The Boy and the Battleship

by Christopher Cummings

  I will have to push off and try to reach her, he reasoned. Anyway, I can always paddle with my hands. He measured the distance and braced himself, then pushed. The dinghy surged up against the current. Graham moved nimbly forward into the bows and knelt down. The dinghy did not quite reach the model before it slowed to a stop. Graham reached out, realizing at the same moment that the tide had taken a grip on the boat and it was starting to spin and drift downstream. His grasping fingers just brushed the model. In a last effort to reach it he stretched right out, just as the stern of the boat struck the piling. Too late he tried to shift his balance.

  Splash!

  Graham fell headfirst into the water. Even over that second of time he experienced a rush of pure terror. As he surfaced he was already lashing out into a swimming stroke. Driven by imagined marine horrors he clawed at the boat. It slid away on the current and he was unable to catch it. At that moment his struggling feet encountered slimy, cold ooze—the mud bottom. Urged on by fear he changed direction and swam up onto the mud. The dinghy drifted downstream out of sight.

  The mud was pitch black, glutinous, foul smelling. A litter of rubbish and green slime marked the high tide level. The mud was so soft that Graham could only flounder on the lower part, most of his body still in the water. There was no way he could haul himself up the slope. Dismayed he looked fearfully around.

  “Stop splashing,” he told himself. “That is what attracts the predators.” With an effort of will he lay still, eyes questing the dark surface for signs of a swirl that might warn of an attack. He tried to haul himself higher but gave up when he had sunk almost to his waist in the mud and was still only a metre from the water. A croc can just slide up that and grab me, he thought, his hair standing on end. For the first time he understood the concept of blood freezing. He stopped squirming and lay still.

  Only then did he notice the model ship. It was only 3 metres away and was rocking on the waves as they lapped up onto the mud. The model’s bow was embedded in the mud and its propeller was still turning, pushing it firmly ashore.

  “Oh well. That is why I am here,” Graham told himself. He forced himself to move, slithering and floundering across to the model. It took an effort to stand upright as his legs sank into the ooze right to his crutch and that brought the water up to his waist. Once he was steady he washed his hands, then gently gripped the model and pulled it clear. He turned it round, wondering what he should do with it. After a moments thought he let it go.

  They will catch it more easily out in the open water than under here, he reasoned. The batteries are going flat so it won’t go far.

  He pushed the model clear and watched as it headed down the lane between the rows of piles towards the open water. Without any fuss the model sailed out into the sunlight and kept going. Only then did Graham turn his mind to his own predicament. Now, what is the best way to get out of here?

  The policy of lying motionless on the mud till someone realized he was missing and came to rescue him did not appeal. The longer I stay here the more likely I am that something with teeth will swim along looking for lunch, he thought. Besides, his pride was also at stake. He contemplated swimming out to the ladder which he could just see. It looked a very long way and he doubted if he could make himself do it. The thought of his feet dangling down into that murk and of being grabbed by something was almost more than he could bear.

  That only left drifting or slithering along the mud for 50 metres to the end of the wharf. Awareness of the rusting iron, broken glass and barnacles he was likely to encounter on this journey made him hesitate, conscious as he was of the blood still seeping from his cuts.

  Blood! That will bring the sharks. I’d better get going, he told himself.

  Graham started to move but within metres realized it was going to be a horrible ordeal. He slipped and fell, coating himself in mud. I am splashing so much I may as well swim out and be done with it, he thought ruefully. With this in mind he paused to get his breath and once again studied the route to the ladder, wondering if the could somehow climb up to the pipes under the wharf. Movement out on the Inlet caught his eye. A sail boat. He recognized it as the Navy Cadet corsair. It was heading away from him out into mid-channel, presumably in pursuit of the model.

  I hope they come back for me, he thought.

  He lay and watched, his heart beat slowing as he calmed himself. Then a splashing noise attracted his attention and set his heart racing again. He looked fearfully round, then relaxed. It was a boat. The boat had two people in it and was moving towards him underneath the wharf from the far end.

  Graham was so sure the boat was coming to get him that he did not cry out. He just lay still, not moving in case he attracted a croc or groper. As the boat came closer he saw that it had two men in it and that it was powered by a small outboard engine which puttered rather than purred.

  The boat stopped a few metres away and one of the men gripped an overhead beam. Graham was just about to call out when he heard one of the men say: “Do you reckon the cops will look under here?”

  That was so unusual that Graham closed his mouth and lay flat on the mud. He could just see the men and recognized one as the bearded rabble-rouser who had led the two demonstrations against visiting warships: the thin, bearded man in his twenties. The other man looked to be middle-aged, had a paunch, grey hair and was half bald.

  The middle-aged man said in reply: “For sure. They will certainly look under here for boats.”

  “So you don’t think we can hide the canoes here then?” the thin one asked.

  The middle-aged man looked around, his gaze sweeping over Graham who tensed but did not move. The man said, “No. They will be too obvious. There is nowhere to hide them. You will have to start the canoes from somewhere else. This could be the place to put the stonefish. They won’t suspect that.”

  Graham’s mind raced. These were demonstrators planning another demo. There must be another warship coming to visit, he reasoned. But ‘Stonefish’—what was that?

  The thin man looked around, his gaze skimming over Graham. “Has the stonefish arrived yet?”

  The other man shook his head. “Not yet, but we hope to get it here in time.”

  The thin man shook his head. “I don’t agree with using the Stonefish; particularly not here.”

  “Well my orders are to use it,” the middle-aged man replied. With that he opened the throttle and the dinghy spluttered on past where Graham lay, the noise of its motor drowning out the thin man’s reply.

  Concerned and puzzled by what he had heard Graham made no attempt to attract the men’s attention but instead lay still until the dinghy had passed out of sight upstream under the wharf. Stonefish? He shrugged and turned his thoughts to his own predicament. A consideration of the chances and relative effort made him decide to swim.

  To keep the splashing to a minimum he slid slowly into the water and struck out with a breast stroke. Fear forced a sort of sob from him as he started but once he was swimming he moved fast. He kept close to the pilings in the hope they might give him some protection. It was just as he had feared. His feet struck down into a colder layer of water at each stroke and his scalp crawled with fear at the thought of them being grabbed by massive jaws. He found he had difficulty breathing and the current was faster and stronger than he had anticipated, forcing him over against the pilings.

  The distance was only about 20 metres but seemed a hundred. Once he started Graham found he had no option but to keep on swimming; out into the deeper water. Panic began to build up and he increased his stroke. His gaze riveted on the ladder and he forced himself to swim as fast as he possibly could. Between the current and his mental turmoil the ladder never seemed to get any closer but he made it at last.

  With a gasp of relief he grasped the rungs and scrambled up out of the water. Only when he was well clear did he stop. For a minute all he could do was cling to the ladder. Fear washed through him and he shook from head to toe. His breath came in rasping gasps.
For a while his eyes went out of focus and dots danced before them. He heard voices and looked up.

  A row of heads was leaning over the edge to look down at him. He recognized Peter and Max.

  Max pointed and shouted: “It’s the monster from the Black Lagoon!” The others all laughed. Graham gave a feeble grin, then shivered. He looked around. The corsair was heading towards them with Sub Lt Sheldon and Andrew on board.

  “Did they get the model?” Graham croaked.

  “Yes,” Peter replied.

  “Good.” Graham took a deep breath and began climbing slowly up.

  Chapter 23

  13TH BIRTHDAY

  As Graham reached the top of the ladder and climbed onto the wharf he was met by Peter, Max, Blake and Carmen Collins. Carmen at once grabbed his wrist and held it.

  “You’ve cut your hands,” she cried.

  Graham shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just a few scratches.”

  Carmen shook her head. “Scratches be blowed! This one is a real gash. It probably needs stitching. Come with me and we will wash it properly before it becomes infected.”

  As they started walking along the wharf Peter asked: “What happened to you?”

  “Fell in,” Graham answered shortly. He did not want to talk about it.

  “What ever will your mother say?” Carmen asked, indicating his mud streaked clothes and skin.

  Again Graham shrugged. “Nothing much. She is used to us coming home like this,” he said; which was quite true. Mrs Kirk had long ago given up making a fuss over dirty clothes or grubby boys. To divert the subject he asked: “Did they get the model?”

  “Yes they did. It’s in the corsair,” Carmen replied, indicating the sailing boat which was now sailing parallel to them.

  Graham realized he must now ask them to try to retrieve the dinghy. He did not want to be considered a thief. He bit his lip in shame then called out, explaining the problem. Sub Lt Sheldon waved and the corsair set off down channel in search.

  Back at the Yacht Club Graham had his cuts thoroughly washed, then dabbed with antiseptic and covered with band aids. By then most of the bleeding had stopped. What worried him most was the look Sub Lt Sheldon gave him, and what he said. The corsair came in a few minutes after they arrived, the missing dinghy in tow.

  Sub Lt Sheldon climbed ashore and his model was passed up. He placed it in his car then came over to where Graham was being doctored. “That wasn’t very wise young Kirk. Thank you for getting the model but it is not worth risking your life for. We would have retrieved it without you giving the crocodiles some lunch. Don’t do anything silly like that again please.”

  “Yes sir,” Graham replied. He felt very small and very silly.

  Sub Lt Sheldon then cheered him up by asking: “Are you still coming along to join next Saturday?”

  Graham lifted his head. “Yes sir. I turn thirteen on Thursday.”

  “Having a party?”

  “Yes sir,” Graham replied. He met Andrew’s eye.

  Andrew grinned and said, “Carmen and I are going sir, so we will make it a good one.”

  Peter nodded. “We are going too,” he added.

  The party then became the topic of conversation, especially the games to be played and who else was going. Blake looked a bit peeved at being left out but Graham did not feel like inviting him at this late stage.

  Graham had to explain again what had happened under the wharf and that made him feel foolish and he blushed furiously. And for no reason he could articulate he made no mention of the two men or their stonefish. The others laughed and the corsair set off to return the dinghy to its mooring.

  Afterwards Graham, Peter and Max returned to Graham’s house. Graham did not want his mother to see him all covered with mud so they placed their bikes just inside the gate and he did a quick reconnaissance. Luckily his mother was down in the vegetable garden at the back of the house.

  “Go up and get me some clean clothes,” Graham instructed. Max and Peter went upstairs and Graham went into the laundry. He peeled off the muddy clothes and stood at the wash tubs while he very self-consciously tried to scrub the worst of the mud off. When he had scrubbed off as much as he easily could Graham wrapped an old towel around himself and did another quick recce to check no-one might see him from next door then scuttled up the back steps.

  At the top he almost collided with Kylie and Margaret. Graham bolted into the bathroom, very aware of Margaret’s wide eyes and evident interest.

  Kylie was more used to her brothers and just sniffed and said, “Graham! You look an absolute sight. Talk about black and white!”

  Inside the bathroom Graham looked down at himself and saw what she meant. His arms, legs and head were plastered with black mud but his body was almost completely white where his clothes had been. He laughed aloud and stepped into the shower.

  Later the boys sat around and discussed their game and its rules until it was time for the other boys to go home. In the evening Graham had to explain how he got the cuts and his mother redressed one of them on his left hand. By then it had begun to sting and the antiseptic she used brought tears of pain to his eyes. To help relax he went to his table and continued work on his model LST.

  Small details such as the AA guns, Carley floats and deck fittings like bollards and fairleads (made from short lengths of wire bent to shape) were manufactured. These were painted grey as well and then left to dry. While he worked Graham dreamed of the party to come. It had become an integral part of his plan to win Thelma’s affection and he fantasized about what might happen.

  The following morning his mother made him uncover all the small cuts and scratches. These were then scrubbed and washed with more disinfectant, then re-covered with band aids or bandages. Several had clearly become infected and itched and stung. Graham hated the fuss but recognized its necessity.

  He went off to school in a good mood. Only three days to my birthday and six to the party, he thought happily. But at school he received a rude shock. Almost the first people he saw were Thelma and Janet—talking to Jerry Denham and Edmonson! Graham stopped and watched from a distance. The four were deep in conversation and he did not have the courage to go over and talk to the girls. Instead he wandered around to where he and his mates usually sat.

  Max, Peter and Roger were there. They were joined by Andrew and Blake. In the distance Graham could still see Thelma, Janet, Denham and Edmonson. As he watched they were joined by a Year 10 boy nicknamed Peabrain. His real name was Pendorski or something like it and he was one of those odious kids who was not only a geek but looked it—short hair cut, glasses, always did his homework, and always got top marks.

  What on earth can they be discussing? Graham wondered. He could not imagine Janet or Thelma being attracted to Peabrain. Then he remembered. Denham and Edmonson are demonstrators. Those men yesterday were talking about planning a demo. There must be another ship coming.

  Graham turned to Andrew and asked him if he knew if one was coming in.

  Andrew nodded. “The only thing I know about is one of our Landing Craft; an LCH named HMAS Tarakan. She is due here sometime next week. The CO said we would be getting a trip on her for a day.”

  That was interesting news and excited Graham but did not answer his real question. Landing Craft of the RAN were frequent visitors to Cairns and he could not imagine the anti-war, anti-nuclear demonstrators making a fuss about something so small and mundane. Still, it was another thing to look forward to.

  In class that day Graham made an effort to work and to behave himself. He smiled at Thelma when he met her eyes and, to his surprise, she smiled back. That sent his spirits soaring. The day went by in a flash after that.

  After school Graham went over to Roger’s and they talked and planned the model railway. Roger and his father had begun work already. The rough plan was chalked out on the concrete floor and some of the framework had been assembled and was waiting a coat of varnish to weather proof it.

  “So that it won’
t warp in the changes in humidity,” Roger explained. Graham was shown the large track plans and was impressed. So far only the main line, main station, and the line up the mountains to the Tablelands had been planned. The return loops and storage sidings under the mountains were only partly planned. Seeing the plans and the work under way Graham became interested once again. He was also reminded that he had a ship to complete. When he went home he glued on the details he had made then added the new LST to his fleet.

  Alex had been busy too. Graham peeked into his room as he passed. Alex was not there, but on the table, in various states of completion, were another twenty tanks and a dozen trucks for the Alexian army.

  I’d better increase the size of my army too, if my invasion is to succeed, Graham told himself. He returned to his desk and began the secret manufacture of a second regiment of eleven tanks. To differentiate these from the first regiment he added tiny yellow markers to the top of the turrets. They looked very pleasing when completed and all lined up.

  School on Tuesday passed without incident. After school both Peter and Max came home with him. As soon as afternoon tea was over Max opened his school bag and took out a large tin which had once contained Christmas Chocolates. Onto the floor at the far end of the veranda he emptied about fifty tanks, plus dozens of trucks and several guns. Graham stared at them with interest and amazement. They were all painted grey, and all had a black cross on them.

  “Germans!” Max said. “And they are invading your country of Trogo-whatever.”

  Germans!

  Graham raced to his table and opened the drawer. His first regiment of tanks was deployed, along with the AA guns. “You need ships to invade,” he cried, as Max began moving the tanks forward across the floor. There looked to be an awful lot of them to Graham.