The Fighting Stingrays

by Simon Mitchell

  They had just reached the edge of it when a figure emerged from the darkness and crash-tackled Charlie. His mouth filled with sand as his head was forced into the ground.

  ‘Caught you, you filthy animal,’ hissed Captain Maddox.

  There was a thump as Alf was driven to the ground beside Charlie. ‘Oi, gerroff!’ Alf protested.

  Captain Maddox yanked Charlie upright and shined a torch in his face. ‘What?’ he said. ‘You’re not a Jap.’

  ‘Neither’s this one,’ growled Sergeant Livingston, jamming his torch against Alf’s nose.

  Captain Maddox leaned in so close that Charlie could smell the stale pipe smoke on his breath. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  Charlie blinked, blinded by the bright white torch bulb. ‘Sir,’ he spluttered, ‘We’re . . . uh . . .’

  ‘We’ve been looking for fireflies,’ said Alf, his voice muffled as Sergeant Livingston pinned him facedown in the sand.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Charlie. ‘We were just heading home when we heard someone yelling, sir.’

  As he spoke, the spotlight whirled towards them, flooding the beach with light. Captain Maddox shoved Charlie backwards and scrutinised him. Charlie tried to look innocent, which wasn’t easy when his knees were caked with blood, his hair was full of weeds and burrs from the Canyon, and the whole front of his body was covered with dirt. At least the captain couldn’t see the rip in the back of his shorts.

  ‘Fireflies?’ sneered Captain Maddox. ‘A likely story.’ He leapt forwards and held Charlie by the arm. ‘Which way did the Jap go?’

  Charlie grimaced as Maddox dug in his fingernails. ‘I dunno what you mean, sir.’

  The captain’s eyes narrowed. ‘Lies,’ he said. ‘Sergeant Livingston, bring these boys to HQ. We’ll detain them until they talk.’

  He began pulling Charlie along the beach just as a volley of shouts erupted further down the fence.

  ‘I see him,’ called a soldier. ‘There, behind the tree!’

  Captain Maddox leered at Charlie as the circle of light whipped towards the shouts. ‘It seems your friend’s luck has dried up,’ he said.

  Charlie’s stomach sank – it looked like Masa would be leaving on the boat the next day after all.

  But then a voice rang out: ‘Hands up, or I’ll shoot!’

  There was a chilling pause, and then a sound like a thousand firecrackers going off. Jets of fire burst from the corner of Yokohama as the machine gun fired into the night.

  ‘Got ’im!’ someone called.

  The spotlight homed in on a small figure slumped in the middle of the road. It had to be Masa.

  Charlie fought to break free of Captain Maddox’s grasp, but the captain wasn’t having any of it. ‘Don’t try anything stupid,’ he muttered. ‘Come and see what we do to Japs who think they can escape.’

  The officers yanked Charlie and Alf along the beach as a dozen soldiers rushed in to surround the body, guns at the ready. Charlie’s head spun – this was like a horrible nightmare. The butchers had just killed Masa!

  ‘Well?’ spat Captain Maddox, shoving his way through the ring of soldiers. ‘Which one of the filthy heathens was it?’

  Charlie shut his eyes. He couldn’t see Masa like this, all covered in blood and riddled with bullets.

  But then one of the army men coughed. ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘It’s an emu.’

  Charlie opened his eyes. Sure enough, in the centre of the group was one of the big flightless birds that a couple of people on TI actually kept as pets. The bird’s legs were splayed at a crooked angle, its long neck lolled to one side, and its dull brown feathers were stained a deep red.

  Charlie gaped at the dead bird. Where was Masa?

  Captain Maddox threw Charlie to the side and strode over to give the emu’s body a sharp kick. ‘Who is responsible for this?’ he roared.

  A tall blond-haired soldier spoke up. ‘Sir, Lieutenant Parton is manning the gun. But it was dark, sir, and –’

  ‘Parton!’ barked Maddox. ‘You are on latrine duty for a fortnight. And whichever cretin raised the alarm, as well. Honestly, a mob of emus would make better soldiers than you lot. Get back to your posts before I put my boot up every last one of you!’

  Eyes down, the soldiers scuttled away from Captain Maddox. Sergeant Livingston was still clasping Alf by one ear. ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘What about these boys? D’you want to lock ’em up?’

  Captain Maddox spun around. ‘Does it look like we have time to waste on these snot-nosed little turds, Sergeant Livingston? Stop standing around like a drongo and shift this bloody emu. I’m going to have to wake up the Fort Commander and explain this debacle.’

  Sergeant Livingston gave Alf’s ear a final twist before letting him go. Charlie met his friend’s eyes and the two of them melted away into the night, leaving Captain Maddox yelling at no one in particular.

  Masa, it turned out, was exactly where they hoped he would be – holed up in Fort Bugalugs. It wasn’t a real fort, of course – it was a stack of large boulders in a small, bushy clearing near the top of Rose Hill. The Fighting Stingrays had named it Fort Bugalugs after an old schoolteacher of theirs, and it was a regular feature in some of their most important battles.

  Charlie and Alf had walked up to the fort first thing the next morning and found Masa fast asleep inside. The big rocks had plenty of cracks and crevasses that were perfect for climbing, and were piled up to form a partly covered hollow in the centre of the fort. It was pretty cramped and home to a fair few spiders, but it kept off the sun and was completely hidden from view until you were actually standing on the boulders. The space was too small for Masa to stretch out, so he was sleeping with his knees curled up around his chin. One thumb was jammed in his mouth, the other arm was bent into a V so that Judy could nestle in the crook.

  ‘Awww, look at the cute widdle babies,’ teased Alf.

  Masa woke up and blinked at them. ‘What happened last night?’ he said, sitting up and wiping a string of drool off his cheek. His hair was sticking up like a cactus, and his face was streaked with dirt from their crawl through the Canyon. ‘I heard machine guns.’

  Charlie took a seat on the fort, wincing slightly as his scratched bum met the warm rocks. He and Alf told Masa the full story, describing Charlie’s escape from the wire, the bullet singing through the air behind them, and their ‘fight’ with Maddox and Sergeant Livingston on the beach. (‘I gave him a couple of good ones to the guts,’ lied Alf.) When they re-enacted Captain Maddox’s fury after realising his men had machine-gunned an emu by mistake, Masa laughed out loud for the first time since the barbed wire had gone up.

  ‘Shh!’ Charlie said. ‘You know there are army blokes just down the hill.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Masa, closing his eyes and suppressing a ridiculous sounding giggle. He picked up Judy and tickled her. ‘I’ve heard of the early bird getting the worm, but never the maggot getting the bird!’

  And they all had a chuckle at that one.

  Later that day, Charlie and Alf watched their Japanese neighbours board the Zealandia, a ship that had come to take them south to the internment camps. A dozen or so families and hundreds of young men filed along under the scorching sun, struggling with suitcases or heavy boxes full of pots and pans. A few of the children were screaming, and plenty of old people were crying as they made their way down to the jetty, watched over by soldiers with bayoneted rifles.

  It was really unfair, thought Charlie, as he nodded goodbye to some of his classmates. Some of these people had lived on TI their whole lives, running businesses, building houses and raising their families. They were about as much of a threat to Australia as a kitten wearing a bow tie.

  Uncle Jiro, Auntie Reiko and Cousin Kiyoko were one of the last families to leave. Jiro and Reiko snapped at each other as Kiyoko scowled her way down the road to the dock. When she spotted Charlie and Alf, she glared at them and muttered something to her parents.

  Uncle Jiro strod
e up to Charlie.

  ‘Where is Masaki?’ he demanded.

  ‘Masa?’ said Charlie. ‘Why, he’s already on board, Mr Jiro.’

  ‘Lies!’ barked Uncle Jiro. ‘He hasn’t been home all morning. That disgusting animal of his is gone as well.’

  ‘He’s definitely on the ship, sir,’ chimed in Alf. ‘We saw him board just a moment ago with the . . . uh . . . who was it, Charlie?’

  ‘A couple of the Yamashita girls,’ said Charlie. ‘He was helping them with their ports, I think.’

  Uncle Jiro frowned and leaned in so close that Charlie almost choked on the stench of whisky fumes. He met Jiro’s eyes as the man regarded him suspiciously.

  Uncle Jiro stepped back. ‘The little rascal,’ he said. ‘When I get my hands on him . . .’

  Auntie Reiko yelled something in Japanese and Uncle Jiro went to join her, grumbling like a broken lawnmower.

  ‘Good luck, Uncle Jiro, sir,’ called Charlie as they hurried off. But Jiro just went back to growling at his wife.

  ‘Lovely family,’ said Alf. ‘I’ll miss ’em a lot.’

  As the Zealandia steamed out into the channel and disappeared from view, Charlie didn’t know whether to cry or dance for joy. It was horrible that so many locals had been forced to leave their homes, but at least the Fighting Stingrays had saved Masa from a terrible fate – spending God-knows-how-long locked up in a prison camp with his awful relatives.

  Even so, there was a nagging doubt at the back of Charlie’s mind: Thursday Island was a tiny place – how long could they really expect to keep Masa hidden?

  On Christmas Eve, the Napiers received a surprise afternoon visitor. Charlie was reading Biggles of the Camel Squadron on the verandah and enjoying a rare breeze blowing through the open shutters when the brylcreemed head of Captain Maddox appeared in the doorway. Charlie gulped as the captain’s eyes fell on him, and one side of his fishtail-like moustache turned up in a sneer.

  ‘Hello?’ Maddox called. ‘Mr Napier?’

  Charlie’s dad emerged from his study. ‘Ah, it’s Captain Maddox, isn’t it? Please, come in.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Captain Maddox, removing his hat, wiping his already spotless boots on the doormat and stepping through the door to shake Charlie’s father’s hand. Charlie could smell the hair ointment from where he was sitting a good twelve feet away. He pretended to be engrossed in his book, but inside he was panicking.

  Mr Napier beamed at the captain. ‘How are the preparations going?’ he asked.

  ‘Exceptionally well,’ said Captain Maddox. ‘We’ve got a top-rate fighting force, here and elsewhere in Queensland. And I hear the Japs’ weapons are as weak and tiny as their soldiers.’ He brayed with laughter. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be more than ready if they come.’

  Charlie’s mum drifted out of the bedroom where she’d been taking her post-lunch, pre-gin-and-tonic nap. ‘We had a fright with all that shooting the other night, Captain,’ she said. ‘Something to do with an emu, I heard?’

  Captain Maddox’s eyelid twitched. ‘Oh, it’s nothing to be concerned about, Mrs Napier. Although it does bring me to the reason I’m here. It’s your son.’

  ‘Charles?’ said Mrs Napier.

  Charlie lowered his book. ‘Me?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ Captain Maddox fixed his beady eyes on Charlie. ‘I was wondering if he knew the whereabouts of Masaki Ueshiba.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Mr Napier.

  ‘Masa?’ said Charlie, innocently. ‘Last time I saw him, Captain Maddox, he was boarding the ship with the other Japanese.’

  ‘Was he indeed?’ Captain Maddox’s face crinkled with the effort of smiling. ‘That is very interesting, because I received word from the Zealandia today that young Masaki is not on board. In fact, it appears that he never was.’

  Charlie feigned surprise, frowning and scratching his head. ‘But . . . where could he be, sir?’

  Captain Maddox squeezed his smile even wider. ‘That is precisely what I am asking you, young man.’ He turned back to Charlie’s dad. ‘Mr Napier, your son was seen in the vicinity of Japtown two nights ago, immediately after an escape alarm was raised. We initially thought it was a false alarm –’

  ‘The emu?’ interrupted Mrs Napier.

  Captain Maddox’s cheeks turned ever-so-slightly red. ‘Indeed,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘However, it now seems that Masaki probably vanished at around the same time, so I thought Charles might have some inkling of his whereabouts.’

  ‘Charles was wandering around Japtown in the middle of the night?’ said Charlie’s father. ‘Captain Maddox, I think you must be mistaken.’

  ‘I assure you, I am not, Mr Napier. I caught him myself, along with his large-eared friend.’ Maddox fished a leather-bound notebook out of his khaki shirt pocket and peered at it. ‘An Alfred Hurley.’

  Mr Napier lifted an eyebrow at Charlie. ‘Charles?’ he said. ‘Is any of this true?’

  Charlie cleared his throat. ‘Alf and I were out the other night, Father,’ he said. ‘But we were only looking to see if there were any fireflies yet. I’m sorry I didn’t ask your permission first.’

  ‘Fireflies,’ sniggered Captain Maddox. ‘Of course – perfectly innocent. But then I wonder how you explain this!’ He reached into another pocket and, with a flourish, pulled out a strip of tattered grey fabric. It was the bit of Charlie’s shorts that had torn off in the barbed wire as they fled Yokohama.

  Charlie’s heart practically stopped. He was glad he’d buried the ripped shorts in the back of the garden where no one would find them.

  ‘What on earth is that?’ said Charlie’s mum, eyeing the shred of dirty cloth in disgust.

  ‘A piece of your son’s clothing,’ crowed Captain Maddox. ‘Left behind as he was helping the Ueshiba boy escape. Mrs Napier, could you please confirm this is Charles’s?’

  ‘Our maid takes care of the laundry,’ she said. ‘Rosie?’

  Rosie emerged from the back of the house. ‘Tell me, girl,’ said Captain Maddox, flapping the torn piece of shorts at her. ‘Does this belong to Charles?’

  Rosie looked towards Mrs Napier, who nodded. She stepped forwards and accepted the strip of fabric from Captain Maddox.

  Charlie’s skin tingled with panic – if Rosie recognised the cloth, he and Alf were in serious trouble, not to mention Masa.

  Rosie held the dirty scrap of cloth up in front of her, inspecting it closely. She glanced sideways at Charlie. Then she handed the material back to Captain Maddox. ‘No, sir,’ she said. ‘I wash all of the children’s clothes, and Charlie doesn’t have any shorts that colour.’

  Charlie could have kissed Rosie right then and there, but Captain Maddox looked like he was about to murder her. ‘What?’ he spluttered.

  ‘Well, Captain, I suppose that settles it,’ said Charlie’s father. ‘Rosie would certainly not be in my employment if she were a liar. But I wish you luck in finding the Japanese boy.’

  Captain Maddox snorted like a bull getting ready to charge. ‘I assure you, Mr Napier,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘I will stop at nothing to find Masaki and the people who helped him.’ He narrowed his eyes until Charlie could feel them boring into his skull. ‘Aiding the escape of an enemy could be considered an act of treason. And I dare say you all know what the penalty is for treason?’

  Nobody said anything.

  ‘Hanging,’ said Captain Maddox. He let the words linger in the air and a cold chill ran up Charlie’s spine – surely they wouldn’t really hang him? He was only twelve! ‘And now I must bid you all a good evening,’ said Maddox, swivelling on his heel. ‘Keep an eye on that boy of yours, Mr Napier.’ He shot a final venomous look in Charlie’s direction as he stepped through the doorway. ‘I most certainly will.’

  ‘A good man, that Captain Maddox,’ said Mr Napier. ‘Now, Charles, you are not to leave this house after dark, fireflies or no fireflies. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Father,’ said Charlie.

  Charlie’s mother
glanced at the wall clock. ‘Goodness, I’m expected at the Warners’ in two hours,’ She hurried off towards the bedroom as Charlie’s dad returned to his study and closed the door with a thump.

  Rosie turned to Charlie. ‘I know they were your shorts, Charlie,’ she whispered.

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlie whispered back. ‘For saying they weren’t.’

  Rosie’s forehead creased. ‘What have you got yourself into?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Charlie, wishing he could tell Rosie everything. ‘Honestly.’

  Rosie shook her head. ‘Don’t do anything silly,’ she said. ‘You heard him – you might be hanged.’

  Forcing a grin, Charlie hunched his shoulders up and pulled his head down to give himself a double chin. ‘They can’t hang me,’ he said. ‘I don’t even have a neck!’

  It was one of his best worst jokes, but for once Rosie didn’t even smile.

  The wet season finally arrived just after New Year. Charlie was in bed when he heard the first rumble of thunder, and a few minutes later a relentless downpour was drenching the house, the raindrops on the roof sounding like a thousand machine guns. The noise woke Audrey and they both raced outside, sprinting around the house from one overflowing gutter to another and letting the torrents of water gush over them like a waterfall.

  Tiny shoots were already sprouting from the drought-stricken earth the next morning and within a week the entire island had gone from a dusty brown to a dazzling green. Water tanks overflowed, the streets often looked more like rivers than roads, and hordes of frogs, butterflies and beetles suddenly appeared as if from nowhere. The rains also lowered the temperature a few degrees, and it felt like the whole island was breathing a sigh of relief.

  The one person who wasn’t happy about the monsoon was Masa. ‘It’s so boring,’ he’d moaned when Alf and Charlie made one of their daily visit to Fort Bugalugs. ‘Me and Judy have to lie about under the tarp for hours when it’s raining.’