‘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.