The Boy and the Battleship

by Christopher Cummings

  His mother called from the kitchen, “Hurry up and eat your breakfast. We have to leave for church in half an hour.”

  “I don’t want to go,” Graham replied.

  “Too bad! You are going and that’s final. You are not staying here on your own,” his mother replied flatly.

  So Graham went, squashed into the back seat of the car between Margaret and Kylie. At church he sat between his mother and Margaret. He was more embarrassed and upset to see Max and Cindy with their parents. How can Cindy just sit there and look so innocent? he wondered. All through the service Graham was tormented by memories of Cindy and sex; by thoughts of Thelma’s betrayal; and by doubts over what to do next.

  Afterwards, his mother bundled them into the car and drove them home. On arrival Graham was dismayed to find that Lt Cdr Hazard and the two security men were waiting. “I phoned them as soon as I got up,” his mother explained.

  Alex, Kylie and Margaret were sent downstairs and the adults and Graham seated themselves in the lounge room. Graham now felt scared as the two security men were looking at him with very hard faces. As he told his story their faces became even stonier.

  When Graham was finished Mr Cartwright said angrily: “You have been causing us a lot of trouble. We know you have been down at the marina. Now, answer these questions. Who is Steinwehr? How does he come into the picture?”

  “I don’t know sir, except that he has the stonefish and he has a grudge against the American Navy. So does the middle-aged man Mellish,” Graham replied.

  “What is this stonefish thing? Is it a code name?”

  Graham had wracked his brains over that but to no avail. “Some sort of radio perhaps? Do they listen in on your police radios?” Graham suggested. It could have been anything, a brand name, or a codeword. He shook his head.

  Mr Baxter leaned forward. “Tell us about Rico again.”

  “He is a waiter in the hotel there,” Graham replied. Once again he went over everything he could remember. At length the security men finished their questioning. Cartwright then said, “Now, not a word of this to anyone. That includes your brother and sister.”

  “They already know. I told them the story last night.”

  “Damn!” swore Baxter. “I’ll speak to them.” He got up and went downstairs. Cartwright went on: “Now, you keep out of this from now on. It is police business. We don’t want kids mucking things up. So stay away from those people; you hear me?”

  “Yes sir,” Graham replied. He swallowed and felt very small. The security man said goodbye and went downstairs. He and Baxter got in their car and drove off.

  Lt Cdr Hazard had lingered and he said, “Now Recruit Kirk, next time I tell you to do something, like phone your mother, you do it. If you give us any more trouble I will discharge you from the unit. And do as the security men said; stay away from those demonstrators. I have to tell you I don’t think they believed you. It is my belief they think you are trying to plant another story.”

  “I’m not sir!” Graham cried. “Honest I’m not.”

  “Maybe, but it doesn’t look good. You are the friend of these demonstrators. You were seen talking to them again yesterday afternoon down at the main wharf; and seen again at the marina. It is the police view that you were acting as a sentry for the plotters while they were talking.”

  Graham was appalled. “No sir. That isn’t true.” He was stunned by the accusations, and also by the realization that he had been under police surveillance yesterday afternoon. “They have to believe me sir. I really did overhear it all.”

  “I am sure the police will take your information into account, and compare it with what they get from other sources. Now do as they say and stay right out of things. Keep your nose clean and I will see you at cadets next Saturday. Thank you Mrs Kirk. Good morning.”

  After Lt Cdr Hazard had gone, Graham again tried to tell his mother he wasn’t in league with the demonstrators. She agreed with him but was worried. “Just stay out of it all.”

  ***

  Alex and the girls came up to see if the security people were gone. None made mention of what Mr Baxter might have said to them as they had a late morning tea. Peter then arrived in his mother’s car with more model ships and models in a cardboard box.

  Damn! Graham thought. He did not feel like playing games. All he wanted to do was lie down and brood. But Peter was full of cheerfulness and Alex and he began talking games so Graham was dragged in. Soon after that Max arrived. His presence made Graham very uneasy. I wonder if he knows Cindy was with an American sailor yesterday afternoon?

  The boys retired to the Ship Room to play. Margaret and Kylie came down as well. Margaret plainly wanted to be with Graham but he ignored her and threw himself into the game. The two girls then helped the others to move their balsa models around the concrete floor as the battles raged.

  Peter had several new ships: four MTBs and a larger destroyer-type ship, which he said was a minelayer. He made this announcement after declaring that Graham’s battleship Nelson had struck a mine in the Straits of Gibraltar.

  “So how did the mines get there?” Graham asked.

  That was when Peter took his minelayer out of the box. Graham bent to study it and was jealously impressed. It was a good model. The mines were tiny balls of plasticine the size of small peas. These had tiny pieces of fuze wire stuck in them to represent the contact horns. The mines were glued on flat balsa bases which represented the anchors. Tiny wire rails were laid along the deck on both sides of the ship. Twenty mines sat on each rail. There could be no real argument. Peter really did have a minelayer.

  But Graham tried. “How did she lay them without being seen from Gibraltar?” he queried, indicating the huge rock beside the strait.

  “At night, during fog,” Peter answered.

  Graham muttered about searchlights but was pointedly asked where they were. Unable to show any he tried another tack. “But I have a minesweeper which is there to keep the strait clear,” he said, pointing to the HMS Seagull.

  Peter shook his head. “But she is tied up at the wharf and I laid the mines last night,” he replied.

  “She did an early morning sweep,” Graham insisted.

  Alex now intervened. “No. Our game begins at daylight unless we agree beforehand. Play the game Graham.”

  Reluctantly Graham agreed. Dice were thrown and Graham cursed as a ‘1’ indicated his ship was indeed mined; and a subsequent ‘6’ said it was sunk.

  Max crowed aloud. “Beauty! That means she is now completely blocking the channel. No other ships can get in or out.”

  “The water is deep,” Graham insisted. “She has sunk so far down that other ships can pass over the wreck.”

  “Can’t!”

  “Can so!”

  “Can’t!”

  Peter put up a hand. “Stop it you two,” he said. “I reckon the channel is blocked. What do you think Alex?”

  Alex agreed and the game went on, but Graham was now in a foul mood and had a headache. He played, but not with any enthusiasm, and disputed every action or throw of the dice which went against him.

  Peter shook his head. “God, you’re a grizzle-puss today Graham,” he said. “What’s the matter? Did you get out of bed the wrong side?”

  Graham shrugged and met Alex’s eye. Then he made a face and said nothing. The game went on till lunch time, resulting in a resounding defeat for Graham. The Trogs were all overrun and even England was invaded. It was not a happy morning.

  Lunch was provided for all of them. As they ate sandwiches Alex asked Peter where he had got the plans for the minelayer. Peter pointed to the box he had brought. “I found a magazine article in a Navy journal. It is all about mines and minelaying and had some good photos. I’ll show you.”

  Peter went and picked up the magazine and leafed through it to the photo he had mentioned. Graham glanced at it out of curiosity. It was of a Russian destroyer and clearly showed the arrangement of rails and mines on her deck. Alex also noted t
he nationality of the ship in the photo.

  “That is a Russian ship Pete. I thought your ships were all based on American designs?”

  Peter laughed. “I am also Russia don’t forget. Besides my Atlantis Navy are smart enough to use any good idea.”

  Graham made a face at that. How true! Pete is a smart bugger all right! he thought. Idly he watched as Alex flicked over to the next page of the magazine. This showed an aircraft, a Hercules, dropping a long, cylindrical mine by parachute.

  Alex studied the picture and then looked up. “I didn’t know you could lay mines from an aircraft,” he said.

  “Oh yes,” Peter replied. “That was how the Germans laid most of their magnetic mines back in World War 2. It is one of the most common methods of laying mines these days.”

  Alex flicked to the next page. It showed a line of trolleys laden with bright orange mines behind the open rear doors of another Hercules. Out of habit Graham read the caption, and felt his blood go cold from shock. The caption read: STONEFISH being loaded into a C-130. This mine is available in five sizes.

  Stonefish! Surely that was not what those men meant? He reached over. “Can I read that please Alex.”

  Alex held the magazine out of reach. “In a minute. Wait your turn wart,” he replied. With an effort Graham mastered his tongue and waited. When Alex finished flicking through the magazine Graham snatched it and began to read. The article described in detail the development of mines, with long descriptions of how the various types of initiating systems worked. Under the heading of Influence Mines, which were laid as ground mines, were a number Graham had never heard of. He read with astonishment of the American CAPTOR mine; which was an encapsulated Mk 46 Torpedo, which lay on the bottom till its sensors detected the correct target (using a computer memory to determine by propeller and machinery noises whether it was an enemy sub or vessel or not); upon which it fired the torpedo. With a range of several kilometres it gave the word ‘mine’ a whole new meaning.

  Then Graham came to the paragraph describing the STONEFISH. It was a British mine developed by Marconi and had a near relative named SEA URCHIN and a later version named SEA DRAGON.

  ‘It has a shelf life of 20 years and an underwater life of about 2 years,’ he read. ‘It is designed to operate in water from 10 to 200 metres deep and has two basic charges in its warhead: 100kg and 300kg, but with a capacity for assembly into packages up to 600kg.’

  His mind now in turmoil, Graham studied the photos of the modern mines. They were like torpedoes without fins or obvious propellers. One photo of a British Aerospace Versatile Exercise Mine was bright blue. It looked so shiny and pretty that it was hard to imagine it might be something deadly. His suspicion that they must be extremely expensive objects was confirmed by a paragraph describing a contract for the German navy for two hundred mines at the cost of about $12,000 each.

  Graham re-read the article and bit his lip, oblivious of the curious stares and questions of the others. These people are peace demonstrators. They are protesting about weapons. They wouldn’t use them, he thought. Or would they? It hit him that some of these people were using lies and deception as propaganda weapons. They are lying to their own followers and deceiving them, he thought.

  Was it possible they were planning some new act—an act of terror? Graham was so appalled he shook his head. No. It was unthinkable. To use a thing like a sea mine was not protesting. It was terrorism.

  They could not possibly hope to use it and not kill people, Graham thought. He had a mental image of the men in the engine room of the American cruiser as the mine exploded, blasting them with steel splinters and then the great inrush of water to drown them.

  Again he shook his head. No. They couldn’t be planning that. That would be sheer murder. No-one would do such a terrible thing. But his mind told him mockingly that there were people who could and would. He thought of all the bomb outrages on the TV news. Almost every week some band of fanatics let off a bomb somewhere, usually in a bus or crowded street. But they were all in places like the Middle East and South America.

  That couldn’t happen here. Not in sleepy little North Queensland, he tried to tell himself.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the others calling on him to go down to the Ship Room for another battle. Graham did not want to but saw no way to easily get out of it. Reluctantly he followed them down stairs and they plunged into another game. This time there was an exciting carrier battle between planes from Peter’s new carrier Hornet and Graham’s Glorious. Peter won but it was a good battle and Graham found he felt curiously happy at having given his friend the enjoyment.

  Alex and Max started another battle. This one went on for nearly two hours before the fighting ground to a stalemate in the desert of North Africa. Graham stood up and stretched. His hands and knees were grimy from crawling around on the concrete all that time. All the while he had played his mind had been busy on the problem of the Stonefish. Now his mind was made up.

  I have to contact the security men and tell them what I suspect, he thought gloomily. He bit his lip. He did not want to meet Mr Cartwright or Mr Baxter again. I wish I could be certain. Phrases kept echoing in his mind: Steinwehr’s grudge, and his ‘mad plan’; and Rico’s insistence he wanted to be out of the country before the Stonefish was used.

  If it is a mine it will certainly make world headlines for the demonstrators. But it won’t do their cause much good, he thought.

  It was that which made him most doubtful. What could the peace protesters hope to gain by an act of sabotage which killed people? He pictured the cruiser being torn open and sinking in the harbour. That was a new train of thought: where would the terrorists use the thing? How could they get it close enough? With a sick feeling he realized he had stopped thinking of the demonstrators as peace protesters and had mentally labelled them as terrorists. That gave him an answer.

  If they are terrorists, they don’t care about the peace protests. They may have some other aim altogether and are just using the demonstrators!

  And it was clear to Graham where they would use it. The long, narrow shipping channel was the obvious place. If they sink the first ship the other one will be trapped in Cairns for days, or weeks, until they can clear the channel, or dredge a new one.

  Peter was speaking to him. He sounded annoyed. Graham turned to him. “Sorry Pete. I was miles away. Can I borrow that magazine? I want to read that article on mines again,” he asked.

  Peter was packing up to go home. “Sure. Time I was gone anyway. This sounds like mum now,” he said.

  But it wasn’t. It was Max’s parents in their car. Max was astonished. “It’s my oldies. I wonder what they want?”

  Mr and Mrs Pullford came in with a worried Mrs Kirk a few minutes later. Mr Pullford asked the children: “Have any of you seen Cindy? She went out this morning and hasn’t come home and we don’t know where she is.”

  Graham felt his stomach turn over. He swallowed and felt so sick he almost threw up. Beads of perspiration broke out on his brow. Oh my God! If they find out she has been going with sailors it is going to destroy them, he thought.

  His mind raced and he licked his lips, and said, “I think I know where she might be.”

  Chapter 37

  SEARCHING

  Graham felt so sick he wanted to throw up. Remembered images of Cindy swirled in his consciousness: laughing up at the American sailor; sitting with the French matelot; with him downstairs. His mind screamed as it raced. How can I tell them? It will hurt so many people! But what else could he do? If the parents went to the police she would soon be found. And there were her parents staring anxiously at him.

  Once again he said, “I think I might know where she is.” As he said it he broke into a cold sweat and began to tremble.

  “Where?” cried Mrs Pullford.

  Graham could see she was very upset and worried. “I… I saw her. Yesterday afternoon. Down at the wharf,” he replied.

  “Down at the wharf?” said Mr P
ullford in a puzzled voice. “At the wharf! What on earth?” Then he gasped and added, “She isn’t with those demonstrators is she?”

  Graham grasped at this straw. He did not want to lie; but nor did he want to get Cindy into trouble, or at least more trouble than she was making for herself anyway. “Could be. It was near there that I saw her.”

  Mrs Pullford turned to Mrs Kirk: “She vanished as soon as we got home from church; never said a word, just went out. I didn’t realize she was gone till lunchtime. I’ve phoned all her friends. I am so worried.”

  Mr Pullford broke in. “If she is with that rabble of trouble makers who are protesting I will tan her hide by Jove!”

  “I could go and look,” Graham suggested. The thought crossed his mind that if he could find her first it might save a lot of grief.

  “We could all go,” Alex added, which made Graham curse silently.

  Mr Pullford nodded. “We shall go there at once,” he said. He turned and led Mrs Pullford out. Graham became so agitated he could not stand still. I have to find Cindy first, he thought; and I have to warn those horrible security men about Stonefish. Without asking permission he turned to go to get his bike.

  His mother called to him. “Where are you going Graham?”

  “To help find Cindy. Don’t worry mum. I won’t get into any trouble.”

  “We will come with you,” Kylie offered. Margaret agreed. So did Alex. Peter had no bike and had to wait for his mother. Max hesitated and then ran out to go with his parents in their car. Graham grabbed his bike. He did not want any of the others with him but could not think of any sensible reason to say so.

  “I will go quickly. I think I might be able to find her before she gets into trouble,” he said. He did not wait but wheeled his bike out, ignoring the calls from the others. His mother told him to get a hat and he became aware that he wore only a shirt and shorts and had nothing on his feet. Instead he shrugged and began pedalling as fast as he could, aware that the others must think his behaviour odd at the very least.