‘So you’d rather be locked up in a camp, would you?’ snapped Alf.
‘Course not, idiot,’ scoffed Masa. ‘I just wish there was something to do at night except count Christmas beetles and mozzies.’
Despite Masa’s complaining, the Fighting Stingrays had turned Fort Bugalugs into a pretty cosy little home. Charlie had found an old tarpaulin in the shed and smuggled it up the hill in his knapsack along with a deck of playing cards, a couple of well-read Biggles books and a spare mosquito net from his bedroom cupboard. He also provided most of Masa’s food, sneaking bread, cheese and leftover Christmas ham from the kitchen and filling jam jars with tank water and cold tea every day.
Alf was putting his skills to good use, ‘finding’ a barely stained carpet, an expensive-looking penknife and a dozen tins of army-issue corned beef. He even managed to solve Masa’s night-time boredom with a nearly new crystal radio set.
‘Now you can keep up with all the serials,’ Alf declared, handing over the little wooden board topped with a coil, wires and dials.
‘This is brilliant,’ said Masa, jamming in the earpiece and fiddling with the dials. ‘Thanks, Alf. You’re a champ!’
Of course, keeping Fort Bugalugs and its occupant a secret from Captain Maddox was another matter. Whenever the captain spotted Charlie or Alf, he would slow down and give them a long, hard stare that said ‘I’m watching you’. They had to be careful to take a different route to Fort Bugalugs every day – sometimes climbing up from behind the reservoir, sometimes coming in along Hockings Road, or sometimes strolling all the way around the western edge of the island to scramble up the hill from the other side, Charlie panting and sweating as the heavy jam jars clinked in his knapsack.
So far, it had worked – Maddox had started following Charlie a couple of times, but always dropped away once they reached the edge of the town area. After all, the captain had plenty to keep him busy. Every night, the wireless reported the latest Japanese victories as they continued their march south through Asia. Japanese forces had taken over Kuala Lumpur and Manila, landed in the Dutch East Indies and Borneo, and were already dropping bombs on New Guinea, the last line of defence before Australia.
That meant the troops on TI were as busy as bull ants, digging slit-like trenches along the seafront, blasting gun pits in the rock with explosives, and lining the beaches with barbed wire concertinas in case of an invasion. All day long, boats ferried army and navy men to the aerodrome on Horn Island or the defence posts on Wednesday, Hammond or Goode Islands. And every now and then the sleepy afternoon humidity would be interrupted by the crack of big artillery guns firing over the ocean. For the moment, at least, they were only shooting at practice targets.
Most of the troops seemed pretty grumpy – Charlie overheard Ern talking to a navy sailor in the street, muttering, ‘No proper anti-aircraft guns . . . bugger-all ammo . . . two dozen grenades between the lot of us . . . We’re sitting ducks.’ And the soldiers weren’t the only ones worried – any family who didn’t yet have an air-raid shelter was busy digging one, while plenty of people were leaving TI altogether, packing whatever they could into suitcases and zooming south aboard the regular seaplane.
But there were also a few new arrivals – American officers, whose loud voices and the polite way they called everyone ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ made it seem like they’d just stepped out of the screen at the picture theatre.
‘Why do they call Americans “Yanks”?’ asked Masa one morning, as he and Charlie sprawled on the rocks of Fort Bugalugs during a dry spell. Masa was wolfing down the cold toast with jam Charlie had brought him and feeding little bits to Judy.
‘Dunno,’ said Charlie, scooping up a furry caterpillar with a leaf. ‘Perhaps they really like gardening. You know – yanking out weeds, that sort of thing.’
‘Or maybe they yank out their enemies’ hearts to kill ’em,’ said Masa. He whacked Charlie in the chest and pretended to rip out his heart, almost causing Charlie to fall off the rock.
A high-pitched whistle sounded from the bush, and a moment later Alf emerged from behind a termite mound and hurried up towards the fort.
‘All clear?’ asked Charlie.
‘Yep,’ said Alf, still panting from the climb. ‘Maggots is nowhere to be seen. He must be up at the headquarters. They say the Japs – I mean, the Japanese – landed at Rabaul this morning.’
A coldness formed in Charlie’s chest. ‘That’s one of ours, isn’t it?’
Alf nodded. ‘An Aussie base in New Guinea. Less than a thousand miles from here, they reckon.’
So there it was – the Japanese had made their first proper strike against Australia. How long would it be before they reached the Torres Strait?
‘More people are talking about leaving than ever,’ said Alf. ‘Miss Cassidy was on the flying boat this morning, and the Bowens too.’
Masa frowned and scratched his head. A few weeks of living like a hermit had left his hair looking like a jet black toilet brush. ‘Do you reckon you fellas will go too?’ he said.
‘Course not,’ snorted Alf. ‘We’re not scared of them. Are we, Charlie?’
‘No chance,’ said Charlie. But then he remembered some of the stories that had been whispered around the schoolyard, about how the Japanese bayoneted children or tied people together before beating them to death. Despite the sweltering humidity, Charlie felt a shiver run through him.
Suddenly there was a crash from the scrubby bush to their left and a nasal voice came through the trees. ‘Too sandy,’ it said. ‘Let’s try a little further on.’ Another crash followed, closer this time.
‘It’s Captain Maggots,’ said Charlie. ‘Hide!’
Masa half-ducked, half-fell into the tiny, one-person hollow and pulled the tarpaulin over himself. Charlie and Alf bolted into the bush, startling a large green goanna that was resting in the shade. They dived behind a fallen gum tree as the captain and half-a-dozen men appeared in the clearing not ten yards from the fort.
‘A-ha!’ said Captain Maddox. ‘Now this is more like it.’
Charlie pressed himself flat on the ground behind the dead tree and peered through its curled brown leaves. Captain Maddox paced from one side of the clearing to the other, stroking his moustache thoughtfully.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘This could be a good spot for our newfangled radar, if it ever arrives.’ He stopped right next to Fort Bugalugs and kicked one of the rocks. ‘These will have to go, of course.’
He spun around to face his men. ‘Private Jamison,’ he yelled.
A young soldier scurried forward. ‘Yes, sir?’ he said.
‘Fetch some gelignite. We’re going to blow these boulders to kingdom come.’
‘Gelignite!’ hissed Alf. ‘You know what that is, right?’
Charlie nodded. It was powerful stuff – letting off a tremendous boom and sending rocks and dirt flying in all directions. You certainly didn’t want to be nearby when a bunch of gelignite exploded, let alone hiding in the very boulders it was blowing up.
‘Come on,’ Charlie whispered, tugging at Alf’s sleeve.
He stood up and sauntered back into the clearing, whistling casually. Alf hesitated for a second before joining him, singing along at the top of his voice. They stopped right next to Captain Maddox and his small company of soldiers and stared at them as if they had only just noticed them.
‘Good morning, Captain Magg–er, Maddox,’ said Charlie. ‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’
Captain Maddox frowned so hard Charlie thought his face might turn inside out. ‘No, it bloody isn’t,’ he said. ‘It’s as hot as the devil’s backside, like every other day on this wretched island. What are you doing here, Napier?’
‘Just taking a stroll, sir,’ said Charlie. ‘We’ve seen some beaut butterflies, haven’t we, Alf?’
‘Oh yes,’ said Alf. ‘Some very pretty ones. You strike me as a bit of a butterfly fan yourself, Captain Maddox, is that right?’
One of the other soldiers suppressed a c
huckle. ‘Silence!’ bellowed Maddox. He rounded on Charlie and Alf. ‘This area is now military property. Which means you little brats are trespassing. Scram.’ He put one hand on the butt of his rifle.
Neither of them moved. ‘That’s a nice rifle, sir,’ said Alf. ‘The Mark 3, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ snapped Captain Maddox. ‘And I came top of the battalion in using it.’ At that moment, something attracted his attention and he swung back towards Fort Bugalugs. There, crouched happily on the rocks and cleaning her whiskers, was Judy.
‘Revolting animals,’ snarled Maddox. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and pointed it at Judy. ‘Watch this, men,’ he said, squinting down the barrel.
Judy licked one paw and continued grooming herself as the captain took aim. Charlie watched in horror, his mind racing – he couldn’t just stand there and let Judy be shot, but if he said anything to stop Maddox, he risked giving away Masa’s hiding place.
Captain Maddox wrapped his finger around the trigger.
That’s when Alf farted – a loud, high-pitched rasp that cut through the thick morning humidity. There was a bang as the captain pulled the trigger, and a small cloud of rocky dust erupted from the top of Fort Bugalugs an inch to Judy’s left. The startled rat leapt into a crack between the boulders and vanished. Alf’s fart must have put the captain off his aim!
‘Scuse me,’ Alf mumbled.
A few soldiers chortled as Captain Maddox whipped around to Alf. ‘Disgusting little wretch,’ he said, through gritted teeth. ‘Go on, bugger off, the both of you!’
Charlie and Alf started slowly backing away, just as Private Jamison returned with a bundle of brown paper-covered cylinders. ‘The gelignite, sir,’ he said.
‘Excellent,’ said Captain Maddox, composing himself. ‘Men, you know what to do.’
The soldiers spread out and began wedging sticks of gelignite into crevices around the base of Fort Bugalugs. Masa was lucky that none of them climbed on top of the rocks where they would spot him, but that didn’t really matter if he was going to be blown into tiny pieces anyway.
Charlie felt like he was about to throw up as the soldiers encircled Masa with explosives. He glanced at Alf, who stared back, eyes filled with fear.
Charlie swallowed, his mouth dry. ‘Are you . . . do you really want to blow up those rocks, sir?’ he said.
Captain Maddox whirled around, still holding the rifle. ‘I told you to bugger off!’ he roared.
‘We are, sir,’ said Charlie, as Private Jamison wedged the last stick of gelignite into the crack where Judy had disappeared. ‘But maybe you could just leave the rocks where they are.’
The captain drifted towards them. ‘Oh?’ he said, leaning in with a waft of brylcreem. ‘And why is that?’
‘N-no reason,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s just where we like to muck about. You know, playing war, that sort of thing.’
‘Is that what you call helping an enemy of Australia?’ sneered the captain. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your Jap chum.’ He tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow. ‘What are you really doing up here, Napier?’ he said.
Ern came sprinting into the clearing. ‘Captain Maddox!’ he said, throwing a curious glance at Charlie and Alf. ‘The refugees from New Guinea have arrived. They’re in a bad way, sir – the planes are riddled with bullet holes.’
Captain Maddox snapped bolt upright. ‘Any intelligence on the Japs?’
‘I believe so, sir. You’re needed at HQ now for debriefing.’
‘All right, men,’ called Captain Maddox. ‘We’ll do the demolition later – we’re needed back at base.’
The men looked disappointed as they packed up the sticks of gelignite and started filing down the hill. Weak with relief, Charlie flashed Alf a grin.
‘Something funny, Napier?’ said Maddox.
Charlie forced the smile off his face. ‘No, sir, nothing,’ he said.
Captain Maddox exhaled so hard that the bristles of his moustache quivered. ‘Don’t come up here again, either of you,’ he growled. ‘This area belongs to the army now, and trespassers will be shot on sight.’ He leaned in closer. ‘Especially if they’re the sort of people who go around helping our enemies.’
Neither Charlie nor Alf said anything. The captain regarded them with disgust, then cleared his throat and spat into the red dirt in front of them. ‘Enjoy the rest of your stroll, gentlemen,’ he said. Then he turned and strutted cheerfully down the hill.
They snuck Masa into the shed at the back of Ginger Bowen’s house. The Bowens had fled south on a flying boat, and their garden was so overgrown with creepers and vines that you could barely make out the shed through the jungle. Once the Fighting Stingrays had cleaned out the cobwebs, laid out the old rug and furnished the shed with a few bits and pieces the Bowens had left behind, the three of them had to admit it was an even better hideout than the fort.
‘This is grouse,’ said Masa, tucking into his second piece of chicken pie. They’d found the pie on the kitchen table – the Bowens must have left in such a hurry that they hadn’t had time to eat it. On the ground next to Masa, Judy was sleeping peacefully inside one of Mr Bowen’s straw hats.
‘At least Maddox won’t try and blow up this place,’ said Charlie. ‘I hope.’
‘It’s not Maddox’s explosions I’m worried about,’ said Masa. ‘It’s Alf’s!’
‘Cut it out, will you?’ said Alf. ‘It was an accident.’
‘A lucky accident,’ said Charlie. ‘If you hadn’t let one rip when you did, I reckon Judy would have been done for.’ He lowered one hand into the hat and gave Judy a scratch. She opened her eyes, licked Charlie’s finger once with her rough tongue and went straight back to sleep.
Masa nodded. ‘Alf,’ he said, clasping his hands together. ‘I’m going to write to the King and ask him to give you the Victoria Cross. Your fart saved a life this week.’
Charlie chuckled. ‘I wonder if he’d have to pin it on your bum, instead of your chest?’ he said, and Masa nearly choked on his pie at the thought.
‘Shut up!’ said Alf, trying to hide his laughter.
Charlie grinned. ‘So, Masa,’ he said. ‘What are we going to do with you now?’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Masa, through a mouthful of pastry.
‘I don’t think you can stay here forever. TI’s not a very big place, and they reckon even more troops are on the way. Maddox is bound to find you eventually.’
‘What if we dressed him up like a girl, and put him on one of the flying boats south?’ suggested Alf. ‘We can pretend he’s our cousin, Maxine.’
Masa punched him in the shoulder. ‘I don’t reckon I’d pass as your cousin even if I was a girl. Do you?’
Alf shook his head. ‘Nah, too ugly,’ he said.
Masa threw a nail at him. ‘I meant my skin’s the wrong colour.’
Alf had a bright idea. ‘Just tell ’em you’re Chinese,’ he said. ‘The pilots won’t know the difference, and plenty of Chinese people are leaving TI.’
‘That might work,’ said Masa.
‘Might do,’ said Charlie. ‘But where would we get the money for the flying boat? I bet it isn’t cheap.’
‘No,’ said Alf. ‘I bet it’s not.’
‘And Masa’s got no one to stay with down south anyway,’ Charlie said. ‘It won’t be long before someone finds out who he is and he gets sent to the camp.’
‘Maybe I could steal a lugger and sail to the mainland?’ said Masa. ‘I’ll camp out under the stars like the Aborigines.’
‘Do you know how to sail a lugger?’ asked Charlie.
‘No,’ admitted Masa. ‘But I watch my dad do it all the time.’ He stared at his feet. ‘Or at least, I used to.’
Charlie and Alf exchanged a helpless glance. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll think of something,’ said Charlie, picking up the deck of cards. ‘Now who wants another game of gin rummy?’
The planeload of refugees from New Guinea had sent a wave o
f fear across TI. These were people who had seen actual fighting, and the stories they told were horrendous. Within a few hours of the refugees’ arrival, rumours were flying around the island about flaming fighter plane bullets that blew up fuel tanks, and deadly bombs filled with nails and razor blades and bits of scrap iron, designed to maim as much as kill. People kept glancing fearfully at the sky and across the water, and the soldiers started carrying their helmets everywhere in case of an air raid.
‘It’s not right,’ muttered Alf, as he and Charlie watched the small group of refugees boarding a launch to the Horn Island aerodrome where they’d continue their trip south. ‘Going out of their way to hurt people like that.’
Charlie didn’t say anything. He’d always thought being part of the war would be great fun and a chance to do something brave and heroic. But after the last couple of days, he wasn’t so sure – Biggles never had to deal with razor-blade bombs or officers from his own side threatening to shoot him.
One of the refugees was a girl about Charlie and Alf’s age, with hands that wouldn’t stop trembling and a face so pale she might have been a ghost. As Pop Herring started the launch, its motor backfired with a loud bang, and the girl jumped out of her seat so fast she nearly tipped the whole boat over.
Alf shook his head in disgust. ‘Bloody animals,’ he said.
A couple of days later, an announcement appeared in the Torres Strait Daily Pilot – the island’s tiny, one page newspaper:
NOTICE TO THURSDAY ISLAND PUBLIC
Decision has been given that the women and children of Thursday Island be compulsorily evacuated. All women and children, white and coloured, will therefore be prepared to leave Thursday Island by ship at 6 p.m. on 28th January. Suit cases and personal effects only may be taken. Further notice will be given if additional belongings are later allowed. Port of disembarkation will be notified later.
The Fighting Stingrays Page 6