‘Hey, Ron,’ he said. ‘What’s that light blue thing below? At ten o’clock?’
‘I don’t know,’ answered Milne. ‘Let’s go and have a look.’ He took Brian down to just above the surface. ‘It’s a bloody loose driftnet,’ said Milne.
‘Ohh shit,’ said Brian, absolutely disgusted. ‘There’s dead turtles and birds and every fuckin thing tangled up in it.’
‘Yes,’ said Milne. ‘They’re real caring, sharing people, the Japanese, aren’t they. Let’s blow the fuckin thing to bits.’
‘Let me go first.’
Brian banked around, put AMI on one, then hovered and pumped hundreds of small DVs into the driftnet; below him the water boiled as the net was torn to shreds, along with the unfortunate wildlife that had drowned trying to escape its cruel entanglement. When Brian had finished, Milne came in with AMI on two and blew what was left all over the ocean. They watched the pieces flutter down onto the sea, then flew away, feeling they’d done at least some small thing to help the planet.
‘Righto, Brian,’ said Milne. ‘Let’s go and visit Russia.’
‘Okay,’ said Brian. ‘I hear Siberia’s nice this time of the year.’
‘Ussuriysk’s better.’
‘Ussuriysk? Never heard of the joint.’
‘It’s just up from the North Korean border. The Russians have got a nuclear missile site near there.’
‘Which they’re a little touchy about,’ said Brian.
‘Exceptionally,’ said Milne.
‘And now I imagine it’s my turn to play pass the parcel with one of their fighters?’
‘Right on, Takatau baby. You game?’
‘Ohh yeah. I suppose so,’ answered Brian.
‘All right,’ said Milne. ‘Let’s hit that big old highway in the sky.’
With Milne leading the way, they tore across the vast blue expanse of the Northern Pacific. Milne wasn’t saying much and Brian was keeping an eye on his inflatable globe as the clouds and rain squalls above the planet flashed by below. They sped past Tokyo and over the Sea of Japan; when they neared Vladivostock, Milne slowed down and took them under a thick, leaden cloud bank. Beneath them were huge pine forests carpeted with snow, and monotonous bleak steppes running towards low mountain ranges on the horizon. Near one mountain range, a road led into an airbase hacked out of the pine forest. It was similar to the one in Pakistan, only bigger, and Brian counted six jet fighters on the runway. Milne began slowly circling the airbase with Brian alongside him.
Milne’s voice came over the radio. ‘Let’s hang around here for a while,’ he said, ‘and see what happens.’
‘Okay,’ said Brian, looking around. ‘Shit! What a cold, miserable-looking prick of a place.’
‘Come on, comrades,’ Brian heard Milne saying. ‘Ve are vaiting for you.’
A movement caught Brian’s eye. ‘Hey, Ron,’ he said, ‘I think we’ve got a bite.’
A red light started flashing on one of the buildings, then there was rapid activity all over the airfield. Trucks rumbled along the runway and men began uncovering anti-aircraft guns and SAM missiles. The pilots burst out of their barracks and ran for their planes. With the help of the ground crew, they quickly powered up and soon three Sukhoi Su 27 Flankers and three MiG 31 Foxhounds taxied across the tarmac before roaring almost vertically into the sky.
‘Looks like we’ve got a few more than last time,’ said Brian.
‘I told you they were a little touchy out here,’ said Milne. ‘Okay. You go right. I’ll go left. And we’ll split them in two. Not too fast. Let them catch up.’
‘All right,’ said Brian, feeling a squirt of adrenalin in the pit of his stomach. He watched the jets bank around and come towards them, and veered off to the right. Two MiGs and a Sukhoi followed him in hot pursuit. The others went after Milne.
Brian flew out over the pine forests towards a rocky snow-scattered steppe, edged by a mountain range. He circled over the steppe back towards the airfield, the Russian fighters roughly a kilometre behind. He couldn’t see any sign of Milne or the other fighters and the ones behind him were determined to catch him. Several puffs of smoke appeared in front of the Sukhoi and Brian watched a stream of tracers and cannon fire rip through the sky on his left. Next thing, two single clouds of smoke appeared under a wing of each MiG and two air-to-air missiles came streaking towards him. Shit! They’ve two outed me, thought Brian. Oh well. Here we go.
Watching the missiles reflected in the cabin, Brian matched their speed, then took off in a long, high loop to the left while the three fighters flew straight ahead. Near the red star on their tails, Brian noticed one MiG was numbered 203, the other 206. The two MiGs were leading the Sukhoi, and MiG 203 was two plane-lengths in front of 206. With the missiles locked onto him, Brian came back behind the two Russian fighters exactly the same as Milne had done over Pakistan. The Sukhoi peeled off to the left and the fighters began taking evasive action. But they had no chance against the disc. Brian loomed up behind MiG 203, waited for the missile to catch up, then leap-frogged over the fuselage. The missile locked onto the Foxhound’s right afterburner and flew straight in like a mouse scurrying into its hole. Brian got a quick glimpse as MiG 203 was ripped apart in a ball of oily smoke and orange flame; too quick to see if the pilot ejected safely. With the second missile still locked onto him, Brian took off vertically after MiG 206 which was rocketing straight up into the sky. Effortlessly, he caught up with the other MiG then leap-frogged underneath it. The missile locked on to 206’s left afterburner, flew in and the second Foxhound exploded in another brilliant ball of flame. Brian levelled off, spun around and came to a hover. Below him he saw the undercarriage, a wheel and other wreckage spiralling to the ground leaving trails of smoke across the bleak Russian sky, then Brian noticed another trail of smoke and the pilot’s parachute opened. Further away he saw another parachute floating towards the ground and a good kilometre away he saw more smoke and a third parachute. At one o’clock Brian noticed a bright circle of white hovering below the dark cloud cover.
‘Hey, Ron,’ said Brian. ‘Is that you up there just under the clouds?’
‘Yeah. Get up here.’ Brian quickly zipped up to a few metres from Milne. ‘I got one jet,’ said Milne. ‘Did you just knock two over?’
‘Fuckin oath,’ yelled Brian. ‘It was unbelievable.’
‘You’re a genius, Takatau,’ said Milne. ‘First time out and you pot two.’
Brian was pumping. ‘You want to go and get the rest?’
‘No. We’d better not blow our smother,’ advised Milne. ‘Let’s call it a day and head for home.’
‘All right,’ said Brian. ‘If you say so.’
‘You can lead the way, Takatau. Try not to get lost this time.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ Brian checked the white crystal with his globe then flew through the cloud cover to maximum ceiling and took off at top speed back towards the Sea of Japan.
This time Brian was right on the money and in next to no time they were over the reef, looking at the temples. Brian led them up the tunnel, then they docked the discs and a jubilant Brian joined Milne putting his crystal back in the wall.
‘What can I say?’ said Milne. ‘Talk about the pupil outdoing the master.’
‘It was easy,’ grinned Brian. He gestured with his hand. ‘Bingo. Two missiles. Right up their blurters.’
‘It sure shakes them up a bit,’ said Milne, patting Brian on the back and walking him towards the table.
‘At least the pilots got away all right,’ said Brian.
‘Yes, they did, didn’t they.’ Milne turned to Brian and seemed to study him for a moment. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s have a bite to eat. I’m starving.’
Milne opened the esky and produced a thermos and a container of roast pork and salad sandwiches. They poured a cup of tea each and had a debriefing while they ate. Brian was trying to stay composed but he was too excited.
‘So what’s the story, Ron?’ he said. ‘
Do I get my wings now or what?’
Milne smiled at Brian, then shook his hand across the table. ‘Yeah. You’ve got your wings. Passing out ceremony on the jetty. Midday tomorrow. Full military honours.’
Brian waved a clenched fist. ‘Ripper.’
‘When you get changed, give me your uniform. I’ll have it cleaned.’
‘Yessir. And what’s my rank?’
‘Wing Commander Bradshaw. Lan Laroi Special Air Service.’
‘Wing Commander Bradshaw, SAS. I like it.’ Brian sipped his tea. ‘Hey Ron. What were you saying today about a secret weapon?’
Milne chuckled as he swallowed a piece of sandwich. ‘You know all those tiger sharks that hang around the island?’ Brian nodded. ‘They’re like watchdogs,’ said Milne. ‘They’ll tell me if there’s anything out there.’
‘Fair dinkum?’
‘They’re our mates. Especially the big one. If ever a yacht approaches, or a storm’s going to hit the island, they swim up to the jetty and splash around to let us know.’
‘That’s amazing,’ said Brian.
‘Just another little secret on our island,’ said Milne proudly. ‘I’ll tell you something else. Have you noticed when you’re flying a disc, you almost seem like you’re part of it?’
‘Yes. I noticed that,’ said Brian.
Milne pointed to Brian’s shark. ‘It’s your mutami,’ he said. ‘That small piece of magnetic stone makes all the difference.’
Brian thoughtfully fingered the little stone shark around his neck. ‘I wonder if this ties in with the shark ceremony.’
‘For sure,’ said Milne. ‘The natives probably got the original idea from the ancients. And over the years have turned it into a ritual.’
‘Well, I’ll be buggered.’
‘Just another of the island’s little secrets,’ said Milne.
Brian smiled at Milne over his coffee. ‘You got any more little secrets you want to tell me, Ron?’ he asked.
‘Maybe,’ answered Milne. ‘I’ll tell you when you get your wings.’
‘Fair enough.’ Brian chewed into another sandwich. ‘So what’s doing now?’
‘I reckon we should finish this delightful food my beautiful Lengi has packed for us,’ said Milne. ‘Then head home for the late at Windmills.’
‘That sounds like an absolutely splendid idea, Mr President.’
‘You can drive. I got to write another speech.’
‘All right,’ said Brian.
They finished eating, then packed up, left the temple and walked out to the car. Brian got behind the wheel and started the engine; Milne took out his notebook, slipped on a tape and began scribbling furiously. With Marcia Ball boogeying into ‘Mobile’, Brian did a U-turn around the temples and headed for the mangroves.
Brian was in a good mood as he steered the Jackaroo through the steamy jungle. He could still clearly picture the two Russian jets going down in flames and the pilots floating to earth in their parachutes. Yessir. It sure doesn’t pay to mess with Wing Commander Brian Bradshaw, LL SAS, when he’s behind the wheel of a MeG 21. Brian smiled to himself. Every now and again Milne would look up, laugh like mad, then continue writing. Brian left him to it and kept an eye out for holes in the road.
It was raining and deserted when they went past the industrial estate. Milne looked up momentarily and continued writing. The rain eased as they went through the rainforest and it had stopped altogether and the sun was shining when Brian pulled up on the lawn at the back of the warehouse. Milne looked up absently from his notebook.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘We’re at the PP already.’
‘The PP?’ said Brian. ‘What’s the PP?’
‘The People’s Palace,’ said Milne. ‘That’s what I call it.’
‘When you went to Vietnam, you sure it wasn’t with the Salvation Army?’ said Brian.
Milne closed his notebook and said he’d meet Brian at the board rack in fifteen minutes, then walked up to his room. Brian had a look in the office. There was no sign of Keleu again so he went to his room and got changed into his board shorts. When he went downstairs, Milne was also in a pair of board shorts, waiting for him in the warehouse. Brian figured Windmills would be small again so he thought he’d give the ten-foot Jackson a run. Milne took the Tracker. They put the boards in the Jackaroo and headed for the beach. When they got there, the wind was offshore and the surf was bowling; two-metre barrels plus. Waves that locked you inside completely, then let you out when they felt like it.
‘Look at that,’ said Milne, peering through the windscreen. ‘Windmills is on to buggery, and no one out.’
Brian shook his head in wonder. ‘I’ve surfed Hawaii. You know what that reminds me off? Ala Moana. Only …’
‘Better and faster,’ suggested Milne.
‘Precisely,’ agreed Brian.
‘Why don’t we go straight out on the rights.’
‘Yeah. Let’s get shacked. Before I drool in my cool.’
They waxed up and paddled across the channel, coming out a little further than usual behind the line up. Brian sat on his board for a moment to get his bearings then turned towards the beach in time to see Milne disappear through a cloud of spray into a scorching two-metre barrel. Six perfect swells suddenly lined up in front of Brian as if they’d just been pumped out of a machine. Brian swung the Jackson around, gave a few strokes and took the third one.
The big mal picked up the wave easily. Brian took the drop thinking the Jackson would probably be a bit slow. But it had a concave nose plus plenty of tail lift and Brian effortlessly cranked a big right turn. After that, he just had time to run up the nose, crouch into a stretch five and get locked into the filthiest tube of all time. That was all he could do; hang on the nose till the wave spat him out near the beach after what felt like a day later. Brian straddled his board and shook his head, wondering if that had really happened, then started paddling out again. On the way back to the lineup, Brian saw another wave peeling off at warp speed with the silhouette of Milne inside on the Tracker, grabbing the rail and locked that far back in a crystal clear tube he’d need a map to find his way out. I’m dead, thought Brian, as he kept paddling. It’s finally happened. I’ve died and gone to some surfing Valhalla.
They surfed Windmills till it was almost dark. Brian ate the pie on several super-hot sections. But neither he nor Ron wanted to come in. Nevertheless, they knew if they didn’t, they’d be wearing whatever Lengi had cooked them for dinner instead of eating it. They paddled in and headed back to the People’s Palace convinced waves didn’t get much filthier than today’s session. They put the boards away and went to their rooms. Brian showered and sorted out his diary, then got into a clean white T-shirt and a pair of blue cargoes and walked down to the kitchen. Lengi was at the stove as usual, Milne was seated in a pair of shorts, having a beer. Brian said hello, got a beer from the fridge and joined the President.
‘So what’s doing tonight, Sawi,’ asked Brian. ‘Where is everybody?’
‘The ladies are in the house, Wing Commander,’ answered Milne. ‘We’re meeting them at the Key Bar later.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Brian, swallowing a mouthful of beer.
‘A few of the army boys will be there, too. So it could be a good night.’
‘I’m not flying tomorrow?’
Milne shook his head. ‘No. You’ve got the day off. No more till Friday.’
‘Okey doke.’
‘But don’t get too out of it. We’ll hit Windmills tomorrow for the early. I’m giving the girls the morning off, so they’ll be coming with us.’
‘What time’s the early?’
‘About eight.’
‘Unreal. This time I’ll bring my camera.’
Lengi served up pan roasted mackerel with rosemary and garlic. Wedges and a side salad. Coffee and Turkish bread, plus chilled black grape pudding with papaya and coconut custard.
‘Shit! How good’s this,’ said Brian.
‘If Len
gi was a twenty-foot crocodile, I’d grab her, force her jaws open and slip the tongue in.’
‘I’d slip me bloody wozzer in,’ said Brian, ripping into the choice food. ‘Shit, Ron, I’ll have to start paying some kind of board. I can’t keep this up.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Milne. ‘Now that you’ve made it to wing commander, I’ll have to put you on the payroll.’
‘You’re not fair dinkum, are you?’ said Brian.
‘Five hundred a week. And free board. That okay?’
‘Reckon,’ said Brian. ‘But I feel like a bit of a bludger.’
‘Don’t worry, mate. I’ll make sure you earn it.’
They finished their meal, thanked Lengi and went down to the Key Bar.
The military boys were there in their coloured hemp tops and trousers, with their girlfriends dressed in their wihros. They gave a polite cheer when Ron and Brian walked in; Brian recognised Sohte and Ohlo and a couple of others whose names he managed to remember. Keleu and Airu were in the VIP area with Ebonee and a skinny bloke in glasses wearing a blue top and white trousers. Brian and Milne joined them. The thin bloke was Uiitik, Ebonee’s boyfriend. He had hazel eyes and long hair, and a flat nose over a wide mouth filled with perfect teeth. Uiitik worked in the library and was a part-time teacher and, although he was taking out the President’s daughter, he seemed a little in awe sitting in the VIP area with Sawi and Takatau. Everybody was happy to see everybody. The drinks flowed and the hot ones came out. Brian and Milne roamed round the bar and the military boys were looking forward to Brian’s passing out ceremony in the morning. Then Milne dragged Bebop Bazil out and the night kicked on till the wee small hours. Eleven forty-five. Brian had a great time. The only disconcerting thing was every now and again Brian would catch Ebonee giving him those weird looks again. Like she secretly fancied him or something. But it was too late now. Keleu was number one on the surf journalist’s hit parade and she was staying there.
The Ultimate Aphrodisiac Page 28