Whitsunday Dawn

by Annie Seaton

  ‘It’ll be fine.’ She darted a nervous look his way. ‘Won’t it?’

  Fynn radioed the harbourmaster for a berth and as soon as they were allocated one, he motored into the marina, pleased to see they had the end berth at the last finger wharf.

  ‘Just to be on the safe side, you go down to the cabin while I head into the marina. Call your mum. My phone’s on the cupboard next to the bed.’

  Liv disappeared below deck and he motored into the channel, his eyes scanning the public mooring looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  It didn’t take long to fill the water tanks and as soon as he was done, Fynn called up the marina office on the radio to charge the berth to his account. He didn’t want to leave the boat or let Liv out of his sight. He started the motor and eased the boat back into the channel. Once they were a few hundred metres off the island, he hoisted the main sail and then called down below.

  ‘Come back up now. All clear. Can you bring my phone up too please?’

  Liv came up and crossed the deck. She stood next to him looking across at Hamo.

  ‘Mum wasn’t too worried. Dad’s been hassling her, so she knew I was avoiding him.’

  ‘That’s good. I’ll call Byron while we’ve still got service. Can you take the helm? Just keep us in a straight line between the two islands.’

  Liv pulled the phone from her pocket and passed it over. Fynn took it and headed to the bow where he could keep an eye ahead while he made the call.

  ‘Gidday, mate.’

  ‘Hey, Fynn. I thought you’d surface soon. Everything okay?’

  ‘More than okay. We’ve got some information that’s going to blow the regional council apart. So much dodgy stuff going on you’ll be gobsmacked. And we’ve got proof. Names, deposits, and dates all set out nicely in a spreadsheet.’

  ‘Is John Blumer involved?’

  ‘Got it in one, mate.’

  ‘Bloody hell, the bastard. What else have you got?’

  ‘A nasty bit of corruption to do with the approval of the rail line route, and a lot of payoffs made there too. It looks like the site relocation to Earlando Bay had more to do with the rail line than any concern for the environment. These bastards seem to think money will buy them whatever support they need. And, By, they got to Greg and put him in hospital.’ Fynn glanced back at Liv but she had her eye on the channel ahead. ‘He’s okay, but I’m worried about Liv’s safety.’

  ‘Fuck. Where are you now?’

  ‘Just heading to Chalkies to moor for tonight, and we’ll come back to the mainland tomorrow. Greg’s hoping to come up on Saturday.’

  ‘Right, mate. Take care.’

  Fynn took over the helm but Liv stayed by his side. ‘It’s okay over there. I told Byron we’d be back tomorrow.’

  She stood staring out over the water, the sun playing on her reddish-gold hair, but her expression was sad. He reached out and put his arm around her.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Yes. I’m fine.’ Her voice was quiet as she leaned into him. Even though Liv was tall, she was a perfect fit against him. ‘I guess it’s just coming back to reality that’s hit me after a week in paradise.’

  ‘You’re still in paradise. Go and get comfy on the lounge. We’ll have a swim’—he winked at her—‘and maybe an afternoon nap after we moor.’

  She nudged him with her shoulder. ‘Build up our energy, hey?’ Her smile was cheeky.

  ‘Nothing like an afternoon nap, I always say.’ Fynn let go of the helm and put both arms around Liv as she leaned back against his chest. They stood quietly for a few minutes until she yawned.

  ‘See, I told you you’d need a nap.’

  ‘How about a coffee now?’ she asked. ‘Now that we’ve got water again.’

  ‘Sounds good.’ Fynn found it hard to take his eyes off her as she went below deck again.

  It wasn’t long before they were past Plum Pudding Island and as he turned east into Fitzalan Passage, Liv came back up with two cups of coffee and a packet of gingernut biscuits.

  ‘Just as well this is our last day. This is the last of the bikkies,’ she said with a smile. Fynn took the cup, pleased to hear her voice back to normal. The wind gusted in and the headsail billowed in the fresh sou’ easter. The wind had changed direction since they’d left the marina and he frowned. The tide was still flooding in and Solway Passage might be tricky. He’d seen a yacht under sail spin a full ninety degrees with the whirlpools on the flooding tide bucked by a fresh south-east trade wind.

  He peered ahead as they swung into the passage that would take them past Whitehaven Beach. The waves were standing up and he debated whether to use the motor. As the wind pushed them further in, it eased and the waves became smaller. Deciding to stay under sail, he kept a watch on the conditions ahead. Liv came back to stand beside him and he finished his coffee and passed her his cup.

  ‘Is it a bit rough?’ she asked nervously.

  ‘It’s just the wind against the tide. Once the tide stops flooding, the waves will drop right back, but it’s only a short trip around to Chalkies, and out there it will be just a rolling swell.’

  Liv turned to take the cups back down to the galley and stopped, staring behind them. ‘They’re going a bit fast, aren’t they?’

  Fynn checked ahead before he turned to see what she was talking about. A huge black powerboat was bearing down on them. As he watched, it almost flew above the waves and slammed down on the next swell in a huge spray of white water. ‘Power gives way to sail, buddy,’ he muttered as the boat came closer. It was directly behind them. It was going to have to bear to the portside to avoid running right over the top of them.

  ‘Bloody hell! Hang on, Liv,’ Fynn yelled as he wrenched the wheel to starboard.

  The powerboat swerved at the last minute and Fynn swore.

  ‘Shit. You bloody idiots.’ He raised his fist as the boat passed so close he could have reached out and touched it.

  But instead of roaring past them, the driver flung the boat into a three-sixty turn directly in front of Footprint.

  ‘What the fuck are you playing at?’ Fynn called out to the man behind the wheel. The sunlight reflected off the windscreen of the powerboat and Fynn put his hand up to shade his eyes as the wash from its wake caught Footprint and slewed her around.

  The boat tipped precariously, and Liv stumbled. She dropped the cups as she fell to the deck and they rolled along the timber floor to the stern. Clambering back to the side, she pulled herself up as the powerboat roared past between them and the shore.

  ‘Bloody WAFI,’ the man beside the driver yelled out with a whoop. Once more, the boat turned and circled them. Once again, Footprint was caught in the wash. It was like being caught in a giant whirlpool. As the powerboat roared past and headed back the way it had come, the current caught his yacht. Fynn clenched his jaw and fought with the wheel. She was heading straight for the rocky point at the northern end of Pig Bay.

  With a muttered curse and not taking his eye off the rocks ahead, he reached down and started the engine, desperately turning the wheel as his boat drifted closer to the rocks.

  ‘Come on, baby. Come on, you can do it.’ At the last minute, the yacht turned and the wind filled the sail. A minute later, they were through the passage and bearing south along Haslewood Island. Fynn glanced across at Liv to check she was okay before he motored around the point and into the sheltered bay at the western end of the beach. She was sitting against the side of the boat with her knees up against her chest, her arms wrapped around them.

  He swung the bow into the wind and dropped the sails and lowered the anchor. As soon as the anchor took up, he went across to Liv. Her face was white and her eyes wide. He held out his arms and when she stood Fynn held her close.

  ‘It’s okay. We’re safe. We made it.’

  ‘What’s a WAFI?’ she asked as she looked up at him.

  Fynn grimaced. ‘It’s what the powerboaters call a sailor. It stands for “wind-assisted fucking
idiot”. It normally makes me smile, but not today. His reckless behaviour could have had us on the rocks. I was so busy trying to stay off them I didn’t even get the name of the boat.’

  ‘That guy with the sunglasses. It was the same guy.’ Liv’s voice shook.

  ‘What guy?’ Fynn frowned as he looked down at her.

  ‘The one I saw in the car last week. The security guy from the office in Sydney. Do you think they’ll come back?’

  CHAPTER

  32

  South Peleliu Island

  16 July, 1942

  The captain succeeded in ditching Dumbo in a bay on the other side of Peleliu Island. Jack, Megsy and four of the crew in the lower cockpit survived the landing despite the flames that had filled the plane when the bullets from the Zero had hit the engine.

  ‘Open the blister.’ Megsy’s frantic yells had saved their lives. He and Jack had put their heads out into the air rushing past the opening. The metal skin between the blister and the cockpit was melting with the heat as they headed towards the sea below, and Jack knew they had to hit the water before the fuel tanks blew up. Jack’s head hit the bulkhead as he hauled himself from the burning wreck. Jack, Megsy, Captain Munford, the two other pilots and one flight engineer scrambled from the plane and started to swim ashore.

  Jack turned back to the plane. His vision was blurred and he squinted as he looked for the other men who had been in the blister turret with him and Megsy. ‘What about the others?’

  Megsy grabbed his arm and pushed him forward. ‘No point, mate. The men in the bulkhead behind us didn’t have a chance.’ Black smoke billowed from the Cat as it slowly sank into the calm blue water.

  Once on shore, everything that they had had drummed into them at briefings about what to do if they found themselves in enemy territory fled from Jack’s mind. His ears were aching from the crash, and he stared in confusion as the other crew began to divest themselves of their jackets and flying boots. He raised a shaking hand to the perspiration running down the side of his face, but his hand came away wet with blood.

  ‘Down to your shorts and shirt, man. Quickly!’

  Bemused, Jack did as the captain instructed and watched as one of the flight engineers gathered up the clothes and boots and hid them in the low trees in the lush bush edging the sand.

  Jack’s knees began to shake and he grabbed for Megsy. Only half aware of the conversations around him, he closed his eyes as a searing pain sliced through the left side of his head.

  * * *

  South Peleliu Island

  3 July, 1943

  Twelve months had passed since the bayonet had sliced the skin on Jack’s right arm and he had regained consciousness to see a Japanese soldier yelling and gesturing to him. Megsy sat beside a tree, his hands tied behind his back. There was no sign of the other crew members. Megsy told him later that they had left him with Jack when he had lost consciousness, and they’d headed off in search of coast watchers. Captain Munford had said there was an outpost— part of a wider coast watching network spread across the South Pacific—manned by New Zealand civilians on the island. All they could hope was that the crew had escaped the Japanese.

  ‘Captain?’ the Japanese soldier had yelled at Jack and kicked him. ‘Where captain?’

  He looked over at Megsy and held his eye as the other man gave a barely noticeable shake of his head.

  Jack looked up at the soldier and shrugged. ‘No captain.’

  After two days of marching—and with no sign of the other surviving crew members—Jack and Megsy were thrown into a makeshift prison camp on the south of the island and put to work with other prisoners building the airstrip that the Japanese believed would enable them to hold the north Pacific.

  Having Megsy beside him in those dreadful months on South Peleliu Island helped Jack keep his sanity. And he knew that he provided that same support to Megsy.

  His arm had festered and turned putrid, but he’d constantly washed it out with salt water and it had eventually healed, leaving a long red scar from his elbow to his wrist.

  For more than a year, they dug and prepared the ground for the runway.

  ‘Bloody island is made of coral. How the hell are we supposed to dig this away?’ Megsy lifted his hand to wipe the perspiration from his gaunt face.

  Too much talking, and a Japanese guard would have no hesitation in knocking them down with the butt of a rifle or the heavy bamboo staff they each carried.

  At the end of each day, it was all they could do to stagger into the rough hut with the other prisoners. Exhaustion would claim them both after the long days working in the hot sun constructing the new runway. Food was scarce. The enlisted men were given barely enough to give them the energy to work through the days. The officers were given meagre rations.

  At last, explosives were brought in and the runway was almost complete. Some of the work crews were working up in the hills of the islands, making a network of caves and bunkers and sniper holes ready for the Allied invasion that the men prayed for and the Japs feared would come.

  Jack focused on keeping Megsy in line. Megsy’s sole focus was on escape.

  One night as the tropical rain drenched them while they sat in the quadrangle eating the meagre bowl of maggot-ridden rice that would keep them going for the next twenty-four hours, Megsy dropped his voice to an urgent whisper.

  ‘Tomorrow, Jack. At the end where we’re digging, there’s a small drop off. If we can create a diversion, we can drop into that and take off. That whole end of the island is riddled with caves. We can hide there until we’re rescued.’ Megsy pulled out the now tattered photos of his sons, and a lump rose in Jack’s throat as tears ran down the red-headed man’s burned and blistered cheeks. ‘I want to go home, Jack. I want to see my boys grow into young men. We have to escape.’

  ‘No. We wouldn’t make it.’ Jack shook his head. ‘Patience, mate. They’re getting desperate and the word is that the Nips are losing hold of the Pacific.’

  ‘How the hell do we know that, stuck in this bastard of a place?’ Megsy’s voice rose and one of the guards turned to look at them. The attitude of the guards was antagonistic without riling them further, and the men had quickly learned to keep quiet and do as they were instructed.

  Jack dropped his head and picked up the last grains of rice in his fingers.

  When the guard walked away, Megsy’s voice dropped. ‘We could make a break for the jungle instead?’

  ‘With any luck, we’ll be sent up to the cliffs to work when the runway is done. I think that we’d have more chance up there. At least we could see more of the island,’ Jack said.

  Every night the conversation was the same, and Jack prayed for sleep to overtake him so he couldn’t hear Megsy’s sobs on the other side of the tin hut that they shared with eight other men.

  The only similarity of their location to Whitsunday Island—the place that came to Jack in his dreams most nights—was that South Peleliu was land surrounded by sea. The water was blue, but it didn’t have the sapphire colour of the water around Liliana’s island. In his memory, everything on Whitsunday Island was bright and lush. The heat here was stifling and the intermittent rain brought little relief. The coral rocks absorbed the sun in the day and it was barely cooler in the nights. The jungle encroached on the camp and trapped the heat.

  Jack slept very little, but when he did his dreams were of a better place and happier times.

  His dreams of Liliana and their time together kept him sane.

  As his arm healed, and he watched the other men succumb to beri-beri, dysentery and ulcers, Jack dreamed about a life on the island with her after the war was over. In his mind, he built a house for them, log by log. After the war, he would stay on Whitsunday Island, where it was safe. He would tell Liliana that there was no need to see the world. One thing he’d learned was that until you have lost what was precious to you, you don’t appreciate what you had. He dreamed of his mother and hoped that Liliana had written to her as he had aske
d.

  CHAPTER

  33

  May 9, 2018

  ‘If Greg flies into Hamo, he can get the ferry across to the mainland.’

  ‘With a broken leg?’ Liv glanced up at him. Her hands were still shaking three hours later as she packed a small bag to take ashore. Fynn had a long cylindrical waterproof bag and once he’d put his computer and his valuables into it, he held his hand out for her small bag, and the briefcase holding her laptop. He slipped them in and pulled the drawstring tight and put the bag into the tender.

  ‘Probably easier on the ferry than getting on and off Footprint.’ Since Liv had told Fynn that she’d recognised the security guy on the black boat, he’d been quiet. He’d changed his plans and they’d motored straight back to Airlie Beach and moored off the beach at Cannonvale before sunset. On the way past Hamo, he’d called the water police and reported the incident.

  ‘They must have tracked us when I turned the phone on,’ she said as he held his hand out to help her into the small inflatable boat to go ashore. ‘You were right all along, Fynn. What are we going to do now?’

  The same dark blue helicopter had flown over them a couple of times as they’d crossed the Passage, and a shiver had run down her back as Fynn had stared at it.

  ‘It’s not a local helicopter,’ he said as he steered for the mainland, taking the shorter route through Unsafe Passage.

  Liv fought the fear that was clawing at her stomach. The serenity that she’d enjoyed over the past few days had flown.

  ‘They want your computer. Hopefully, if you hand it over, that’ll be the last we see of them.’ The doubt in his voice belied his words.

  ‘It won’t, you know. I know how tenacious Dad is. He hasn’t acknowledged the email I sent him.’

  ‘Wait till we get over to Aunty Tat’s house and call your father. Tell him you’re sending the computer back. We’ll organise a courier this afternoon.’