Wyatt Earp: and the Boomerang Refugium

by Jack Sunn

  CHAPTER 15

  Week Three. The front of our building still looked trashed. After as little as two weeks the atmosphere was of eerie quiet, punctuated only by the birds which were again increasing in number after the fire. Apart from ourselves, we did not hear or see anybody after day 17.

  Coming into the winter nearly 600 ml of rain had fallen, amply recharging our clean water supply. If need be, by myself, I could stay indoors for three years, but I was getting curious. Security, however, was still paramount. Any breach or concentration lapse could be like hitting a destruct button. If three years was what was required, that would be alright but not ideal. Mind you, in three years’ time there would be plenty of land available, though without fences. Unfenced gardens can be highly counterproductive, especially should the wallaby population increase and encroach. Precautions had been taken; we had ample posts and wire netting to fence off adjacent flat fertile land, land that had been kept as a council reserve due to occasional flooding. I already had plenty of planting material ready to go as I had been supplying the market on a regular basis with a select range of ‘garden packs’ for Brisbane’s subtropical gardens.

  But what garden plants are the most suitable for any situation? Recent years had seen congested consternation and conjecture on global climate change. What had it all been about? Climatic averages? Not really. Every season is different. Always has been and always will be. For market gardeners or truck farmers some seasons are bountiful with choice luscious produce, and some less so. But the commercial wholesale food markets source from local, interstate and indeed overseas suppliers. Grapes from the US, garlic from Mexico and China, and asparagus from Chile are but a few examples. There were, however, no interstate or overseas supplies now that transportation was stopped. Some seasons were with drought, extremes of water or lack thereof, hail or no hail.

  What was needed was a generalist approach to gardening, whereby the gardener will survive with the garden providing no matter what the season experienced. In a previous garden in subtropical northern New South Wales supporting a small near closed community, the season and its duration would dictate sowing and harvesting. If food supply is only for annuals – expect tough times. But by having large areas of low maintenance biennials and perennials – survival is more easily guaranteed. If I was to stay put in Sunnybank, then I had the nucleus of stock to make it happen.

  Of course, I would not be venturing out too soon. Who else was around if anybody? Transport, refrigeration, policing, government, hardware re-supplies – all were now gone.

  Plants, water in, tend-then-forget crops are the baseline. Sweet potatoes are the champions here. Tubers store in the ground for months and fresh leaves make exceptional green leaf dishes. Many a Pacific Islander survives on little more than sweet potato as a staple.

  CHAPTER 16

  Later in week three. Midday and we receive a pmail from Jill to try our radios at 6.30 that evening.

  CHAPTER 17

  Foreign Contact – Maintaining Executive Authority. I was talking on our radio to one of our associates. Immediately after my last sentence and before we broke contact I heard:

  “This is the USS Navajo. Please identify yourself.”

  I quickly think who is this asking me to identify myself? I hesitated for a moment, then respond, “My name is Jack Sunn. Who are you?”

  “This is the USS Navajo.”

  “I understand that from your first statement. Are you the radio operator, the XO or the Captain?”

  “Sir, I am not at liberty to say.”

  I quickly retorted. “USS Navajo. I am aware that this is unlikely to be a secure communication for you, however, that you are on the radio is explainable. I have important information that your captain, or his 2-I-C the XO should probably hear first-hand. May I speak with either please?”

  “Please hold sir.”

  The radio officer said to the Duty Officer. “I need the XO, right now. Where is he?” At that moment, the XO entered and the radio officer explained that he had someone on the shortwave who says he has information for either you or the Captain. “He said name is Jack Sun and he sounds like an Australian. He also said he could explain why we are on the radio with him.”

  “Mr Sun. Please hold for the XO.”

  The XO immediately spoke to the radio officer, “Make sure the CO hears this please. High priority.” A short delay followed.

  “Mr Sun. This is the XO. Please explain yourself and be brief.”

  The delay in finding the XO had allowed me to compose myself.

  “Sir, my name is Jack Sunn, spelt with two n’s. Please record this conversation. I am in Brisbane, Australia. On the day prior to Easter Friday we lost electricity, radio, internet and satellite communication. My guess was a solar flare like we have not experienced before. Society appears to have mostly collapsed. I work for a global organisation called the TaSMAN group and we have re-established short wave radio contact with clients and associates from several countries. Not entirely true but I was doing my best at the time to sound authoritative, if that was needed. The word TaSMAN stands for training and security management. This is why I am alive. Sir, the government services appear to have gone completely. However, our group’s primary client is the Governor-General of Australia. He is secure and in the absence of an identifiable government, he has maintained our country’s executive authority by deputising my boss as acting prime minister, and myself as acting special minister of state and acting minister of defence. I must tell you that a representative of your country who is a client of ours is currently in Australia, and both he and his daughter are safe. Sir, am I clear to tell you who this is, as we have had no contact with any US officials, either here or abroad?” As I asked this I tapped out a signal on the table loud enough for the other end to hear, asking if they are Morse code familiar, expecting them to be, as ship to ship communication at times is still done this way.

  They responded with their own tapping “Of course.”

  The XO, with a nod from the CO who was now standing next to him, said, “Be brief Mr Sunn.”

  I responded immediately by tapping out SECNAV. A moment’s pause was expected, and the XO responded about ten seconds later.

  “Mr Sunn, can you be available again at, a pause, 1100 hours your time, that is one hour from now?”

  “Sir. Will be my pleasure. I will try to have our acting PM on the line as well. We live some hours distant from each other. Also, let’s make it a little confusing or mystifying should anybody overhear us next time. I will be (tap tap tap) Dropbear, and I will call you (tap tap tap) Indian Chief.”

  “Thank-you Mr Sunn, Navajo out.”

  ----------

  Was the slight pause before suggesting return contact at 1100 hours one of hesitation, or an adjustment for time zone difference? I thought the latter was possible. I had to act quickly to speak with Jill, and with Townsville if possible.

  ----------

  “What do you make of that sir?” The XO asked of the CO.

  “Let’s retire to my stateroom for conference.”

  After settling in the CO’s stateroom, the XO was first to speak. “He appears to be a quick thinker, and the explanation is plausible. I will have the RO try Guam, Pearl and anywhere else again, and have her keep trying.”

  ---------

  At 1100 hours both Jill and I were waiting for re-contact from the US navy ship Navajo. At exactly 1100 hours contact was again made. It seemed that the hour since first speaking had given them time to widely consider their options.

  “Dropbear, this is the chief. It is imperative that we meet the Secretary, and proceed onwards to meet with your government. Given the extreme situations that we both face, I respectfully request permission to enter Australian waters and proceed accordingly. We can be in Townsville in three days at 1000 hours.”

  To keep the conversation brief, I simply replied, “Sir, Berth Three, Port of Townsville is the most appropriate. We will make arrangements. Dropbear out.�
�

  CHAPTER 20

  Physical Contact. Our associate in Townsville had discretely arranged for Bill Everson, the US Secretary of the Navy, to be secreted at the Port to await the arrival of the USS Navajo. To the best of his knowledge, neither he nor Mr Everson was seen to arrive at the Port. As arranged three days earlier, the USS Navajo approached Berth Three at the Port of Townsville at the designated time. The USS Navajo played their part with extreme caution. The nuclear-powered submarine kept a discreet distance from the dock, as if ready to leave at a moment’s notice, and sent in a small contingent of men in two surface craft.

  One craft proceeded to the Berth at a rapid rate, while the other held back at a discreet distance. The American seamen maintained UHF radio contact with each other. A social visit this was certainly not. The lead boat approached the berth and our TaSMAN associate revealed himself carrying a small Australian flag, and walked over to the edge and approached the lead boat. The meeting point provided a clear line of sight to a small shelter where the Secretary was seated. Before much could be said the Secretary stood and quickly strode to the lead craft. While the men in the lead craft had what they believed to be visual confirmation of the Secretary, the Secretary handed over his passport and credentials for verification. The lead officer radioed back to the Navajo, and the all clear was given to proceed. Mr Everson turned and thanked his TaSMAN host, boarded the craft and was instantly in transit to the waiting submarine.

  Our associate in Townsville immediately called me on the radio to report the successful rendezvous and departure of the Americans. So far so good. Brisbane was next on their schedule.

  We dismissed the Port of Brisbane as a suitable place to dock. More useful was the Forgacs Cairncross Dockyard about 10 km upstream. Jill and I waited for their arrival. Again, the Americans had several surface craft in the water with heavily armed seamen standing off from the imposing submarine, something neither Jill nor I had experienced this close up before. What a surreal experience. We came from a successful, albeit small, private security company, and yet we were representing the upper level of the Australian Government in readiness to greet our allied American Navy. Who could have expected such an event only a few weeks previously? Pathetic really. We had as much security in place as we could muster, but no greeting with pomp and ceremony was to be forthcoming. The ship came to and aligned itself within reach of the berth. We later found out that Bill Everson had identified me minutes previously through binoculars and authorised the ship to prepare for docking.

  I was standing ashore, with Jill standing a discreet distance behind. Both Jill and I were unarmed, as we thought it superfluous to look any different from the normal citizens we were but a short time ago. A man descended the hastily placed gang plank and I walked closer and called out “Indian Chief?”

  “No. I am the XO, Commander Alex Harrold. Please call me Alex. Dropbear?”

  “Correct. Jack Sunn. Pleased to meet you. Please call me Jack. Welcome to Brisbane, and please feel free to come ashore.”

  “Thank you, and hesitating for a moment, Jack. The CO will be out in about one minute, after signing off with the duty officer.”

  The XO turned to the ship and called to the Petty Officer at the top of the plank. “Please escort the CO ashore when available.”

  Alex walked ashore, and together we waited a few metres away for the CO to emerge and walk down. He did so, along with Mr Everson, the US Navy’s Secretary of Defence.

  Alex turned to the CO, and said. “Captain, please may I present to you ‘Dropbear’, Mr Jack Sunn, acting minister of defence. Jack, this is our CO, Commander Rod Wheeler, and Mr Everson you know.”

  “Pleased to meet you Commander. Mr Everson. Welcome to Australia gentlemen. Please follow me so that I can introduce you to our Governor-General and acting Prime Minister. I have been instructed that as these are unusual circumstances, introductions are to be briefer and less formal than usual. This is at the request of our Governor-General, Admiral Gordon Alexander, RAN retired.”

  We walked about thirty metres away to a large tent, complete with table, white table cloth, seating for seven, and a large cooler.

  “Your Excellency, Madam Prime Minister, may I introduce you to the US Secretary of the Navy Mr Bill Everson, the Captain of the USS Navajo Commander Rod Wheeler, and the XO Commander Alex Harrold. Gentleman, His Excellency, Admiral Gordon Alexander, and Prime Minister Jill.”

  At this they all shook hands and Julie Everson half tackled her father with relief. Carol was introduced as a friend of Julie, and Alf was introduced to the men by the Governor-General as Alfred, his batman and bodyguard.

  While Jill and I talked to Bill Everson, the Governor-General engaged in small talk with the two crew members, and asked them to call him Gordon or Admiral, and extended services of the country to the USS Navajo and its crew. “Should you need anything, let me rephrase that, when you need something, please ask Jack or Alfred. They will remain here for sufficient time for you to re-group and plan what course of action you will take. But first, we have refreshments available courtesy of the Sunn household, and Alfred has a barbecue ready of beef sausages for the crew. Alfred also has a ration of one cold beer per man if you so allow.”

  The CO thanked the Admiral, and the XO motioned for a runner. The runner approached the XO.

  “When appropriate, but as soon as possible, have the duty officer rotate the crew topside through four shifts, say twenty to thirty minutes each, his discretion, for some good ’ol Aussie hospitality. Please advise that a can of cold Fourex beer is available per man. I am sure you all will be able to participate.”

  Under the temporary shade structure sat a place setting with a Japanese luncheon prepared by Mrs Chung, principally comprising rice and nori based vegetarian sushi and fresh pickles. Green tea was also available, as was chilled wine.

  While we enjoyed our outdoor luncheon with our American guests, Alf was in his element cooking in batches 350 sausages on the BBQ while chatting with the crew. Beer from the five cartons of cold Fourex beer was pleasurably assimilated. Though the lunch was quite out of character for the crew, the irregularity and generosity went a long way to improve their morale which had been on a downhill slide for some time. Before coming to Townsville, they had been in effective incommunicado with both naval authorities and family. Picking up their Secretary of the Navy had boosted morale a little, but premium beef sausages and beer was unprecedented.

  After our luncheon finished the Navajo’s CO Rod Wheeler asked the retired Admiral if he would care for a ship inspection. The Admiral without hesitation accepted.

  Clutching a parcel, His Excellency was escorted up the gangplank and disappeared inside the vessel. Once inside the CO’s stateroom, he handed a letter to the CO.

  “Under Emergency Services Legislation, Commonwealth of Australia, the vessel USS Navajo is to be considered the property of the Commonwealth of Australia anytime it is in Australian territorial waters and when the Governor-General of Australia is aboard. Accordingly, Article 1162 of the US Navy Regulations 1990, is null and void during said time,” signed Jack Sunn, acting Minister of Defence, Commonwealth of Australia. By this simple act consumption of alcohol on board had passed from unauthorised to authorised.

  The CO looked perplexed for a moment, but then saw the Admiral open the package he was carrying, revealing two bottles of premium single malt whisky from Tasmania. The CO smiled, and picked up his phone.

  “Duty Officer, this is the CO. Please request the XO join me in my stateroom.”

  Once the XO was in the presence of both the CO and the Admiral, the CO passed the letter to him. He quickly read it and immediately burst out laughing. In seeing the whisky, and the word Tasmania on the label, he just smiled.

  The XO said to the CO, “You know Rod, this appears to be somewhat irregular, but there is a certain irony here.” Pointing at the word Tasmania, he says, “This could be taken as TaSMAN group In Action. No doubt we owe them our thanks, but it appears
that our ally of Australia has right royally upstaged us once again.”

  The CO said to the Admiral, “Admiral, please be seated.” At this they all seated themselves as best as possible in the tight quarters. The Admiral further produced six etched glasses, three from each of the two distilleries that had been made for the admiral at his request, and that had not been commercially available.

  The CO wasted no time in pouring each of them a nip from one of the bottles. Silence for all of three seconds, and then the XO said, “Man, that is mighty fine hooch.”

  The admiral piped in, “These whiskeys are made using the finest Scottish traditions for making single malt. The Hellyers Road was awarded the Best New World Whisky at the 2013 Whisky Live Paris, and the Sullivans Cove was rated the best single malt at the prestigious World Whisky Awards in London in 2014 where over 300 entries were judged. It reminds me somewhat of the movie Bottle Shock, where an American white wine was rated first in a blind tasting in France, immediately rocketing the US wine industry onto the world stage. Mighty fine it is, hooch I am not sure. Sounds like something Colonel Potter from MASH would say. But your ship and I am a guest.”

  The CO responded, “Well technically this is no longer my boat.” They all smiled at this and had a fresh sip from the other bottle.

  Later that afternoon, Bill Everson took me to one side, looking more than a little concerned. “Jack, I have some difficult decisions to make in the next day regarding the ship’s crew, the ship, and of course my family. I cannot thank you enough for your efforts, and the work of your TaSMAN group. I, and we, are in your debt. I have some thoughts on the return to the US, but would appreciate your thoughts first, if that be acceptable with you.”

  “Formalities aside Bill, I am fairly sure Jill has been speaking with the CO and XO with the thought of offering indefinite leave for a small contingent of the crew. What decision you make for yourself and Julie I would rather skirt around. I know that you will feel obligation of duty to the Government of your country and to the Navy, but also especially to the crew who serve you aboard the Navajo. My honest thoughts are that return to Pearl Harbour is to be avoided. Hawaii has a population of about 1.4 million, is the only tropical state of the USA, but has at best about a ten-day supply of food. It imports about 92%. My guess is that any cargo ships that were en-route there have either berthed but had difficulty unloading anything, or got lost in transit in the absence of navigational aid. Hard to know, but I feel that the islands may be one of the least desirable places to try berthing. San Diego Navy Yards may be a better destination, but again without radio contact to confirm their situation that also may be fraught with danger.