‘Hello?’ he called.
An arm wrapped around Charlie’s chest and a rough blade pressed against his throat. ‘Don’t move,’ said a voice. ‘Or I’ll chop your head off.’
Charlie froze – he’d heard the stories about Japanese soldiers beheading their prisoners. Was he about to become one of them?
Masa emerged from the back of the shed, lowering a small slingshot with a rock in it that he’d had aimed at Charlie’s head. ‘Charlie?’ he said.
The blade fell away and Charlie swung around to face the person who had grabbed him. It was Alf, frowning as he lowered a big machete.
‘Cripes, Charlie,’ he said. ‘We thought you were the enemy for a sec.’
Charlie felt his neck carefully – it seemed like it was still fully attached.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ said Alf.
‘I had to come,’ Charlie said. ‘Captain Maggots knows Masa is here. He says he’s going to kill him.’
Masa gulped. ‘Kill me?’ he said.
‘He’s completely lost it,’ said Charlie. ‘We need to leave for the mainland. Right now.’
‘In broad daylight?’ said Alf. ‘No chance – we’d be spotted in seconds.’
Charlie ran a hand through his hair. Alf was right – the troops were watching the seas like hawks. Even if the Fighting Stingrays did get to a boat without being seen, they wouldn’t make it far from TI before someone spotted them. ‘So what should we do?’
‘Wait till it’s dark,’ said Alf. ‘No one’ll see us then.’
‘In that case,’ said Charlie. ‘We’d better at least clear out of this shed.’
They holed up in the Bowens’ half-empty front room, taking it in turns to peer through the curtains for any sign of Captain Maddox. The room was stinking hot, but no one dared open a window on the off chance it would give away their hiding place.
‘D’you really reckon Maggots would do it?’ asked Masa, splayed out on the wooden floor, playing with Judy.
‘What, kill you?’ said Alf, who was pacing the floor as Charlie kept watch. ‘Probably. I know I’d like to sometimes. Just look at what you’ve got us into!’
Masa screwed up his nose. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ he said.
‘We wouldn’t be here if you –’ Alf stopped and looked away.
‘If I what?’ said Masa. ‘Wasn’t Japanese?’
‘Never mind,’ Alf huffed.
Masa sat up. ‘You’re right, you know,’ he said. ‘But we also wouldn’t be here if you so-called Aussies didn’t think we’re all spies or traitors or crooks.’
Alf started to say something else, but Charlie spun around to interrupt. ‘Cut it out, you two,’ he snapped. ‘I didn’t jump off that ship to listen to you argue.’
Alf and Masa fell silent for a moment. ‘Sorry,’ said Masa. ‘We’re really glad you came back. Aren’t we, Alf?’
‘Yeah,’ said Alf, forcing a smile. ‘We are. Thanks, Charlie.’
‘My bloomin’ pleasure,’ muttered Charlie. ‘Where did you get those bags, anyway?’
‘Found ’em,’ said Alf, lifting up one of the two army backpacks, which were packed with tinned food and other handy things. ‘Amazing what people will leave lying around, isn’t it?’ He grinned at Charlie. ‘Come on, my turn to keep watch.’
The afternoon dragged on, but the only figures that appeared were a three-legged cat and a couple of blokes who, judging by the way they were veering from one side of the street to the other, had decided the evacuation of their wives and children was a good excuse to spend a whole afternoon in the pub.
The shadows lengthened and eventually the sun began to set, staining the overcast sky a brilliant gold. In the fading light, Charlie spotted a tall silhouette on the road. He rubbed the beads of condensation off the window pane for a clearer look. Sure enough, it was Captain Maddox striding up the hill towards them with a revolver in his hand.
Charlie leapt back from the window. ‘He’s here,’ he whispered. ‘Nobody move!’
The Fighting Stingrays peered through the thin curtains as Captain Maddox pulled the Bowens’ front gate open with a squeak. He crouched and disappeared down the side of the house, holding the gun out in front of him.
They rushed into the bedroom at the back of the cottage and pressed their noses to the window. Maddox was creeping through the undergrowth towards the shed. He paused outside the shed door, then kicked it open and leapt inside.
A minute went by, and then Maddox reappeared in the shed doorway, frowning so hard his eyebrows stood almost vertical. He swivelled, surveying the yard, then his gaze fell on the house and he stepped towards it.
‘Oh cripes,’ muttered Charlie. The Fighting Stingrays ducked out of sight, pressing themselves against the wall below the window. Alf’s grip tightened on the machete as heavy footsteps clomped up the back stairs and stopped outside the kitchen door.
The boys stared at each other in the dim bedroom, sweat beading on their foreheads. Then came the soft thuk-thuk of Maddox trying the locked door handle. He jiggled it a few times, and then the sound of breaking glass made them all jump – Maddox had smashed the window in the kitchen door. There was a click, as he unlocked the door from the inside, followed by a creak and the thump of army boots on the linoleum floor.
‘He’s inside,’ yelled Masa. ‘Run!’
They leapt up and hurtled into the front room. Alf snatched up the two backpacks, stuffing the machete and slingshot in one and throwing the other against Charlie’s chest so hard it nearly knocked him off his feet. Masa scooped up Judy and yanked open the front door, and the three of them pelted out, leaping off the verandah as a bellow of rage from the kitchen made it clear that Maddox had spotted them.
They vaulted over the side fence and stumbled across the patchy grass of the neighbours’ yard. ‘Stop!’ Maddox called from behind them, but there was no way any of the Stingrays were slowing down. Charlie gave Masa a boost over the next fence and then clambered over himself. But Alf didn’t follow. He was peering at an old bicycle leaning against the side of the house.
‘Get a move on,’ said Charlie.
Alf looked up. ‘You lot keep going,’ he said, swinging the backpack off his shoulders and tossing it over the fence to Masa. ‘Cut across to Battery Point and find us a launch. I’ll take care of Maggots.’
Before Charlie could protest, Alf raced over to the old bike and planted himself in the saddle. Charlie and Masa ducked behind the fence as Maddox appeared on the far side of the yard. Peering through the fence palings, Charlie saw the captain sneer as he recognised Alf.
‘You!’ he said.
‘That’s right, Crap-tain Maggots,’ chirped Alf. ‘And I’m about to steal this bike. What are you going to do about it?’ He cranked the pedals and the bike lurched around the edge of the house and towards the street. Maddox growled, vaulted the fence and sprinted off in pursuit of Alf.
Charlie turned to Masa. ‘You heard Alf,’ he said. ‘Head for Battery Point.’
Masa tucked Judy into one of the large pockets of the backpack and followed Charlie over the rear fence and into the scrub beyond. They made their way around the base of Green Hill, leaping over tussocks and rocks as the old cannons jutted into the orange sky above them. One of the radio operators at the fort would only have to take an evening stroll along the ramparts to spot Charlie and Masa, and Charlie’s pulse quickened as a shadow appeared on the lip of the hill. But it was only a big billy goat watching them with interest as they cut across an expanse of open ground and scrambled down the loose rocky slope towards Battery Point.
They emerged from a line of almond trees onto the deserted dirt road at the western side of TI. The sun’s last rays were fading behind Friday Island as they pelted across the road to the quiet beach. There was no motor launch, but two small wooden dinghies were tied up to the row of posts that jutted out into the shallows.
‘That one,’ said Charlie, pointing to the larger of the two boats. They splashed over to it an
d Charlie began untying the rope. Masa whipped a penknife out of his backpack and sliced straight through it, then they threw the backpacks into the dinghy and turned back to watch the road.
‘Where is he?’ muttered Charlie. Alf was quick on a bike, but the rusty old two-wheeler he’d found wasn’t exactly built for speed. Charlie’s stomach churned as the minutes ticked by, but then Alf rounded the corner, standing tall and cranking the pedals like a madman.
The bike rocketed towards the beach. ‘No brakes!’ yelled Alf, a split second before the front wheel dug into the sand and he went flying over the handlebars, landing face first. Any other time, Charlie and Masa would have fallen over themselves, laughing, but Charlie just swore and waded back ashore.
‘You all right?’ he said, helping Alf to his feet.
‘Yep,’ said Alf, spitting out a mouthful of coarse sand. ‘But he’s right behind me.’
Sure enough, the tall figure of Captain Maddox was about 150 yards down the road and advancing fast. Charlie and Alf dashed across the beach like they’d been stung by scorpions, splashing through the shallows and clambering into the dinghy behind Masa. Alf sat down, grabbed the oars and spun the boat to face the open sea.
‘Wait a tick,’ said Masa. He jumped out of the boat and waded towards the second dinghy.
‘You’re crazy!’ said Alf. ‘What are you doing?’
Masa reached into the dinghy and hauled out its two wooden oars. Slinging them awkwardly over his shoulder, he splashed his way back to the Fighting Stingrays’ boat and dumped them on board.
‘He’s not crazy,’ said Charlie. ‘Maggots can’t follow us without any oars. Now row, Alf, row!’
Alf grunted as he pulled on the oars and the wooden boat glided swiftly away from the shore.
They’d gone nearly thirty yards by the time Captain Maddox arrived on the beach. Peering through the dusk, he spotted Charlie, and his mouth dropped open. ‘You!’ he said. ‘How in the hell . . .?’
‘Faster, Alf!’ yelled Charlie. But Alf was already swinging the oars back and forth at an incredible speed.
‘Little toads,’ roared Maddox. He raced to the second dinghy, sliced through the hitching rope and climbed aboard. He plonked himself down and reached for the oars but ended up with two handfuls of thin air.
Masa waved one of the stolen oars at him. ‘Looking for something, Maggots?’ he called.
Captain Maddox’s face puckered up like a wongai plum in the sun. He screamed a four-letter word that Charlie had never even heard before, then stood in the middle of the dinghy, pulled out his revolver and pointed it towards their boat.
The three of them ducked into the dinghy as Maddox’s gun gave a loud crack.
‘Oh crikey,’ said Masa. ‘We’re dead.’
‘He won’t hit us from there,’ panted Alf. ‘Not with a little gun like that.’ But Charlie noticed Alf was still ducking down as low as he could while rowing furiously.
A gust of wind blew up and a big swell rolled underneath their boat. The Fighting Stingrays’ dinghy plunged down the back of it, hiding Captain Maddox from view. When he reappeared, he was training the barrel of the gun towards them again. Charlie pressed himself to the floor of the boat and peered over the stern.
But Maddox was so focused on his shot that he wasn’t keeping an eye on the waves. The swell hit his boat, and it lurched sharply to one side before he’d had a chance to fire. Captain Maddox swayed, stumbled, caught his heel on the edge of the dinghy and toppled sideways into the sea.
Charlie and Masa hooted with laughter, and even Alf chuckled as he strained on the oars. Maddox emerged from the water, spluttering with fury. He aimed the gun at the dinghy and pulled the trigger again and again. But nothing happened – there was no bang and no bullets.
Captain Maddox bleated like a dying sheep, and Charlie sniggered to himself – the seawater must have clogged up the revolver’s firing mechanism.
‘Jap lovers! Criminals! Traitors!’ roared the captain. ‘You’ll all hang for this!’
The Fighting Stingrays’ little dinghy pulled further out to sea until Captain Maddox really was the size of a maggot, wriggling about on the beach and shaking his fist in their direction.
‘I bet Maggots needed that bath, the smelly old grub,’ said Masa, as Alf rowed the little boat around the edge of Battery Point.
‘Shame he didn’t get eaten by a grouper while he was in there,’ added Charlie.
‘Or carried off to New Guinea,’ added Alf. ‘Now which way to the mainland?’
‘South, you idiot,’ said Masa.
Alf grimaced. ‘Better get out the compass then, drongo.’
Masa grabbed one of the bags. ‘Don’t mind me, Judy,’ he said, rummaging through the pocket where Judy was hiding. He pulled a small compass and torch out of the bag. ‘Uh, I must’ve been away from scouts the day we learned to use these things.’
‘Row that way,’ Charlie said, pointing down the darkened channel between Horn Island and Prince of Wales Island. ‘Keep the lights from Horn on your left and we’ll be right for now.’
‘Right-o,’ said Alf. He grunted as he worked the oars and big swells rolled under the dinghy. But after a few minutes, it was clear the lights on Horn Island weren’t getting any closer. In fact, they were fairly quickly getting further away.
‘The current,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s running in the other direction.’
Alf groaned and pulled in the oars. They had all experienced the ripping currents of the Strait in some form or another – being swept off course during weekend fishing trips or seeing the wrecks of boats pushed onto rocks. And more than once they had watched a lugger come in with its flags at half mast but no diver’s body, the poor fellow having been torn from his lifeline and dragged off under water to God knows where. They knew there was no point in fighting the current – a rowboat couldn’t take on the mighty tides of the Torres Strait and win.
That meant there was nothing to do but sit and wait as the boat drifted away from TI, and away from the mainland. They hunkered down as it floated swiftly past the hulking silhouette of Friday Island, where their class had sometimes gone for picnics – swimming, fishing and messing about on the powdery white beaches without a care in the world. The last picnic had only been a few months ago, but now it seemed like centuries.
Goode Island loomed in front of them, its lighthouse blinking through the darkness.
‘Should we go ashore at Goode till the current dies down?’ asked Alf.
‘Isn’t it crawling with army now?’ said Charlie.
‘Yep,’ said Alf. ‘They’ve got a couple of six-inch artillery guns too, I think. The sort they use on battleships.’
‘I don’t reckon those blokes will be too keen to see me,’ said Masa.
Charlie rubbed his forehead. On the other side of Goode Island was nothing but open ocean for miles and miles. But if they found a quiet beach on the island to hide out for a few hours, there was a good chance the tides would change and they could head back towards the mainland. ‘Let’s have a crack at landing,’ he said. ‘But let’s do it very, very quietly.’
‘Roger that,’ said Alf. He gripped the oars and started trying to steer the dinghy over the swells.
They had barely moved a hundred yards when a column of bright light shot up from Goode Island and into the heavens like a spear.
‘Searchlight!’ Charlie said.
The wide beam swivelled around and began scanning the channel ahead of them, sweeping across the water from left to right.
‘Forget about landing, Alf,’ Charlie said. ‘Just get us as far away as possible.’
‘I’m trying,’ said Alf. ‘But there’s something . . .’ He leaned over the side of the boat and wrenched a tangle of slimy, brown branches off the oar.
‘Seaweed,’ he said, peering in the water. ‘There’s a whole blinkin’ field of it here.’
‘Give me some,’ said Masa, as the searchlight inched closer.
‘This is no time for you
r funny tucker,’ snapped Alf.
‘No, stupid.’ Masa grabbed the bundle of seaweed from Alf and draped it over the nose of the boat. ‘It’s camouflage.’
‘Masa, you’re a genius!’ cried Charlie. ‘Cover the boat.’
Alf drew in the oars and the three of them began furiously scooping seaweed, hanging over the edge of the dinghy as it pitched and rocked in the swell. Masa nearly fell off at one point, but was saved by Alf snatching the back of his collar, half-choking him as he hauled him back on board.
By the time they finished, the boat was sitting a lot lower in the water, but it was completely cloaked in the tangled brown weed. The Goode Island searchlight was only a hundred yards away.
The Fighting Stingrays dug themselves into the soggy seaweed. It felt and smelled like being buried in a tank of dead eels, but with a bit of luck the troops manning the searchlight would assume their getaway boat was nothing more than a clump of seaweed drifting harmlessly through the ocean.
Charlie held his breath as daggers of white light penetrated their clammy hideout. The searchlight was on them. The narrow beams filtering through the strands of seaweed were so bright that Charlie had to close his eyes to avoid being blinded. Nobody moved for what seemed like hours, and neither did the searchlight – of course their stupid camouflage hadn’t worked! But then the shards of light slowly dimmed and the boys found themselves in complete darkness again.
‘We’d better sit tight for a while,’ Charlie said.
So they stayed in their slimy fortress as the wind blew harder, the swells got bigger and fierce currents pushed them all over the place. Charlie heard Masa retching at the front of the boat and hoped that none of it would find its way towards the back end. Then came the splatasplatsplatasplat of raindrops on seaweed, and a huge peal of thunder sounded close by.
Charlie poked his head cautiously out of the slippery sea-noodles and into the deluge. The searchlight was a long way behind them and barely visible through the heavy sheets of rain.
The Fighting Stingrays Page 8
