The Boy and the Battleship

by Christopher Cummings

  He picked her out almost at once. She was right up the front with Sean O’Malley, Sonja, Danelle and Janet. Sean O’Malley had a loudspeaker and was shouting directions. The demonstrators were chanting and waved hundreds of placards. More police appeared from a doorway as the demonstrators started to push past the wooden barricades at Sean’s urging. In an instant the whole wharf was swamped by hundreds of cheering, shouting people. Graham was both thrilled and appalled. He had never seen a really big crowd and it frightened him.

  How on earth will the police control them? he wondered, anxious for Thelma who was now in the midst of the surging mob.

  The frigate was now in mid-stream off the wharf and had slowed down to berth. A tug moved out to assist. Graham looked anxiously downstream and noted that the three police boats were now right across the far side of the Inlet, apparently playing catch with the four inflatables, which were zig-zagging through the lines of moored small craft.

  A loudspeaker boomed: “Please all move back behind the barricades. The ships will not attempt to berth while there are people in the out-of-bounds area.”

  For a few minutes the demonstrators ignored this and the request was repeated. The frigate and tug swung and then slowed to stem the outgoing tide. The cruiser came to a standstill in the end of the channel and a tug moved to assist her.

  Sean O’Malley raised his loudspeaker and called and the demonstrators suddenly turned and began moving back away from the edge of the wharf. To Graham the discipline and organization of the demonstrators was a revelation. That both alarmed and impressed him.

  Within a minute all the demonstrators were back where the barricades had been erected and they even helped the police to stand them up again. The chanting stopped and a sort of calm descended on the crowd.

  Graham now turned his attention to his left, staring back along the edge of the wharf towards the Yacht Club and marina.

  “Here come the canoes!” he muttered. “Oh come back you fools!”

  Eight kayaks, each with two protestors in it, had come sliding out of the Yacht Club basin. These now paddled furiously in the direction of the frigate which was edging in towards the wharf. An American officer stood right up in her bows, pointing at the kayaks and talking on a hand-held radio. Beside him stood two sailors with rifles. At the officer’s command they cocked the rifles and aimed them at the kayaks. Graham felt his chest tighten. Dread and ghoulish fascination mingled in his emotions: fearing to see someone shot, yet morbidly curious about it!

  From the marina downstream two more fast craft appeared—Police Rigid Raiders. Graham heaved a sigh of relief and leaned over to watch, his excitement growing to a fever pitch. The two new police Rigid Raiders rapidly overtook the kayaks and cut in between them and the frigate. Two kayaks slipped in under the wharf but so did one of the Rigid Raiders. Graham noted the other three police boats still holding off the four inflatables across the inlet. The frigate stopped then resumed slowly moving in towards the wharves, the swirl of her propeller showing clearly in the murky water. The ship was facing upstream so that her stern would end up just past where Graham stood and her bow further along the wharf.

  The cruiser must be going to berth further along, he decided, noting the empty wharf space in the distance. Tide is on the ebb, he observed, noting how fast the outgoing current was. By now the two crowds had merged and formed one huge milling throng which the police were struggling to keep back from the stretch of wharf which the frigate was nosing in towards.

  Police loudspeakers began to order the crowd to move back. The frigate came to a standstill 50 metres out, stemming the tide with the aid of the tug. Graham saw more armed sailors at her stern and also noted several parties of sailors with fire hoses. Even more thrilling was the sight of a group of three sailors in helmets grouped around an automatic gun up on the superstructure.

  The Americans are anxious all right, he thought.

  The frigate remained out in the stream until all of the demonstrators had been pushed back again behind the barricades. This caused a lot of jostling, shoving and bad-tempered pushing. Graham caught a glimpse of Thelma and pushed his way along towards her. He saw that her face was alive with the excitement of the event. Her focus was the ships and while she occasionally looked around at the crowd she did not see him. Janet, Denham and Sean O’Malley appeared behind her.

  When Graham reached Thelma he tapped her on the arm.

  Thelma glanced at him. “You came then?” she cried. “Isn’t it great? There are more than a thousand demonstrators here. It is the biggest demo ever. We will really make the government take notice now.”

  Graham made a non-committal grunt, still anxious not to offend her. Thelma turned to Janet who was now beside her. “Gosh that ship is big!”

  Graham turned to look. The cruiser was now stopped in mid channel a few hundred metres away and it did look big. Then Janet scowled. “I don’t care how big it is. It’s still a battleship and it isn’t welcome here.”

  Graham could not help himself. “It’s not a battleship. It’s only a cruiser,” he explained. “A battleship would have trouble fitting into Cairns Harbour. The channel is too shallow and narrow and the Inlet isn’t really wide enough for one to safely swing.”

  “Swing!” Janet sneered. “It’s a warship so I’ll call it a battleship if I like.” She pushed in front of him and began to wave a placard. “Yankee go home!” she shouted in Graham’s ear. “Ban nuclear weapons! No atomic bombs in our town! Go away, you aren’t welcome here!”

  “Yes you are!” Graham shouted to the sailors lining the deck of the frigate, now only 5 metres out. The ship had slid slowly past so that now he was level with the helicopter deck on her stern. The bow was nudged in against the wharf. From the stern opposite where Graham stood a heaving line was tossed to waiting seamen from the RAN but several demonstrators dodged past the police and grabbed it and a tug-of-war began. This ended with the rope being tossed into the water. An officer with a radio spoke and the swirl under the frigate’s stern stopped before the rope was wrapped around her propeller.

  At that moment two kayaks appeared from under the wharf. From the deck of the frigate fire hoses spurted a powerful jet down on them, driving them back under cover. A police Rigid Raider popped out briefly then also vanished under the wharf.

  The mooring line was hauled back and thrown again. This time it came close to where Graham was. The RAN sailor nearest reached for it but was jostled out of the way by Denham and Edmonson. The line fell on the wharf near Graham’s feet. Quickly he reached down to grab it. People around him began to push and shove, but he clung on tightly.

  Suddenly he felt a savage shove in the middle of his back. There was a scream and Graham felt himself stumble. Before he realized what was happening he was over the edge of the wharf. Below him was the turgid water of the Inlet.

  As he fell his mind registered the grey painted steel of the frigate’s side, the black of her boot-topping, the swirl of water along her sides, churned up by the propeller. He clung onto the rope but realized an instant too late that this was a mistake as it swung him violently against the steel side. The impact came as a savage blow.

  Stunned, he lost his grip and fell into the water.

  ***

  Even as he struck the surface, Graham’s mind screamed in panic: Propellers! His eyes were open but he was so surprised and stunned that he could only note, in a detached sort of way, the black of the ship’s bottom, the darkness below and the murk under the wharf. Sheer terror gripped him as he was tumbled over and over by the suction of the propeller.

  Stop it! Oh please God, stop it! his mind cried.

  Frantic to live he struggled to swim but found he was quite powerless in the grip of the suction. Then he whacked his head on the steel hull and felt blackness threatening to engulf him.

  Some part of his struggling brain told him that the turbulence had ceased—the propeller had stopped. There was a swirl of bubbles near him as he tried to orient himself to f
ind which way was up. Now other fears gripped him, his old enemies: sharks, crocodiles and gropers. Something grabbed him and he screamed underwater.

  The scream was cut off as he swallowed salt water. A burning, choking sensation seared down his throat and into his lungs. His vision blurred. Then he realized it was a diver who had him in his grip. The man was a powerful swimmer and hauled Graham quickly upwards. Graham still had his wits about him sufficiently to recognize the lightness which indicated the surface, and for him to continue to hold his breath.

  They broke surface and Graham had an impression of the side of the frigate, a strip of sky, and the edge of the wharf lined with faces peering down. The diver held him in a firm grip. From under the wharf a navy Rigid Raider slid out to come to a stop next to him. The rubber nudged Graham’s cheek. Hands grabbed him and he was hauled aboard. The diver followed.

  For a while all Graham could do was lie and be sick. He vomited up what seemed like an enormous amount of seawater while strong hands held him. The boat meanwhile slid out from under the wharf and out past the stern of the frigate. An anxious face looked into Graham’s. He recognized it: Warrant Officer Crabb’s.

  “You OK son? How do you feel?”

  “I’m OK sir. I…” Graham began. Then he retched again, this time over the side, still held by the strong hands.

  Warrant Officer Crabb shook his head. “That was a bloody silly thing to do; you nearly went through the props then,” he said.

  “I was pushed sir,” Graham replied indignantly, wishing fiercely that he did not feel like vomiting again, and that his eyes weren’t misting with tears. Ashamed of showing weakness he tried to stop himself trembling.

  WO Crabb looked at him. “I’ve met you before. Who are you?”

  “Graham Kirk sir. I’m a navy cadet. I was on the LCH HMAS Tarakan last weekend.”

  “Ah yes. You are the kid who asked all the questions and whose dad owned the old LCT,” WO Crabb replied. “Now, are you sure you are alright? Have you hurt yourself anywhere?”

  “Bumped my head sir, that’s all,” Graham replied stiffly, burning with shame as two tears trickled down his cheeks, their tracks made more obvious to him by the chill of the cool breeze.

  At that moment one of the other men in the boat called out and pointed. Graham struggled to sit up and look around. The man holding him, another navy diver, helped him up. WO Crabb swore, then picked up a radio and started talking. First he informed whoever he was talking to that Graham was all right, and gave his name then he said, “There are a whole swarm of kayaks coming down the inlet past the navy base.”

  Graham focused against the wind and stared. There they were; a dozen or more, all being paddled furiously. The sunlight flashed on the rapidly moving paddles. An awful doubt slid into Graham’s mind.

  These kayaks weren’t in the plan I overheard, he thought. Had the protesters changed their plan?

  Radios chattered. The Rigid Raider still under the wharf reported it could not leave as it was only just managing to keep the eight kayaks there away from the frigate, which was now against the wharf. The three police boats holding off the four inflatables were called on. The large Shark Cat was left to keep the inflatables away while the other two headed back up the inlet, throwing up showers of spray as they drove into the chop.

  “Cunning buggers!” WO Crabb said. “They have timed it well. They have the tide on their side. Look how fast they are moving.”

  Graham could see what he meant. The canoes were slipping along with quite astonishing speed. With a roar their own motor surged into life and they set off to intercept them. For Graham the next 10 minutes was one of wild excitement. He was handed a life jacket and told to put it on and then hang on. Quickly he put the jacket on and was glad of it for several times they came close to tipping over as they executed violent manoeuvres to cut off kayaks. Spray soaked him but he barely noticed it.

  Most of the kayaks were kept at bay but three slipped in close enough to mark the side of the frigate with paint. They were unable to paint slogans as the crew of the frigate hosed them with high pressure hoses, driving them off in a waterlogged condition.

  WO Crabb swore and said, “I dunno where these buggers have come from. They weren’t mentioned in the briefing.”

  That gave Graham an uneasy feeling. This turned to apprehension a moment later when the radio crackled again and the wet-suited man holding it called, “Hey, Crabby, they need us back there. The cruiser is in trouble.”

  “What sort of trouble?” WO Crabb asked as they spun round to face down channel.

  “They’ve got a rope or something wrapped round their props and they are being sprayed with paint,” the diver replied.

  “How the bloody hell…?”

  “That launch apparently,” the radio man replied pointing. Graham saw an old motor boat on the eastern side of the channel. One of the inflatables had stopped alongside it. Two men scrambled out of the motor launch and into the inflatable. Two other inflatables could be seen skimming across the cruiser’s bows in the other direction, with the Shark Cat heading them off. The fourth inflatable was nowhere to be seen. The inflatable at the old motor launch suddenly shot away and headed towards the mangroves on the eastern shore.

  “That one, follow him!” WO Crabb shouted.

  The bow turned slightly but it was apparent even to Graham that they had little chance of catching the craft. It was moving just as fast and had a good lead of about a kilometre.

  Graham heard a series of short, sharp noises. WO Crabb listened to the radio, then said, “The Yanks are firing warning shots at those inflatables. They are not happy! This could get very ugly.”

  “No uglier than you, Crabby!” called the other diver.

  The men all laughed and Graham envied them their sense of purpose and comradeship. He turned and looked at the cruiser and saw to his astonishment that coloured paint was spraying out from hoses or pumps which were mounted on the channel markers on either side of it. One hose was showering the forward half of the cruiser with bright pink paint and the other was covering parts of the deck and superstructure with luminous yellow.

  At that moment the other two inflatables shot into view from around the stern of the cruiser, still with the Shark Cat in pursuit. These two separated and both headed for the lines of moored boats across the inlet.

  The radio ordered their Rigid Raider to try to catch one. They turned and headed for the closest. The motor bellowed and spray flew past as the boat skimmed and bumped across the waves. Graham found it the most exhilarating ride he had ever had. He gripped the side in excitement, willing them to go faster.

  But it was no good. The inflatable they were pursuing raced through the lines of moored boats and vanished from sight up a mangrove creek. The Rigid Raider sped up the creek after them, the mangroves flashing past only metres away on either side. The police helicopter buzzed low overhead.

  A few minutes later they caught up with the inflatable. It had been beached at a gap in the mangroves and the men were gone. The Rigid Raider surged ashore, its engine dying. The divers sprang out.

  “You stay here young Kirk,” WO Crabb ordered. Graham jumped out too but did as he was told. He went to the top of the bank to watch and was in time to see a white 4WD vanishing around the bend of a rough track along the top of an earthen embankment. The police helicopter circled low over the vehicle.

  WO Crabb and the other three divers, two of whom were apparently policemen, gave up the chase and returned in disgust to the boat. “The chopper boys will track them,” one of the policemen said. “We should catch them at a road block.”

  Graham followed the annoyed group back to the boat. One of the policemen secured the abandoned inflatable with a painter and they set off back down the mangrove creek with it in tow. It was very apparent to Graham that the men were feeling they had been outsmarted. That made him feel guilty as he presumed it had been his information that their defensive strategy had been based on.

  They
motored out into the Inlet and across to where the huge cruiser lay stationary in the channel. The pink and yellow paint made it look ridiculous and Graham felt deeply anxious. The ship was now surrounded by two tugs, a pilot boat, two boats with TV crews and the police Shark Cat. As the diver’s rigid raider approached another large, powerful launch came racing out from the marina to stop alongside.

  Now Graham clearly understood what had happened. The dredged shipping channel leading into the port of Cairns is 10 kilometres long, its course marked by two rows of pilings and lights. The pilings are in pairs on either side of the channel and are spaced along it at intervals of about a kilometre. The demonstrators had secured a rope to a post on the western side of the channel and then laid it on the seabed across the channel to a piling on the eastern side. To each piling they had fastened a pressure pack of coloured paint. They had then attached a long rope and a pulley and moved their launch further to the east to be out of the exclusion zone. When the cruiser had begun passing between the pair of pilings the launch had moved away, pulling the rope tight so that it rose up to scrape along the bottom of the cruiser until it was caught by the propellers. Then the paint packs had been activated.

  Very cunning, Graham had to concede, but as it wasn’t part of the plan he had overheard he felt very anxious.

  Close up the cruiser was huge. Graham stared up at her in awe, his eyes drinking in all the details and shaking his head at the coloured paint that now covered large areas of the ship and even some of the crew. By now he was feeling too uneasy to enjoy the spectacle. He had an awful feeling that something had gone very wrong.

  This was soon confirmed. He was passed up to the large launch which had just arrived, to find himself confronted by the two security men: Mr Cartwright and Mr Baxter. They glared at him then told him to sit while they went up the gangway to the deck of the cruiser. A plain clothes policemen stood over Graham and told him not to move. That gave him an awful shock and he wondered what he had done wrong.