by Peter Watt
Lukas next checked on Ilsa, who had been given his cabin. Having given up his quarters he would sleep on deck or beside the chart table. He knocked lightly on the door and entered on her invitation. She was unpacking her small suitcase and turned to meet his eyes. ‘I just thought I would tell you that when you are settled in I am putting on a billy of tea and some sandwiches.’
‘Thank you, Lukas,’ she answered. ‘You are very kind.’
Lukas detected a trace of German behind her American accent and on an impulse he asked in German, ‘Which part of Germany are you from?’
Startled, Ilsa answered in her native tongue. ‘I was born in Munich but I am an American citizen. How is it that you – an Australian –speak German so well?’
Lukas switched back to English. ‘I had a good teacher,’ he said with a sad smile and did not elaborate. A day did not pass that Lukas did not think of his Aunt Karin and her family. ‘When you are ready you are welcome to join me in the main cabin for tea.’
Lukas went above deck to supervise the changing of sails and oversee their course south. The ocean was at its best and the winds were in their favour. Momis had the helm but kept his eye on the Lewis gun mounted at the bow. Lukas sensed that his employee, who was more like a friend, was hoping that a Japanese aircraft might turn up so he could get a shot at it. But Lukas prayed that their trip would be uneventful. He knew they had little chance against a fully armed fighter plane or a bomber determined to sink them. Their only hope was to sail undetected in these dangerous waters.
Satisfied with the sailing, Lukas went again below decks, where his three passengers had gathered for sandwiches and tea. He was already scheming how he would get Megan alone so they could pick up where they had left off in Morobe. There was just something about the woman that made him feel good whenever his thoughts turned to her. It could not be love, he convinced himself. But it was nice to be around her.
‘I cannot adequately express my thanks for you taking us aboard,’ the pastor said when Lukas entered the cabin. ‘I thought Miss Stahl, Sister Cain and I would be abandoned at my mission station. We were the last to leave.’
‘It is my pleasure to have you aboard,’ Lukas said, pouring himself a mug of black tea and stirring in a teaspoon of powdered milk. ‘But I cannot promise smooth sailing. If we come under aerial attack I want you to remain below where you are better protected. In the unlikely event that we might sustain enough damage to sink us, you will find life jackets at the end of your bunks. When you get the chance, it is a good idea to practise putting them on.’
A short, tense silence followed Lukas’s briefing as the grim reality of war at sea sunk in. They did not look at him and it was Megan who broke the silence. ‘Well, if it ever comes to that the sea looks very inviting. I always liked swimming.’
Lukas smiled. She has guts, he thought admiringly.
Lukas chatted with the pastor and learned that he had been brought up from Australia to replace his German counterpart. Megan entered into the conversation to talk a little of her work and only Ilsa remained silent about her life, except to say that she was a journalist for a Christian magazine in America and had volunteered to do a story on the Lutheran missionaries in faraway, exotic New Guinea. At the time she had steamed from the United States, America was at peace with Germany and the core of her story was to be about how the Australian government, allied with Britain, had treated the German men of God during their war against Germany. America had a substantial German immigrant population and it was a sensitive subject for her readers.
Night came without incident and after dinner Lukas took his post at the helm for a six-hour shift. Momis found a place beside his beloved Lewis gun to curl up and sleep. The winds blew stronger and the schooner picked up speed. It was a beautiful, moonless night and the Australian was able to relax just a little. He was sailing without lights and knew that detection by any subs, ships or aircraft belonging to Imperial Japan would be very difficult. He thought that all his passengers had retired for the night and was therefore surprised to be joined by Ilsa, who had kindly brought him a mug of strong tea.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said standing beside him. ‘But I found your supply of coffee and made myself one.’
‘Should have thought about that myself,’ Lukas said. ‘I am not used to catering to Yanks although I did spend many years in your country.’
‘I hope you mean the States,’ Ilsa replied.
‘California, to be precise. I had a job flying the movie stars around and doing a bit of stunt flying for movie directors. I mostly worked for Jack Warner, a really nice bloke.’
‘You are full of surprises,’ Ilsa said. ‘My father used to love the movies. He especially liked the Errol Flynn and John Barrymore films.’
‘I knew Errol pretty well,’ Lukas said. ‘As a matter of fact he was my last passenger before my plane took a bird-strike and went down just outside of Los Angeles. That is how I lost my eye – and the woman I thought I loved.’
‘She was killed in the crash,’ Ilsa gasped.
‘No, her love for me was killed in the crash,’ Lukas replied with just the slightest hint of a smile for things that had cured themselves with time and distance. Now he had a war to occupy his thoughts and remembered how his father had once said there were no guarantees of survival for anyone. Not that Lukas felt he would be killed in this war. That was something that only happened to someone else.
‘Oh,’ Ilsa said in a small voice, reflecting her slight embarrassment for presuming the worst. ‘Was she a person in the movies?’
‘Probably by now she is,’ Lukas said, swinging the great ribbed wheel to counter a wave attempting to force the schooner off course. ‘I don’t get much opportunity to catch up on the flicks unless I happen to be in Port Moresby.’
‘Are you sailing for Port Moresby after Lae?’ Ilsa asked, suddenly interested in his mention of the frontier town. ‘Because if you are, I would very much like to sail there.’
‘I am not exactly sure,’ Lukas frowned. ‘I guess so, if the boys don’t need me for another ferry run.’
‘Could I please stay aboard and sail with you to Port Moresby? I have urgent business there.’
Lukas glanced sideways at the beautiful young woman leaning towards him with the tilt of the deck. ‘I suppose that would be all right,’ he replied. ‘Maybe you could give our cooking a woman’s touch. A few meals just like your mum used to make.’
‘My mother did not like to cook,’ Ilsa replied quietly with a scowl on her face.
Lukas sensed from her answer that he should not make light of her mother – whoever she was – and so dropped the subject of Ilsa’s possible role in the ship’s galley. ‘For a Yank, you know how to brew a good mug of tea,’ he said, and the tension seemed to evaporate. Although curious, he did not feel that he should ask why she wanted to go to Port Moresby. Maybe that was the nature of journalists, he thought. They just wandered around the countryside looking for stories.
‘Thank you for agreeing to let me stay aboard after Lae,’ Ilsa said, finishing the last of her coffee. ‘Maybe I could learn to cook,’ she said as she left.
Lukas realised that she was attempting to apologise for her reaction. He was pleased that she had asked him if she could sail on to Port Moresby. She was an interesting, somewhat enigmatic woman but she held no sexual attraction for him.
Ilsa had only been gone for a few minutes when Megan appeared on deck wrapped in a big woolly jumper he recognised as one of his own. ‘You seem to have a cavalcade of admirers tonight,’ she said, settling down beside Lukas at the helm.
‘I don’t know about admirers,’ Lukas grinned. ‘At least Ilsa brought me a mug of tea.’
‘I would have brought you a cold beer,’ Megan retorted. ‘But it’s too bloody cold up here for that.’
‘It can get a bit nippy at night out here,’ Lukas replied. ‘Considering that we are sailing in tropical waters. Anyway, what brings you on deck?’
‘
I was feeling a bit confined below decks,’ Megan said. ‘And I thought that you might like some company on your watch.’
‘With you, yes,’ Lukas answered. ‘Maybe you would like to try your hand at the helm of my really big yacht,’ he grinned.
‘Touché,’ Megan answered. ‘I do know the difference between a schooner and a yacht despite the fact that I am but a mere country bumpkin from Cloncurry.’
‘Well, the bridge is yours,’ Lukas said, standing aside to allow Megan to take the great spoked wheel in her hands.
She was surprised how much it attempted to twist and turn in her hands – and how much she was forced to fight the running sea below the keel. Lukas stood back and attempted to light his pipe in the stiff breeze. He gave up when the wind whipped out every match, and placed the pipe back in his pocket.
‘Do you know,’ Megan said, ‘I can understand why you love sailing so much.’
‘And why is that?’ Lukas asked, stepping closer.
‘There is just something about the beauty of being under those magnificent stars with nothing to disturb the serenity of the moment. It is very intoxicating.’
‘It is not always this peaceful,’ Lukas said. ‘We are just lucky tonight that we have a good wind at our backs and clear skies. Sometimes the situation is reversed and even I wonder at why I choose to skipper the Independence. At times she can be as fickle as a woman.’
‘I protest,’ Megan said with a tone of mock indignation. ‘Not all women are fickle, Mr Kelly. Some …’
Her statement was cut short as a big, unseen wave forced the schooner to slew in a trough, wrenching the steering wheel from her hands. Lukas immediately stepped behind Megan and grasped the spinning helm to steady the course. As he came up against the young woman he could clearly smell the heady scent of her hair blown free by the wind. His body was pressed against her back and his arms enveloped her waist as he gripped the helm. Megan did not protest and he felt her press back against him. Then her hands came down to grip his arms and she wrestled free from his embrace of her body. He had not expected her reaction to be so strong and was bitterly disappointed.
‘Keep your eye on the road,’ she said, twisting to face him. ‘We would not want to have an accident at sea,’ she added in a teasing tone.
Lukas released his embrace so she could step aside and wrap her arms around her body against the cold. He was confused by her seeming defence of her virtue when he thought that she had signalled her physical need for him. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I hope that you did not interpret what just happened as anything but an accident.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Megan replied sweetly. ‘I consider you a gentleman who would not take advantage of a lady. I think that it is time to bid you a good night and go below,’ she continued, stomping off towards the hatchway with her arms still wrapped around her.
Completely bewildered, Lukas watched her walk away and disappear below the edge of the hatch. He was mystified as to her sudden change of mood and sighed. I was right. Bloody fickle, he thought to himself.
When Megan found her cabin she lay down on the bunk, still hugging herself. ‘Megan,’ she muttered to herself. ‘You are a stupid woman.’ She had experienced an almost overwhelming need to give in to her strong feelings for Lukas but held back. She tried to convince herself that her reservation was simply about her need not to get involved with a man living a very precarious life.
‘Bloody war,’ she swore softly. Possibly next time she would give into her feelings for the captain of the Independence. She had been attracted to Lukas the very moment she had laid eyes on him standing on the verandah of her hospital at Morobe. Even on the night they had shared his corned beef sandwiches, Megan had fallen under the spell of this funny, unassuming man.
‘Maybe next time,’ Megan whispered softly, before falling into a deep sleep.
Lukas was dozing on the deck when the sun rose over a tranquil sea and Momis was at the helm as the passengers stirred from sleep below. Lukas could almost believe that the war did not exist, so peaceful were his waking dreams. The clatter of pots and pans below reminded him it was breakfast time. He had a good supply of fresh eggs aboard and thought about a plate of scrambled eggs.
A distant buzzing noise intruded on his waking thoughts.
‘Jap man plane!’ he heard Momis call from the cockpit.
Lukas came fully awake and rolled onto his feet to frantically scan the skies. Then, as his searching gaze swung past the rising ball of the sun, he saw it. It was just a tiny dot against the sun but the noise of its single engine was growing louder as it came in towards them.
Momis had already deserted the wheel, which spun slowly as the schooner keeled on its side to fight the stiff morning breeze. ‘I got the gun, Masta Lukas,’ he yelled as he sprinted excitedly past Lukas, who turned on his heel to take control of the helm. Everything was happening so fast. Gripping the wheel, Lukas attempted to steer the schooner into a zigzag course on the open seas. He had been in this situation before and knew that only pure luck could save them. Even in his moment of fear he felt a partial envy for the pilot of the Japanese aircraft. As it grew closer, he identified it as being a Japanese Model 11, twin seat fighter floatplane. Probably on a recon mission, Lukas hoped. Maybe it would just buzz them and fly on.
He saw the twin flashes from the plane’s nose before he heard the staccato sound of its nasal twin 7.7mm machine guns. Spouts of water whipped up by the bullets clawed their way towards the schooner at a terrifying speed.
‘God almighty!’ Lukas swore. ‘Not again.’
The aircraft did not attempt to take any evasive action as it flew head on towards the Independence. Momis had the Lewis operating and carefully squeezed off a series of bursts to range his machine gun. His aim proved true, and the approaching aircraft suddenly swerved away as the bullets ripped through the fragile skin of the plane, even scoring a hit on the windscreen, shattering a small hole just above the pilot’s head.
‘Me tink I got Jap man!’ Momis whooped triumphantly.
But Lukas knew better. The plane climbed, wheeled high in the sky and made another dive at his ship. Now Lukas had a clear view of the two small bombs the plane carried under her wings – and of the machine gunner sitting in his open cockpit behind the pilot.
Momis swung the Lewis around to meet the new approach. Smoke curled from the barrel and was whipped away on the breeze as the schooner was heeled over in the continuing attempt to zigzag.
‘Let him have it, Momis,’ Lukas yelled down the deck. ‘Give the bastard your best.’
Momis lined up the diving aircraft. It was a shallow dive and the Solomon Islander remembered what Masta Jack had said about firing in front of a flying aircraft. He had told him over and over about that and now Momis would see if Masta Jack had been right. He squeezed the trigger but this time kept his finger hard back. The machine gun belted into his shoulder but Momis did not feel it as his blood was running hot with excitement. It had come down to a duel between himself and the Jap man in the sky. The .303 bullets hosed into the air, seeking the diving seaplane. As Momis continued to empty the round magazine at the oncoming plane, he was aware from the corner of his vision that two objects were hurtling towards them. Then the seaplane seemed to swerve to one side and peel away from the two objects in the sky. Momis ignored them and followed the aircraft around until the gun suddenly went silent as the magazine emptied. The Solomon Islander stood amongst the pile of brass rounds rattling around his bare feet. As he bent to grab a magazine of fresh rounds he heard Lukas scream, ‘Get down!’
Momis stood up to see why Masta Lukas had yelled at him to get down. At that moment the bombs impacted and exploded.
TWENTY-TWO
Iris sat in the garden of Sen’s bungalow at dawn, a battered copy of the Koran in her lap, contemplating what she should do concerning her knowledge of her brother-in-law’s espionage activities. Delicate butterflies flitted amongst the shrubs and from the house she could hear the so
unds of life. There was the houseboy’s raised voice, chiding the cook for spilling sauce on the floors just after he had cleaned them, and the clatter of pans as the cook returned to the kitchen.
Iris had thought that by now she would have been on her way back to Sydney to join her daughter but the immigration authorities in Australia had not as yet authorised her return. A matter had come up concerning her racial origins and under the strict criteria of the White Australia policy a bureaucrat had protested her coming back into the country. The first Iris had learned of the delay was when she received an official letter stating that for the moment her case was under review on racial grounds. Iris had been confused as she and Marie had travelled to Australia from the Middle East without any problem. She did not know it then but Captain Featherstone had cut through red tape to authorise her trip to Australia. His influence ended once Iris reached the shores of the Great Southland and now she was in the hands of petty bureaucrats who were exercising their power over her life. Iris was growing desperate to leave the Port Moresby district – and particularly her brother-in-law’s house. Although he was part of her family through marriage he was also working for the hated Japanese and this Iris viewed as real treason on account of what the Japanese were doing to her people in China. Her own activities in Palestine had been carried out under coercion but she could not see any tangible threats to Sen. For all she knew, he was probably betraying the people who had trusted him for years in Papua, for nothing more than money. To report him to the Australian authorities would not in fact be a betrayal but an indication of her loyalty to the Australian cause in their war against Japan.
From past experience Iris knew that the Australians were a very fair-minded people. However, she also knew that approaching the Australian authorities in Port Moresby was a risky business. They could react by imprisoning her in the process of taking Sen into custody. Iris needed someone to undertake the betrayal instead, someone who was trusted to both herself and the Australians. The names came almost immediately to mind – either Lukas Kelly or his father would be perfect. Both knew her and were also well known and respected in Papua.