On shore, Len and the other sailors stood along the beach while the others stayed concealed in the trees. Ian Stonor gave instructions for the protection of the senior officers, then left, with a couple of men, to look for a view over the sea and reef from where he might watch events on the Fairmile.
Len watched discreetly from the shore, using binoculars he found along with a compass and some local charts in Johnny’s bag. He could see the men on board, Richard Pool, George Atkins, Malcolm Henderson and Johnny Bull – two Britons, an Australian and a New Zealander – watching and waiting while the Japanese destroyer hove to and lowered a boat filled with armed men, which made straight for the stricken launch. All the while the destroyer’s guns remained trained on the Fairmile. Len’s apprehension rose when he saw the sailors leap on board and force the officers up against the superstructure with their weapons. He could hear the shouting. One man raised his rifle and menaced the captives, until one of two officers appeared to intervene. Immediately, the sailors ceased their yelling and took a pace back, still holding their rifles at the ready. The aggressor among them continued to intimidate the prisoners with his bayonet. Len watched as the enemy officer stopped in front of Johnny and some sort of conversation ensued. He wished he could hear what was going on.
The Japanese officer looked to the shore. On the edge of the beach, he could see the forlorn group of seamen standing motionless, staring back towards the boat. The officer appeared to give another brief command because several more sailors then clambered aboard the Fairmile and disappeared below. The enemy officer strolled to the bow, and Len’s spirits sagged further as the noise of the Japanese ransacking the boat carried across the water. He continued to watch for several minutes, not daring to blink. The Japanese officer spoke to Johnny again then stood back, whereupon one of his sailors handed his rifle to another and quickly conducted a body search of each of the prisoners in turn. While Len watched, the sailor with the bayonet continued to weave his weapon threateningly back and forth at the group. Two Japanese entered the wheelhouse, while others inspected the ship’s armaments. Len took some satisfaction from having personally thrown the breechblock of the gun overboard, on instructions from Johnny.
Jock squatted down beside Len, so he handed over the binoculars.
The Coxswain muttered insults under his breath, while Len squinted in the bright light to see what was happening. None of the sailors on the beach said a word as they watched the event unfold.
The Japanese in charge gazed out to sea, taking no notice of the activity of his subordinates while his captives stood by helplessly. Len and the others watched and listened for several minutes to the noises of destruction, before the sailors began to come back on deck again. The Lieutenant appeared to give an instruction, and immediately those sailors standing over the captives sprang into action, poking and prodding their prisoners towards the stern.
‘Oh fuck. I don’t like the look of this,’ said Jock, looking away from the scene.
Len took the binoculars back. He saw George Atkins, conspicuously grey-haired and a little slow in responding to the sailors’ prods, receive a blow to the kidneys from a rifle butt and sink to his knees. Len wanted to respond himself; to do something other than watch helplessly. The fear that he had first felt now turned to a furious anger; his grip on the glasses intensified.
The unfortunate officers were herded to the rail, before an enemy clearly succumbing to a feverish aggression. It seemed like their end might be near. Len could hear the soldiers behind him beginning to react to the situation. He had forgotten they were there and that they too were watching.
On board, Johnny himself stared at impending death and felt nothing. He had often wondered whether repeated experience of close action was somehow immunising; whether being under fire as closely as they had been might, incrementally, inure a person from fear of death. He had heard of the death wish, but that implied a desire to abandon life, and he was damn sure he wasn’t ready for that. No. What he felt as he looked at the excited faces of his enemy was a grace, an inner peace, a freedom from extreme emotion. It surprised him. It surprised him further when his mind began to wander. He closed his eyes, hoping that the shadow of his hat obscured the fact; relishing the warmth of the sun. He saw the view from his house, out over the waters of Cockle Bay and the Tāmaki estuary to the islands of Motukorea and Rangitoto. He saw his wife Cecily, and heard her voice calling him to tea. At least they had had wonderfully happy times together.
The men on shore, and Len in particular, could not have imagined the paradox. They themselves were a long way from inner peace, struggling to suppress the overwhelming desire to fire at the Japanese from the shore and save their officers from execution. The thing that held them back was the certain knowledge that the retaliation from the destroyer would be swift and indefensible. And they still had a duty to protect the Admiral and the other senior officers.
Across the water floated a sharp command, followed by much shouting between the Japanese. Now it was Jock’s turn to raise the binoculars, and for Len to watch, as the enemy sailors moved to their launch and began to board it.
‘Christ, what are they up to now?’ said Len.
‘I don’t bloody believe this,’ Jock replied.
They watched as the Japanese officer said something to Johnny, then bowed stiffly from the waist. The men on the beach stood stunned, uncertain. They saw George Atkins give a bow of sorts, while Johnny saluted. The Japanese officer returned the salute, spun around and joined his men in their tender to return to the destroyer. None of the men on the beach could believe the unexpected change of fortune. They watched the destroyer take the launch back on board, weigh anchor and reverse gently before turning into the channel and slowly moving away. It rounded the larger island and disappeared from sight.
On the Fairmile, the men were totally drained of emotion; almost drained of energy. Their shoulders sagged, and they stared about themselves in bewilderment.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Pool whispered.
The Wing Commander just shook his head, uncomprehending.
Johnny expressed his own deep sigh of relief and laid his hand on his First Officer’s shoulder.
‘Come on, mate. Let’s go and find the others.’
★ ★ ★
Johnny and the other officers joined those already ashore. Len and Jackie listened keenly, as did they all, while Johnny explained to the Admiral and the assembly exactly what happened. The Japanese mid-shipman had spoken English. He had politely explained to Johnny that their vessel did not have the capacity to accept prisoners. Someone would return shortly to take them all prisoner, he said. Until then, they were condemned to remain marooned on an island with no obvious means of escape. In spite of this, everybody was elated by this outcome.
They were further surprised when Ian Stonor emerged from the jungle shortly after, accompanied by several Dutch soldiers. Everybody now gathered to hear their story.
Several were local Sumatran, dressed in sarongs and khaki shirts, and one Javanese, a non-commissioned officer in the military uniform of KNIL, the Dutch East Indies Army. Two of them stepped forward now, and the Admiral began to question them.
‘We are a forward observation post. He is my wireless operator,’ the officer said, pointing to the Javanese.
‘You have a radio?’
‘No. We smashed the radio when the destroyer came.’
Admiral Spooner let his exasperation show, hissing through his teeth, and after a brief discussion, insisted on inspecting the radio hut for himself.
When he returned, he convened a leadership meeting to discuss their situation and devise some sort of action plan. By now darkness was closing in, and soldiers and sailors alike lay or sat in groups in quiet discussion. If there was any despondency, it was not evident. They had salvaged food, water and some comforts from the Fairmile already. Charlie was incensed to learn that the Japanese had smashed his woks with their hammers and scattered his rice supply over the galley floor. He muttered to himself in Chinese, with a cadence that clearly expressed deep malevolence, even as he prepared a meal of tinned food over the embers of a wood fire. The aroma made the men realise they hadn’t eaten since before dawn.
Ernest Spooner sat on a squab salvaged from the boat’s wardroom. Next to him were Richard Pool and Johnny Bull; the two other Navy men, Frampton and Malcolm Henderson; the two Air Force men, Pulford and Atkins; and Ian Stonor, who sat with his back against a coconut palm, idly tossing a green coconut from one hand to the other. The sailors had been called to observe the meeting, and they sat with the Dutch soldiers on the periphery, smoking and watching.
Spooner called the ‘meeting’ to order.
‘All right,’ he began. There didn’t seem to be any point in standing on formality. The respect was implicit. The instinct for survival was shared by them all, irrespective of rank. ‘What have we got to work with?’
Johnny looked around the group, and then took the initiative. He and his motor mechanic had already been back out to the boat to inspect the damage and the possibility of repair.
‘The boat doesn’t look to be in a bad way, sir,’ he said, ‘and the prospects for repair look fair. There’s no radio – it hasn’t operated since Singapore – and electrical and wireless fittings, some instruments and parts of the main engines have been smashed with hammers. The electrical and fuel systems on both engines were undamaged, but the oil pipes are smashed. Petty Officer Johncock has a better understanding of the damage and how to repair it.’ He nodded towards Johnno.
‘The Commander is right, sir,’ Johnno said to the Rear Admiral. ‘They attacked the blocks but don’t seem to have done much damage there. Dented the manifolds. The pipes are bad. And it’s not just the oil pumps but the cooling system as well. With a bit of effort, though, we think we can replace the seals and braise the piping back into shape. They had a go at the lathes, but strangely enough they left the welding equipment alone. Maybe the fumes put them off.’
The Admiral looked at the Coxswain.
‘Any problem from your end, Leading Seaman?’
‘Nae, sir.’ Jock’s brogue made the Admiral smile.
‘It’s just a matter of time and the boys are raring to go,’ Jock added.
All eyes were now on the Admiral.
‘Right then. Johnny, you organise things on the boat. Richard, you support him from shore, and Ian, you take care of the shore party. Set up a watch and have your men establish some sort of order here. We need shelter. See if you can sort out the huts.’ There were several abandoned fishermen’s huts clustered near the shore. ‘Petty Officer Johncock, how much time do you need?’
This was the burning question.
‘Four? Six hours, sir, and we should have it working, one way or another. I can get started right away.’
Len watched for the officers’ reactions. Johnno’s confidence seemed to buoy the Admiral, but if Richard Pool’s furrowed brow was an indication, he was sceptical, but he said nothing. In spite of the problems in front of them, when a brief period of rest was offered and everybody dispersed, there was an air of optimism evident in the quiet conversations going on between the men.
★ ★ ★
The four military policemen had put some distance between themselves and the rest of the men on board, and now too sat apart. Being apart came with the job. Len also sat alone. Ever since the action in the straits began, he had known instinctively that Tim and Jack Kindred were victims of the Japanese. There was the smoke, the oil slicks and the shattered flotsam, and they were still tending to the wounds of the men from the Aquarius. During the action he hadn’t had the time to give this any thought, but now he was on the island, his vision narrowed and his sight darkened as the walls of his world closed in on him once more, pressed by hard-edged thoughts, of friendship stolen, of loss, of anger.
Tim had had so much he did not have. Resilience. Humour. Ava. It occurred to Len that all three factors were related. He, Len, had resilience, and he was learning humour, but the obvious and unqualified love Tim and Ava had for each other was something of which he had no experience. And there was only one Ava. Len wasn’t jealous, though deep within himself he might acknowledge he had become a victim to Ava’s charms – even fallen in love a little with her soft, deep-throated laugh. But he could never betray his friend’s trust by allowing himself to go beyond that. No, he admired Tim and Ava, for their certainty. If he was guilty of anything, it was envy. He envied them their symmetry and the ease with which they came together. When Tim joked, Ava laughed. When Ava cautioned, Tim checked. When they walked, she fitted neatly under his arm.
How could he shield her from the truth? How could he avoid being the one to bring her the pain? The more he thought about it, the more angry he became, and he sat alone on the beach in the dark and ached for vengeance – or resolution; he wasn’t sure which. It did not come. The only thing that soothed him was the gentle rush of sound as each small wave reared up on the shore and swept along the sand.
★ ★ ★
The sailors were at work on the boat before the sun came up. Len and Jackie had volunteered to work the engine room pumps, not a place either would otherwise choose to be as it was so oppressive. They worked at lowering the water level while Johnno and his engine-room crew had stripped away the damaged pipes and were now trying to repair or replace them. Through some miracle it seemed the Japanese hadn’t tried to drain the petrol tanks or spoil the fuel. Perhaps they had plans of their own for ML310. Twice Johnno’s crew turned over the engines, but they refused to fire, causing a powerful odour of petrol to fill the engine room instead. With genuine trepidation, and only after the air had been allowed to clear, they tried a third time; incredibly, the engines fired, choked, then fired again, before finally settling into an erratic rhythm. The stokers allowed themselves a modest cheer, while Johnno watched the instruments carefully. Within a few minutes a couple of the pipes began to leak badly under pressure, and then the rhythm began to falter. Johnno banged at the temperature gauges with his knuckles, but the engines began to clatter, falter, then surge. He whacked the gauges once more, then reached out and shut the engines off. He spat on an engine block, leaving a wad of saliva that sizzled briefly before evaporating, and shook his head. ‘No pressure. They’re overheating. They won’t last five minutes.’
The silence was deafening; the consequences of what Johnno had said unequivocal. ML310 was stuck on the reef and would be going nowhere. Furthermore, water continued to leak into the engine room, suggesting that the seals around the propeller shafts had also been damaged.
The men had hardly noticed the arrival of the new day. It was 16 February.
★ ★ ★
On shore, work started at dawn. Some tidied the huts and took stock of the food and other resources, while a small group was sent off in search of anything else on the island that might help their situation. They worked away for several hours before their industry was interrupted by the noise of a plane, which prompted everybody to abandon their work and hide. A lone Japanese aircraft descended to look more closely at the Fairmile, sweeping over the top of the launch, still stuck fast on the coral. Then the plane came around and levelled out, on a course aiming straight for the boat. It lofted over the top of them and dropped a bomb. A cheer arose when the bomb overshot the launch and landed in the sea, forty yards wide. The aircraft circled again and came back a second time, and the cheering stopped when its machine guns began to stitch the sea with a line of bullets that headed straight for the boat and shredded bits off the superstructure. Then the plane turned away and resumed its course. Soldiers and sailors emerged from their respective boltholes. After a brief discussion, it was decided to rest during the day and work by night.
The crew returned to the boat after dark, accompanied by a couple of military engineers, and began to strip it of anything useful. Some, including Len, were actually in the water, attempting to recover objects jettisoned before the Japanese boarding. They worked away in darkness, feeling their way around the sea floor. On board, they worked by torchlight. In spite of their predicament, the mood was reasonably buoyant; the men chatted away while they worked, and the talk turned to rugby, a matter of fierce competition between England and New Zealand. A beefy sergeant of engineers suggested that, on the rugby field, a good big man would beat a good little man any day of the week.
‘Bollocks,’ said Jackie, who was about half the Englishman’s size. ‘Size doesn’t matter. It’s tactics, mate. Go fast and go early. Then you’ll see what happens.’
‘That may be, lad, but first you have to get past us.’
Jackie looked at his challenger.
‘Ha!’ he retorted. ‘You big bastards are easy. Blokes like you can’t hack the pace. By half-time you’re buggered and we run rings around you. Go fast and go early. Works every time.’
‘I don’t think so,’ the sergeant replied.
‘It’s been working for us,’ said Jackie.
‘It’s been working for the Japanese,’ offered Len.
His words carried a profound and unpleasant truth, and from the silence that followed it was clear his point hadn’t been lost. And he didn’t notice that Johnny had overheard the conversation.
★ ★ ★
Early the next morning, 17 February, the officers, including the Javanese Commandant, met together. Johnny reported his depressing assessment of the Fairmile’s condition.
Shortly after, Johnny quietly called Jock, Len and Johnno into conversation with Richard Pool. They sat under the trees out of the sun.
‘Listen carefully, boys. There’s been a development. We’ve found a boat; a native prahu. It’s in a bad way, but there’s little choice.’
He had their interest.
‘I’ve persuaded the Admiral to let us try and fix it, make it seaworthy and attempt a rescue, and I need your help.’
They looked at each other.
‘It’s flat bottomed, hard chined, with a sail. The timber’s not bad, but the caulking is some sort of bark, and it needs replacing.’
Len saw Pool shake his head. What was he doing there? Len wondered. Johnny must have seen it too.
‘It’s all we’ve got,’ Johnny said. ‘With a small group, moving quickly? I think we can do it.’
‘Let’s have a look at it, then,’ said Jock.
They found the boat in undergrowth at the far end of the beach. It was as Johnny described it.
‘Will it stay afloat?’ asked Pool.
‘They sail well,’ offered Len, irked by Pool’s pessimism.
‘Is Mr Pool coming with us?’ asked Jock pointedly.
‘Yes,’ answered Johnny. ‘The Admiral has recommended Lieutenant Pool for his small boat experience.’
Apart from Pool, the Admiral had left selection of the rest of the crew for this task to Johnny, who did so without hesitation. Johnno’s maturity and experience, Jock’s seamanship, and probably Len’s small boat skills made the three obvious choices, or so it seemed to Len.
‘We’re going to repair the prahu on Katjangan,’ Johnny said. ‘The Japs are paying us too much attention here. Lieutenant Pool and I will plan the route from there. We’ll need to prepare for a journey of ten or more days. Hopefully we can make Batavia in less time than that, but there is the weather to consider, not to mention avoiding the Japanese.’ He gestured around the little group. ‘So, we have to work well and not waste time. I reckon on forty-eight hours.’
Jock spoke up. ‘And how long do you think the voyage will take us?’
‘Batavia? I can’t be sure. Hopefully we get there before the Japs do.’
Jock smiled at his Commander’s familiarity, while Richard Pool squirmed at it.
‘It’s at least 350 miles,’ Johnny continued. ‘And ten days at the most, weather permitting.’
They pondered the statistics. This was going to be no mean feat, even without the threat of marauding Japanese. Thirty-five miles a day was a realistic goal, but they could not anticipate the weather, and rowing or sailing day after day for ten days would tax their stamina and endurance. But, except perhaps for Richard Pool with his injured hand, they were all fit and healthy. The three ratings watched Johnny keenly. They were almost smiling. Len wondered – was it the excitement, or the absurdity of the venture?
Johnny looked at his crew. ‘I’m offering you men this because if we fail, I know it won’t be for want of trying.’
They all heard the challenge embedded in Johnny’s statement. They were being invited to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire; things would likely get worse before they got better. But they knew that, without any attempt at escape, they would become prisoners. Or perish. Len saw it as a clear choice. He saw no honour in sitting there, helpless. His uncles didn’t die sitting on their arses. They needed to succeed – he needed to succeed – for his crew mates, for his mother and for Tim.
Okea ururoatia.
Fight like a shark.
He offered his hand to Johnny, who shook it with conviction. Jock looked nonplussed to have been beaten off the mark, and thrust his own hand forward. Johnno followed, saying, ‘We’ve a better chance of success than most, sir.’
‘I don’t doubt that for a moment, sailor. Let’s get to it.’
As the news passed through the wider group, there were no dissenting voices, only quiet congratulations accompanied by deep-felt wishes for success.
★ ★ ★
Throughout the day the sailors prepared for the work ahead, assembling tools, materials and rations of food and water for those who were to undertake the rescue mission. On several occasions enemy aircraft flew by, and observers on the hill reported heavy maritime traffic, troop transports and escorts, heading south-east. Johnny and his crew assessed the state of the prahu, noting its rotting caulking and any of its planking that had deteriorated. The old Arab-style lugsail had long since degraded. They had calico to make a new sail, and all the ropes could be replaced. They also had the tools to replace rotten timbers and apply suitable caulking. By dusk the ML’s dinghy was filled with everything necessary, and the prahu had been patched sufficiently to make the short voyage to Katjangan: about three miles.
It was intended that Johnny and the rescue party would continue on from Katjangan without returning to Tjibia. Accordingly, Admiral Spooner invited all the men to write a personal letter to loved ones. These were placed in an oilskin folder and put into the small case that Johnno used to carry his personal items.
The moment of departure arrived. Those who were to remain, thirty-nine men in all, formed a line, and the five who formed the rescue party passed along it shaking hands. Len found it difficult to look these men in the eye.
‘Good luck, mate.’
‘Good luck, laddie.’
‘God bless you boys, and good luck.’
‘Good on you, mate.’
Finally, Len faced Jackie Hayward. ‘I’ll see you, Lenny,’ he said.
Len focussed.
‘Not if I see you first, Jackie.’
Having pulled the boat down to the edge of the water, Johnny joined Richard Pool and the other three in the prahu, and they pushed off from the beach. Two men in the Fairmile’s dinghy were to accompany them to Katjangan. One had been an upholsterer before the war, and the other a carpenter, and it was intended that these men would assist the others in restoring the prahu and then return to Tjibia once the rescue party had embarked.
They didn’t look back. By the time they had come to terms with the characteristics of the prahu and reached Katjangan, it was dark. The wind and tide had been against them in the crossing, and it had taken longer than they’d anticipated. The tension of recent events meant that fatigue had hit them faster than they’d expected. They dragged the boats up the sand and withdrew into the trees, deciding to rest early and start work at first light. They tried to settle into the sand as best they could, ignoring the still oppressive heat and humidity of the night and the mosquitoes, which had discovered a new and rich source of sustenance. Against the sound of buzzing and swatting most lapsed into fitful sleep.
★ ★ ★
A light breeze had risen; it shushed gently through the palm leaves overhead. Len again found sleep beyond him: his mind was too busy. He was preoccupied with the idea that Tim and Jack Kindred were gone. Why was it that he was still alive? Or was he? What were the chances of sailing a decrepit boat across several hundred miles of open waters safely? Would they avoid the enemy? Could they even make the prahu seaworthy? His mind buzzed as he fought these demons, and a familiar chant began to crowd his thinking.
Ka mate! Ka mate!
Ka ora! Ka ora!
A wave washed up: swish.
Ka mate! Ka mate!
Ka ora! Ka ora!
Swish.
The breeze had all but abated, but now the jungle croaked, whirred, chirruped and occasionally squealed instead. It was the waves collapsing metronomically on the sand that eventually lulled Len to sleep.
★ ★ ★
Before he knew it, he was being roused by Johnno. After a breakfast of tea and a biscuit, they started work, as the eastern horizon began to glow. It was the morning of 18 February. They had dragged the prahu out of the water and into the shadows of the palms. Helped by the two men who would remain behind, they set about their work.
The fourteen-foot prahu would offer little room and no comfort for its five passengers. The vessel’s hull was strengthened by lengths of timber stretching across it from one gunwale to the other. It had a flat bottom, about five feet across, and sides about three feet high, double-ended, with a narrow transom where the steering oar was attached to a rusting gudgeon with a piece of wire.
There was a modest toolkit, enough for the job, including rope and grease to more substantially caulk the seams and erect the very basic rigging that the prahu needed. Johnno worked on the hull with the carpenter, replacing rotten timber, stepping a new mast and plugging or hammering heavily greased rope into the gaps. Len and Jock beavered away organising ropes and binding rowlocks for the oars and fitting the rigging, while Pool and the upholsterer set about stitching together a decent sail. The short voyage of the previous day had already proven that the seams of the modest vessel leaked badly, and needed decent work if they were to stay watertight.
Their fear of the Japanese returning was not misplaced. More than once during the day they watched across the water as stray fighters strafed the stranded Fairmile and attacked it with bombs, and observed with satisfaction that the ML emerged apparently unscathed. Perhaps they were to be lucky after all.
Johnny had drawn enough rations for ten days. There were twenty green coconuts, and meat, milk and biscuits in tins. Each man was allowed a small bag of personal possessions, while Johnny also carried a white ensign and a bottle of liquor. There were three revolvers and ammunition, and the letters, wrapped in waterproof canvas. When the prahu was fully loaded with these, there was only about eighteen inches from the waterline to the top of the gunwale. There were oars – one to steer with and two for rowing – and two paddles, fashioned from materials scavenged from the ML.
At dusk the two who were to remain behind took to the water to return to Tjibia. With their final farewell, the prahu crew’s last connection with the main body was terminated. The five men treated themselves to a hot meal of boiled rice and cocoa and turned in early. The repairs to the prahu had progressed well, and Johnny intended they should embark at the earliest opportunity the next day.
★ ★ ★
On the early morning of the 19th, the five men were in the final stages of preparation when Len happened to look across the water towards Tjibia, and saw the dinghy making its way steadily back towards them. He pointed it out to Johnny. ‘Looks like a visit from home, gentlemen.’
It wasn’t long before they were joined by Malcolm Henderson, and two ratings.
‘The Admiral wants to see you,’ Henderson told them.
‘Really? Any idea why? We were just about to set off,’ Johnny said.
Henderson looked away. ‘No idea, sorry. Something to do with the Commandant, I think.’
‘The Commandant?’ Richard Pool repeated. ‘What’s he got to do with things?’
‘We’d better go and find out,’ Johnny said.
Fully prepared and careful to leave nothing telltale behind them, the group left Katjangan and rowed back to Tjibia. Len and Jock took the oars and rowed, while Johnno sat in the front. Richard Pool was offered the steering oar. He still seemed to favour his hand, but if the others nurtured any doubts about his inclusion, they did not show it. They did not hoist the sail for fear of making themselves conspicuous, and the prahu seemed to be in good order during the brief voyage.
They beached with help from their comrades. As Johnny swung his leg over the side to disembark, Ernest Spooner eased his way to the front of the group of men who had met them. The Admiral took Johnny’s elbow and steered him away from the crowd. Richard Pool made as if to accompany them, but the Admiral spoke to him. ‘No, Richard. I have something I want to address with Lieutenant Bull. A change of plan.’
‘A change of plan? May I ask, what change?’
‘Not now, Lieutenant. Not here.’
Chastened, Pool was forced to watch while they walked away. Len cast an eye towards the two men, who were soon locked in conversation.
★ ★ ★
When Johnny came back, most of his crew were in small groups, still involved in sorting through material that might be useful to their survival. A group of soldiers were putting the finishing touches to the latrines being dug at the far end of the beach. Len and Jock were both standing by the prahu with Johnno, discussing the little boat’s sailing tendencies.
They could smell wood smoke as Charlie the cook stirred embers and began preparation for a meal. Johnny called to Len, Jock and Johnno and to Malcolm Henderson. The men huddled around Johnny while he quietly spelled out his dilemma.
‘There’s been a change of plans. The Dutch commander has persuaded the Admiral that we’d be better off if he and one of his men accompanied us on the voyage. And I have to say, it makes sense to me too. They know the region; they know the boat; they know the language. If we get into difficulties, they’ll be a great help.’
The realisation of what Johnny was saying began to dawn on his men. To Len it arrived as a profound sense not of despair, but of frustration. If he was desperate for anything, it was for action, and this was a backward step. He felt sympathy for Johnny, who was being asked to decide which of his sailors to drop. Not least, Johnny had to be seen to be fair-minded. Morale was paramount if they were going to succeed. There was a heavy silence now, as the three sailors came to terms with the fact that two of them were about to be left behind.
Johnny held out his hand. The sailors saw that their Commander was holding three twigs.
They were to draw straws.
So it wasn’t to be choice, but chance.
Escape, or otherwise.
Life, or death, perhaps.
‘Johnno, you first.’
Johnno reached out and drew a straw, followed by Jock, and then Len. When they opened their hands to reveal which of them would stay with the prahu, the die was cast. Jock had won. Johnno and Len would stay behind.
Elsewhere, Admiral Spooner was apprising Richard Pool of the new situation. Pool was struggling with its implications.
‘This will mean rearranging the crew, sir.’
‘Yes, it will, Richard.’ The Admiral looked at his Sub-Lieutenant.
Pool himself knew that the loss of two sailors would expose his own frailty. He could hardly bear to close his right hand, the fingers hurt so much, and every time his heart beat, the fingers throbbed painfully in unison. He had relied so much on using his thumb to compensate, he thought he had sprained it. In short, he knew his continued presence in the rescue group would be an impediment to its success. It took him only a moment before he realised that here might be a way to avoid contempt and gain redemption. He hesitated only for a moment. ‘Admiral, I should like to stand down from the mission. I’m not sure I’m fit for the task after all, sir.’
Strangely, the relief he felt in saying so was immediate. He no longer had to pretend.
‘Thank you, Richard. Given the state of your hand, I do think it wiser for you to give up your place to someone more able-bodied.’
For the second time, Admiral Spooner sought out Johnny to explain a change.
★ ★ ★
Johnny did not think Pool fit for purpose either, and in turn he called his original choices together. Len had been sitting on the beach alone, no longer frustrated but despondent, coming to terms with remaining on the island. When Johnny explained that Pool had dropped out, and that he and Johnno were to compete again for selection, Len shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, at the mercy of factors that were now beyond his control.