by Patrick Ford
He was determined the Sunrise Shipping Company of China would not regain their ship. Other thoughts of vengeance passed through his mind. He wanted to go to Ramu Island and execute all the prisoners. He wanted to kill the cowardly Abdul, who he blamed, quite irrationally, for his demise. However, thoughts of revenge were secondary. Now the important thing was to go to ground, establish a new identity, and bide his time.
* * * *
Although it was late August, it was still very hot. Jack and his section moved along the escarpment. To their right, the clear turquoise of the Timor Sea made it seem cooler than it was. They marched for half a mile and then halted. Jack gathered his men around him. “Corporal,” he said to Bluey, “take the lead now. Be very careful. Something out of the ordinary is up ahead. Send out scouts. Perhaps we can catch Force Green with their pants down.”
As they approached the point where the shadows had disappeared, the forward scout returned and Bluey called Jack forward. “Boss, there is a strange looking area ahead. It looks as though something is blocking the waterway between this escarpment and a small island. I think you should take a look.”
Abdul and his henchmen had woken to the distant sound of a helicopter. He emerged on deck to find his dead sentry and his boat missing. Rashid, he thought, the dog has betrayed me. His first thought was what to do with the ship. He knew now he would never get the promised three million dollars. He had spent a small fortune to complete this operation. The only way to come out in front in this deal was to take the ship and its cargo. The vessel already had a new identity. He could find another hideaway for it, somewhere in the thousands of islands to the north. Then he could strip its cargo and dispose of it at leisure.
He began to rouse his crew, ordering them to begin removing the camouflage and to make her ready for sea. He wondered about the helicopter he had heard, but all had been quiet now for an hour or more. He could not afford to wait any longer. He ordered her engines started. Fortunately, Sunbird III was diesel powered. He would not have to wait to raise boiler pressure.
Jack edged forward to the lip of the escarpment, field glasses in hand, and examined the scene below. His scout was right. As he watched, he thought the cliff face was moving. What the hell? Then he realised the moving ground was in fact a huge camouflage net being pulled down. As they watched, the outline of a ship appeared, not big, but crowded with containers. A tendril of smoke drifted up from her funnel. Jack sent the scout back to bring up the rest of his men. When they arrived, he said, “Looks like a ship has been concealed here. Wasn’t there something about a missing container ship on the news a few weeks ago?”
Andy said, “I remember hearing about that. She was from Hong Kong. They are still looking for her.”
Jack handed him the field glasses. “Take a look at the stern. I’m sure that is a Red Ensign flying there. I don’t think the Brits would be anywhere near here. There’s not much left of their Merchant Navy.” Most of the world’s commercial shipping now operated under flags of convenience, registered in places like Liberia and Panama. As they watched the camouflage netting came down, they could see frantic activity around the ship.
“Looks as though they are getting ready to shoot through, Boss,” Bluey said. “What do we do?”
In law, the Australian army is restricted in its operations to the defense of the country. It has no policing powers of any kind. The correct procedure in this case was to inform the authorities and let them handle it, but there was no time for that. Jack turned to his radio operator. “Inform Battalion HQ that we are investigating a foreign vessel moored in our waters. Then see if you can raise HMAS Quinalow. She may be able to block the river mouth.”
It was time to get proactive. Jack began to move along the cliff face looking for a way down. There was none. He consulted his map and called to his radio operator. “Mick, raise Battalion HQ again. I want those birds in the air. Tell them to put a platoon down on that island beside the ship. It’s time we spoilt their little party.”
Jack stood so he was in full view of the ship below. He hailed them. As soon as he saw he had attracted attention, he called down to them. “This is the Australian Army. We are going to board your ship. Cease all activity and shut down your engines.”
Abdul Amir Mahomet was in the biggest pickle of his long and dirty career. He looked about him. He had fourteen men counting himself. How many soldiers were there up there, he wondered. His men had AK47s. Could they resist? He knew the answer. They had to; there was no other choice. If they did not escape, a long holiday in an Australian jail awaited him. With his absence from Nam Lin, another would take over his little empire. He could not risk that. He gestured to his men. They began firing at the cliff top.
Jack flung himself to the ground and signaled his men to move back. Could he return fire? He wrestled with the decision. They had fired on him first; he could justify some retaliation, but the people below were civilians of another country. He called out again. “We are heavily armed. There is a platoon of soldiers on the way. Resistance is futile. If you do not put down your weapons, we will respond with deadly force.” The answer was another fusillade.
“Bluey,” he said, “Have your gunner put a couple of bursts across the ship’s bow. That might make them think about making a fight of it.”
A long burst from the M60 kicked up dirt from the island alongside the ship. Abdul’s men had no stomach for a fight. One by one, they pleaded with him to surrender. He cursed them for the cowardly dogs they were, urged them to fight on, and threatened them with death. Then he realised how stupid that was. If he killed all his men, how could he fight back?
Then the ‘Wop…Wop…Wop’ of helicopters filled the air. They flared out and landed on the small island. Jack saw Con Theopolus and a platoon of infantry pour from the aircraft and take up a defensive line facing the ship. Abdul watched in despair. “Put down your weapons,” he ordered his men. “We have no chance.”
One Huey took off again and landed on the escarpment to pick up Jack’s party, and transferred them to the island. Jack shook Con’s hand. “Well done, Captain. Things were beginning to look a little dicey for a while. Let’s go and have a look at what we have here.”
They boarded the ship. Bluey Cook’s section disarmed the Indonesians and escorted them onto the island, leaving a couple of riflemen to guard them. Jack looked about his prize. “This is probably that ship that went missing,” he said. “Give her a thorough search; I’m going to speak to the Boss of this mob of pricks.”
Abdul refused to speak. “Give me a couple of minutes with him, sir,” Private Wilson, who was guarding the prisoners, said. “I think I can loosen him up.” He drew his bayonet and gave Abdul a mirthless grin.
“Put that away, Private. We don’t know if he understands English yet. The heavies from the Police and Immigration will have him talking in quick time.” None of the other prisoners would talk, all shaking their heads when asked if they spoke English.
As Jack turned away, Andy appeared at the run. “Sir, the whole bloody ship has been wired. There’s bloody Semtex and detonation cable everywhere below decks!”
They evacuated the ship at the double. “Captain Theopolus,” said Jack. “Move all the men across the island, away from the ship and take cover. I’m going to take a look at this.” The platoon Sergeant stepped forward. “Sergeant Pennini, sir. I have some experience with explosives. I’m a powder monkey at the Lodestone mine, sir. I’ll come with you, if you’d like.”
Jack nodded his thanks and turned to the ship. Below decks, it did not take them long to find the explosives. “It looks a simple series setup,” Pennini said, “but somewhere there must be a firing device, probably a timer or a radio controlled detonator. Look at all the bundles and see if there is one different to the others. I’ll take the port side, you take the starboard.”
* * * *
Rashid was not sure of his position, but he calculated that he was near the extreme range of his firing device. It was time to
blow Sunbird III, Abdul, and his crew to Hell. He looked towards the south and pressed the button.
Jack was close to panic, but he knew the best way was to inspect every charge methodically and as quickly as he could. Pennini seemed to have a cool head; he had bent to his task in a professional manner.
Rashid kept looking to the south, expecting to see the glow of the explosion reflected in the clouds. He saw nothing. Curses, he thought, I am too far away. He turned the boat through 180 degrees and pushed the throttles forward. Ten minutes, he thought, I will give it ten minutes and try again.
Jack and Pennini had been searching for about fifteen minutes now with no sign of the firing device. Both men, sweating profusely, expected oblivion at any minute. Jack looked across at Pennini, working away with absolute concentration. He does have a cool head, he thought.
Rashid timed his run. Ten minutes should have bought him four miles closer. He throttled back and pressed the button. Again, nothing happened. Furiously, he smacked the transmitter against his hand and tried again. Still nothing. Cursing, he removed the cover from the device and looked at the batteries. He felt like throwing the thing overboard. Both batteries were in place, covered with greenish salt-water corrosion. He must find more batteries. Frantically, he began to tear open drawers and cupboards. It took him ten minutes to find some new batteries in Abdul’s chartroom.
Sergeant Pennini was feeling the pressure. He knew there must be a firing device somewhere. He had checked all the explosive packages and found nothing but standard detonators. Fuck it! he thought, we should have just pulled all the detonators, but he knew that would have taken too much time.
Then Jack called to him and Pennini rushed to his side. “Look, there is a funny looking wire here,” Jack said. “See how it is taped to the ship’s wiring? It looks like the original wiring to the casual observer.”
Pennini looked. “You beauty, Major, you’ve hit the friggin’ jackpot.”
Rashid fumbled with the fresh batteries, finally getting them into the device. He pressed the button again. Nothing yet again. He tore into the firing device again. The batteries were in position, but he realised he would have to clean some corrosion from the contacts to make it work. He looked around the wheelhouse. There! A screwdriver! He could use the blade to scrape the terminals clean.
Pennini followed the wire to the deck head. There, nestled in a cavity formed by the bulkhead and the ship’s wiring loom, was a small black box. It had a small antenna and a red, flashing light. He hesitated. There could be an anti-tampering device here. If he moved the box, or cut the wire, it might fire. He voiced his concerns to Jack.
“I don’t think we have much time to fuck around,” Jack said. “You get the hell out of here. When you are clear, I’ll cut the wire.”
“Bullshit, you go. I’ll save the Government some money. A Sergeant’s pension is a lot less than a Major’s.”
Jack hesitated and then shook the man’s hand. “Good luck, Sergeant, it has been a privilege to know you. See you on the island.” He turned and walked away.
Pennini drew his bayonet. Carefully holding the box steady, he took a deep breath and cut the wire.
Rashid was ready now. Everything was working. If not for the incompetence of Abdul, who had failed to maintain his equipment properly, the infidels would have lost their ship and cargo a half hour ago. He pressed the button. The green indicator light flashed. The transmission had been successful. He looked to the horizon.
Pennini carefully took down the detonator box. As he did so, the red lamp extinguished, and a green one glowed. He felt physically sick, and his knees almost buckled. He had been within seconds of being blown to smithereens.
Rashid saw nothing. He cursed repeatedly. Finally, he hurled the transmitter into the ocean and put his helm over. He was finished here.
* * * *
Sergeant Pennini walked from the ship, disabled detonator in hand, his face pale as a ghost. Jack came to him, a quizzical look on his face. “I got it just in time, sir, another second and we were history.” Pennini sat down and took the cover off the device. Inside, he found a mercury tilt switch. If he had moved the box before cutting the wire, it would have triggered. He looked down and found that his hands were shaking. Christ, he thought, how close was that?
An hour later, a sleek grey shape entered the river mouth. Private Wilson tossed a red smoke grenade into the rocks nearby, and HMAS Quinalow veered towards them. She had a leadsman in her bow taking soundings. Carefully, she moved into the channel and dropped anchor. Soon, a small party landed a Zodiac on the beach. A young officer got out of the Zodiac, approached Jack and saluted.
“Morning, sir, I’m Lieutenant Zellars, Executive Officer of HMAS Quinalow. “We can take over now.”
All the Quinalow’s Australian patrol boats carried Australian Federal Police and Customs and Immigration officials. The ball was now in their court.
* * * *
Jack stepped down from the helicopter at his Battalion HQ. It seemed like days since he had set out on his reconnaissance, but only seven hours had elapsed. He looked at his company patrol schedule. C and B companies were out, A company had just returned. Jack found Peter Taylor digging into a ration tin.
“Can I invite you to lunch, sir? I have the finest American hogs pressed into this can. They call it Spam. I think the OR’s have a more appropriate name for it, but it’s not for publication.”
Jack accepted a fresh tin of the delicacy. “How was your patrol this morning, Peter?”
“Tiring, sir, but we covered a lot of ground. If you care to bring your lunch, I have something to show you.”
Taylor led him to the shade under a clump of stunted trees. Sitting on the ground, watched by a couple of riflemen, was a soldier, disarmed, with a green brassard on his arm. “Meet Force Green, sir,” he said. “We found him spying on us this morning. After a pleasant discussion, he agreed to have lunch with us as well.” The soldier had a bruise below his left eye.
“I gather it was a pleasant discussion, Captain,” Jack said.
“He was a bit unsteady on his feet, sir. It must have been all that spying. He fell and hurt himself. The medics have checked him out and pronounced him fit.”
The prisoner smiled ruefully. He would be the butt of his comrades’ jokes for months to come. A regular, captured by a ragtag CMF mob!
“Did you find his friends, Captain?”
“Saw them, sir; they were launching their inflatable and heading out to sea in a great hurry. The fish must be biting.”
Later in the afternoon, a helicopter landed and a Colonel wearing a red brassard stepped down. He approached the HQ tent. Jack and his men rose to meet him. The colonel held out his hand and Jack shook it. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said, “How can I help you?”
“Name’s Fisher,” the Colonel said. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Major, but your reputation precedes you. You have had an interesting morning, haven’t you?”
“Just a bit, sir.”
“Well, Major, I am in charge of the scrutineers of Exercise Koala. I am here to tell you the exercise is over. Congratulations on your success. Our referees have deemed the rest of Force Green wiped out if you had fired on them as they made their escape. Looks as though you are one up on the regulars.”
“Don’t congratulate me, sir. It’s all due to the men of the Bushmen’s Rifles.”
* * * *
Major Jack Riordan sat at his desk in the headquarters building and wrote his reports about the activities of the Bushmen’s Rifles since they had paraded for the first time in early August. He had perused his company commanders’ reports and the personal assessments issued for every soldier during the last month. He felt no small measure of pride in what his battalion had achieved. His superiors had congratulated him on his success. He had proven it was possible to train a disparate and widely scattered group of civilians to a high standard as reservists. They had told him he would be able to design a battalion insignia for its excl
usive use. From now on, the Rifles would wear a crocodile and crossed swords with pride.
He had reported separately on his action with the pirates and had recommended Sergeant Pennini for the award of the George Medal for his bravery and coolness in dismantling the explosives on the ship. Headquarters promised the recommendation would be looked upon favourably.
Later on this afternoon, he would catch the Brisbane flight. Susan and Jacqui would meet him. He could hardly wait.
* * * *
Captain Shen Go had almost given up hope of rescue. The caves on Ramu Island had deteriorated until the latrines had overflowed. Excrement covered most of the floor. Several of his crew had fallen ill and were lying listlessly against the mesh of the door, where they could escape the foul air inside. Misery reigned. They had not seen Hook and his associates for a day or more now. Yesterday they had taken the boat and headed out to sea, as though abandoning the prisoners.
The Captain straightened. His keen eyes had picked up something out to sea. Gradually, as it came closer, he could make out that it was a small grey boat. Gradually, he made out their guard’s boat in tow behind the newcomer. Obviously, they had met the executioners at sea to guide them here. His executioners he thought. They had promised he would be the next to die.
Sheer terror consumed him. Then he began to hear excited voices around him. He opened his eyes. The boat had landed. From it had emerged ten or more heavily armed soldiers of the Indonesian Security Forces.
Chapter 9
Family Matters
Jack’s flight landed in Brisbane at 1802 hours, just two minutes late. He came through the gate to find Susan waiting. My God, he thought, that baby has grown. I hope it isn’t twins!
Susan ran to him. How she had missed him! There had been reports in the newspapers of the missing ship, discovered by soldiers on exercise in the north. She had worried that Jack may have been harmed.
