Ingleburn just west of Sydney. On the long train ride south from Townsville, he had hoped he would have enough time between train changes in Brisbane to visit his aunt and uncle in New Farm and find out if they had any word from Faith. But an Army sergeant who met the train in Brisbane quickly hustled him aboard another train which left for Sydney within minutes.

When he stepped from the train at Sydney’s Central Station and passed through the turnstile at the end of the crowded platform, Joe saw a young uniformed private holding up a sign with his name on it. The soldier was a short, sparse, young man with ratty dark hair and a thin ferret-like face. The uniform he was wearing looked a size or two too large for him. When Joe approached him the little man looked up and grinned.

‘Joe Brodie, I take it. They told me to look out for a lanky, fair-haired bloke.’ The private stuck out his hand. ‘I’m Len Watkins. Most of the blokes call me, Weasel Watkins.’

Joe smiled at the private’s cheerful honesty. He shook Weasel’s hand.

‘We better be off then,’ Weasel said. ‘I’m driving you to headquarters.’

Joe looked surprised. He swung his kit-bag over his shoulder. ‘Oh, I didn’t expect the Army would send a driver for me.’

Weasel turned his head as he pushed his way toward the exit. ‘They didn’t. I was sent into the city to pick up a load of tinned meat and fresh vegetables for the cookhouse. They told me to pick you up on the way back.’

Outside the station the two privates climbed into a canvas-topped Army truck. Weasel was so short he could barely see over the steering wheel.

‘Where did you come from, Joe?’ Weasel asked as the truck rumbled through the western suburbs, ‘AIF, or the Militia?’

‘Neither. When I went to join up they asked me to volunteer for the Nackeroos because I know the Top End pretty well. I haven’t even really done any proper basic training.’

Weasel laughed. It was more like a giggle. ‘Don’t worry, mate, neither has the Nackeroos’ commanding officer. From what I hear, Major Stanner, was a civil servant until a few weeks ago.’

Joe rolled his eyes. ‘We get a lot of those types in the Top End. You know what they say about Darwin, its biggest import is civil servants and its biggest export is empty beer bottles.’

Weasel laughed enthusiastically, punching the steering wheel with his fist.

Joe grinned. ‘What about you, Len?’

‘Call me Weasel. Everybody else does.’ Weasel flashed his easy smile. ‘Up until now I’ve just been sitting around on my backside in the Militia. Bloody boring. So when I heard about this mob, I volunteered right away. I want to see some action. Now with the recent Jap submarine attacks on Sydney, and more and more bombings in the north, things are really hotting up. If the Japs really are going to land in the Top End, I want to be up there to greet the bastards.’

‘How did you get into the Nackeroos?’ Joe asked. ‘Have you got special skills or something?’

‘No, I just told the Army I was born on a station in the New South Wales outback.’

‘Then you know about the bush and you can handle horses?’

Weasel giggled again. ‘Not really. The station I was born on was a bus station in a little hole near Broken Hill.’

Joe laughed out loud. He knew then he was going to like Private Watkins.

*

Like many Queensland houses, Dick and Helen Sharkey’s home was built on stilts to allow the passage of air underneath it to help keep the house cool in the subtropical summer. Faith was given the spare bedroom which looked out over the Brisbane River.

The pleasant airy room had always been intended for her aunt and uncle’s second child which, although eagerly awaited over the years, never arrived. The Sharkey’s failure to produce a second child had only hardened their resolve to withhold parental permission for their seventeen-year-old son to volunteer for the Army, and be sent off to a war which they hadn’t even supported until the Soviet Union joined in the struggle against Germany. But that degree of control would end when Mike, who was presently working as a warehouseman’s helper, would be automatically conscripted into the Militia when he reached his eighteenth birthday.

Faith was determined to pay her way and not become a burden to the Sharkey household. Two days after her arrival she went to the labor exchange to look for work. She was asked to fill out a form and told she would be interviewed in due course. After waiting almost two hours, Faith was finally called into a small interview room. A drab, officious-looking man with glasses sat behind a desk cluttered with piles of papers. After a few moments he looked up from reading the form Faith had filled out.

‘I see you’re from Darwin, Miss Brodie,’ he said without preamble. ‘Because of that, you may not be aware that the labor exchange works closely with the Manpower Commission which is empowered to conscript civilians to perform whatever type of work is deemed most useful to the war effort.’

‘I’m trained as a stenographer and can do any kind of general office work,’ Faith volunteered. ‘That’s the kind of work I’m most suited to and where I can probably help out the most.’

‘Perhaps it is.’ The pale man took off his glasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief. ‘But that’s up to this office and the Manpower to decide. At the moment, although there is a demand for all types of workers, the most pressing need is in manufacturing, particularly in armaments and clothing factories supplying the Allied forces. One of the most urgent requests we have is for packers at an ammunition factory out at Rocklea.’

‘Would I be able to change to my own line of work when and if there is a need for stenographers?’

‘Not necessarily.’ The pale man put his glasses back on. ‘You see, once you are placed it is illegal for you to leave the job to which you have been assigned. There are stiff penalties for those who don’t comply.’

Faith’s eyes widened. ‘That’s a little heavy-handed, isn’t it?’

‘You may think so, young lady,’ the man behind the desk said dismissively.’ But your views are of no consequence because you will do exactly as you are told. In case you haven’t heard, there’s a war on.’

Faith found it hard to contain her anger. She had seen lots of self-important little men like the labor exchange officer in Darwin—supercilious civil servants sent to the Top End to fill often unnecessary positions, then spending the entire duration of their posting trying to justify the need for them.

‘Don’t tell me there’s a war on.’ She blurted out angrily. ‘I’m from Darwin, remember. And I don’t recall seeing anyone from the labor exchange or the Manpower when I was dodging Japanese bombs and machine gun bullets on the dock there on February nineteenth.’

‘I would be careful of your tone if I were you, Miss Brodie. It wouldn’t be wise to get this office offside. Everyone has to do their bit for the war effort and it’s my job and the Manpower’s to make sure they do. Of course, if you don’t want factory work you can always join the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force, or the Women’s Army Service or a new organization being formed called Australian Women’s Land Army.’ The official looked over the glasses resting on his nose and smirked. ‘But somehow I don’t think you look the type to be picking potatoes or planting turnips.’

Faith opened her mouth to protest but the official raised a silencing hand.

‘This interview is over, Miss Brodie.’ He straightened out some of the papers on his desk and laid them to one side. ‘Report here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning and you will be assigned work.’

*

‘The bastard! The arrogant little bastard.’

Faith grinned at her uncle’s outburst when she told him of her visit to the labor exchange earlier in the morning. From Aunt Helen’s raised eyebrows it was plain she didn’t find her husband’s language amusing at all. It was lunchtime and everyone was gathered around the kitchen table eating meat paste and vegemite sandwiches.

Dick put two spoons of sugar into a steaming mug of tea and stirred it thoughtfully. ‘I heard them talking of putting on another girl in the union office the other day. I’ll look into it. If no-one has been given the job yet, I’ll put a word in for you.’

‘The man down at the labor exchange said he wouldn’t place me in office work. He’s desperate for factory workers. I suppose I really should work where the Manpower has the greatest need.’

‘From what I’ve seen they’re just a bunch of little Hitler's, bent on putting square pegs into round holes,’ Dick said reproachfully. ‘And they can get pretty stroppy, too, if they don’t get their own way.’ Dick stood up from the table to go back to work. ‘But don’t worry about it, Faith. If the job at the union office is still going, it’s yours.’

‘But I have to report to the labor exchange in the morning.’

‘As I said, Faith. Don’t worry about it. If you get the job, the union will take care of the clod down there.’

*

Faith had been working at the Brisbane branch of the Waterside Workers’ for almost a week when the drab little man from labor exchange arrived unannounced one morning. He was accompanied by a grim-faced senior officer of the Manpower Commission who demanded to speak with the union secretary.

The receptionist ushered the two men into the union’s meeting room. After a few minutes she returned with Ian McDougal, a middle-aged man with red hair. The union secretary smiled amiably at the Manpower official.

‘Mr Little, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit today?’ His broad Scottish brogue didn’t hide the hint of sarcasm in his voice. He waved the two men toward straight back chairs around a long well worn table.

As everyone sat down, Little gestured to the labor exchange official. ‘Of course, you know Mr…’

‘Yes, yes, I know him,’ McDougal broke in impatiently. Like yourself, he’s been here several times before.’

‘Then I suspect you know the reason we are here, McDougal. It seems that once again your union has tried to usurp the authority of the Manpower Commission. But I’m afraid this time we are not prepared to let you get away with it.’

McDougal’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what your talking about.’

Little ignored the secretary’s feigned attempt at innocence.

‘You know bloody well what I mean, McDougal. A girl named Faith Brodie from Darwin went to the labor exchange for job placement last week. She was told to return the next day to be assigned work. She was going to be sent down to an armaments factory in Rocklea, only she never came back to the exchange. You know as well as I do, McDougal, sickness is the only excuse for failure to report. One of our investigators looked into the matter. He checked on the address she put on her registration card and guess what? It turned out to be Dick Sharkey’s address.’

McDougal’s eyes narrowed and he rubbed his jaw as if trying to place the name.

‘Come on, McDougal, don’t try that stunt. Everybody knows who Bill Sharkey is after that business with the Americans and the Shenandoah hit the newspapers. So we went over to his house this morning and made some enquiries. It turns out Faith Brodie is Sharkey’s niece and she’s working right here at the union.’

‘McDougal gave up all pretext of being mystified. ‘So what? She’s a stenographer and we needed one badly.’

‘You should have put in your request to the labor exchange like anyone else. I don’t think I have to remind you that the exemption from civilian and military conscription the Waterside Workers’ Federation members enjoy does not extend to the union’s office employees.’ Little stood up to leave. ‘You will dismiss the Brodie girl immediately, McDougal, and send her down to the labor exchange.’

‘Oh, come on you blokes,’ McDougal’s tone became conciliatory. ‘We really do need an extra stenographer here. We’ve had so much work on the wharves and we’ve never had so many members.’

‘We’re well aware of that,’ Little snapped as he made for the door. ‘About twice as many as you need for the tonnage you unload, according to our calculations. But it still seems there’s always a chronic shortage of wharfies when there’s a big horserace going on at the Doomben track, or it’s raining cats and dogs on the docks.’

McDougal let the dig slide. ‘There must be something that can be done to resolve this matter.’

‘Yes there is. If that woman isn’t down at the labor exchange within one hour, we’ll be charging her under the Act. And I’ll personally go to the newspapers and give them all the details of this chronic case of nepotism. I can imagine the field day the Courier Mail will have. The public have had it up to the teeth with the wharfies thinking they are a law unto themselves, you know.’

*

There were few comforts at the Nackeroo headquarters. It was just a cluster of huts and tents stuck out in the bush on a large tract of land near Ingleburn. Joe slept on a straw-filled mattress in a tent he shared with five other soldiers and hundreds of flies. There were showers, but no hot water. Khaki colored thunderboxes served as toilets. But it seemed there was no shortage of volunteers willing to join the Nackeroos and put up with a few hardships to do their bit for Australia. Men arrived daily from every state and territory in the Commonwealth. When the entire unit of around five hundred men were assembled, training which was to last over two months began in earnest.

The recruits were instructed in the use of weapons and equipment which many had never used before. Besides the standard .303 service rifles and hand grenades, the Nackeroos were instructed in the use of small, hand-held, Thompson machine guns for guerrilla warfare, 12 gauge shotguns, .22 caliber rifles and even fishing lines and hooks, to assist them to live off the land.

Every second day they endured long route marches and were often left out in the middle of nowhere to find their own way back to camp in exercises designed to test their sense of direction and map-reading skills. Those with practical survival experience in remote areas were asked to share their knowledge, and academics gave lectures on how the flora and fauna in the Top End could be used to keep soldiers alive for long periods of time should their supply lines be broken. The Nackeroos were told that when they arrived in the Top End, Aborigines would be attached to every patrol to act as guides and trackers.

Every man was given some training in radio communications and many, including Joe, who showed special aptitude as signalers, were sent on an intensive course at the Marconi School of Wireless in Sydney to fine tune their potential as radio operators. Particular attention was paid to Morse code wireless telegraphy, as coded signals could be sent over much greater distances than radio voice telephony.

The ability to ride and handle horses expertly was not deemed to be absolutely critical. But when it was discovered that many of the volunteers didn’t know one end of a horse from another, everyone had to acquire at least the basic rudiments of horsemanship. The farrier in charge of horsemanship training said that by the time they left Ingleburn, even the likes of Joe Brodie and Weasel Watkins would be able to saddle and ride a horse.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

During the weeks after the Battle of the Coral Sea, the American and Australian chiefs of staff tried to guess the next move of the Emperor’s war machine. After the enemy’s stunning success at Pearl Harbor, in Southeast Asia and in the Pacific, the Allies knew he would not be deterred by a temporary setback at Coral Sea. It was certain another major offensive would be launched at any moment. But no-one knew where.

One view was that the Japanese would consolidate their positions in the territories they had already won by digging in and preparing to defend them. Another was that with the American surrender in the Philippines, it was now even more vital that Australia be held to provide the base for an eventual Allied offensive against Japan. And with the return of much of the AIF, and the ever-increasing build-up of US troops strengthening Australia’s position, many thought a full-scale Japanese invasion was imminent.

The last enemy option the Allies considered was that the Japanese, buoyed by their string of victories and the seemingly invincibility of their forces, might decide to press even further across the Pacific, sending its combined fleet and ground forces to attack and occupy territories in the Central and North Pacific, totally isolating Australia and containing the Americans closer to home while preparing to invade the US mainland itself.

The huge resources of US Naval Intelligence and the small but highly effective Australian Coast Watcher organization worked around the clock intercepting and trying to decode the steady flow of signals transmitted from the Japanese combined fleet and from enemy ground forces in the territories they occupied in the Pacific.

A breakthrough came when an intelligence team in Hawaii partially decoded Japanese naval signals which indicated the Japanese were to launch an attack on the US garrison at Midway Island, seven hundred miles north-west of Honolulu. To camouflage the massive invasion force, the code-breakers learned the enemy would stage a diversionary attack on the Aleutians, the string of volcanic islands extending over a thousands miles into the northern Pacific from the Alaskan Peninsula.

The Japanese strategy was based on the assumption that an attack on Midway would bring the real prizes of the US Pacific fleet, the elusive American heavy aircraft carriers, which had been absent from Hawaii at the time of the Pearl Harbor raid. They would rush to the defense of Midway after first being tricked into steaming north to defend the American naval base at Dutch Harbor in the Aleutians. When they arrived, the aircraft carriers, battleships and cruisers of the combined fleet would be waiting to pounce on them and finish off what they had started at Pearl Harbor.

As it turned out, it was the American heavy carriers which lay in wait for the combined fleet. With Midway’s air defenses still intact, land-based and carrier-based aircraft and submarines exacted a terrible and bloody toll on the Japanese, sinking four irreplaceable heavy aircraft carriers, four heavy cruisers and hundreds of aircraft with an enormous loss of life. For the first time in the war, Imperial Japan suffered a crushing defeat.

The news from Midway greatly heartened General MacArthur. Coming only weeks after Coral Sea, it meant he had gained even more desperately needed time to organize, equip and train the swelling numbers of Allied forces in Australia. A few days after Midway he addressed the War Advisory Council, a select group of government and opposition members of Parliament and military chiefs including General Blamey. MacArthur said that he believed the risk of a full-scale invasion of Australia had been eased and that Allied plans for an offensive against the enemy were nearing completion. He told the council that capturing the Japanese fortress and supply base at Rabaul in New Britain was the key to an Allied advance across the Pacific to Japan and that it had been decided to take a step-by-step approach to the enemy stronghold through the Solomons, Papua and New Guinea.

The plan called for the deployment of US army engineers and thousands of black American soldiers to build new airfields along the entire Queensland coast, and the expansion of all existing RAAF airfields, including those at Port Moresby and Milne Bay in Papua. MacArthur also announced that he and General Blamey had decided to send additional Australian Militia troops to Port Moresby and Milne Bay. When asked why raw untried Militia recruits rather than the battle-hardened AIF, were being sent to Papua General Blamey said that recently arrived Imperial Force soldiers needed time to acclimatize in Australia after so long in North Africa.

Before the meeting adjourned, Prime Minister John Curtin committed the services of the Civil Construction Corps, a recently formed organization, made up of mainly middle-aged conscripted laborers and tradesmen, to assist with airfield work and any other construction the military deemed fit.

*

It was late afternoon and Dan was on the telephone in his office in the aircraft assembly hangar at Archerfield when an Air Corps major stuck his head in the door.

Dan put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘I’ll just be a moment, sir.’

The major stepped inside the office. It was so cramped there was barely room for the small chair across the desk from Dan’s. The major’s face twitched impatiently. Dan put the telephone down and stood up.

‘I’ll call them back, sir. I’m trying to track down some shipments. Trouble is, everything has to be in triplicate around here.’ Dan gestured around the poky little office. ‘Look at all this. Everything get so bogged down. When I try and speed things up on the phone everybody always puts me on hold. Half my time is spent waiting on other people.’

‘Not any more, Captain—at least not around here. You’ve been reassigned.’

‘Where to, sir?’

‘It seems MacArthur and his paper-shufflers down in Melbourne want more officers with engineering backgrounds to head north. You’re one of them.’

‘To set up another crated aircraft assembly unit?’

‘Crated aircraft are en route direct to RAAF station at Garbutt in Townsville and an assembly facility is under construction there, but you’ve been earmarked for construction work on airfields in remote locations. Your orders are to report to Garbutt in Townsville for briefings. Your flight leaves at six hundred hours tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow, sir?’ Dan glanced around the tiny room. ‘What about this lot?’

‘Just leave it, Captain. Your replacement will look after it. You’d best spend what time you’ve got getting your gear together and checking out of your quarters.’

*

Dan drove away from Archerfield in a jeep heading for the Chardons Corner Hotel in the nearby suburb of Rocklea where he was billeted. It was just beginning to get dark and he was leaving the assembly hangar earlier than usual. Normally he preferred to work late, rather than just spend the time hanging around the hotel.

As he drove through an industrial area of Rocklea, workers were changing shifts at small factories lining the side of the road. At the end of the street he pulled up at a stop sign and sat strumming his fingers on the wheel, idly appraising a group of female factory workers clustered around a tram stop. All were wearing drab dungarees and skull caps. When Dan realized one of the girls looked somehow familiar, he leaned forward to get a better look. In the half-light he couldn’t see her face clearly but there was something he recognized about her long fair hair and the way she stood. When a tram drew up behind the jeep the crowd of workers surged forward. Suddenly the girl was just an arm’s length away. As she passed she turned her head and looked directly at him. He recognized Faith at once.

‘Faith Brodie.’

She was startled for a moment and stopped in her tracks. Then her face broke into a wide natural smile. ‘Captain Rivers. What on earth are you doing in Brisbane?’

‘I got posted here. How about you?’

‘It’s a long story. I…’

Faith’s answer was drowned out by a long loud clanging from the tram’s bell. The intersection was now clear and the jeep was blocking the way.

‘Hop in,’ Dan said quickly. ‘I’ll drive you.’

Faith hurried around the front of the jeep and jumped in.

‘Where are you headed?’ Dan asked as he pulled away.

‘To New Farm. Its on the other side of town.’

‘I know where it is. It’s towards the docks.’ Dan briefly glanced at Faith. She perfectly fitted the image that had crossed his mind so often in recent weeks. ‘How’s Joe?’

‘That’s another long story, Captain Rivers. He’s…’

‘I asked you in Darwin to call me Dan’

Faith smiled. ‘Joe and I got separated in the Top End, Dan. We know he’s in the Army but we don’t know exactly where.’

‘Who’s we? Dan asked. ‘Joe said you were the only family he had.’

‘I’m staying with an aunt and uncle. I work at that factory back there. What are you doing now?’

‘I’ve been running an aircraft assembly unit.’

‘Aren’t you flying anymore?’

Dan shook his head. ‘I’ve been flying a desk since Darwin. There’s no shortage of pilots these days, just a shortage of aircraft and airfields. I got assigned to construction work today. I leave for Townsville tomorrow morning.’

‘For how long?’

‘I don’t know. From what they told me today, I’ll be working all over the north.’

‘Will you be back in Brisbane at all?’

‘I hope so.’ Dan stole another glance at Faith. ‘I really hope so.’

They drove on and the jeep passed through the working-class district of South Brisbane heading for a bridge spanning the Brisbane River. The darkened streets were alive with uniformed American soldiers. Almost all were Negroes, looking for whatever entertainment was on offer within an area specifically designated for black servicemen. Although it was still early evening, the dark recesses of the shops and businesses on the street were occupied by soldiers and young girls embracing in the shadows. There was also a large presence of American military police

Dan drove over the Victoria Bridge linking South Brisbane with the city centre. Like South Brisbane, there were uniformed soldiers everywhere, some Australian but mostly white Americans. With the central district out of bounds to blacks, there were no Negroes at all. But the white GIs, like the Negroes across the river, plainly held a monopoly on the affections of the hundreds of young Australian girls on the streets.

‘Do you have to go home right away?’ Dan asked as they neared New Farm. ‘Perhaps we could stop for dinner some place.’

Faith laughed. ‘In these dungarees. No, I don’t think so.’

‘Then maybe we could pick up something somewhere and eat it in the jeep and talk?’

‘My Aunt Helen’s expecting me.’

‘I won’t keep you late,’ Dan persisted. ‘I’d just like to talk. I may not get another chance.’

They drove on in silence for a few moments. Then Faith said, ‘I know a place not far away that makes the best fish and chips in Australia. We could get some, then drive up to the lookout on Mount Cootha. You can see the whole city from there. Do you know where it is?’

Dan smiled. ‘No. But you can give me the directions as we go along.’

Dan had meant to be true to his word but it was almost midnight when they pulled up outside the Sharkeys’ house. They had spent the entire evening just sitting in the jeep on the mountain, talking, and looking down in the moonlight over the blacked-out city below them.

‘Will you come in for a moment? ’ Faith asked when he opened the door of the jeep for her.

Dan and Faith tiptoed up the garden path and up the stairs onto the veranda When they stole into the house they found her aunt and uncle fast asleep in easy chairs in the lounge room. They woke with a start when Faith switched on the light.

‘We were so worried dear, we waited up,’ Helen said. ‘But I suppose we must have fallen asleep.’

Faith smiled. ‘Aunt Helen, Uncle Dick, I’d like you both to meet Captain Dan Rivers. Joe and I know him from Darwin.’

Helen stood up and touched her hair and straightened her apron. She held out her a hand. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, young man.’

‘I hope I’m not intruding, Ma’am,’ Dan said apologetically.

‘Oh no, you’re not intruding, Captain Rivers.’ Dick said, rising sleepily to his feet. He gripped Dan’s hand firmly and shook it. ‘It’s good to see you again, son. And you’re very welcome in my house.’

*

As Faith walked through the factory gate at Rocklea the next morning, a B-17 roared by overhead. It had just taken off from Archerfield and Faith stood for a few moments and watched it climb steadily into the clear blue sky then bank away to the north. She smiled and wondered if Dan was aboard.

Faith’s factory produced small caliber handgun and rifle projectiles. Like many others of its kind around the country, it was set up solely to manufacture ammunition for the Australian Army. Over eighty percent of its production was standard .303 inch rifle rounds. While the production of the ammunition was largely automated, the inspection and packing of the finished product was not. Faith was just one in a long line of women who sat at long inspection and packing stations, often for ten or twelve hours a day.

The work was hard, repetitious and boring beyond belief. All the girls found it hard not to let their minds wander and think of other things, as each live round passed through their fingers before being packed into wooden cases destined for far-off battlefields. Often they had to force themselves to concentrate on the task at hand, particularly the inspection of the shell casings, knowing that a single bullet not properly inspected might be the one which would blow a young digger’s face off.

The girls were supervised by men, all too old to be conscripted into the armed forces and too young for retirement. Few of them had ever seen women in the workplace before the war and none had ever been in such close contact with so many women on a daily basis. The first day she arrived at the factory, Faith had been warned there were a couple of supervisors who couldn’t help themselves when it came to a friendly slap and tickle. Some of the girls even encouraged them. Faith noticed those that did were usually given preference for lighter or less tedious duties.

Faith took up her position at the inspection bench and began sorting cartridges. It wasn’t long before the teasing from her work mates started.

‘I’ve been picked up by Yanks before, Faith,’ a girl beside her called out. ‘But never at a bus stop by an officer in a jeep.’

‘What do you have to give to get that kind of service, Faith?’ another girl sang out.

Faith laughed off the good-natured jibes but her ire rose when a male voice chimed in, ‘If she gives what I think she does, I’ll give her a ride on my crossbar anytime.’ A loud laugh came from Trevor Lipp, her fifty-year-old, overweight day-shift supervisor. ‘And I’ve got a ladies bike.’

Lipp laughed his raucous laugh again and his hand squeezed Faith’s buttock's briefly as he passed down the line behind her. She turned around angrily.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Faith.’ Lipp said quickly before she could speak. He winked knowingly. ‘Pay attention to the job. Think of all those diggers out there fighting for you. Don’t you think you should wait for them instead of dropping your drawers for the Yanks?’

When Lipp wandered away, Faith settled down to work. ‘Watch out for that one, Faith,’ said a workmate beside. ‘Lipp’s always bothering someone. He’s fairly harmless when he’s sober but he can turn nasty if he’s been drinking.’

After a few minutes the corrugated steel building reverberated as another huge airplane from Archerfield thundered overhead. Again Faith wondered if Dan was on it. He hadn’t been out of her mind since she woke up that morning. They had talked for so long the night before about everything under the sun. He asked had her so many questions, she must have given him her entire life history.

She had asked questions too. Dan had told her he’d been an only child, that his father had died when he was a boy and that his mother lived in Gallup, New Mexico. He seemed to enjoy telling her about New Mexico. Of how the Spanish came almost four hundred years ago and of how for three hundred years it had been a part of New Spain and then Mexico. And he told her of how the Americans had finally come in 1846 and had eventually granted the New Mexico Territory statehood in 1912.

Faith could tell Dan was proud of his heritage and that he had a close affinity with the land. She assumed it was Spanish blood that gave Dan his dark good looks. But there were still so many things she wished she knew about him, things she hadn’t asked, but now wished she had. And she wondered when and if she would ever see him again. As she carefully examined the shell casings passing through her fingers she hoped she would, and someday soon.

*

As soon as Dan’s plane touched down at Garbutt, he was whisked across the busy Air Force base to a room in an administration block where a meeting was already in progress. An American Army colonel and an RAAF wing commander were standing beside a huge wall map of Cape York, New Guinea and the Coral Sea Islands. The American colonel was addressing a small group of US Army engineers.

‘Unlike what you’ve probably heard from the Navy, they are not the only ones doing something about kicking the Japs’ ass,’ the US Colonel said. ‘Unfortunately the Army Air Corps can’t just up anchor and sail our airplanes to battle on mobile airfields and fight hit and run battles. While those naval engagements using carrier-based aircraft have been useful in stalling the enemy’s advance, only the power of land-based fighters and heavy bombers backing up ground forces are ever going to drive the Japs out the Pacific. With more aircraft becoming available to us, the number of operational Allied Air Force squadrons is now increasing and we desperately need more airfields from where we can attack the enemy. It is your job to get these airfields built.’

The Colonel turned to the RAAF officer beside him and gave him the floor.

‘Gentlemen.’ The wing commander tapped a pointer on the wall map. ‘These red pins indicate the positions of over two dozen proposed strategic new airfields in Far North Queensland. Work is already under way at some new sites and expansion has started at a few existing civil and RAAF locations. Unfortunately you will not find conditions at any of these places conducive to normal construction practices. Almost without exception, all the locations are extremely remote, with few facilities of any kind. But wherever possible it is planned to get heavy equipment in by road or by sea. You gentlemen will to be flown into the areas to which you have been assigned by RAAF.’

The colonel took the pointer from the wing commander and turned to the wall map.

‘Gentlemen, you will be going to two of the highest priority locations. The first is here,’ the officer pointed to a spot on the map, ‘in a rain forest jungle several hundred miles north of Townsville at a place called Iron Range on the east coast of Cape York.’ He moved the pointer up the map. ‘The second is here at an existing bomb dump field at Horn Island, just off the northern tip of Cape York. This field is to be enlarged and upgraded.’ He moved the pointer again over the sea to New Guinea. ‘Now, here at Port Moresby is the only operational airfield in Papua that stands between the Japs and us. It is exactly the same distance from Iron Range and Horn Island and it is essential that these two fields be operational as soon as possible to provide fall-back bases for Allied squadrons at Moresby which are being bombed constantly. I don’t think I need to tell you the position we’ll be in if the Japs take Port Moresby and use that field against us before the two fall-back fields are completed.’

*

The RAAF Catalina circled over Portland Roads, a calm bay nestled behind a high headland, protected from the strong south-east trade wind blowing over the Coral Coast. There was an old jetty at the almost abandoned outpost. It had been built years earlier in water deep enough to allow ocean-going vessels to disembark men and material destined for now played-out iron and gold mines at Iron Range located just a few miles inland.

After a second circuit, the flying boat glided in to a smooth landing and taxied over close to the jetty where a large American transport was disgorging huge Caterpillar bulldozers, trucks , graders and all types of construction equipment and building materials. Dan and a group of engineers travelled by four-wheel drive transport along an old road leading up over granite ridges, then through tropical jungle swamps made passable only the day before by the latest in American road-building equipment. Eventually the truck emerged from rough scrub into the area known as Iron Range. A sea of tents housing hundreds of black soldiers who would build the airfield were pitched in long rows.

Within hours, communications had been set up and clearing and grading had commenced on the three planned runways, aircraft dispersal strips and on the erection of semi-permanent screened canvass mess halls, latrines and various storage enclosures. Because of high rainfall conditions in the area and the sheer size and weight of the B-17 Flying Fortresses and B-26 Liberators that were to be based at Iron Range, the runways had to be paved with asphalt and engineers scoured the surrounding countryside until they found suitable materials to set up a batch plant.

In spite of difficult terrain and working conditions, Iron Range began to take on some semblance of an operational airfield after a few weeks. It was around this time that Dan and another engineer made the short flight to Horn Island aboard a Catalina. They were sent to assist in accelerating the expansion of the old bomb dump airfield to accommodate surveillance and bombing squadrons. As an existing airfield, Horn Island was a favorite bombing target for Japanese planes based in New Guinea.

As the flying boat began its descent onto the strip of calm turquoise water separating Horn Island from Thursday Island, Dan and his companion were looking down at the airfield when it suddenly came under attack. All at once they could see bombs exploding on the ground, then a burst of machine gun fire raked through the fuselage of the Catalina as Zero’s covering a squadron of high altitude bombers swarmed down to strafe the airfield.

Neither Dan nor the other engineer were hit. But when their pilot took evasive action they were hurled violently around the plane, grabbing onto whatever they could to hold themselves steady. The pilot banked hard to the south-west away from Horn Island towards neighboring Prince of Wales Island, where he tried to avoid being seen by skimming low over the tree line on the steep slopes leading down to the sea from the islands lofty peaks. But there was no second attack. The Zeros lost interest in the Catalina when they were engaged by a hastily scrambled P-40 squadron on Horn Island. The raid lasted no more than ten minutes and when it was all over the Catalina put down at the sea plane base on Thursday Island.

Dan and his companion crossed the channel to Horn Island in a naval launch. As the little craft neared the island’s jetty, it picked it’s way through some small private craft lying at moorings close in to the island. The larger boats were Thursday Island luggers. Some of the pearlers had been commandeered and flew small naval pennants. Others, which had been manned by Japanese now in interment camps, still had tattered impoundment notices nailed to the masts and their hulls were encrusted with barnacles.

As the launch was about to pull alongside the jetty, Dan’s attention was drawn to a dirty little sail boat lying in shallow water beside a clump of mangroves. Somehow the vessel looked familiar. He took a closer look and saw it was preparing to sail. There were two scruffy-looking men aboard. One stood in the cockpit at the tiller, the other was on the bow raising the anchor.

A puff of wind swung the old boat around bringing her transom into view. Dan read the name beneath the filth and crusted salt. It was the same sailing boat he had seen in Beagle Gulf the day after he was shot down. It was the Groot Eylandt Lady.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A shrill whistle signaled the start of the afternoon tea break at the Rocklea factory. Faith left her station in the inspection bay and went to the factory canteen. As she stood in line waiting to draw tea from an urn, she took an envelope from her pocket. It was a letter from Joe to her aunt and uncle which had arrived at New Farm the day before. For what must have been the twentieth time, she read the short note which had obviously been censored by the Army. Amongst the pleasantries, all it really said was that Joe was ‘somewhere in Australia’ and that he was fit and well and hoped that somehow Faith had been able to reach them in Brisbane.

‘Got a love letter from your randy Yank, have you, Faith?’ Trevor Lipp had joined the queue behind her. As he spoke, his hand explored her inner thighs through her baggy dungarees, just briefly enough not to be noticed by anyone else. ‘He’s been posted, has he? Are they actually sending Yank soldiers and airmen against the Japs now? I thought it was the American Navy that did all their fighting.’

Faith spun around, her face flushed with anger. Whenever the supervisor came near her, he always had a lewd remark and made some excuse to touch her. And over the weeks it had only got worse. Faith had told herself that the next time Lipp touched her, she’d slap his face and to hell with the consequences. But she didn’t. She just walked away. One girl Lipp had harassed, had been so angry that she’d kicked him in the crotch and reported him to the manager. But Lipp had been outraged and said that the reason for her outburst was that he had caught her fondling another woman. He reminded the manager that women with their husbands away at war sometimes got involved in unnatural relationships. The manager had accepted that and the young woman, unable to quit her job because of Manpower regulations, had been relegated to cleaning and other menial duties on permanent night shift.

Faith put Joe’s letter away and, foregoing afternoon tea returned to her stool in the inspection bay. As so often during the long boring hours at the factory, her thoughts turned to Dan. It had only been a few weeks since he’d gone to north Queensland but she found herself looking forward to seeing him more and more each day. Eventually the whistle signaled the end of the day shift and minutes later the girls poured out of the factory on their way home. As Faith neared the factory gates she saw a jeep parked just outside. When she saw Dan sitting behind the wheel and waving, she broke into a joyful run.

*

Dick and Mike Sharkey had arrived home from work a few minutes before the jeep pulled up at the house. Everyone in the family seemed just as glad as Faith to see Dan, and when he said he intended taking Faith out to dinner, Helen wouldn’t hear a word of it. ‘Restaurant food will do you no good, young man,’ she scolded. Then she added happily, ‘I have a perfectly good leg of lamb in the oven and with all the talk of meat being rationed soon, we’d all better sit down and enjoy it while we can.’

Faith glanced at Dan and smiled encouragingly.

‘Oh, I’d love to stay, Mrs Sharkey,’ Dan said quickly, ‘as long as it’s no trouble.’

Later when the family were around the table at dinner, the conversation inevitably turned to the war.

‘Faith told me you’ve been up north, Dan,’ Dick said. ‘Are the reports we get of the Jap air raids up there accurate or is the government still playing them down?’

‘I haven’t seen the newspaper reports, Mr Sharkey, so I wouldn’t know,’ Dan said diplomatically.’ All I know is, there are plenty of raids happening in the Far North Queensland and all across the Top End.’

Dick sighed and shook his head. ‘When do you think we’ll be in a position to start hitting back? There seems to be no end to the war materials coming in at the docks and there are so many Allied servicemen around everywhere. Surely something has to happen soon.’

‘Most of the airfields we’re building in the north are designed to take heavy bombers as well as fighters,’ Dan said. ‘Bombers mean offensive action. The Allied Air Forces are being equipped with more planes every day, and there’s almost a hundred thousand US troops in and around Brisbane and Rockhampton alone. Together with the Australian forces, there must be hundreds of thousands of men almost prepared for combat. I think General MacArthur must be just about ready to take on the Japs. I heard today he’s moving his headquarters up to Brisbane. I figure that’s a sure sign things are about to hot up.’

‘I only hope I’m old enough to be in there when we start to give the Japs a bit of their own medicine,’ Mike interrupted enthusiastically. ‘I want to be among the diggers who kick them back all the way to Tokyo.’

‘They’ll call you up for the Militia soon enough, son,’ Dick said somberly. ‘There’s no point in wishing it to happen any sooner, so let’s not talk about it.’

‘I don’t want to be conscripted, Dad, you know that,’ Mike persisted. ‘The Militia can’t fight overseas. I want to volunteer for the Imperial Force.’

‘Don’t let’s start that all over again,’ Helen interjected. She stood up and began clearing the table. ‘And lets stop all this talk of war. That’s all anyone seems to think about these days.’

Dick quickly changed the subject. ‘How much leave have you got, Dan?’

‘Just six days.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘At my old hotel at Rocklea.’

‘Then you’re going back up to North Queensland?’

‘Yes.’

‘For how long this time, Dan?’ Faith asked as she got up to help her aunt clear the table.

‘I don’t know,’ Dan replied. ‘The Army just tells you where you’re going. They never say for how long.’

‘Come along, Mike,’ Helen called out as she carried a stack of dirty dishes from the dining room. You can help me with these tonight, Faith and Dan will be wanting to spend a little time together.’

*

Dan and Faith drove to the very same spot at the summit of Mount Cootha where they had spent their first evening together. Once again they stopped the Jeep and looked out over the city in the moonlight. But it was mid-July now, and the limbs of nearby tall gums were swaying under a chilly winter westerly. Dan took off his leather airman’s jacket and put it around Faith’s shoulders..

‘No you keep it,’ Faith protested. ‘It’s the middle of winter and you’ll catch your death of cold.’

Dan laughed. ‘There’s no winter in Queensland. To me, it’s always summer. Some days are not quite so hot as others, that’s all.’

Faith smiled and drew the jacket tightly around her. She turned in her seat to face Dan. ‘You were very good tonight, you know.’

Dan looked puzzled. ‘In what way?’

‘Eating your roast lamb and pretending you liked it. Everyone knows Americans won’t eat mutton. The newspapers are always saying the rubbish bins are full of it at your Army camps.’

‘That’s because most of the soldiers aren’t from the south-west of the United States. Where I come from, folks have been raising sheep for wool and fresh meat for hundreds of years.’

‘I suppose the English took sheep to America like they brought them to Australia,’ Faith said.

Dan shook his head. ‘No, it was the Spanish, when most of the south-west became part of New Spain. After the soldiers took the land, Spanish settlers came and brought the sheep with them to New Mexico and Arizona .’

‘Are there sheep stations there.?’

‘No, not like the properties here in Australia. Most of the sheep at home are on Indian reservations.’

Like their last time on the mountain Faith could see Dan was enjoying speaking of his homeland. ‘Are there many tribes living in the south-west?’ she asked.

‘Several. There’s the Hopi, Apache, Pueblo, Ute and the Navajo.’

‘Do they all live on reservations?’

‘Just about.’

‘There must be a lot of land set aside for them.’

‘The Navajo reservation is the biggest,’ Dan said. ‘It’s over fourteen million acres and covers parts of New Mexico, Arizona, southern Utah and Colorado. I think it’s some of the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen.’

‘What do the Navajo people do with all their land?’

‘Oh, they grow crops and raise sheep and cattle commercially. But a lot of the land is poor land for farming so every acre is needed. Fairly recently, minerals were discovered on the reservation and the Tribal Council negotiated royalties for the Navajo people with the exploration companies. And there’s always been a market for traditional Navajo woolen goods and jewellery in the United States, which brings in extra income.’

‘So they are self-sufficient? They can lead their own lives? The Navajo don’t rely on the government just to survive?’

Faith saw Dan’s jaw tighten. He didn’t answer her right away. When at last he did reply he said, ‘The Navajo have always been self-sufficient whenever they have been allowed to live their own lives. But white invaders have always tried to annihilate or assimilate them into their alien cultures. First it was the Spanish who came to kill and enslave them. Then the persecution continued under the Mexicans. Then the Americans came and drove out the Mexicans and burned the Navajo’s crops and killed their livestock. The Navajo fought back but eventually they were forced into submission by systematic starvation. Some fled and hid in remote canyons, but most went cold and hungry to the Americans and surrendered in their thousands, begging on their knees in the snow for food. But the Americans would only agree to feed them if the Navajo abandoned their traditional lands. They were forced to march hundreds of miles southward to a bad land reservation at a place called Basque Redondo.

‘The very old ones still talk of that walk, of how so many men, women and children froze to death and how the soldiers shot those who were sick and too weak to carry on. When they reached Basque Redondo, the reservation lands were so bad nothing would grow and the water of the Pecos River made them sick and killed their sheep and horses. There were no trees so there was no wood to build shelters. They lived in holes in the ground covered with brush. They were never given enough food, so they hunted for mice, rabbits, snakes and prairie dogs, anything they could eat to stay alive. Then there was a smallpox epidemic and over two thousand died. Everyone knew if they didn’t return to Dinétah it would be the end of the Navajo.’

Faith noticed Dan’s voice had become emotional. Suddenly he seemed resentful and bitter. ‘What is Dinétah?’ she asked.

‘Dinétah is the first place that the Navajo called home in the south-west. It means Navajoland in their language. It was among the mesas, rivers and canyons of northern New Mexico and southern Colorado. It was where the Navajo first settled a thousand years ago after migrating from Western Canada, from places now called, British Columbia, Alberta and Saskatchewan. The Navajo were called Athapaskans then, before the Spanish renamed them. They followed migrating herds of animals further and further southward until they found a land that could sustain them without the need to be nomadic. They called that place Dinétah. Over the centuries, the tribal lands of the Navajo expanded well beyond Dinétah, into Arizona and Utah. Then the white man came and everything changed.’ Dan turned away from Faith and looked out over the city. After a few moments he said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you with all that Indian stuff, Faith.’

Faith noticed the intensity had gone from Dan’s voice. She sensed he was trying to be more relaxed but saw that his hands were clasped tightly around the steering wheel of the jeep. She looked at his profile in the moonlight, at his unusually high cheekbones, sharp angular features and strong lower jaw. Suddenly she realized that her assumption that he was of Spanish decent was wrong. ‘I’m not bored, Dan, I’m fascinated.’ She reached out and laid her hand over his. ‘You must be very proud to be a Navajo, Dan.’

Dan turned to her slowly. ‘I am, Faith. More than I can ever say.’

Faith smiled. ‘Tell me more. You said the Navajo reservation now covers a huge area in four states.’

‘The Americans eventually let the remaining Navajo return to their tribal lands from Basque Redondo. It was on condition they accepted the authority of the United States and never waged war again. They never did. But their struggle for survival continued. They were given a few sheep and horses and gradually they recovered and their numbers steadily increased. Since then the reservation has been expanded fourteen times. It’s now the size of the entire state of West Virginia.’

‘Why did you choose to join the Army Air Corps, Dan?’

‘It just sort of happened. The US government has always tried to assimilate Indians into their white culture. They took children away from their families and sent them to boarding schools hoping to destroy our culture and our language. I’ll never forget the day I was taken away. It was during the Depression when the price of wool and livestock crashed and the numbers of our sheep and cattle kept increasing. The government was afraid we’d need more land to feed them, so to keep the numbers down they made us sell much of our livestock to them. As I was being driven away, the government men were shooting the sheep and cattle they’d bought right in front of our eyes. I cried for a hundred miles. I thought there must be a better way. I decided then and there to get an education and help my people. I did well at boarding school and was offered a place at a military school where I could get a degree. Then this war came along soon after I graduated. ’

A strong wind gust hit the jeep. For the fist time Dan shivered, feeling the chill of the westerly. Faith took off his leather jacket and gave it back to him. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘we’d better go home and have some hot cocoa or something.’

Dan started the engine and pulled away from the lookout. Comfortable with each other’s company without the need for words, neither Dan nor Faith spoke as they drove down the winding road off the mountain. As they approached the base, Faith suddenly turned to Dan. ‘You said the Navajo have their own language. Do you have an Indian name, Dan?’

‘Yes it’s Dan Toh-Ni-Lih. It’s Navajo for Dan Running Water.’

Faith smiled. ‘Dan Tony Lee, I think it’s a lovely name.’

Dan shrugged. ‘My mother and I use the name Rivers now. The old Navajo names have been disappearing over the years.’

‘Do you have any other family?’

‘No, my father died soon after I was born. I have no brothers or sisters.’

‘So, your mother’s all alone? Where does she live?’

‘In a small town called Gallup. I hope to start a construction business there after the war. I bought her a house there before I left for the Phillipines.’

For the next five days Dan and Faith spent every evening together. The Sharkeys made him very welcome at their home and Dan tried to return their hospitality by never arriving empty handed. He took hard-to-get items like beer and spirits, stockings, and sweets from the post exchange in the Brisbane American Centre, a facility for American service personnel and employees of the US government.

It was raining the morning Dan’s flight left Archerfield for Iron Range. He and Faith held each other tightly for as long as they could before take off. After the plane was airborne, Faith stood on the tarmac under a leaden sky and waved until the Dakota was swallowed up by the clouds. Then she turned and hurried off towards Rocklea, anxious to reach the factory before the start of her shift. As she picked her way through the puddles on the rough gravel road beside the airfield, her thoughts were of Dan and she paid no attention to a B-17, flanked by two P-40 fighters, as they came in to land.

*

As soon as the engines of the B-17 shut down, General Douglas MacArthur stepped out of the aircraft accompanied by his young wife and small son. They were followed by General Sutherland and what had become known as the ‘Bataan Gang’, the Supreme Commander’s close circle of senior officers who had come to Australia with him from the Philippines. The party climbed into waiting staff cars and the motorcade drove off to the city centre where most of the upper floors of Lennon’s, Brisbane’s finest hotel, had been set aside for them.

Later in the day, MacArthur was driven a short distance to a large building on Queen Street where his new General Headquarters had been set up. After familiarizing himself with the facility, where scores of military personnel were busy unpacking stacks of containers from the old headquarters in Melbourne, he summoned the Bataan Gang to his office.

‘Gentlemen,’ MacArthur said solemnly. ‘today we have begun our journey back to the Philippines. Within days we will start to take this war the rest of the way. Very soon we shall be close enough to look the Jap in the eye. While Allied land and air forces are driving him north-eastward from his positions in New Guinea, two divisions of the United States Marine Corps are to land at Guadalcanal and commence driving him out of the Solomon Islands. He will withdraw on both fronts to his supply base at Rabaul in New Britain. I can tell you now, there will be no rest until we have pushed the Jap all the way back to Tokyo.’

There was a polite round of applause then General Sutherland spoke: ‘Gentlemen, you will need some time to get settled into these new headquarters. Kindly do that as quickly as possible. The day after tomorrow at eight hundred hours, you are all required to be present in the operations room for a general briefing on the Allied offensive. General Blamey and senior members of the Australian Command who have also moved their headquarters to Brisbane, will also be in attendance. That will be all.’

Two lays later, at 8 a.m. on July 22, a grim-faced Douglas MacArthur walked into the operations room at headquarters. He was followed by his deputy, General Sir Thomas Blamey. The portly Australian general was also ashen-faced. MacArthur strode directly to a huge map of the world which almost filled one entire wall of the operations room. Blamey stood off to one side as MacArthur addressed the large contingent of senior Allied officers.

‘Gentlemen, we have just received a signal from Port Moresby. Overnight a large Japanese invasion force landed in Papua, two hundred miles south-east of their existing positions in the Trust Territory of New Guinea.’ There was a loud murmur of consternation as MacArthur turned to the map and pointed to the huge island of New Guinea above Australia’s northern coast. The General indicated a spot on the north coast of a peninsular which formed part of the Australian Territory of Papua. ‘They landed here at Buna and Gona. We don’t yet know their exact strength, but we do know it’s in the thousands. There’s only a handful of poorly trained and under-equipped Militia in the area who can’t put up any real resistance. Already the invasion force is pressing inland. General Blamey believes they will fight their way down from the north to south coast of the peninsular on the Kokoda Track over the Owen Stanley Mountain Range and attempt to capture the airfields at Kokoda and Port Moresby.’

MacArthur turned to Blamey who took his cue to address the officers.

‘The Kokoda Track’ Blamey said gravely, ‘has been in use for hundreds of years by native tribes. Its first travelers somehow beat a hundred mile long footpath from coast to coast through unbelievably difficult terrain. It is nothing more than a three foot wide trail in places and passes through almost impenetrable jungle. The village of Kokoda is at about the midway point where the track rises over a series of densely-treed ridges and deep gorges to a height of seven thousand feet to the summit of the Owen Stanley Mountain Range. The ground is so thick with roots and fallen vines, and rises so steeply, that steps have to be hacked in it in order to climb to the summit. Combine all these difficulties with heavy rainfall, almost unbearable humidity during the day, biting cold at night, and infestation by snakes and other dangerous creatures and you have a picture of the Kokoda Track at its most hospitable.’

Blamey paused for a moment and folded his arms across his chest. ‘We in the Australian Command,’ he continued, ‘have always believed that it would be sheer lunacy for the Japs to consider it as an access route to Port Moresby. Not only is the terrain impossible but there is also the problem of keeping combat troops supplied. The only possible way is by using hundreds of native carriers, who of course, in addition to carrying military supplies, need to carry their own requirements. That’s why we have always believed an enemy advance down the Kokoda Track would be a pointless exercise. However, in light of yesterday’s landing we can only conclude that perhaps we were wrong.’

Blamey stepped back and MacArthur spoke again.

‘Gentlemen, since the Australian withdrawal from Tulagi in the British Solomons and Rabaul in New Britain, the only offshore airfields capable of supporting squadron-strength Allied air power are located at Port Moresby and three small fighter strips presently under construction at Milne Bay, two hundred and fifty miles away on the extreme south-east tip of the peninsula.’ MacArthur’s eyes slowly roamed over the assembled officers. ‘Gentlemen, I can only say that if we allow the Japanese to take those strategic air bases, Australia is lost and perhaps even the war. We must do everything possible to halt the Japanese advance over the Kokoda Track and to accelerate the expansion of the Papuan airfields to facilitate more aircraft.’

*

When Dan arrived back at Iron Range, he found the first operational aircraft had arrived at the field during his absence. After enjoying the comforts of Brisbane for almost a week, Dan had been loath to return to the wilderness outpost. The worst part was being separated from Faith, just when he had got to know her so much better and wanted nothing more in the world than to be with her. After a few days he was elated when he was told to report to the CO for details of a transfer out. But his hopes of a quick return to Brisbane were soon dashed.

‘The Japs are getting closer, Captain,’ the CO said. ‘They bombed Townsville last night and all hell has broken loose over there in Papua. MacArthur’s screaming for more engineer officers to be sent to Milne Bay to supervise airfield work. We can only spare one man from Iron Range. Two RAAF fighter squadrons equipped with Kittyhawks landed there a few hours ago. They expect enemy action very soon, and because of that I’m sending you because you have combat experience. You’ll be flying a P-40 over to Milne Bay at first light tomorrow.’

Dan took off just after dawn. He held a single compass bearing for the three hundred mile flight over the Coral Sea. Just over an hour later he was over the wide expanse of Milne Bay in Papua. Minutes later he saw a cluster of villages nestled in the jungle on a narrow strip of swampy land between the base of heavily treed mountains and the sea. Near the villages he saw three airstrips, which the CO at Iron Range had told him, were being constructed by an American engineering battalion. When he made a slow low pass to identify himself, he saw just one of the muddy strips was operational and it was covered with sheets of perforated steel to assist take-offs and landings. Dan banked away, then came in again and set the Kitty hawk down.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The moment Weasel had been dreading finally arrived. During their weeks at Ingleburn, the Nackeroos had received training and instruction in every facet of the difficult and dangerous work that lay ahead of them in the Top End, except one. The word around the camp was that it was just a matter of days before the Nackeroos were to travel to the force’s permanent headquarters in Katherine in the Northern Territory. Weasel had all but pushed the horror of having to ride a horse out of his mind, when one day his entire section was ordered to report to the horse paddock.

There were more than thirty horses in the paddock and a humorless ex-Light Horse sergeant stood waiting to see how well they could ride. Weasel was one of the first to be given a saddle and bridle and told to catch a horse, saddle up and mount it. He noted warily how experienced horsemen went about it, then laid the bridle over his arm and went looking for a quiet horse. The first one just walked away when he approached. The second stayed put, but snorted and trotted off when Weasel, holding the bridle backwards and upside down, tried to ram the bit between its teeth.

Eventually the exasperated sergeant saddled up a mount, gave Weasel a leg-up, then stood back with a group of old hands to watch the fun. When the confused horse bolted, leaving Weasel sitting on his backside in the dust, no one laughed harder than Joe. But his laughter ended abruptly when the next name the sergeant called was his. After a dismal attempt at riding by Joe, he and Weasel spent the next four days in the horse paddock with an instructor who taught them the rudiments of horsemanship.

On the fifth morning the whole force was assembled and told that the first contingent of two hundred and fifty Nackeroos would depart for Katherine the next day. They were to travel first by train to Mount Isa in Queensland, via Brisbane and Townsville, then continue on by truck to the Northern Territory. Everyone was glad to hear that at last they were on their way to the Top End. But the best news of all was that they were to receive a full month’s pay in advance and also get three days leave in Brisbane before carrying on to Mount Isa.

Joe was elated. The leave in Brisbane would give him time to visit his aunt and uncle in New Farm and hopefully get some news of Faith.

*

The Nackeroos left Sydney aboard a troop train in the darkness of the early morning. While the eager young soldiers fought each other for window seats at the start of the long journey north, dawn was already breaking fifteen hundred miles to the north-east where a much more deadly battle had just begun in the British Solomon Islands. As the sun lumbered up over the horizon, a massive armada of transport vessels prepared to land almost twenty thousand soldiers of the 1st Division, United States Marine Corps on the island of Guadalcanal, code-named Cactus Island by the US command.

Escorting the transports were almost fifty Allied warships. The Task Force included the American aircraft carriers Enterprise, Saratoga, and Wasp, the battleship USS North Carolina and three Australian cruisers: HMAS Australia, Canberra and Hobart. Armed with vital intelligence, supplied by Australian coast watchers on the island, the big guns of the warships relentlessly pounded known Japanese positions to soften up resistance before the Marines swarmed ashore.

One target which received particular attention was an airstrip still under construction by Japanese engineers. The massive naval bombardment delivered from over two miles out to sea, not only sent the two thousand Japanese troops on the island fleeing into the jungle, but it also served notice on their far-off Emperor that the Allied fight-back in the Pacific had begun. The Marines met no resistance when they poured ashore and the huge task of unloading equipment and supplies from amphibious craft was carried out without coming under enemy fire. Soon the marines had established defensive positions.

The American assault on Guadalcanal brought a swift response from the Japanese command at Rabaul which sent a large bomber force to attack the Allied fleet. But Australian coast-watchers on the island of Bougainville in the northern Solomons spotted them and alerted the fleet which, forewarned, inflicted serious losses on the raiders. After the bombers, a fleet of Japanese cruisers left Rabaul for Guadalcanal. But when it arrived, most of the Allied fleet had already departed to the dismay of General Alexander Vandegrift, commander of the Marine invasion force. The day before, the naval commander, Admiral Fletcher, fearing an overwhelming Japanese air attack on his prized carriers, had withdrawn them, together with their huge fleet of protective warships. All that remained in the waters around Guadalcanal was a handful of Allied cruisers and destroyers, including the Australian squadron.

Shortly after midnight the Japanese fleet attacked the unsuspecting Allied ships off Savo island, just north of Guadalcanal. In less than half an hour HMAS Canberra went down with the loss of almost a hundred lives. Soon afterwards, the USS Quincey, Astoria and Vincennes followed the Canberra to the bottom of the sea. With four cruiser kills and empty torpedo tubes, the Japanese fleet vanished into the blackness of the night.

During their first days on Guadalcanal, the Marines dug in, preparing for a large-scale Japanese counter-attack by land forces which General Vandegrift was certain would follow. Marines quickly secured and fortified the partially built airfield, raised the American flag above it and named it Henderson Field, after a US Marine Corps pilot killed at the Battle of Midway. General Vandegrift gave high priority to the completion of the airfield and when the runway was deemed to be operational, just five days after the landing, he summoned his senior officers.

‘Henderson Field,’ he said solemnly, ‘will be invaluable to us. I believe the Marine Corps now has its own unsinkable aircraft carrier. We must hold it at all costs. Unlike Admiral Fletcher’s carriers, it will never desert us when we need it the most. I’ve been told that within days we can expect a Marine fighter squadron and a Marine bomber squadron from Vanuatu and also a P-40 squadron from MacArthur’s Army Air Corps in Australia. It’s not much, but it’s a start.’ Vandegrift’s craggy face broke into a rare grin. ‘The start of the Cactus Air Force.’

*

Faith saw the two diggers’ hats on the hall table the moment she arrived home at New Farm and her spirits soared. She rushed into the lounge room and when she saw Joe and another uniformed soldier sitting talking with the Sharkeys, she couldn’t contain her joy. Joe was on his feet in a second and holding her so tight she could hardly breathe.

After Joe and Weasel had satisfied their appetites on one of Aunt Helen’s formidable roast lamb dinners, Faith and her brother sat out on the veranda together. In the moonlight they spoke of what had transpired since their separation in the Top End. Soon they had filled in the unknown pages in each other’s lives and shared together the sorrow of Sunday’s fate and the anguish of not knowing exactly what had happened to Koko.

When they had caught up with the major events, Joe said, ‘Uncle Dick told me about those bastards at the labor exchange and the Manpower, Faith. That’s the trouble in times like this. All of a sudden every petty official thinks he’s God.’

‘Oh, it’s not all bad, Joe. If I hadn’t been sent to the factory at Rocklea, I might never have met Dan again.’

‘Aunt Helen told me you two seem quite serious. It’s all happened pretty fast, hasn’t it?’

Faith smiled. ‘I suppose so. But as you say, it’s the times. Nothing seems real with this war going on. There doesn’t seem to be the time to do things in the usual way. One minute someone’s here, the next they’re gone.’ Faith took Joe’s hand. ‘Where are they sending you, Joe?’

‘After Katherine it could be anywhere in the Top End.’

‘You’ll try and let me know where, won’t you?’

Joe laughed. ‘That’s against the rules. You know the Army censors everyone’s letters. But some of the AIF blokes I met at Ingleburn said that when they were overseas they found lots of ways to write between the lines. So just read my letters carefully.’

Faith shivered as she felt the evening chill. ‘Just one more thing,’ Joe said as they got up to go inside, ‘Uncle Dick mentioned something about a bloke at work that keeps pestering you.’

‘Oh, you know how it is.’ Faith sighed. ‘There’s always one in the crowd.’

‘All the same. I think I should go and have a word with the factory manager before I leave Brisbane. You shouldn’t have to stay there under those conditions. Besides, it’s not your kind of work anyway.’

Faith put her hand firmly against the door of the house as Joe was about to open it. ‘Please don’t go over to the factory, Joe. The Manpower won't let me leave there. And the job itself isn’t that bad. I’m afraid if you interfere, the manager or the supervisor will only give me a worse one. It’s not that serious. Believe me, I can handle old Lipp.’

‘But you should have a job in your own line, Faith. Uncle Dick says the Yanks are screaming out for stenos since they moved their headquarters up here from Melbourne.’

‘Yes, I know. But you know as well as I do that it’s against the law to leave the job you’re in for another one unless the Manpower sanction the move, or you have a signed work release form from your present employer. And I’ve never heard of anyone actually getting one.’

Joe opened the door to the house.

‘I’ve just thought of something,’ Faith said as they went inside. ‘What did you say the name of that boat was, the one that left you and Faraway out in the Gulf?’

‘She was the Groote Eyelandt Lady. Why?’

‘That’s funny. I’m sure that’s the name of the boat Dan said he saw at Horn Island during an air raid recently. He said he remembered it because it had the same name as a boat you and he saw in Beagle Gulf after the big raid in Darwin.’

*

Joe and Weasel shared a tent with four other privates in a camp the Army had set up for the Nackeroos in Yeerongpilly, a few miles south of the city centre. When they got back from New Farm, they found a crowd of soldiers gathered around it. Everyone was noisily complaining about the treatment a group of Nackeroos had received in Brisbane when they’d gone to town earlier in the day looking for some fun.

The Nackeroos had soon discovered that American soldiers in Brisbane vastly outnumbered diggers and that they had a monopoly on the local girls. And the reason was obvious—the GIs were paid several times more than diggers and their uniforms were much smarter than the old World War One hand-me-downs the Australian Army issued its fighting men. But the final insult had come when some Nackeroos had entered an American Army post exchange in the city looking for cigarettes and beer and had been forcefully thrown out. Several Nackeroos who had resisted the eviction had been bashed by baton wielding MPs so badly they needed stitches.

The more Weasel heard about the indignities suffered by his mates the more incensed he became. ‘It’s not fair,’ he shouted. ‘Australian canteens are open to the bloody Yanks.’ His thin face screwed up in anger. ‘The bastards. The dirty, rotten, Yankee bastards. I’ll….’

One of the Nackeroos laughed out loud. ‘And what will you do, Weasel. If you stood on your tiptoes you wouldn’t come up to the knee-caps of those Yank MPs. Besides, they’ve got batons and revolvers.’

‘But the bastards shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it,’ Weasel protested. ‘Not in Australia. We shouldn’t let ’em push us around in our own country.’

‘The Weasel’s right,’ another Nackeroo chimed in. ‘It’s bad enough the Yanks have got all the girls, all the fags, all the booze and all the money. But that doesn’t mean their MPs can treat Australian soldiers like dog shit’

‘What can we do about it?’ someone at the back of the crowd shouted. ‘The Brisbane coppers just stood by and watched the Yank MPs lay into us without lifting a bloody finger.’

Weasel jumped up on top of an empty oil drum and raised a small defiant fist. ‘I’ll tell you what we can do. We can all go into town tomorrow and give those Yank MPs a lesson they’ll never forget, teach them to give the Australian Army a little respect.’

The crowd of Nackeroos which had been steadily growing, roared its approval. Joe looked at the Weasel and grinned. Weasel now had two clenched fists raised high above his head. It was an aggressive side of his little friend Joe had never seen before.

*

The day after seeing Joe, Faith arrived at work in good spirits. Just knowing her brother was safe and well and knowing every day that passed was a day closer to seeing Dan again, made her whole world seem a lot brighter. The day just seemed to fly by. Even Trevor Lipp had been nowhere to be seen since soon after her shift started. But an hour before knocking-off time, Faith saw him emerge from the administration office and to her surprise he walked directly across the factory floor to her.

Lipp touched her lightly on the shoulder and smiled. ‘Will you come to my office please, Faith? I have a matter to discuss with you.’

Faith reluctantly rose from her stool. She could smell whisky on the supervisor’s breath. She glanced apprehensively at a workmate beside her and the girl grimaced. Faith followed Lipp down to his tiny office at the end of the factory floor and went inside. He closed the door behind her and gestured to a chair sandwiched in the corner of the little room between the wall and his small desk.

‘I have some good news for you, Faith,’ Lipp said, sitting down across the desk from her. ‘I have been in meetings with the manager most of the day. It seems there is no end to the demand the government is putting on us all here. We have been asked to increase production yet again. We’ll need to install more machinery and put on more people in the factory and in the office. Now, when Manpower sent you to us they mentioned you have considerable general office experience. I thought perhaps you might like to take one of the new jobs in our office. What would you say to that?’

‘Why, yes,’ Faith said happily, and she wondered if her day could possibly get any better.

Lipp opened a drawer and took out a half bottle of whisky and two small glasses. He poured himself two fingers and took a sip. ‘I have just spoken with the manager about you, Faith. He’s a very good friend of mine, you know. He trusts my judgment completely and has left it up to me to make the final decision.’ Lipp held the bottle over the second glass and smiled. ‘A little drink?’

Faith’s elation evaporated when she realized what was happening,. ‘Oh, nothing for me, Mr Lipp. I rarely drink. And certainly not here at the factory.’

‘Come on, just one.’

‘No, thank you, Mr Lipp.’ Faith got up from her chair.

Lipp’s smile faded. He got up quickly and moved around the desk. Now Faith was boxed in, with no way out of the office except past Lipp. He shrugged. ‘All right, suit yourself. But the job means better work, with shorter hours and more money, and I can make it happen.’ He reached out and gently rubbed the back of his fingers over her cheek. ‘And it’s all yours if you want it. All you have to do is show me that you’re grateful.’

Faith began to panic. She tried to force her way past Lipp to the door but he shoved her hard up against the office wall and pinned her there. She tried to call out, but before she could his right arm was around her neck crushing her face to his and he clamped his wet whisky mouth over hers. She lashed out but Lipp didn’t seem to feel her clenched fists pounding his back. Then his free hand pushed down the top of her dungarees, pulled open her blouse and he roughly groped at her breasts. When one of Faith’s flailing fists struck Lipp’s head it just seemed to excite him more. Without taking his mouth from hers he grabbed her wrist and forced her hand down and pressed it into his groin. Faith struggled even harder to free herself but she just wasn’t strong enough to stop what he was doing to her.

Suddenly there was a loud knock on the office door.

‘Mr Lipp.’ The voice belonged to Faith’s workmate from the inspection station beside her. Lipp froze and stood perfectly still. He let go of Faith’s wrist and put his hand over her mouth. There was another knock on the door.

‘Mr Lipp, Mr Lipp,’ the workmate persisted. ‘The girls think there’s some bad casings coming through. Can you come and look at them, please?’

Faith knew her workmate was aware Lipp had been drinking and must have anticipated what was going on in his office and she was grateful her friend was trying to help in the only way she could.

‘I’ll be there in a moment,’ Lipp called out. He loosened his grip on Faith just slightly when he spoke. She seized her chance. Her knee came up hard into his groin and with his mouth wide open and his eyes bulging, Lipp sank to the floor groaning in pain. In a flash Faith was out the door and running out of the factory. She kept running until she boarded a tram at a stop nearly half a mile away.

*

It was the start of the evening rush hour and the city centre was packed with civilians, Allied soldiers, trams and motor vehicles. Weasel, wearing his Nackeroo ex-Light Horse uniform, ambled down a lane beside the US Army post exchange on the corner of Creek and Queen Street. The narrow roadway was a cul-de-sac leading to the rear of the PX and was only used by delivery trucks and a few military police vehicles which parked behind the facility. After looking around the rear of the building, Weasel slowly walked back up the lane.

‘There’s six Military Police jeeps parked in the back,’ Weasel told half-a-dozen Nackeroos standing idly on the street corner. The six soldiers wandered off down the street and in minutes the word was passed on to over fifty of their comrades standing about in small groups, chatting or innocently looking in shop windows. Soon all the Nackeroos had gathered in the lane beside the PX. Someone produced a bottle of petrol and several rubber chunks cut off an tire. Weasel took them and scattered them on the ground between the parked Jeeps, then doused them in petrol and set them on fire. When dense black smoke began billowing up from the burning rubber Weasel dashed to the back door of the PX and pounded on it.

‘I’ve got two messages,’ Weasel screamed out at the top of his voice when a kitchen-hand opened the door. ‘All Yank MPs are bastards and all their jeeps are on fire.’

The kitchen-hand took one look at the thick clouds of black smoke and bolted back inside the PX. When a swarm of MPs raced out of the building a few moments later, they were hopelessly outnumbered by Nackeroos who charged around the corner from the lane and set upon them with flailing fists. With the dense smoke making it all but impossible to see their assailants clearly, most of the MPs didn’t attempt to draw their revolvers. The few that did found their holsters empty, their big service Colt .45s having been stolen by the Nackeroos for souvenirs or just thrown away to reduce the risk of serious injury.

As they battle raged on, more MPs and GIs poured out of the PX and scores of Australian and American servicemen crammed into the lane and started trading punches. Soon the fight had spilled out onto Queen Street and hundreds of servicemen came running from all directions to join the melee. Fifteen minutes later, traffic in the city centre had been brought to a standstill as over a thousand Allied soldiers fought a pitched battle. It was still raging over an hour later when Weasel and Joe and most of the original combatants had long since left the scene.

*

Joe and Weasel dropped in at the Sharkey home just after nine o’clock. They found the household in a somber mood. While Mike entertained Weasel in the lounge room, Helen and Dick took Joe through to the kitchen. Helen told Joe that Faith had arrived home later than usual because of traffic disruptions caused by a huge street fight involving Allied servicemen. When she’d arrived she was terribly upset about an incident at the factory at Rocklea. She’d rushed off to bed without even touching her dinner. When Helen told Joe about Lipp, he could hardly contain his anger and wanted to see Faith, but Helen said she had looked in on her just minutes earlier and she seemed to be sleeping.

‘We should lay a formal complaint with the authorities, Joe.’ Dick said bitterly. ‘Although with the factory manager being a friend of this bloke Lipp, it will be almost impossible to prove anything. But we’ve got to get Faith out of that place. I’m off work tomorrow, so I’ll go and see the Manpower first thing in the morning, if you like.’

Joe didn’t answer right away as he pondered the situation. Eventually he said: ‘There’s no time for that, Uncle Dick. The Nackeroos are leaving for the Top End tomorrow night. I think I’d better pay our Mr Lipp a visit in the morning, so be sure Faith stays at home tomorrow. I’ll come here right after I’ve seen him.’

*

Joe was standing at the factory gate an hour before the day shift began. When the night watchman went off duty Joe asked him if he knew Trevor Lipp. The watchman said he did, and that Mr Lipp and his wife lived within walking distance of the factory. Joe gave the watchman a ten-shilling note and asked him to hang about to point out Lipp when he arrived. It wasn’t a long wait. Lipp approached the factory gate on foot just a few minutes later. Joe was surprised. He was expecting some kind of a monster. What he saw was a very ordinary, harmless-looking, middle-aged man.

‘Mr Lipp?’

‘Yes.’

‘My name’s Joe Brodie. Faith Brodie’s brother.’

The ordinary middle-aged man looked suddenly afraid. He moved quickly to sidestep the tall, strapping uniformed soldier and get inside the gate. Joe stuck his foot out and Lipp fell heavily to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and tried to run but Joe grabbed him and holding him by the ear, led him like an errant schoolboy onto a vacant block of land beside the factory and around behind a pile of old building materials.

When Joe let go of his ear, Lipp was red-faced and defiant. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he protested. ‘I’ll see the Army disciplines you for this.’

‘And all the other blokes in my unit who can’t wait to get their hands on you after what you did to my sister, I suppose.’

Lipp nervously tried to straighten his collar and tie. ‘I didn’t do anything to your sister. She must have been lying. She...’

Joe’s fist came up hard under Lipp’s chin and he flew backwards onto a heap of old timbers. When he groggily got to his feet, Joe hit him again with a forceful blow to the mouth. Lipp went down again, then lay whimpering on the ground, too afraid to get up. Blood was trickling from the corner of his mouth.

‘If you call my sister a liar one more time, Lipp, I’ll make sure you’ll never be any use to any woman again. And when I’ve done that, I’ll go to your house and have a chat with your wife and see how she feels about what you get up to at work.’ Joe pulled Lipp to his feet and held him by his shirt collar. ‘I want you to sign a work release form for Faith Brodie. Then providing you stop pestering the girls at the factory, you won’t see me again. If you don’t, you’ll be seeing an awful lot of me and the brothers, husbands and fathers of those other girls in that factory. Now, what’s it to be?’

‘Only the manager can sign the Manpower releases,’ Lipp murmured quietly.

‘And he just happens to be a friend of yours, doesn’t he? And from what I hear he’s been turning a blind eye to you for a long time. Maybe I should go and see him, too.’

Lipp got on his feet. ‘I’ll go and see what I can do.’

Joe pushed Lipp back toward the factory gate. ‘ Good, I’ll come with you. Because I’m not leaving here without that release.’

*

Faith hugged Joe tightly and kissed his cheek. ‘Thanks so much, Joe. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’

‘What are big brother’s for?’ Joe grinned and stepped down from the Sharkeys’ veranda. ‘You just make sure the Yanks pay you what you’re worth.’

‘Come back as soon as you can, Joe,’ Dick called out.

‘I will.’ Joe blew his aunt Helen a kiss and closed the garden gate behind him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The word spread like wildfire around the internment camp at Hay. Rumors among the inmates of what was really happening within Australia and the fortunes of the combatants just beyond her shores were always rife and often optimistic. But none had ever been as optimistic as the persistent rumor that within days everyone, except the six prisoners of war thought to be Japanese pilots, were to be released and sent home. For the first time since his incarceration, Koko saw a glimmer of hope. If the rumor was true, and if the authorities didn’t treat him as a prisoner of war, he might soon be going home to the Top End.

But the joy of the Australian-born and the long-term Japanese residents in Australia was dashed when an official announcement advised that only a small, select group of internees were to be released and that they were to be sent to Japan. They included high-ranking businessmen, bankers and a few academics and minor government officials who had been working in or visiting Australia at the time of the attack on Pearl Harbor. One of the guards at the camp told Koko that the release was probably made on an exchange basis for a like number of Australian nationals detained in Japan.

Koko noticed that the internees returning to Japan expressed their appreciation to the Emperor’s young fighting men by giving the six young prisoners of war anything of value they possessed before leaving the camp. Yak Moto's group was given gold watches, expensive clothing and personal items including vouchers used for small internal purchases at the camp. The young flyers gladly accepted everything, but firmly declined offers by the returning internees to deliver personal messages to their families at home, saying they preferred their loved ones to believe they had died bravely by the code of the samurai rather than having suffered the shame and humiliation of being taken prisoner by the enemy. Although Koko was considered a POW by the camp authorities, he was glad he was offered no gifts by the departing Japanese and that no overtures of any kind were made to him.

A few days after the release of the privileged internees, a new rumor began to circulate around the camp. In the near future, so the scuttlebutt went, the prisoners of war at Hay were to be transferred to a high-security prison camp at a place called Cora about two hundred miles to the north-east.

*

The American engineer battalion to which Dan had been seconded, worked around the clock at Milne Bay protected by a large force of Australian Militia encamped around the perimeters of the three airstrips. The troops and the engineers’ heavy equipment had been transported to the remote jungle location by sea through the treacherous reef-strewn waters of the Louisa Archipelago. Having experienced little harassment by the enemy since their arrival, senior Allied officers were hopeful the critical defensive operation would be completed before the Japanese launched a large-scale attack.

No such absence of enemy hostilities was enjoyed by the raw young soldiers of the 39th Battalion of the Australian Militia to the north-west on the Kokoda Track. Outgunned and vastly outnumbered, the diggers were desperately trying to hold the line against elite, battle-hardened Japanese units, but were being driven back inch by inch towards Port Moresby. Dan heard reports of the grim struggle from Allied pilots who, after flying sorties against the enemy from Port Moresby, had landed at Milne Bay because the 7 Mile Dome in Port Moresby was under attack when they returned home. Almost everything Dan heard was bad.

‘The invasion force at Buna has been estimated at five or six thousand soldiers,’ one pilot said. ‘And besides pressing native carriers into service, the Japs brought about two thousand pack horses ashore to transport supplies down the Kokoda Track. They’ve already advanced to the foothills of the Owen Stanley Range. They’re led by an officer thought to be a Major-General Horii. It’s like something from the dark ages. Horii’s leading his forces down the Kokoda Track sitting astride a big white charger and, according to the Aussie coast watchers, his troops are killing all the European missionaries in their path. The only good news is the situation is so serious that the 7th Division of the AIF is being sent over here.’

A few days later another pilot said the Japanese had taken the village of Kokoda and its strategic airstrip, about half way between Gonad and Port Moresby. He said the Australian Militia had been forced back down the Kokoda Track to a place called Deniker, with Papuan natives carrying their wounded on stretchers. At Deniker, they had held on until they were reinforced by more Militia accompanied by native carriers who had struggled over the worst parts of the Kokoda Track with food and ammunition dropped by USAIR Dakotas, into clearings made in the jungle along the way. But, after fierce fighting, the pilot said the Australians had been forced back yet again to a village called Ostrava, near the summit of the Owen Stanley Range where they were dug-in awaiting the arrival of the AIF.

*

In mid-August a troopship arrived in Milne Bay with AIF reinforcements. Dan watched the veteran diggers come ashore. They were easily distinguishable from the Militia soldiers. The men of the 7th Division wore the same tunics and helmets they had worn overseas, camouflaged for the scorching sands of the middle-east, not the dank, humid jungles of New Guinea. Their uniforms and the webbing in their helmets were bleached white by long service under the Syrian sun.

A few days later, an RAAF Hudson, its fuselage riddled with bullet-holes, made an emergency landing at Milne Bay. The crew of the old transport told of their narrow escape when returning to the 7 Mile Dome at Port Moresby from a reconnaissance flight. They found the airfield under attack by Japanese bombers and Zeros. The raiders had the good fortune to catch two USAIR squadrons standing wing-tip to wing-tip on the ground. Several B.17's were destroyed along with many Dakota ‘biscuit bombers’ which were fully loaded with supplies bound for Australian troops on the Kokoda Track.

Just over a week later, Milne Bay was put to the test as the airstrips were nearing completion. One stormy morning, Dan was pulled from his bunk before dawn and told the Japanese had landed during the night on the north side of the bay. Every available aircraft was being scrambled in the pouring rain to attack the enemy before he established a beachhead.

The size of the invasion force became horrifyingly clear when Dan took off, flying with one of the RAAF Kitty hawk squadrons. As the pilots skimmed over the tree tops at the edge of the airstrip, they saw the bay was alive with Japanese transports and landing barges, disgorging troops and supplies onto the beach. At once the P-40s began raking the invaders with machine gun and canon fire, sinking many of the landing craft and inflicting horrendous casualties. The air attacks continued all day with the Kittyhawks never out of the sky for longer than it took to refuel and rearm. Some planes concentrated on destroying barges and the fuel and ammunition dumps the enemy had managed to established on the beach, while others screamed over the jungle at tree-top height, strafing Japanese soldiers closing in on the airstrips.

For the next two days the RAAF controlled the air above Milne Bay but the situation on the ground became serious. The rain just wouldn’t let up and the Allied forces, even though bolstered by AIF troops, fought desperately to hold the airfields. Not only were the enemy being reinforced by night, but light tanks were also being landed, a tactic thought to be impossible because of the soggy jungle terrain. Under heavy shelling and with no protective armour, one AIF battalion was forced to withdraw. But by the fourth day the rain had immobilized the tanks and the Australians repeatedly repulsed enemy attacks on their positions around the airstrips. They began beating the Japanese back into the sea and after three more days of heavy fighting the Emperor’s ground forces had suffered their first real defeat of the war.

Two days after the Battle for Milne Bay, Dan was told to report to the CO of the engineer battalion. The CO told him that because of the situation in New Guinea, he would not be returning to Iron Range but was to proceed to the 7 Mile Drome at Port Moresby which was under almost constant enemy attack. He also told Dan that the Japanese had mounted a huge offensive at Isurava on the Kokoda Track the same day as they launched their attack at Milne Bay. The hopelessly outnumbered Australian troops, including AIF reinforcements, were again retreating southward towards Port Moresby. The word from RAAF and US Army Air Force in Port Moresby was that they needed all the help they could get.

*

The troop train carrying the Nackeroos to Mount Isa, took five days. Mount Isa was the end of the railway line and it was also at the end of anything that vaguely resembled a road. But it was the jumping off point for the vast Northern Territory where tens of thousands of Allied troops were being transported to bolster Australia’s northern defenses. When the train arrived at the remote mining town, the Nackeroos were amazed to find it bursting at the seams with thousands of black GIs.

From the railway station the Nackeroos were taken to the Mount Isa racetrack to spend the night. They were driven there by soldiers of an American transport battalion which had all but taken over the town. After enduring the long train ride from Brisbane with the barest of facilities, everyone was looking forward to having their first showers and proper meal in almost a week. But when they arrived at the racetrack they found it was just a huge dust bowl used for the marshalling of convoys heading north. In the area set aside for the Nackeroos there were no showers, no latrines, not even any tents and the whole area was alive with flies and other insects.

Faced with the prospect of spending the night on ground sheets in the dust but having permission to go into town, almost all the Nackeroos went looking for the nearest hotel to drown their sorrows in cold beer. They were disappointed when they found the pubs were full to overflowing with rowdy American servicemen and it was impossible to get near enough to the bar to get served. Just outside the doors of each establishment, black American MPs stood with their fingers on their batons ready to administer swift justice to anyone who became troublesome.

Joe and a small group of Nackeroos had given up trying to get a drink and were drifting back to the racetrack when Weasel decided to make one more attempt at getting a beer. He stepped past two burly MPs standing outside a bar and tried several times to squeeze through the crowd. Each time he was elbowed back, sometimes none too gently, by soldiers who all stood head and shoulders above him. The Weasel’s plight came to the attention of the two MPs who stood watching him, grinning from ear to ear. After a few moments one of the MPs walked up behind him.

‘What in Sam Hill are you trying to do here, soldier?’ the MP growled.

Weasel spun around. The top of his head was only a few inches higher than the MP’s thick white belt. But Weasel’s face showed no fear. ‘If it’s all right with you, mate,’ he bellowed angrily. ‘I’d just like an Aussie soldier to be able to get some bloody service in his own country,’

Joe winced as he awaited the Weasel’s fate. But he was surprised when the MPs stern face suddenly broke into a wide grin and he turned to the crowd, shouting: ‘All right you dog-faces, let this fighting man through to the bar, otherwise I’m gonna have to let him take each of you apart.’

The sea of soldiers parted, immediately opening up a path leading to the bar. A minute later, face beaming, Weasel walked back carrying a full tray of beer. The Nackeroos eagerly reached for the brew. Weasel raised a foaming glass high in the air in salute to the MPs. ‘Like I’ve always said,’ he proclaimed loudly, ‘all Yank MPs are bloody gentlemen.’

*

Just after dawn the next morning, a convoy of thirty-six US Army trucks carrying the Nackeroos left Mount Isa for Larrimah. Each truck had two Negro drivers who were to alternate at the wheel as the convoy drove non-stop for the next twelve hours. During the twelve tortuous hours, the big dual-axle transports didn’t pull up for anything, neither for meals nor even to let the Nackeroos relieve themselves. With no road in existence westward from Mount Isa to the dirt road running southward from Darwin to Alice Springs hundreds of miles away, the convoy bounced along in blinding, choking dust over rough tracks only recently bulldozed through the bush by a US engineer battalion.

It took four days to reach Larrimah. The emptiness of the vast Northern Territory was familiar country to Joe. He was coming home. But for many of the Nackeroos the journey was a sobering experience. Most of them were seeing the harsh, desolate face of northern Australia for the first time, a strange land few of their forebears had ever ventured into during nearly two hundred years of white settlement. As the convoy passed through undulating hills, rolling grasslands, endless plains and parched scrub, without seeing a living soul except a few wandering Aborigines, Joe could see from the faces of the Nackeroos that the landscape was as alien to them as it was to their American drivers.

The Nackeroos travelled the remaining hundred miles from the railhead at Larrimah to their headquarters in Katherine by rail in open stock wagons. The camp was located on a pleasant site on the bank of the Katherine River and for the first time since leaving Brisbane, everyone got proper showers and regular meals. A few days after Joe’s contingent reached Katherine, the balance of the force arrived from Ingleburn and senior officers began organizing the men into various companies.

The force was broken down into four companies. Each company was made up of a hundred and thirty-five men. A, B and C Companies would be on active scouting duties in small groups of four to six men each. Some would be in fixed positions in coastal observation posts, others would patrol coastal areas on horseback and still others would be aboard small vessels plying the coast. All units would be linked, by an existing pedal radio system, to townships, outback stations, coast watchers and missions throughout the Top End.

The fourth Company, D Company, was to be a reserve company based at headquarters in Katherine and kept as reinforcements for the active companies in the event they suffered casualties in engagements with the Japanese landing forces. The CO told the Nackeroos that the company based at Katherine would operate on a rotation system with the other companies to ensure the more arduous field work was shared equitably.

Joe and Weasel were assigned to the same platoon in A Company. It was being posted to southern Arnhem Land which included much of the eastern and southern coasts of the Gulf of Carpentaria and also the Roper River, which, with its one hundred and sixty miles of navigable waters leading deep into the Northern Territory, was considered to be a prime route for a Japanese invasion force. The day the Company left by convoy for its regional headquarters in Roper Bar, the men were issued with standard equipment. Most of the items were regular soldier’s gear relating to weaponry but there were some interesting additions, including telescopes, semaphore flags, protective mosquito hats, veils and gloves, axes, even fishing rods and shotguns to assist them in living off the land.

Almost three hundred horses had been sent on ahead to Roper Bar ready for use in mounted patrols. Officers had estimated that each patrol of four to six men would require two dozen horses to carry the patrol’s supplies of food and ammunition, and also their radio equipment, batteries, and generators. Several platoons were assigned Aboriginal trackers, recruited in Arnhem Land. After the weeks and months of training and preparation, Joe was glad when Company A finally left for Roper Bar.

*

Of the thousands of Australian civilians employed by the United States Government throughout Queensland only a very few worked in clerical positions at General MacArthur’s headquarters in Brisbane. But to Faith, the large office block on the corner of Edward Street and Queen Street seemed the logical place to apply for a position. After stating her business to a receptionist she was directed to a personnel office on the ground floor.

‘People seeking employment with the United States Government are generally required to be sent to us by the Manpower, Miss Brodie,’ a staff-sergeant in personnel said. ‘They supply our various departments around the state with clerical and support staff and select the managers, cooks, waitresses and cleaners we require for our post exchanges and just about everyone else who is needed for anything. I’m sorry, but that’s the procedure we are required to follow, unless of course you hold a work release from a previous Manpower-approved employer.’

Faith took her release form from her bag and the sergeant ran his eyes over it then invited her to sit down. She then handed him some documents and references relating to her employment with the Government of the Northern Territory at the Darwin court house and waited while the sergeant read each one carefully.

‘You seem to have the all qualifications required by several departments here at HQ, Miss Brodie,’ the sergeant said at last. ‘Would you wait here, please?’ He left the room with Faith’s documents in his hand. After a short time he returned. ‘We would be pleased to have you join our staff here, Miss Brodie.’ The sergeant sat back down at his desk. ‘Just let me explain our standard terms of employment and if you are in agreement we would like you to start as soon as possible. Now, we offer all employees a one year contract at rates of pay generally higher than current Australian salaries. All employees receive free medical attention, two to three weeks annual leave and access to most American recreational and social facilities. You will however, be required to work a forty-four hour week, forego many public holidays you presently enjoy and there is no overtime pay.’ The sergeant smiled apologetically. ‘And I’m afraid there’s plenty of overtime around here.’

‘When would you like me to start? ‘Faith asked without hesitation.

‘Tomorrow morning, at eight-thirty?’

‘Thank you, Sergeant, I’ll be here.’

‘Very well, Miss Brodie. When you arrive please report to Major Lyle Hunter on the third floor.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Faith reported for work with the Americans half an hour early. When she identified herself at reception, a soldier escorted her to the third floor and handed her over to a staff sergeant with a name badge that read WELENSKI. Welenski asked her to take a chair and wait. After a few minutes a slim, fair-haired man in an immaculate uniform emerged from a private office and walked over to her. Faith took him to be about thirty years old.

'Good morning, Miss Brodie,' the officer said.' I'm Major Lyle Hunter. We're very pleased to have you aboard.'

The major led the way back to his office and waved Faith into a chair. She looked around her as she sat down. Everything in the office was as neat as a pin.

'Did the sergeant in personnel tell you anything about what we do in this department?' Major Hunter asked as he sat down at his desk.

'No, Major.' Faith replied, 'he didn't'.

'Well.' Hunter smiled, placing his hands together and making a steeple with his fingers, 'my job here at HQ is Army Liaison Officer. What that means is that when the US Army wants to discuss anything officially with the US Navy, Army Air Force, the Marine Corp or vice-versa, communications travel via me and this office.' Major Hunter smiled again, almost apologetically. 'I'm afraid that in the United States armed forces there is a tradition of rivalry and obstructionism that at times requires a high level of diplomacy to overcome. Our job here is to make inter-service relations as trouble-free as possible. That means a lot of clear, concise communications entailing a never-ending stream of paperwork. And that's where you come in.'

Faith smiled, 'I'll be pleased to help in any way I can, Major.'

'The workload can get pretty heavy at times,' the major cautioned. 'And we're always short-staffed. There are five of us here at the moment, doing the work of ten. But this is the Army. The brass would sooner spend whatever resources they have on guns and munitions than adequate office staff.'

Faith looked across the neat, orderly desk at the immaculately presented young major. He looked more like an efficient well-groomed businessman. Only the uniform identified him as a soldier.

'I've only been in the Army a short time,' he said, as if reading her thoughts. 'A few months ago I worked with a public relations and advertising firm in New York City. Perhaps if this war ends soon we can all get back to our regular line of work. I expect you'll be glad to get back to the Northern Territory.'

Faith looked surprised.

'The staff sergeant showed me your references yesterday,' Hunter said, reading her thoughts again. 'I've never been to Darwin. Is it very big?'

Faith smiled. 'Not as big as New York, Major. But it is home. It was named after Charles Darwin, the famous naturalist.'

'I call Albany home,' Hunter said. 'It's where I was born. It's about a hundred and fifty miles north of New York City on the Hudson River. And like New York it was named after the Duke of York and Albany, brother of King Charles the Second. My family have lived there for almost three hundred years. We...'

The major was interrupted by Welenski tapping on the open door of the office. 'Major, there's a Colonel Eastwood from the Marine Corp. I think he's trying to drum up more aircraft for Henderson Field on Guadalcanal. He's a bit hot under the collar, sir. He says you were to arrange a meeting for him with the brass upstairs.'

'Okay, Welenski, show him in.' Hunter got up from his chair. 'And then would you show Miss Brodie around the office and get her settled in.'

*

The Sharkeys were already eating their evening meal when Faith arrived home. Even before she joined them at the table she knew something was wrong.

Mike got his call-up papers in the mail today,' Helen said as she served Faith dinner. 'He has to report to the army in three weeks.' She cast an exasperated eye at her son. 'He's talking of volunteering for the AIF again, Dick says if he lies about his age he'll tell the Army.'

'What we've been trying to tell him,' Dick said, 'is that the AIF are fighting right alongside the Militia now in New Guinea, so what's the difference?'

'There's a big difference,' Mike said quickly. 'It's only the AIF that's allowed to fight overseas. That means after the Japs are kicked out of New Guinea, the biggest part of the Australian Army will be sitting at home on their backsides leaving the Yanks to do most of the fighting. Talk to any Yank on the streets these days, he'll ask you why he's been conscripted and sent halfway around the world to protect a country that refuses to send its own conscripts overseas. Hell, dad, we've got to do our bit in this war, you know.'

'What do you mean, we've got to do our bit?' Helen cried out. She was hardly able to contain her anger. 'We have a small population but per capita we have more men and women in uniform and more people working in war-effort jobs than any other country in the world. Who do you think is feeding the American troops? Our farmers and Women's Land Army, that's who. And who do you think is making their replacement uniforms right down to their socks and boots? We Australians are. And besides that, we're feeding and clothing our own servicemen here and overseas, and anything that's left over we're sending to the British. So don't sit here in this house and say the Australians are not doing their bit.' As soon as she had finished speaking, Helen burst into tears, got up from the table and rushed from the room.

Faith had never seen Helen so upset. She moved to get up to go after her but changed her mind, thinking her aunt might prefer to be left alone. A moment later she was glad she had stayed at the table when Mike got up and went through to the kitchen to console his mother.

'How was your day, Faith?' Dick asked quietly, trying to smooth the waters. 'I hope it's been better than your aunt's and mine.'

'Oh, it was good. But I never realized before there could be so many administrative people in the armed forces. It doesn't seem fair on the ones on active service.'

Dick swallowed the last of his dinner and aligned his knife and fork on the empty plate. 'No word from Dan, I suppose?'

'No. You know how it is Uncle Dick. I'll see him when he walks through the front door I suppose. But I'm one of the lucky ones. At least I know where Dan is and what he's doing up there at Iron Range.' Dick poured himself tea and stirred it. 'Faith, is it true what Mike said? Are the Americans really saying that, about them having to do most of the fighting?'

'I've never heard them say it seriously, but I suppose they joke about it. Just like when our soldiers say they only came to Australia because it's as far away as they could run from Pearl Harbor.'

Dick smiled briefly, then frowned. 'You know how your aunt and I have always felt about wars, don't you, Faith. The politicians start them, then let old generals use our young men as cannon fodder. We've always been against conscription. The young hotheads who want to go off and fight overseas can always volunteer for the AIF. After bringing Mike up, watching him grow from baby into a young man, we couldn't bear to see him throw his life away.'

'Dick,' Helen said softly from the doorway behind them, 'Mike has something to tell you.' Dick and Faith turned as Helen walked back into the room. She was smiling and leading Mike by the hand.

'I will report for service with the Militia, Dad,' Mike said. 'I promise I won't try to enlist in the AIF. For what it's worth, if my unit is sent to New Guinea and I'm in the thick of the fighting, it will be the Army's decision, not mine.'

*

Even though the onset of the wet was still a month away, the convoy transporting A Company found it heavy going once it had turned east from the Katherine-Alice Springs dirt road onto the Roper Bar track. A combination of early rains and the widening of the narrow track by laborers from Aboriginal camps in the area had turned stretches of it into a quagmire. Fearing more rain, the convoy drivers headed back to Katherine just as soon as the Nackeroos and their equipment had been unloaded at Roper bar. The company's headquarters was a fenced-off enclosure beside the river with a few hastily constructed semi-permanent buildings and several rows of tents and a large horse paddock.

The next morning, after parade, officers and NCO's set about breaking down A Company into various sections that would form mobile patrols and man fixed observation posts. Joe was surprised when the lieutenant commanding his platoon told him to report to the company CO. When he arrived at the administration hut a corporal took him directly into the CO's office. A captain in his early forties was seated behind the desk looking over some papers. A lean and very intense looking sergeant about the same age as the captain stood off to one side.

'Private Brodie, sir,' the corporal announced, then withdrew to an outer office.

The captain looked up at Joe standing stiffly on the other side of the desk. 'At ease, Brodie. Out here we're not as formal as Ingleburn or Katherine.' He tapped the papers on the top of his desk. 'Now, I've been reading about your background. It says here you were a long-time resident of the Top End before joining up and that during your training at Ingleburn you took the special radio course with Marconi in Sydney. And before that you were the skipper of a coastal trading vessel that was strafed by a Japanese dive-bomber in the Gulf of Carpentaria, then left to sink by a private vessel. Is all that really true?'

'Yes, it is, sir.'

'Just how well do you know the Northern Territory coastline and its navigable rivers?'

'Like the back of my hand, sir.'

'And on this vessel of yours, how many crew did you have?'

'Four, sir. Myself, an offsider and two Aboriginal deckhands.'

'Then as skipper of a seagoing vessel you would be used to responsibility and know the importance of leadership to those whose lives depend on you.'

'Well, yes I suppose so, sir,' Joe said.

The captain gestured toward the sergeant. 'This is Sergeant Xavier Herbert. Like you he is one of those rarities in the Northern Australian Observer Force, a man who is actually an old hand in the Top End. He's also a well-known writer. Perhaps you have heard of him?'

Joe looked hard at the sergeant. After a few moments he said,' I can't say that I have, sir. The only Herbert I've heard of was a superintendant of Aboriginals at Darwin when I was a boy. But I never met him.'

'That was me, Brodie, Sergeant Herbert said. 'I also worked as the government pharmacist in the Darwin Hospital for some time.'

The captain shrugged. 'Well, anyway, it was Sergeant Herbert who brought you to my attention. Under the normal scheme of things you would be sent to a fixed observation post or join a mobile patrol under the command of a seasoned soldier. But in view of the special nature of the force and your experience in the north, Sergeant Herbert feels that you should lead one of the sections we are forming here today, and I concur. So, as of this moment you have the rank of corporal and will assume command of a section.'

Joe was stunned.

'Ideally,' the captain continued,' you should have been given one of the force's small coastal sailing vessels. But Captain David Herbert, who incidentally is Sergeant Herbert's brother and also the officer responsible for our boats, says there isn't one available at present. So your section is to set up an observation post near the mouth of Rosie Creek on the south-west coast of the Gulf of Carpentaria, about a hundred and thirty miles from here. We have code-named it Eagle's Nest.'

'How will we get there, sir?' Joe asked.

'On horseback. As you would be aware, Brodie, there are no known bush tracks so you might have a difficult journey to the coast, but we have assigned an Aboriginal guide to your section. He's old but he'll get you safely to Rosie Creek. When you get there, use your use your own judgment when setting up the exact location of your post, then report any activity in the area immediately, however insignificant it may seem to be. In a couple of weeks a section from C Company, posted at Borroloola on the MacArthur River to the south-east of you, will pick up your surplus packhorses for use on patrols in their area. The rivers and creeks along the coast may well be used by the Japanese to press inland after a landing, so remember, any innocent looking vessel you see might be charting the coast, locating our observation posts and reporting to the enemy. Now, is everything quite clear?'

'Quite clear, sir...' Joe hesitated for a moment the added.' The private vessel that abandoned me in the Gulf, sir. It was a small sloop named the Groote Island Lady. I believe the two men aboard may well be working for the Japanese. She looks like any dilapidated old croc-boat but I saw her leaving Darwin the day after the first Jap raid, then again in the Gulf just after I was strafed, and an American flyer told my sister he saw the same boat at Horn Island during a Japanese air raid.'

'I'll pass that on to HQ at Katherine, Corporal,' the captain said as he jotted down the information. When he'd finished he looked up briefly and said, 'That will be all, Corporal Brodie. I'll leave you in the capable hands of Sergeant Herbert. He'll organize the make-up of your section and authorize the acquisition of horses, radio equipment and everything else you require. Good luck.'

Sergeant Herbert and Joe left the CO's office and headed for the stores building located on the far side of the camp beside the horse paddock. It was a fair distance and Herbert walked briskly. He spoke non-stop every inch of the way, barely pausing to draw breath.

'First, we'd better get your section's equipment and horses together before the others get the best of everything,' Sergeant Herbert said. 'Then we'll organize the men.' He turned briefly to Joe, 'I must say, Brodie, I was glad to see I wasn't the only member of the force that had ever set foot in the Northern Territory. Couldn't have a Territorian being led around the Top End by a bloody dentist from Adelaide or some red-necked dairy farmer from New England who couldn't find their way through a surgery waiting room or a cow paddock. That's why I spoke up for you. It needs a special breed of man to lead up here. Men who know and love this land. Men like you and me. I've only been in the Army a few weeks. Never been in the service before, but I made it quite clear from the start that I'm more qualified for this particular work than any soldier in the Army. So of course they made me a sergeant right away.'

Joe couldn't suppress a guarded smile at the sergeant's immodest logic. Every word that he spoke was delivered with a manic intensity, as if the world might come to an end at any moment. As his fervor grew, his stride quickened accordingly, so much so that Joe was forced to break into a trot to keep up with him and hear everything he said.

'I've lived in Western Australian and the Northern Territory most of my life, you know,' Herbert continued. 'I've been a laborer, prospector, pharmacist, sailor, trade union official, superintendent of Aborigines, even a journalist, in London of all places. I came home soon, though. Can't stand the Poms. Can you Brodie?'

'Oh, I don't know.' Joe smiled to himself again. 'Most Australians are from British stock...'

'That's why I can't stand Australians much either. It's the country I love, not the people that are exploiting it. Personally, I much prefer the blackfella. Unfortunately he's not able to defend his own land. So we must save him and Australia from the bloody Japs as well as everybody else. It's our duty. Can you ride a horse, Corporal?'

'Never been on one until Ingleburn.'

Sergeant Herbert smiled fleetingly. 'Doesn't really matter. Any fool can learn to ride an animal. Fall off enough times and hurt yourself and you learn pretty quick how to stay on. Different with a man's mind, though. His thinking can be all wrong, but he never feels pain and anguish, he'll never change his outlook and never be in tune with the land or it's native people. Only those who have lived here for a long time can even hope to understand that, and most of them never do. But as far as knowing horses, I've assigned Smokey Peters to your section. He's the best farrier in the Nackeroos. He came from a cattle station in the Kimberley. Anything he doesn't know about horses isn't worth knowing.'

'How many men will be in the section?' Sergeant?'

'Five. You, Smokey, Snow the old Aboriginal guide, and two other men. Learn as much as you can from old Snow during the time he's with you. You'd know better than most that you'll never starve if you've got a blackfella along. He can show your men a lot about how to survive in the bush and show them how to build bark huts too. The plan is for Eagle's Nest to be provisioned by sea from time to time. But we don't have enough boats and they're all very small. If your supply boat breaks down or runs into bad weather you could run short of food and essentials. Now, as for the other two men, is there anyone in particular that you want in your section?'

'Just Private Wilkins, a bloke I met at Ingleburn. I think he'll be reliable.'

'All right, I'll see to that. And I'll try and round up another bloke that will be able to keep his end up.'

They arrived at a metal machinery shed which served as the company's stores and Joe followed Herbert inside. The sergeant took a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and gave it to a soldier behind the counter. 'This is a list of requirements for the post at Eagle's Nest.' Herbert eyed the soldier sternly. 'Set everything aside and mark it clearly. Corporal Brodie and his men will be here first thing tomorrow morning to pick it up. And make sure everything is in good working order. There'll be hell to pay if it isn't up to scratch.'

From stores they walked briskly to a large shed at the edge of the horse paddock. Inside a couple of farriers were shoeing horses beside a blacksmith's hearth. Two more men were cleaning and polishing riding gear with saddle-soap and vinegar. Herbert walked up to one of the men shoeing horses and said, ' Smokey, this is Corporal Brodie.'

Smokey Peters was a short, wiry man with close-cropped black hair soaked with sweat. he put down a blacksmith's hammer and a pair of iron tongs, wiped a hand on his apron and reached for Joe's.

'How did you go with the horses, Smokey?' Herbert asked.

Smokey pushed open a door that led out into the paddock and Herbert and Joe followed him outside.

'There they are.' Smokey pointed to a row of horses tied to a rail under a tree. 'I picked out sixteen of the best I could find. Some of them are passable but some are nothing more than old brumbies, hardly worth shoeing.'

'How's that then?' Joe asked

Smokey shook his head. 'The Army needed hundreds of horses in a hurry and money was no object. They bought them from stations all over the Top End. Trouble is, a lot of people saw it as a chance to get rid of a lot of lazy, obstinate no-hopers. A station owner would say he could spare maybe a dozen horses but we couldn't pick which ones. So he'd put a dozen together and say we could either take the whole bunch or none of them.'

'That's what I meant before about people, Brodie,' Sergeant Herbert said grimly. They're all bastards. The Japs are knocking on the door and all they can think about is making a quick quid.' He strode angrily towards the horses. 'When will this lot be ready, Smokey?'

'By sundown at the latest.'

'Good, the captain wants the Eagles Nest section to leave first thing tomorrow morning.' Herbert turned to Joe. 'Right, now let's go and round up the rest of your bunch.'

*

Two hours after dawn the next morning, Eagle's Nest section, with five riders and eleven packhorses, prepared to leave Roper Bar under a threatening, overcast sky. Joe had checked and rechecked the section's provisions, weapons and ammunition, and the cumbersome radio and ancillary gear. Now everything was packed and slung over the packhorse's backs in saddlebags and rope webbing cradles that Smokey Peters had made especially for the purpose.

Smokey and Snow, the old Aboriginal tracker, plainly named for his thick mop of grey hair, and a strapping eighteen-year-old ex-jackeroo named Tasker, all sat in the saddle. Joe and the Weasel tried to look comfortable. But the look of terror on Weasel's face when his horse snorted and jerked its head gave him away.

A few moments before they rode out, Sergeant Herbert appeared and wished them all well. As he turned to leave, Joe said,' Sergeant, last night I was thinking over what you said about Aborigines not being able to fight for their own land. I know a lot of them that would give their eye-teeth to help us if we let them. I was told after I lost my boat that one of my Aboriginal crewmen finished up in a control camp at Phelp River, just north of here. If the Nackeroos are ever looking for more guides or trackers he'd be a bloody good bloke to take on. His name is Monday; he's from Croker Island.'

'Okay, Corporal,' Herbert said, 'I'll make enquiries about him, next time I'm up that way.'

'Thanks, Sarge, and there one more thing. My offsider on the boat, was a Japanese/Australian. He was wounded by an Army patrol from Phelp River. Silly bastards thought he was a Jap soldier or a spy. If you're at the camp perhaps you could find out what happened to him.'

'He'll be in an internment camp by now, I suppose. Civil liberties are one of the first casualties of war.' Herbert turned to leave. 'Well you'd better be shoving off. Take good care of yourself and your section.' He looked up into the patchy grey sky. 'And you'd better hope the wet doesn't come early.'

*

It took nine days for Joe's section to reach the mouth of Rosie Creek. In places, the country they had to cross was so rough the riders had to dismount and lead their horses for miles on end over high, sharp, rocky ridges and along deep, dried-out creek beds. Some of the older packhorses tired quickly and became plain obstinate; others resented their heavy loads and desperately tried to shake them off by rubbing against trees. Two troublesome horses carrying guns and ammunition bolted and it took best part of a day to track them down. Without Smokey Peter's patience with the animals and Snow's dogged perseverance in finding paths through the difficult terrain and water for the horses, Joe doubted they would have made it at all.

As soon as they arrived, Joe knew that whoever had named the location Eagle's Nest had never seen the low mangrove swamps and the endless mosquito-infested mudflats at the mouth of Rosie Creek. But there was one small, well-treed knoll about twenty feet above the high-water mark, a mile or so north of the entrance. It was there the Nackeroos set about establishing the observation post. About a quarter of a mile away, Snow found plenty of fresh water in the mud pan's shallow holes.

Within hours Joe had established radio communications with headquarters and the Top End pedal-radio network and the men had set up a lean-to which would serve as a kitchen. Over the next few days they built three bark huts, one as a communication shed housing the radio gear, one as a dormitory, and the third to house their supplies. The huts kept out the weather but not the insects and everyone set up personal mosquito nets; it was impossible to sleep without them. Only old Snow wasn't troubled by mosquitoes and he always slept outside under the stars.

Weasel and Private Tasker got the fright of their lives one day when they risked swimming in Rosie Creek despite several sightings of saltwater crocodiles in the area. It was late afternoon and the water felt cool and soothing after a long, hot day. They were still in the water at dusk when they were startled by a group of soldiers which emerged from the bush beside the river with rifles at the ready. The light was too poor to see if they were friend or foe. Terrified the soldiers might be Japanese, Weasel and Tasker submerged quickly and made for their guns they'd left lying on the far riverbank. When their lungs were bursting they surfaced, to find the soldiers on the other bank laughing their heads off. Someone shouted across the water that they were Nackeroos from Borroloola, come to pick up the surplus packhorses.

The visitors stayed two nights and their company temporarily alleviated the boredom that was already setting in at Rosie Creek. A few days after they left, there was a little more excitement when a reconnaissance aircraft flew low over the post several times. The plane made a final pass and everyone was about to run out from the cover of the trees and wave when at the last moment they were horrified to see Japanese marking on the wings. After that the Nackeroos made more of an effort to camouflage Eagle's Nest.

But they saw no more planes in the days that followed and the only thing that brought relief from the daily boredom was trying to tune their radio to Radio Australia, the BBC overseas service, even the propaganda of Tokyo Rose, beamed directly from Japan. Sometimes the reception was particularly clear at night and they often picked up interesting news on the BBC about what was happening in Europe and the Middle East.

Any illusions they had about Eagle's Nest going undetected by the Japanese reconnaissance plane vanished one night when they were listening to Tokyo Rose in the radio hut. In the middle of her usual diatribe about the uselessness of Allied soldiers trying to defend Australia against the Emperor's superiors forces, she suddenly extended a very special welcome to the soldiers manning the Australian Army observation post at the mouth of Rosie Creek in the Northern Territory.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Dan was surprised to find some old acquaintances at Port Moresby. Several of the men in the squadron he was assigned to had served in the US Far East Air Force before it had been destroyed on the ground in the Philippines. Like himself, they were the scattered remnants of squadrons decimated in the early stages of the Pacific War, men who had been posted as individuals rather than a part of a unit to wherever pilots were needed the most. Dan was grateful for the company of the veteran flyers, and the camaraderie he shared with them eased the disappointment he felt at not returning to Queensland from Milne Bay.

Many of the Clark Field veterans had started flying B-17s on bombing raids over Rabaul as soon as they had arrived. Others had flown attacks on Japanese bombers raiding Port Moresby. Now, like all the Allied squadrons in Papua, their main tasks were attacking shipping in the Solomon Sea bringing reinforcements and supplies to the Japanese troops on the Kokoda Track and keeping up the ‘biscuit bomber’ drops to Australian soldiers who were trying to hold them back. The main role of the fighter squadron Dan was attached to was intercepting enemy raiders over the Seven Mile Drome. Heavy losses were commonplace at Port Moresby and everyone lived one day at a time. By late September the situation on the ground and in the air just seemed to be getting even worse.

The Australians were taking a beating on the Kokoda Track. After a long and grueling march over the worst part of the track the first AIF reinforcements to reach Isurava found the Japanese had launched a major offensive on the Australian Militia forces that very day. Hopelessly outnumbered, the AIF and the Militia fought side by side against vastly superior firepower and at least deprived the enemy of a quick victory. In the face of overwhelming odds, the diggers took, and inflicted, heavy casualties for four long bloody days before being forced to withdraw.

After the loss of Isurava, the Australians were forced to retreat, dig-in, then retreat and dig-in, again and again as, village by village, the Japanese troops pushed them back down the Kokoda Track. Eventually, with native carriers struggling to transport their mounting numbers of sick and wounded, they were forced back to Imita Ridge, just twenty miles from the outskirts of Port Moresby itself.

Dan saw at first hand the hideous aftermath of the withdrawal from Kokoda. The gaunt, vacant faces of young Australians, their broken bodies lying on blood-soaked stretchers, the dispirited and ragged walking wounded, and the pitifully sick, lurching and staggering from chronic malaria. Few had any relief from their pain and suffering because vital air drops of morphine and other medical supplies often fell into the hands of the Japanese, as the enemy overran positions which had been held by Australians only hours, or even minutes before the biscuit bomber drops.

With Japanese soldiers and General Horii astride his big white horse now knocking on the door, the word in the bunkers of the Allied commanders in Port Moresby was that the fortress and its hard-pressed defenders would now pay the ultimate price for MacArthur and Blamey having sent too few AIF reinforcements, too late. They felt that the generals, sitting safely a thousand miles away in Brisbane, had never understood the complexity of the jungle warfare being waged in New Guinea or the terrible conditions and supply problems that existed on the Kokoda Track. Whether their assessment was correct or not didn’t change the feeling of impending doom in Port Moresby. It was plain to everyone, including Dan, that Port Moresby would fall, unless something dramatic happened, and very soon.

*

When news of the Australian withdrawal to the last ditch position at Imita Ridge reached Brisbane, something dramatic did happen. General MacArthur immediately laid the blame on the Australian field commanders in New Guinea. He said that the Japanese soldiers had to fight in exactly the same conditions on the Kokoda Track as the Australians, and in spite of having to maintain a much longer supply line, they had still driven the diggers further and further back. MacArthur said the problem was clearly one of command and demanded that John Curtin send General Blamey to Port Moresby to take direct control of the situation.

Under intense pressure from MacArthur and smarting from a lack of confidence from the jittery Australian War Cabinet, Blamey went to Port Moresby and relieved General Rowell, the New Guinea Force Commander. Then he began a purge of Australian field commanders and publicly derided the officers and men of the AIF 21st Brigade. He called a parade of the entire formation near Imita Ridge and told them that ‘only running rabbits get shot’, 'a soldier should not be afraid to die’ and that he expected them to redeem themselves after their defeat in the Owen Stanleys.

But to the diggers at Imita Ridge, and to the Allied flyers who supported them with daily air strikes on the Japanese supply line, Blamey’s diatribe meant nothing. The careers of far-off commanding generals and their political masters in Canberra and Washington might well depend on whether Port Moresby fell or not, but everyone in Port Moresby knew it would be the men who did the fighting, the diggers behind the guns on Imita Ridge, who would decide the final outcome. Neither late changes in command nor political expediency were going to alter the culmination of the long-running and heartbreaking struggle to save Port Moresby. The die for the final battle at Imita Ridge had been cast weeks earlier, high in the Owen Stanley Ranges when the Australian Militia and the AIF had first fought side by side.

With no tactical option open other than the counter-offensive planned by General Rowell and his field commander at Imita Ridge, General Blamey was obliged to follow the original plan. The diggers and their officers had said long before Blamey arrived that they would hold Imita Ridge or they would die, because it was the last place from where they could mount a counter-offensive and drive the Japanese back down the Kokoda Track. Rowell’s strategy was based on suspicions that the enemy was hurting badly, as the Australians themselves had been when they held forward positions on the Kokoda Track. And with the enemy’s supply line from the north being so long and under constant aerial bombardment, he was certain food and ammunition for General Horii’s troops had to be running very low.

The Japanese were consolidating just three miles from Imita Ridge on another hill called Iorabaiwa Ridge. It was from there they would launch their final assault. The Australians knew the enemy’s only hope of sustenance was either from the spoils of war at Port Moresby, or from the few supplies still getting through over the Owen Stanleys. And they were certain that if they denied the enemy victory at Imita Ridge, then threw every thing they had at them in a counter-offensive, the Japanese would have to withdraw or starve to death. But first the diggers had to hold Imita Ridge. And hold it they did.

When the counter-offensive was launched, the Australian advance was swift. As they pushed the enemy back down the Kokoda Track, their suspicions that the enemy was in poor condition proved to be well founded. As they pressed forward, the diggers came across many isolated groups of Japanese soldiers who had been abandoned by the main force because they were too weak from hunger and sickness to keep up with the pace of the retreat. They also found near-dead native carriers, their feet worn through to the bone, who had been forced at bayonet point to carry the supplies that had made it over the mountains, and the bodies of many others who had been forced to work until they dropped.

In the weeks that followed, the Australian advance was slowed as the enemy became better supplied and as conditions worsened near the summit of the Owen Stanley Range. In the air, Allied flyers continued their assault on the Japanese supply line and flew sorties over enemy positions at Gona and Buna, and attacked shipping bringing reinforcements from Rabaul. Slowly and surely the enemy was forced back, ridge by ridge, village by village, through dense jungle, and across mountains, rivers and streams towards the village of Kokoda. Casualties on both sides were high. And not all were soldiers. On one creek bed just south of Isurava the advancing diggers found the remains of General Horii’s great white horse.

*

Faith eased smoothly into the routine of her stenographer’s job with the US Army Liaison office. There was always a heavy workload which seemed to grow daily. Most of the work was boring and repetitive report and correspondence typing, but she went about her work conscientiously and efficiently. Gradually Sergeant Welenski and Major Hunter came to rely on Faith for more and more administrative work and she did less and less typing. After three months Major Hunter made her his personal secretary.

As time went by with no sign of Dan, Faith became increasingly concerned. From information going around the office, she knew that Iron Range and most of the American bases in the north were now operational. She had heard, too, that because of violent tropical storms that plagued the area around Iron Range, many aircraft had been lost when returning to base after bombing missions over New Guinea, Bougainville and the Solomon Sea. With each passing day, the feeling that something must have happened to Dan grew. And although Faith tried hard to dispel her anxiety by throwing herself into her work, often putting in twelve hours a day, eventually it became plain to everyone that something was deeply troubling her.

At the end of October with the Japanese in retreat along the Kokoda Track, General MacArthur decided to set up advance headquarters in Port Moresby. Like most departments at Brisbane headquarters, the Liaison office was working long hours to provide logistical support.

‘All right, Faith,’ Sergeant Welenski said one evening, after he and Faith had worked late, ‘let’s go home.’ He waved an arm around the office as he headed for the door. ‘No matter how long we stay here tonight there’ll be plenty of work waiting for us in the morning.’ Welenski grinned. ‘Come on, I’ll drive you home.’

Since Faith had become Major Hunter’s secretary, transportation home had always been arranged for her when she worked late. Usually a driver from the motor pool would take her home in a staff car but if there wasn’t a vehicle immediately available, Welenski would sometimes drive her home in his jeep.

‘It’s all right, Sergeant,’ Faith said quickly. She straightened up her desk and got up. ‘I’ll try the motor pool. New Farm’s too far out of your way.’

‘Look, Faith, New Farm isn’t far out of my way and how many times have I got to tell you to call me, Gus? Anyway, I want to talk to you.’

Faith smiled. She’d liked Gus Welenski from the day she started work with the Americans. The sergeant was a cheerful, heavy-set man in his mid-thirties. He’d seemed out of place at first. He didn’t look like a clerk at all. He looked more like the open air type, a construction worker or a truck driver. But she soon discovered that beneath the rough exterior was a gentle man who had a reputation for getting things done, getting along well with everyone and knowing anyone who mattered at headquarters.

‘You know something, Faith?’ Welenski said, as he opened the office door for her. ‘That’s the first smile I’ve seen from you all day. How about we go over to the American Centre, grab a drink and a bite to eat?’

‘Oh, no thanks, Gus.’ Faith said. ‘I’d better be going home.’

Welenski took her arm as they walked downstairs. ‘Look, Faith. We all like you around here and please don’t think I’m making a pass at you. I’ve got a wife and a couple of kids back in Boise, Idaho. But a couple of drinks will cheer you up, and I want to know what’s putting the dampers on your personality these days.’

The American Centre was just a few minutes walk from headquarters. As Welenski guided Faith to a corner table in one of the centre’s restaurants, Faith saw several familiar faces from headquarters and many of the men in uniform acknowledged Welenski. When they sat down, Welenski ordered a beer for himself and a shandy for Faith.

Welenski saw the look of surprise on her face. ‘Think I don’t know what Aussie Sheila’s drink, huh? ‘ He grinned. ‘I know what their poison is.’

Faith couldn’t help but laugh.

‘That’s more like it. See, now your laughing, already.’

When the waitress returned with the drinks, Welenski took a long swallow then laid his glass down. ‘Okay, Faith, how about telling your Uncle Gus what’s troubling you? Is it a man?’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘You’ve been showing all the usual signs.’

‘Oh, what are they?’

‘Anxiety, sadness, that sort of thing It’s all in the eyes, you know. Is he a serviceman?’

Faith took a sip from her glass, then nodded her head.

‘Sometimes it’s hard when something nice ends,’ Welenski said gently.

‘Oh, I’m not trying to get over anyone. I just haven’t seen or heard from him.’

‘For how long?’

‘A few months.’

‘Is he on active duty?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sometimes it’s better to hear nothing. Where is he, Europe, the Middle East or New Guinea?’

Faith shook her head. ‘He’s at Iron Range.’

Welenski eyebrows rose. ‘He’s an American?’

‘He’s an Army Air Force officer.’

Welenski pondered the situation for a few moments, then said, ‘They’ve been pretty busy up there at Iron Range flying round-the-clock missions, hitting Jap convoys trying to reinforce Gona and Buna. ’

‘I know. That’s why I can’t help worrying all the time, Gus. I’d give anything to know if he’s all right.’

‘Well there’s no chance of mail out of places like Iron Range. Those places are the front line for fly boys. And besides, maybe…’ Welenski eyed Faith cautiously, as if he were searching for the right words. ‘How long have you known this guy? How well do you know him? You know, sometimes…’

‘Come on, Gus, now you’re the one showing the signs. I know what you’re thinking.’ Faith tried to force a smile. ‘He’s not the kind of man who would just string me along, then drop me cold.’

Welenski shrugged. ‘Then we’d better find out if he’s okay. First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll make some enquiries.’

‘Can you do that?’

‘You haven’t been around headquarters very long, Faith. If you had you’d know that it’s not officers that run this Army, it’s staff-sergeants. If you want to get anything done or find anything out, you talk to a staff-sergeant, okay?. We’ve got a pipeline that runs from here to the Pentagon.’

Faith laughed again. ‘I’ll remember that Gus. And thank you so much.’

‘Consider it done, Faith. ‘What’s the lucky man’s name?’

‘It’s Dan Rivers. Captain Dan Rivers.

*

General MacArthur established his advance headquarters in Port Moresby’s most sumptuous private residence, a beautiful hillside home overlooking the sea, surrounded by tropical flower gardens. The Australian successes at Milne Bay and more recently on the Kokoda Track had given his command its first land victories in the war and he was determined to keep the momentum rolling. Within hours of his arrival, the general summoned his senior commanders and began laying plans to drive all Japanese forces out of New Guinea.

As yet, although a large number of American engineering and supply units had been busy building roads, airfields and communication lines and fortifying the entire Top End of Australia, US Army ground combat forces had made little contribution to the war in the Pacific. Now, assured by senior officers that American infantry battalions training in Queensland were finally combat-ready, orders were issued to send large numbers to New Guinea to join the Australians for a massive assault on the Japanese strongholds at Buna and Gona.

After the initial plans for the offensive had been drawn, the Allied commanders were invited to join General MacArthur and his aid, General Sutherland, for dinner at headquarters before the generals returned to Brisbane. During the course of the evening the US Air Corps commander from the Seven Mile Dome arrived unannounced at headquarters accompanied by a US Marine Colonel. After a security officer had whispered in MacArthur’s ear, the pair entered the dining room to state their business.

‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ MacArthur greeted them cordially. He looked at the Marine Colonel who stood rigidly, cap in hand, just inside the door. He smiled. ‘Are you going to tell me the Marines have landed now we’ve got the enemy on the run?’

The Marine officer wasn’t amused. ‘Sir, I’m Colonel Eastwood. I’m afraid the Marine Corps has too much on its plate at Guadalcanal at the moment to be able to assist you here.’

Some of MacArthur’s affability disappeared. ‘Then why are you here, Colonel?’

‘Sir, ever since the Marine Corps landed at Guadalcanal, General Vandegrift has been trying to get more aircraft for the Cactus Air Force at Henderson Field. The Japs have been throwing everything they’ve got at us and we’ve managed to hang on so far. But we may not be able to hold on for much longer. At this very moment the battle for Guadalcanal hangs in the balance. That’s why I’m here, to make a personal request on behalf of General Vandegrift and the Cactus Air Force Commander for fighters from the Army Air Corps.’

The men around the table exchanged somber glances.

‘There are proper channels to follow for inter-service material requests, Colonel,’ General Sutherland snapped. ‘I would suggest that following them might prove more fruitful than gate- crashing General MacArthur’s advance headquarters here at Port Moresby.’

Eastwood’s jaw tightened. ‘With respect, General Sutherland, sir, we’ve been going through channels for nearly three months now and we’ve gotten nowhere. General Vandegrift thinks that the Army Liaison Office in Brisbane has been giving us the run around. He told me to do whatever I had to do to try and see General MacArthur personally. When I was at Brisbane headquarters again yesterday and Major Hunter told me General MacArthur was in Port Moresby, I took it upon myself to come up here.’

‘And how did you manage that?’ MacArthur asked.

‘I tagged a ride to the Seven Mile Dome with the Australian Air Force, sir.’

‘You’re very resourceful,’ MacArthur said drily, then he added more accommodatingly, ‘I know well what the situation is on Guadalcanal, Colonel, and I know that General Vandegrift might lose the battle for that island, just as we almost lost Port Moresby. But the Marine Corps and the Navy undertook the invasion of Guadalcanal, independently of, and outside my area of command and without my support. So it’s up to the Marine Corps and the Navy to supply aircraft to Henderson Field. We all know how difficult it is to get Washington to send men and equipment to the Pacific, and because of that, each service must accept full responsibility for the actions it undertakes. I know the Navy and the Marine Corps call me "that brass hatted bastard" but the Army has a war to fight too, and I need everything I have at my disposal to defeat the enemy, and more.’

‘Sir, with respect,’ Colonel Eastwood looked MacArthur directly in eye. ‘General Vandegrift asked me to remind you that whether we serve in the Army, Navy or Marine Corps, we’re all Americans. And if the Japs take Henderson Field and drive the Marines into the sea, then thousands of Americans are going to die and the United States may well lose the war in the Pacific. He said for once we must all pull together.’

MacArthur stuck his pipe between his teeth and stared into the top of the dinner table. After a few moments he looked up and turned to the Air Corps Commander. ‘Can you spare General Vandegrift a squadron of P-40s?’

‘Not a full squadron without compromising operations here, sir,’ the commander replied. ‘But there are half-a-dozen or so good fighter pilots who came here as individuals from various places. They’re mainly ex-Far East Air Force. We could send them as a unit, I suppose.’

MacArthur nodded approvingly. ‘If they’re from Clark Field those boys will be some of the best in the Air Corps. Could they reach Guadalcanal without refueling?’

‘It’s about seven hundred and fifty miles to Henderson and the P-40s have a range of eight hundred and fifty miles, fully loaded. That doesn’t leave much room for error. The prevailing south-easterly wind won’t help any so they’ll be pushing it. But if we leave off their external bomb loads and send them with just their machine guns armed, they should make it all right, providing the weather remains good and they make no navigational errors.’

MacArthur lit his pipe and watched the smoke rise toward the ceiling. ‘Then send them,’ he said curtly. ‘Send them.’

*

At mid-morning the next day, Dan and a group of pilots stood under a clear blue sky beside their P-40’s getting a final briefing prior to taking off for Guadalcanal. Beyond their row of fighters, a B-17 Flying Fortress stood at the edge of the runway, engines running, in readiness to depart the Seven Mile Drome. Just as the pilots’ briefing was ending, a staff car pulled up beside them, the doors flew open and General Sutherland and General MacArthur stepped out onto the airfield. Everyone was taken so completely by surprise visitors that it took a few moments for the flyers to stand erect and salute.

‘At ease, Gentlemen,’ MacArthur said as he returned the salute. ‘I’ve been told you men were at Clark Field with me. You and I have been in this war from the very beginning and we shall see it through together wherever we are asked to serve.’ The general’s eyes moved slowly across the faces of the young flyers as he spoke. ‘When General Vandegrift asked the Air Corps to assist him on Guadalcanal we couldn’t offer him a large force, but I know he will be heartened by the fact that the few pilots we are sending him are among the very best we have. Good luck to you all.’

Dan’s was the last face to come under MacArthur’s gaze and the general’s eyes lingered on it. MacArthur stepped forward, closing the gap between them.

‘Don’t I know you, son?’

‘Yes sir, we met on a train in South Australia.’

MacArthur frowned for a few moments as he tested his memory. Then he said, ‘Oh, yes, Captain Rivers, from the Carrizo Mountains in New Mexico.’ He smiled warmly. ‘You always seem to be where the action is, Captain. The Air Corps and your country can be proud of you.’

Minutes later, after MacArthur’s B-17 had lifted off heading for Brisbane the six P-40’s roared down the runway and took off for Guadalcanal.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

During the briefing at the Seven Mile Drome, Dan was given the responsibility for leading the little squadron to Guadalcanal. After take-off he climbed steadily to twenty thousand feet then carefully held a direct course due-east for Henderson Field. With the other five aircraft behind him playing follow the leader, Dan just hoped the light south-easterly wind and clear skies would hold for the three hours they needed to reach their destination at cruising speed.

A little over an hour from take-off, Dan picked up visual reference points. Far off in the shimmering Solomon Sea, he saw Kiriwina Island, the largest of the Trobriand group, and straight ahead lay Woodlark Island. He held his course for two more hours, then the island of Guadalcanal rose up out of the sea in the distance. Well briefed on the Japanese anti-aircraft batteries on the island, Dan’s squadron descended low over the ocean and gave the enemy gunners a wide berth when they neared Henderson Field.

Dan had been told to approach the airstrip on a course between Guadalcanal and Savo Island which lay about ten miles offshore. The stretch of water was named Ironbottom Sound because of the preponderance of sunken warships lying on its floor. His instructions were to look out for the remains of a Japanese pagoda-style building on a headland called Lunga Point. As he flew towards the point he saw transport vessels unloading troops and supplies on the beaches, while just offshore, several warships covering the landing traced lazy circles. Suddenly a wave of American fighters raced in to intercept the squadron but withdrew as soon as the P-40s were recognized as friendly. Moments later he spotted the old pagoda perched on a rise in the centre of a rough clearing. Dan had been told at the Seven Mile Drome that the structure had once served as the Cactus Air Force headquarters until it had become a reference point for every Japanese warship and aircraft attacking Henderson Field.

Without the bombed-out pagoda, Dan might not have recognized the clearing as an operational airstrip. On his first pass it looked more like a lunar landscape. There seemed to be no activity, just a cratered, pock-marked, muddy paddock with burnt-out shells of aircraft scattered wing-tip to wing-tip around the perimeter. But when he pulled back the stick to clear the tall palm trees at the edge of the clearing the airfield sprang to life. Hundreds of Marines emerged from foxholes, waving and cheering as the new squadron roared by overhead. Dan also caught a glimpse of camouflaged aircraft in clearings close to the field, and beyond them, a vast tent city of troops in the jungle beneath the trees of a nearby cocoa plantation.

On the second pass the P.40's landed and were directed to camouflaged dispersal areas close to the airfield perimeter. From there, the pilots were taken to a command post in a dug-out bomb shelter covered with felled palms trees. Inside the dugout a group of officers were conferring at a makeshift table of old ammunition boxes. The group broke up when the pilots entered, leaving just General Louis Woods, the Cactus Air Force commander and an aide at the table.

‘Welcome to Guadalcanal, gentlemen,’ General Woods said without smiling. ‘The situation here is critical. We are heading for a final showdown with the enemy. We know there is an enemy task force heading for Guadalcanal from Rabaul, ahead of a huge transport convoy bringing an entire division of reinforcements. The task force will attempt to knock out Henderson Field so the reinforcements can be landed unopposed. As you flew in you would have seen our own troop transports and naval escorts in Ironbottom Sound. In a couple of hours they’ll have finished disembarking troops and the warships will head out, leaving us on our own to greet the Japs.’ Woods shrugged. ‘But the Cactus Air Force is used to that.’

The general paused and smiled grimly. His eyes appraised the six young pilots of the Seven Mile Squadron. After a few moments, he continued, ‘What we have here, is an oddball selection of aircraft, begged and borrowed from various places around the Pacific. Apart from our own Marine flyers, we have Navy flyers from a flat-top that was attacked while they were in the air, and we have more Navy pilots that set down here when they ran into bad weather and couldn’t find their carrier. And there’s a few Air Corps planes that we squeezed out of the Army soon after we landed on the island. The one thing everyone has in common here is guts. You have to have guts in the Cactus Air Force. Some days our pilots are so exhausted they have to be helped into their airplanes. Other days it rains so hard airplanes can’t lift themselves out of the mud on the runway. But usually it dries within a few hours of the rain stopping, so most days we have every plane in the air. Night flying is out because it’s just too dangerous. The general turned to Dan. ‘Captain, I take it you and these men have had combat experience?’

‘Yes, sir, in the Philippines and in New Guinea. And I was attached to the P-40 pursuit squadron that was wiped out at Darwin.’

Woods nodded. ‘Good. Now I must tell you men, almost everyone on this island has malaria and there’s no rest and precious little sleep. By day, we attack enemy positions and hit the Tokyo Express. That’s what we call the Jap convoys which bring men and materials here from Rabaul. By night, Jap warships shell the hell out of Henderson Field and while we’re sitting in our bomb shelters with our heads between our knees, the Japs unload troops and supplies on the beaches. This latest task force is the biggest ever and if it knocks out Henderson Field, we’re finished on this island.’ The general turned to his aide. ‘I’ll leave the major here to familiarize you with operations. He’ll answer any questions you may have, and get you fed and bunked down.’

‘Gather around, gentlemen,’ the major said when the general left. He spread out a large map of Guadalcanal on the table. ‘This will help you get your bearings.’ He pointed out the main features of the island then pointed to several areas shaded in red. ‘These red areas denote Japanese positions. As you can see, Henderson Field is surrounded by the enemy and there are also large concentrations of troops to the north-west of us.’ The major tapped a shaded area on the map well out to sea. ‘This is what we call ‘the slot’—it’s the route between the islands that the Tokyo Express uses to get here.’

Dan pointed to an area on the map which was shaded in blue. ‘And what’s in this area, sir?’

‘That’s the lower slopes of Mount Austen, Captain. It overlooks Henderson Field and affords excellent views, but the terrain is so bad that neither we nor the Japs have tried to maintain a position there. We call that area Purgatory because that’s where Japs from dishonored units are banished to and left to fend for themselves because they failed their military objectives. Under the code of the samurai they will never be permitted to rejoin the ranks of fighting soldiers who have not been shamed by defeat. They pose no real threat to us because most of them are starving and riddled with disease anyway.’

‘How many men are there?’ Dan asked

‘We don’t know for sure. They seem to be in small scattered groups but collectively there must be quite a lot.’ The major turned his attention back to ‘the slot’. ‘It’s up here between the islands that you’ll be spending most of your time. Every operational airplane we’ve got is up there again today, repelling raiders and looking for that big Jap task force that’s heading here.’

‘How do you know they’re coming for sure, Major?’

The major grinned. ‘Two things have really helped save our asses on Guadalcanal, Captain. One is the reports we get from the British and Australian Coast Watchers and their native scouts on this island and on Bougainville Island to the north. When they see Jap ships and aircraft headed our way they tell us. The second thing is we’ve been reading the Emperor’s mail for a long time now. We’ve got code-busters in Hawaii that break the Jap codes as fast as they can invent new ones. We usually know when they are planning something big.’

‘How about our codes? Have the Japs broken any?’

‘Not yet, and God help us if they ever do. Especially now, with so many of our ships in Ironbottom Sound. Now, as General Woods said, things are hotting up. The big one is coming and you guys are going to be in the thick of it. At first light tomorrow you’ll be in the air, hitting enemy ground positions, defending the field against air attacks or hunting that Jap task force. You won’t be assigned your duties until just before take off. So you’d best get fed and get some rest while you can.’

As the pilots left the command post the major called Dan back. ‘Captain.’ he said amiably. ‘I’m from Albuquerque, New Mexico.’

‘I know, sir.’ Dan smiled. ‘I can tell by the way you talk.’

‘And I noticed you’re a Navajo, Captain. You should feel at home here. There’s over three thousand Navajo in the Marine Corps, many of them right here on Guadalcanal. Several have been trained specially as radio operators. Are you aware of the work they do here in signals?’

Dan shrugged. ‘No Sir, I’ve no idea. I… ’

Dan’s voice was drowned out by the roar of aircraft overhead. He and the major hurried outside. The sky above them was filled with planes. The Cactus Air Force was coming home to roost and Dan looked on while the major anxiously counted each plane as it touched down.

That night, the squadron ate canned meat and baked beans washed down with muddy coffee in a crowded mess tent. Afterwards, when the pilots went to their bomb shelters, Dan noticed some were so exhausted they could hardly walk without stumbling, and the flyers who shared a bomb shelter with the Seven Mile Squadron, fell asleep the moment they lay down. Dan remained awake for a long time. He lay in the eerie silence hanging over the darkened airfield thinking of New Mexico, and of Faith in the little house in New Farm.

Just after midnight, the stillness of the night was shattered by a series of loud explosions. Some seemed very distant while others sounded terrifyingly close. The Seven Mile Squadron woke instantly but most of the other pilots slept on undisturbed by the mayhem outside. Within a few minutes, however, the tone and frequency of the bombardment had intensified to a deep thunder until everyone was wide awake. Deafening explosions reverberated right through the bomb shelter.

‘Listen,’ someone called out in the darkness. ‘Listen…’ After a few moments the same voice said, ‘There’s nothing hitting the airfield. The action is out in Ironbottom Sound. There’s a goddamn naval battle going on out there.’

The thunder of the big guns lasted for almost two hours. During the battle, the pilots of the Cactus Air Force and thousands of Marines encamped around Henderson Field, looked on as the night sky over Ironbottom Sound was constantly illuminated like an immense fireworks display. It was plain to see the battle was being fought at close range. Shipboard searchlights and flares were directing the gunfire. The flashes of the big guns and their throaty roar was followed by ear-splitting explosions as shells and torpedoes found their marks, setting many of the combatants’ warships ablaze and blowing up their magazines. .

At a pre-dawn pilots’ briefing everything became horrifyingly clear. During the night the Japanese task force from Rabaul had steamed through ‘the slot’. The massive fleet consisted of two battleships and over a dozen destroyers and cruisers. They had been picked up on radar entering Ironbottom Sound just as the departing American transports began to steam south. The Admiral commanding the naval escort decided to send only a few warships with the convoy and ordered the bulk of his force, eight destroyers and five cruisers to take on the Japanese task force. By first light it was clear the naval battle had been disastrous for the Americans.

Confusion in command and poor positioning of ships had resulted in US vessels being hit by friendly fire as well as by the Japanese. After a ferocious and bloody battle, the cruisers USS Atlanta, USS Juneau, and four destroyers had been sunk or were sinking. Of the US warships that survived the battle, only the destroyer USS Fletcher avoided serious damage. The Japanese had fared much better with only one destroyer sunk , one damaged together with a battleship. But in defeat the Navy had saved Henderson Field from a terrible bombardment.

At dawn the entire Cactus Air Force of over seventy fighters and dive-bombers took to the air. The atmosphere above Ironbottom Sound was still thick with smoke from burning ships. Some were still in their death throes, sinking slowly as fires aboard them raged out of control. Some, like the cruiser USS Atlanta were still afloat but beyond salvage and being scuttled. Others, like the battleship Hiei were was limping northward, desperately trying to stay afloat.

The Cactus Air Force wasted no time in sending the damaged Hiei and Yudachi straight to the bottom. Other aircraft were dispatched to the north to hunt down and attack the withdrawing task force. Dan’s squadron stayed closer to Henderson Field making low runs over the shark-infested waters of Ironbottom Sound looking for survivors of the naval battle. When they located survivors among the hundreds of bodies floating in the sound, they signaled their position to small rescue craft by wagging their wings. By mid-afternoon, reconnaissance planes reported another Japanese task force was steaming toward Guadalcanal. To make matters worse, the weather was closing in and it would soon be dark. The only good news was that poor weather and visibility might soften the inevitable bombardment of Henderson Field.

When Admiral Halsey, the Commander of the US Pacific Fleet, heard the news of the disaster in Ironbottom Sound and that the Japanese were a sending another huge force to Guadalcanal, he was four hundred miles away aboard the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise. He immediately ordered the battle group protecting his flagship, the battleships Washington and South Dakota and their escort of four destroyers, to steam to the defense of Henderson Field. He also directed the Enterprise to sail close enough to Guadalcanal for her aircraft to be deployed against the enemy. But there was no way any of the vessels could reach Ironbottom Sound in time to prevent the task force from attacking Henderson Field that night.

The Japanese bombardment began at midnight. Thankfully it rained most of the night and the raiders were forced to use flares to see where to direct their fire. Many shells fell well wide of the mark or into the soft, spongy mud on the airfield and failed to explode. In spite of the rain, many fires burned wildly in the surrounding jungle and when the task force withdrew, its commander was certain that he had inflicted a mortal blow on Henderson Field. So confident were the Japanese that the airfield had been put out of action, that the transports carrying reinforcements which had been waiting around the islands to the north were told to proceed to Guadalcanal immediately.

The transports’ naval escort was led by the battleship Kirishima. The flotilla soon discovered that the reports of Henderson Field being knocked out overnight were false. By early morning the Cactus Air Force was airborne and hitting the troopships while they were still far away from Guadalcanal. The pilots were ordered to hit the Japanese transports and leave its warship escort for the fleet dispatched by Admiral Halsey. The Cactus Air Force pounded the vessels all day, aided in the late afternoon by aircraft from the Enterprise which had sailed within range. By nightfall, six of the eleven transports had been sunk with horrendous Japanese casualties. But the five transports which survived the carnage continued on, hoping to land reinforcements under cover of darkness.

In the middle of the night everyone was awaked when the battleships Washington and South Dakota arrived undetected in Ironbottom Sound and opened up on the Japanese task force with their sixteen inch radar-directed guns. Once again the Cactus Air Force looked on in the blackness of the night as another major naval battle was played out in Ironbottom Sound. In the fierce engagement there were heavy losses on each side including the Japanese battleships Kirishima and the South Dakota.

Dawn found the five remaining Japanese transports lying just off Guadalcanal, completely abandoned by their battered naval escort. When the Cactus Air Force began its assault on the defenseless ships, they made a headlong, reckless dash for the shore at full speed in a determined bid to beach themselves. Wave after wave of aircraft, including Dan’s squadron, swooped low over the crowded decks of the unarmed merchant ships and repeatedly strafed and bombed the vessels’ crowded decks. The carnage continued long after the transports had run high and dry on the beaches and tried desperately to disembark troops and unload supplies. Now sitting ducks, they came under fire from all directions, attacked by aircraft, warships and every American ground battery within range. The Americans sensed the final curtain was coming down on the battle for Guadalcanal and everyone wanted to be in on the kill.

Dan was sickened by the wholesale slaughter that followed and he was grateful when his squadron was ordered to disengage. But when he banked away and leveled out after making a final run over the beached transports, he heard the same sickening thud he had heard over Van Diemen Gulf. He knew instantly his plane had been hit, only this time by friendly fire. He pulled back hard on the stick trying to climb. But the stick was suddenly stiff and would hardly respond. Then it jammed tight. He tried the rudder. The peddle wouldn’t move an inch. Dan knew the controls to the tailplane had been knocked out.

Unable to climb or turn, all Dan could do was fly in a straight line. He was still at low altitude and it was hard to see. Outside the cockpit the air was thick with smoke from the burning transports. There was no option but to crash-land. Dan hoped the plane was pointing out to sea. But moments later, when it burst out of the smoke he saw Mt Austen lying directly ahead of him. He eased back the throttle and looked for somewhere to crash-land. Tall trees in the jungle below ruled out any chance of surviving a landing. Now he was nearing the lower slopes of Mount Austen, the area the Marines called Purgatory. He saw a patch of swampy vegetation with no trees at all. He cut the engine and braced himself. Moments later his plane ploughed into a dense wall of green foliage. Then everything went black.

Dan was still unconscious half an hour later when a group of near-naked and half-starved Japanese pulled him from the cockpit.

*

The last days of the bloody battle for Guadalcanal and the exploits of the Cactus Air Force in mid-November received worldwide attention. But even before details were officially released to the Australian press and radio, word of the spectacular success and its terrible cost in human life had spread through the headquarters building and even to Faith in Major Hunter’s office. Staff Sergeant Welenski’s pipeline had already reported that Dan had been posted twice from Iron Range, first to Milne Bay, then Port Moresby, so Faith joined in the victory celebrations, still blissfully unaware of his transfer to Henderson Field.

It was several days later when Welenski took Faith to one side and told her about the Far East Air Force pilots sent from the Seven Mile Drome to Guadalcanal. And she spent another three weeks waiting on tenterhooks before she looked up from her desk one day to see Welenski standing ashen-faced at the door of her office. Faith knew something had happened to Dan even before Welenski told her. She could tell by his lowered eyes and the sag in his jaw. When he’d told her as gently as he could that that Dan was missing and presumed dead, he closed the door behind him. But not before he had released the catch on the lock to allow her to be alone with her grief.

*

Joe heard about the American victory on Guadalcanal on the BBC Overseas Service when his section was gathered around the radio one night at the height of a tropical storm at the onset of the wet. For a while the news seemed to break the monotony of the long weeks at Eagle’s Nest. There had been no sightings of enemy activity except a few reconnaissance aircraft which had been identified as Japanese and duly reported to headquarters in Katherine. Two horseback patrols led by Smokey Peters, one to the north of Rosie Creek and one to the south had seen nothing of interest. All the excitement seemed to be in Darwin which, according to the radio reports, was still being bombed as regular as clockwork.

Now with the wet firmly set in, with its relentless daily downpours making everything miserable, even travel on horseback was very difficult. Everyone knew there was little likelihood of a Japanese landing in such conditions, or of being relieved by another section for several months. The only thing to look forward to was the arrival of the supply vessel bringing fresh food and mail. And with Christmas looming, everyone was concerned that poor weather, or a tropical cyclone would delay the arrival of the boat or even prevent it from coming at all. For the men of Joe’s section, just getting through each day of their deprived and isolated existence had become almost unbearable. The only exception was Snow. For the Aboriginal tracker, life at Eagle’s Nest was just fine.

*

One morning in early December, Koko was given just ten minutes notice to gather up his personal belongings before being transported from the internment camp at Hay to the prisoner of war camp at Cowra. When he climbed into the back of the waiting Army truck he found Yakimoto’s group of airmen were already aboard and sitting under the watchful eyes of two armed guards. Behind the truck, four more armed soldiers sat inside another vehicle waiting to escort the prisoners to Cowra.

Yakimoto seemed surprised that Koko was being transferred to the prisoner of war camp and soon after the truck left Hay he began to make conversation. He spoke in Japanese and for the first time he showed Koko a degree of friendliness. Koko put Yakimoto’s sudden change of attitude towards him down to his transfer to Cowra being confirmation of his status as a bona-fide Japanese prisoner of war.

By mid-afternoon the small convoy reached the main gate of the purpose-built POW camp. It was situated just outside the small town of Cowra on a grassy plain in farming country and had been originally constructed when the Commonwealth government had acceded to a British request to have European prisoners of war housed in Australia. The concerns of the country folk living in and around Cowra at having a Japanese POW camp in the their community were eased by the presence of a nearby Australian Army infantry training camp.

After the relatively relaxed atmosphere at Hay, Koko was filled with foreboding by the grim scene that greeted him when he climbed down from the truck. The austere-looking facility was situated inside a huge circular enclosure nearly half-a-mile in diameter. The perimeter was fenced with high barbed wire and there were elevated guard posts with searchlights spaced at regular intervals along it. Inside the fence were four equal-sized compounds, also fenced with barbed wire, and separated by two strips of no-man’s-land.

In each of the compounds there were long rows of barrack type huts. Two of the compounds housed Italian prisoners, both very crowded. The other two compounds were set aside for Japanese prisoners but many of the huts were empty. Koko soon found that he and the airmen from Hay were among the first Japanese to arrive at Cowra. The few other Japanese prisoners in his compound had been captured in the ill-fated landing at Milne Bay and on the Kokoda Track in New Guinea.

In the days and weeks that followed, more Japanese prisoners began arriving. All spoke at length of their shame at being captured, but the stories they told gave Koko an indication of how the war was going. When, towards the end of December, the first prisoners arrived from Guadalcanal, Koko knew things must be turning in favor of the Allies.

PART THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY

Faith buried herself in her work after hearing the terrible news about Dan. It was only by keeping her mind busy that she was able to deal with her sorrow and keep her emotions in check. She found herself almost grateful for the enormous work load she was always carrying at headquarters and she seemed to start earlier and finish later almost every day.

Faith’s hard work was appreciated by Major Hunter and she knew he went out of his way to show his gratitude, sometimes by driving her home after they had both worked late. And he was always friendly and considerate, particularly on days when she found it difficult to hide her sadness. Although she had never mentioned Dan to anyone at headquarters other than Gus Welenski, she suspected the sergeant must have told the Major about him.

By Christmas, Faith was coping better and she spent the festive season in a pleasant but subdued atmosphere at New Farm. With Mike away from home for the first time, doing his basic training somewhere in New South Wales, Dick and Helen found the house sadly empty without him despite Faith's presence. After the awful news of Dan and with the frequent arrival of ships at the docks with casualties from New Guinea and Guadalcanal, Helen and Dick had constant reminders of the dangers that lay ahead for their son.

But their concerns were forgotten for the moment when Helen answered a knock on the door on New Years Eve to find Mike standing outside, grinning from ear to ear, and wearing the uniform of a private in the Australian Army Service Corps. Dick and Helen were overjoyed that Mike hadn’t been inducted into an infantry regiment like so many new conscripts. With her uncle and aunt being firm pacifists, Faith could see that rested so much easier on their minds. At least as an ASC dispatch rider he was part of a medical unit which had the responsibility to save lives rather than destroy them. Mike had six days leave and the family made the most of his stay. Faith only wished fate had allowed Dan to be there too.

Helen couldn’t hold back her tears the morning Mike left to go back to camp. His train left Roma Street Station very early but Faith, Helen and Dick were all there to wave him goodbye. The platform was crowded with soldiers and Faith could see that Mike was embarrassed by his mother’s show of unbridled emotion. But he hugged her tightly, then shook his father’s hand and turned to boarded the train quickly before his own emotions betrayed him.

*

It was just five minutes walk from the station to headquarters. Although it was still very early when Faith arrived, Major Hunter was already in his office. As always, he looked immaculate in a neatly pressed uniform and without a hair out of place. When he saw Faith he smiled and beckoned to her to come inside.

‘Good morning, Faith.’ Hunter gestured to a chair across the desk from his own, then closed the office door and sat close to her on the edge of the desk. He folded his arms across his chest ‘I’d just like to let you know that I appreciate everything you’re doing here,’ he said softly.

‘Thank you, Major. I enjoy the work. I’m glad to do whatever I can. I…’

‘Look…’ Hunter broke in. ‘I know how tough it’s been for you lately. Sergeant Welenski told me about the officer on Guadalcanal.’

‘Yes, I thought perhaps he had.’ Faith stood up to leave. ‘Everyone in the office has been so kind.’

Hunter got up from the desk. ‘I was hoping that perhaps you would start taking it a little easier, Faith—stop working quite so many hours.’

‘Oh, I don’t mind, really. And there is so much to do here.’

‘I know that, but I do think you should try and relax a little more. Why don’t you start by having dinner with me tonight? They say since General MacArthur has been living at Lennon’s Hotel, it’s the best place in Australia to eat.’

Faith was so surprised she didn’t know what to say. She was about to respond when Gus Welenski stuck his head inside the office with a tray of papers in his hand ‘Oh, I’m sorry, sir,’ he said apologetically. ‘I didn’t realize you were in already.’ He laid the paper tray on Hunter’s desk. ‘These requisitions need your attention, sir.’

‘Speaking of requisitions, Welenski, ’ Hunter said as the sergeant turned to leave, ‘get hold of the motor pool and make sure there’s a staff car available for me tonight. Miss Brodie and I are dining at Lennons.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Welenski glanced quickly at Faith. Just for a moment she thought she saw disappointment in his eyes.

*

By late January, the Nackeroos at Eagle’s Nest would gladly have eaten the table scraps from the restaurant in Lennon’s Hotel. The small craft which was supposed to bring fresh food and mail from Roper Bar never arrived. Regional headquarters advised that a vessel had started out but had broken down somewhere along the hundred miles of navigable water between Roper Bar and the open sea. Christmas dinner at Eagle’s Nest consisted of tinned bully beef, tinned carrots and tinned peas. When yeast and ground-up Army issue vitamin supplement tablets, designed to prevent skin ailments, were mixed with it, everything tasted the same. Everyone said it was the worst Christmas dinner they had ever had.

By mid-February the supply boat still had not arrived. Regional headquarters said monsoonal weather across the entire Top End had forced several supply vessels to remain at distant Nackeroo outposts in the Northern Territory and Western Australia awaiting favorable sailing conditions. In the meantime, all sections still awaiting shipments of supplies were told to do their best to live off the land until provisions arrived.

Old Snow saw to it the section never went hungry. He caught extra fish, a few snakes, birds and lizards, and he skinned crocodiles that Joe shot around the mouth of Rosie Creek. Smokey Peters, the farrier from the Kimberley, baked all the fresh meat offerings in the deep glowing ash of an open wood fire. He also baked slabs of rock-hard, tooth-chipping damper which he called ‘West Australian waffles’ until he ran out of the basic ingredients.

During the wet the only relief from the intense heat and choking humidity was the usual evening downpour. The heat was so intolerable that the men wore no clothing at all during the day. But around dusk, swarms of mosquitoes and sand flies usually made it impossible to spend more than a few seconds outside the insect nets without being eaten alive. Green leaves were always thrown on the fire at mealtimes because the dense smoke they produced provided temporary relief from the pests which bit right through protective clothing, even an extra shirt.

What had started out as boredom with the daily routine at Eagle’s Nest had turned into a full-scale battle for survival and everybody longed for the day when their turn came to go to Katherine as the reserve company. Over time, all traces of being a military unit had disappeared. The section looked more like a gang of wild bush-rangers than soldiers. No-one had had a hair cut since Katherine and no-one could remember when they had last shaved or when the soap had run out. The only thing to remind them they were soldiers in the Australian Army was the mandatory daily radio contact with Roper Bar.

Weasel found the extreme conditions the most distressing. Unlike the rest of the men, he had never experienced the harsh, unforgiving environment of the Far North. He even found it hard to accept that the inhospitable and hostile emptiness that surrounded him was really part of Australia. He often told Joe it wasn’t the Australia he joined up to fight for. As far as Weasel was concerned ‘if the Japs wanted the bloody Top End they could bloody well have it.’

Good news came out of the blue one morning, when regional headquarters advised that the section was to be relieved in late March and would return to Roper Bar aboard the same vessel bringing the new section to Eagle’s Nest. The bad news was that there was still no vessel available to transport supplies to Eagle’s Nest, but a wide range of provisions had made it overland to the Company C post at Borroloola, thirty miles to the south-east. Joe was told that conditions permitting, he should send a pack-horse patrol to pick them up.

Joe asked Snow if he’d ever been to Borroloola and if he thought a patrol could get there and back safely in the wet. Snow said he had been to the tiny settlement on the MacArthur River years earlier and reckoned a horse patrol was likely to get in and out okay although it might be tough going. Joe told Smokey and Snow to prepare to leave the next morning and asked for a volunteer to go with them. Neither Tasker nor Weasel showed any interest until Snow said there was a pub and a store at the settlement. Then both of them wanted to go.

*

Snow set off at a steady trot for Borroloola with Smokey and Weasel following behind on horseback, trailing two packhorses. Tasker, who had lost the toss of a coin when deciding who went with Smokey, stood outside the radio hut with Joe and watched them ride away. Weasel looked glad to be leaving Eagle’s Nest behind him and for once seemed to forget his fear of horses.

The going was easier than expected, with Snow guiding the patrol directly across large areas of sparse scrub, over rocky ridges and around occasional low lying swamps where the horses and men stopped to drink their fill. By nightfall they had covered more than half the distance. There was no rain that evening and they camped under a clear starry sky, fanned by a gentle breeze. Away from the coastal lowlands, the night air was mercifully free of sandflies and mosquitoes. The next day went much the same as the first and by mid-afternoon the column of horses reached Borroloola.

Weasel couldn’t hide his disappointment as they rode down the dusty main street. The settlement was much smaller than anyone had expected. It was nothing more than a few ramshackle, clapboard shacks, a shabby general store, a two-man police station and a small run-down pub. Smokey asked an old man sitting on the steps of the pub where the Nackeroo camp was and the old timer pointed his beer bottle towards the end of the street.

They rode through the settlement with Snow bringing up the rear leading the packhorses. About half a mile outside the settlement they saw a cluster of horses standing in the shade of tall gums in a paddock beside the MacArthur River. Just beyond the paddock, four khaki tents were pitched on the riverbank. Each tent had US ARMY stenciled in large black letters on the side. As the patrol approached the camp, a young, clean shaven Australian Army lieutenant in a smart clean uniform stepped out from one of the tents and challenged them.

‘You are on Commonwealth Government property,’ the lieutenant shouted. ‘What is your business here?’

‘Private Peters and Private Watkins from the Eagle’s Nest post at Rosie Creek,’ Smokey said as he and Weasel swung down from the saddle. ‘We’ve got orders to pick up our supplies here.’

‘You mean you’re Nackeroos?’ the lieutenant said incredulously. He looked disparagingly at Smoky and Weasel’s long hair and beards, and at their filthy tattered clothes and shook his head. ‘You look more like Ned Kelly’s bloody gang.’

Smokey eyed the young officer dubiously. ‘We have extreme conditions at Eagle’s Nest, sir.’

‘Maybe so. But don’t you even know enough to salute an officer?’

Snow led the horses to the paddock and the lieutenant took Smokey and Weasel into one of the large insect-screened tents. Compared to the bark huts at Eagle’s Nest the interior of the tent was palatial with tidy camp beds neatly spaced around the wooden slatted floor.

‘We have a patrol out at the moment,’ the lieutenant said. ‘so you men can use this tent overnight. There’s a hut down in the paddock where your Aborigine can sleep. Don’t let him near my men. The blacks carry malaria, you know.’

Smokey eyed the lieutenant with open disdain .

‘After you’ve seen to your horses, I suggest you shave and clean yourself up,’ the lieutenant snapped. ‘There’s a latrine and ablution shed down by the river and you’ll find new uniforms in the shipment of supplies for Eagle’s Nest, so you had better put some on. Dinner is at eighteen hundred hours sharp. Try and present yourself like soldiers in the Australian Army, will you?’

The officer turned to leave, then stopped. ‘By the way, who’s in charge of your section?’

‘Corporal Brodie, sir,’ Smokey replied.

The lieutenant’s mouth stretched into a tight smirk. ‘Just as I thought. Even in the extreme circumstances that may exist at Eagle’s Nest, a commissioned officer would never allow his men to deteriorate into such a slack, unkempt and undisciplined mob as you lot.’

Weasel came quickly to Joe’s defense. ‘Even in extreme circumstances at headquarters, sir, I don’t reckon they’d ever send a commissioned officer to such a bloody hellhole as Eagle’s Nest’.

The lieutenant glowered but allowed the remark to pass. ‘Just be out of here as early as you can in the morning,’ he called out as he stalked away.

Smokey and Weasel were clean shaven and spruced up in new gear when they arrived at the mess tent for dinner. Only the patches on their white faces where their beards had been a couple of hours earlier made them look any different from the C Company Nackeroos in the mess tent when they sat down to eat.

Weasel was glad when one of the soldiers told him that the lieutenant always ate alone in his own tent. The meal was the best Smoky and Weasel had had since leaving Katherine—real fresh beef, fresh vegetables and proper bread. Both of them went back for seconds. As soon as Weasel had finished, he took a plate of food down to Snow at the little hut in the paddock. When he returned to the mess tent he found everyone playing cards.

‘Don’t you blokes go down to the pub, at all?’ Weasel asked.

‘The lieutenant doesn’t let us drink there,’ one of the soldiers said. ‘But we can buy beer and bring it back here. Trouble is, it costs almost a day’s pay for a bottle of beer in Borroloola and sometimes they don’t have any anyway. So we make do without.’

Weasel frowned. He turned to Smokey. ‘I’m supposed to take a crate back to Eagle’s Nest. I hope I’ve got enough money.’

‘You go on down and get it,’ Smokey said. He pulled what money he had from his pockets and gave it to Weasel. ‘I’ll stay here and play a few hands.’

The bar in the old pub smelled badly of stale cigarette smoke, sweat and beer. The light from a kerosene lamp only made the small room a little brighter than the moonlight outside. Wall to wall cigarette burns scarred the filthy linoleum floor. Just one of three tables was occupied. Six or seven loud drunks sat at it quaffing beer and intermittently roaring with laughter. Weasel walked up to the bar, read the price list on a small blackboard behind it and checked how much money he had.

After a moment a man wearing a dirty, sweat-stained vest and three or four days stubble identified himself as the landlord and asked Weasel what he wanted. Weasel ordered a dozen beer to go. When the landlord lifted a crate onto the counter, Weasel paid his money and finding he had a little left over decided to have a quick pint at the bar before leaving.

‘Does the lieutenant know about this, son?’ the landlord asked.

Weasel grinned. ‘What the lieutenant don’t know won’t hurt him, will it, mate?’

The landlord shrugged and drew Weasel a beer. It was the first Weasel had had since Mt Isa and it tasted good. He downed it in two long swallows and asked for another. While he waited for the refill he turned toward the noisy crowd at the table. Two big bearded men with long hair seemed to be the centre of attention. On the table in front of them, amongst a sea of spilled beer, lay several saturated banknotes and lots of small change. It was plain the two big men were doing the buying and the local bar-flies were doing the listening and most of the laughing.

The landlord laid a fresh beer in front of Weasel, who drank it almost as quickly as the first. Soon he began to feel the alcohol and suddenly the world seemed a better place. He checked his money again and found he had just enough for one more. Weasel was beginning to get light-headed and when the third pint came he sipped it slowly, leaning against the bar and listening to the drunks at the table. One of the two big men signaled for another round and the landlord hurried over with a full tray.

‘Look like big spenders, those two.’ Weasel said when the landlord returned to the bar.

‘They’re the Horan brothers,’ the landlord said. ‘They’re croc-shooters. They come here a couple of times a year. The general store acts as agent for a mob in Melbourne that buys the croc skins. They stay here a couple of days, let off a little steam, tell the locals a few tall stories, then bugger off. I appreciate the business. It’s not often you find sea-tramps with a little cash.’

‘It’s over twenty miles to the coast,’ Weasel said. ‘Can a boat get upstream this far on the river?’

‘No, they get their sloop up as far as Black Rock Landing, about thirteen miles away. Then they bring the skins up here in a dinghy from there.’

‘A sloop?’ Weasel’s eyes widened. ‘Do you know it’s name?’

‘It think she’s called the Groote Eyelandt Lady.’

Weasel was stunned. Joe had told him many times of Groote Eyelandt Lady and her sadistic crew. He blinked and focused his eyes on the Horan bothers as they sat noisily downing beer with the crowd of local river-rats. He felt his anger rising as he stared long and hard at the men who had left Joe to drown in the Gulf of Carpentaria. Then suddenly the raucous voices and loud guffaws ended and the room fell silent when Nick Horan looked up and saw Weasel staring at him from the bar.

‘What are you staring at, you ferret-faced little runt?’ Horan roared

With almost three pints of Dutch courage under his belt, Weasel was tempted to be belligerent, but decided against it and said nothing.

‘Well, you little bastard?’ Horan pushed his chair back and lurched toward the bar. ‘I asked you a question.’

Weasel, dwarfed by the huge croc-shooter towering above him, remained silent.

Horan jabbed his finger into Weasel’s little chest. He sneered and turned to the drunks at the table. ‘See what the Army’s putting up against the bloody Japs. Bloody ferret-faced little dwarfs.’ He turned back to Weasel. ‘Or were you full-size and wore your legs off running down here when the rest of the Army ran away from Darwin as soon as the Japs came calling?’

There was a loud roar of laughter from the locals.

Weasel’s anger rose again and his discretion deserted him. ‘Listen, mister,’ he shouted defiantly. ‘I’m a Nackeroo. We’re in the Territory to kill Japs not to run away from them.’

‘Haven’t you heard, mate,’ one of the river-rats called out. ‘there’s no Japs left in the Top End. Not even any Jap Sheilas. Nick and Henry screwed the last one to death in Darwin over a year ago.’

The significance of the remark wasn’t lost on Weasel. As another roar of laughter subsided he shouted angrily at Nolan, ‘You’re a rotten bastard—you and your pig of a brother.’

Weasel quickly tried to swung his knee up into Horan’s groin but the big man stepped deftly aside, grabbed Weasel by the hair with a huge hand and slammed his head down repeatedly into the top of the hardwood bar. It was only when blood from Weasel’s broken face was streaming onto the floor and the landlord threatened Horan with a length of steel pipe that the vicious beating finally ended.

When Smokey and a couple of other Nackeroos came down to the bar more than an hour later to see what had happened to Weasel, they found him lying unconscious in the street outside the pub.

*

Dan awoke in a cold sweat. His head ached and his skin itched and there were pains in his arms and legs. But the fever seemed to have passed. Once again he knew that he had somehow survived another attack of malaria. He lay on coconut matting in the corner of a grass hut. He was naked except for the remains of filthy underwear, the only clothing that had not been stripped from him by the Japanese the day he was pulled from his plane. He couldn’t remember how long he had been in Purgatory. But it seemed like an eternity.

He heard the crackling of the field radio on a table on the other side of the hut and turned his eyes towards it. As always, the diminutive Colonel Toki was sitting at the table, listening intently, pencil in hand, paper at the ready. Toki was the senior officer of one of the many contingents of shamed Japanese soldiers banished in disgrace to Purgatory with little or no food, clothing or medical supplies. As a former communications officer, the colonel’s crime against the Emperor had been supplying grossly inaccurate intelligence after misreading enemy radio signals.

The flawed information had resulted in the decimation of almost an entire Japanese unit by a superior force of Americans soon after the Marines first landed on the island. The only survivors of the ill-fated unit were twenty-five soldiers who had turned and fled in terror when they had found themselves vastly outnumbered and under intense machine gun fire. Retribution had been swift for Colonel Toki. With his uniform stripped of all insignia of rank he had been exiled to the lower slopes of Mt Austen with the twenty-five dishonored soldiers who had fled in the face of the enemy.

Toki turned his head and saw Dan was awake. ‘Ah, Captain Rivers,’ he said in perfect English, ‘you have decided to join us again.’ The colonel quickly silenced the static on the radio, stood up and walked over to Dan with a sheet of paper in his hand. ‘I must warn you, Captain,’ he said sternly, ‘I cannot keep you alive forever. My men resent what little food we give you and also the quinine it takes to control your malaria. Now, from the reports of my lookouts on the higher slopes of the mountain and from the increased traffic on the radio, we think the Americans are ready to launch a final offensive to drive what remains of our forces off Guadalcanal.’ Toki thrust the paper in his hand at Dan. ‘If you are ever to see your loved ones again you must cooperate now.’

Dan looked up at Toki and took the paper from his outstretched hand. The colonel was a little man of about forty. Only his small physique fitted the usual description of a Japanese officer. Beneath the ragged uniform, unshaven face and malnourished body was a quiet, refined and educated man, who so far had never shown any tendency to violence. From the beginning, even in his reduced circumstances, Colonel Toki had always treated Dan with the courtesy and respect which international military convention demanded be extended to a captured officer.

Dan remembered the day he had regained consciousness after the crash landing. He had heard Toki’s calm, soothing voice speaking to him from beyond the void, urging him back to wakefulness. Dan had been filled with relief, thinking he was in American hands. Toki had spoken reassuringly, telling Dan he was quite safe and that he had spent most of the past twenty-four hours talking incoherently in a language he didn’t understand. Dan had murmured that he must have been speaking in Navajo, his native tongue. When at last his eyes had focused clearly and he saw the little Japanese Colonel standing over him, Dan had thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But Toki explained that he had spent several years in the United States studying communications.

Toki told Dan that it was because of fond memories of United States that he had refused to allow his men to kill him and had ordered that his cuts and bruises be properly treated. It was only later, when Dan heard a stream of meaningless words coming over the Colonel’s field radio in the Navajo language, that he realized Toki had stumbled onto something very important when he’d heard his prisoner talking in his sleep. Dan understood then that the little colonel saw him as the key to unlocking a US Marine voice-code and he realized what the Cactus Air Force Major had been referring to when he mentioned the Navajo signallers on Guadalcanal.

‘Do not delay, Captain,’ Toki snapped impatiently. ‘Look at the paper carefully. Surely there must be something you can tell me.’

Dan stared intently at the piece of paper. ‘I can make nothing of this yet, Colonel,’ he lied, ‘You must give me more time.’

Dan had already put the complex jigsaw of words on the paper together but tried not to let his face show any sign of comprehension. Like many recent radio signals it concerned American preparations for a final sweep against the Japanese. He looked up and saw the skepticism on Toki’s face. It was becoming more and more difficult to fool him. Over time, Toki’s dogged determination to crack the code and the long hours spent listening to the field radio had made him proficient at writing down even the most complex of the Navajo words he heard. He used the English alphabet to form the words but when read aloud, they sounded remarkably similar to words coming over the radio.

What Toki didn’t know was that Navajo was in fact an unwritten language of extreme complexity which had no alphabet and had unique syntax and nasal qualities. Even the same word spoken in two different tones could have two entirely different meanings. To complicate matters even further, the messages transmitted were just a jumble of unconnected words which were quite meaningless in themselves.

Dan had soon realized that the words actually transmitted represented quite different words in code. During his days, weeks, perhaps months in captivity, he had gradually managed to crack the code as he lay feigning sleep, or pretending to be still comatose from one of his frequent attacks of malaria. He had discovered quite by accident one day that the word pronounced ‘cha-yes-desi’ with the literal meaning ‘rolled hat’ was the code word for Australia, and the word sounding ‘tsidi-moffa-ye-hi’ which literally meant ‘bird-carrier’ was the code word for aircraft-carrier.

After this breakthrough, Dan had rapidly built up a large mental dictionary of code words. In the interests of staying alive, he had even given Toki reason to believe he was making some headway with the code, passing on fragments of information which he knew were of no real value to the enemy. Now, as he stared at the paper trying to think of something to say which might sound credible he could tell the colonel sensed he was stalling.

‘You know, don’t you, Captain?’ Toki’s usually placid composure had suddenly gone. He was shouting at the top of his voice. ‘You know. You have broken the code but you are withholding it from me.’ He drew a long sword from its sheath on his belt and raised the blade high in the air. ‘You have deceived me.’

Two soldiers standing guard outside the radio hut rushed in, rifles at the ready. Dan braced himself for the worst. But the colonel’s rage receded just as quickly as it had risen and he dismissed the guards with a wave of his hand. Toki lowered the samurai sword , put it back in its sheath and knelt down beside Dan.

‘I thought we had an understanding, Captain,’ he said softly. ‘I thought we had agreed we were two of a kind, two people caught up in circumstances not of our making—circumstances which have taken from us all that we believe in, and everything and everyone we hold dear. You and I have but one chance to reverse our fortunes but time is running out. My only hope of returning to my regiment and my country with honor is to deliver to my superiors the US Marine code which is the only American code we have never been able to decipher. You can give me that. In return, you have my word that I will release you back to Henderson Field.’

‘I have not deceived you, Colonel ’ Dan said with as much sincerity as he could muster. ‘I am very close to breaking the code. I just need a little more time.’

Toki sighed. ‘Very well, Captain. I am a reasonable man. But do not think I would hesitate to kill you if I find you have been lying to me. And do not let your mind be clouded by any thoughts of foolish patriotism. Blind nationalism is no more than prejudice, bred from one-eyed familiarity of things and places to which one has become accustomed. It is a natural flame which burns in the hearts of all free people, but it is also a lethal weapon in the hands of unscrupulous men who would seek to incite one nation to rise up against another. You above all people must know that, Captain. I have visited Indian reservations in the United States. I have seen how your people are forced to live and the poverty and hopelessness you must endure. I have seen the exploitation and degradation of your people by white Americans and how they have suppressed your culture and trampled upon your human rights. Now they and the Australians ask you to lay down your life for them. Ask yourself, Captain, are such men worthy of your loyalty?’

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Faith never thought for one moment that the night she had dinner with Major Turner at Lennon’s Hotel would be the start of something between them. At the time it had seemed more like a command performance than a dinner date, something her boss wanted to do as a token of his appreciation of her work and to help her get her mind off the tragedy of Dan on Guadalcanal. But it hadn’t stopped there.

A few days later he asked her out again. At first she politely refused, but he persisted, saying that they were just two people doing a difficult job in trying times and that a little rest and relaxation in congenial surroundings could do neither of them any harm. Faith had acquiesced, even surprising herself at how quickly the polished ex-public relations man from Cohoes, New York, had been able to change her mind.

That night they went to Lennon’s again. Like the first time they had been there, the elegant restaurant was crowded with uniformed American officers and their ladies. Faith noticed most of the officers were higher ranking than Lyle, but because of his position as liaison officer at headquarters, many of them knew him well. Some had taken a moment to socialize briefly on their way back to their tables from the dance floor. Many of the ladies present were officers in US Army nursing and medical units and more than a few of them had seemed to know Lyle and acknowledged him with a smile or a cursory glance. But none stopped to make conversation. Faith had smiled to herself. It was plain the charming Major Hunter had been making the rounds amongst the ladies.

After the second dinner date, Faith somehow fell into a routine of seeing Lyle Hunter on a regular basis. They went to concerts and movies occasionally and often went dining and dancing. She enjoyed his company and the attentiveness and thoughtfulness he always showed her made her feel very special. And she also appreciated the professionalism he showed at headquarters by never displaying any sign of familiarity or favoritism toward her during the working day. Faith’s relationship with Lyle Hunter made her feel safe and secure at a time when almost everyone she knew lived with the stress and anxiety of pondering the outcome of the war and the fate of their loved ones serving with the armed forces overseas.

Faith knew there was no chance of suffering the emotional upheaval she had experienced with Dan. As much as she liked Lyle she was sure she would never feel for him the way she had felt for Dan. Because of that she felt protected against being hurt again. And she was not being unfair to him because he had never asked her for anything more than companionship and a goodnight kiss, or ever indicated that his feelings for her were any stronger than her own for him. And anyway, she had told him from the start she wasn’t ready for a relationship which demanded any commitments.

Faith knew Gus Welenski didn’t approve of the relationship and she regretted that. Gus was such a nice man and she knew that he thought the major was just trying to hang one more scalp on his belt. But Gus was a bloke and that’s what any bloke would think about a sophisticated man like Lyle Hunter. Faith knew that was what her aunt and uncle thought too. Dick and Helen had met him on a couple of occasions when he’d driven her home late at night. She’d only asked him in once. It had been a little uncomfortable all around. After that she and Lyle had just sat outside for a few minutes in his staff car before he said goodnight and drove away.

Over time Faith was beginning to get over Dan. It was over six months since they’d held each other tightly in the rain on the runway at Archerfield the morning he went back to Iron Range. Now, she could go a whole day without her heart almost stopping when she thought of him. But it seemed one heartache was just replaced by another. There had been no word from Joe for months and the papers were still full of reports of bombing raids in the Top End. And if that wasn’t enough to worry about, Helen and Dick had learned from Mike’s last letter, after they deciphered his prearranged code designed to fool the army censor, that he expected his field medical unit near Wollongong would soon be shipped to New Guinea.

*

Joe’s anger knew no bounds when he heard of Weasel’s encounter with the crew of the Groote Eylandt Lady. When the patrol arrived back at Eagle’s Nest three days after the incident, the swelling to Weasel’s face had gone down considerably, but his broken nose, black eyes and cuts and bruises were still stark evidence of the vicious beating he’d taken. When Weasel told Joe later what the hanger-on in the bar had said about the Horans and the Japanese woman in Darwin, Joe was fit to be tied. In the weeks that followed, unable to do anything about the Horan brothers, Joe’s rage gradually gave way to a simmering frustration. But he found consolation in the fact that he now knew the croc-shooters’ names.

One morning in late March, a sail appeared on the horizon to the north. There was a light south-easterly blowing over the Gulf and everyone took turns looking through the post’s powerful telescope. Soon it was plain the boat was heading towards Eagle’s Nest, but forced to tack against the breeze, her progress was painfully slow. By midday they could see that the vessel was a small sloop. She bore no markings, but as she approached she ran up what looked to be a pennant. Joe squinted into the telescope. He laughed out loud when he saw it wasn’t a flag at all but an Army slouch hat. The supply boat with the relieving section had finally arrived.

The sloop came as close to the shore as her draught would allow, then two men rowed ashore in a dinghy through water as smooth as a mill pond. Joe grinned when he recognized one of the men as Sergeant Xavier Herbert.

‘Sod of a bloody place here by the look of it, Joe,’ Herbert snapped as he jumped from the dinghy. ‘Can the boat get into the mouth of the creek? We draw four feet.’

With the tide on the make, Joe said there was enough water and the second man rowed back to the sloop to tell the skipper. By dusk the vessel was unloaded and the new section had taken over. Joe wondered how long it would be before the smart, clean shaven replacements would look as rough and ragged as the men who were departing the next morning.

That evening, with all kinds of fresh supplies to choose from, Smokey cooked a slap-up meal for everyone, washed down with beer Sergeant Herbert had kept cool in the bilge of the sloop. Later, as the Nackeroos sat around the fire drinking, singing and straining to re-read the huge backlog of mail in the flickering firelight, Herbert produced a bottle and a tin of orange juice and he and Joe wandered off along the shore in the moonlight. When they came across a chunk of driftwood lying on the sand they sat down on it and Herbert uncorked the bottle, punched a hole in the juice can and pulled two tin mugs from his pocket.

‘I’ve never much fancied beer, Joe.’ Herbert poured two measures from the bottle into the mugs and added juice. He held one out to Joe. ‘Here, try this.’

Joe took a sip and gasped as the brew seared his throat. ‘What the hell is this, Sarge?’

Herbert grinned. ‘My bother David and I make it ourselves. We call it "white lady". Knocks your socks off, doesn’t it? It’s made from methylated spirits. We dilute it with water and boil it up with beef or pork fat to get rid of the metho taste. Add a little fruit juice and pleasant conversation and its just like having cocktails in the lounge bar at the Australia Hotel in Sydney.’

Joe laughed and took another swallow. After a while he told Herbert about the incident at Borroloola and the Horan brothers. When he’d finished he said. ‘That woman those bastards bragged about screwing to death in Darwin, it could only be one person. I knew her. Her name was Aki Hamada. She was the mother of my offsider on Faraway, Koko Hamada.'

Herbert turned to Joe in surprise. ‘Good God. You mean Aki Hamada. I knew her husband Hayato well. Before he died, I ran the pharmacy at the hospital, just a stone’s throw from their cottage on Myilly Point. Hayato and I used to sit in their flower garden, drinking saki and watching the pearling boats come and go. It was the best saki I ever tasted. Hayato brewed it himself.’ Herbert took a long swallow of white lady. ‘When you told the CO at Roper Bar about what happened to your boat, it never occurred to me that your shipmate might be Koko Hamada..’

‘You knew Koko, too?’

‘Just by sight. I saw him once or twice when he came home from being at sea. It must be your boat he was on. Poor bastard is in a POW camp now.’

‘A POW camp? Joe looked horrified. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I was at that Aboriginal Control Camp at Phelp River a couple of months ago. The one where you told me your Aboriginal crewman, Monday, was detained. I made enquiries like you asked me to. They told me Monday was working on a road gang. But the talk of the camp was the ‘Japanese spy’ they’d caught. You could have knocked me over with a feather when they said his name was Koko Hamada. I talked to the lieutenant that interviewed him. He said it was as plain as the nose on your face that Koko was a spy. He said he should have faced a firing squad, but he ended up in the Japanese concentration camp at Cowra in New South Wales.

‘The rotten bastard.’ Joe took a long swig from his tin mug. He stood up quickly, picked up a pebble from the sand and hurled it angrily at the sea. ‘Are all officers so bloody stupid and arrogant?’

‘Without exception,’ Herbert said bitterly. ‘And they’re treacherous bastards too. It turns out that when Major Stanner set up the Nackeroos, he and the top brass, including the Minister for the Army, decided we were expendable. The swine sent us up here to die just to help save the cozy little patch of Australia occupied by themselves and southern commercial interests.’

‘What do you mean by that, Sarge?

‘Last week General MacArthur dropped them all in the shit. His review of his first year in Australia was published in all the papers and reported on the radio. It seems even the Prime Minister can’t censor what the Supreme Allied Commander tells the media. The opposition are calling for a Royal Commission. MacArthur said when he arrived here from the Philippines, Curtin and the Australian Chiefs of Staff planned to let the Japanese occupy all of Australia above a line drawn between Brisbane and Adelaide. They called it the Brisbane Line. Of course, they didn’t bother to tell anyone who lived north of it. And they sent poor buggers like us up here so we could let them know exactly when their new neighbors arrived—before the bastards chopped our heads off, that is.’

Joe shook his head as he pondered what Herbert had said. ‘Do you really think Stanner thinks we’re all expendable?’ he asked after a few moments.

‘Of course he does. He’s just another military donkey. So is our Company Commander. And I told them both so, right to their faces, when Stanner came up to Roper Bar last week.’

‘You really said that to Major Stanner and the CO?’ Joe said incredulously. He sat back down on the log. ‘What happened then?’

‘Stanner told his aide to “get this bloody ratbag out of my sight”.’ Herbert topped up Joe’s mug. ‘So here I am. The CO sent me off with the supply boat next morning. Stanner will be safely back sipping pink gin in the Melbourne Club by the time we get back.’

Joe stared into the sand. ‘Why did you join the Nackeroos in the first place, Sarge?’ he asked after a moment. ‘You’re a famous writer and you must be a year or two over the age limit, anyway.’

Herbert shrugged. ‘I told you at Roper Bar, Joe. I just wanted to do my bit for Australia. And besides, my wife Sadie and I needed a steady income. Writers royalty payments are few and far between, you know. So it seemed like a good idea at the time I volunteered. But even in wartime it seems you can’t avoid the smug, born-to-rule hypocritical clods in the establishment. They just take leave of absence from their boring little jobs in the ‘professions’ or the civil-service, get commissions, then bring their autocratic tunnel-vision into the armed forces.’

Joe couldn’t help but smile at Herbert’s disdain for authority. ‘But you’re brother, David, is a commissioned officer, Sarge.’

‘Yes, but he’s a practical man like you, not a mindless, academic twit. He’s a master mariner, you know. That why he’s in charge of the Nackeroos’ fleet of little coastal vessels. For once the Army put a round peg in a round hole. He’s got eight boats now, but he says he could use double that many, especially now.’

‘Why, what’s happening?’

‘The word is there’s a large Japanese force massing in Timor. If they attack the Top End, the Army wants to make sure they don’t get any more help from fifth columnists. Now we’ve got RAAF Spitfire squadrons in Darwin and American bomber and fighter squadrons at Batchelor Field, most of the Japanese air raids come at night to avoid being intercepted. Lately, just before the raids, fifth columnists have been showing lights and lighting fires along the coast to guide the Japanese bombers to their targets. There plenty of traitors around. A lot of them are probably in small boats like your mates, the Horan brothers. They can disappear for months on end and hide in shallow water, in places where naval boats can’t get into. With the end of the wet, that force in Timor may strike at any moment. Stanner told David he wants as many Nackeroo boats as possible to patrol the coast to hunt for fifth columnists.’

Joe stood up again and slammed one fist hard into the other. ‘God I wish I had a bloody boat, Sarge. I know the Top End coast better than any man alive.’

‘That what I told David when he told me he was getting another boat. It’s an old ketch they brought up from Broome called the Walrus. David’s in Darwin now making sure she’s seaworthy and ready to go on patrol.’

‘Did you put my name up to your brother for that boat, Sarge?’ Joe asked urgently.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘And what did he say?’

Herbert poured the last of the white lady into the tin mugs and smiled a rare smile. ‘I think congratulation are in order, Corporal. David said, after we get back to Roper Bar you were to report to the Walrus in Darwin as her new skipper. He says there’ll only be a crew of three including yourself. He said if there’s anyone special you want to take along, you can do so.’

‘Good.’ Joe grinned. ‘I’ll take Weasel.’

Herbert looked surprised. ‘Does he know anything about boats?’

‘About as much as he knows about horses.’

‘What about a third crewman?’

‘I’d like to take Monday. He’s knows boats well. What do you think?

‘Those bastards at the Aboriginal control camp will whinge about it. They treat the blacks like chattels. But I’ll tell the CO at Roper Bar that he’s indispensable to the Walrus and get him to authorize a release.’

‘Thanks, Sarge.’ Joe drained the last of the liquid from his tin mug. ‘And what will happen to the rest of the section now I’ve got a boat?’

‘Well, Snow will stay here with the new section. Smokey and young Tasker will get transferred to another.’

‘And what’s going to happen to you Sarge, now you’ve got Major Stanner and the CO offside?’

‘I’ve already made an application for discharge. If I can’t get that, I’ll settle for a transfer. Joining up was a mistake. How I ever thought I could work with such insufferable clods as Army officers, I’ll never know. But the feeling’s mutual. I’m sure they’ll be quite glad to see me go.’

*

The distant chatter of machine gun fire had been getting closer and closer all morning. Now it was much louder and more frequent and often interspersed with the roar of exploding mortars and the thunder of tank guns. Only Colonel Toki and Dan were left in the grass hut. When it had become plain the Americans were mopping up the last of the isolated pockets of banished Japanese units on Mt Austen, Toki’s men had fled to higher ground taking the last of the food and morphine with them.

Since the supply of morphine had ended, the frequency of Dan’s malarial attacks had intensified. He had spent much of the time unconscious in the grip of fever during the American push westward across Guadalcanal but somehow he had managed not to let go of his tenuous hold on life. Now, little more than a filthy, naked skeleton, he lay on the floor, saturated with sweat and listening to the sounds of the advancing Americans and the endless transmissions crackling over Toki’s field radio.

The static on the radio ended abruptly and a moment later Dan sensed Colonel Toki’s presence beside him. The Americans were so close now he could hear the dull clanking of the steel tracks on the approaching tanks. Too weak to move his head, Dan rolled his eyes slowly toward the Colonel. He saw Toki was holding his sheathed samurai in his hand.

‘You have suffered much, Captain,’ Toki said softly. ‘But your strong will to live has carried you through. But has it been worth it? In minutes we shall both be dead. We will join the tens of thousands whose lives have already been snuffed out on this awful island. And thousands more will die yet. Since the battle for Guadalcanal has been won by the Americans, what remains of our forces are left with only one honorable option—death on the battlefield.’

Now the soldiers outside were so close their excited voices carried into the hut between the bursts of gunfire and above the rumble of the tanks.

‘Captain,’ Toki continued calmly, ‘you must tell me before I die. Did you ever fully understand the messages the Navajo code-talkers were transmitting?’

Dan knew death was near. It didn’t matter whether it was in seconds at the hands of Colonel Toki, or in minutes from the deadly hail of American bullets and grenades which he knew would soon annihilate the little hut and anything in it. ‘Yes, Colonel,’ Dan admitted. He took a deep breath. ‘I’ve known almost from the very beginning.’

A burst of machine gun fire raked through the hut sending splinters of mud and grass flying everywhere. Another long burst hit the radio, blasting it into smithereens. Toki dropped to his knees but he was unhurt. He pulled his samurai from its scabbard.

‘You are a brave man,’ Toki whispered. ‘But are the Americans really worth your life, after all they’ve done to your Navajo people?’

‘Yes, they are.’

Dan closed his eyes and awaited the blade. Instead he heard a gush of air and a hoarse, gasp when Toki impaled himself on his sword. Dan opened his eyes just as another long burst of machine gun fire began. He watched the hut disintegrating in as the hail of bullets descending lower and lower down the sides of the hut as the soldiers outside tried to ensure nothing inside was left alive. The last projectiles passed no more than a foot above the floor of the hut and an inch above Dan’s face. Then he was horrified to see a hand grenade rolling towards him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Dick Sharkey arrived home exhausted after another long day at the crammed wharves along the Brisbane River. It was Friday afternoon and with Saturday being a rostered day off, he was looking forward to catching up on some sleep. He had started his shift at midnight at Newstead Wharf, loading munitions aboard the destroyer USS Mugford. Around 7 a.m. his gang had moved to the Dalgety’s Wharf in Teneriffe to load supplies aboard the AHS Centaur. Built in Liverpool in the 1920’s, the former Blue Funnel Line passenger steamer was on a shakedown cruise from Melbourne after being converted and commissioned as an Australian hospital ship.

Since the tide had begun to turn in favor of the Allies in New Guinea and Guadalcanal, more and more ships were arriving in Brisbane with war casualties. Seeing first hand the horrendous sacrifices the Allied forces were making and with the battlefields being so close, the wharfies and shipping operators in Queensland had set aside many of their long held differences and were working in a new spirit of cooperation. Nobody even minded working continual long hours of overtime, especially when a hospital ship was involved.

After Dick had eaten a hot meal, he showered and went to bed, falling asleep even as Helen drew the bedroom blinds to keep out the afternoon sun. It only seemed like he had a few minutes sleep when he felt her hand on his shoulder gently waking him. He opened his eyes and squinted towards the window and seeing it wasn’t yet dark outside he closed them again.

‘Ian McDougal’s here from the Union Hall, dear,’ Helen said softly.

Dick eyes remained closed. ‘What does he want?’

‘He says there’s an emergency. I told him you’d only come off shift a few hours ago, but he said it’s very important he talks with you.’

Dick swung his legs over the side of the bed. He ran a hand through his hair, pulled on some trousers and walked out to the kitchen.

‘What is it, Ian?’ Dick asked as he sat down across the table from the red-haired union secretary.

‘Sydney’s stopped work again.’

‘What the hell is it this time?’

Helen put a pot of tea down on the table and poured two cups. McDougal added milk to his cup and stirred it. ‘Someone decided to change pay day from Saturday morning to Thursday afternoon. One of the gangs said no and stopped work, so the Sydney Branch called a strike.’

‘God Almighty. Don’t they know there’s a war on?’

‘That’s what the Minister for Supply and Shipping said. He’s threatening to cancel Sydney Branch member’s call-up exemption.’

‘Serve the silly buggers right.’ Dick sipped his tea. ‘But you didn’t come here and wake me to tell me that. What’s up?’

‘The Yanks are hopping mad, Dick. They’re diverting shipping here. There’s a transport entering Moreton Bay right now with a huge number of casualties from Guadalcanal. She’s the George Washington, and she’s big—almost fifty thousand tons and draws over thirty feet. She needs deep water, that’s why she was heading for Sydney.’

‘We’ve only got thirty two feet here at the top of the tide.’

‘It’s high tide now. She wants to get into Hamilton Wharf, take on supplies then head out on the next tide for San Francisco. We’ll only have about twenty hours at best to service the ship. That’s why we’re rounding up everybody we can to get down to the docks to help out. It’s a tall order Dick, I want you to be there to make sure everything goes okay. I’ll drive you down to the wharf, if you like.’

Dick stood up. ‘I’d better get some clothes on, then.’ He turned to Helen. ‘It’ll be a long job by the sound of it. Better make me lots of sandwiches.’

‘Don’t bother, Helen,’ McDougal said quickly. Security for the George Washington is so tight that nothing is allowed on or off the ship—not even lunch boxes. And there’s a total communications blackout for everyone except the vessel’s senior officers. Once you’re on that ship you can’t get off it or leave the dock until she’s ready to sail.’

Dick smiled wryly. ‘Bloody Americans. They expect a lot, don’t they?’

‘You know how the Yanks are, Dick. They’re paranoid about the secrecy of their ship movements. Especially the ones carrying casualties. But don’t worry. They said that the ship’s kitchens will provide hot meals for everyone working the vessel and bunks for anyone who can’t leave the ship after working a full shift.’

Dick got up and went through to the bedroom to dress and Helen took his place at the kitchen table. She picked up the teapot and topped up McDougal’s cup. He took a sip and said, ‘Dick was saying the other day it’s quiet around the house with Mike away at camp and Faith working all hours for the Americans.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Helen sighed. ‘And with Dick always working such long hours, it gets a little lonely. Something always seems to come up to keep him down at the docks.’

‘Oh well, this war can’t go on forever, you know,’ McDougal said sympathetically. ‘At least you’ve got Faith here in the house when Dick works the night shift.’

‘Yes, she usually is and I’m thankful for it. But this weekend she’s off to Coolangatta. She’s leaving straight from work tonight.’ Helen smiled a quick smile. ‘There really are a lot of perks associated with working for the Americans, you know.’

*

The Point Danger Private Hotel was perched high on a rocky headland overlooking the Pacific Ocean. To the south there was a sweeping view of the northern New South Wales coast and to the north lay the twenty five miles of pristine beaches that formed Queensland’s magnificent Gold Coast. Beneath the gracious old building, the sleepy twin towns of Coolangatta and Tweed Heads straddled the border of the two states.

Before the war, the Point Danger Private Hotel had been a favorite holiday destination for the families of well-heeled business and professional people from Brisbane and wealthy property owners from the bush. All that changed when the Americans arrived. They promptly reserved it and most of the other quality resorts on the Gold Coast for the exclusive use of senior military personnel and their guests. When Major Lyle Turner felt the need for rest and relaxation, like many officers from headquarters, he invariably chose to go there.

It was after six o’clock when the US Army staff car took it’s place among a row of identical Packards in front of the hotel. Lyle Turner took his suitcase and Faith’s from the boot of the car and led the way inside. A young receptionist with a wide smile and knowing eyes greeted Lyle warmly, then looked on with more than passing interest as they signed the guest register. When they’d finished, she rang a small bell on the desk and when a youth arrived to carry their the guests bags upstairs she gave him two keys to adjacent rooms. Faith noticed as she changed her clothes for dinner that there was an adjoining door between the two rooms

They had arranged to have a drink before dining. When Faith answered Lyle’s knock on her door, he was wearing a tailored olive-green sport shirt, cream slacks and tan colored snakeskin shoes. She had rarely seen him out of uniform. In the casual but stylish American civilian clothes, he looked even younger and more handsome. Suddenly Faith felt quite plain in the simple floral semi-formal frock she had brought with her.

The little candle-lit bar just off the dining room faced out over the ocean. They sat at a small cane table beside an open window. Beyond the window, bright moonlight shone over the gently heaving sea. Below them they could hear the surf pounding on the rocks. A few couples sat around in the shadows at other tables making conversation in hushed tones. All the accents were American.

‘I noticed the receptionist seemed to know you,’ Faith whispered when Lyle sat down after bringing drinks from the bar. She smiled at him suspiciously in the candlelight. ‘I don’t think it’s the first time you’ve invited a girl to Point Danger.’

Hunter smiled. ‘You’re the very first, Faith.’

She laughed and took a sip from her glass of gin and tonic. ‘You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?’

‘But it’s true,’ he said in mock surprise. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

She smiled and squeezed the slice of lemon in her drink.

‘If anyone’s looking for a romance,’ Lyle said, ‘there’s always plenty of members of the opposite sex checked in here. It fact, it’s very rare for either male or female officers to invite guests to Point Danger.’

‘Then why me?’

‘I think you know why, Faith.’ He suddenly became very serious. ‘It’s because you’re very special to me. And if there’s to be any romance, I only want it to be with you.’ He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. ‘I love you, Faith.’

She was surprised by his admission and it must have shown on her face.

‘I mean it, Faith,’ he said earnestly. ‘I really do.’

She looked at him across the table and tried to make light of what he’d said. ‘And I don’t suppose that the moonlight and the ocean and us being away together in such a romantic place has got anything to do with it?’

‘It’s got everything to do with it, Faith,’ he whispered. ‘That’s why I asked you to come here. I told you, you’ve become very special to me.’

‘And you are special to me too, Lyle. You must know that. But I thought we agreed to be just …’

‘Just good friends?’ he said quickly. ‘That’s all I wanted at first,’ He squeezed her hand gently. ‘But surely you must have realized as time went by that I wanted more?’

‘A man like you can have anyone he wants, Lyle.’

‘I don’t want just anyone, Faith. I want you.’

‘But I told you at the start, I wasn’t ready for anything serious.’

‘That was then, Faith. How do you feel now?’

‘Losing someone you care about is a terrible thing, Lyle. But I’m just about over the hurt now. Time really does heal everything. And I know it would have been so much worse without you. You’ve been so wonderful and so patient. I really appreciate everything. It’s just that I think…

‘Yes?’

‘I think I need just a little more time, I…’ She hesitated when a waiter approached their table.

‘Your table is ready, Major Hunter,’ the waiter said. ‘Would you care to follow me through to the dining room?’

*

Darkness had fallen at the Hamilton docks and tugs already were positioning the George Washington into place when Dick arrived in Ian McDougal’s car. The entire area was cordoned off by American soldiers who were controlling a steady stream of ambulances, US Army trucks and also a long line of commercial vehicles arriving with provisions for the ship. MP’s at the main gate quickly checked Dick’s identification and allowed him to pass through. As he hurried across the wharf toward the enormous vessel, the tugs were beginning to withdraw and wharfies were securing the last of her mooring lines.

Dick approached a group of officials standing at the edge of the wharf. Among the group was the local naval officer, the ship’s agent, the wharf manager and several Australian and American Army personnel. Dick was surprised to see an Australian Major and a US Marine Colonel present. Usually the arrival of a transport didn’t warrant the presence of anyone ranking higher than a captain at best. It was plain that the George Washington was receiving special attention.

When Dick announced he was the senior union representative of the gangs working the ship, the Marine Colonel, a somber looking grey haired man, turned to him quickly. ‘We were disappointed that union problems in Sydney made it necessary to divert this ship here en route from Guadalcanal, Mr Sharkey,’ he said tersely. ‘I must advise you that now she is berthed she will be serviced. Should your members stop work for any reason, their duties will immediately be assumed by the military.’

‘There will be no unnecessary delays or work stoppages here at the Port of Brisbane on this or any other ship, Colonel,’ Dick said stiffly, ‘providing our standard working conditions are met and the safety of the ship is not compromised in any way.’

‘Thank you, Mr Sharkey.’ The Colonel became more conciliatory when he heard Dick’s firm response, ‘I’m glad to hear that. As you would know, it is imperative that this ship leaves on tomorrow’s high tide, otherwise she might be stuck in port for weeks. Now, if any problems arise which could jeopardize her departure, I’d appreciate it if you’d contact me directly. My name is Kensall, and like you, I won’t be leaving this ship until she sails.’

As soon as the first gangplank was in place, the official party went aboard and, as had become customary with a vessel coming in from a war zone, the gantry operators and wharfie gangs waited until the military gave them the nod to commence working the ship. While they were waiting, Dick walked along the wharf to talk with some of the union foremen.

As he spoke to wharfies near a gangplank at the stern of the vessel, floodlights lit up the entire wharf and stretcher bearers began carrying wounded soldiers ashore to the lines of waiting ambulances. Dick had become used to the procedure over the past few months but never before had he seen so many casualties come off one ship, and he was surprised when an American MP told him that only the most critical of the wounded were being transferred to hospitals ashore. The MP said the majority of the casualties would remain aboard, to be taken home directly to the United States when the ship sailed. He said no one knew exactly how many casualties were on the ship but it was in the thousands.

Dick was pondering the ordeal of the Americans on Guadalcanal when several Australian Army trucks drove up to the nearby gangplank and about fifty armed diggers clambered down from them and hurriedly followed the Australian Army Major onto the ship. After a few minutes they began to reappear, a few at a time, rifles at the ready, as they escorted scores of Japanese prisoners ashore.

Dick had never seen the enemy so close before and he was more than a little surprised. The sullen-faced, ragged little men shuffling down the gangplank with their hands on their heads, looked harmless, even pitiful. They looked nothing at all like the supposedly invincible, all-conquering forces which had swept everything before them in their advance across the Pacific. Some of the hapless prisoners glanced at the wharfies as they were herded into the waiting trucks. Dick thought he saw defiance in their eyes.

After the ambulances and trucks carrying the prisoners had left the wharf, the huge task of provisioning the George Washington for her voyage home began in earnest. Every gantry on the wharf and on the ship was put into service. Fuel, food, medical supplies and the thousand and one other essential items required by the ship and her complement of crew and passengers, which rivaled the population of a small city, had to be loaded in less than half the time usually required. The long line of trucks waiting to be unloaded was backed up down the roadway leading to the wharf as far as the eye could see and it only inched forward slowly.

Every available wharfie in Brisbane had been called in and everyone put their back into the task at hand. During the long night and into the early hours of the morning, all the gangs worked selflessly and tirelessly, ignoring their usual sit-down tea breaks and smoke-oh’s and food that was sent to them during the long night was eaten on the run as they worked. When the first streaks of dawn appeared in the sky, there was still a huge line of trucks on the roadway leading to the wharf, but finally the end of it was in sight.

Dick was dead on his feet. Although the bunks of crewmen on night duty had been made available to exhausted wharfies, he’d spent the entire night trying to make sure the operation ran smoothly. And it had. He was proud of the diligent and workmanlike manner in which the wharfies had discharged their duties and knew that in just a few hours, the huge undertaking would be over in time for the ship to sail on the tide.

As a lifelong Watersider he took pride in the heavy responsibility of preparing a ship for a long ocean voyage, especially one as enormous as the George Washington which was carrying such a priceless human cargo. Now, with the high standards he had always set himself satisfied, and with the dawn breaking, he looked for a quiet spot away from the hubbub of the gantries and the glare of the lights where he could rest for a few moments. He found a place near the bow of the vessel and sat down wearily on a chain hawser.

‘It’s gone very well tonight, Mr Sharkey.’

Dick was startled by the voice from the shadows. He turned around and in the half light he saw Colonel Kensall leaning against the ship’s rail just a few yards away from him. The American officer was also taking in the dawn alone.

‘We have done our best, Colonel. This vessel will be ready to sail with the tide’

‘I must apologize if I sounded overbearing last night,’ the colonel said. ‘It’s just that I feel a special responsibility towards the men aboard this ship.’

‘No apology is required, Colonel. We both have our jobs to do.’

The colonel moved from the rail and sat down beside Dick.

‘My youngest son was a Navy flyer, Mr Sharkey,’ he said sadly, staring down into the deck of the ship. ‘This war is over for him. He was an early casualty on Guadalcanal. But the war won’t be over for the thousands of wounded men aboard this vessel until she arrives safely home. And before she does she must run a formidable gauntlet of enemy warships. The east coast of Australia and the entire Pacific Ocean is a hazardous place for shipping these days. Japanese submarines are sinking ships every day, particularly unarmed transports. With no US hospital ships available, the Army had no choice but to use the George Washington. And as a transport she can’t expect a hospital ship’s immunity from attack.’

‘I understand your concerns, Colonel,’ Dick said reassuringly. ‘And I’m so sorry about your son. I know how you must feel. I have a young son myself. We expect he will see action in New Guinea soon.’

The colonel rose to his feet. ‘Perhaps you would like to join me below for some breakfast, Mr Sharkey. I think we could both use some bacon and eggs and coffee. ’

‘Thank you, but I’ll be right, Colonel.’

‘But I insist, Mr Sharkey.’ The colonel grinned. ‘And even on an American vessel, I’m sure we can rustle you up a nice pot of tea. Come on, there’s a medical officers canteen not far from here. I know a short cut through the ship.’

The colonel led the way down the deck and past several armed Marines at a doorway guarding access to one of the many sections of the ship that was out of bounds to everyone but authorized military personnel. Beyond the doorway a wide steel stairwell led down into a huge hold, which like others on the ship had been converted into a self-contained, multi-level, fully sufficient hospital. As Dick followed Kensall through one cavernous infirmary after another he was amazed at what he saw. Army doctors, nurses and medical aides were scurrying about attending to the needs of wounded men lying in seemingly endless rows of beds. Many of the casualties were bandaged so heavily Dick couldn’t even see their faces. Others were in the process of having bandages and dressings changed and it was plain to see that a high percentage of the casualties had undergone major surgery, even the removal of limbs.

Some of the wounded lay perfectly still, alone in a world of their own, oblivious to everything going on around them, staring into the steel ceiling above their beds. Some moved a little beneath their crisp white sheets as Dick walked by and their slight motions brought soft whimpers, or loud painful groans. Others were unconscious. Dick thought how merciful it was that at least some of the wounded were feeling no pain at all, and for the moment were unaware of the wholesale suffering in the bowels of the great ship. Not wanting to see any more, Dick took his eyes off the wounded and stared straight ahead as he followed the Colonel between the rows of beds and he was thankful when he saw a doorway marked ‘MEDICAL OFFICERS MESS HALL’ over the officer’s shoulder.

Just as they passed the last of the wounded, Dick was startled when a man suddenly sat bolt upright in his bed and started shouting. A nurse and an orderly rushed to him. The colonel and Dick looked on while the orderly restrained the delirious man and a nurse sedated him with a needle. But before the drug took effect the man continued shouting, screaming out words in a foreign language. Then the drug took effect and the tirade ended and the orderly lowered the man’s head back onto his pillow. Dick’s eyes widened. The man’s dark, chiseled features somehow looked familiar. Dick took a closer look and gasped. The man in the bed was Dan.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The captain of the George Washington had only just risen after a short sleep when Colonel Kensall and Dick arrived at his cabin. Now he stood in his underwear, shaving in front of his bathroom mirror.

‘My orders are very explicit, Colonel.’ There can be no exceptions to the embargo on civilian communications from this ship or from the wharf. Security must be maintained. You know as well as I do, loose lips sink ships.’

‘I understand that, Captain. But I believe Mr Sharkey here may well be the only person who knows who this man in the infirmary is. I’ve already spoken to the chief medical officer. All the information he has is that this man was found in a Japanese enclave on Guadalcanal. On top of the serious malnutrition he suffered as a prisoner, he sustained severe shrapnel wounds in the raid. Add to that his chronic malaria which was complicated by blackwater fever right after our guys got him back from the Japs and you’ll get an idea of how badly he needs help.’

‘Then what are you worrying about, Colonel. He’s in the right place. My ship has been turned into one of the biggest goddamn hospitals afloat.’ The captain walked from the bathroom into the main cabin area. He wiped some excess shaving cream from his face, then took a shirt from a closet and put it on.

‘Look, Captain,’ Kensall said quickly. ‘This man needs more than medical help. No-one in the Army knows who he is or what unit he’s from. He hasn’t spoken a single word of English since he was rescued.’

The captain paused as he buttoned up his shirt. ‘I thought you said he was an American?’

‘He is. He’s an Indian. He’s been speaking in the Navaho language. At first when our guys took him prisoner they thought he was on the other side. Lucky for him there were Navaho on Guadalcanal who heard him raving in his sleep. He’s American all right, but that’s all anyone knows about him. Everything he says in the Navaho language is gibberish.’

‘Wasn’t he wearing a dog-tag or anything?’

‘No.’

‘No identifying clothing, no uniform?’

‘No, he was naked when they found him.’

‘And nobody from his own outfit recognized him?’ The captain looked skeptical. ‘Hell, there can’t be many Navaho in Marine units on Guadalcanal. Couldn’t anyone work out which outfit he belonged to.’

‘They tried to. But then they figured from his condition that the Japs must have had him a long time. And because all the original Marines unit on Guadalcanal were relieved by fresh troops back in December and January they reckoned his outfit must have left without him. Anyway, Mr Sharkey here, says he wasn’t a Marine at all. He says he’s a captain in the Army Air Corps and that he was briefly based here in Brisbane last year. He says his name is Dan Rivers and his family knows him well. He’s afraid if the Army doesn’t know who he is, they won’t even be able to send him home to his family when you get back to the States.’

‘He’ll probably be well enough by then to tell them himself.’

‘I told you,’ Kensall said quickly, ‘the medical officer said his malaria is complicated by something called blackwater fever which impairs the function of the kidneys. Right now, only drugs and blood transfusions are keeping him alive. If there’s a total kidney breakdown, it’s fatal. I think he should be transferred to better facilities ashore.’

‘Then why don’t you, Colonel?’

‘Because I’m not a medical officer, Captain. I don’t have the authority. And besides, the chief medical officer said there are only so many beds available ashore. Facilities are strained to the limit. He can’t send anymore men into town without authorization from a hospital or a high-ranking officer who is prepared to take full responsibility for him. And nobody’s going to do that if they don’t even know who he is.’

The captain took a necktie from his closet, slipped it under his collar and began tying the knot in front of a dresser mirror. ‘So what good would your telephone call do, Mr Sharkey,’ he said dismissively, ‘even if I let you make it?’

‘I want to tell my niece about Captain Rivers.’ Dick said quickly. ‘She and Captain Rivers were very close. She works for the senior American liaison officer at General MacArthur’s headquarters.’ He took a fob-watch from his pocket and checked the time. ‘She’ll be in the office in about an hour or so. She may be able to do something to get Captain Rivers off this ship. Once it leaves the dock it will be too late to help him.’

The captain turned to Kensall. ‘You know I’d be breaking all the rules if I let this man use a telephone, Colonel. Why are you getting involved in all this?’

‘Because Mr Sharkey told me that that poor bastard down there in the infirmary, has fought in the Philippines, Darwin, New Guinea, and Guadalcanal during the last fourteen months. And if I didn’t lift a finger to help him, I’d find it hard to live with myself.’ Kensall looked the captain directly in the eye. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

The Captain looked somberly into the mirror for a few moments and made a final adjustment to his necktie. ‘Very well, Gentlemen. Just one call. There are phones hooked up in the radio room. Meet me there in one hour.’

*

As always Gus Welenski was the first person to arrive for work at the liaison office. When he pushed open the door the phone was already ringing. It was just after 7.30 a.m. and his head still hurt from a long drinking session with non-commissioned officers at the American Club the night before. But at least it was Saturday. Although most military staff at headquarters followed General MacArthur’s example and worked seven days a week, many non-essential staff and civilian employees had weekends off. Welenski enjoyed the slower pace on Saturdays and he enjoyed it even more when Major Hunter wasn’t around.

He picked up the persistent telephone. ‘Staff Sergeant Welenski, Army Liaison.’

‘Sergeant, my name is Dick Sharkey,’ the caller said. ‘I’m Faith Brodie’s uncle. I need to speak to Faith urgently. I’m working at the docks and I can’t contact her at home because we’re not on the phone. Has she come in to work yet?’

‘She won’t be in this weekend at all, Mr Sharkey,’ Welenski replied. ‘She’s gone to Coolangatta. She went down there last night. Didn’t you know?’

‘No, I didn’t. I’ve been working nights lately and haven’t seen much of her. Perhaps I could speak with Major Hunter, Sergeant? He knows who I am, we have met.’

‘I’m afraid the Major’s not in yet, Mr Sharkey.’

There was silence at the end of the line. ‘Mr Sharkey.… you still there?’

‘Yes, Sergeant, I’m still here.'

Welenski thought how dejected the caller’s voice sounded. ‘Mr Sharkey,’ he said quickly, ‘look, I know Faith well. Would you like me to try and get hold of her and have her call you back?’

‘That’s not possible, Sergeant.’ There was another pause on the line. ‘You see. I’m on a ship’s phone. I can only make the one call for security reasons.’

‘Then is there a message I can give her if I can reach her?

‘Yes. Would you tell her that Captain Dan Rivers is alive. I’ve seen him aboard the vessel I’m working on. He’s in a bad way and can’t communicate. Got something called blackwater fever, a complication of malaria. They say it can be fatal. He’s being looked after on board ship but he’d do better ashore. The Army medical officer says he can’t be transferred to a hospital in town without high level authorization because there are no beds available, and anyway, no-one even knows who he is or what unit he’s from. I thought Faith may know someone who could help him—perhaps Major Hunter.’

‘What’s the name of the ship you’re calling from, Mr Sharkey?’

‘The captain says I can’t mention the ship’s name or when she sails over the telephone.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Welenski said. ‘I can figure that one out. I know Captain Rivers went missing on Guadalcanal. Leave it with me, Mr Sharkey. I’ll see what I can do.’

Welenski hung up the phone and dialed the main switchboard. ‘Get me the Point Danger Private Hotel in Coolangatta,’ he said as soon as he was connected, then waited impatiently strumming his fingers while the operator put the call through.

‘Point Danger Private Hotel,’ a cheerful female voice announced.

‘Miss Brodie’s room please.’

The phone rang a dozen times before the hotel operator came back on the line. ‘She doesn’t seem to be in her room, sir. Shall I try the restaurant?’

‘Yes, please.’ Welenski kept pounding his fingers on his desk until the cheerful voice came back on the line. ‘Sorry, sir. You’ve just missed her. Apparently she just left for the beach with another guest. They took a picnic lunch. They said they would be gone all day.’

Welenski clenched his fist and thumped the desktop in exasperation. He was about to hang up the phone, but suddenly his suspicions were aroused. ‘This other guest, may I ask who it is?’

‘I don’t know for certain, sir,’ the hotel operator said happily. ‘But I expect it was Major Lyle Hunter. I was on the reception desk when they arrived here last night. Would you like to leave Miss Brodie a message? ’

No, thanks. If she said she’d be gone all day, perhaps I’ll just call back this evening.’

Welenski hung up the phone and stared at it, pondering the situation. He was well aware of the growing relationship between Lyle Hunter and Faith and he disapproved. Since Dan Rivers, Faith had never discussed anything personal with him, although they talked often and had become good friends. What angered Welenski was that he knew what Hunter wanted from Faith Brodie. It was always the same with the glamour boy from the liaison office. And once he’d got it he’d drop her like a hot potato. What amazed Welenski was that Faith had agreed to go to Point Danger with Hunter. After all, she was too smart not to know the consequences.

Welenski was drawn from his thoughts when the office door swung open and several staffers came in together chatting noisily. He acknowledged them with a wave of his hand, then got up and wandered through to the lunch room. A cup of coffee would soothe his head while he tried to think of what to do. When the brew was made he carried a steaming cup through to Lyle Turner’s office, closed the door behind him, picked up the phone on the desk and placed a call through the switch.

A moment later he heard a familiar voice. ‘Navy Liaison Office.’

‘George. It’s Gus. How are you?’

‘Hung over, how about you?’

‘About the same, I guess. Look, George, I need a favor.’

‘Shoot.’

‘What ships are in Brisbane with Guadalcanal casualties?’

‘Only one. But she’s a big sucker. The George Washington at the Hamilton wharf.’

‘When does she sail?’

‘I’ll check.’ There was a slight pause. ‘At fifteen hundred hours.’

‘Thanks.’ Welenski hung up and immediately placed another call to a staff sergeant he knew in the Army Medical Corps. The sergeant hadn’t yet arrived for work so Welenski left word for him to return the call the moment he came in.

It was almost ten o’clock before the sergeant called back. Welenski explained the situation and asked from just how high up the authority would have to be to get Dan taken off the George Washington. The Medical Corps sergeant didn’t mince words. He reminded Welenski that the United States Army was a paper shuffler’s paradise and it would be all but impossible to transfer Dan ashore in the narrow time frame before the ship sailed, even if the order was signed by the Chief Surgeon of the Army Medical Corps himself.

Welenski racked his brain but eventually resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing he could do. The non-commissioned officers’ network could usually be counted on to cut red tape and make things happen in spite of inflexible administration officers who were always determined to do things by the book. But this time there just wasn’t enough time. What was needed was a high ranking well-connected officer with clout.

Welenski was forced to admit to himself that the only officer he knew with enough pull to make a difference was Lyle Turner. But in the circumstances it would be unlikely if Turner would use his influence to help Dan Rivers. But, Welenski reasoned, how could the Major say no if Faith were to ask him. He reached for the phone again and put another call through to Point Danger. The same cheerful receptionist told him that neither Major Turner or Miss Brodie had returned to the hotel yet. He hung up and went to the lunch room and poured his fifth cup of coffee of the morning. At eleven o’clock he was still wrestling with the situation and thinking of Faith when something she had said long ago gave him an idea.

Welenski dismissed the idea just as quickly as it had come. So what if Captain Rivers had told her he knew General MacArthur, that he had met him informally on a train in South Australia, and that he and the General had enjoyed more than just a passing conversation. Welenski smiled to himself. Probably the story wasn’t even true. The stories American servicemen invented when they were trying to impress Australian girls were legendary. Like the hardware store clerk from Galveston who said his father’s Texas cattle ranch was as big as some European countries, or the used car salesman from Santa Monica who said that he knew most Hollywood movie stars by their first names. But somehow when Faith talked about Dan Rivers, he had never come across as the sort of guy who was out to impress anyone.

After a few moments, the idea came back again and Welenski dismissed it again. If it had hit him the night before after six or seven bourbons he wouldn’t have hesitated for a minute. But in the cold light of day, and hung-over, the notion just didn’t seem so bright. But Welenski couldn’t shake it. After a few minutes he got up from his desk and went into the privacy of Lyle Turners office and picked up the phone again.

‘Supreme Allied Commander’s office.’

‘It’s Staff Sergeant Welenski, Army liaison. May I speak with Staff Sergeant Fuller, please?’

‘Staff Sergeant Fuller isn’t available,’ the female voice replied.

‘When will he be?’

‘Not for a few days, I’m afraid. Would you like to leave a message?’

‘Welenski sighed. He’d struck out. He couldn’t use the only contact he had in MacArthur’s fourth floor inner sanctum. He was about to admit defeat again when he surprised himself by saying: ‘We have some important information in this office we feel should be passed on to General MacArthur immediately.’ The words just seemed to pour out by themselves.

‘I’ll put you through to Lieutenant-Colonel Parkes, Sergeant’

‘Lieutenant-Colonel Parkes.’

Welenski’s throat went dry. He hadn’t expected to be transferred to a high ranking officer. He licked his lips quickly and said, ‘Sir, Staff Sergeant Welenski, Army Liaison. We’ve had a report of an unidentified casualty from Guadalcanal aboard the transport George Washington at the Hamilton wharf. It’s just been ascertained that he’s an Air Corps officer who was reported missing last November. His name is Captain Dan Rivers. He requires top level authorization for transfer to a hospital ashore.’

‘Why are you telling me this, Sergeant?’ the lieutenant snapped angrily. ‘Don’t you people down there in liaison know there are channels. I suggest you use them. Have Major Hunter contact the Air Corps. They’ll take it from there.’

Welenski took a deep breath. ‘There’s no time sir, the ship sails at fifteen hundred hours. We thought your office should be advised immediately because the officer in question is known personally by General MacArthur.’

‘Who’s we, Welenski?’

Welenski took a deep breath and closed his eyes. ‘Major Hunter, sir.’

‘Put him on the line.’

Welenski had no choice but to elaborate on the lie. ‘He’s not in the office, sir. But he told me to be sure we got the message through to the general’s office.’

‘Very well, I’ll see what I can do.’ Parkes’ voice became more accommodating. ‘I’ll have to hang up now, the general and much of his staff are leaving for Port Moresby momentarily.’

Welenski hung up the phone and let out a groan. Sometimes he amazed himself. He’d really stuck his neck out this time. And he knew there could be serious consequences later, whether or not anything was done for Captain Rivers. But for the moment he put his concerns aside. If sticking his neck out made Faith Brodie happy, it was worth it, and if he’d managed to help Dan Rivers, that was good too—even if he was an officer.

*

‘I’d given up all hope of anything happening, when out of the blue, the ambulance showed up at the wharf about fifteen minutes before the ship sailed,’ Dick said excitedly. He was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open as he told Helen of the events on the wharf earlier in the afternoon. ‘It’s just lucky, I didn’t know Faith had gone away for the weekend or I’d never have phoned her at the office.’

‘It’s wonderful news,’ Helen said. ‘Faith won’t be able to thank you enough when she gets home.’

Dick grinned. ‘I’m not the one she’ll need to be thanking. ‘This Colonel Kensall down at the ship told me that someone in the Faith’s office took it right up to the very top. He said the order to bring Dan ashore came from General MacArthur himself.’

‘My word, it helps to have friends in high places.’ Helen was plainly overjoyed. ‘Faith is so lucky to know Major Hunter. He must have gone out of his way to help Dan. It was such a decent thing to do.’ Helen suddenly looked very thoughtful. ‘I think perhaps we may have misjudged him, Dick.’

*

Almost two hundred Japanese prisoners were taken off the SS George Washington at the Hamilton wharf. After two long days spent bouncing around in Army trucks crossing the dusty Queensland and New South Wales outback, the defiance that had shown on their faces on the dock had all but disappeared.

When the long convoy arrived at the prisoner of war camp at Cowra, it was late in the afternoon and all the inmates turned out to watch it roll through the main gates. And in order to ensure an orderly hand over of so many prisoners to the ageing soldiers of the 22nd Garrison Battalion who guarded the camp, a large contingent of armed soldiers from the nearby Australian Infantry Training Centre was on hand.

The gates opened onto Broadway, the name given to the widest of the two dissecting diagonal strips of no-mans land which divided the camp area into four equal compounds. Koko watched through the wire as the convoy stopped outside compound B, in which he and Yakimoto’s group were billeted. Even before the canvas covers of the trucks were peeled back, everyone knew the newcomers would be Japanese because the two compounds housing Italians were already full to overflowing. During the summer months, the trickle of Japanese prisoners arriving at Cowra had become a steady stream. But when the prisoners climbed down from the trucks and lined up in long rows on Broadway, Koko was surprised at just how many there were.

‘This is a sad day for Japan, Koko.’ The voice beside Koko was Yakimoto’s. Over the months at Cowra, a mutual respect bordering on friendship had developed between the two men. Yakimoto stood grim faced, eyes staring through the fence wire as the prisoners were pushed roughly into line by Militia soldiers. ‘It is a disgrace. So many of our countrymen, suffering such shame.’

‘They are of my race,’ Koko said without turning his head. ‘But they are not my countrymen.’

‘They are your countrymen because they are Japanese,’ Yakimoto persisted. ‘You cannot change that. I don’t have to tell you that a Japanese living in another land is still always a Japanese. The Australians have already made that plain to you and all the Japanese internees in this country. Why do you go on living an illusion. Your true allegiance came through when you shot at the enemy in the Northern Territory.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you that was an accident, Yakimoto?’

‘If it was an accident, why did your so called countrymen put you in a prisoner of war camp? No my friend, you are Japanese and you should be proud. Our cause is noble in this war. It is our duty to rid our region of European colonists. The Dutch and the Portuguese came to enslave and exploit the East Indies and the British used Australia as a dumping ground for their unwanted human rubbish. These are the very people who have now betrayed you and taken away your freedom. What else could you expect from such men. No Koko, you can never be a European any more than an Australian can ever be an Asian. If ever any doubt remains in your mind, just look in a mirror. It will tell you what you are.’

Koko was about to say something when there was some sort of commotion outside the fence. It seemed the older guards were having trouble getting the prisoners to respond to signals and gestures urging them to march through a gate into Compound B. But when the soldiers from the Infantry contingent waved their Thompson machine guns menacingly, the prisoners reluctantly, but defiantly, marched in through the gate.

Yakimoto’s mouth moved in an almost indiscernible smile. ‘These men still have the spirit of the samurai, Koko. I shall nurture it. Our number is growing every month. When both Japanese compounds are full we shall have well over a thousand men. Almost a small Army. And when the time is right we shall all do our duty.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

When Joe’s section arrived back at Roper Bar from Eagle’s Nest, everyone discarded their filthy ragged uniforms and scrubbed up until they were almost unrecognizable. Then they changed into crisp new uniforms and went to the canteen for the first meal in months that they didn’t have to prepare themselves. After they had eaten, Smokey and Tasker climbed into an Army transport waiting to take them to headquarters in Katherine and ten days leave. Joe and Weasel stood waving at the grinning faces of the farrier and the young jackeroo until the truck rolled outside the camp gate.

Sergeant Herbert wasted no time in talking to the Roper Bar CO about Monday being released from the Aboriginal control camp to join the crew of the Walrus. As Joe waited outside the office he plainly heard Herbert repeatedly counter the CO’s loud objections. It was only after Herbert pointed out that there were already a few experienced black sailors aboard other Nackeroo vessels that the CO finally capitulated. But during the heated exchange it was plain that relations between the CO and Herbert were strained to the very limit.

Early the next morning, armed with a release order for Monday, Herbert and Joe left Roper Bar in a jeep for Phelp River. Along the way Herbert told Joe that the CO had told him he could expect to receive an honorable discharge from the Army within weeks. In the meantime he had been ordered to take the crew of the Walrus to Darwin and then remain there until the discharge came through.

‘Seems to me the vessels of the Northern Australia Observer Unit should be manned by experienced military personnel, not a bunch of blacks,’ a dismayed young Militia lieutenant said when he read Monday’s release order. ‘I suppose the next thing you’ll know we’ll be training them as naval officers.’

Herbert eyed the officer derisively. ‘Perhaps we should, sir. Then we’d have sailors that know our northern waters instead of just Sydney Harbor and Port Philip Bay.’

The lieutenant bristled. ‘Sergeant Herbert… you’re Xavier Herbert, the writer, aren’t you?’ he snapped. ‘I’ve heard about you. You have a reputation as a trouble making, belligerent, opinionated ratbag. It’s pretty obvious how you earned it.’ He got up quickly from his desk, led Herbert and Joe to an outer office and handed the release order to a corporal. ‘Find out where this Abo’s working Corporal, then take these men to him and release him into their custody. And make sure Sergeant Herbert takes full responsibility by having him endorse the back of the release order.’

They found Monday about twenty-five miles to the north-east of Phelp River working in a road gang with about fifty other Aborigines. Supervised by Militia soldiers sitting in the shade of Army trucks, the work party was clearing brush, digging up roots and shoveling dirt on a wide track being pushed through the bush towards the coast. Joe had smiled to himself earlier when the corporal said the track led to an abandoned Aboriginal settlement at the mouth of the Rose River where a Japanese spy had landed a year earlier.

Joe had already seen Monday when the corporal stopped the truck to ask the soldier in charge to identify him. Joe hopped quickly from the vehicle and hurried over to him. Monday looked up from his work when Joe approached him. At first a look of amazement swept over his face, then the young Aborigine grinned from ear to ear.

‘Mr Joe. Oh… Mr Joe.’ Monday was overcome with joy. ‘Is it really you? What you doing here?’

Joe grinned. ‘I’ve got a boat waiting for me in Darwin, Monday. I’ve come to see if you want to sail with me again.’

*

Sergeant Herbert, Joe, Weasel and Monday left in a jeep for Darwin at dawn the next day. Joe was surprised to find that it took much less time to reach the Stuart Highway than it had on the inward journey when they first reported to Roper Bar. But the reason was plain. The dirt road was now more than twice as wide and almost as smooth as a billiard table. Here and there along the hundred mile stretch, gangs of Aboriginal laborers and road graders were working to convert the track into an all-weather route.

But the real eye-opener came when the jeep swung onto the Stuart Highway just south of the township of Mataranka. Now the Darwin-Alice Springs road, which Territorians had always referred to as just ‘the track’, had been transformed from a bush trail into a dust-free ribbon of gleaming black bitumen with military vehicles and heavy transports passing by every few minutes in both directions.

‘Bloody amazing what a war can do, isn’t it?’ Herbert said as Jeep sped smoothly northward. ‘I never thought I’d ever travel this road without choking on dust and jarring every bone in my body. What has been done here is bloody marvelous. We can thank the Australian Civil Construction Corps for building it and the Americans for giving us the tools.’

Between Katherine and Darwin there were several stretches of highway still unsealed. There were hundreds of construction workers at these locations and Joe saw the road building tools Xavier Herbert had referred to. Road base material from mobile rock crushing plants set up at points along the road was being mechanically loaded into huge dual-axle, self-tipping trucks and distributed at high speed to massive graders and heavy compaction rollers. Hot bitumen for the final roadway surface was transported in the same manner from roadside asphalt batching plants along the way. Joe saw all types of heavy construction equipment being used which he had never seen before—even gangs installing telephone lines beside the highway were equipped with mechanical post hole diggers.

‘The Yanks don’t mess about, do they?’ Herbert said. ‘I heard when they wanted to extend the RAAF runway at Batchelor Field to accommodate Flying Fortresses, the Civil Construction Corps said it would take three or four months to complete the project. So the Air Corps called in US Army Engineers and they did the job in nine days.’

As they neared Darwin, Joe realized how much the area had changed in little over a year. A massive concentration American and Australian servicemen was evident everywhere. What had once been a wide-open and hopelessly defenseless gateway to the entire continent of Australia was now a huge Allied camp. Sergeant Herbert estimated there were now close to seventy-five thousand troops in the Top End, armed with the most modern weapons of war.

What had been there for the taking in early 1942, if the Japanese had decided to land, would now require a massive full scale invasion by land, sea and air forces. If that was the purpose of the reported big build up of Japanese forces on Timor, Joe reckoned they would need every man they could muster, and even then the enemy would have no certainty of gaining a foothold in the Northern Territory.

Joe shuddered to think how vulnerable the Top End had been a year earlier. And his anger rose when he thought of the awful price northern Australians could have paid for the ineptitude and treachery of far off southern politicians who had secretly conspired to surrender the greater part of the continent to the Japanese if the going got too tough. He glanced at the gaunt face of Xavier Herbert behind the wheel of the Jeep and knew the deep personal betrayal the sergeant must have felt when he had learned about the Brisbane Line contingency plan.

Joe pushed his anger aside and turned to Weasel and Monday. They smiled back at him from the cramped space in the rear of the Jeep. Joe turned back around and looked up the wide strip of bitumen. Life wasn’t so bad, he reckoned. Darwin was only fifteen minutes away now. He was almost home. Soon he’d be aboard a sailing boat again and be able to leave the constraints of the land behind him as he breathed in pure salt air and felt a gently heaving deck beneath his feet.

*

General MacArthur had only been minutes away from taking off from Archerfield airfield to convene a meeting of Allied commanders at his advance headquarters in Port Moresby when an aide had told him about Dan. As he hurried across the tarmac to his waiting aircraft he had instructed the aide to ensure that Captain Rivers was transferred ashore immediately and taken to the finest medical facility available. Within the hour Dan had been taken by ambulance to the 12th Australian Army General Hospital in the Brisbane suburb of Greenslopes.

When Faith arrived home from Coolangatta the following evening, Lyle Turner didn’t come into the house and he had driven away before the Brodie’s had a chance give Faith the good news. Faith was overjoyed, but soon became subdued when Dick told her of the terrible condition Dan was in. And when he told her of the part that Major Hunter must have played in getting Dan transferred from the ship to Greenslopes, Dick thought she seemed to be a little bewildered.

The next morning Faith was already at the office when Gus Welenski arrived.

‘I heard the wonderful news last night, Gus.’ She kissed him gently on the cheek. ‘Only you could have made something like that happen. If you’d phoned me I’d have come home right away. I told you I was going to Point Danger.’

‘I did phone, Faith.’ Welenski looked her directly in the eye. ‘But you didn’t tell me the major was going down there with you.’

Faith felt her cheeks flush. She glanced at the sergeant apprehensively. ‘It’s not what you think Gus… really.’

Welenski looked unconvinced. ‘It doesn’t matter what I think. The main thing is the Australians are giving Captain Rivers the very best of care at Greenslopes. That’s all that matters.’

‘How did you do it Gus?’

‘You told me that Captain Rivers knew General MacArthur.’

‘Oh, Gus.’ Faith’s mouth dropped in amazement. ‘You’re brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. What on earth did you say?’

‘I told a few whites lies and used the major’s name. When he finds out I don’t think he’ll think I’m so brilliant.’

Faith glanced around the office. ‘He’s not in yet?’

‘He’s got this usual early Monday morning meeting on the fourth floor.’ Welenski glanced at his watch and winced. ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Parks is probably discussing Captain Rivers with him right now.’

It was mid-morning when Lyle Hunter came down from the fourth floor. Faith and Welenski both looked up from their desks when he walked into the office. Hunter ignored Welenski but summoned Faith to join him right away in his private office.

‘I’ve just been filled in on this business with Captain Rivers,’ Hunter said tersely when Faith closed the office door behind her. ‘It turned out the old man asked Parkes to convey his personal thanks to me for getting my staff to advise him about the situation so promptly. I went along with everything because no harm was done. But Welenski went too far this time. I’m going to transfer him out of this office.’

‘Gus meant no harm, Lyle,’ Faith said defensively. ‘He was doing it for me.’

‘Is it really what you want?’ Hunter snapped. He walked to the window and looked out for a moment then turned around and looked Faith directly in the eye. ‘After this weekend, I thought we…’

‘I don’t really know what I want, Lyle. Suddenly everything has turned a full circle and I’m confused. But I’m so glad Dan is alive. I just hope he pulls through. I was hoping I could go over to Greenslopes some time today.’

‘Parkes said he’s in pretty bad shape.’

‘I know. My uncle said he probably wouldn’t recognize me even if they let me see him. But I’d like to go anyway.’

Hunter sighed. ‘Give me an hour to sort out the urgent stuff around here, Faith. Then I’ll drive you over there.’

At the hospital in Greenslopes, Faith and Hunter were directed to the nursing station in Ward 3 where Captain Rivers had been placed in a private room under intensive care. Sister Margo Horwood, the nursing sister in charge told them Dan’s condition was critical and that under no circumstances could anyone see him. When Hunter said they were from American Headquarters and needed to positively identify Dan, she reluctantly allowed them to look through a small window in the door of his room.

Faith gasped when she looked through the glass. Dan was lying sedated on the bed with the upper sheet drawn to his waist. He was attended by a doctor and two nurses and in the process of receiving a blood transfusion. She looked in horror at his haggard face, at the ugly cold sores which covered his lips and at the ribs which were almost poking out of his skeletal frame. Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. When she turned away a moment later, Sister Horwood took her arm and led her off to one side.

Faith wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘I was told he had blackwater fever,’ she said between sobs. ‘What exactly is that?’

Sister Horwood waited a moment until Lyle Hunter joined them after taking a quick look through the glass. ‘Blackwater fever is a very serious complication of malaria,’ she said gravely. ‘It’s called blackwater fever because the patient’s urine usually turns brown or almost black. It is very rare but it sometimes occurs after long and repeated malarial attacks. There is a rapid breakdown of red blood cells and the kidneys cease to function properly. If the kidney failure is complete, it’s fatal. After reading the report we received from the medical officer aboard the George Washington, I’d say Captain Rivers is fortunate to be alive after all he’s been through.’.

Faiths eyes widened. ‘But he will pull through, won’t he, Sister?’

‘With the proper treatment, including blood transfusions, careful use of antimalarial drugs and complete rest he stands an excellent chance. But he will need intensive care for a considerable period of time. And sometimes things go wrong. Not all patients react the same way to treatment. For instance, quinine helps in some cases but in others it only makes it worse.’ Sister Horwood took Faith’s hand and squeezed it. ‘But you can be sure we’ll give him the very best of care here. And if you’d like to keep in touch with me, I’ll let you know just as soon as he’s well enough to have visitors.’

‘Thank you so much, Sister.’ Faith wiped away the last of her tears. ‘I’ll do that.’

Sister Horwood walked Faith and Hunter to the main hospital entrance. Just before they stepped outside she said, ‘You know, poor Captain Rivers really has had more than his fair share of bad luck. As I said, blackwater fever is extremely rare anyway, but this is the first time any of us here has ever seen a non-Caucasian contracting it.’

‘Non-Caucasian… what do you mean?’ Hunter asked quickly.

‘On the medical report we received from the ship, it states Captain Rivers is an Aboriginal, Major Hunter,’ Sister Horwood said. ‘Or as you would say in the United States, he’s an Indian.’

*

Generals Douglas MacArthur and George Blamey sat at each end of the long conference table in the gracious old residence in Port Moresby which served as MacArthur’s advance headquarters. On each side of the table sat high ranking Australian and American officers from all three services of the armed forces.

‘Gentlemen,’ MacArthur began, ‘since the last time we convened here we have achieved a great deal of the objectives set for us by the Chiefs of Staff at that time. By pushing the enemy into the sea at Gona, Buna and Sanananda we have driven him out of Papua. And by reinforcing our land forces at the village of Wau, we have managed to maintain a foothold in north-eastern New Guinea which of course is the lynchpin of the enemy’s western defensive perimeter in the South Pacific. But our victories came at terrible cost and I know you all share the same personal grief I feel, with respect to the number of casualties we have sustained.’

MacArthur paused, lit his pipe cigar and tugged on it hard, sending a thick cloud of smoke swirling up into the ceiling fans overhead. ‘But, Gentlemen, we must press on. The time has come to implement the next stage of our overall offensive. It will be undertaken in coordinated phases. Firstly, US Army combat teams will take the islands of Kiriwina and Woodlark in the Trobriand Islands from the Japanese forces presently occupying them and our engineers will construct airfields. In the second phase, five Australian divisions will drive the enemy from Lae, Salamaua, Madang, Finschafen and western New Britain.’

There was a murmur from around the table.

‘Yes, Gentlemen—five divisions.’ MacArthur nodded his head in satisfaction. ‘Because of recent legislation in Canberra allowing conscripts to be sent outside Australian territories, it is now possible for Australian forces to mount such a large scale offensive. Now, in the third phase of the offensive, a United States Marine Division, will push north through the Solomon Islands to Bougainville. Once again, we expect a long, hard campaign with high casualties. But when we have achieved these objectives, Rabaul will be ours for the taking. After that, we’ll be on our way to Manila and Tokyo.’

‘But can the Australians commit five divisions to New Guinea bearing in mind the current Japanese build up in Timor,’ one of the American officers asked. ‘Will there be still be enough troops in the Northern Territory should the Japanese invade the Australian mainland?’

MacArthur gestured to general Blamey who took his cue. ‘We believe Northern Australia can be defended with the Allied forces presently in and around Darwin,’ Blamey said. ‘In any event, we believe once we take on the enemy in strength in north-east New Guinea and New Britain, the bulk of his forces in Timor will be sent to that front anyway.’

‘And what of shipping, sir? another officer asked, ‘If we are to expect high casualties, what additional provisions have been made to transport the wounded.’

MacArthur fielded the question. ‘The shipping situation is improving at last. We have several American vessels presently being converted into hospital ships for service in the Pacific theatre and in the meantime another Australian hospital ship, the Centaur, was commissioned very recently to join the three others already in service.’

MacArthur signaled to an aide who began to distribute documents and maps around the conference table. ‘Gentlemen, we will now look in detail at the complexities of the upcoming offensives.’

*

The first thing Joe wanted to do the morning after he arrived in Darwin was to see the Walrus. Joe and Herbert left Weasel and Monday at Larrakeyah Army Barracks where everyone was billeted and made straight for the naval yard beside the harbor. The moment Joe laid eyes on the Walrus he could see the old sailing vessel lived up to her name .

Like the snub nosed, lumbering sea creature first called ‘valross’, meaning sea horse, by Norsemen, and then later, walrus, by the English, the forty foot timber ketch was a strong, sturdy, but cumbersome looking boat. Before arriving at Darwin she had never made a passage without a press of wind in her red canvas sails. But that was all changed now. When Joe and Xavier Herbert clambered aboard her, Captain David Herbert and an Army mechanic had just finished installing an inboard petrol engine.

‘She’s not much to look at and there’s not a lot to show for all the work we’ve put in on her over the last few weeks,’ Captain Herbert said soon after they came aboard. ‘But she’s well found vessel and ready to go out on patrol. In fact we were just about to take her out and put her through her paces.’ e He turned to Joe. ‘As her new skipper, perhaps you’d like to take the helm?’

‘I’d like nothing more.’

Joe glanced at Xavier Herbert who turned to his brother and said, ‘ Joe and his sister have a house here in Darwin, David. So does a Japanese friend of theirs. We were going to take a quick look at them before we did anything else.’

David Herbert shrugged. ‘When did you see the house last?’

‘About a year ago,’ Joe said.

‘Then brace yourself for a big disappointment. You must have seen when you came into town last night there’s not too many places left standing. There’s been over fifty enemy air raids in the past twelve months. Unfortunately, what the Japs haven’t destroyed in Darwin, has been willfully vandalised by civilians. Some say the locals and the servicemen stationed at bases around here have done a lot more damage than the Japs.’

‘If you’d rather familiarize yourself with the boat, Joe,’ Xavier said. ‘I’ll stay ashore while you fellows take the Walrus out. It’s been a long time since I lived in Darwin. There are a few people and places I’d like to check up on myself. While I’m at it, I’ll take a look at your place and the Hamada cottage, if you like.’

From the moment the Walrus’s mooring lines were let go Joe was in his element. It didn’t matter that the old ketch was slower, harder to handle, and wasn’t as comfortable below as Faraway. The fact that he had a sailing boat beneath his feet again more than made up for that. David Herbert told Joe that before being commandeered by the Army, the Walrus had been used in waters around Broome as a poor man’s pearling lugger, since well before the turn of the century.

After a few adjustments, the newly installed forty-five horse power engine pushed the Walrus along at almost seven knots. Later, Joe familiarized himself with the vessel’s workings under sail and carefully inspected everything in her inventory. It was plain Captain Herbert enjoyed seeing the ketch being put through her paces by an experienced skipper.

It was almost three hours before they sailed back into the naval facility. As they neared the wharf Joe saw a grey-haired Northern Territory Police trooper standing on the dock beside Sergeant Herbert. When Joe recognized him as his old friend Sergeant George Maxwell, he shouted out a loud greeting and threw the policeman a mooring line.

‘I ran into Sergeant Herbert earlier this morning,’ George Maxwell said a few minutes later when everyone shared a billy of tea under a tent awning slung over the Walrus’s boom. ‘We knew each other when he was the pharmacist at the hospital. He’s filled me in on what happened to everyone on Faraway since you all slipped away that night.’ The sergeant shook his head sadly. ‘From what he told me about Koko, it would have gone a lot better for him if he had given himself up, you know’

‘Things are always easier to judge in hindsight, George,’ Joe said. ‘At the time, and under the circumstances, it seemed the best thing to do.’

The police sergeant cupped his hands around his mug of tea and stared into it. ‘We never did charge anyone over his mother’s death, you know, Joe. When Xavier told me that you reckon Aki was murdered by a couple of sea-tramps, it jogged my memory. When I was making investigations after she was killed, an Army lieutenant happened to tell me he’d had a run-in with two croc shooters at the railway station the night it happened. They told him they had a boat called the Groote Eyelandt Lady, anchored at Mindil Beach—as you know that’s only a stone’s throw from the Hamada place.’

‘Joe reckons the bastards may well be fifth columnists as well as murderers,’ Xavier Herbert said. ‘It seems that boat is always around whenever there’s Japanese air raids.’

‘I’ll notify every Nackeroo small craft across the Top End to be on the lookout for that vessel,’ Captain Herbert interjected. ‘It’ll be just a matter of time before someone spots it.’

Joe turned to Xavier. ‘Did you get a chance to see the houses, Sarge?’

‘Yes,’ Xavier said sadly. ‘I’m afraid there’s not much left of either one.’

George Maxwell signed in exasperation. ‘This town has gone mad since Japs started bombing, Joe. There’s no respect for property or law and order. Nobody gives a damn. Darwin’s still under martial law, of course. I only come up here from Katherine occasionally. At first I tried to keep an eye on private property but after awhile it just became hopeless. If you and Faith ever come back after the war you’ll have to rebuild. There’s nothing left of the house except a framework shell. And Aki Hamada’s cottage is in worse shape.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Dan had been in Hospital for almost three weeks before Faith was allowed to see him. When she arrived at Greenslopes, Sister Horwood accompanied her from the nursing station to Dan’s room.

‘Captain Rivers is out of danger but he is still extremely weak, ‘Sister Horwood said as they walked down the corridor. ‘He’s still receiving blood transfusions and daily doses of antimalarial drugs and he’ll require them for a long time yet. He is on the road to recovery but it’s essential he gets absolute rest, so I can only let you see him for a minute.’ The sister smiled knowingly. ‘I think it will do the captain a lot of good to see you, Miss Brodie. He mentions your name in his sleep all the time.’

Dan appeared to be sleeping when they entered the room. His face was still thin and haggard but the cold sores and blemishes that Faith had seen on her first visit had gone. Sister Horwood touched his cheek gently with the back of her hand. ‘There’s someone here to see you Captain Rivers, if you feel well enough.’

Dan’s eyes opened slowly. When he saw Faith, the corners of his mouth formed a faint smile. Sister Horwood gestured to a chair beside the bed and Faith sat down. Dan slowly turned his head on the pillow and his eyes held hers. After a moment, he tried to reach out to her with his hand. When Faith quickly took it in both of hers, Sister Horwood slipped quietly from the room.

‘It’s so wonderful to see you, Dan, ’ Faith said. Suddenly her eyes welled with tears. ‘I’d all but given up hope.’ She felt his frail fingers try to squeeze hers and she leaned forward and gently kissed his hand. ‘Oh, Dan they told me what happened. It must have been so awful for you.’

‘But it’s all over now, Faith, and I’m going to get well again.’ Dan spoke in a soft, barely audible whisper. ‘You know, it was only thinking of you that kept me going. I just kept telling myself that we’d be together again someday soon.’

Faith felt tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

‘They told me what happened at the dock, Faith.’ Dan’s whisper became more distant and his eyes began to close again. ‘Tell your uncle, the first thing I’ll do when I’m on my feet again is buy him a drink.’

‘I will Dan,’ Faith said gently. She watched as his eyes slowly closed. Thinking he had drifted off to sleep she was about to let go of his hand. But his fingers tightened ever so slightly around hers, and she remained sitting silently beside him until Sister Horwood returned to the room.

‘I know seeing you will only speed up his recovery,’ Sister Horwood said as they walked back down the corridor. We hope it won’t be too long before he’s out of bed and on his feet again.’

‘What happens then?’ Faith asked

‘He’ll need constant attention for a long time. Malaria is a particularly stubborn thing to shake. It’s one of the world’s oldest known diseases. Once the daily doses of quinine stop, the attacks usually return, sometimes up to four of five years later, and again, without warning, the blood pressure drops, the pulse rate accelerates and the fever sets in. Even after years, there can be very severe attacks bringing on delirium, even coma.’

‘Some of the Americans at headquarters were saying that prolonged use of quinine based drugs can have serious side effects, Sister. Is that true?’

Sister Horwood shrugged ‘It’s hard to say. No one really knows for sure. A lot of servicemen refuse to take it as preventative medicine in the field. They say regular use of quinine can leave them impotent. A lot of soldiers prefer to just leave it alone and take their chances.’

‘How long do you expect it will be before Dan is well enough to be up and about,’ Faith asked when they reached the nursing station.

‘I expect he’ll be well enough in two or three more weeks to be able to go to Melbourne.’

‘To Melbourne?’

‘Yes, recently a new US Army hospital specializing in the treatment of tropical diseases was set up there. The entire US Marine First Division went to Melbourne eventually, after they were evacuated from Guadalcanal. Over sixty percent of them had malaria. The first units came to Brisbane and were sent to Camp Cable, near Logan Village, but the divisional medical officer discovered the area was infested with malaria bearing mosquitoes and everyone was sent south to a more temperate climate.’

*

‘Did you know the Air Corps is sending Dan to Melbourne as soon as he is well enough to travel?’

Lyle Hunter looked up from his desk in surprise. Faith had entered his office without knocking and her tone was unusually sharp. It was plain she was upset.

‘The best US Army facilities in Australia for tropical diseases are in Melbourne, Faith,’ Hunter replied. ‘It’s standard procedure to send all chronic cases there for rehabilitation prior to repatriation to their units or being shipped home to the States. Didn’t they tell you that at the hospital?’

‘Yes, but only just today,’ Faith’s tone became more amiable. ‘I’m sorry Lyle. It’s just that it came as such a shock. Now, it seems as soon as Dan gets better he’ll be gone again.’

Hunter got up from his desk to close the office door. As he pushed it shut, his jaw tightened when he saw Gus Welenski, who had obviously been listening to the conversation, turn his attention back to the work on his desk.

Hunter took Faith gently by the arm. ‘Since we’re discussing Dan Rivers, perhaps we can talk a few things through.’

‘What things?’

‘Oh, about how things stand between you and him. And how things stand between us.’

‘I’ve told you already, Lyle. I don’t know about Dan and I. He’s still a very sick man. Anyway, now it seems he’s going to Melbourne, then home to America. I don’t know what, if anything, may happen in the future.’

Hunter moved to the window and stood looking out on the street below with his back towards her. ‘Did anything ever happen between you and Dan Rivers?’ he asked without turning around.

Faith became defensive. ‘I told you we were very close, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Just how close, Faith?’ He turned around to face her. ‘I mean, did you... did you ever sleep with him?’

Faith felt a surge of anger. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘I said, did you ever sleep with him?’

‘How dare you ask me that? You have no right.’

‘Perhaps, I don’t. But I do need to know.’

‘Why?’

‘I think you know why, Faith.’

Faith refused to be drawn. ‘I have no idea, Lyle. Perhaps, you should tell me.’

‘Damn it, Faith. The man’s an Indian.’

‘Is that what’s bothering you?’ she asked incredulously. ‘The fact that he’s an Indian?’

‘Yes.’

She glared at him accusingly. ‘You’re a racist. Lyle.’

‘I’m not a racist,’ he said quickly, ‘I’m a realist. Sometimes it’s hard for people to tell the difference.’ His tone became conciliatory. ‘Look, Faith, the reality is Dan Rivers comes from a race and a culture that is poles apart from American society and which can never hope to assimilate. The North American Indian is no different to the Australian Aborigine. If you were an American you’d realize that.’

‘He’s a fellow officer in the United States Army Air Force, Lyle. I would have thought that would demand you’re respect and support.’

‘He’s an Indian, Faith, nothing more. He is the end product of some political and social do-gooders who think that by taking a native child from a backward culture, dragging him briefly into an artificial environment and giving him a little education, they can prove to the world that an Aborigine can suddenly become a white man. It’s all been tried before. Even here in Australia. But it’s never worked. You can’t just wave a magic wand and a primitive man’s basic instincts and tens of thousands of years of tribal customs are suddenly replaced with modern twentieth century intelligence. It’s impossible, even if you dress him up in the uniform of an American officer.’

Faith turned quickly and made for the door. Before she could open it, Hunter was beside her, his hand firmly holding it closed.

‘Please, Faith,’ he said softly. ‘Please try and understand what I’m saying. If you have any ideas about any kind of a relationship with Dan Rivers, it could never work. Especially with a Navajo. They never marry outside their tribe and sooner or later the few who are taken off or leave the reservations always return. If you’d ever seen the filth and squalor and the awful conditions in which Indians prefer to live, you’d know exactly what I mean.’

Faith pulled hard on the door handle and said nothing.

Hunter took his hand from the door. ‘I’m sorry Faith. I’m only telling you all this because I don’t want to see you hurt. And remember, I do love you.’

*

The day Private Mike Sharkey had been waiting for arrived at last. It was May 11, and his dreams of doing his duty for his country were about to be realized. Soon after dawn at his barracks outside Wollongong in New South Wales, the word went out that the three companies that made up the 2/12 Field Ambulance, plus its attached unit of Australian Army Service Corps ambulance drivers and dispatch riders, were to prepare to leave immediately for service in New Guinea.

By mid-morning, Mike was aboard a train bound for Sydney with a complement of over two hundred soldiers in full battle dress. The Field Ambulance personnel were unarmed but the ASC support troops carried their standard service rifles and revolvers. The uniforms of both units were identical except for a different color patch on the puggarees of their slouch hats. On arrival in Sydney, the soldiers were transported in trucks from the railway station to No.1 berth at Darling Harbor where wharfies were preparing the Hospital Ship Centaur for sea.

The troops alighted from the trucks at the main gate and were marched onto the wharf. Just before they reached the Centaur’s main gangplank, the order was given to halt and stand at ease. After a few minutes an NCO began shouting out names and allocating the soldiers berth numbers aboard the ship. The smart and orderly, but very vocal military procedure, became the centre of attention on the wharf and soon the rail of the hospital ship was lined with onlookers. Armed soldiers assembled at a commercial Sydney shipping wharf was a rare sight indeed.

When the CO of the 2/12 Field Ambulance led the first group of soldiers up the gangplank, their passage onto the Centaur was blocked by the ship’s medical staff commander. He questioned the legitimacy of armed soldiers boarding a hospital ship and demanded clarification of the Red Cross Convention which laid out exactly what may be transported aboard a hospital ship without compromising her immunity from attack under international law.

The Field Ambulance commander insisted the Convention allowed for armed soldiers to accompany Field Ambulance personnel, provided they were used only to protect ambulance staff and wounded personnel under their care. But the ship’s medical officer was unconvinced and said that the soldiers could only board the ship if their weapons and ammunition remained on the dock until the matter had been clarified with the appropriate authorities ashore.

The soldiers boarded the vessel and took their allocated berths, empty bunks in medical wards amidships, which on the Centaur’s homeward voyage from New Guinea, would be occupied by the wounded troops. Later, when they ate a hot dinner in the ship’s dining room, the only topic of conversation amongst the crew was whether the military was trying to use the Centaur to illegally transport guns and ammunition to a war zone.

After dinner, most of the soldiers returned to their quarters to talk and play cards. A few, including Mike, asked for and received permission to go up on deck for some fresh air providing they stayed out of the way of wharfies tending the vessel.

Mike and a few of his mates were leaning over the rail, watching provisions being loaded under floodlights, when the Centaur’s ship’s medical officer arrived back on the dock. They looked on as he first hurried aboard the ship, then returned almost immediately to the wharf with the Field Ambulance CO and two sergeants. After they conferred briefly with a civilian, who Mike assumed was the wharfie’s official union delegate, waterside workers began loading the stacks of guns standing on the dock and Mike assumed the weapons impasse had ended.

But the next morning it soon became clear that overnight the weapons issue had become a major incident. Apparently when the shifts working the ship had changed, word had spread like wildfire around Sydney that the Centaur was being used as a troopship. The Waterside Workers Federation promptly called a stopwork meeting to discuss the issue and refused to load the remainder of the vessel’s cargo. At the same time a union delegate from the ship’s crew announced that his members would not take the ship to sea if she carried munitions, while the Centaur’s captain denied any knowledge of munitions being aboard.

The stand-off continued for most of the morning and speculation of the hospital ship’s real role was rife around Sydney’s waterfront. But eventually a compromise was reached when the captain gave the crew permission to search the ship’s holds for munitions if they doubted his word, and he invited the wharfies to search what cargo still remained on the dock. The wharfies quickly searched the last of the cargo, found nothing and resumed loading. But the crew, in light of the captain’s willingness to let them inspect the cargo already on board, decided to take him at his word and declined to search the holds.

A few hours later the Centaur steamed out of Sydney Harbor. Mike was just one of over two hundred soldiers crowding her decks in the afternoon sun when a harbor cruise ship came alongside and her musicians and passengers sent the Centaur off by singing ‘Now is the Hour.’ A lump came to Mike’s throat. He knew he was embarking on the greatest adventure of his life.

*

Once again, just as she had when Dan first went missing, Faith immersed herself in her work to alleviate her anxiety about his health and his inevitable departure to Melbourne. She visited the hospital in Greenslopes several times each week but because some days were much worse for him than others, she was often unable to see him. And as time went by, she also found she was beginning to be troubled by mixed emotions for both Dan and Lyle Hunter.

Since the heated conversation with Lyle after her first visit to Dan at Greenslopes, he had gone out of his way to avoid upsetting her in any way. The fact that he hadn’t followed through with his threat to transfer Gus Welenski for his part in Dan’s hospitalization and had not pressed Faith to make any firm emotional commitments was proof of that. At first she had considered defusing the situation by leaving her job, but Manpower regulations prohibiting that were still in force. And even if she defied the law, the prospect of being assigned to another armaments factory, or worse, was a strong deterrent against doing anything impetuous.

Faith was mulling over her situation when she arrived at work early one morning to find Gus Welenski waving a telephone receiver at her.

‘Sister Horwood at the hospital, Faith. She says its urgent.’

Faith quickened her pace and grabbed the phone. ‘Yes, it’s Faith Brodie, Sister. Is Dan all right.’

‘Oh yes, he’s well. But we received a directive last week that all non-critical patients who are able to be transferred must be moved elsewhere immediately. It’s all to do with the huge increase in serious casualties coming down from New Guinea. I’ve been off for a few days and I’ve only just heard the news.’

‘Will Dan have to be moved?’ Faith asked anxiously.

‘We’ve already spoken to the Americans. They’ve made arrangements for him to be flown to Melbourne this morning.’

‘This morning? At what time? Do I have time to come down and see him?’

‘I’m sorry. An ambulance has already taken him to the airfield.’

‘Which one?’

‘I don’t know. It could be either Archerfield or Eagle Farm. But it doesn’t really matter. It’s too late to see him now. I’m so sorry, Faith. But I thought I’d better phone and tell you, rather than you just coming down here and finding him gone.’

For a moment, Faith didn’t answer as the bolt from the blue sank in. Then she said, ‘It’s very kind of you to call, Sister. I do appreciate it.’

‘Do you have a pen and paper handy?’ Sister Horwood asked.

‘Yes.’

‘I have a copy of Captain River’s transfer papers in front of me. Perhaps you might like to jot this down. He’s being transferred to the US Army Hospital operated by the Cleveland Medical Unit from Ohio. It’s in Richmond, not far from the centre of Melbourne.’

*

Mike woke up in the early hours of the morning during the Centaur’s second night at sea. The ship was pushing her way northward through slight seas and the dull rumble of her engines reverberated through a bulkhead beside his bunk. Dawn was still over two hours away but light streaming in through a porthole onto his face had awoken him. Unlike naval or commercial vessels, the hull and decks of the Centaur were lit up like a giant Christmas tree to ensure that any enemy warships prowling Australia’s east coast recognized her as a hospital ship and as such gave her immunity from attack.

Mike rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come and after a few minutes he lay with his eyes wide open staring up into the ceiling. Like all the young soldiers aboard the ship, Mike was apprehensive about what lay ahead for him in New Guinea. But he was trying hard not to let the looming dangers and uncertainties of being in a war zone spoil a pleasant week sailing through tropical waters as a passenger aboard the Centaur.

His thoughts inevitably turned to home and suddenly he felt very close to his family. He checked the clock above the ward room door. In the glow of the outside lights he could see the time clearly. It was fifteen minutes to four. At dinner, the night before, a crewman had estimated the ship was making about twelve knots and was probably just far enough off the coast to avoid the adverse effect of the Eastern Australian Current. Mike looked at the clock again and estimated the Centaur should be off the Queensland coast by now. He swung silently out of his bunk, put on his shirt and trousers and headed up to the deck.

Outside, it was a fine clear moonlit night and the deck seemed to be deserted. Mike found the air chilly but refreshing. He walked from the companionway to the port side of the vessel and looked out over the rail. Powerful floodlights playing on the Centaur’s brilliant white hull illuminated her huge red cross markings and lit up the surface of the sea all around the ship. To his delight Mike saw a group of dolphins cavorting in the water alongside the vessel. When at last they disappeared he looked toward the shore, straining his eyes trying to see if he could make out the outline of the coast. But the glare of the lights made it hard to see beyond a few hundred yards. He was about to amble off towards the stern of the ship where the lighting was more subdued when he heard someone behind him.

‘Getting a little air are you, son?’

Mike turned around. The voice belonged to an elderly man wearing the uniform of a merchant marine officer. A pair of binoculars rested on his chest, hanging from a strap around his neck.

‘I thought perhaps we’d be off Queensland by now, sir, I’m from Brisbane. I was just trying to see if I could see land.’

‘You won’t be able to see land,’ the officer said. ’But you will be able to see the Cape Moreton light from the stern of the ship. Come with me. I was just heading that way to stretch my legs.’

Mike fell in beside the officer. The older man walked briskly with an almost youthful gait. But white hair and weathered face suggested a lifetime at sea.

‘Are you the captain of the Centaur, sir?’

The old man smiled. ‘No, but I used to be a ship’s captain and still hold that rank. But I’ve been a member of the Torres Strait Pilot’s Service for nearly thirty years now. My name’s Jock Salt. I’m the pilot aboard this ship. And you?’

‘Private Mike Sharkey, I’m an ASC dispatch rider, sir.’

‘First time to New Guinea, I suppose?’

‘Yes. I suppose you’ve been there many times, sir.’

‘Enough to know better. I should have retired years ago. I’m getting on for seventy. But there are so few pilots and so many ships needing them these days, they keep asking me to make just one more trip.’

‘How bad is it up there Captain Salt?’

‘Its dangerous, especially for troop ships and supply vessels. The Japs sunk the last supply vessel I piloted into Milne Bay. She was the SS Anshun. They sent her to the bottom while we were alongside the jetty being unloaded.’ Captain Salt saw Mike’s eyes widen. ‘Don’t worry, son. You’re quite safe aboard a hospital ship.’

They reached the small deck area at the stern of the ship. Compared to the vessel’s mid-section it was comparatively free from glaring lights.

‘Look…over there.’ Captain Salt pointed over the port side. ‘There’s the Cape Moreton light.’

Mike’s eyes soon picked up the distant flashing light and suddenly the world seemed a friendlier place. He knew the Cape Moreton lighthouse well. As a boy his parents had taken him to Moreton Island many times and he’d often played in the sand beneath the massive headland on which the great lighthouse stood. His father had told him its powerful light pierced the blackness of the night for almost twenty-five miles out to sea and had given reassurance and comfort to seafarers since 1857. Now, as he watched the far-off beacon, Mike knew it was his turn to draw strength from it. Then, suddenly something blocked out its signal.

‘Bloody, hell.’ The loud curse came from Captain Salt.

Mike turned to the pilot standing beside him. Salt was looking in the direction of the lighthouse with his night-lens binoculars pressed firmly to his eyes. Mike looked back along the line of the glasses. He gasped. Now, where just a moment before had been gently heaving water, a huge black silhouette was rising up out of the ocean. After a few moments, Mike didn’t need binoculars to see that the terrifying stark outline on the surface of the sea was a submarine. It was directly abeam of the Centaur, no more than two or three hundred yards away. Then, as quickly as it had appeared it began to slip back down into the sea.

‘God, Almighty, it’s Japanese,’ Captain Salt said calmly as it disappeared from view. ‘I thought I saw one from the bridge earlier. When nothing happened we all assumed it was American. No need to panic. They were probably just looking us over to confirm we’re a hospital ship.’

Mike’s heart was pounding in his chest and he suddenly realized he was shaking with fear.

‘Settle down, son.’ Captain Salt lowered the glasses. ‘Look, I’m going back to the bridge now. You’d best get below, rouse your mates, and await instructions, all right?’

They rushed off towards the mid-section of the ship and the companionways leading to the bridge deck and lower decks. For some reason when the pilot scurried upstairs towards the bridge, Mike turned and took one more look over the port side before going below. He thought he saw small flashes of light coming from the area where the submarine had been. He moved to the rail, then watched, mesmerized, as a streak of sparkling phosphorescent light came rushing through the water towards the Centaur. When it reached the patch of floodlit water where he had seen the dolphins playing earlier, the phosphorescence trailed off and for a moment he saw what he thought it was a great silver fish. Then, when he realized it was a torpedo he just stared in horror and watched it slam into the side of the ship.

The moment the torpedo detonated, Mike was blasted off the deck in a fiery blast of white hot heat and catapulted out high over the water. In a fleeting moment of consciousness after he was deafened, but an instant before he was blinded and had his flesh incinerated, he saw a gaping hole where a moment before the side of the ship had been. Then he was dead, even before his blackened, charred body fell into the sea.

The torpedo triggered a chain reaction of enormous explosions that literally blew the Centaur apart. In seconds the entire ship became a huge blast furnace as powerful shock waves sent flames racing through the upper decks devouring everything before them. Instantly the huge medical wards housing the soldiers and the cabins of the nursing and medical staff became instant crematoriums. Those in the lower decks of the ship who were not engulfed in the inferno were trapped and drowned when the sea thundered in through huge holes in her sides.

In less than a minute the hospital ship began to sink. The bow went under first. Soon she was standing vertically and being sucked down into the ocean end on end. Miraculously, some of the medical staff working in the upper decks managed to flee the flames and jump overboard. But three minutes after the torpedo struck, the only evidence of a ship having ever been there, were a few terrified survivors clinging to bits of wreckage, and flickering flames licking at patches of oil on the surface of the sea.

*

The next day the destroyer USS Mugford departed the Brisbane River with orders to escort the British freighter SS Sussex safely out of Australian waters. In the early afternoon the Mugford was sweeping a clear path ahead of the freighter south-east of Moreton Island, when a lookout spotted men and women clinging to debris in the water. It was then thirty-four hours since the Centaur had gone to the bottom of the sea.

Just a few hours before John Curtin and General MacArthur announced to the nation and the world that the Japanese had sunk the Australian Hospital Ship Centaur with the loss of two hundred and sixty-eight lives, a grim-faced Australian Army chaplain knocked on the door of Bill and Helen Sharkey’s home in New Farm.

The following day, Ian McDougal from the Waterside Workers Federation called by the house to express his condolences. Over a pot of tea in the kitchen, McDougal told Bill and Helen that there had been sixty-four survivors from the Centaur but only fourteen of them soldiers. He said one of the survivors, an elderly Torres Strait Pilot, had said he’d had ships sunk underneath him before. The pilot also said that it was extremely rare for a ship the size of the Centaur to sink so quickly, unless, of course, her fuel bunkers had been hit immediately or she was carrying munitions.’

PART FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Through the southern winter of 1943, the Allies pressed ahead with the Chiefs of Staff plan to drive the Japanese from the Solomon Islands, New Guinea and New Britain. At the end of June, American forces occupied Kiriwina and Woodlark Islands in the Solomon Sea and began constructing airfields from which attacks would be launched against the enemy strongholds of Bougainville and Rabaul. In July, the five Australian Divisions comprising the New Guinea Force supported by US Army regiments, fought their way towards Salamaua and Lae. In mid-September, after bitter fighting, the Australians took both objectives.

While Australia celebrated the hard won victories in New Guinea, the mood was more subdued at the Sharkey residence. In the months that had passed since the sinking of the Centaur, Dick and Helen had been unable to come to grips with the loss of their son or the questionable circumstances surrounding the Japanese attack on a hospital ship.

Since the cold hand of death had reached into their once happy home, it had not seen a smiling face or heard the sound of laughter. The Sharkey’s grief took precedence over everything in their daily lives to the exclusion of all else. Even conversation between themselves and Faith became rare. Faith shared their grief but tried not to allow herself to be drawn into the depths of their total despair. Sometimes, she wondered if sunshine would ever find its way into the house again. After all, life had to go on.

Faith compensated for the melancholy atmosphere at New Farm by going out regularly with Lyle Hunter. Lyle hadn’t brought up the subject of Dan Rivers since the day he had left Greenslopes for the Army hospital in Melbourne. Lyle seemed quite content with the status-quo and asked for no commitment at all from Faith. Faith was sure that it was because he understood how she felt. What with the war and the constant uncertainties it created, it seemed pointless to make any firm plans for the future.

Faith received regular letters from Dan and she was glad to hear he was making good progress. Between the lines she sensed that he too was reluctant to chart a course for the future until he had completely recovered from his illness. She wished the hospital in Melbourne wasn’t so far away, so she could visit him. But travelling fifteen hundred miles was out of the question. Dan had told her in some of his letters that when he was well enough he would come to Brisbane to see her and Faith knew that she would have to be content to wait until then.

Faith’s biggest concern was for Joe. Apart from a short note sent from Katherine when the Nackeroos had first gone up to the Northern Territory, she hadn’t heard anything at all. After the shock of the awful news of Mike, she longed for even just a post card saying he was safe and well. Faith was thinking of Joe as she helped Helen do the dinner dishes one night when there was a loud knock on the front door. With Dick working nights again on the docks, she left Helen at the kitchen sink and went to answer it. When she opened the door a middle-aged, uniformed soldier stood on the porch outside.

‘Is this the Sharkey residence?’ The soldier asked with a tight smile.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Would Miss Faith Brodie be in, please?’

Faith gasped. Suddenly her knees turned to jelly. The soldier was polite but seemed tense, just like the Army chaplain who had called to tell them about Mike. Could it all be happening again?

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m Faith Brodie. Is this about Joe? Is he all right?’

‘Yes, he’s well, Miss Brodie.’ The soldier’s smile widened tentatively. ‘My name is Xavier Herbert. I served with Joe in the North Australia Observer Unit in the Top End until quite recently. I’m on my way to Sydney to be discharged. Joe asked me to call and see you on the way down. May I come in?’

‘Oh, yes, please do.’ Faith sighed with relief. ‘Does this mean Joe will be coming home too?’ she asked as Herbert stepped into the hallway.

‘Not for some time, yet, Miss Brodie. Although several men in the Observer Force are being transferred to the AIF for service in New Guinea because the threat of invasion in the Top End has diminished, I expect Joe will remain up there for some time yet. You see, he has special anti-espionage duties.’

Later, over tea and scones in the lounge room, Sergeant Herbert gave Faith and Helen all the news about Joe. He spoke in great detail about what Joe had been doing, where he’d been and his joy at being put in charge of one of the Nackeroos’ small craft. It was late when Herbert finally got up to leave.

‘So you must forgive Joe for not writing to you about all this, Faith’ Herbert said. ‘The Army censors wouldn’t let any of the information through anyway. Especially about the fifth columnists Joe holds responsible for Aki Hamada’s death.’ Herbert hesitated before stepping out the front door into the night. ‘You know Faith, now Joe knows where Koko is, he was hoping you might be able to find a way of letting him know what’s going on—somehow get word to him that something is being done to try and track down the Groote Eyelandt Lady while he’s cooped up at Cowra.’

‘I don’t know how I could do that, Sergeant,’ Faith said. ‘Now that Koko is classified as a prisoner of war and not an internee, I don’t think the authorities would be likely to let me or anyone else see him.’

‘Never credit the military or the bureaucracy with any brains, Faith. Sometimes their stupidity is nothing short of astonishing.’ Herbert shook his head. ‘I’d go to Cowra myself if it would do any good. Koko’s father was a friend of mine, you know. But they’d never be stupid enough to let me near him. You see, this discharge I’m getting from the Army, it’s not a transfer, it’s… well, actually, they’re sort of throwing me out.’

*

Dan was placed in a semi-private ward with another Guadalcanal veteran when he arrived at the hospital in at Richmond. Captain Lloyd Freeman was a young, Marine officer from Butte, Montana, who had also been stricken with chronic malaria complicated by blackwater fever. He had been a patient at Richmond since late December 1942 when the First Division had been relieved at Guadalcanal and his recovery was much further advanced than Dan’s. Within weeks he expected to be shipped home.

Dan’s condition was improving steadily and the Air Corps had told him that in time, he too could look forward to going home and being discharged from the service. In the meantime he was often allowed to wander around the hospital corridors and occasionally sit outside in the garden with Freeman. Dan enjoyed the company of the big, good-looking young man from Montana. He thought that before the debilitating effects of blackwater fever, the young captain must have looked like the closest thing to the wholesome, fearless warrior depicted on the Marine’s Corps recruitment posters back in the States. The likeness was still there now, but only on the surface. Dan knew that beneath Freeman’s virile image, lay something less than a man.

‘I think I’ll miss this town, Dan,’ Freeman said one morning. They were sitting in their dressing gowns by the window of the ward enjoying the winter sun streaming through the glass. ‘For a lot of Marines it’s been the only slice of heaven we’ve had since we were shipped out to New Zealand last year. When we got here from Guadalcanal, half of us were in bare-assed, filthy rags with only the daily dose of Atarbrine keeping us from having the screaming meemies. Just about the whole damn division had malaria. Most of the men couldn’t walk down the gangplank of the ship without assistance. Even the guys who weren’t hospitalized were having bad attacks and dropping like flies on the streets. I suppose the locals just thought they were a bunch of drunks.’

Dan smiled. ‘I saw plenty of those here last year when some of the first GI’s arrived in Australia. But most of them were just homesick kids. Never been further away from home before than a few miles on a Sunday afternoon drive. I don’t know how a lot of them would have coped with it all without the hospitality of the people here in Melbourne.’

‘From what I hear there’s still lots of that around,’ Freeman said. ‘The entire First Division was billeted in and around Melbourne when we shipped in from Guadalcanal. The favorite place was the temporary camp at the Melbourne Cricket Ground, because the guys there had the jump on corralling the girls in town.’ Freeman grinned. ‘Quite a few have married local girls and a lot of them plan to settle down permanently in Australia after the war. It’s the same all over the country. I’ve heard the Army is even planning on setting up discharge centers in major Australian cities for US servicemen wanting to stay here after the war.’ He suddenly became more serious. ‘What are you going to do, Dan?’

‘About what?’

‘About this girl, Faith. The one you’re always talking about. Are you going to ask her to marry you?’

‘I think so.’ Dan smiled at the prospect. ‘That’s assuming the Atarbrine and all the other things they’ve been pumping into me hasn’t turned me into a dud, too.’

As soon as the words came out Dan regretted having said them.

‘Come on, Dan.’ Freeman brushed off the reminder of what the prolonged use of morphine based drugs had done to him. Just because I’ve been turned into a eunuch, it doesn’t mean that you will be too. The doctors say it’s extremely rare.

‘So is blackwater fever, and we both got that. Anyway, you can’t expect the military to admit to anything.’

‘It only seems to affect a very small percentage of people. It…’

‘Look…’ Dan broke in quickly. ‘I’m sorry, Lloyd. I didn’t mean to mention it.’

‘I don’t mind, Dan.’ Freeman smiled and shrugged his shoulders. ‘But since you have. I can tell you it’s stupid to get paranoid about it. If you think you’ve lost the urge, you’d better get the doctors to do some tests.’

‘Oh, I haven’t lost the urge.’

‘Then what are you worried about?’

‘If a man wants a family, firing blanks can be a lot worse than being impotent.’

‘Then ask them to run the tests.’

‘I have. But they said it’s too early to run them just now. I have to wait awhile.’

‘So you want to put any plans for the future on hold until you know for sure?’

Dan nodded his head.

‘And if you marry this girl. What happens then? From what you’ve told me about her and New Mexico, I can’t see her being in a big rush to live on an Indian reservation, or even in a one horse town like Gallup.’

‘I wasn’t planning on that, Lloyd,’ Dan said. ‘Like a lot of your Marines, I’d be happy to live right here in Australia. It’s a big country with hardly anyone living in it. This war has made the Australians realize that. You can’t build a country this size or even hope to defend it without people. After the war there’s bound to be mass government-sponsored migration here. There’ll be endless opportunities. There’ll be houses, roads, railways and communication lines to be built all across the country. I’ll do what I was going to do back in New Mexico, start my own construction company. It won’t cost that much to set up. There’ll be billions of dollars worth of the best American equipment left here after the war. It will just be dumped into holes in the ground or sold off for peanuts.’

Freeman’s eyebrows rose. ‘Looks like you’ve got everything figured out. When are you going to apply for permission to live in Australia? Those things take a long time, you know.’

‘I know,’ Dan said quickly. ‘I’ve already sent for the papers.’

*

Although the feared Japanese invasion of northern Australia by land forces from Timor failed to materialize, the enemy was still regularly bombing targets in the Top End, especially military installations in the Darwin area. There had also been air strikes as far south as the Naval base at Exmouth in Western Australia. From the pinpoint accuracy of many of the raids, it was plain that the Japanese were still receiving timely and accurate information from fifth columnists.

There was positive proof of the web of espionage operating in the Northern Territory, when the American Flying Fortress squadron based at Katherine was moved a hundred miles north to Adelaide River. Although it was a top secret operation, at the midway point of the journey up the newly sealed highway, a huge convoy of US transports was strafed and bombed by Japanese aircraft. As always, after suspicious and timely raids by a well informed enemy, vigilance for enemy spies was stepped up on land and at sea. The crew of the Walrus was kept up to date of enemy activity by coded radio signals from Nackeroo headquarters.

Even though the Weasel had never been within sight of the ocean before going to Sydney to train with the Nackeroos, he took to the sea like a fish. Six months of plying the Top End coast under sail, transporting supplies to remote Nackeroo outposts and searching for fifth columnists afloat had made him a competent sailor. And it was only when the crew of the Walrus received orders from Katherine or listened to reports on the radio that they were reminded there was a war on.

Weasel’s dislike for the harsh conditions in the Northern Territory had been replaced by a genuine love of life afloat on it’s pristine, coastal waters. He often told Joe that the time he had spent aboard the Walrus was the best period of his life. As for Monday, his joy at finding freedom again after being released from servitude, however benevolent or well-intentioned, knew no bounds.

Joe was content also. He was sailing again. And under the circumstances, the restrictions put on the Walrus’ movements by the military were a small price to pay for being able to lead the kind of life he loved, even in wartime. His only frustration came from being unable to learn anything about the whereabouts of the Horan brothers or the Groote Eyelandt Lady. Since taking over the Walrus, he had twice sailed the entire length of the Top End from the Gulf of Carpentaria to Wyndham in Western Australia. Each time he had checked most of the anchorages favored by Top End sailors and he had made enquiries with missionaries at all the offshore island settlements.

But it had been to no avail. It was as if the Groote Eyelandt Lady and her motley crew of traitorous croc-shooters had disappeared without a trace from the face of the earth.

*

Soon after Xavier Herbert’s visit to New Farm, Lyle Hunter announced to his staff that he had been appointed liaison officer to an inter-service military delegation flying to the United States for meetings in Washington and at the Pentagon, the new Defence Department headquarters at nearby Arlington, Virginia.

‘I’ll only be gone for about three or four weeks,’ he told Faith over dinner at Lennons the night before he left. ‘There was a conference in Quebec last month between President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Churchill where a new overall strategy for the Pacific was worked out. One of the main objectives has always been to capture Rabaul. But things have gone so well in New Guinea and the Solomons recently, that the Chiefs are looking at bypassing New Britain and taking the islands to the north. That way, Rabaul would be cut off from Japan and there would be no need to waste time and lives fighting for it, because the huge garrison there would be effectively neutralized anyway.’

‘So what will the delegation actually be doing there, Lyle?’ Faith asked.

‘They’ll be giving an up to the minute appreciation of how things are in the Pacific, so the brass can do a little fine tuning to the overall plan.’

‘And what is your role in it all?’

Lyle grinned. ‘Same as usual, I suppose. Trying to keep the peace between the Army, the Navy and the Marines as they all try and take the credit for everything.’

He reached across the table and put his hand on hers. ‘Why don’t you take a break while I’m away, Faith? Go down to Point Danger and relax. The office can manage for a couple of weeks without you. You haven’t taken a day of your leave entitlement you know.’

Faith was about to scoff at the notion of time off. But suddenly, the suggestion seemed like a very good idea.

*

The day after Lyle Hunter and the delegation of high ranking Americans officers left for Washington, Faith had lunch with Gus Welenski at the American Centre. Since the incident with Dan and the SS George Washington they hadn’t talked to each other as often as they used to. Now, with Lyle Hunter away they were both glad of the opportunity to have a long chat without the risk of ruffling the major’s feathers.

‘He told me you’ll be taking your two weeks leave shortly’ Gus said as they were finishing steak sandwiches and milk shakes. ‘He told me to arrange for transport and accommodation at Point Danger. Just tell me when you want to go.’

‘I am taking leave, Gus. But I’m not going down to the coast.’

‘How come?’ Welenski looked surprised. ‘I’d give my eye teeth to spend a week or two down there.’

‘I thought it would be a good time for me to go interstate and visit some friends.’

‘Where interstate?’

‘New South Wales. And perhaps, Victoria.’

Welenski eyed Faith thoughtfully. ‘Does the major know you’re going south?’

‘No. I didn’t tell him.’

Welenski grinned. ‘You’re going to see Captain Rivers, aren’t you?’

Faith smiled. ‘Still read me like a book, don’t you, Gus?’

‘How are you getting there?’

‘By train, I suppose.’

‘We’ve got planes going to Sydney and Melbourne all the time, Faith. Let me make some enquiries.’

‘Oh, Gus, you really are incorrigible. Thanks, but no thanks. I wouldn’t want you to get into any more trouble.’

‘It’s no trouble. Most of those planes are flying almost empty, anyway. When and where do you want to go first?’

Faith smiled. ‘To a little place in country New South Wales, called Cowra. I don’t think you could arrange a flight there, Gus’

‘Cowra…’ Welenski took a long thoughtful pull on the twin straws in his milk shake. ‘That’s almost two hundred miles west of Sydney. They’ve got a POW camp and an Australian Army Artillery training centre there.’

Faith was impressed. ‘Is there anything you don’t know, Gus?’

‘Not much.’ Welenski said without modesty. ‘I’m a staff sergeant, remember. Anyway, who do you know down there—civilians, I suppose?’

‘No. I want to see a POW.’

Welenski’s eyebrows rose. ‘You’re joking of course.’

‘No, I’m not. Remember, I told you once about my brother’s friend, Koko, the fellow who crossed Arnhem land with me and the children.’

‘I thought he was in an internment camp?’

‘He was. But I had word recently that he was moved to Cowra as a POW. It’s because of what happened at Phelp River, I suppose. Anyway, Joe’s asked me to try and see him. He’s found out something about who killed Koko’s mother and thinks he should know about it.’

‘What makes you think they’ll let you see him?’

‘I don’t think they will. But Koko’s my friend too, so I’m going to try.’

Welenski stared into the table top for a long time without saying anything. Eventually he looked up and said: ‘How you got by without me for all those years before the war, I’ll never know.’ He reached for the bill and stood up to leave. ‘Come on, kiddo, lets get back to the office, we’ve got things to do.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The B-17 was vibrating so violently that Faith was sure the aircraft would disintegrate even before it took off. But when the huge plane lifted off the runway into the early morning sunshine, the shaking abruptly stopped, and suddenly, except for the roar of engines, everything became serene.

Faith was the only female among a handful of passengers en route to Sydney. All the others were uniformed military personnel. They sat on steel benches running the length of the plane on each side of the fuselage. Between the benches, miscellaneous pieces of baggage and freight was tied down to the floor of the aircraft. As soon as they leveled out, an Air Corps sergeant picked his way down the plane from the cockpit area to where Faith was sitting. He leaned over and spoke directly into her ear, raising his voice just loud enough to be heard over the noise of the engines.

‘When we get to Mascot airfield, everyone aboard is being driven to US Army Logistics Headquarters in downtown Sydney, Miss Brodie. Staff Sergeant Welenski told me to see to it that you are dropped off at Central Station. It that okay?’

Faith smiled and nodded her head. As usual Gus had thought of everything, even a ride to the railway station where she would catch the train to Cowra. She opened her handbag and checked its contents for the sixth or seventh time that morning. An envelope contained a number of air warrants for standby use on US military transports. ‘These are all you need to get around the country,’ Gus had said when he gave them to her the day before. ‘Just hand one to the Air Corps traffic officer here in Brisbane and he’ll arrange something for you. Then do the same in Sydney and Melbourne. If anyone asks any questions or wants more authorization, just refer them to me at headquarters. And don’t worry, no one’s going to want to stick their neck out and call HQ.’

Also in the envelope, was a sheet of paper with the names of American staff sergeants Gus knew in both Sydney and Melbourne who could be contacted if she needed any other assistance. And there was also the name of a non-commissioned officer at the Australian Army Infantry Training Centre at Cowra. Gus had said that Sergeant Major Brownlee had promised to assist in getting Faith permission to see Koko at the POW camp. All the obstacles in the way of seeing Koko and Dan had seemed to fade away once Gus Welenski started making the arrangements. Faith put the envelope back in her handbag and snapped it shut and hoped everything would go half as smoothly in practice.

The train for Cowra left Central Station at 1.00 pm. The journey should have taken about seven hours but for some reason it stretched to over ten. It was almost midnight when the town taxi pulled up outside the Royal Exchange Hotel and the driver pounded on the door to raise the landlord.

The next morning a commotion on the street outside the pub woke Faith from a deep sleep. She glanced at her watch on the bedside table and was surprised to see she had slept in well after seven o’clock. She quickly pushed back the covers and hurried to the window to see what all the noise was about. In front of the pub a crowd of school children were hindering the progress of three buses making their way down the main street. The youngsters were hurling rubbish at the buses and loud insults at the occupants of the vehicles. Adult onlookers on each side of the street did nothing to try and stop them. Neither did the Australian Militia soldiers who were riding in trucks escorting the buses.

‘It was a convoy of Army buses from Sydney with more Jap prisoners,’ explained the waitress in the pub’s dining room when she served Faith’s breakfast. ‘The locals usually give them a warm welcome when they pass through town on the way to the camp.’ The waitress turned to go back to the kitchen, then stopped and pulled a piece of paper from a pocket in her apron. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. The landlord said someone phoned for you first thing this morning. He asked me to give you this.’

‘But no one knows I’m at this hotel.’

‘This is the only hotel city folk ever stay at in Cowra, miss.’ The waitress grinned and rolled her eyes. ‘I take it you haven’t seen the others?’

Faith took the note and read it. The message was from Sergeant Major Brownlee asking her to telephone him at the Infantry Training Centre at her earliest convenience. She got up straight away and went to the telephone in the foyer.

‘Artillery Training, Cowra.’

‘Sergeant Major Brownlee please. My name is Faith Brodie.’

Faith was quickly transferred and a loud, authoritative voice came on the line.

‘Where are you, Miss Brodie?’

‘At the Royal Exchange Hotel.’

‘Very good. Please remain where you are. I’ll be there very shortly.’

Faith quickly finished her breakfast then went back to her room to freshen up before meeting Brownlee. When she came back downstairs a few minutes later, a man wearing Army battledress was already at the desk in the foyer asking for her. Faith walked over to him and identified herself.

Sergeant Major Brownlee wasn’t at all what she expected. He was a short, thickset man of about fifty with graying hair. His amiable fatherly manner completely belied the brusque voice she had heard on the telephone.

‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Miss Brodie,’ Brownlee said. ‘I’ve made arrangements with the POW camp commander for you to see Koko Hamada. I have a car outside. Shall we go?’

Brownlee helped Faith climb into a jeep parked in front of the hotel then got behind the wheel beside her and drove off down the main street.

‘How far is it to the camp, Sergeant Major?’ Faith asked as they pulled way.

‘Just a couple of miles, miss.’

In daylight the little community seemed even smaller than it had when the train pulled in the night before. In minutes they had passed the last house on the edge of the town and the bitumen road gave way to a bumpy dirt track. When the jeep began to bounce around, Faith grabbed the seat in both hands and held on tightly.

She turned to Brownlee. ‘I really am very grateful for all this, Sergeant Major. I never expected the Army to cooperate at all. To be honest, I thought I wouldn’t be allowed to see Koko.’

‘You wouldn’t be under normal circumstances. But when the Americans in Sydney asked me to arrange a visit, I said I’d do what I could.’

Faith looked confused. ‘The Americans in Sydney asked you?’

‘Yes. On behalf of your Sergeant Welenski in Brisbane.’ Brownlee glanced briefly at Faith ‘You work for the Americans, Miss Brodie, so you would know how the staff sergeant network operates. After Welenski talked to Sydney, I received a call from a supply sergeant I know at US Logistics Headquarters. He was aware that I know Colonel Montague Brown, the POW camp commander here at Cowra. I served with him in the first war, then again in Bengal as a Lancer with the Indian Army. When the Americans asked me to help out, I could hardly say no.’

‘Why not?’

‘These days, old soldiers like Colonel Brown and I are given non-active duty jobs, like giving basic infantry training to green militia recruits or supervising prisoner-of-war camps. The problem is, not being front line soldiers they don’t give us anything near the equipment we need. Even the guards at the camp don’t have enough rifles to go around. Like a lot of under-equipped Army units we’ve had a lot of assistance from the Yanks. They’ve supplied a lot of the equipment we do have—even this jeep I’m driving. So when they asked, we were only too pleased to help out.’

‘Did the Americans tell you anything about Koko’s circumstances?’

‘Yes. Sounds like he’s had a bit of a rough trot. From what I’ve heard he should still be in an internment camp, not at this bloody place.’

‘Just how bad is it here, Sergeant Major?’

‘It’s not bad at all if your going to be a prisoner of war, I suppose. Everyone gets standard Australian Army rations, good clothing and warm blankets—even a weekly ration of cigarettes. It’s heaven compared to what our blokes have to put up with in the Jap camps. The Italian prisoners love it here. They even get a promotion in the Italian Army for being taken prisoner. And they cooperate so well they are allowed off the camp to work on local farms.

‘And the Japanese. What are they like?’

‘The Japs are a moody and troublesome mob. The guards can’t turn their back on them for a second. And their officers are an arrogant, insolent lot. They refuse to work and are always trying to undermine camp discipline. Their shame at being held captive eats away at them all the time. They feel that by being taken prisoner and not being killed in action, they have betrayed the code of the samurai.’ Brownlee shook his head slowly. ‘And the bastards take the good treatment they receive as a sign of weakness on our part.’

‘My God, it must be awful for Koko, being caught in the middle. He was born in Australia you know.’

‘Yes, I know, poor devil.’ Brownlee grimaced. ‘After being thrown into a POW camp, who could blame him for hating us. Perhaps I should warn you that when you see him you may find he’s become bitter and resentful. When I was talking to Colonel Brown about you coming here he said Hamada had become friendly with one of the hard core Japanese troublemakers—a nasty piece of work called Yakimoto.’

They carried on down the narrow roadway in silence until the Jeep came to a halt outside the main gate of the camp. A sentry saluted smartly and the vehicle passed through the perimeter fence and on to an administration hut. Inside, a soldier showed them into an interview room. A small wooden table and two chairs were the only furnishings.

‘The only condition the Colonel placed on your visit, was that for safety and security reasons you cannot be left alone with the prisoner,’ Brownlee said as they entered the room. He gestured to one of the chairs. ‘You do understand, of course?’

Faith nodded her head and sat down at the table. Brownlee remained standing beside the wall just inside the door. After a few minutes a guard led Koko into the room. He was wearing the standard Japanese POW gear, an Australian Army uniform, dyed a deep burgundy color. Faith rose to her feet quickly.

At first Koko was stunned when he realized the woman standing at the table was Faith. Then his face broke into a wide grin and stepped forward quickly and raised his arms to embrace her. The sudden movement startled the guard and fearing for Faith’s safety he pounced on Koko and forcefully applied a double nelson arm lock. Koko shrieked out in pain.

‘Leave him be.’ Brownlee roared at the guard. ‘Now get out, I’ll look after the prisoner.’

The soldier released his hold and hurried from the room. Faith reached out and took Koko’s hands in hers and squeezed them tightly. Koko’s lips quivered as he tried again to smile.

‘Koko,’ Faith said gently as she blinked back a tear. ‘Please sit down. I have a great deal to tell you.’

*

Faith returned to Sydney the day after seeing Koko but had to wait there two days for a flight from Mascot to Melbourne. Because travel on military aircraft was subject to available space on unscheduled aircraft movements, Faith was unable to tell Dan exactly when she would arrive in Melbourne. So she had decided in Brisbane that she would not let him know she was coming at all and make her visit a complete surprise.

It was raining hard when Faith finally arrived in Melbourne. Her Army Air Corps Hudson transport touched down at a small suburban airfield at Moorabbin around mid-morning. The airfield was about ten miles away from the hospital at Richmond but as luck would have it there were two servicemen aboard the aircraft going there for treatment and Faith was offered a lift in a car sent to pick them up.

At the hospital Faith was referred to the nursing sister in charge of Dan’s ward. When she explained that she had travelled from Brisbane to visit Dan, the sister said she could see him right away.

‘Most of us on this ward have heard about you, Miss Brodie,’ the sister said on their way down a wide corridor to Dan’s room. ‘With so many of our patients being long-term and so far away from home they tend to confide in the nursing staff. I know Captain Rivers will be delighted to see you. Especially now, with his roommate of the past few months heading back to the States today.’

As Faith and the sister approached Dan’s room, a tall young man stepped out through the doorway. He looked resplendent in the uniform of a United States Marine Corps officer. Then Dan appeared in the corridor behind him. He was wearing pajamas and a dressing gown. The two men shook hands firmly, making their farewells. As Major Freeman turned to leave, Dan turned and was stunned to see Faith. She had often wondered how they would react to seeing each other again. Now, the look on his face told her everything and she felt her heartbeat quicken as any lingering doubts about her own feelings towards him disappeared.

Dan moved quickly to Faith and embraced her.

‘You must be Faith, ‘Major Freeman said when they drew apart. ‘Now, at last I can put a face to your name.’ He smiled approvingly. ‘And I can see everything Dan told me about you was true.’

‘Come on, Major,’ the sister said. ‘Let’s leave these two alone.’ She smiled and took Freeman by the arm. ‘I’ll take you to discharge. You may need help getting through the sea of broken hearts you’re leaving here.’

As soon as Dan and Faith were alone, they went inside the room and embraced again and kissed. Then Dan took Faith’s hand and led her over to the easy chairs beside the window. Outside, the rain lashed hard against the glass.

‘It’s so wonderful to see you, Faith,’ he said as they sat down. ‘What is it that brings you to Melbourne?’

Faith squeezed Dan’s hand. ‘To see you of course and it’s wonderful to see you looking so much better.’

‘You should have told me you were coming’

‘I didn’t know myself until a few days ago. I just had some time off coming and the Army Air Corps was kind enough to supply the transport.’

Dan grinned. ‘Courtesy of the resourceful Staff Sergeant Welenski, I suppose.’

Faith nodded. ‘He’s been a good friend to us, Dan.’

‘I was hoping to meet him and thank him for all he did for me in Brisbane. But there was no time then. My transfer here was so sudden. But perhaps I’ll be able to see him soon.’

‘Oh. Are you being discharged?’

‘Yes’

‘When?’

‘The doctors say probably in just a few weeks—Christmas at the latest.’

‘That’s wonderful news.’ Faith looked away and stared at the rivulets of water streaming down the window pane. ‘And is everything all right? I mean, I sensed from your letters that you’re worried about side effects of your medication. You mentioned the doctors were running some tests.’ She turned her eyes back to Dan. ‘How did everything turn out?’

‘They haven’t completed the tests yet. I won’t know until I leave the hospital. The only thing for sure is that I’ll be discharged from the service, because either way, I’ll need ongoing medical treatment for a very long time.’

‘You’ll be fine, Dan,’ Faith said reassuringly. ‘I can see this is a wonderful hospital. When you leave here you’ll be fit as a fiddle, just like your friend Major Freeman.’

Dan smiled wryly.

‘I suppose you’ll be going home to New Mexico when you leave the hospital?’

‘Not necessarily.’ He took both her hands in his. ‘I’ve been thinking of getting my discharge in Australia and starting a construction business here. But I’d only want to do that if I had you, Faith. And it wouldn’t be fair to ask you to make any commitments until I get a clean bill of health. I wouldn’t ask you to marry me if I wasn’t a whole man. And besides, perhaps I have no right to ask you at all. I sensed from your letters that there may be someone else. Is there?’

‘I started seeing someone after you were reported missing, Dan. He’s a nice man. We still go out but I’ve told him I’m not interested in anything serious. And he knows all about you.’

Dan wanted to ask questions, to find out more about the man. But he decided against it. ‘I was thinking perhaps I’d come up to Brisbane at Christmas time,’ he said. ‘We could have a long talk about everything then.’

Faith smiled. ‘That would be lovely, Dan. You’ll stay with us at New Farm, won’t you? I know Dick and Helen will be so glad to see you. The house is so empty without Mike.’

The rain had stopped and the streaks of sunlight were beginning to pierce the gloom outside the window when an orderly wheeled in a trolley with Dan’s lunch. The nursing sister came back to the room at the same time and reminded Dan that he was to undergo a series of tests during the afternoon.

‘And how long will you be in Melbourne, Miss Brodie?’ the sister asked as Faith prepared to leave.

‘Just a few days.’

‘If you haven’t made arrangements, there’s an excellent little hotel only five minutes walk from here. I’m sure you and Captain Rivers have a great deal to catch up on, so feel free to come and visit him just whenever you like.’

*

Faith’s visit to the POW camp at Cowra made Koko’s spirits soar. But his joy at seeing her and hearing all her news turned to anger and a feeling of helplessness when she gave him Joe’s message about the Horan brothers and the Groote Eyelandt Lady.

In the days that followed their meeting, Koko pondered every word Faith had said, over and over again. Over time, his anger and his despondency at being helpless to do anything to avenge his mother’s death gradually subsided and he began to look at things more objectively. Even though Faith had said that she would find a way to let him know if Joe or the authorities brought the Horan bothers to justice, Koko became determined to try and do something himself.

Gradually he became convinced that there was something he could do. If he could escape from Cowra and somehow manage to get to the Top End, he could scour Australia’s northern coastline for the Horan brothers and the Groote Eyelandt Lady himself. And he could probably remain undetected and as free as the wind until the end of the war. All he needed was a small, shallow draft boat.

Very slowly Koko began to formulate a plan. He paid particular attention to the most difficult aspects of the escape and tried to foresee any unexpected problems that may arise along the way. When he felt he had overcome in his mind all the major hurdles that lay in his path to freedom, Koko turned his attention to the smaller details, like civilian clothes and ready cash. He decided to take those matters up with Yakimoto.

‘Yes, I still have the money and most of the clothing given to us at the Hay Internment Camp by the Japanese nationals who were allowed to return home to Japan.’ Yakimoto said solemnly when Koko told him what he intended to do. ‘But why do you wish to escape now? You have never mentioned it before.’

‘I am just tired of being cooped up in this place, I need to be free,’ Koko said, not wishing to tell Yakimoto that he wanted to track down his mother’s murderers—men who Faith had said were spying for the Japanese.

Yakimoto’s eyebrows rose. ‘And it was nothing to do with the woman?’

‘What woman?’

‘The one who visited you recently. Come now, Koko. You must know nothing goes on in this camp that I am not aware of.’

Koko decided to tell half the truth. ‘She is a friend of mine who used to live in Darwin. My mother was murdered there. She found out two men were responsible for her death and came to tell me who they were. I want to escape and hunt them down.’

Yakimoto looked skeptical. ‘How could your friend possibly arrange a visit with a prisoner of war?’

Koko thought quickly. ‘Did you see her?’

‘Yes, she is a beautiful woman.’

‘Then you would know what she had to give to the camp commandant and other officials before she was allowed to see me.’

‘She must be a very good friend indeed.’ Yakimoto pursed his lips in a tight smile for just a moment, then suddenly he became very serious. ‘But I’m afraid I cannot help you. In fact, I cannot even permit you to attempt to escape.’

‘But why not, Yakimoto?’ Koko couldn’t hide his dismay. ‘Why not?’

‘We now have over seven hundred Japanese prisoners in this camp,’ Yakimoto said. ‘Soon there will be over a thousand. When we reach that figure, a mass breakout which we have been planning for months will be implemented. Any individual escape attempt would result in a tightening of security which would jeopardize the success of that plan. We must let our jailers continue to think they have an escape-proof camp. So you must wait until then, Koko. And needless to say if you speak of this to anyone you will never leave this camp alive.’

Koko ignored the threat. ‘A mass breakout?’ he said in amazement. ‘When will it take place?’

‘As I said, when we have at least a thousand men and when we have gathered enough intelligence to plan our objective to the last detail.’

‘And what is the objective?’

‘To attack the Australian Army Artillery training camp here at Cowra. It will give us an opportunity to die with honor. Our victory will be twofold. They might well mow us down like blades of grass eventually but it will finally put an end to our shame. Our attack will be as well planned as the first day we bombed Darwin.

Koko felt his anger rising but tried to remain cool. ‘And how well planned was that attack, Yakimoto?’

Yakimoto’s face beamed with pride. ‘It was planned to perfection. Based on information supplied by our informants in the Northern Territory, I, and every other pilot had drawings in the cockpits of our aircraft, pinpointing everything from fuel dumps to military installations, communication centers and enemy gun emplacements—we even had details of all the ships anchored in the harbor, including their names, cargoes and armaments.’

‘If the raid was so well planned and successful,’ Koko said grimly, ‘how did you manage to finish up here.’

Yakimoto’s jaw tightened. ‘After we had destroyed what little air resistance there was that day, a single American P-38 Kitty hawk appeared from nowhere. I spotted it first and chased it out to sea. We exchanged fire and the pilot crashed-landed his plane into the sea. Unfortunately my Zero was hit also and I bailed out over Bathhurst Island. A group of Aborigines found me several days later, wandering in the bush, delirious and half starved. They took me to their camp and fed me, but later while I was sleeping they betrayed me to the Australians.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Gus Welenski arrived at headquarters just after 6.30 a.m. With Faith still away and Major Hunter not expected to return from the United States for two or three weeks yet, he had come in early to get the jump on a steadily increasing backlog of work. When he entered the liaison office he was surprised to hear sounds coming from the major’s office and went to investigate. When he opened the door he saw a grim-faced Lyle Hunter sitting at his desk talking on the telephone.

Hunter looked up, eyed Gus reproachfully and beckoned him into the room. Gus entered and stood stiffly on the other side of the major’s desk. After a few moments he caught the drift of Hunter’s telephone conversation. An Air Corps traffic officer was calling from somewhere questioning an air travel warrant.

‘It’s all right, Lieutenant.’ Hunter snapped into the mouthpiece. ‘I shall personally forward a properly validated warrant to Moorabbin today. Now, when can you get Miss Brodie on a flight home?’

Gus took a deep breath and waited to face the music. Hunter glared at him as he waited for a reply. After a few moments he banged down the phone.

‘You’ve really outsmarted yourself this time, Welenski. ‘I should have shipped you out the last time you used your position in this office to interfere in other people’s business. I told you to arrange for Faith Brodie to spend her vacation at Point Danger, not for her to fly around the country courtesy of the Army Air Corps. I suppose I’d never have known if I hadn’t been in the office to take that call.’

‘But Miss Brodie wanted to go interstate to visit friends, sir,’ Gus said defensively. ‘And we have planes flying the country practically empty all the time I thought you would want…’

‘Thought I’d want what, Welenski?’ Hunter broke in angrily. ‘That traffic officer said Miss Brodie was in Melbourne visiting a hospitalized American officer. I’m not stupid, you know. I know what you doing.’ Hunter waved an admonishing finger. ‘But that’s not what’s important. What is important is that you have fraudulently issued US forces travel warrants.’ Hunter paused for a few moments and seemed to calm down a little. Then he said, ‘Under the circumstances I won’t press charges. But I’m shipping you out. The boys upstairs are after admin staff in New Guinea. Finish what’s on your desk, then clean it out. I want you on your way to Port Moresby within forty-eight hours. And as far as anyone around here is concerned it’s a normal transfer. Say anything different and you’ll finish up in the stockade.’

*

Within hours Gus was given new orders and a travel warrant for a flight leaving for Port Moresby the following afternoon. By late morning he had his work up to date and was ready to go. The office staff asked him to join them for a farewell lunch but he declined and they went off to the canteen without him.

Gus tapped on Hunter’s door and told him he was leaving for the airport. Hunter was busy wading though a pile of paperwork which had accumulated during his absence overseas. He just mumbled something but didn’t look up from his desk. Gus turned on his heel and left. As he walked out the main office door, a middle-aged civilian in a drab grey business suit was just coming in.

‘My name is Phelps,’ the civilian announced in a loud officious voice. ‘I’m with the Commonwealth Immigration Department. Please direct me to Major Hunter. He is expecting me.’

Gus led the visitor back inside and pointed to Hunter’s open door, then turned to leave again.

‘Major Hunter, how good of you to see me concerning Captain Rivers on such short notice,’ Phelps said as he entered the major’s office.

Gus stopped in his tracks as Phelp's loud voice carried across the general office. He turned, and seeing Hunter’s door had been left slightly ajar, quietly walked back to his desk and pretended to be doing something. From where he stood he could plainly hear what was being said in the private office.

‘Normally, in the case of a serviceman, we discuss the applicant’s general suitability and his service record with his commanding officer,’ Phelps said. ‘However, in Captain Rivers’ case, that hasn’t been possible because he’s no longer attached to a specific unit. So we spoke to Army Air Corps Personnel and they suggested we contact this office because you supplied all the captain’s personal details and background when he was hospitalized. We’ve been waiting for you to return from overseas so we can finalize his file.’

Gus took a couple of steps closer to Hunter’s door.

‘You’ve come to the right place, Mr Phelps,’ he heard Hunter say. ‘Captain Rivers’ is well known here. Now what exactly can I do for you?’

‘My visit is just a formality, Major. The Commonwealth Government is now making plans to relax it’s stringent immigration policy and throw Australia’s doors wide open to massive migration after the war. We are particularly interested in skilled and professional people. Now, Captain Rivers has stated on his application that he wishes to start a construction business here eventually. As a graduate engineer, it seems that he is exceptionally well qualified. He also states that he intends marrying an Australian citizen. We consider his type of application to be the cream of the crop. We understand he is to be discharged from the service very soon. All we need to finalize his application is written confirmation from yourself that he has an exemplary service record.’

‘Captain Rivers has served with distinction, Mr Phelps,’ Hunter said generously, then added surreptitiously, ‘he has been a credit to his people.’

‘How do you mean, Major? A credit to his people.’

‘Captain Rivers was selected to take part in United States Government assimilation initiative which gave indigenous people the opportunity to obtain a tertiary education.’

‘Indigenous people, Major?’ Gus heard a distinct change in Phelps’ tone of voice.

‘He’s an Indian, Mr Phelps. A North American Aborigine.’

For what seemed like a long time, no one spoke inside Hunter’s office. Gus knew the Major had dealt Dan a death blow. He edged a few steps closer to the door.

‘Captain Rivers stated his nationality as a non-Afro-American on his application,’ Phelps said at last. ‘Being a commissioned officer in the United States Armed Forces, it never occurred to us that he wasn’t of European stock. I’m afraid this changes everything. Under the White Australia Policy, his entry as a permanent resident of this country is out of the question.’

Gus drew a deep breath, shook his head and quietly slipped away.

*

‘Can I offer you a ride into town Ma’am?’

Faith turned her head quickly in the direction of the familiar voice as she climbed down from her plane at Archerfield airfield. Lyle Hunter stood on the tarmac smiling in the late afternoon sun.

‘Lyle. What on earth are you doing back in Australia so soon?’

He grinned, took her suitcase and kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘Couldn’t stay away from you, that’s why.’

She smiled. ‘How did you know to meet me here?

‘Welenski told me,’ Hunter said and steered her in the direction of his car.

Faith’s smile faded. ‘Lyle, it’s all right isn’t it? I mean about the warrants. He’s not in any trouble is he?’

‘Heaven’s no. I’m glad he looked after you. In fact, I thanked him personally before he left for New Guinea yesterday.’

‘New Guinea?’

‘MacArthur’s advance HQ was after staff in Port Moresby. I mentioned it to Gus. He jumped at the chance. His replacement started today, a guy called Peterson. He looks like he knows what he’s doing.’

‘He’ll have to,’ Faith said somberly. ‘He’s got big shoes to fill.’

‘I thought you’d be away much longer,’ Faith said when they reached the car. ‘When did you get back?’

‘Just a couple of days ago.’

‘How did it all go?’

‘Marvelous. The Pentagon is truly an amazing place. It’s enormous, a city unto itself, with over twenty-thousand people under one roof. I spent most of my time there but I was able to get up to Albany for a few days to see my family.’

‘How are they?’

‘Everyone’s well. I told them all about you.’

Faith turned to Lyle in surprise. Before she could say anything, he reached and took her hand. ‘I missed you terribly, Faith. Being away from you made me realize how much you mean to me. That's why I came back as soon as I could.’

Faith took a deep breath. ‘Lyle we have to talk…’

‘Yes, I know. I have so much to tell you.’ He took his hand from hers and glanced at his wrist watch. ‘I’ve made reservation at Lennon’s for dinner. It’s early yet, so we’ll have time to have a couple of drinks first in the bar.’

It was still early when they entered the restaurant at Lennon’s but already it was almost filled with American officers. The maître d’ greeted Lyle warmly and personally showed them to a secluded candle-lit table. A tall crystal vase filled with red roses sat in the centre. Soft music from a five-piece band filtered across the room

‘This is just lovely,’ Faith whispered into Lyle’s ear as they sat down. She was always appreciative of his thoughtfulness and attentiveness but on this occasion he seemed to have excelled himself. ‘Are we to celebrate something special, this evening?’

‘I hope so, Faith. I really hope so.’

She looked at him quizzically across the table. He smiled back at her through the candle light but didn’t elaborate.’

‘Tell me all about you’re trip,’ she said

‘It really was an eye-opener. I’ve only been away eighteen months but the changes in the States are incredible. At the start of our involvement in the war, we were caught flat-footed, with an untrained Army and our Pacific fleet in tatters. Winning this war is only a matter of time now. The American war machine cannot be stopped. It’s as if a sleeping giant has been awakened. Our factories are now producing literally thousands of aircraft and tanks, hundreds of ships and scores of aircraft carriers, while the enemy, with it’s limited natural resources, is incapable of even replacing the military hardware it's losing in battle.’

Lyle paused for a few moments while a waiter set down drinks. ‘In Washington,’ he continued, ‘I saw the whole picture. Here, we tend to think the main game is in the Pacific. Of course it isn’t, we’re just one front in a worldwide war which increasingly is being directed from the Pentagon. And it’s plain to see that when it’s all over, there will be a new world order. The United States will replace Great Britain as the world’s major power.’

Lyle paused and took a swallow of bourbon.

Faith said, ‘You’re beginning to sound like a politician, not a soldier, Lyle.’

‘That’s what my father said when I was in Albany. He was quite serious. He figures the best place for a good public relations man is on Capitol Hill.’

‘My father always said the best place for politicians was in the cemetery,’ Faith said.

Lyle laughed. ‘And he may well have been right. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I think I may give it a try. My father has influential friends in New York and Washington that could help pave the way for me.’

Faith smiled and took the swizzle-stick from her gin and tonic. She held it towards Lyle like an interviewer with a microphone ‘And when would you start this political career of yours, Mr Hunter?’

‘Right away, madam,’ he said into the microphone in a deep pretentious voice.

Faith laughed and laid the swizzle-stick down. Another waiter came to their table with menus and a wine list.

‘How are you going to campaign when your still in the Army and twelve-thousand miles away from Washington?’ Faith asked Lyle after he had ordered.

‘Being in the Army is all part of the plan. I’m just in the wrong place.’ He glanced around the restaurant. ‘All the powerful high-ranking officers you see here are merely doing the bidding of the Pentagon. That’s where the real power is. When I was there, I saw ambitious young officers jockeying for a piece of that power. I intend to join them. My tour of duty in Australia ends in a few months. I’ve already applied for a transfer.’

‘To the Pentagon?’

Lyle nodded his head enthusiastically. ‘When America assumes world leadership after the war, a grateful nation will look to the Army for leadership at the highest level. I fully expect General MacArthur or General Eisenhower will become president of the United States. And I’m sure well-connected and politically-minded, young Ivy-Leaguers who have served their country overseas and in the Pentagon, will be shoo-ins at the polls.’ He smiled confidently. ‘The changeover from the military to politics would be easy. After all, it’s only three miles from the Pentagon to Capitol Hill.’

‘You seem to have everything worked out, Lyle. Do you think you’ll get your transfer?’

‘I’m sure of it. With any luck I’ll be in Washington in just a few months.’

‘Then that’s what we’re celebrating here tonight, is it—your plans for the future?’

‘The Pentagon, Capitol Hill, that’s only part of it Faith.’ He reached out and took her hand in his. None of it would mean much without you. I want you to marry me. Will you?’

For a moment Faith was too surprised to say anything.

‘I’ll look after you, Faith. I promise you’ll never want for anything.’

‘Lyle…’ She struggled to find words ‘ I… I didn’t expect this. I don’t know what to say.’

‘Then don’t say anything just now. Take all the time you need. After all, marriage is forever and there’s so much to consider. Moving to a new country, leaving everyone you know behind and starting a new life.’

‘Lyle, I should tell you I went to Victoria to see Dan Rivers.’

‘Yes, I suspected that. But you didn’t make any commitments, did you?’

‘No. None were asked for and none were given. That wasn’t the purpose of my trip. I went to Melbourne to visit an old friend in hospital. ’

‘How is he?’

‘He’s made a good recovery and he’s looking well. He’s being discharged soon, but he’ll need ongoing medical attention.’

‘Then he’ll be going home soon?’

‘Yes, although he said he may stay in Australia if he gets a clean bill of health from the hospital.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’

‘Then he’ll go back to New Mexico, I suppose. Either way he said he’ll come up to Brisbane over Christmas.’

*

The veil of gloom which had hung over the Sharkey household since the tragedy of the Centaur, seemed to lift a little when Faith broached the subject of Dan staying at New Farm over the holiday season. To Faith’s delight, Dick and Helen’s spirits were lifted at the prospect of having a young man in the house again, if only for a short time, and in the days that followed some of the atmosphere reminiscent of when Mike had been alive returned to the family home.

Dan had told Faith in a recent letter that he would arrive a day or two before Christmas. Now, with the holiday just a few days away and still with a hundred and one things to do, Helen was up early, preparing to spend a full day in the kitchen, baking. She was rolling pastry when Faith came into the kitchen for breakfast before going off to work.

‘You’ll be able to have a few extra days off when Dan’s here, won’t you?’ Helen said. She popped some toast under the grill and poured Faith a cup of tea. ‘Even Dick’s getting a extra day or two this year.’

‘I don’t think so, Aunt Helen.’ Faith said. ‘I’m going to be so busy at work. The other two girls in the office are off for ten days from Christmas Eve and this Sergeant Peterson who replaced Gus, spends more time chatting up females than working. Anyway, he’s going to be off for a few days too.’

Helen laid a square of rolled pastry over the pie dish and began trimming the edges. ‘What about Major Hunter?’ she asked without looking up. ‘How’s it going to be with him, you know, having Dan here?’

Faith glanced cautiously at her aunt. Helen avoided her eyes. Faith had told Helen how she had left things with Dan in Melbourne and also about Lyle’s proposal of marriage. Even though Helen didn’t much like Lyle Hunter, Faith knew her aunt thought she had been unfair not giving him an answer one way or the other. But the simple truth was that with so many variables in Faith’s relationship with Dan she just wasn’t sure of what she wanted herself. And Lyle wasn’t pressing her anyway. For some reason he seemed confident she would come around in the end.

Helen looked up from her pastry. ‘I hope you’re not just keeping your options open, young lady. It’s as plain as the nose on your face how you feel about Dan. I just think it’s only fair that you let Major Hunter know where he stands before Dan arrives.’

‘I can’t do that, Aunt Helen, Lyle’s spending a few days at Point Danger. He’s already down there. He went last night.’

‘Well, I suppose that’s convenient, if nothing else.’

Faith was about to say something but decided against it. Instead, she left her toast and tea unfinished and got up. ‘Got to run,’ she said quickly, ‘or I’ll miss my tram to work.’

Faith gazed out the window of the crowded tram as it rattled towards the centre of the city. She couldn’t help but think about what her aunt had said about clearing the air with Lyle before Dan arrived. She remembered one of Lyle’s friends had told her he was going down to the coast that morning and returning the next day. She could catch a ride with him and be back in Brisbane before the rest of the staff went on leave. Before the tram reached her stop, Faith made up her mind to go.

*

Dan got up early on December 22nd, anxious to be on his way to Queensland. He had been pleased when the airline had offered him a flight a day earlier than expected because of someone’s cancellation. By eight o’clock he had packed his clothes, showered, put on a brand new uniform, eaten a light breakfast and was sitting waiting inside the main entrance of the hospital for transport to the airport.

A week before, he had been given the all clear by his doctors. Except for ongoing treatment to prevent the recurrence of malarial attacks, he had been deemed as sound as any man. Now he couldn’t wait to share the good news with Faith and hopefully start planning their future together.

‘Captain Rivers.’

Dan looked up from his happy thoughts. A hospital orderly approached him waving a brown manila envelope.

‘I’m glad I caught you before you left, Captain,’ the orderly said.. ‘This just came in the mail for you.’

Dan took the official looking letter. It was postmarked Canberra and stamped OHMS in thick black ink. At last the long awaited letter from the Australian Immigration Department had arrived. Everything had come together at last. It would be a Christmas to remember. He opened the envelope and took out the letter. The wording was cruelly brief:

‘We regret to inform you that under the provisions of the Commonwealth’s

White Australia Policy, your application for permanent residency has been

denied.

Dan’s heart sank. He felt the blood drain from his face.

‘Captain Rivers.’

Someone else had called out his name from across the foyer. He looked up from his chair. This time it was the ward sister. He rose ashen-faced from his chair.

‘I just wanted to say goodbye and wish you a Merry Christmas.’ The sister sighed nostalgically. ‘Of course, I’m from Cincinnati and it just doesn’t seem like Christmas without snow on the ground and chestnuts roasting in the fire. Oh well, I suppose it will be even hotter in Queensland than it is here in Melbourne. When is your flight?’

When Dan didn’t answer right away the sister suddenly realized he was as white as a ghost.

‘Are you all right, Captain? You don’t look well.’

‘I’m okay, Sister,’ Dan said softly. ‘I think perhaps it just hit me that I’m about to go out into the real world again.’

The sister took Dan’s arm. ‘Sometimes,’ she said gently, ‘after a long stint in hospital following a lengthy period in combat, servicemen find that being discharged can be quite daunting. All of a sudden taking charge of one’s life again and accepting responsibilities can be very difficult. If you’re not sure you’re ready just yet Captain Rivers, perhaps you should stay with us a little longer. Would you like to talk to the doctor?’

‘I’ll be fine, Sister.’ Dan tried to put on a brave face. His taxi pulled up outside as he spoke. ‘Well, I’d better be going.. They said to be at the airport by nine at the latest. Unlike the Army Air Corps, commercial flights tend to leave exactly on time.’

*

Dan’s plane touched down at Brisbane’s Eagle Farm airport in the early afternoon. The Qantas flight had seemed to last forever. Unable to share the happy holiday mood of his fellow passengers, he had spent the whole time bitterly pondering his situation.

How foolish he had been to think that an education and an American officer’s uniform could make things any different on the other side of the world. White men were the same everywhere. He had known the ugly face of racism all his life. It was not restricted by geography. Suddenly Australia seemed very alien. It was no longer the friendly country his heart had embraced so readily—the country that he had laid his life on the line for. More than once during the flight he had recalled the words of Colonel Toki on Guadalcanal. ‘Ask your self the question, Captain, are such men worthy of your loyalty?’

Dan took a taxi from the airport into town. In Melbourne, he had planned to go straight to the Sharkeys’ house in New Farm and wait for Faith to come home from work. But under he circumstances he wanted to see her straight away and told the cabbie to take him to US headquarters downtown.

Some of his cynicism left him when he saw some of the familiar places which had etched fond memories in his mind. The cab drove along the banks of the muddy Brisbane River, past the docks at Hamilton where he and Dick Sharkey had confronted each other when the Shenandoah had berthed, then past rows of homes in the inner city suburbs, little houses, which like the Sharkey’s, were set up high on stilts to catch the cooling summer breezes.

A guard at the main entrance to headquarters saluted smartly and directed Dan to the third floor. When he entered the liaison office it seemed almost deserted and he stood inside the door for a few moments without anyone noticing him. A staff sergeant stood at the back of the general office, with his back towards Dan, busily talking with two civilian office girls. The conversation was obviously frivolous because it was punctuated by loud laughter from time to time until one of the office girls saw Dan and alerted the sergeant.

He casually walked over to Dan. ‘Can I do something for you, sir?’

‘I’d like to see Miss Brodie, Sergeant.’

‘She’s not here, sir. Won’t be back until tomorrow morning. She went down to the coast this morning to see Major Hunter, our chief liaison officer.’ The sergeant raised his eyebrows and gave Dan a knowing glance. ‘Can I help you in any way?’

‘No, I don’t think so, Sergeant.’

Dan eyes appraised the non-commissioned officer dubiously. He didn’t like the staff sergeant’s attitude and thought he was altogether too familiar. He looked slovenly too. His collar was undone under the knot of his necktie and his shirt sleeves were unbuttoned and untidily rolled up half a turn over his wrists. The sergeant didn’t fit at all the picture Dan had formed in his mind of Gus Welenski, from what Faith had told him.

‘Sergeant, is you’re name Welenski?’

‘No sir, I’m Peterson. I replaced Welenski a little while back. He was transferred to New Guinea.’ The sergeant shrugged his shoulders. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you, sir?’

‘Can Miss Brodie be reached by phone?’

Dan thought he saw a barely discernible smile on the lips of the before he answered the question.

‘Yeah, I guess so. I’ll get someone to put you through.’ The sergeant beckoned one of the office girls over. ‘Place a call to Point Danger for the captain will you, Jane.‘ He turned back to Dan. ‘Perhaps you’d like to take the call in Major Hunter’s office, sir.’

‘What is this Point Danger place, Sergeant?’ Dan asked as Peterson led the way to the major’s office. ‘Is it an Army installation or something?’

The Sergeant grinned. ‘Hardly, sir. It’s an exclusive beach resort at Coolangatta, on the Gold Coast. Very popular with the brass here at HQ for weekend R and R.’ The sergeant reached the door of Hunter’s office. He turned around to face Dan and gave him the same knowing look as before. ‘Major Hunter and Faith Brodie go down there a lot.’

Dan’s eyes narrowed. ‘You mean they go there together?’

‘What I mean is, Captain.’ Peterson winked his eye. ‘They usually go down there at the same time.’

‘I have the receptionist at Point Danger on the line Captain, the office girl called out. ‘I’ll just transfer it to the major’s office.’

Dan stepped inside the office and closed the door behind him. The phone on the desk rang immediately. He picked it up.

‘Reception, may I help you?’ a cheerful voice asked.

‘Yes, may I speak with Miss Faith Brodie, please.’

‘Hold the line, please. I’ll have to check where she is. We’ve had so many Christmas bookings, a lot of guests are having to share.’

Dan waited several minutes before the operator came back on the line.

‘Miss Brodie is sharing room eighteen. I’ll put you through now, sir.’

‘Hello.’

The phone was answered on the first ring. The voice was female, but American.

‘Faith Brodie, please.’

‘Faith’s not here, I’m sorry.’

‘Can you tell me when she’ll be back?’

‘I don’t think she will be.’

‘Do you mean she’s checked out? Is she on her way back to Brisbane?’

‘No, no, she’s still here at the guest house—try room seven.’

‘Thanks,’ Dan said, then asked cautiously. ‘By the way, do you know who’s room that is?

‘Yes, it’s Major Lyle Hunter’s.’

Stunned by the second body blow of the day, Dan hung up the telephone and walked stiffly from the room.

‘Did you get through to Miss Brodie okay, sir?’ Peterson called out as Dan was heading for the exit.

Dan stopped and turned around. ‘No, I didn’t Sergeant. But it’s all right, it doesn’t matter.’

‘May I give her a message, sir?’

Dan caught a trace of mischief in the sergeant’s eye.

‘No, you may not, Sergeant,’ Dan snapped angrily. ‘You will not even mention anyone was looking for her. And that’s an order.’

Dan hurried downstairs and out onto the street. His head was swimming. In a few short hours, everything he had been looking forward to for so long lay in ruins and the bitterness and alienation he had felt earlier in the day returned with such an intensity that it made his whole body shake. Suddenly he felt very lonely and a total outsider. And for the first time since being posted overseas he just wanted to go home.

Half an hour later, Dan was back at Eagle Farm airfield. The girl at the Qantas desk said she was sorry but there were no tickets available for flights to Melbourne or anywhere else until after the Christmas holiday period. He had better luck at the US Army Air Corps hangar at the other end of the airfield. When Dan said he just wanted a flight out and its destination didn’t really matter, the traffic officer had him aboard a transport bound for Sydney within the hour.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

There was no joy in Dick and Helen Sharkey’s home over the holidays. Their sorrow at spending their first Christmas without Mike was only compounded by Dan’s inexplicable absence. Faith came home from the coast late on December 23rd half expecting Dan to be at the house when she arrived. Her disappointment only grew the next day, when alone in the office, she waited in vain for a telephone call from him or to see him show up unannounced at headquarters.

Faith spent Christmas morning either listening for Dan’s knock on the door or looking out the window hoping to see a taxi pull up outside the house. At midday, Helen’s Christmas dinner was ready to be served. An hour and a half later, the family sat down without Dan to eat the two roast chickens and all the trimmings which she had so painstakingly prepared. In the late afternoon, Faith walked to the telephone box at the end of the street and tried to place a call to the hospital in Melbourne but the operator said that because of it being Christmas, it would be impossible to get a trunk call through.

Knowing Faith was alone in the liaison office between Christmas and New Year, Lyle Hunter phoned in the day after Boxing Day to see how she was doing. When he asked after Captain Rivers, Faith told him Dan had failed to show up. Lyle said he wasn’t really surprised and told her he would return to Brisbane that night. The next day they had lunch together at Lennons.

‘When you came down to Point Danger and told me that you were still in love with him, I was going to say something then.’ Lyle said gently. ‘But I didn’t because I thought you might think I was attacking him behind his back. I told you once before that a Navajo never commits himself to anyone outside his own people. He may seem like anyone else, Faith, but he isn’t. He’s an Indian. They’re different from us. They’re still primitive people. They have no integrity or any sense of values. I knew he would let you down in the end. That’s why I’ve always been prepared to wait.’

Lyle was very persuasive but Faith remained unconvinced. She phoned the Melbourne hospital again but could get no information because the nursing sister she had met on Dan’s ward was off for a few days. It was the day before New Year, when Faith finally spoke to her. It was only then that Faith began to realize that perhaps Lyle was right about Dan after all.

‘He did leave for Brisbane three days before Christmas, Miss Brodie, the nursing sister said. ‘At least, that’s where he said he was going. It’s funny though, when it came time to leave the hospital he seemed a bit overcome by it all. It happens a lot with long term patients. It’s something to do with being faced with everyday responsibilities again. I spoke with the doctor after Dan left and he said the problem would be more severe for someone with Dan’s cultural background.’

‘Did he come back to the hospital, Sister?’

‘No he didn’t. Apparently he turned up at the US Logistics Headquarters in Sydney the day after he left here. He presented his hospital and service discharge papers and asked to be transported home. ’

Faith drew a short sharp breath. ‘And?’

‘Sydney checked with us. All his papers were in order. He was entitled to immediate transportation back to the United States. They said they would put him on a flight leaving for American Samoa and Honolulu the next day. And that was yesterday.’

*

Lyle Hunter made certain Faith had no time to dwell on the disappointment she felt at Dan’s uncharacteristic behavior. During the months between Christmas and Easter, his attentiveness towards her knew no bounds. And Faith couldn’t deny, even to herself, that she didn’t thoroughly enjoy the constant stream of gifts he showered her with, or the pleasure of her relationship with a man who made her feel so special.

Major Hunter even became a regular caller at the Sharkey’s house. When he came to pick up Faith in his staff car in the evenings, he made sure he never arrived empty handed. With so many things still in short supply or on ration in Australia, he always brought a particularly scarce or sought after item which it seemed were only available to American officers. And because of the major’s obvious affection for Faith and his thoughtfulness and generosity toward the household, the reservations Helen and Dick once held for Lyle soon disappeared.

One morning in late April, Lyle returned to the liaison office after a lengthy meeting on another floor. As soon as he came in he signaled to Faith to join him in his private office. When she entered the room he quickly closed the door and took her in his arms.

‘I’ve just received my transfer,’ he said, grinning from ear to ear. ‘I fly back to the States in two weeks. I’ve been assigned as a senior liaison officer to the office of the US Army Chief of Staff in the Pentagon. I should make Lieutenant Colonel within six months.’

‘That’s wonderful, Lyle,’ Faith said happily.

‘Make it really wonderful, Faith. Say you’ll marry me.’

‘Are you sure you still want me to?’

‘You know I am.’

Faith didn’t respond right away. Then, eventually, she smiled and said. ‘Then I accept.’

He pulled her to him and gently kissed her. ‘And we’ll be married in Albany. A real family wedding.’

Just for a second Faith looked apprehensive.

Lyle noticed her concern. ‘Don’t worry, my darling. My family is your family now. And they’re all going to love you.’ He released her and began thinking out loud. ‘Now, it will be a couple of months at least before you can get a berth on a ship. It’s difficult to get one at all these days, but I should be able to pull a few strings. From the west coast I’ll arrange for you to fly direct to New York. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport. From there it will only take us a couple of hours or so to drive up to Albany.’

‘What about permits and immigration and things?’

‘No problem. You’re no ordinary war bride, Faith. You’ll come to the United States as a visitor on a British Passport. Once were married you’ll have automatic American citizenship.’

‘You seem to have all the details worked out, already Lyle?’

He smiled. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think about it.’

‘I know, ’ Faith said softly. She reached out and took his hand. ‘And thank you for being so patient.’

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. ‘We’re going to be apart about three or four months including the weeks you’ll be at sea. I hope the time passes quickly.’ Suddenly it was Lyle who became apprehensive. ‘My God, you won’t change your mind before your ship leaves will you?’

Faith drew him closer and kissed his lips. ‘No Lyle,’ she said softly, ‘I promise you, I won’t do that.’

*

The Walrus’s engine ticked over at low revs, slowly pushing her bulbous bow through the emerald-green water of Mullet Bay on pristine North Goulburn Island in the Arafura Sea. The beautiful tropical island, two hundred miles east of Darwin and twenty miles north of the Arnhem Land coast, had always been one of Joe’s favorite places, with its pristine white beaches and warm waters teeming with fish.

As Joe inched the old ketch closer in to the shore, Weasel and Monday stood on the bow waiting for Joe’s signal to drop the anchor. It was a cloudless sunny afternoon in late April, the start of the dry season, and Joe thought the sheltered, tranquil bay had never looked more beautiful. It was the first time he had been to the island since taking over the Walrus, and it would be the first time he had seen Jim Twig, the island’s only resident white man in three years. Twig had lived with an Aboriginal woman in a bark hut near the beach for as long as Joe could remember.

Twig had once told Joe that he had been a machinist in Sydney but when he lost his job at the start of the Great Depression, he had stowed away on a freighter bound for the Dutch East Indies, in order to avoid the humiliation of depending on government relief. Twig said that when the vessel passed by North Goulburn Island, he knew he’d found his own piece of paradise and he jumped overboard and swam ashore.

Joe gave the signal and the anchor splashed down into ten feet of clear water. Weasel and Monday watched it take hold in the sand, then began tying down the sails and preparing the yacht to lay at anchor overnight. Joe went below and reappeared moments later with a bottle of gin in his hand, then lowered the dinghy to row ashore. When the little boat reached shallow water, Joe leaned on the oars and looked up and down the beach. He saw no one. But knowing Twig’s aversion to strangers, he knew the approach of the Walrus would not have gone unnoticed and that hidden eyes would be watching him from the foliage above the beach. Joe gave one more tug on the oars and when the bow of the dinghy skimmed onto the sand he jumped out and pulled it up to the high water mark.

‘Jim Twig,’ Joe shouted. ‘It’s me, Joe Brodie.’ Joe took the liquor bottle from the dinghy and raised it high in the air. One thing Joe had learned on his rare visits to North Goulburn was that Jim Twig liked a drink. Most of the other bare essentials Twig needed in life were available at the mission settlement at nearby South Goulburn where he often traded work for goods and supplies. Joe called out Jim Twig’s name again and a thin, near-naked man emerged from the trees and cautiously walked down toward the dinghy. From a distance he looked like an Aborigine, but close up Jim Twig’s intense blue eyes peered out through a mop of shoulder length ratty brown hair. He grinned and stuck out his hand.

‘Good to see you, Joe. I didn’t think it was you.’ The hermit nodded his head toward the Walrus. ‘What are you doing with an old scow like that after a beauty like Faraway?’

‘Faraway’s resting on the bottom of the Gulf of Carpentaria, Jim. This ketch belongs to the Army. I’m a soldier now, at least while the war’s on, anyway.’

‘And when can we expect it to end?’

Joe shrugged. ‘Who knows, Jim?’ He handed the bottle of gin to Twig. His eyes lit up when he read the label, '"Gilbey’s London Dry Gin". Long time since I’ve seen anything like this.’ He grinned. ‘Let go on up to the hut.’

The bark hut sat in a clearing in the bush about a hundred yards from the beach. Maggie woman was sitting in the shade of a tree outside. She recognized Joe and smiled up at him as the two men approached. Inside the hut, Twig pulled up two bamboo stools to an old tea chest which served as a table, unscrewed the cap on the gin bottle and took a long pull.

‘What brings you here, Joe?’ Twig asked, as he passed the gin to Joe.

‘An RAAF Catalina reported seeing a sailing boat here about a month ago. The crew passed the information on to the Army. The Walrus is attached to a special Army unit which investigates sightings of unidentified vessels along the Top End coast. But usually the boats have moved on by the time we get to the scene so it’s a bit of a lost cause. But anyway Jim, what can you tell me about that boat?

‘It was an old sloop. Came into the bay during a storm. Stayed for three days.’

‘What was her name?’

‘She had no markings at all.’

‘Did anyone come ashore?’

‘Yeah, they beached the boat so they could work on her between the tides. They’d hit the shoals north of here during the storm and bent her drive shaft.’

‘Who’s they?’

‘Two men, big blokes. ’

‘Were they foreigners or Australians?’

‘Australians.’

‘What were their names?’

‘Twig took another gulp of gin and rubbed his jaw. ‘One of them was called Nick, I think or maybe Mick. I can’t remember the other one at all.’

‘What about last names?’

‘They never said.’

What did they look like? Did they have long hair and beards?’

‘Yes. Same as all the sea-tramps that stop in at this island.’

‘Where were they heading?’

Twig shrugged his shoulders. ‘No idea. They never said anything about that either. I don’t think it mattered much to them which way they went. Sea tramps usually just go to wherever the wind is blowing.’

‘Did they look like croc-shooters?’

‘They could have been, I suppose.’

Joe began to lose some of his interest in the visitors to the island. He took a nip of gin and laid the bottle back down on the table. ‘Did they manage to repair the drive shaft?’

‘They didn’t. But I did. When I told them used I to be a machinist, they said they would give me twenty pounds if I could fix it. They only had a few tools but I managed to get the shaft out. Then I built a fire on the beach, heated it up and straightened it out as well as I could by eyeball. As it turned out, I did a pretty good job. When we put it back in and started the motor there was practically no vibration at all.’

‘Which way did they go?’

‘East, maybe heading for the Gulf of Carpentaria. ’

‘And you’re sure the boat had no markings at all?’

‘No. No name or numbers or anything like that.’

‘Would you recognize it if you saw it again?’

‘Oh, yeah. It’s funny, she was a scruffy old boat, ragged sails, rigging all rusting and with most of her paint peeling off. All except on her transom, that is. It had been painted fairly recently. A bright yellow. You could see it a mile away. I suppose they started to repaint the whole boat, then gave up. Sea tramps are like that. They start things but never finish them.’

‘Maybe they painted over her name for some reason?’

‘Could be, I suppose ’ Twig took another long swallow from the bottle then offered it to Joe. Joe shook his head. ‘Another funny thing about that boat. I noticed it had a short wave radio. They had it on a lot of the time. Don’t see many old boats around here with gear like that.’

‘Short wave radio’ Suddenly Joe’s interest was renewed. ‘That means they can receive and transmit over very long distances. They’d know if anyone was looking for them. No wonder the boat has no markings. Those blokes are probably spies. Anyway, whoever heard of a couple of sea-tramps having twenty pounds in cash to pay for running repairs.’

‘I never ashully saw the money, Joe,’ Twig was beginning to feel the gin and slur his words. ‘Since the bombing started in the Top End, no misshun boats or trading vessels visit these islands anymore. So I got no need for money.’

‘You mean you fixed their boat for free?’

‘Hell, no. I told ‘em I’d trade my time for somethin’ I could use. There’s a war on you know. Who knows, the bloody Nips could sail into the bay any day at all.’

‘So what did you get?’

Twig got up from his stool and rummaged around underneath a straw mattress on the floor. When he stood up he brandished a handgun. Joe’s heart quickened when he saw it. It was a Walther P5 semi-automatic. It was identical to the gun the Horan brothers had stolen off Faraway before she went down. Joe stood up quickly and grabbed it from Twig’s hand and examined it. Sure enough the letters, BB, his father’s initials, were engraved in the steel at the bottom of the grip.

*

By mid-May there were almost a thousand POW’s crammed into the two Japanese compounds at the prison camp at Cowra, which had been designed to house just five hundred. The total strength of the Militia guarding them, and the prisoners in the Italian compounds, was just over one hundred men. Still, the Australian military had not supplied all the guards with rifles and there were no machine guns on the perimeter fence at all. Taking all this into account, Yakimoto laid his plans for the mass breakout patiently and carefully.

While he concentrated on the overall strategy himself, Yakimoto delegated specific areas of responsibility to subordinates. The most hardened and proficient non-commissioned officers were ordered to gradually and unobtrusively get their men into such a state of readiness, that when the time came, the breakout could take place at a moment’s notice.

Yakimoto’s instructions to the NCO’s were clear. If the operation was to succeed, all facets of training and preparations for the escape must be accomplished without raising the suspicions of prison guards, and the specific details of the escape must be withheld from the rank and file until the very last moment. Yakimoto was particularly concerned that the sprinkling of Koreans and Formosans held in one of the two Japanese compounds might present a security risk and told his subordinates to kill anyone who they suspected might betray them.

Soon after Yakimoto had told Koko he must postpone his own escape, Koko became privy to most aspects of the mass escape plan and even became an essential part of it. Because of his fluent English, he was assigned to teaching the NCO’s a few words of basic English which might prove helpful during the breakout, and he was told to report anything of interest he heard the guards discussing. While Koko hoped he would never be put to the test of having to decide whether or not to report anything critical that he might overhear, he was relatively comfortable about the teaching duties. After all, that was the price he had to pay for his freedom and the chance to implement his own plans.

About twenty Japanese NCO’s each took on a particular training task, from conducting daily exercise routines to ensure the men were physically fit, to gradually building armories of crude but lethal weapons fashioned from kitchen knives, forks, hammers, and garden and carpentry tools. Others worked directly with Yakimoto, planning how the prisoners would scale the high wire fences and overpower the guards and seize their weapons for the assault on the Infantry Training Centre.

There was no looking back now for Koko. The only thing that might make him change his mind about escaping would be word from Faith and Joe that the Horan bothers had been brought to justice. Until that happened there was just no decision to make at all.

CHAPTER THIRTY

The tide of the war in the Pacific was turning. With the enemy reeling from the success of the Allied offensive in New Guinea, the once impregnable wall of Japanese Imperial might built on Australia’s northern doorstep had started to crack. Soon it would begin to crumble and fall.

Already the supply lines of the huge enemy garrisons on Bougainville Island in the Northern Solomons, and Rabaul in New Britain had been effectively cut off, leaving thousands of Japanese troops marooned and effectively neutralized while the war swept past them to the north. While American sea and air power blazed a trail for the invasion of the Philippines, the job of eliminating the many isolated, but still powerful, Japanese island strongholds left in their wake, fell largely to the Australians.

It became clear that in all theatres of war, the days of the Emperor’s forces and those of his allies, were numbered. Total victory was within sight. Italy had been brought to its knees and its dictator, Mussolini, hanged like a common thief. Hitler’s Germany was reeling and fighting for it’s very life. And with the direct threat to their homeland removed, it was possible for Australians to begin to look to the future and to the new world order which would emerge after the war.

With the home front secure, Prime Minister John Curtin and General Blamey, travelled overseas to Washington and London to try and ensure that Australia played a leading part in the post war restructuring of the Pacific region. And even though the end of the war was probably a year or more away, Australian politicians pressed for large numbers of servicemen to be released back into their civilian jobs so that Australian industry could take advantage of the buoyant peacetime economy which would surely follow the end of hostilities.

While General Blamey and General MacArthur resisted any moves which would weaken the overall Allied military strength before the Japanese were forced into submission, the Australian chiefs of staff did consider further reducing, or even disbanding, some non-essential military units and redeploying their manpower elsewhere. One of the special units that came under consideration was the North Australia Observer Unit.

*

Before leaving North Goulburn Island, Joe had sent a coded radio message to Nackeroo headquarters requesting permission to sail eastward in pursuit of the Groote Eyelandt Lady. But his request had been refused because he had no specific information confirming the exact movements of the vessel. Instead he was ordered to sail immediately to Darwin and report to Larrakeyah Barracks where he would be given new orders.

When the Walrus arrived in Darwin, Joe was surprised to see two other vessels of the Nackeroos’ ragtag fleet tied up at the wharf. When he stepped ashore, a lieutenant commanding one of the little boats told him that they too had been ordered to report to Darwin. The lieutenant told him there was to be a skipper’s meeting with a senior officer at Larrakeyah Barracks. And he said that because the Walrus was the last of the three vessels to reach Darwin, the meeting was likely to take place very soon. When Joe asked what the meeting was all about the lieutenant said he had no idea.

The meeting was held the next morning. The senior officer turned out to be a lieutenant colonel attached to Army Intelligence.

‘Thank you for getting your vessels to Darwin as quickly as you could, gentlemen,’ the lieutenant colonel said when he came into the room. He took up a position beside a map on the wall. ‘Now, as you are all aware, most of the Nackeroo horse patrols have been discontinued and almost all of the remote coastal observation posts have been abandoned due to the reduced threat of an enemy invasion. It is all a matter of the Army using its resources to the best advantage. It is because of that, you men and your vessels have been seconded by the Observer Unit to Army Intelligence.’

The three skippers exchanged surprised glances.

‘As of today,’ the officer continued, ‘your vessels will be used solely in anti-espionage operations and report directly to Army Intelligence. We believe that in the past, your efforts in this area have been largely a hit and miss affair because they have been combined with other duties.’

‘But sir,’ one of the skippers interjected, ‘the last air raid on Darwin was six months ago. and with the way the war’s going there’s not likely to be anymore. So who would be spying around here now?’

‘Although we believe information is no longer transmitting to the enemy about Top End military installations to the extent it once was, we think enemy spies are now using their expertise in other areas.’ The officer glanced at each man in turn. ‘What I am about to tell you now is highly sensitive and must not go beyond this room. For a long time now we have suspected that top secret Army Intelligence information contained in the Australian Military Forces Weekly Review reports are being leaked to the enemy. Recently we received absolute proof when several military operations in the Pacific mentioned in the review, were countered by the enemy so effectively that they must have had advance information. In addition, our relations with the Americans have been strained because they supply us with most of the sensitive information contained in the review.’

‘How does the Top End coast fit in to all this, Major?’ another skipper asked. ‘Surely the leak must emanate from somewhere in the south, a government department or perhaps a foreign embassy.’

‘Quite right, Lieutenant. And we suspect the Chinese amongst others. So we have directed Amalgamated Wireless Australasia, which is responsible for transmitting all overseas cables, to forward copies of all messages sent to foreign embassies to General MacArthur’s chief signal’s officer. We have also asked the Postmaster General’s Department to monitor overseas telephone calls made by the staff of those embassies. And we have also severely curtained distribution of all sensitive military reports. They are now only sent to various departments on a strictly "need to know" basis. But so far our attempts to uncover the spies have been unsuccessful and information is still getting through to the enemy. The Americans believe it is being transmitted by short wave radio signals. They constantly monitor international radio traffic but it is extremely difficult to locate the source of the signals, especially if the location is not constant.’

‘So, just like during the Top End bombings, you think that information might be being transmitted by fifth columnists aboard vessels plying the coast?’

‘Yes. So in addition to trying to identify the spies in Canberra, we are also going all out to track down their accomplices who are transmitting the information overseas.’

‘But by using short wave they could transmit off Sydney heads just as easily as from Cape York or Darwin.’

‘That’s true,’ the lieutenant colonel said quickly. ‘But vessels repeatedly transmitting from the east coast can be more easily monitored and tracked down. The eastern seaboard is alive with shipping. But it’s different up here. There’s practically no traffic at all. As you all know well, you can sail hundreds and hundreds of miles along this coast and not see a soul.’

‘But the spy ship or ships would still have to be close to phone or telegraph lines to receive the information from Canberra.’

‘Yes, and in the Top End that narrows it down to the Darwin area. That’s why we ordered you blokes to report here. We believe the information from Canberra is probably received by agents here in Darwin, Adelaide or Katherine and in turn they contact spy boats by light signals or by coastal wireless. In the next few days your vessels are to be equipped with the latest American radio monitoring equipment and you will be taking some training in its use at the communications centre at the US Army Air Force base at Katherine. When you’re done there, you’ll each be assigned a specific coastal area to patrol.’

*

With the availability of shipping in the south-west Pacific still acutely critical, Lyle Hunter had to use all his public relations skills and much of his clout as senior Army liaison officer at US headquarters to secure a berth for Faith aboard a steamship bound for the United States.

In the end it was only because of the fact that Faith was classified as an employee of the United States government that the vessel’s agent in Brisbane was able find a technical loophole which allowed him to authorize that a berth be allotted to her. Lyle also used his position and connections with Australian officials to gain Faith’s early release from the Manpower Directorate regulations and to speed up the issuance of her travel documents.

The confirmation of her passage aboard the SS Chesapeake Bay, once a liner on the North Atlantic run but now under permanent charter to the United States government as a troopship, came only three days before Lyle’s flight home. The vessel was one of several bringing additional American forces to join the swelling number of troops preparing for General MacArthur’s invasion of the Phillipines. On her return journey, the Chesapeake Bay was to transport home non-critically wounded soldiers and officers and men of various American divisions which had completed their tour of duty in the South Pacific. The vessel was scheduled to call at the Port of Brisbane in early June

Lyle Hunter’s replacement asked Faith to remain in her job at headquarters for as long as she could after Lyle left to help him get the feel of things and Faith agreed to stay on until a few days before her ship sailed. As always, she found that keeping busy kept her mind off other things, like the trauma of leaving everything and everybody she had ever known behind and travelling half way around the world to live in a strange country. It also helped keep at bay her occasional doubts as to whether she was doing the right thing.

As the time to leave Australia drew closer, Faith’s thoughts turned more and more to Joe. She had written to him telling him she was marrying Lyle and leaving for the United States but had received no reply. Three days before she was to leave headquarters, she was sitting at her desk wondering if she would hear from Joe before she sailed when her telephone rang. She was stunned to hear Joe’s voice on the line.

‘Joe, where are you?’

‘I’m at a US Army Air Force base in the Top End doing some training. I’ve been away at sea. I only just got your letter, I got three at the same time as a matter of fact.’

‘Joe, it’s so wonderful to hear your voice. I was so hoping to hear from you before I left.’

‘I knew I could never get a letter to you in time. I just happened to mention you were going to Albany to an American officer here. He’s from New York. When I told him where you work, he put this call through.’ Joe laughed. ‘The Yanks make everything so bloody easy.’

‘Are you all right, Joe?’

‘I couldn’t be better.’

‘Joe, did you get my letter saying Sergeant Herbert had been here and that I saw Koko and gave him your message?’

‘Yes, I did. How the hell did you manage to swing that?

Faith laughed. ‘Like you said Joe, the Yanks make everything easy.’

‘And how was Koko?’

‘Oh, he’s holding up. But it was very sad seeing him under such circumstances. Is there any more news about those croc-shooters?’

‘Yes. They were sighted again just recently at North Goulburn Island. It may take a little time but we will hunt the bastards down eventually.’

‘I do hope so, Joe.’

There was a moment’s silence, then Joe said: ‘Look Faith, I’ve got to go now. Say hello to Dick and Helen. And when you get settled in over there, you’ll write, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’ Faith fought to keep her voice steady. ‘And Joe… I love you.’

Faith put the phone down and spent some time alone with her thoughts. She was so pleased to have heard from Joe. It made her leaving a little easier. After a minute or two her mind turned to Koko and impulsively she picked up the telephone again.

When the switchboard answered she said: ‘Please get me Sergeant Major Brownlee at the Australian Army Infantry Training Centre at Cowra in New South Wales.’

*

The SS Chesapeake Bay tied up at the Hamilton Wharf just before dawn on a crisp June morning. Like all American ships, her arrival was unannounced and was cloaked in secrecy and tight security. The great liner was wearing a livery of battleship grey and looked more like a huge warship than a passenger ship. She remained in port two days, just long enough to disembark fresh troops from America and take on two or three thousand returning military personnel and a few civilian passengers.

Faith boarded the ship in fading light just a few hours before she sailed, leaving a tearful Aunt Helen and a somber Uncle Dick standing on the dock. She was shown to a cabin in the forward part of the liner, which before conversion to a troopship, had been the first class section. The cabin was still well appointed and there was plenty of room for Faith and the three US Army nurses she was to share it with all the way to San Francisco.

That night, Faith and the nursing officers talked long into the night. They were all very anxious to get home to their loved ones. For security reasons no-one had been given an exact itinerary of the voyage. But the nurses said they thought the Chesapeake Bay was nowhere near loaded to capacity and they would probably take on more returning soldiers in the Solomon Islands, Vanuatu and New Caledonia before heading for Honolulu and San Francisco.

Just before Faith fell asleep, one of the nurses said they should all make the most of a very long voyage because for most of the journey there would be less than two hundred females amongst more than ten thousand men.

*

One morning, Koko was taking part in a rigorous exercise session in his compound when he saw the main gates of the prison camp open to allow a Jeep to pass through. As he watched the vehicle travelling along the roadway outside the compound fence, he recognized the driver as Sergeant Major Brownlee.

Koko thought no more of it until an hour later when he was part of a work detail painting toilets in the administration hut, and a guard told him he was needed elsewhere in the building. The guard marched him from the toilets and down the corridor outside. Then without warning, half way down the passageway the guard opened a door to a small room and roughly bundled Koko inside. Seated alone at a small table in the room was Sergeant Major Brownlee.

‘Good morning Koko,’ Brownlee said cheerfully. He signaled the guard to leave. When the door closed he said, ‘Sorry about him, but it wouldn’t do to have the guards or your fellow prisoners think you receive special treatment around here, would it?

Koko shrugged his soldiers. ‘Why am I here Sergeant Major?’

Brownlee leaned across the table. ‘I spoke with Faith Brodie recently. She’s on her way overseas. She’s engaged to be married to an American officer, you know. Apparently she talked to her brother in the Northern Territory recently and he gave her a message which she was most anxious I pass on to you.’

Koko’s eyes widened expectantly. ‘What is it Sergeant Major?

‘She said to tell you that the hunt for the Groote Eylandt Lady may soon be over. There have been fresh sightings along the Top End coast and the net is closing in on them.’

‘Is that it? Is there nothing more?’

‘I’m afraid that’s it, Koko. Miss Brodie said she just wanted you to know everyone’s still trying.’

Koko stood up to leave. ‘I appreciate you telling me this Sergeant Major. I’m very grateful to you.’

‘It’s the least I could do, Koko. No one feels worse than me about the way you have been treated. He gestured to a chair on the other side of the table. ‘Please sit down. I’d like to talk to you on another matter.’

Koko sat down. ‘And what is that, Sergeant Major.’

‘This war will be over soon, Koko, and we can all go back to enjoying our lives again. In the meantime, perhaps we can make things a little easier by helping each other out.’

‘In what way?’

‘In wartime, terrible mistakes are made. It is the lunacy of war that put you, a born Australian, in this awful place, Koko. That’s why I broke the rules and arranged for Miss Brodie to come here and see you. That’s why I’ve broken them again today by passing on her message. You see, I would like to help you as much as I can.’

‘Thank you, Sergeant Major. But how can I help you?’

‘When I came to the camp this morning, the commanding officer and I spoke at some length. He and his senior officers think something is going on here. He says the Japanese prisoners are being too cooperative—too willing to please.’ Brownlee lowered his voice until he was barely audible. ‘There has been an increase in physical activities over the past weeks,—sumo-wrestling, rope-skipping and organized exercise sessions in the compounds. The fitness levels of the prisoners have never been so high and at a time when the camp is virtually bursting at the seams. There are over a thousand Japanese prisoners here now, but they are easier to handle than when there were only a few hundred. The CO says that everything appears to be calm on the surface but he is certain that underneath things are about to boil over. We have reason to believe a mass escape is being planned. We want you to help us prevent it. You speak their language and you know this Yakimoto fellow well. You must know something of what is going on.’

Koko felt his mouth go dry. Suddenly his hands were clammy. His flesh tingled and he hoped his face wouldn’t flush and betray him. Then the sensation passed and he felt very calm and in control. He looked Brownlee directly in the eye.

‘I know nothing of any plans for an escape Sergeant Major. But if I did, why does the CO think that I would betray my fellow prisoners?’

For a moment Brownlee seemed at a loss for words. Then he said almost apologetically: ‘He said you should help us because you are an Australian, Koko. He said you should do it because you are one of us.’

‘I was once, Sergeant Major,’ Koko said angrily. ‘But why would I want to be one of you now. Now the war has shown me the true colors and the bigotry of white Australians. You’re government took away my birthright and my freedom and allow the men who raped and murdered my mother to run free.’ Koko rose to his feet. ‘I find it hard to believe that after all you have done to me you have the hide to ask me for help.’

‘We will make things easier for you, Koko.’

‘But will you set me free?’

Brownlee sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Koko. But no-one in the military has the power to do that.’

‘Then we have nothing to discuss, Sergeant Major, do we?’

*

‘And what was it the sergeant major from the Army camp wanted to talk to you about this time, Koko?’ Yakimoto asked suspiciously

Koko looked at Yakimoto in surprise. The painting work detail had only just entered the wash house to clean up before the midday meal but already Yakimoto’s spies had reported to him.

‘Come now, Koko, how many times must I tell you nothing happens at this camp that I do not know about? You did meet with the sergeant major, didn’t you?’

A flicker of a smile passed over Koko’s face. ‘I think you are speculating, Yakimoto. But you are quite correct.’ He nodded toward the latrines at the end of the wash house and the two men walked away from the crowded area by the sinks and stood side by side at a urinal.

‘The sergeant major brought me news from the Northern Territory,’ Koko said quietly. ‘In return, the Army want me to spy for them. It seems our preparations for escape have not gone unnoticed. They suspect we are planning something. They wanted me to tell them what I already know and keep my eyes and ears open in the future.’

‘And?’

‘I told them I know nothing of any escape plans.’

‘And you expect me to believe you.’

‘You must, Yakimoto. I told them nothing. If I’d done otherwise would I be telling you this now.’

‘They must have offered you something—your release from this place perhaps?’

‘They do not have the power. They are merely jailers. If I cooperated with them, I would only jeopardize my only hope of freedom and the chance to avenge my mother’s death. Unlike you and the others, I don’t want to break out just so I can die within hours to save face in the eyes of the Emperor. I want to live long enough to do what I must do.’

‘If they suspect us, they will take measures to contain us,’ Yakimoto said grimly. ‘They will bring in more guards and more guns, perhaps even set up machine guns around the fences. And they will move to lessen our numbers by transferring some of us elsewhere. We are fortunate we are guarded by old men and fools. By talking to you they have forewarned us. In future we will watch them as they are watching us. If they start taking extra precautions, we must be prepared to move our plans forward. You have done well, Koko’

As they left the wash house Koko said, ‘When I first told you I was going to try and escape, I asked you for things like clothing, money and a few other items that the released Japanese internees gave to you when they left. I have been loyal to you today, Yakimoto. You will give me the things I need in readiness for the escape, won’t you?

Yakimoto stared straight ahead as they crossed the compound toward the canteen. Without turning his head he said: ‘Just tell me what things you need, Koko, and you will have them.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Over the next few weeks the atmosphere at Cowra prison camp changed. The first thing Yakimoto noticed was that more of the guards had been issued rifles and some now carried Bren guns. Then extra guards were posted at night to patrol the roadways and no-man’s land areas between the compounds. Later, two Vickers machine guns were set up at strategic areas adjacent to the Japanese compounds. One was placed just outside the perimeter fence close to a cluster of huts where a company of guards were billeted and the other was mounted on a trailer parked out in the paddock about seventy yards outside the fence.

As soon as each new security measure was put in place, Yakimoto set about working out countermeasures to overcome it. When the time for the breakout came, he knew it would be paramount for the machine guns to be neutralized as quickly as possible. Also the off duty guards would have to be overpowered and their weapons seized before they realized what was going on. Earlier, because of the lax security at the camp, Yakimoto had considered making the break in daylight. Now there was no choice but to make the attempt at night.

One evening when Koko returned to the hut after his English instruction session, Yakimoto approached him holding a tightly packed haversack.

‘Inside this bag is everything you asked me for, my friend,’ Yakimoto said quietly. ‘Civilian clothes, money, bandages, a razor, even a wristwatch. Everything was given to me by one of the repatriated internees at Hay. He was an influential banker from Tokyo and was about your size. I hope it is all you need to get you to the Northern Territory.’ Suddenly Yakimoto’s expression became grim.

‘What is it, Yakimoto?’ Koko asked anxiously. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It was reported to me that one of the Koreans met with Australian officers today,’ Yakimoto said bitterly. ‘We questioned him this evening. He said the Koreans don’t want to escape and they don’t want to be punished on account of the Japanese. He said he told the Australians that we are planning an escape.’

‘You mean he admitted it?’ Koko asked incredulously.

‘Yes. I told him we would kill him if he didn’t tell us the truth.’

‘And would you have?’

‘Not before he confessed.’ Yakimoto said casually. ‘I slit his throat afterwards and we tossed his body over the fence into no-man’s land.’

Koko gasped. ‘What will happen when the guards find it?’

‘They will know then, that we know they have been alerted and they will move very quickly to thwart our plans. I think they will try and transfer a lot of us to another camp just as soon as they can.’

‘So what can we do?’

‘We too must move quickly. We need a rainy or overcast night with poor visibility, and we need it soon.’

*

The Australians acted much more quickly than Yakimoto expected. The very next day Yakimoto, another officer and an NCO were marched over to the camp commandant’s office. The commandant made no mention of the dead Korean but advised them that five hundred Japanese prisoners of lower ranks were to be transferred to the camp at Hay three days later.

‘They seek to divide and rule and also confuse those of us who may be wavering because of the new machine gun emplacements outside the fence,’ Yakimoto said angrily after the group was marched back to their compound. ‘But they are so stupid and lax, they still do not even man the guns twenty-four hours a day. There are no soldiers manning them at this moment. We will catch the fools napping. We must break out tonight regardless of the weather. Send word to all the hut leaders that the Australians are going to separate us and have them put it to their men. Everyone knows the escape drill off by heart. Tell them I say we must go now.’

Some of the hut leaders sent word back almost immediately, others took longer, particularly the huts housing older men, who began to have second thoughts about the escape. But Yakimoto’s henchmen were quick to point out to the faint-hearted that now Japanese forces were suffering reversals on land, at sea and in the air, this was not the time to renege on their duty to the Emperor and their homeland. For several hours Yakimoto anxiously paced the floor, until all eleven hundred prisoners had committed themselves to the escape..

Just before midnight, all huts reported that fires had been set beneath them and that the men were ready and waiting for Yakimoto’s signal to breakout, a single long bugle blast. Yakimoto sent word back that it would be sounded at exactly 2 a. m. when nearly all the enemy, including a good number of those on duty, would be sleeping. His messengers also reminded everyone, particularly the younger, more gung-ho prisoners who could hardly wait for the bugle call, that they must not risk spoiling everything by jumping the gun.

The bravado of the prisoners became more subdued as the minutes ticked away toward two o’clock. During the last minutes, most sat absolutely still in the darkness of their huts. They sat on their beds clutching folded blankets and their burgundy colored greatcoats which they were to drape over the barbed wire fences to save their flesh from being torn open as they scrambled to freedom. Some prayed. Some spoke to each other in low tones about their parents, wives, or sweethearts at home in Japan. Most sat silent, grim-faced and alone with their thoughts. Everyone was afraid.

A few minutes before two o’clock, the stillness of the clear winter night was shattered. One of the prisoners had lost his nerve. He ran screaming at the top of his voice across the compound toward a guard post trying to warn of the impending escape. Two dozing guards at the post woke up quickly but not understanding a word of Japanese and fearing for their lives they shot the prisoner dead before he reached them. Immediately searchlights came on around the perimeter fence.

Yakimoto gave the order to sound the bugle and the compound came alive. The doors to the huts flew open, the fires beneath them were lit and in seconds flames were shooting up into the night sky. Inside the tinder dry wooden structures the bodies of dozens of Japanese who had chosen to commit hara-kiri before the bugle sounded were incinerated.

Koko was one of the first to race for the fence. With his haversack strapped to his back, he ran full pelt through the flames and choking smoke. He had never run so fast in his life. As he hurtled along, the sea of burgundy-clad prisoners surrounding him was suddenly transformed into a fierce horde of samurai warriors screaming ‘Banzai, Banzai’ at the tops of their voices.

At first, all Koko heard above the yelling was the bark of a few sporadic rounds of rifle fire. Then the gunfire became more intense as sirens sounded and the entire garrison scrambled to contain the escapees with everything they had. But even Bren gun fire ripping into the prisoners at point blank range couldn’t halt the waves of Japanese going over the top of the fence. So far the Vickers machine guns had remained silent.

Suddenly Koko was at the fence. The high, jagged barbed wire was already rendered almost harmless by layers of blankets and greatcoats. With his heart pounding and his head swimming, he flung himself at the wire and scrambled upward. Three-quarters of the way up the twelve-foot high wire he was knocked back to the ground by a stone-dead prisoner who crashed down on him from above. Somehow, Koko struggled up the fence again and this time reached the top. But then he froze, as eyes bulging in horror, he took in the surreal scene below him.

Dead and wounded Japanese were lying everywhere. Near the bottom of the fence, they were lying two and three deep. He could see them clearly in the crimson glow of the burning huts. The dead were silent and motionless. The wounded, their progress reduced to a pathetic crawl, were screaming in agony as they still tried desperately to claw their way through the dust to the wire. As Koko watched, too terrified to move, more bloody bullet-ridden bodies were dropping off the fence as the soldiers shot them like ducks in a fairground shooting gallery. But as fast as they fell, their places on the wire were taken by fresh waves of advancing prisoners.

It was mass suicide. The warning screamed out by the sole Japanese who had lost his nerve at the last moment had robbed the prisoners of the vital element of surprise. Yakimoto’s plans to seize weapons from the sleeping guards in the billets outside the perimeter fence had been ruined. So too, was the plan to use the weapons to mount an assault on the nearby Infantry Training Centre. Now, armed with only the crudest of weapons, sharpened garden tools, kitchen utensils and home made, nail-studded baseball bats, it was every man for himself.

Koko heard the loud chatter of a machine gun. The one under the guard tower had begun firing. Now the slaughter became wholesale as entire waves of prisoners racing across the compound were mown down. He looked out over the paddock to the second machine gun. A group of pajama clad soldiers were frantically racing towards it from the billets. Hard on their heels and desperately trying to beat them to the gun were about twenty Japanese. But the soldiers reached the gun first and trained the barrel on their pursuers and opened fire. In little more than the blinking of an eye all the Japanese lay dead on the ground.

Someone kicked Koko hard in the small of the back and he fell from the fence and landed heavily on the ground outside. Uninjured from the fall, he jumped up quickly and took off across the paddock as fast as he could run, all the while expecting to be shot down at any moment. He had travelled almost two hundred yards and almost outrun the light from the blazing huts when he was hit in the back with such force that he was thrown head over heels onto the ground.

Certain he had been shot Koko, lay where he fell for several moments before he even tried to move. When at last he did he was surprised he felt no pain. He realized at once what had happened. He had been hit, probably by a wayward bullet. But the haversack on his back had deadened the force of the projectile. He got up and ran off again across the fields until he was enveloped by darkness.

From time to time Koko saw the shadows of more runners and heard others stumbling about in the darkness and he realized that in spite of the terrible carnage at the camp, a lot of prisoners must have made it over the fence. Some seemed to be alone like himself. Some were in groups of a dozen or more. All were heading for the open countryside, desperately trying to make good their escape while the guards at the camp were too busy trying to contain the breakout to pursue them. But Koko wasn’t heading for the bush. He was running directly towards the twinkling lights of Cowra. Now he was free it was time to implement his own carefully laid plans.

Koko reached the edge of the little town in less than twenty minutes from when the bugle had sounded. The moonlit streets were deserted. He stopped and pulled a map from his pocket which he had drawn up from his own observations and those of other prisoners when they had passed through the town on their way to the camp. The crude map showed the location of all main features of the town. Koko struck a match and shielded the light with his hands as he got his bearings and worked out the location of the railway station, then put the map away and headed off at a cautious trot.

Koko noticed more and more lights were coming on behind the closed curtains of nearby houses. The gunfire from the camp and the glow of the burning huts in the night sky was gradually waking the townspeople. Koko was thankful no-one seemed to be opening their doors. They obviously preferred to remain securely locked inside their homes while the military looked after the situation.

Outside the railway station, Koko read a typewritten timetable pinned to the door of the station house. It was Saturday, the fourth of August. A through train was leaving for Sydney at 9.14 a.m. Koko ducked into the stockyard beside the station and checked his map again. It showed that a darkened building on the other side of the road was the local community hall. He looked up and down the street. The coast was still clear. He darted across the road and around to the back of the building. He tried the back door. It was locked. A few yards away, about seven feet off the ground, was a small opaque window beside a drainpipe. The window was open a couple of inches. Koko swarmed up the drainpipe and in less than a minute he had lowered himself down into a toilet inside the hall.

*

The streets of Cowra which had been deserted in the small hours of the morning, came alive with the dawn. Suddenly there were anxious civilians, vigilant soldiers and military vehicles going in all directions. From all the commotion, it was plain there were still a lot of Japanese at large following the overnight breakout. But when an immaculately dressed man slipped out of the front door of the community hall and calmly walked across the street to the railway station nobody paid any attention to him at all.

Koko wore a well-tailored, dark pin-striped suit in the style favored by businessmen in larger cities like Sydney or Melbourne. Only one or two barely discernible creases remained in the high quality material of the jacket and trousers after being packed so tightly in the haversack. The suit was complimented by a white shirt, a conservative grey necktie, expensive black leather shoes and a felt hat. There was a deep hollow in the heel of one of the shoes where earlier Koko had removed a .303 rifle bullet while he was waiting for the dawn. When being worn, the damage to the shoe was unnoticeable. What was conspicuous though, was the thick white bandage wrapped around Koko’s head which protruded below his felt hat and all but completely covered up his telltale oriental eyes.

‘One way, first class to Sydney, please,’ Koko said when he stepped up to the ticket window.

The clerk looked up and smiled. The smile was soon replaced by a frown. ‘Good Lord, sir. You haven’t been injured in all the goings on with the bloody Japs this morning, have you?’

A group of armed soldiers standing within earshot turned around quickly to face the ticket wicket. Koko’s heart pounded when through the small opening in the bandage over his eyes he saw Sergeant Major Brownlee was among them. He drew a deep breath. Now it was even more important he deliver his well rehearsed lines believably and unfalteringly. Afraid the Sergeant Major may recognize his natural voice, Koko decided to try and sound just a little more articulate, more in keeping with the banker’s clothing he was wearing.

‘Good heavens, no. I was driving into Cowra yesterday from Bathhurst when a stone smashed my windscreen. I caught a few glass splinters in the face, that’s all.’

The clerk shook his head sympathetically. ‘That will be one pound, sixteen shillings, sir.’ He tore off a ticket from a roll on the counter and smiled. ‘Train’s on time this morning, sir. It should be here in just a few minutes.’

Koko opened a leather wallet. It contained more than fifty pounds. He drew out two one pound notes and handed them to the clerk.

‘So you’re leaving your car here in Cowra, are you sir?’ the clerk enquired as Koko picked up his ticket and change.

‘Yes, my employer’s sending a man out from Sydney to replace me. He’ll pick the car up after it’s repaired.’ Koko spoke loud enough for the soldiers to hear. ‘I’m afraid, I can’t even see well enough to read, so I’m off home. I’m a bank inspector with the Commercial Bank Of Sydney, you see.’

Koko’s performance must have been convincing because as he walked from the ticket counter onto the platform, Brownlee and the group of soldiers turned their attention away from him to two truckloads of troops which pulled up outside the station. Koko sat down on a platform bench and looked on as Brownlee directed the soldiers to take up positions around the station and ordering them to be on the lookout for anyone trying to slip onto the train when it arrived.

Brownlee was pacing the platform when the train pulled in. Koko stood up and moved to the edge of the platform. When the train shuddered to a halt, he reached out quickly to open a carriage door. His heart sank when Brownlee’s hand closed on the door handle first. But the Sergeant Major just nodded politely, swung the carriage door open wide and said:

‘There you go, sir. Have a good trip to Sydney.’

*

‘Where to then, sir?’ the driver asked when Koko climbed into a taxi outside Sydney’s Central Station. It was already dark and there was a nip in the evening air.

‘I’ve never been to Sydney before,’ Koko said truthfully. ‘I’ve just come for a few days to see an eye specialist. Perhaps you could recommend a good hotel. Somewhere on the harbor where I can breath the salt air and see the boats on the water.’

The driver appraised his obviously well-heeled fare through the rear vision mirror. ‘The best hotels are only a few minutes from here, sir. But you won’t see much of the harbor or any boats from Castlereagh Street.’

‘I don’t need a flash hotel,’ Koko said. ‘But I’d like it to be close to the harbor and boats.’

‘There’s a pub over at Double Bay, sir. It’s further out but it’s very respectable and it’s right on the water. And they’ve just opened a fancy new boat mooring and clubhouse there. They call it the Cruising Yacht Club of Australia.’

‘That sounds like a good place. Take me there.’

The Royal George Hotel in Double Bay was an old but well maintained public house which catered to the middle class in Sydney’s eastern suburbs. A sign outside said it offered unobstructed harbor views and excellent cuisine at a reasonable tariff. The receptionist looked at Koko dubiously when he said his luggage had somehow vanished from the train on the way from Melbourne. But she was more than happy to give him a good room with a view when he opened his wallet and lodged ten pounds deposit against his use of the hotel’s facilities.

Koko fell asleep the moment his head touched his pillow and slept soundly all through the night. He awoke the next morning to a glorious day with sunlight streaming into the room. When visions of the bloodbath in Cowra flashed across his mind, he got out of bed quickly and went to the window. Beneath him lay the tranquil waters of Double Bay, just slightly ruffled by a gentle breeze. And there, little more than a stones throw away, lying serenely at their moorings in the newly formed Cruising Yacht Club, were some of the finest sailing yachts in Australia.

Most of the boats were quite large and all appeared to be much newer and of much superior quality and design than any Koko had ever seen along the coast of the Northern Territory. He pushed open the window. Fresh salt air wafted into the room. From where he stood he could hear the breeze gently whistling through the rigging of the yachts and the tapping of halyards against the vessel’s masts. Koko drew a deep breath and savored the moment. And for the first time since escaping from Cowra thirty hours earlier, he felt truly free.

Half an hour later, when he had bathed, shaved and dressed and carefully applied a new length of bandage to his head, there was a tap on his door and a maid announced she had his breakfast tray and the morning newspaper. Koko took his bacon and eggs, toast and tea at a small table overlooking the water and read the paper.

The Sydney Sunday Telegraph seemed to be breaking all the strict censorship rules with it’s huge front page headline: ‘WAR PRISONERS ESCAPE FROM CAMP’ But on reading the lengthy article which followed, which was a masterpiece of guarded innuendo, the newspaper’s editors had probably saved themselves from government prosecution, by omitting pertinent information, such as the nationality of the escapees, any mention of casualties, or the number of escapees still at large.

Koko spent the rest of the morning studying the yachts in the bay. First he gazed out intently from his hotel room window, then later, through a public penny telescope on Marine Parade, a roadway running along the water’s edge. He paid special attention to three vessels: Rani, a thirty-six foot cutter, Winston Churchill, a yawl that looked to be over fifty feet; and a sleek little white sloop named Chinook which was barely thirty feet long. In the afternoon, Koko hired a tiny rowing boat from a boat shed on nearby Seven Shillings Beach and rowed around the vessels to take a closer look at each one.

The inspections confirmed what Koko had suspected from the shore—all three vessels were rigged and equipped for blue water sailing and were capable of going anywhere and in any weather. It was plain to see that both Winston Churchill and Rani were fastidiously maintained which told Koko that their owners used them often and probably lived close by. By comparison, the deck and spars of Chinook were plastered with the droppings of sea birds which meant her owner probably hadn’t been near her for a long time.

Koko nudged the dinghy alongside Chinook and pressed his face against the glass of one of her portholes. Inside the vessel looked neat, tidy and well equipped. He casually rowed around to the stern, all the while taking mental notes. All mainmast sheets and halyards led back to the cockpit. A salt-spray dodger and cockpit side cloths were in place to keep her skipper dry in heavy weather. Her cleats, sheet blocks, and tiller were all well placed for easy handling. Koko could tell she had been rigged for single-handed sailing. He glanced at the washboard closing off the companionway. Only a padlock passing through a light hasp denied access below deck.

Koko weighed up his options as he rowed back to Seven Shillings Beach. He quickly ruled out the two larger vessels. Both would be missed soon after they disappeared, possibly even before he reached the mouth of Sydney Harbor. Anyway both would require a full crew to be handled properly. He decided he would steal the little sloop. He even fancied her name. An American aboard a pearling lugger in Darwin had once told him that Chinook was an Indian word meaning, ‘a warm wind’. She looked like she would go like the wind too. Best of all she would be easy to handle alone and might not be missed for days, maybe weeks. With a little luck he might even be as far away as Queensland before anyone realized she had gone.

The next day was Monday, and the neighborhood shops were open. After breakfast, Koko went to a menswear store and bought some casual clothes and a few toiletries from a pharmacy next door, then he returned to the hotel room and spent the morning watching the movements in the yacht basin below and planning his departure.

That afternoon he went shopping again. This time to a grocer’s shop and a hardware store. He bought an assortment of tinned food, enough to last several days and a few other essentials like matches, soap, a claw hammer and a big canvas bag to put everything in, including his clothes. Then he went back to Seven Shillings Beach, hired a boat again and rowed out around the yachts. As he passed Chinook he nonchalantly tossed the canvas bag into the cockpit.

It was almost midnight when Koko slipped out the back of the hotel into the moonlight. It was a crisp winter’s night and at first the water was so cold it took his breath away but in less than five minutes he was aboard Chinook. The padlocked hasp on the washboard was stubborn but proved no match for the claw hammer. Koko slipped below and brought up sails and stealthily began preparing to take the little ship out to sea. An hour later Chinook passed out through Sydney Heads and out into the open sea with a freshening south-easterly filling her sails.

PART FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The new anti-espionage role played by the three Nackeroo coastal surveillance vessels was a vast improvement of the old hit and miss coastal patrols of the past. After being fitted with the latest American radio equipment, each was assigned a specific area in which to monitor radio signals and, if required, intercept and investigate unidentified small craft. The only trouble was that after weeks of around the clock monitoring, none of the boats had reported picking up any suspicious radio transmissions or sighting any suspect vessels.

One of the boats was assigned to patrol Van Diemen Gulf, another to the waters surrounding Bathhurst and Melville Islands and the northern coast of the Coburg Peninsular, and the Walrus was designated a several hundred mile stretch of coastline from the Goulburn Islands east to Cape Arnhem. All of the areas were extremely remote, especially Joe’s, with its myriad of low, featureless bays and inlets and endless miles of muddy shallows and swamps infested with crocodiles and mosquitoes. But for Joe, the extreme isolation and the danger of navigating often uncharted waters close in to the mainland, was lessened by having first-class communication gear aboard which also eased the boredom.

Often at night, as they had done at Eagle’s Nest, Joe and Weasel would keep up to date with what was going on in the world by listening to the BBC Overseas Service which always came in loud and clear. By all reports the war in the Pacific was getting further and further away from Australia. Everyone knew that General MacArthur would soon fulfill his promise to return to the Phillipines. After that, it was just a matter of time before the war came to an end.

‘What do you reckon, Joe?’ Weasel asked one night. They were on a patrol to Nhulunbuy, on the Gove Peninsular, the eastern limit of their surveillance area, and were sitting in the cockpit under the stars with the Walrus anchored at a remote river mouth in central Arnhem Land. ‘When they disband the Nackeroos, will you go back to what you were doing before the war?’

‘Oh, I reckon so,’ Joe said. ‘That’s if I can get enough money together to buy another boat.’

Joe heard the sound of canvas rustling in the shadows up on the foredeck where Monday slept and knew the Aborigine was listening to the conversation. ‘What do you reckon, Monday?, he called out. ‘You want to sail with me on an island trader again?’

‘You know I do, Mr Joe.’ Monday replied from the darkness. ‘You know I do.’

Joe grinned and turned back to Weasel. ‘What about you? Will you go back to your bus station in the bush?’

Weasel shook his head. ‘Not me, mate. Wasn’t it Henry Lawson that said, “Death is the only cheerful thing about the bush”. No, I prefer the sea now. I thought if you bought another boat, maybe I could stay with you. As crew I mean. And I’d been happy to chip in. I haven’t had a chance to spend a penny of my pay since I’ve been up here in the Top End.’

‘Neither have I.’ Joe shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who knows, maybe we could work something out when we get out of the Army. Anyway, its late. We’ll talk about it another day. Let’s go below and get some shuteye.’

*

Just has Koko had expected, Chinook was a strong sea-kindly vessel. If he had to, Koko had been prepared to sail the two thousand nautical miles northward to the Torres Straight by keeping just within sight of land, using the old sailor’s adage: ‘Just keep Australia on your left, mate’

But he had been heartened to find the sloop was a true passage-maker. She had a copy of the Australia Pilot aboard, scores of sea charts, parallel rules, dividers, and a protractor and a reliable compass—all that was needed to plot and follow a course. She also had an inboard petrol engine, a good sail inventory, a small alcohol stove, a half-full water tank and a locker crammed with tinned food. Koko’s only regret in stealing such a well-found boat was that she obviously belonged to a real sailor, not a white-uniformed weekend sailor who never ventured out beyond the safety of Sydney Harbor.

The freshening south-easterly breeze which had greeted Chinook outside Sydney Heads had built steadily through the night, then blown at thirty knots for the next five days. But the sturdy little sloop took it all in her stride and under a storm jib and reefed mainsail, she charged northward under threatening grey skies, leaving a boiling wake behind her. Koko doggedly remained at the tiller all throughout the five days, only rarely backing the sails and lashing down the helm, leaving the little sloop hove-to and fending for herself while he caught a short sleep before continuing on.

On the afternoon of the sixth day, the wind had blown itself out and there were blue patches poking through the grey skies. Utterly exhausted and occasionally hallucinating, Koko turned the bow of the sloop in toward the shore. Just before dusk, he dropped anchor in sheltered water in the lee of Double Island Point, a high rocky headland in Queensland, a hundred miles north of Moreton Bay. Just as soon as the anchor took hold, Koko went below, flopped into a bunk and fell asleep.

Koko woke sixteen hours later to blue skies and sunshine pouring in through a porthole onto his face. In a second he was out of the bunk, standing on the companionway steps and looking around outside. The anchorage was perfectly still. There was no sign of life on the headland or any small craft evident on Wide Bay, the broad expanse of water separating Double Island Point from Fraser Island. Koko could clearly see the southern tip of the hundred mile long, great sand island basking in the sun on the horizon to the north-east. The only sound that broke the tranquility of the scene was the forlorn cry of a lone sea bird as it skimmed low over the ebbing tide in search of fish.

Koko took another long look around then stepped back down into the cabin. He open a can of corned beef and a tin of baked beans and for the first time, heated food on the alcohol stove. Later, as he ate, Koko reflected on the events of the past week. He had known from the start his only chance he had of reaching the Top End was by sea, where there was no one to spot his Asian features and dob him in. So far so good. The most dangerous part of the voyage north, the unforgiving, exposed coast of New South Wales was over. Now it would be easier. There was only a hundred and fifty miles of open sea remaining before he reached the sheltered waters of the inner passage of the Great Barrier Reef. There he would pick up the strong, reliable south-east trade wind which would carry him all the way to the Torres Straight and beyond.

Because of the confines inside Great Barrier Reef, Koko knew he would only be able to sail in daylight. But he would be compensated for this by being afforded a safe sheltered anchorage each night in the lee of one of Queensland’s many tropical islands or coastal headlands. But he would have to be vigilant. The inner passage was used by commercial shipping and fishing vessels, and perhaps he might even encounter an Allied warship. And he had been told by Japanese seamen at Cowra that mines had been laid at openings in the thousand mile long reef to prevent warships of the Imperial Navy from entering the inner passage from the open sea. He knew he would have to be careful and sail hard, but with any luck he would reach the Torres Straight in two to three weeks.

Koko finished his hot meal and set about preparing the sloop to sail.

*

Faith awoke one morning to the excited chatter of the three US Army nurses. They were huddled around a cabin porthole and could barely contain their excitement. She pushed back the covers and hurried over to join them. There, beyond the porthole, perhaps forty or fifty miles distant, majestic volcanic mountains towered up out of the ocean into an azure sky peppered with white wispy clouds. The SS Chesapeake Bay was approaching the string of islands that made up the American Territory of Hawaii.

By late morning, tugs had maneuvered the huge ship into a berth at the ocean terminal beneath the Aloha Tower in Honolulu Harbor on the island of Oahu, where she was to remain until the following afternoon before continuing on to San Francisco. Apart from the ship’s officers, only passengers, military officers and senior NCO’s were free to go ashore while longshoremen worked around the clock refueling and reprovisioning the vessel.

Faith and the nurses took a taxi into town. Everyone was glad to leave the confines of the ship and have firm ground under their feet, if only for a short while. And after experiencing the wartime shopping restrictions in the South Pacific, the opportunity to explore Honolulu’s well stocked stores for the latest in ladies clothes proved irresistible. The American girls did most of the buying but Faith was more than happy to tag along as they spent the day going from store to store. It was when she was sitting waiting in a shop in Waikiki, while the nurses tried on clothes, that she saw a copy of the San Francisco Star in a magazine rack beside her. When she picked it up she saw the mainland paper was two weeks old but she thumbed through anyway.

The headlines told of the latest developments of the war in Europe and the Pacific. Below the main stories were several smaller items. One in particular caught Faith’s eye. It stated there were reports of a mass breakout of prisoners-of-war, possibly Japanese, at a place called Cowra in New South Wales, but no further details were available because the Australian government had clamped a total news ban on the incident. The article also stated the Australian government had branded ‘as misleading and in contravention of censorship laws’, a report in the Sydney Sunday Telegraph of August 6th of an escape by prisoners of war. It went on to say that the Australian Prime Minister, had promised all details of the incident would be made public just as soon as an official inquiry, which was already underway, had been completed.

Faith couldn’t get her mind off the newspaper article all the way back to the ship. She knew well that wartime Australian newspapers were the most censored of any published in the English speaking world. The official, glossed over version of the Japanese attacks on Darwin, Broome and Townsville, and the suppression of Brisbane Line controversy was proof of that. The very fact that even a vague and sketchy report of a prison camp breakout in Australia had made it into the Sydney Sunday Telegraph and the San Francisco Star meant that something very major had occurred at Cowra and she couldn’t help fearing for Koko’s safely.

Some of Faith’s concern left her when she returned to the Chesapeake Bay. Inside her cabin she was greeted by three huge bouquets of colorful Hawaiian flowers, all with loving messages from Lyle. There was also a telegram giving her his office telephone number at the Pentagon and his private extension number which he asked her to call before the ship left Honolulu. She checked the time. It was almost 6pm—almost midnight in Washington and she decided to call the next morning.

At breakfast, a dining room steward said a bank of temporary telephones had been set up for use by officers in what used to be the purser’s office before the vessel became a troopship.

‘No need for you to go ashore Faith,’ one of the nurses said when Faith had finished her breakfast. ‘I’ll take you down to the purser’s office and you can call your Major Hunter from there.’

The office was located in the main section of the ship which now housed over ten thousand returning US troops. Faith had never been in this part of the ship before. Compared to the officers and passengers quarters it seemed to be bursting at the seams. Enlisted men were milling around everywhere and Faith realized that below decks they must be crammed in like sardines.

Faith and the nurse found all the telephones were in use and there was a long queue of officers waiting to use them, so they decided to wait until the congestion eased and stepped outside onto the deck and stood at the rail in the sunshine. Below them on the dock, longshoremen were still hard at work. There was also a steady stream of personnel returning to the ship. Some of them looked a little the worse for wear, particularly a group of sergeants who looked like they had been out on the town all night..

Faith couldn’t help but smile when she saw the NCO’s trying to walk a straight line as they made their way onto the ship. The top of the gangplank was only a stone’s throw from where they were standing. Faith’s smile gradually turned to a look of amazement when she thought she recognized one of the sergeants. She couldn’t be sure at first because he was staring down into the gangplank as he strode up it. But when he stepped onto the deck of the ship she got a clear look at Gus Welenski’s face before he disappeared into a sea of soldiers.

*

It was almost two hours after seeing Gus before Faith finally got through to Lyle.

‘I’m counting the days, Faith,’ he said softly on the surprisingly clear line. ‘I really can’t wait to see you.’

‘I miss you too, Lyle.’

‘Now, listen, Faith.’ Lyle’s tone became more earnest. ‘I’ve made all the arrangements for you in San Francisco. When the ship berths, there will be a car waiting to take you downtown to the St. Francis Hotel. My family always uses the St. Francis in San Francisco and we’re well known to the manager. His name is Plimpton. He will see to it you’re looked after properly. I’ve asked him to look after your travel arrangements on to New York. So don’t you worry about a thing. As soon as you arrive, get your flight confirmed then call me with the details so I can meet you at the airport in New York.’

‘All right Lyle, I’ll do that. Anything else?’

‘Yes. I’ve organized two weeks leave starting when you get here and my family have made all the arrangements for the wedding up in Albany. They can’t wait to meet you. And the apartment I’ve rented for us in Washington is being redecorated. It’s in Georgetown overlooking the Potomac River. I’m sure you’ll like it. I haven’t bought any furniture yet. I thought I’d better leave that up to you. You can do that when we come back from our honeymoon at Niagara Falls.’

‘As always you’ve thought of everything, Lyle,’ Faith said happily, ‘even Niagara Falls.’

Faith was about to tell Lyle that she’d just seen Gus Welenski aboard the Chesapeake Bay, when someone announced the phone lines would be removed shortly because the ship would be sailing soon. With several people still waiting behind her to make calls, she quickly told Lyle she would call him just as soon as she reached the hotel in San Francisco and hung up.

*

The ship was under way and Faith and the nurses were standing on the foredeck watching Oahu’s famous landmark of Diamond Head receding in the distance when a young lieutenant approached them.

‘I’m sorry it took so long ma’am, but I’ve finally located Staff Sergeant Welenski.’ The lieutenant addressed the officer who had been with Faith when she saw Gus.’

‘Where is he, Lieutenant?’ the nurse asked.

‘I told him to wait outside the officers lounge on B Deck ma’am. Shall I take you to him?’

‘No. Would you bring him up here, please?’

Faith had moved away from the nursing officers and was standing alone at the rail when the lieutenant returned with Gus. She watched as the lieutenant directed him to where she was standing and smiled when she saw the look of astonishment on Gus’s face as he hurried over to her.

‘Faith, I can’t believe it’s you.’ He took both her hands in his and kissed her cheek.

‘Can’t you do any better than that, Sergeant Welenski?’ she chastised, then hugged him tightly and kissed him firmly on the mouth. ‘It’s just wonderful to see you, Gus,’ she said as they drew apart. ‘How long have you been aboard the ship?’

‘Since she called in at Noumea.’

‘I though you went to Papua New Guinea?’

‘I did, but MacArthur’s admin staff in Port Moresby isn’t needed now the war is moving north. Everyone’s been shipped out. I had the chance to go home and took it. They flew me to New Caledonia and here I am.’ Gus grinned widely. ‘But look, kiddo. Never mind about old Gus. What are you doing on your way to the States—twisted Captain Rivers’ arm and got him to marry you, eh?’

From the look on Faith’s face, Gus knew he’d said the wrong thing.

‘No Gus. It didn’t work out with Dan. I’m on my way to New York to marry Lyle Hunter. He was transferred home and assigned to the Pentagon.’

The grin faded from Gus’s face. ‘Major Hunter? But what happened with you and Captain Rivers?’

‘I don’t really know Gus. When I saw him in Melbourne, he said he would come up to spend Christmas with us in Brisbane at the Sharkey’s. But he never came. He didn’t even phone.’

‘Maybe he got real sick again.’

‘No, he didn’t. I checked with the hospital. He was released a few days before Christmas. Instead of coming to Brisbane he just went straight home. It’s funny, he seemed so positive about everything when I saw him in Melbourne. He even said he wanted to stay in Australia after the war and that there may be a future for us together. And I believed him. That’s the thing that hurt me the most, Gus.’ Faith tried hard to smile. ‘But I’m over it all now. It really doesn’t matter. But it’s funny how you think you know a man well enough to marry him, but you don’t really know him at all.’

Gus grimaced. ‘You can say that again.’

He looked over to the group of nurses. They seemed to be a few paces closer than before. He could see that they were pretending not be paying any attention to him and Faith, but from their inquisitive glances and guarded whispers, Gus could tell they were the centre of the nurse’s attention and the subject of their conversation.

Gus linked his arm in Faith’s and led her down the deck away from prying eyes. Then he turned to her and said: ‘Captain Rivers really did want to stay in Australia after the war, Faith. He wanted to start a construction company. I know that. I also know that he made application to the Australian Immigration Department for permanent residency.’

‘He did? How do you know that, Gus?’

‘The day Major Hunter shipped me out to Port Moresby, he had a visitor at the liaison office in Brisbane. I think I’d better tell you all about it.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

As Koko expected, Chinook came under the influence of the south-east trade wind as she approached the southern extremities of the Great Barrier Reef. At this point, just north of Bundaberg, the reef was almost a hundred miles out from the mainland, but as the days passed and the distance between it and the shore lessened, it’s calming effect on the sea became more noticeable. Under clear sunny skies, with a steady twenty-knot breeze blowing over her stern and an experienced hand on the helm, Chinook reveled in the superb sailing conditions. And for the first time since his incarceration over two years earlier, Koko felt at peace with himself and the world as he savored real freedom and relived the joy of sail.

But one morning after leaving a beautiful island anchorage in the Whitsunday Passage, the real world came thundering down on him in the form of a huge grey warship. It was a destroyer and it headed directly for Chinook at an astonishing rate of speed. Koko had only seen two other vessels on the Queensland coast. Both had been slow-moving southbound oil tankers and far away on the horizon. But the destroyer, which had been less than a mile away when he first saw it, bore down on him in less than two minutes.

Taken completely by surprise Koko didn’t have enough time to go down into the cabin and grab a bandage to wrap around his head and cover his eyes. But at the last moment the warship swung away and he clearly saw the stars and stripes flying from a halyard amidships. Then a group of sailors standing on her long sleek foredeck cheered and waved at him as the great ship roared past. Koko waved back at them, as Chinook was left bobbing up and down like a cork in the warship’s wake. But he was careful to keep his eyes lowered in case anyone on the destroyer’s bridge was looking at him through binoculars.

After the encounter with the American warship, Koko resolved to be more vigilant and not let the idyllic surrounds blind him to the constant threat of danger, even miles out to sea. But he sighted no more ships until he was off Townsville and Cairns, the last settlements of any size on the northern Queensland coast. Plying between the two ports he saw an oil tanker and a couple of coastal freighters but got a start when two RAAF Catalinas roared by low overhead as they came into land at Cairns. Koko assumed there must be a flying boat squadron based in the sheltered waters of Trinity Bay and he was glad he was so close to the town because the aircraft seemed to show no interest in him at all.

For the remaining five hundred miles northward from Cairns to the tip of Cape York Peninsular and the Torres Strait, Koko may as well have been the only person on earth. The only living things he saw along the pristine Far North Queensland coast were sea birds and a myriad of marine life. The perfect weather continued, except for a few drenching tropical showers which Koko used to catch fresh water off the mainsail and top up his tank. The further north he sailed the stronger the trade wind blew and on some days he sailed around eighty miles. The reef was much closer to the mainland now, often no more than two or three miles offshore and Koko had to use all his sailing skills to pick his way safely through the maze of sharp, jagged coral which could instantly hole the boat even if he only struck it lightly.

By the time he approached Cape York, Koko found his life had been shaped into an enjoyable daily routine. By day he would carry as much sail as he dare in the boisterous trade wind and at night he would rest in a safe anchorage where he would study the charts and plot a course for the next day. He was now living on a steady diet of fresh fish, usually Spanish mackerel or trevally, which, after being hooked within moments of dropping a trolling line over the stern, had to be hauled aboard quickly before they were snatched off the line by sharks.

Koko’s last anchorage before Cape York was at Halfway Island about fifty miles south of the cape itself. When he plotted his course for the next day, the chart he used was the last one aboard that would be of any use to him. It covered the remainder of the east coast of Queensland and the Torres Strait, the narrow strip of water between the top of Australia and New Guinea. The Australia Pilot warned of dangerous currents flowing swiftly over barely submerged reefs and shallow sandy shoals. Years before, pearlers had also told Koko of the dangers of the Torres Strait. They had said it was like a seething cauldron, the place where the vast Indian Ocean gushed through a narrow bottleneck of land into the Pacific, like water swirling down a bathtub plug hole.

The Strait was Koko’s last great challenge and he knew he would have to be extremely careful. Apart from its natural navigation hazards, he knew there would be small naval vessels and a police boat stationed on Thursday Island and also aircraft flying out of the RAAF base on neighboring Horn Island. But once through the shallow, treacherous waters, he could use the Australia Pilot to set a single compass course to cross the two hundred and fifty miles of open water in the Gulf of Carpentaria to the familiar waters of Arnhem Land and the Top End coast.

A sudden gust of wind in the anchorage caused the sloop to sway and strain on her anchor chain. A few moments later, driving rain drenched the deck. It wasn’t a short evening tropical shower because it was still raining hard when he turned in over an hour later. Koko wondered before he fell asleep if, in addition to all the dangers facing him in the Torres Strait, he might have to cope with a change of weather as well.

Koko awoke the next morning to leaden skies and a thirty-knot south-easter but the rain had stopped. He left the anchorage under the mainsail only but was soon forced to tie in a reef. He shortened sail again later in the day when he was navigating through Albany Passage, a long narrow strip of water between Albany Island and the mainland. Here the wind took on a tunnel effect between the high rocky headlands on each side of the passage and it howled in the rigging like a demented demon. Then it began to rain again, cutting visibility down so much he couldn’t see the land either side of the boat. The night before, he had noticed the chart showed a pearling station located in the passage at a place called Somerset Bay and he was glad when he caught a glimpse of a cluster of huts on the shore which confirmed his position as he anxiously strained to see the way ahead.

Then suddenly he was through the passage and had some sea room, and steering the last few miles to Cape York became a little easier, although there was no let up in the weather. It was late afternoon when he entered the Torres Strait. Now the whole of Australia lay to the south of him and fifteen miles to the west lay Thursday Island and beyond that the Gulf of Carpentaria. Dog tired, soaking wet, and with darkness approaching, Koko made straight for shallow water in the lee of Cape York and dropped anchor.

The anchorage was uncomfortable. Confused tides and currents and sudden powerful wind gusts accompanied by lashing rain, sent the sloop scudding wildly around her anchor chain for most of the night. Even though he was exhausted, fear of dragging the anchor and losing the little ship on a reef or rocky outcrop, kept Koko awake most of the night. But in the early hours of the morning the wind dropped and the rain eased and Chinook ceased her wild gyrations and settled down. In minutes, Koko dropped into a sound dreamless sleep.

He was awoken by the throbbing of an engine. It sounded very close. Startled, Koko sat bolt upright and peered out through a porthole beside the bunk. It was already light outside. He had overslept. The sky was dull and overcast and the rain was still falling. But there was no wind at all and the sea was perfectly flat. He felt a surge of panic when a motor launch flying a white ensign came into view but he had the presence of mind to quickly wrap a bandage around his head to cover his eyes. Then he pulled on a pair of shorts, took a deep breath and climbed up the companionway into the cockpit.

‘Ahoy, there.’ The voice belonged to a uniformed sailor speaking through a loud hailer from the deck of the launch. The little naval vessel was stationary now, sitting about twenty yards away with its engine idling.

‘Yes,’ Koko shouted across the water, ‘what can I do for you?’

‘This is a naval patrol from Thursday Island,’ the sailor called out. ‘The pearling station at Somerset radioed in and reported sighting you in heavy weather in Albany Passage yesterday. Are you all right? What happened to your head?’

‘I fell. I have a bump on my head and cuts around my eyes.’ Koko shouted across the water. ‘But I’m able to manage, thank you.’

‘Where are you from, sir?’

‘Sydney.’

‘Where are you bound?’

Koko hesitated, unsure what to say. In the end he just said: ‘Thursday Island.’

‘Do you have any radio equipment aboard, sir?’

‘No, none at all.’

‘Do you have an engine aboard your vessel?’

‘Yes… I do.’ Koko’s eyes narrowed under the bandage. ‘Why?’

The sailor ducked down into the cabin of the launch and briefly spoke to another sailor then reappeared back on deck.

‘Regulations require all vessels which are not known in these waters to be boarded and searched, sir. In view of the weather and your injuries, the skipper says that can be conducted at the jetty at Thursday Island. We’ll radio ahead to alert the hospital that you’ll be seeking medical attention. Now, please raise your anchor, start your engine and follow us in.’

Koko broke out in a cold sweat. His heart was thumping and his hands were shaking as he hauled up the anchor and started the engine. They were still shaking when he took the tiller and fell in behind the launch to motor in to Thursday Island. It would be a long wet journey. At full revs and over a flat sea it would take almost two hours to reach the harbor. That was all the freedom he had left. Once ashore, the serious questioning would begin and the bandage would come off and it would all be over.

As the morning wore on it began raining harder. With no wind the rain fell straight out of the sky like water from a tap, hammering and splashing onto the smooth surface of the sea. Then the wind piped up again and short steep waves began to build, sending spray flying as the two vessels powered into them The sailors in the launch kept dry in an enclosed cabin while Koko stood soaked to the skin at the tiller of the sloop. When the launch reached the channel separating Thursday Island from it’s larger neighbor, Horn Island, visibility was down to less than fifty yards. Koko couldn’t see any land at all and knew the launch must be steering a compass course into the harbor at Thursday Island.

Soon visibility was down to thirty or forty yards. And it was when Koko temporarily lost sight of the launch during a strong wind gust that he realized he still had a slim chance of freedom. A surge of excitement swept through him. Beyond the channel between the islands lay the Gulf of Carpentaria. He had charted a compass course the night before. For a few miles before the open sea, he had marked some minor deviations to the course because of some scattered shoals and reefs. Koko knew if he made a run for it, in places he would be sailing blind in shallow water and may well tear out the bottom of the boat. But he didn’t care. Nothing could be worse than being returned to Cowra.

When the launch slowed down to three or four knots, Koko saw a channel marker loom up out of the rain at the entrance to the harbor. He knew it was now or never. Without warning, he cut the sloop’s engine and as the launch disappeared into the grayness ahead, he quickly hoisted the mainsail. In a second it was filled with air and Chinook surged silently away and was swallowed up in the gloom.

The excited shouts of the launch’s crew carried downwind over the water when the sailors realized what had happened. But by then it was too late. Koko knew an invisible, silent vessel in reef strewn waters was impossible to follow. An hour later Chinook was in safe water out in the Gulf of Carpentaria, charging blindly towards Arnhem Land with a howling storm building up behind her.

*

Joe sailed into the all-weather anchorage in Gove Harbor near the settlement of Nhulunbuy under dark threatening skies. It was early-afternoon but poor light made it seem much later. Off to the east, heavy weather was rolling in over the Gulf Of Carpentaria and Joe was glad that when its full fury hit, the Walrus would be safe and secure in one of the best natural harbors on the Top End coast. But the best thing about being at Nhulunbuy was that the Walrus would take on fresh food and supplies before heading back towards the Goulburn Islands.

The old ketch anchored about fifty yards off the shore and as Weasel and Monday tended to the sails and set about snugging the vessel down, Joe scanned the length of the beach with his binoculars. He grinned when he saw a police truck pull out of the scrub then stop at the high water mark. With Nhulunbuy being several miles away from the harbor, he had radioed ahead earlier in the day to the police detachment and told them the Walrus was coming in.

It began to rain just as Monday lowered the dinghy to row Joe ashore. When Joe jumped out onto the sand it was raining harder and he quickly pushed Monday off in the dinghy then ran up the beach to the police truck and hopped inside. A portly middle-aged sergeant with a friendly face and a strawberry nose sat behind the wheel. He held out his hand.

‘I’m Sergeant Wilson, I’m in charge here at Nhulunbuy.’

‘I’m Corporal Joe Brodie.’ Joe shook the outstretched hand firmly. ‘Thanks for coming to pick me up.’

‘Are you the only one coming into town?’ the policeman asked.

‘There’s only three of us aboard the Walrus. Army regulations say at least two must be aboard at all times. It’s to do with monitoring the radios.’

Wilson slipped the truck in gear and pulled away down the narrow dirt track that led to town. ‘Corporal Brodie, you say?’ The sergeant rubbed his jaw. ‘I used to know a Sergeant Brodie in the Territorial Police. He was drowned off Darwin in the great cyclone of ‘37.’

‘He was my father.’

The sergeant glanced quickly at Joe. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, mate.’

Joe shrugged. ‘It’s all right, it was a long time ago. For a few moments they bounced on down the track through the rain with out saying anything. Then Joe said, ‘Do you know if the store in town has our Army supply requisitions ready to go?’

‘I talked to the bloke at the store right after I got your call on the radio. He said everything’s boxed up and ready for you.’

The rain was coming down so hard when they reached Nhulunbuy that the windscreen wipers could hardly clear it away. The hard packed dirt on the main street gleamed like ice and was just as slippery.

‘Don’t reckon there’s much point in trying to get your supplies out to the harbor for a while, Joe.’ The sergeant cast a dubious eye up at the sky. ‘Maybe you’d better wait a bit and see if this lot eases up. How about a nice cold beer?’

Joe grinned. ‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day, Sergeant.’

The police station was a little clapboard building with a tin roof situated right next door to the general store. Besides two small offices and a rarely used prisoner’s cell, it had living quarters for the sergeant, his wife and the settlement’s only other policeman, a young constable, who was sitting at a desk when Joe and the sergeant walked in. The sergeant sent the constable next door to the store and after a few moments he came back with two bottles of cold beer.

Wilson winked at Joe as they sat down either side of the Sergeant’s desk. ‘I keep my private stock in the refrigerator in the store.’ He turned to the young constable as he was leaving the room. ‘Keep ‘em coming, George, just as long as you can hear the rain hammering on the roof.’

Joe soon discovered why Wilson had a strawberry nose. When Joe started on his second beer, the sergeant was already on his fourth and showing no sign of slowing down. The rain was still pounding on the roof when darkness fell. Joe had lost count of how many beers he had had and he was feeling more than a little tipsy. But the Sergeant, who had probably consumed twice as much, still looked as sober as a priest at a baptism.

‘You’d best stay here the night, Joe,’ Wilson said as he uncapped another brew. ‘If the rain’s stopped by morning, we’ll get your supplies loaded and taken out to the harbor, then.’

‘I should get back to the boat, Sergeant.’ Joe said without any enthusiasm. ‘They’ll be expecting me.’

‘No worries. George can get the Walrus on the radio and tell them you’ll be back in the morning.’

‘I don’t want to put you out.’

‘It’s no trouble.’

‘You sure you’ve got the room?’

‘Yeah, but you’ll have to spend the night in the cell.’ The Sergeant took a long pull of beer. Then his face broke into a wide grin. ‘But you won’t get a criminal record, mate ’

Joe laughed ‘But what if you get a customer tonight?’

‘Only get a prisoner here once in a blue moon. Usually it’s a blackfella who got his hands on some grog. But we had a couple of white blokes a few days ago. They threatened to rough up an Aboriginal girl at the dance if she didn’t go out back of the hall and have sex with them They picked on the wrong girl. Her father works for me as a tracker. Someone ran over here and told us and we locked them up overnight.’

‘What did you charge them with?’ Joe asked without much interest.

‘Nothing. It’s easier just to kick blokes like that out of town.’

‘They weren’t locals, then?’

‘No. Just a couple of sea-tramps who walked into town from the harbor. They were apologetic as hell when they were sober the next morning. They were afraid I’d hold them until the magistrate made his next monthly visit to hold court.’ Wilson laughed. ‘I drove the stupid buggers back to their boat and told them I’d lock them up on sight if they ever came back.’

Suddenly Joe showed a little more interest in the conversation. ‘Did the boat have a name?’

‘Not that I noticed.’

‘What kind of boat was it?’

‘A sailing boat of some sort. It was a scruffy old tub though. Sort of a dirty grey color with a bright yellow transom.’

Joe’s bleary eyes widened. ‘Were these two blokes brothers, by the name of Horan?’

‘Yeah, that’s right. Do you know those tramps, Joe?’

Joe slammed his fist down so hard on the desk it startled Sergeant Wilson. ‘ I know them all right, Sergeant. Did the bastards tell you where they were heading?’

‘They said they were heading south to the MacArthur River with a heap of croc-skins. They said they had to get them to the agent at Borroloola before the road out is cut off by the wet.’

*

The rain stopped at around two o’clock in the morning. The noisy symphony it was playing on the tin roof of the police station ended so abruptly, it was as if a conductor had waved his baton to silence an orchestra at the height of a mighty crescendo. Joe was lying on the bunk in the cell when the absolute quiet came. Unable to get the Horan brothers off his mind, he’d been staring up into the darkness for hours trying to work out the best thing to do.

The mouth of the MacArthur River was over two hundred miles away, as the crow flies, southward across the Gulf of Carpentaria. But sailing vessels were dependant on the wind and rarely sailed for long in a straight line. Even with a reasonably favorable wind it would be more like three hundred sea miles and perhaps double that if they were to sail close in along the eastern coast of Arnhem Land. He had another option of course. Tomorrow he’d be taking on fuel, more than enough to make the journey to the Borroloola under power. If he did that, even with the Horans’ head start he could still probably catch the Groote Eyelandt Lady upstream in the MacArthur River before she made it back out to sea.

Joe turned over in the bunk as his mind went over the same ground again and again. If the Horan brothers were going to Borroloola, perhaps they really were just croc-shooters, and with the start of the wet still several weeks away, they may try and bag a few more skins in the creek and river mouths on their way down the Arnhem Land coast. But if they were spies and croc-shooting was just a front, they may not be going to Borroloola at all.

Eventually, Joe decided that chasing after the Groote Eylandt Lady wasn’t his decision to make, anyway. He couldn’t just do what he wanted because he and Weasel had personal scores to settle with the Horan brothers. The Walrus was already at the eastern limit of her surveillance area, with orders to return to the Goulburn Islands and then on to Darwin. Joe closed his eyes and tried to sleep. In the morning he would radio Army Intelligence in Darwin, report the situation, then follow instructions.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, jamming the decks of the Chesapeake Bay as the troopship approached the rugged coast of California. They stood at the rail, five and six deep, down the entire length of the vessel. Most of the soldiers had left the United States as boys but were returning as men, bearing the physical and psychological wounds of war. But all were grateful that they were not among the tens of thousands of their comrades who had fallen on the bloody beaches of the islands of the south-west Pacific and would never be coming home. It seemed everyone wanted to be the first to catch a glimpse of their homeland. And not every eye straining towards the shore was dry.

Faith was sitting alone in the small civilian passenger lounge when she looked up and saw Gus Welenski. He was standing at the door looking very smart in his best dress uniform talking with the lounge steward. After a moment he hurried over and sat down beside her.

‘One of the nursing officers told me you were here, Faith. I thought I’d better say goodbye before the ship ties up. It will be a madhouse disembarking ten thousand men when we get in and I have to help organize it.’

Faith smiled. ‘How did you get past the lounge steward, Gus? He only lets officers in here, and then only if they’ve been invited.’

Gus grinned. ‘That’s because officers are too cheap to slip him five bucks.’

She took his hand and squeezed it. ‘You’ve been such a good friend, Gus. What would I ever have done without you?’

He brushed the question aside and asked one of his own. ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do, Faith?’

‘I don’t really know. After what you told me about what Lyle did, sometimes I feel like just turning around and going home as soon as the ship docks. I even spoke to one of the ship’s officers about it. But he said, even if I wanted to, it’s all but impossible to book a passage to Australia on any shipping line these days.’

Gus drew a deep breath. ‘You know, maybe it would have been better if I’d said nothing to you about the major and Australian Immigration.’

‘Don’t be silly, Gus. I appreciate you telling me. It’s just so hard to think that Lyle could have been so cruel towards Dan.’

‘You know what they say, all’s fair in love and war. ’

‘But it’s not fair, Gus. That’s what’s so upsetting.’

Gus could see Faith was near tears. ‘Perhaps, somehow I got it all wrong,’ he volunteered without much conviction.

‘Was there a chance you did?’ She looked him squarely in the eye. ‘Was there any chance of that at all?’

Gus sighed. ‘No, Faith, I don’t think so.’

‘Oh Gus, I thought I knew what I was doing. I’d finally come to terms with what had happened to Dan and me and I was glad to marry Lyle when he asked me. I was so happy. I thought my life was organized. Now everything’s all up in the air again.’

‘What will you do when we tie up, Faith?’ Gus said softly.

‘I’ll have to talk to Lyle about everything before I go on to New York. I needn’t involve you, Gus. Anyone could have overheard Lyle’s conversation with the immigration official.’

‘There’s no need to cover for me, Faith’, Gus interjected quickly, ‘there’s nothing he can do to hurt me now.’

‘Well anyway,’ Faith continued, ‘I’ll have to see what Lyle says.’

‘And if things don’t work out?’

‘Then, I’ll go and see the Australian representative in the British Consulate in San Francisco. Perhaps he can help me get a passage home.’

‘And if he can’t?’

‘I’ll have to sit and wait until I can get one myself.’

‘You said yourself that’s all but impossible. Are you all right for money?’

‘Yes, for the time being anyway.’

‘Look, in a few days I’ll been going home to Idaho for six weeks leave.’ Gus took out a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to her. ‘This is our address and phone number. You’re welcome to stay with us in Boise for as long as you like. I know Marge and the kids would love to meet you.’

Faith smiled. ‘Thanks Gus, but I’ll be all right.’

‘If you have time on your hands, have you thought of going to New Mexico?’

‘You mean, to see Dan?’

Gus nodded his head

‘I did, but only for a moment. It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen him. Nothing stays the same you know. Things change. People change. I don’t think just turning up on his doorstep would be a good idea.’

Gus started to say something else but his words were drowned out when wild cheering erupted outside on the deck. The Golden Gate Bridge and the hills surrounding San Francisco Bay had just come into view.

*

Patches of blue were appearing in the morning sky and the road to Gove Harbor had almost dried out when Sergeant Wilson drove Joe back to the Walrus. Following the police vehicle was the truck from the town store with Joe’s supplies. When Joe stepped from Sergeant Wilson’s truck, Monday, who had been keeping a close watch on the shore, was already rowing in to pick him up. The moment they returned to the ketch, Joe got on the radio and sent a coded signal to Army Intelligence in Darwin advising of the sighting of the Groote Eylandt Lady, her suspected southerly course, and requesting urgent instructions.

Joe got orders back from Darwin just as the last of the provisions were being loaded aboard. His instructions were to make every effort to locate the Groote Eylandt Lady and if successful, to report back to Army Intelligence for further instructions.

The storm had pretty well blown itself out when they raised sail to head down into the Gulf. Joe decided to head straight for the mouth of the MacArthur River and if the Groote Eylandt Lady was not already upstream in the river, he would drop anchor and lay in wait for her. With the wind blowing favorably from the east at almost twenty knots, the skies clearing and the seas receding, Joe expected to make good time. As the Walrus lumbered her way southward, Joe and Weasel could barely contain their eagerness to confront the Horan brothers. They were enthusiastically discussing the prospect when they received another signal from Army Intelligence.

Ignore previous instructions. Naval authorities advise small sailing vessel named Chinook escaped custody at Thursday Island two days ago. Vessel sighted by RAAF Catalina an hour ago forty miles north-east of Gove Harbor on direct course for English Company’s Islands. One man aboard. If possible intercept and apprehend.

‘Bloody hell.’ Joe vaulted up the companionway and took the helm from Weasel ‘Ready to come about’

Monday and Weasel released the sail sheets as Joe brought up the helm and swung the ketch through the wind, then they quickly brought them in again and the sails filled with air on the opposite tack. In a few moments the boat was up to speed again heading back in the direction they had come.

‘No small boat sightings of any consequence for weeks on end,’ Joe shouted out in frustration, ‘then we get two on the same bloody day.’

Joe handed the radio message to Weasel. The wind almost snatched the paper from his hands as he read it.

‘We’re about the same distance from the English Company’s Islands as that sloop,’ Joe said. ‘We may be slower, but if that bloke has been out in the Gulf in that storm for two or three days, he’ll be so stuffed we should be able to outsail him. If he holds his course, we should sight him before dark. If he reaches the islands before we do, I think I know where to find him—that is, if he knows the waters around them are too dangerous to be navigated at night.’

The sun was like a big red billiard ball on the western horizon when the Walrus rounded Cape Wilberforce into Malay Road, the long strait which separated the mainland from the high, windswept English Company’s Islands. Just beyond the cape was a sheltered bay, a favorite anchorage with coast-wise sailors after crossing the Gulf of Carpentaria. Having seen no sign of the fugitive sloop from Thursday Island, Joe reckoned the vessel must be faster than most boats her size and she might already be at anchor in the bay. His hunch was correct. The big red billiard ball had already sunk into the sea when he scanned the deep bay with binoculars. And there in the fading light, close in against the shore, he saw a single white mast.

*

Koko had crossed the Gulf of Carpentaria in the same way as he had sailed up the New South Wales coast. He had stubbornly sailed on throughout the heavy weather, often lashing himself to the helm to prevent being washed overboard. But towards the end of the crossing, the weather had improved and he crammed on more sail so as to make his landfall in daylight. He had been overjoyed when the craggy peaks of the English Company’s Islands had risen up out of the sea in the early afternoon and had made directly for the secure anchorage off Malay Road.

As soon as he was safely anchored, Koko opened a tin of corned beef and wolfed it down, forking it straight from the can into his mouth. When he’d finished, he opened a second tin but ate it more leisurely, then he lay down to get his first real sleep in almost sixty hours. The moment he hit the bunk, his eyes closed and he began to drift away, free from fear, the angry sea, and frightening hallucinations. The weather had cleared completely so there was no need to close the forward hatch or put in the washboards to close off the companionway.

During the few moments before sleep came, Koko planned the next day. As soon as it was light he would continue on westward. He had no charts now, but he was in familiar waters and could make the missionary settlement on Elcho Island before nightfall. Koko fell asleep wishing he had stayed on the island when Faraway had called there with Joe, Faith and the children from Croker Island. He thought of how much pain and anguish it would have saved him, but he realized too, that everything was so much clearer in hindsight.

It seemed he had only just dozed off when he heard a bump on the side of the boat. He ignored it but a moment later he heard another. Then he thought he heard small splashes in the water outside and one side of the boat seemed to dip as if weight had been placed on the gunwale. But he ignored that too and buried his face down into the bunk. Strange sounds and odd sensations were common to sailors deprived of sleep for long periods of time and if he was hallucinating again, well, it didn’t matter now he was safely anchored.

It was only when he felt the glare of a powerful torch shining directly into his eyes that he knew for certain something was terribly wrong. To his horror he realized that someone else was aboard the boat and standing directly over him. In the glow of the torch, his terrified eyes saw the intruder was a little man with a ferret-like face who held the blade of a knife against his throat. Then he heard the ferret-faced man cry out in amazement.

‘God Almighty, Joe. Look at this. We’ve got ourselves a bloody Jap.’

*

‘Bloody hell, Koko,’ Joe’s curse sounded more like an accusation. ‘It’s pretty hard to believe that a mass breakout like that could have happened at Cowra and there were hundreds of prisoners killed. Look, we’ve probably got better access to world radio news on this boat than John Curtin has got at the Lodge. But we’ve heard nothing at all about it.’

After the shock of finding Koko aboard the sloop, Joe and Weasel were sitting in stunned amazement in the main cabin of the Walrus as Koko’s story unfolded. Monday sat perched on the top step of the companionway staring down at them, wide-eyed, and trying hard to comprehend what was going on. Weasel sat without saying a word, listening intently to everything Joe and Koko said.

‘It’s all true,’ Koko said. He was so tired he could hardly keep his eyes open. ‘The government probably want to keep it all quiet because of the risk of the Japanese taking it out on Australians in POW camps in Singapore and Batavia.’

Joe raised a floorboard of the cabin sole and lifted a pint of Sergeant Wilson’s private stock out of the cool water in the bilge. ‘Well, it all sounds crazy to me,’ he said as he uncapped the bottle. He took a long swallow then passed the bottle around the table. ‘The only thing that’s crazier is you escaping with them, then stealing that boat and sailing up here.’

‘You don’t know what it’s like being kept penned up in a place like Cowra, Joe,’ Koko said softly. ‘It was twice as bad for me than any of the Japanese prisoners. I’m as Australian as you are. You try and imagine what it’s like being a POW in your own country.’

‘But you should have stuck it out. This war will be over in a year, perhaps a damn sight less. What you did was stupid, Koko. Don’t you realize that?’

‘After Faith told me about those bastards on Groote Eylandt Lady, getting out of Cowra and getting up here was all I cared about. Have they been caught yet?’

‘No. But they might have been if it wasn’t for you. Because we were ordered to intercept you we lost the best chance we’ve ever had of getting them.’

Suddenly Koko seemed to be wide awake and alert. ‘But where are they? Are they close?’

‘They were.’ Joe took another mouthful of beer then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘We were just three or four days behind them. We’ll be five or six by the time we get back to Gove. And now we’ve got you and that sloop to contend with, headquarters will probably tell us to give up looking for the Groote Eylandt Lady all together.’

Koko lowered his eyes. ‘And what are you going to do, Joe. About me, I mean?’

‘I have to radio in and report we’ve taken you and the stolen boat into custody.’

‘What will happen then?’

‘I don’t know. They’ll want a full report on you and the boat. I’ll tell them I know you personally and that you’re not operating a spy boat. But when I tell them you’re an Australian Japanese who escaped in the big Cowra POW camp breakout that no one even knows about, and that you were crazy enough to sail all the way up from Sydney in a stolen boat to join the hunt for the Groote Eylandt Lady, they’ll probably think that I’m the crazy one and send another boat out to bring in the Walrus so they can put me in the loony bin.’

Joe looked at Koko. His eyelids were closed. Joe smiled and ran a hand through his friend’s hair. ‘Come on mate, you’d better get some shuteye. I’ll tell you what we’re doing after I’ve been in contact with Darwin and after you’ve had a good night’s sleep. You can crawl into my bunk.’ Joe pointed to the ketch’s aft cabin. ‘It’s in there.’

*

Koko awoke to the loud rumbling of an engine. For a few moments he was unsure where he was until his head cleared. Light was streaming into a porthole and he realized he must have slept the clock around. He climbed out of Joe’s bunk. When the cabin floor heaved under his feet he realized the Walrus was underway and he hurried into the main cabin where he found Weasel, mug of tea in hand, monitoring the radio equipment.

Weasel looked up and smiled. ‘Morning, mate. How about a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, thanks. Where’s Joe?’

‘He’s up on deck. Go on up. I’ll bring your tea when its ready.’

Koko clambered up the companionway into the cockpit. Joe stood at the helm. He grinned at Koko. ‘Good morning. Just like the old days, eh?’

Koko nodded his head and looked around him. The sky was clear and the seas were slight. The wind had fallen off and backed around to the south. What little was left of it was coming directly over the bow at five or six knots. He looked up at the masts .The Walrus was carrying no sail at all, plowing through the water under power at full throttle.

Koko’s eyes scanned a full three hundred and sixty degrees over the empty ocean. ‘Where are we?’ he asked. ‘What’s happening?’

‘I radioed Darwin soon after you turned in an gave them a full report,’ Joe said. ‘An hour later they got back to me. They didn’t mention the Cowra escape so they must know all about it. They were a bit excited about you, though. They told me to turn the stolen boat over to civilian authorities and take you to the closest Army outpost.’

‘And where’s that?

‘Borroloola, on the MacArthur River.’

‘Is that where we’re heading?’

Joe nodded. ‘We left the anchorage last night well before midnight.’

‘How far south are we now?

‘About thirty five miles north-east of Groote Eylandt.’

‘Why didn’t they tell you to take me to the flying boat station there?’

‘You don’t know the Army, Koko. They probably haven’t told the RAAF about the breakout at Cowra yet. They won’t want you talking to anyone but themselves.’

‘Well, they can’t interrogate me at Borroloola. There can’t be much there. It’s a million miles from anywhere.’

‘There used to be a twenty-five man Nackeroo section there last year. But it’s pretty well closed down like most of the remote outposts. Now there’s just three blokes and they’re leaving before the wet closes the road down to Mount Isa. Darwin said they would leave as soon as we get there and they’d take you with them.’

Koko turned away and looked out sadly over the sea.

‘I have no choice in the matter, Koko,’ Joe said after a few moments. There’s nothing else I can do. I’m a soldier. I have to follow orders.’

‘I understand.’ Koko turned back around and faced Joe. ‘What about Chinook?’

‘I radioed the police sergeant in Gove Harbor and told him to let the Cruising Yacht Club in Sydney know the boat has been found. He said he'd get some locals to sail her back to Gove.'

‘What do you think they’ll do with me, Joe?’

‘I’m not sure. But I expect they’ll send you back to Cowra after they’ve interrogated you.’

Koko breathed in sharply. ‘I don’t think I could stand being locked up again, Joe. I thought I could just hide on this godforsaken coast until the war ended. I wanted to try and track down the Horan bothers. My hatred for them was the only thing that kept me going at that hellhole at Cowra. Seeing them pay for what they did to my mother was the only thing that made me want to go on living.’

There was a awkward silence in which Joe could find no words of solace for his friend. It was broken by Weasel when he climbed up the companionway carrying a mug of tea and a stack of sandwiches.

‘Joe and I know exactly how you feel, mate,’ Weasel said. ‘What with what they did to your mother, then Joe, and the beating they gave me in Borroloola, I reckon they’ve got a real thrashing coming to them when we catch up with them.’

Koko looked quickly from Weasel to Joe. ‘What does he mean, Joe?’

‘He means we may all get our chance yet, Koko,’ Joe said grimly. ‘A few days ago they were reported heading to Borroloola with croc skins. We were on our way there when we were sent north to intercept you.’

Koko’s eyes widened. ‘Will we still get there in time, Joe?’

Joe shrugged. ‘We don’t know for sure if the report was true, or when they’ll reach the MacArthur River if it is. But they’re not there yet. Darwin told the Nackeroos in Borroloola to keep an eye open for them and to contact us if they show up. There’s been no radio message yet so there’s still hope.

*

A uniformed chauffeur holding a chalk board bearing Faith’s name stood outside the Customs & Immigration office on Pier 18 on The Embarcadero, the wide driveway servicing the downtown ocean terminal on San Francisco Bay. When Faith identified herself, the chauffeur led her and her porter to a long black De-Soto parked outside the building which bore the name St. Francis Hotel in gold lettering on the front door panel.

Faith barely had time to settle down in the back of the limousine and take in a few sights of the city centre before the car pulled up in front of an imposing building at the corner of Geary and Powell Streets. One look told Faith that the St Francis, which occupied an entire city block must be one of San Francisco’s very finest hotels. The moment she alighted from the car, a bell-captain appeared and led her through the lobby to reception, then up to a sumptuous air-conditioned room on the tenth floor overlooking Union Square, a leafy green oasis in a sea of sophisticated steel and concrete buildings.

Like her cabin when the Chesapeake Bay reached Honolulu, the room was bedecked with flowers accompanied by fond notes from Lyle. Sitting on a writing table beside the window was a large wicker basket containing fresh fruit, chocolates and a bottle of French champagne. There was a note attached to it from Mr Plimpton, the hotel manager, welcoming her to San Francisco, hoping she would enjoy her stay, and advising that the hotel travel service on the mezzanine floor was holding a first class airline ticket to New York for her.

After a bellboy had brought up her luggage, Faith stood at the window looking down at the hustle and bustle of downtown traffic and the hordes of pedestrians on the streets surrounding Union Square. A huge billboard in the square with the famous caricature of Uncle Sam urged Americans to invest in war bonds. Suddenly, Australia seemed a million miles away and she felt very alone in this crowded unfamiliar city on the other side of the world. Her thoughts turned to Joe, and Koko, and Helen and Bill Sharkey. She was wondering how they all were and what they were doing when the telephone rang. She crossed to the bedside table.

‘Hello.’

‘Faith, it’s so wonderful to hear your voice again. I just heard an hour ago that the ship had berthed. Welcome to America. And before I forget, I must tell you your husband-to-be has just made Lieutenant Colonel.’

‘Oh, that’s very nice, Lyle.’

‘You don’t sound very enthused, my darling.’ Lyle’s cheerful tone became more subdued. ‘Faith... is everything all right? You sound..... different.’

She drew a deep breath and tried to sound more natural. ‘Yes, yes, everything is fine.’

Lyle laughed. ‘Good. That’s more like it. For a minute I thought you might have met someone on the ship. I understand there were over ten thousand men aboard.’

‘Lyle...’

‘Yes?’

‘Gus Welenski was aboard the Chesapeake Bay.’

There was a slight pause before Lyle answered. ‘Oh. How was he?’

‘He looked very well. But he said you had him transferred from HQ to New Guinea. He said it was because of the travel warrants he gave me when I went to Melbourne.’

‘That’s not true, Faith.’ Lyle said quickly. ‘There were a number of things. Oh, my God, he didn’t upset you, did he?

When Faith didn’t answer right away, Lyle said. ‘Welenski never liked me you know. You know how it is in the service, my darling. It’s mandatory for enlisted men to despise officers. With Welenski, hate was always more like an obsession. Look, I’ll tell you the whole story when I see you.’

‘Faith drew a deep breath. ‘Gus said that on the day he left HQ, an Australian Immigration official came to see you about Dan Rivers.’

‘I seem to remember that.’ There was another short pause, then Lyle said, ‘Yes, if I recall correctly the Air Corps referred him to me. Under the circumstances that was fairly standard procedure. Look, as I said we can talk all about this when you get to New York. Now, I’ve already talked to Plimpton earlier today. You’re booked on a flight arriving New York at six-thirty tomorrow night. That gives me time to clear my desk at the Pentagon, then drive up from Washington to meet you. If you need me for anything I’ll be in my office until midday.’

Faith wanted to pursue the matter of Lyle’s meeting with the immigration official. But he had already lied about transferring Gus out of HQ, so she knew it was pointless trying to talk about it on the telephone. Instead she said resignedly: ‘All right, Lyle, I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

Faith hung up the phone and sat down on the bed. Her mind was racing. Just days away from getting married, she knew she shouldn’t have any qualms at all about what she was doing. She had hoped that after speaking to Lyle, the nagging doubts which had plagued her mind since Hawaii would be dispelled, but instead they’d become serious problems which her heart demanded she address.

She felt like running away from it all—going home. She checked her watch, just after four o’clock. She moved to pick up the phone to contact the Australian representative at the British Consulate but decided against it. Even if a passage home could somehow be arranged, she knew running away wouldn’t solve anything. She got up and walked to the window and stared down again at the busy streets. After a few minutes she knew exactly what she must do if she were ever to have peace of mind. She went back to the phone and picked it up.

‘It’s Miss Brodie, room ten-fifteen,’ Faith said when the hotel operator answered, ‘would you put me through to the hotel travel service.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The arrangements Faith made with the hotel travel service required her to rise early. By seven o’clock she had eaten breakfast, packed, and was ready and waiting when the bellboy tapped on her door. Fifteen minutes later she had checked out of the St. Francis and left for the railway station in the Ferry Building on the Embarcadero, in a hotel limousine.

The Union Pacific Express to Los Angeles didn’t leave until eight o’clock but Faith was anxious to leave the hotel well before Mr Plimpton came on duty at 8.30 a.m., because she preferred not to tell him personally of her new travel arrangements. Instead, she tipped her driver generously at the station and gave him an envelope to hand to Plimpton when he came on duty, by which time she would be well on her way to Los Angeles. The envelope contained a brief note asking Plimpton to phone Lyle in Washington and tell him of her decision to travel east by train.

*

Lyle checked his wrist watch. It was 11.35 a.m. eastern time and he was just preparing to leave his office when the telephone rang. For a moment he was in two minds about answering it. The last thing he needed was something else to attend to before leaving for New York. But he picked up the receiver anyway.

‘Hunter.’

‘There’s a Mr Plimpton on the line from San Francisco, Sir. He says it’s very urgent.’

‘All right, put him through.’

‘Colonel Hunter?’

‘Yes George. Is everything okay?

‘Well I’m not sure. It seems Miss Brodie has decided not to fly to New York.’

‘What?’

‘One of our limo drivers handed me a note from her a short time ago. She asked me to tell you that she is travelling to New York by train. She says she will call your office along the way and leave word when she’ll be arriving.’

For a moment Lyle was too stunned to say anything. ‘But... but that’s ridiculous,‘ he gasped. ‘She won’t be here for two or three days. All the arrangements I’ve made at this end will be ruined. The wedding itself is only a week away. Surely there must be some mistake.’

‘But I have her note in my hand...’

‘Oh, God.’ Hunter breathed in sharply, sucking in air through his teeth. ‘She didn’t mention anything about this to me yesterday. Did she say anything to you?’

‘I haven’t spoken to her. As you know she arrived fairly late yesterday. I thought I’d introduce myself this morning.’

‘What else does the note say?’

‘Well nothing, I’m afraid. But the limo driver said he took her to the station in the Ferry Building. He said she told him she was catching the eight o’clock Union Pacific Express to Los Angeles.’

‘Los Angeles. That means she’ll have to transfer to the Santa Fe Railroad there to travel east.’

‘That’s odd,’ Plimpton said. You would have thought she would have taken Union Pacific’s northern route—it’s quicker.’

Lyle’s face hardened as an unwanted thought flashed through his mind. The Santa Fe line ran across the south-west from Southern California, through Arizona and New Mexico before swinging north-east through Kansas. ‘George,’ he snapped, ‘I have to know exactly what’s happening. Miss Brodie is a total stranger in this country. It’s unlikely she would have left the hotel to make travel arrangements. Could you check any telephones calls she made and also check the hotel travel service.’

‘Hold on. I’ll just check the travel service on another line.’

Hunter strummed his fingers on his desk while he waited for Plimpton get back to him. He didn’t have to wait long.

‘Yes, your right. Our in-house travel service made her arrangements. Union Pacific to Los Angeles, then transferring to the Chief, Santa Fe’s deluxe extra-fare service to Chicago. But they only ticketed her as far as Gallup, New Mexico. She told them she’d make her own arrangements onward from there.’

‘I see.’ Lyle’s face paled as Plimpton’s words confirmed his fears. After a moment he said, ‘Oh, just one more thing, George. Would you check and see if she made any long distance calls to New Mexico.’

‘Hold on.’ When Plimpton came back on the line he said, ‘No, Colonel. She made no long distance calls at all.’

Lyle sighed despairingly. ‘All right George, thanks anyway. If there’s any new developments please phone me right away. If I’m not here leave a message with my aide, Lieutenant Doyle.’

Lyle angrily slammed the phone down in it’s cradle and began pacing the floor. After a few minutes he opened his office and called in his aide.

‘Lieutenant, I want you to locate the whereabouts of a USAAF captain discharged about eight months ago after service in the south-west Pacific. His name is Dan Rivers and he’s probably living in or around Gallup, New Mexico. He’s a Navajo Indian and was commissioned under a special Army training scheme, so he shouldn’t be hard to track down. When you’ve got the information, call me at home. And while your at it see if you can get me a ride to the Gallup area with the Air Force.’

Later, Hunter was standing at the window of his apartment looking out over the Potomac River when his telephone rang. He crossed the room and grabbed it before the second ring. Lieutenant Doyle was on the line.

‘Colonel, I tracked down this guy Rivers. It wasn’t hard. It seems he’s something of a celebrity in New Mexico. He was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. Apparently the recommendation came from the Cactus Air Force commander on Guadalcanal and endorsed by General MacArthur himself. Rivers runs a construction outfit now. It’s called Mesa Construction. It’s employs only Navajo Indians and it’s got a Defense Department contract at Los Alamos.’

‘You mean at the Government’s scientific experimental facility?’

‘There’s nothing else at Los Alamos, sir.’

‘What about transport?’

‘There’s air traffic going there regularly, sir. Most of it lands at Santa Fe, thirty five miles to the south-east. There’s a military delegation leaving early tomorrow for a one day familiarization visit. It leaves at 0800 hours tomorrow morning, returning at 2000 hours, Santa Fe time.’

‘Is one of our liaison officers going?’

‘Yes, sir. Captain Bartel.?’

‘Tell him, I’ll be taking his place on this one.’

‘Okay, sir, but you’ll need top security clearance for Los Alamos, sir.’

‘I have top level , Lieutenant’

‘The blanket top level is not good for Los Alamos, sir. All personnel need a special clearance for each and every visit.’

‘Then arrange for it, Lieutenant.’

‘It will take a little time, sir. You know the Army, sir—channels and procedures.’

‘Take as much time as you like Lieutenant. Just make sure I have it by flight time tomorrow.’

*

The Chief, the Santa Fe Railroad’s high speed eastbound service left Los Angeles a couple of hours after Faith arrived in the city from San Francisco. She had never seen such opulence aboard a train before. As it raced across Southern California’s Mohave Desert, she ate a four course dinner in the comfort of the air-conditioned dining car. Then as the Chief thundered on through the night over the Colorado River into the high country of north-western Arizona, she slept soundly in a private roomette, complete with wash stand and water closet.

She awoke when the train shuddered to a halt in Flagstaff before dawn the next morning. When she took breakfast, the train was crossing the Colorado Plateau in the north-eastern Arizona and she was able to take in the raw beauty of the land through one of the huge dining car windows. It was a hauntingly beautiful landscape. High wide plains were interspersed with deep gorges, flat topped tablelands, high cliffs and towering vertical volcanic rocks. Faith knew this was the Indian country that Dan had spoken of so fondly.

But from time to time the beauty of the land was marred by the ugly face of poverty and depravation. Now and then she saw clusters of litter-strewn, run-down hogans—round, traditional tribal dwellings made of raw wood and packed earth. At the primitive communities, Faith saw groups of women performing menial tasks surrounded by naked children playing in the dirt. Further afield she saw older children and old men tending flocks of mangy-looking sheep and goats. Some of the shepherds seemed to be just wandering across the mesa, others kept their lonely vigil sitting on scattered rocks, old wrecked wagons or burnt out car bodies. Occasionally, the wrinkled, weathered faces of very old indigenous people dressed in soiled ragged clothing, stared dolefully up at the gleaming aluminum carriages of the Chief as it roared by, reminding its affluent white passengers of the legacy left by their forebears to the once proud Navajo, Hobi, Pueblo and Apache Indian nations.

The Chief pulled into Gallup, New Mexico, twenty-five miles east of the Arizona border exactly on schedule at 11.00 a.m. Faith stepped down from the train and while she was waiting for a steward to bring her luggage from the roomette, she read a sign on the platform. It said the town was named after David Gallop who was district paymaster for the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad when the line went through in the early 1880’s and that the population of Gallup was now nearing eight thousand people. When her bags arrived, an old Indian porter with long white hair flowing down under his red cap hurried over and picked them up.

‘Where to, lady?’

‘I may only be in Gallup a short time before travelling on,’ Faith said. ‘Will I be able to leave my luggage here at the station?’

‘There are lockers inside the station, lady.’

Faith followed the old man into the main station hall and looked around her. She thought the building seemed rather grandiose for a town the size of Gallup. The porter saw her looking around. When they reached the row of storage lockers he said: ‘Grand ain’t it lady. The railroad made Gallup its south-western headquarters in 1881. I’ve been working here since ’91.’ He laid Faith’s cases down. ‘It’s ten cents a day for the locker.’

Faith opened her purse, took out a coin and handed it to him. The porter put the dime in the slot in the locker, slid her luggage in, then slammed the door shut and handed her the key.

‘I stopped off in Gallup to look up an old friend who served overseas in the United States Army Air Force,’ Faith said as she put the key into her purse. ‘Since you’ve been here so long, you may have heard of him. His name is Dan Rivers.’

The old Indian’s mouth broke into a near toothless grin. ‘Ain’t nobody in Gallup hasn’t heard of Captain Dan Rivers, ma’am.’ He pointed across the station hall behind her. ‘He’s right over there, lady, wearin’ his medal.’

Faith turned around, her heart in her mouth. Her eyes searched the faces of the travelers in the station hall behind her but she saw no sign of Dan. But then she saw a huge war bond poster on the station wall. Unlike the poster in Union Square in San Francisco, the man smiling down onto the station floor wasn’t Uncle Sam. It was Dan. And on his chest he wore the Congressional Medal of Honor, the United States’ highest military decoration.

‘Mr Rivers runs the Mesa Construction Company now, lady. Their office is right here in Gallup.’

‘The Mesa Construction Company,’ Faith repeated. She tipped the porter with some coins. ‘Where can I find a taxi?’

The old man tipped his cap and grinned. ‘You don’t need one lady. It’s only three blocks down the street.’

Faith walked the distance in less than ten minutes. When she arrived at the wooden storefront building which housed the Mesa Construction Company she wondered if it was the scorching midsummer heat of Gallup or the prospect of seeing Dan again that made her hands so clammy. She drew a deep breath and stepped through the door. A young Indian in a bright red shirt and blue denims looked up from one of a number of drafting tables. He smiled and walked over to the counter

‘Can I help you, ma’am?’

‘Is Mr Rivers in please?’

‘No ma’am. He’s over at the Los Alamos project.’

‘Los Alamos, where is that?’

It’s about five hours from here, ma’am. It’s out in the desert, just north of Santa Fe.’

‘Can he be reached on the telephone?’

‘Yes. But he’s usually out on the project. We leave messages and he calls back later when he comes into the field office, usually around quitting time.’

‘How would I get to Los Alamos?’

‘By road or train as far as Santa Fe. But you won’t get onto the project without top government security clearance ma’am.’

Faith sighed. ‘When will Mr Rivers be back in Gallup?’

‘Not for awhile. He spends most of his time at Los Alamos.’ The young man smiled again. ‘Is there something I can do for you?’

The apprehension that had built up in Faith on the walk from the railway station suddenly evaporated leaving her feeling drained. ‘Oh, no,’ she sighed wearily, ‘I’m just an old friend of Mr Rivers from overseas. I thought I’d say hello seeing I was passing through town.’

‘Mrs Rivers is in today. Shall I fetch her?’

Mrs Rivers? Faith was taken completely off guard. The possibility of Dan being married hadn’t even crossed her mind.

‘Oh no, that’s not necessary.’ Faith said quickly. She was about to turn and leave when the door of an adjoining room swung open and a woman stepped outside. She was tall and well proportioned with the high cheekbones and the attractive angular features of a Navajo. Faith thought there was a tinge of grey in her long black hair.

The young man turned around. ‘Oh, Mrs Rivers. This lady is looking for Dan.’

‘I heard,’ the tall woman said in a soft even voice.’ The woman stared solemnly at Faith, her black eyes slowly appraising every inch of the visitor from head to foot. ‘You’re not an American, miss. You speak English with a foreign accent. What country are you from?’

‘Australia.’

The tall woman took another long evaluating stare. Then she said, ‘You must be Faith Brodie. I am Shona Rivers, Dan’s mother. My son used to speak of you often.’

Faith smiled. ‘We were very close once, Mrs Rivers.’

Shona Rivers smiled for the first time. ‘I just come in a couple of days a week to file things and try and help out a little. She gestured toward the office door. ‘This is Dan’s office. Would you care to come in?’

Faith stepped inside the room and Shona Rivers closed the door behind her.

‘I saw the war bond poster in the station, Mrs Rivers,’ Faith said. ‘You must be very proud of Dan’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘And you have good reason to be. He served his country well and now he has what he said he always wanted, his own engineering and construction business.’

‘Yes. It’s always been his dream. A dream I thought he may fulfill far away from here. He told me he had plans to build roads and bridges in Australia and start a new life there. My son loved your country—enough to want to make it his home. But your country said a Navajo was only good enough to fight and die for it, not good enough to live in it.’ Shona Rivers still spoke softly and there was no trace of malice in her voice. ‘Now tell me, Miss Brodie, why is it you have come to Dinétah now.’

‘On my way to America I met a friend on board ship who told me about what happened to Dan with the immigration people in Australia. It was the first I heard of it. He must have been very bitter. He had promised to come to Brisbane when he was discharged from the hospital in Melbourne. We planned to discuss a future together He said he would know by then if he could... well... have children and lead a normal family life. I know that was very important to him. When he didn’t come, I thought the medical news must have been bad or that he had just stopped caring for me. Over time I accepted that he had not come to me because of one or both of those reasons. When I learned on the ship that the immigration problem might have been the reason, I just had to find out for myself.’

‘But my son did go to Brisbane to see you after he was discharged from hospital, Miss Brodie’

Faith was stunned. ‘But he didn’t... He couldn’t have... I didn’t see him.’

‘That’s because you weren’t there. Dan said when he got to Brisbane he discovered you were staying in a hotel by the sea with another American officer.’

Faith stood open-mouthed and dumbfounded as she recalled her visit to Point Danger to see Lyle. She could have only missed Dan by hours. She was about to try and explain but Dan’s Mother spoke first.

‘Why have you come to this country, Miss Brodie?

‘I came to get married, in New York.’

‘To this other man. The American officer?’

‘Yes.’ Faith felt her face flush.

‘I see.’

Faith could see from the look on Shona Rivers’ face that she didn’t see at all. She drew a deep breath. ‘I don’t think you do, Mrs Rivers. It seems there have been misunderstandings all around. It’s unfortunate Dan isn’t here so we could set them straight.’

‘Perhaps it is just as well he’s not here, Miss Brodie. He’s still under special medication from the doctors and may be for the rest of his life. But he is happy now and I want him to stay that way. He has finally put all his bitterness to rest and allowed the fire in his heart to subside. I think, maybe, it’s better if you don’t see him and start fanning the ashes.’

The words cut like a knife. Faith’s lips trembled involuntarily. She felt her eyes moisten. Unsure of whether she could control her emotions, she turned away quickly. But before she reached the door she felt Shona Rivers’ firm hand on her forearm.

‘Where are you going now?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Faith said without looking up. ‘I have to think.’

‘You heard what the young man said. It’s not possible for you to gain access to the Los Alamos project to see Dan.’

Faith looked up quickly. She had composed herself now. ‘With all respect, Mrs Rivers, if I don’t see Dan it will be because I have decided not to,’ she said forcefully, ‘not because you say I cannot.’

Faith was surprised to see the older woman’s lips form a tight smile.

‘That’s more like it. Dan told me you were a fighter. He said you walked hundreds of miles across the wilderness leading a group of abandoned children to safety when the Japanese were bombing your country. Is that true?’

Shona Rivers didn’t wait for Faith to reply. ‘Whatever happened between you and my son or whatever my own feelings are,’ she said gently, ‘Dan wouldn’t thank me for not telling him you were here. Now, a local train leaves Gallup at noon everyday for Albuquerque and Santa Fe. It won’t get to Santa Fe for six, maybe seven hours because it makes a lot of stops along the way. If you hurry you can be on it and I will telephone the field office at Los Alamos and leave word for Dan that you are aboard. If he wishes to see you, he’ll have lots of time to get into town to the railroad station. And if he doesn’t, well, you can just carry on to New York.’

*

The most northerly of the Sir Edward Pellow Group of islands clustered around the mouth of the MacArthur River, lay almost twenty miles offshore in the Gulf of Carpentaria. Monday spotted them first in the early afternoon, when he was perched high up on the Walrus’ mainmast keeping at eye out for the Groote Eylandt Lady. When he shouted out the news, Joe asked Weasel to take the helm and went below to check the charts. Koko was in the galley off the main cabin. He looked up from cutting bread for the crew’s midday meal of sandwiches when Joe clambered down the companionway.

‘I heard, Monday.’ Koko said. ‘How far off are we?’

Joe sat down at the chart table. ‘It’s about fifteen miles to the islands, I’d say. That means we’re around thirty five miles from the mouth of the MacArthur River. It will be almost dark when we get there. I’m just going to check the best place to anchor overnight.’

‘And what happens tomorrow, Joe?’ Koko asked softly.

Joe looked up from the chart. Koko was staring at him morosely. All the way southward down the Gulf he had become increasingly withdrawn. Joe had never seen Koko looking so down and his heart went out to him.

‘You know what must happen, Koko. I have to take you to the Nackeroos in Borroloola. It will take most of the day. The river’s too shallow for the Walrus to make it upstream any further than Black Rock Landing. From there we’ll have to make the last twelve miles or so in the dinghy.’

‘Must you turn me in tomorrow? Can’t we wait at the river mouth for one more day just in case the Horan brothers show up?’

‘You know I can’t do that.’

‘But who would ever know. Please...’ Koko pleaded. ‘Please Joe, just one more day.’

Joe sighed. ‘Look, I was lucky no-one pressed charges when I took you with me on Faraway when we left Darwin. I not only took a boat that had been commandeered by the Navy but I knowingly harbored and transported an internee. I know the law’s been hard on you. But it could be very hard on me if I started making my own rules instead of following orders. It’s better for both of us if we do the right thing.’

‘I told you I couldn’t stand to be locked up again, Joe,’ Koko said. He spoke resignedly, staring at the long bread knife in his hand, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘I will not allow them to take me back to Cowra.’

‘Bloody hell, Koko.’ Joe bounded across the cabin floor. He snatched the knife from Koko’s hand. ‘If you’re thinking of doing anything stupid, I’ll have to lock you in the forward cabin.’

For a moment they stood staring at each other eyeball to eyeball. Joe was about to say something else when the amplifier on the radio across the cabin sounded a loud signal. Darwin was about to transmit. Joe sat down at the receiver and grabbed a pencil. A few moments later a coded message came through loud and clear.

When Joe had decoded it he turned to Koko. ‘There’s no need to wait a day for the Groote Eylandt Lady,’ he said grimly. ‘It says here the Nackeroos in Borroloola just reported the Horan brothers have just delivered croc skins to the store in town. They brought them up the river from Black Rock Landing in a dinghy. Darwin wants to know if we can get to the MacArthur River in time to prevent the Groote Eylandt Lady slipping back out to sea.’

‘We can, can’t we Joe?’ Suddenly Koko’s despair had turned to elation

‘Bloody right. They’ll have more than one trip to make upriver with their croc skins, so they won’t be heading out today. Anyway, it’s only possible to navigate the shallow lower reaches of the river in daylight and on the top of the tide. Joe returned to the chart table and checked the tide times for the lower Gulf region, then triumphantly slammed the little book closed. ‘My bet is they’ll leave Black Rock Landing on the high tide at around seven o’clock in the morning,’ he said grimly as he began tapping a reply to Darwin on the Morse code button. ‘I think we’ve finally got the bastards, Koko. ’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Lyle took off from Washington at 0800 hours for Santa Fe aboard a USAAF DC-3 transport, carrying a delegation of senior military officers. He knew that by not waiting for the telephone call Faith had promised to make to him along the way, he was taking a gamble. He was also gambling that she didn’t know exactly where Dan Rivers was. Plimpton had said she made no long distance calls from the St Francis, so he assumed she would have no way of knowing exactly where he was until she made enquiries in Gallup.

He had ruled out that Faith knew Rivers was at Los Alamos before she left San Francisco, because if she did, she would have been ticketed through to Santa Fe on the Chief. Lyle estimated he would arrive at Santa Fe well before Faith and since she couldn’t get clearance into the Los Alamos Project there may well be no meeting at all. But if she persisted and somehow made contact with Rivers then he would have to go into town to see her. Lyle was confident that if he got to Dan Rivers first, the likelihood of that happening was remote.

On the long flight to New Mexico, over the Allegheny Mountains, the Ohio River and on over Missouri’s rugged Ozark Plateau and the windswept treeless plains of Oklahoma, Lyle uncharacteristically avoided conversation. He sat alone, detached from the cheerful camaraderie of his fellow passengers, his rancor eating away at him, as he gazed out the window beside him into the nothingness beyond.

By now he and Faith should have been in Albany. Already his parents had been forced to postpone the lavish reception they had planned for them. Over two hundred of the city’s most prominent citizens had been told that after Faith’s long sea voyage she had needed to rest in San Francisco for a couple of days to recuperate and find her land legs. Lyle only hoped the lie wouldn’t have to be perpetuated, or even expanded upon if his trip to New Mexico was unsuccessful.

It wasn’t Faith’s irrational and inconsiderate behavior that angered Lyle the most, or even Gus Welenski’s backstabbing which had caused it in the first place. What drove him to distraction was that she had cold feet about the wedding and if she saw Dan Rivers she may even call it off. The embarrassment that would cause him among his friends in Washington and Albany was only exceeded by the prospect of the humiliation he would suffer if they discovered she had passed him over for an Indian. Lyle was dispelling the unpalatable thought for the umpteenth time when the roar of the plane’s engines eased and the pilot announced they were approaching the airfield at Santa Fe Lyle checked his wristwatch. It was almost 1.30 p.m., local time.

A column of Army staff cars was lined up on the runway apron when the DC-3 feathered its engines. The passengers quickly transferred to the ground transport and in minutes the VIP’s were speeding up the highway towards Espanola, a small settlement twenty-five miles to the north. Near Espanola, the column turned westward and travelled down a newly constructed bitumen road. After a few miles, the motorcade was stopped at the entrance to the Los Alamos Project, where heavily armed soldiers carefully checked the visitors’ credentials.

Two years earlier the United States government had set up the Los Alamos Project on a remote, two hundred square mile volcanic crater in the centre of the Pueblo Indian Reservation and constructed a sophisticated physics laboratory for the purpose of developing the atomic bomb. As the convoy entered the project, the driver of Lyle’s car explained that the Valle Grande had been selected for the project because of it’s remoteness and that the seven hundred thousand acres it covered were bordered by deep canyons to the north and south and by rugged mountain ranges to the east and west, making unauthorized access all but impossible.

Although the project had been underway since 1942, there was still a lot of construction going on. Lyle noticed many of the roadways on the site were still unpaved and ran over compacted volcanic ash which the driver said was over a thousand feet deep in places. Many other roadways were already paved or in the process of being sealed. Lyle noticed several vehicles and pieces of road building equipment bore the name of Mesa Construction.

When the visitors arrived at the main administration complex to begin their guided tour, Lyle told the group he would be taking a short time out to see an old friend elsewhere on the project and told his driver to take him to the site office of Mesa Construction. The prefabricated metal building was only a couple of miles away beside a construction worker’s camp. There were just a few men inside the office. Lyle noticed they were all Indians. One of them looked up from reading a blueprint when he came in.

‘Can I help you, Colonel?’

‘I’m looking for Dan Rivers.’

‘Dan’s supervising some roadwork several miles west of here,’ the young man said. He won’t be back until just after quitting time. Can I give him a message?’

‘No. I’ll drive out and see him if you’ll point me in the right direction.’

The young man opened the office door and pointed to a road leading off toward the mountains. ‘Just keep going down there Colonel until you see the road crew. Dan’s a tall guy with long hair. I think he’s wearing a buckskin jacket and blue denims.’

‘Thanks, but I know what he looks like. We served together in the Pacific.’

‘You’re a friend of Dan’s, sir?’

‘You might say that.’

The young Indian grinned. ‘Then maybe you wouldn’t mind giving him this.’ He took a piece of paper from a pigeon hole behind him. ‘It’s a message that came earlier from the office in Gallup.’

Lyle took the note, put in his pocket and walked outside to the car. As soon as it pulled away he took out the note. His jaw hardened as he read it.

Dan, Your mother phoned. She said a Faith Brodie was in Gallup looking for you on her way down east. She took the midday train to Santa Fe. If you want to see her, she’ll be looking for you at the station.

‘Have you ever been to Gallup on the train?’ Lyle asked his driver.

‘Once, sir.’

‘How long does it take?’

‘I think it was around six or seven hours, sir.’

Lyle checked his wrist watch. Almost one-thirty. Faith’s train was still several hours away. For a moment he was tempted not to bother seeing Rivers at all. He had expected to have to ask him if he had heard from Faith in order to get the lay of the land before he could go ahead with his plan to thwart any meeting. Now that was unnecessary. But he decided to leave nothing to chance. He would stick to his original plan and treat his interception of the message from Gallup as just a lucky bonus which just happened to make things a lot easier.

The car carried on down the road until it came upon a cluster of bulldozers and graders working the roadway. Through a cloud of blowing ash dust, Lyle saw a surveying team setting grade levels. The instrument man had seen the car approaching and when he looked up from his lens, Lyle recognized him immediately as Dan Rivers. Lyle told the driver to stop, got out of the car and walked over to him.

‘Captain Rivers,’ Lyle smiled broadly and held out his hand. ‘What a pleasure to see you again.’

Dan held out his hand and eyed Lyle quizzically. ‘I’m sorry Colonel, but I can’t seem to place you.’

‘You wouldn’t, Captain. You were unconscious in a hospital bed in Australia when I saw you last. You’d just been transferred ashore off a hospital ship. I must say your looking a lot better today than you did in Brisbane that day.’

Dan still showed no sign of recognition.

‘I’m Lyle Hunter. I was Faith Brodie’s boss at General MacArthur’s headquarters.’

‘Major Hunter.’ Dan’s lips parted in an uncertain smile. ‘What are you doing at Los Alamos.’

‘It’s Colonel Hunter now, Dan. I was transferred to the Pentagon a few months ago. I’m down here for the day with a military delegation. I heard your name mentioned and thought I’d come out and shake your hand. My congratulations on your Medal of Honor.’

‘Thank you, Colonel.’ For a moment no one spoke, then Dan said, ‘You mentioned Faith Brodie. How is she?’

‘She’s fine. She right here in the United States. We’re to be married in a few days up in Albany.’

Dan drew a deep breath, then said softly, ‘I thought that might be on the cards, Colonel. You’re a lucky man. How long has Faith been over here from Australia?’

‘As a matter of fact she just arrived on the west coast just a couple of days ago. She’s travelling east by train. I wanted her to fly to New York but she said air travel might be too dangerous.’

Dan shrugged. ‘That’s funny. She once told me she enjoyed flying.’

‘She does. But she’s afraid she could get so nauseous it could affect the baby’s health.

‘She’s pregnant?’

‘Almost six months now.’ Lyle said almost apologetically. ‘Sometimes things don’t happen in the proper sequence in wartime.’

Dan nodded. ‘Give her my best regards will you, Colonel.’ He reached out and shook Lyle’s hand. ‘And my congratulations. And thanks for dropping by. Now, I guess I’d better get back to work.’

‘It was good to see you again, Captain.’ Lyle saluted smartly. ‘And I’d better get back to my delegation.’

*

It was almost midnight. The Walrus lay anchored in less than eight feet of water just inside the mouth of the MacArthur River. Joe and Koko sat drinking tea and talking in low tones at the table in the main cabin. Outside, the night was hot and clammy and very still. At first, when darkness fell, the shrill chirping of thousands of cicada insects in nearby mangroves had seemed deafening but it hadn’t bothered Weasel who lay sleeping under a mosquito net on the foredeck. Occasionally moonlight fell on the telltale eyes of crocodiles, the only sign of the giant prehistoric killing machines that lay submerged in the river awaiting unsuspecting prey.

‘What will you do if the Horan brothers put up a fight, Joe?’ Koko asked.

‘I plan to seize their boat at Black Rock Landing before they come downstream. After hauling their skins to town they’d have gone to the hotel. They’re still there now I expect, drunk as lords and looking to pick a fight. They probably won’t even head down to Black Rock Landing till after dawn.’ Joe smiled wryly. ‘And when they get there, we’ll already be aboard the Groote Eylandt Lady waiting for them.’

‘And what if things don’t go according to plan? They’re croc-shooters, so we know they’ve got guns. And if their spies as well, they’ll be ready to use them.’

‘We’ve got guns too Koko and we’ll use them if we have to. But I don’t think it will come to that.’

‘But if it does. Will you let me have a gun?’

Joe looked warily over the rim of his tea mug at Koko. ‘You know I can’t do that. You’re supposed to be a prisoner on this boat.’

‘But if they opened fire on us, I’d be in the thick of it. Surely you’d let me defend myself?’

‘Of course I would, if it came to that. But it’s not going to, so it doesn’t matter.’

Koko stared into his empty tea mug. ‘Joe, I have a bad feeling about these men. If they’re cornered in this river they will do anything to escape. If anything should happen to me. I want you to promise me when you go back to Darwin you’ll lay my mother to rest properly. I only had time to lay her in a shallow grave. It’s under the only frangipani tree in her garden.’

‘But nothing is going to happen to you,’ Joe interjected quickly. He stood up from the table. ‘Now you’d better turn in. I’ll take the watches with Weasel. I’ll wake you before we head up to Black Rock Landing.’

‘But if something does happen, you must promise me you will rebury her.’

‘Very well, Koko,’ ‘Joe said gently. ‘You have my word.’

‘There is a little cellar underneath the cottage, Joe. I would like you to bury her there. My father built it when I was a baby as a safe place for my mother to hide in case there was any trouble when he was away with the pearling fleet. He also used it as a place to ferment and store his saki and keep valuables. There are even things there that my mother brought with her from Japan. They always said it was their private place and I was never allowed down there. That is where I would like her final resting place to be.’

‘But the cellar wont exist any more, Koko. At least not as the private place you have in your mind. I’ve told you before, what the Japanese didn’t destroy in the Darwin bombings, the civilians and the military either stole or vandalized.’

‘But no one would even know the cellar is there. There’s no door. The only way in is by lifting heavy hardwood floorboards. It takes time.’ Koko sighed despairingly. ‘The Horans must have burst into the cottage with no warning, otherwise, she would have had time to hide. ‘You must believe me, Joe. No one will have discovered the cellar.’

‘All right, Koko,’ Joe said. ‘I believe you. And one day when this war is over, we’ll all go back to Myilly Point together. But right now, you better get some shuteye.’

*

Dan was sitting on the tailgate of his red International pick-up truck outside Mesa Construction’s office, sharing a cold drink and conversation with some of his employees when the Army staff cars drove by on their way back to Santa Fe.

Lyle Hunter sat in the rear of the last car and he wound down the window and gave Dan a friendly wave. Dan waved back and watched the motorcade of high ranking officers disappear into a cloud of swirling ash dust. It was just after 5 p.m. and for a moment he pondered the enormous cost of transporting so many men so great a distance for such a short period of time. He took another swallow of his bottle and decided something very big must be going on in the scientists’ laboratories at Los Alamos. Then his thoughts turned back to the conversation he had with Lyle Hunter earlier in the afternoon and he knew that sleep may not come easy that night.

*

Faith had plenty of time on the train to ponder her future and contemplate whether she might see Dan at the station in Santa Fe. Along the way she reflected on her meeting with Dan’s mother. After Shona Rivers’ revelation that Dan had gone to Brisbane only to learn from Sergeant Peterson, and probably with a generous serve of innuendo, that she was at Point Danger with Lyle, she became convinced Dan wouldn’t be at the station even if he did get a message that she was coming.

Perhaps it was just as well. Everything had turned out to be so complicated. She was glad she had bought a ticket though to Denver, Colorado. She would be there in the early hours of the morning. At Denver she would arrange a flight to New York and telephone Lyle with the details. What she would say or do when she got there, she still hadn’t decided.

When the train pulled into the station at Santa Fe at seven o’clock. Faith stepped down from the train and looked up and down the platform for a sign of Dan. There was none. There was still no sign of him fifteen minutes later when the guard blew the whistle signaling the train’s departure.

*

The return flight to Washington took off on schedule at 8 p.m. For the VIP’s on board it had been a long exhausting day which was still far from over. But most of the officers were able to sooth their fatigue for an hour or so over cocktails in a private lounge at the airport where they relaxed and looked forward to sleeping during the long flight east.

Colonel Lyle Hunter wasn’t one of the officers who enjoyed a social drink in the lounge. He had spent much of the time before take-off, waiting for the train from Gallup at the nearby railway station in order to be absolutely sure that his day had been successful. After not seeing Faith for so long he had hardly been able to resist running to her and holding her when he saw her pacing up and down the platform. He had even surprised himself when he felt a twinge of conscience about playing such a cat and mouse game with her, but he dismissed it quickly, knowing that if he did approach her, whatever he said about his coincidental presence in New Mexico would only have strained things between them even further.

Lyle leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Tomorrow was another day. A red-cap at the station had told him Faith’s train went on to Denver. As the plane flew eastward into the fading light he was sure she would phone in the early hours of the morning saying when she expected to be in New York.

*

A hot steamy mist hung over the river when Joe started the Walrus’s engine at dawn. When Koko signaled from the bow that the anchor had broken free, Joe slipped the ketch into gear and opened up the throttle. For a moment the heavy vessel seemed to remain stationery as her propeller churned up muddy water astern. But then she slowly began to nose forward on the rising tide. Ahead of her lay seven miles of twists and turns as the river meandered its way down to the sea from Black Rock Landing.

Koko remained at the bow, one hand clutching the forestay as he peered through the mist looking for hazards lurking in the shallow water. Joe kept a steady hand on the helm and tried to read the channels in the river to find where the deepest water was. Weasel stood beside Joe, excited that they were no longer hunting the Groote Eylandt Lady but were at last closing in for the kill.

For the first time in weeks, Joe and Weasel looked like soldiers instead of half-naked sea-tramps. Joe had insisted they wear their Army issue khaki shorts and shirts so that the Horan brothers would recognize their authority when they seized the Groote Eylandt Lady.

‘What about the guns?’ Joe said without taking his eyes off the river.

‘The rifles are loaded and ready.’

‘And my Walther?’

‘Laying ready beside the rifles. Want me to bring them up, Joe?’

‘No, not yet. I just wanted to make sure all the gear’s handy if and when we do need it.’

‘You reckon we’ll still get to Black Rock Landing before them?’ Weasel rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. ‘What if we were to meet them coming down the river?’

‘If they did leave early. There would be no sense in them bucking the incoming tide, Weasel. Any smart skipper would wait until high water to get depth under the keel, then head out when the tide turns and let it carry him down to the sea with it.’

Weasel stopped rubbing his jaw when he took in Joe’s logic. ‘How long do you reckon before we get to Black Rock Landing?’

‘About an hour.’

‘Then we’ve got time for a mug of tea?’

‘Good idea, Weasel.’

Soon the morning sun had burnt off the last of the mist hanging over the river. Now Joe could see clearly ahead, and when Weasel handed up the first of the mugs of tea, he signaled to Koko to come and join them in the cockpit. They were all sipping the brew when the Walrus rounded yet another bend in the river and they saw another vessel no more than fifty yards away, heading straight at them.

Joe recognized the vessel immediately. It was the Groote Eylandt Lady. Either the Horans weren’t as seawise as he thought or for some reason they had chosen to buck the tide.

‘Get the guns, Weasel.’ Joe shouted. ‘Now.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Weasel dropped his tea mug and scrambled below.

‘Are you sure it’s the Horan brothers, Joe?’ Koko asked. He seemed surprisingly calm.

Joe stared straight ahead. ‘I don’t see them yet. But it is their boat.’

The distance between the two vessels was closing rapidly. In seconds it became plain they were on a collision course. Joe eased back on the throttle but took no evasive action. The river was narrow here and both vessels were in the deepest water near the centre. Joe knew by veering out of the channel the Walrus would run aground and it was plain the Groote Eylandt Lady knew that too, because she wasn’t giving way either. Worse still it seemed like she had increased her speed.

Weasel bounded up the companion way with two .303 rifles and Joe’s Walther. He laid one of the rifles at Joe’s feet and the Walther on the cockpit seat beside him.

Weasels eyes bulged when he saw how close the Groote Eylandt Lady was and how fast she was going. ‘Bloody hell,’ he screamed, ‘what’ll we do, Joe?’

‘Just hang on,’ Joe shouted. ‘Just hang on.’

Now the Groote Eylandt Lady was less than only twenty-five yards away. For a moment Joe wondered if the channel of deep water was wide enough to allow both vessels to pass. If they could, that would leave the Horans heading down the river to the open sea and the Walrus without enough room to turn around and pursue them. At once Joe knew exactly what he had to do. He gunned the Walrus’s engine and pointed her huge bow directly at the Groote Eylandt Lady when she was just fifteen yards away and he could see the hairy faces of the Horan brothers clearly. They were staring in wide-eyed terror.

Weasel saw their faces too. ‘Jesus,’ he shouted. ‘It’s them, all right. I’d know the bastards anywhere,’

‘Hang on,’ Joe shouted. ‘Hang on.’

At the last second Joe cut the Walrus’s engine and as everyone braced themselves for the impact, no-one noticed Koko reach down and pick up Joe’s Walther. All they saw was the side of Groote Eylandt Lady as she made a desperate last-second bid to get out of the Walrus’s way. But it was too late. Now, instead of the two vessels striking each other a head-on glancing blow, the Walrus drove hard into the side of the Groote Eylandt Lady and there was a deafening shriek of splitting timbers as the bow of the Walrus smashed her clean in two. Instantly both her masts snapped off sending a tangled mass of rigging and chunks of splintered timber raining down onto the deck of the Walrus, inextricably binding the two vessels together. More debris crashed into the river anchoring the vessels to the bottom.

The force of the collision threw everyone off their feet. Koko was the first man to get up. With the Walther in hand he dashed through the debris strewn about the deck to where the stern half of the Groote Eylandt Lady lay holed and sinking against the bow of the Walrus. Already the Horans, badly cut and bleeding, were struggling to get to their feet in knee deep water in the cockpit. Thinking a crewman from the Walrus was trying to help him off his stricken craft, Nick Horan held out his hand to Koko. Then a look of astonishment spread over his face when he realized a Japanese was pointing a gun at him from point blank range. But his bewilderment was shortlived. A split second later he splashed down stone dead in the water when a 9mm slug entered his head between the eyes and tore a path through his brain.

‘Drop the gun, Koko.’ Joe stood with a rifle against his shoulder squinting down the barrel with Koko firmly in his sights. ‘Drop the gun. Don’t be so bloody stupid. Those bastards just aren’t worth it.’

Koko paid no attention to Joe. He slowly trained the Walther on Henry Horan who was cowering in fear in the now half-submerged cockpit. Koko nodded at Nick Horan’s floating corpse. ‘That one was for me, Horan.’ Koko’s finger began to squeeze the trigger. ‘This one is for my mother, the Japanese woman in the cottage on Myilly Point.’

Joe’s .303 barked. The shot passed close to Koko’s head. ‘Don’t make me do it, Koko,’ Joe pleaded, ‘please, don’t make me do it.’

Koko turned his head toward Joe but didn’t lower the gun. Henry Horan saw his chance. In an instant he dove down into the muddy water. Joe and Weasel scrambled out of the cockpit and hurried toward the bow, rifles at the ready, peering into the water at the side of the boat. Halfway along the deck they stopped and raised their rifles when Horan surfaced about fifteen yards out from the boat only to snatch a quick breath before diving again.

‘The bastard’s heading for the bank,’ Weasel shouted. ‘He could get away if we don’t let him have it when he comes up next time.’

‘Don’t shoot unless I give the word,’ Joe snapped.

Joe and Weasel stayed where they were, their rifles pressed to their shoulders. Koko remained at the bow. All eyes were glued to the river. There wasn’t a ripple on the surface of the water. Koko slowly lowered the Walther, knowing when Horan surfaced again he would be well out of range of the little handgun. Horan was less than thirty yards from the riverbank when he surfaced and began wildly flailing at the water.

‘He can’t dive again,’ Weasel shouted. ’He’s on the bottom now. He’ll have to crawl the rest of the way.’

‘Stop where you are, Horan,’ Joe screamed across the water. ‘Stop, or I’ll shoot.’

Horan kept going. With the soft mud on the river bottom unable to support his weight he was scrambling and stumbling on his hands and knees and kicking up a frothy wake behind him.

‘We’ve got to shoot, Joe,’ Weasel yelled impatiently, ‘or he’s gone.’

‘We can’t shoot him in the back,’ Joe shouted. ‘We’ll wait till he reaches the shore.’

Horan was almost at the riverbank when inert forms at the water’s edge suddenly sprang to life and slithered down into the river. Joe and Weasel and Koko heard just one terrible scream from Horan as the water around him was whipped up into a seething foam as a dozen or more crocodiles went in for the kill then thrashed about fighting over the spoils.

Weasel watched the ugly feeding frenzy with horror but also with a morbid fascination. Sickened, Joe turned away just in time to see Koko stick the barrel of the Walther in his mouth. He pulled the trigger before Joe could even cry out.

*

Usually, after the evening meal in the contractors’ canteen, Dan spent an hour in the site office with his costing clerk checking the actual daily production of his construction crews against the costing figures he had prepared when bidding the job. It was a routine task which required little concentration, but after talking with Lyle Hunter earlier in the day, Dan found thoughts of Faith prevented him making any real contribution to the work at all. He was about to tell the clerk that they had better call it a day when the telephone rang just after seven o’clock..

‘Mesa Construction.’

‘So you decided not to go into Santa Fe?’

Dan smiled when he heard his mother’s voice, ‘Why should I?’

‘Didn’t you get the message?’

‘What message?’

Dan listened for a long time without saying a word. Then he said. ‘Well, she’s marrying him, so it doesn’t really matter anyway. As a matter of fact he was here today. He’s big shot at the Pentagon now, those guys come down here a lot. He told me Faith was pregnant.’

‘Pregnant.’ Shona Rivers sounded more than a little surprised.

‘He said six months, it must have shown.’

‘Oh, no. She couldn’t be, Dan. She was a slim as a willow.’

Dan put his hand over the phone and turned to his clerk. ‘Did you take a message for me today from Mrs Rivers.’

The clerk nodded. ‘I gave it to that friend of yours. The colonel from Washington.’

*

Faith sat gazing out the window of the Pullman car. Half an hour out of Santa Fe and already the light was fading. On the horizon to the west, beyond a wide lonely mesa, the sun had gone down behind high mountains leaving a deep orange glow in the night sky. It was then she saw the red pick-up truck racing down the bumpy dirt road running parallel to the railway line. Soon the truck had caught the attention of several other passengers. For a time it seemed like the train would win the race as the truck bounced wildly around on the rough rutted track leaving a billowing cloud of dust behind it. But the determined driver wouldn’t give in and eventually the truck pulled ahead of the train and disappeared from view.

A few minutes later the train began to slow down, then it came to a halt at a level crossing at the little town of Espanola. Faith heard one of the passengers say 7.15 out of Santa Fe never stopped at Espanola. Another passenger lowered a window and stuck his head out to see what was going on.

‘It’s that fool in the pick-up,’ the passenger said when he pulled his head back inside the carriage. ‘He’s parked the damn thing across the track at the level crossing.’

Before long there was a commotion at the end of the carriage and Faith saw a tall man with long black flowing hair come striding down the aisle. He was dressed in a buckskin jacket and blue denims and seemed to be checking the faces of the passengers as he hurried down the aisle, oblivious to the protestations of two elderly railway guards trotting along behind him.

Faith smiled and stood up in wide-eyed amazement when she realized the man was Dan. When he saw her he hurried to her. He grinned and nodded up at the luggage rack. ‘Which ones are yours, ma’am?’

Faith pointed to two cases. ‘Those two, there,’

Dan grabbed the luggage. ‘Follow me, ma’am. This is where you get off.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Lyle Hunter never saw Faith Brodie again and the telephone call he expected from Colorado never came. Instead Western Union delivered a telegram from her the morning after he returned to Washington from Los Alamos. It was sent from Espanola and simply stated that she wished to call off the wedding and would have told him personally in New Mexico if she had seen him. A month later she married Dan Rivers in Gallup and a year later gave birth to the first of four children. He was named Augustus, and Staff Sergeant Welenski travelled from Idaho to Gallup to be present at the christening of his namesake godson. Faith never returned to Australia.

Koko Hamada was buried in the tiny cemetery at Borroloola. Joe and Weasel were the only mourners to attend the simple ceremony. A team from Army Intelligence salvaged the remains of the Groote Eyelandt Lady from the MacArthur River. Radio equipment was found aboard the wreck but no evidence of espionage of any kind. The Army’s official report was that suspicions that the vessel was a spy boat were unfounded and that Koko Hamada, an escaped prisoner of war, was wholly responsible for the death of her owners of the vessel. Corporal Joe Brodie narrowly missed being court marshaled for negligence while in charge of a prisoner of war.

The Walrus was barely damaged when she rammed the Groote Eyelandt Lady and Joe and Weasel sailed her back to Darwin. On the way they landed Monday at his home on Croker Island. As the Walrus slipped her moorings in Mission Bay, Monday grinned widely when Joe reminded him that he was expected to join the crew of his new island trader when he and Weasel returned to the island. They sailed into Darwin Harbor on a blustery afternoon in October just ahead of the first tropical storm of the wet. Fifteen hundred miles to the north of Darwin another storm was raging as General MacArthur’s forces unleashed a crushing attack on the Japanese held island of Leyte in the Phillipines, fulfilling his promise to return to the islands.

In November 1944 the Australian Director of Military Operations decided that with Australia no longer under threat from the Japanese, the Northern Australia Observer Force was to be disbanded. Within weeks, the few remaining outposts were shut down, its horses sold or shot and its remaining personnel including those seconded to Army Intelligence were sent south to New South Wales. In May of 1945 the unit officially ceased to exist. The source of the leak of secret military information out of Canberra was never discovered and continued until the end of the war.

The POW escape at Cowra was the largest prison breakout in history. Two hundred and thirty Japanese prisoners, including Yosi Yakimoto were killed and almost three hundred and thirty escaped into the New South Wales countryside. The Commonwealth Government successfully suppressed most details of the escape for over twenty-five years. Two hundred and sixty-eight Australian men and women perished in the sinking of the Australian Hospital Ship Centaur. Between February 1942 and November 1943 there were fifty eight Japanese air raids on Darwin.

In the early morning of August 9, 1945 after the Japanese government had ignored an Allied ultimatum to cease hostilities, an American B-29 dropped an atomic bomb on the Japanese city of Hiroshima, killing an estimated eighty thousand people. Three days later with no Japanese surrender forthcoming another atomic bomb was dropped on the city of Nagasaki. After the second detonation, the Japanese surrendered unconditionally. Both bombs dropped on Japan were built in the laboratories of the Los Alamos Project in New Mexico.

Captain Dan Rivers was just one of over three hundred and fifty thousand American servicemen and women who saw service in, or passed through Australia during the Pacific campaign between 1942 and 1945. The code of the Navajo code talkers was never cracked by the Japanese and it was only decades later that the United States Government officially acknowledged it even existed. As a result of the infallibility of the code, the war in the Pacific was shortened and tens of thousands of Allied lives were saved. For his courageous part in protecting it, Dan Rivers was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor.

*

Joe Brodie and Weasel Watkins arrived back in Darwin aboard a tramp steamer in late August, 1945. They were the first civilians to return to the bombed ruins of the northern outpost since the mass evacuation in 1942. When the old steamer tied up in the harbor, Joe walked straight up to the police barracks on the Esplanade. He was delighted to see his old friend Sergeant Maxwell was the lone policeman on duty. Joe asked if he and Weasel could bunk down at the station until they made the old Brodie house habitable after which they planned to start looking for a suitable island trading vessel.

Just after dawn the next day, Joe walked to the old Hamada place at Myilly Point alone. He took a steel crowbar, a shovel and a policeman’s torch with him. He found that the cottage, like most of the dwellings in Darwin, was just a dilapidated shell. All the windows were broken and the doors had been smashed in, and he had to beat a path to it through the wildly overgrown trees and shrubs in Aki’s garden. Limbs of the frangipani tree under which Koko said Aki Hamada was buried now rested heavily on the cottage roof.

The inside of the cottage was worse than the outside. All the furnishings were gone as were the stove, the bath tub and the kitchen sink. Most of the walls and ceiling were holed and rubbish covered the floors. Joe began clearing the debris off the living room floor with his bare hands and the shovel. Soon he could see that the heavy hardwood floorboards beneath the rubbish looked as if they had never been disturbed. In one corner of the room he found what he was looking for. There, a few of the boards were quite short and of the same length. Using the crow bar, he pried one of them up. It was stubborn, but once it yielded, the rest came up easily. Beneath the boards was a short flight of stairs.

The police torch lit the way as Joe descended the stairs into a musty cellar. A few basic furnishings and oriental keepsakes were scattered around the room. There was a coating of dust and grime everywhere but everything was as neat as a pin. An old copy of Darwin’s little weekly newspaper lay over the arm of a chair. Joe slapped the paper against his knee to knock off the dust. It was dated February 18, 1942, the day of Australia’s own Pearl Harbor. It was as if time had stood still.

Joe shone the light around the room. At one end there were scores of dusty bottles in wooden racks where Koko’s father had once kept his prized saki. At the other end there was a curtain partitioning off a separate area. Joe moved to the curtain and drew it back. He gasped at what he saw.

There on a table sat a short wave radio receiver/transmitter. It was as sophisticated as the Army Intelligence gear had been on the Walrus, only it was the type used by the Japanese. And propped up between the radio and the cellar wall was what looked to be a cardboard chart. When he had wiped the dust from it he could plainly see it was a detailed drawing of Darwin Harbor, showing the position and names of all the ships that had been in port on February 19, 1942. The drawings also detailed the harbor surrounds showing gun emplacements, fuel dumps and important military installations ashore. Suddenly Joe realized why, in the two horrendous air raids that infamous day, not a single bomb fell on Myilly Point.

When Joe left Aki's cottage just before midday, he had transferred her remains from under the frangipani tree into a deep grave in the Hamada’s private place and had carefully replaced the floorboards and even the rubbish which had protected the sanctuary for so long. As he walked away, Joe hoped, as Koko had, that she would rest there in undisturbed peace. And he hoped too, for Koko’s sake, that what he had buried with her would also remain undisturbed and undiscovered.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE.

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

PART TWO

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

PART THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

PART FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

PART FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN