“I’d like to read that some time if you will allow me,” he says, as they stand on either side of the relic. “Just fifty days after this aircraft was shot down your grandfather landed in Darwin on a bold mission to strike back behind the Japanese lines. By that time Darwin had been hit thirteen times. The mission they flew should have made history, but it was pushed into the background by other events.”
“Standing here makes it real instead of just a remote footnote of history,” Alexander says. Then with sudden alert attention, she points to another display. “What’s that over there?”
“That’s the cockpit section and inner wings of a Japanese Zero shot down during the first raid. It could have been one of the aircraft that raided Pearl Harbour. It was recovered from Bathurst Island after the war for the museum. If you look over your right shoulder you will see a B-25.”
Turning, Alexander walks over to the aircraft to stand in front of the starboard engine, looking up at the cockpit. “So this is what we are looking for? It looks pretty big here, but if you drop it into the wilderness I imagine it’d still be hard to find.”
“Even a B-25 can be like finding the proverbial needle in a haystack! Not impossible, just bloody difficult, although we have some good clues to work on.”
“I’m starting to see the fascination in your hobby, or is it more like an obsession? The history is amazing and each plane represents personal stories that should be preserved. I love history and the stories behind the facts.”
Jed likes that and opens up a bit more. “Every site I’ve been to involves human stories of incredible courage by young men committed to doing their duty. Many died in combat and others in accidents with no glory, but they were all serving what they considered to be a good cause. This one came down in 1945 in the Tanami Desert on a supply run and was recovered in the seventies. The crew survived.”
“I’d like to have a look around on my own,” Alexander announces.
Jed leaves her alone and wanders around lost in the displays until he finds her again standing in front of the B-25. He comes up behind her but she doesn’t turn around. He stands and admires the purposeful lines of the aircraft until she finally turns to face him.
“Thanks for bringing me here,” she says. “It puts everything into context. Finding Karl and his crew is the right thing to do. So let’s have a go!”
Jed smiles his assent.
There are other visitors scattered around the museum. As Jed and Alexander turn to walk out a man in the far corner suddenly spins around to take an intense interest in the bomb fragments on display in a glass cabinet. Crew cut hair, heavy build, T-shirt, denim jeans and thongs. Jed only gets a brief glimpse of his face, but the intensity of his eyes looking toward Alexander catches his attention. He files it away for further analysis as they head to the car. A white Nissan Patrol is parked under a tree in the shade at the other end of the car park.
Chapter Eleven
As Jed drives back from the museum he becomes aware he is concentrating on handling the Landcruiser as well as Alexander. It makes him slightly annoyed that a simple drive can become a challenge. When they arrive back at the hotel, he parks the car and leads Alexander into the bar. She wants to freshen up, but this time he makes it clear refusal is not an option. He selects a table out on the patio in the shade of overhanging palms and pulls a chair out for her. Two glasses of champagne are promptly delivered. They salute a busy day.
Jed gets straight to the point. “I have something I need to share with you. After that dinner we had at Maldini’s, we went to Grape. I saw a man staring at you so intently it disturbed me. Later that night, I surprised an intruder in my house, but only caught a brief glimpse of him under a street light. I think a map and a picture of the plane were taken, but can’t be sure.”
Alexander puts her glass down and starts to say something, but Jed continues.
“And this afternoon I saw a man looking at you at the museum. He turned around quickly, as if to avoid being seen. On each occasion the man was dressed differently of course and the visibility wasn’t great. But I’m inclined to think it was the same man.”
“A lot of men look at me. I’ve given up taking notice. What did he look like?”
“A bit shorter than me,” Jed says. “At first glance a solid build, but on second glance a bit flabby, crew cut, sharp features, hard expression, no facial hair.”
Did a shadow pass behind her eyes or was it his imagination?
“That’s a fairly general description. It could fit a large section of the male population. What are you implying?”
“I’m not implying anything, just raising the question. Is there any reason why I might see the same man on three different occasions in different parts of the country?”
“At the moment I can’t think of any reason. I’ve kept to myself for years and am very careful when selecting friends,” she replies. “Perhaps you’ve seen three similar men and your survival instincts have kicked in—from what I’ve pieced together you’ve had some unusual life experiences.”
Another fair comment. He considers it for a while before finally responding, “Perhaps that’s the case and I’m overreacting. You don’t have a jealous husband stalking you by any chance?” he jokes.
This time the shadow behind her eyes is darker and stays longer. He wonders what nerve he has touched.
“No husband, no stalker, lots of men with broken hearts.” Then she suddenly changes the topic. “Would you like to read the letter from Karl? I can run up and get it. I should’ve let you see it earlier but it seemed just a personal thing.”
“That’d be great, thanks,” he says. “Sorry about raising the subject of the man but I thought it better to mention it rather than let it stew.”
“That’s fine.” The tension has evaporated and he senses the cheeky, alluring Alexander is back. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
She is as good as her word and returns in no time with another glass of champagne for him.
“I’ll leave you with it while I go and freshen up,” she says as she puts an envelope into his hand. “I won’t be long.”
He watches her walk to the lifts, contemplating the sway of her hips. He takes a sip of champagne while he lingers on the image and then opens the envelope. He takes out four sheets of A4 paper folded into thirds—a photocopy of a handwritten letter. Karl must have used a small pad as there is plenty of space around each page. The handwriting is difficult to read. Probably written with the pad in his lap, Jed decides.
My Darling Evelyn,
This is the first time I have written to you since leaving. I am sorry I had to depart in such a rush but had no choice in the matter. I received your news before leaving and have not had a chance to reply. We made a long flight and are doing our best to stem the flood of Tojo and his soldiers but cannot stay here any longer. I am beginning to wonder a bit about what the future will bring for us. I am thinking a lot about you and the baby. I am glad that it won’t be much longer until I shall know whether we have a son or a daughter. I will be happy either way. At least they have been keeping us busy…
The language is formal and stilted but a reflection of the times. They would have been damn busy hitting the Japanese behind their lines while the Philippine garrison was still holed up on the Bataan Peninsula fighting for their lives. He turns to the next page.
… and that helps a little. I cannot say anything about what we are doing but it is important. Dawn today was wonderful, with a blaze of sunlight that heralded a flyer’s sky. The rest leave this morning and I will go as soon as possible. We have a bit of work to do to get the ship ready but have been working through the night to get the tanks fixed and fitted. As our ship was down, I was offered space in a boat but that would take too long. I thought it better to stay with the ship and get it fixed so that I can fulfil your…
Along with ‘Pappy’ Gunn’s Mitchell, the long-range fuel tanks were probably damaged in one of the air raids on the field. Gunn had taken the fue
l tanks out of a derelict B-18 bomber and Karl’s crew had obviously done something similar. He turns to the third page.
… wish for us to be together as soon as possible. We have some extra passengers, people who must be evacuated. I will have four. One is an adorable little girl whom you would love. She looks part Japanese and part Aboriginal. Her father is very proud of her mother but she was killed in this bad business. I should only take her father who is Japanese but also American and two others. When we had coffee in the mess…
Ouch! No wonder the grandmother had issues. Karl could have got out but repaired the B-25 to get home sooner to fulfil her wish. When she read this she must have been swamped with guilt. Jed ponders the situation for a few minutes. It is a replay of the C-47 crash near Monto in Queensland where fate played a hand, leaving a lifetime of guilt for the woman left behind. He turns to the fourth page.
… No more Kaldon Bays he said, whatever that means and showed me a scar across his chest.
I don’t need to be paid to do what is right. The men are working hard and we should be ready before the day is out. I will be late leaving but leave I will. Nothing will keep me from you and I will be back close to you the day after tomorrow. I will get leave and join you as soon as I can. This is all I can write at the moment as we need to get back to work. I will give this letter to Don as he will be leaving soon. If we can’t get the ship fixed in time I’ll take up the boat offer. If this is the case, my letter will ease your worry until I return to you.
With much love to you my darling Evelyn,
Karl.
Jed re-reads the third page before going back to the fourth. It seems disjointed, but Karl had made time during combat conditions to write to the woman who was bearing his child. He must have loved her, taking the time to write with the Japanese advancing and a plane to be repaired. He was trying to calm her fears at a time when he had to face the reality he may not get out at all.
Jed reads the last two pages again carefully. A Japanese-American! It could only be one of the two Hawaiian ‘Nisei’, Japanese-Americans involved in intelligence collection efforts against the Japanese that Pappy Gunn had been ordered to evacuate from Panay on Sunday, August 12.
“Did you find it interesting?” Alexander asks as she returns dressed in black slacks, black boots and a contrasting white blouse.
“Very,” Jed responds. “I never fail to be moved when I read letters written by airmen, soldiers or sailors in the lulls of combat. They try to open their hearts to loved ones who can never understand what they are experiencing. They write about the mundane as a way of protecting loved ones from the realities they face every day. But it seems to me there is a page missing.”
“What do you mean?” Alexander asks in surprise.
“Even given the conditions the letter was written under, page three to four does not make sense, it’s disjointed.”
“I copied the letter myself and I don’t make silly mistakes!”
“That may be, but I still think there’s a page missing. Page three ends halfway through a sentence and page four starts with a capital letter,” Jed explains further.
“For God’s sake, Karl wrote it under very difficult conditions! It’s a wonder he found the time to write at all and here you are marking punctuation like a bloody principal!” she spits. “Are you implying I’m wrong?” Her voice is a cross between a frozen glacier and a spray of napalm.
“I’m not implying that at all Alexander,” Jed says gently. “I’m simply saying that in my opinion there seems to be a page missing from the letter.”
“A principal to the bloody end!” Alexander fumes. “I’ve had an incredible day, thank you. I’m going back to my room to get some room service. I’ll see you in the morning!”
She storms off to the lift and doesn’t look back even as the doors shut her off from his vision. Jed has only one thought, Bloody fucking hell! Women! He’s managed to do it again, stuff up a good night by trying to do something simple and logical. In his mind, all he’s done is say he thought a page was missing from the letter and look what happens! He sculls the remainder of the champagne and heads outside for a walk to find some food.
Alexander slams the door to her room and the first thing she does is open the pocket of her travel pack and take out the original copy of the letter. She skims it and then goes back to the start and reads it again. It has been a long time since she read the letter in its entirety. She refuses to accept the reality and flicks through it again but finally has to admit to herself, there is a page missing!
Flinging herself onto the bed, Alexander curls up into a ball and groans with frustration as she forces her clenched fists into her eyes to hold back the tears. She hates being wrong! She has driven herself hard to leave the past behind. Her intelligence is a curse. It has alienated many people who cannot understand her and seem to take vicious pleasure in scoring points off her. She has gone through life trying not to draw attention to herself, frustrated by people who cannot grasp concepts and patterns so obvious to her. And now after standing her ground she has definitely been proven wrong!
She prises herself up with a muttered curse, checks her reflection in the mirror and takes the lift back down to the bar. She scouts for Jed, but he isn’t there. She goes into the restaurant, but he isn’t there either. She goes back up to their rooms and knocks on his door, but there is no answer. Bloody man! Probably out drinking and womanising! She retreats to her room, orders a bottle of sparkling wine and turns on the TV. She can never eat when she’s upset so it will have to be alcohol and TV tonight. It is a very long night!
Chapter Twelve
Blue is the only colour that maintains its own character in all its tones. Whatever its nuances, from darkest to lightest, it is always blue. They leave Darwin behind and climb through four thousand five hundred feet into a vista of sky and ocean resembling a painter’s palette of blues.
The sky begins on the horizon with a baby blue and transforms into a deep sky blue above their aircraft. The ocean on the horizon is an azure tint, shading into a powder blue along the coastline, interspersed with patches of an even lighter electric blue in the shallow water near the coast. It is an aviator’s dream, one of many experiences that make flying such a visually sensual activity.
“Blue is my favourite colour,” Jed confides. “Blue conveys importance and confidence. That’s why uniforms are often blue. It can be strong and steadfast or light and friendly, depending on the shade. It’s a good colour for bedrooms, but too much can dampen the spirit.”
“It’s my favourite colour too.” Alexander offers, “I owe you an apology.”
“Pardon?”
“I owe you an apology. I was wrong last night and a bit of a bitch.”
“Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that!” he says again, looking sideways at her and tapping his headphones.
She glances in his direction and sees the smile lurking behind the microphone in front of his lips. “Bastard! You heard me. I’m not often wrong, but I’ll admit it when I am. There was a page missing.”
“Sorry,” he offers in turn as he runs his finger over the terminal chart to check they are leaving controlled airspace. “I probably did sound like a bloody stuffy principal. I didn’t mean to. Soon we’ll descend to one thousand five hundred feet and track along the coast looking for likely locations. I’ll keep the coast on the right so you are the main spotter.”
Using the photographs, Jed has drawn a sketch of the geography they are looking for—a bluff or hill to the south, a level vegetated area where the aircraft lies and a channel or river to the north flanked by broken country, opening to the sea through a sand bar or mud flat. Alexander takes another look at the sketch then tucks it into the folded map in her lap.
Breakfast had been rushed as they both woke later than intended, each for their own reasons. They both wanted to say something to each other but time was pressing, and Jed was eager to get airborne to make use of the better flying conditions in the morning. Once awa
y from the pressure of the control zone, they began to relax. The steady beat of the Lycoming six-cylinder engine and the pulsating throb of the three-blade propeller slicing the air are muted by the headphones into a comforting background throb. Alexander studies him through her sunglasses with a sideways glance.
Although he looks relaxed with the fingers of his left hand gently caressing the control wheel, he is constantly scanning the sky, the instrument panel and the ground below in the same repetitive pattern. There is unspoken agreement to let the previous night rest for a more appropriate time. The coastline below is a random mix of bays, beaches and low rocky bluffs jutting into the ocean. Into the bays flow a complex pattern of rivers and creeks, often crowded by mangrove-covered mudflats meandering back into the hinterland.
“Checking this coast isn’t just a matter of flying in a straight line,” Alexander comments as Jed banks the aircraft from side to side in a curving flight path to inspect the intertwined pattern of waterways. “That B-25 could crash anywhere out here and be mighty hard to find.”
“Sometimes I’ve been looking for a wreck, knowing almost the exact location, and still had trouble finding the site. It’s amazing how nature can cover something like an aircraft, especially when it’s broken up. There was one in Tasmania where I had an aerial photograph of the crash site and it still took four trips to locate. Even then I have to admit it was partly luck Alexander.”
“Alex,” she says. “Call me Alex.”
He glances across at her and although her eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, he can see her lips frame the most relaxed smile he has yet seen.
“We’ve been together for a while with a fair way to go. You still work for me, but let’s ditch the formality. Don’t get any ideas though!”
He takes the offer as progress toward something indeterminate as he casts a surreptitious glance down her body. He is tempted but has no idea how to take her. She is a bundle of contradictions, keeping him on his toes. He has no doubt she is trouble. What kind of trouble he can only guess at. Handling a woman makes the jungle and the desert seem like a Sunday afternoon stroll through a park.
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