 
Seakeeper

A novel by Ross Venner

Copyright 2017 Ross Venner. All rights reserved

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

I would like to acknowledge the generous assistance of Ken Ward for editing this story and the encouragement given by other members Writers Forum.

Published by Smashwords

Cover art by Ross Venner using Canva

# Contents

# Section 1 - Cast upon the waters

1 - Departure

2 - Quiet Voyage

3 - The Unquiet Sea

4 - Intruders

5 - Yvonne's story

6 - Northern Approaches

7 - Storm

8 - Reflections

9 - Down Deep

10 - Northland

11 - Idyllic harbour

12 - Tough for an officer

13 - The Poor Knights

14 - An operational dilemma

15 - New Realities?

16 - Moments of stress

17 - Running Repairs

18 - Rendezvous, Deep South

19 - Exodus

20 - Navigation

21 - Bleak refuge

22 - Weary voyage

23 - Captives

24 - Blighted reunion

25 - Lost afternoon

26 - Change in the weather

27 - Clinic run

28 - Ride out the storm

29 - Knotty's gift

30 - Owenga

# Section 2 - Return Journey

31 - Turn for home

32 - Auckland

33 - Captain D

34 - Long Afternoon

35 - Devalued

36 - International Assistance

37 - Pre-op

38 - Harbour bound

39 - Housekeeping

40 - Shopping

41 - Vanity

42 - Hunger for news

43 - Suspicion

44 - Marina Berth

45 - Homeward Bound

# Section 3 - New Realities

46 - Port Stephens

47 - Coupons

48 - Registered

49 - Duty

50 - Connections

51 - Landing the catch

52 - A Bigger Fish

53 - Out of touch

54 - Airport

55 - Summary justice

56 - Nightmares in the afternoon

57 - The Drone

# Section 4 - China

58 - Beijing

59 - Permission to come aboard

60 - We are sailing

61 - Hired

62 - Reception in the Great Hall

63 - The Scorpion

64 - The whited sepulchre

# Section 5 - Waller

65 - Volunteer mission

66 - Slow boat

67 - Briefing

68 - A Crazy Idea

69 - Unexpected intervention

70 - Making it up as you go along

# Section 6 - Making for home

71 - After the movie

72 - Sydney Harbour we was bound

73 - Smitten city

74 - The Front Door

75 - Exit

76 - Running downstream

77 - Reunion

78 - Justification

79 - Incursion

80 - Ashore

81 - New Realities at home

82 - News from home and abroad

83 - Waiting for the Mule

84 - Meet at the church

85 - Across the river

86 - In the flesh

87 - East of the bridge

88 - Under fire under the bridge

89 - Kissing Point

# Section 1 - Cast upon the waters

## 1 - Departure

You probably know the feeling, you've fouled up and part of you; the residue of the naughty school kid, is reluctant to go home and face the music. I was late, my mobile phone had died, I'd left my watch at home and I was going to be late for dinner. Yvonne, my wife would not be in a good mood.

Yvonne was already watching the news, as I dusted myself off at the back door and put on my slippers. I picked my tepid plate up from the table, put it on a tray and slipped down on the couch beside her. She barely looked at me, concentrating on the national news with a scowl of intensity. I waited for the sport to begin before interrupting her.

"Did I miss anything, dearest?"

"The US and China still raving at each other." She paused, marshalling her thoughts, "Each is trying to get Australia on their side."

"Don't like China's chances." I muttered, "We've been America's allies for better than 85 years."

"But remember, we've a lot of Chinese people."

"Yes, dear, and so has America."

"And the Chinese government is now demanding they all be loyal to China..."

"Ouch." I muttered, it was more of a grunt than anything else, I felt it in the ribs and looked at her.

"Warren, Higson and some of his extremists are demanding the internment of Chinese; they said, like the Americans did to their Japanese citizens in World War 2."

I snorted with derision, "Won't happen, dearest. For a start, all the hospitals would close down without their Chinese staff."

I felt her relax a little beside me. "Thank you, Lo Gong. You always reassure me." I knew the prospect of a row was over when she used the Cantonese form for Old Man. "You were late."

"Yes, sorry, battery on my mobile was flat, didn't have my watch. Sorry. Anything else in the news?" I felt the thundercloud of her temper dissolve, she had worse things to worry about than my cold dinner.

"That revolting man Higson; he's been kicked out by his party and some of his followers have left it too. Can they do that, he was elected?"

"They can expel him from the party, but to kick him out of Parliament, that's different."

"Yes, but he just ferments trouble. Wants to end the American alliance, close down the military and use the savings to subsidise his favourite programmes."

I looked at her as I gathered my thoughts. "Dearest, its dreadful timing but the man's a populist. He promises lots of money to people, without explaining the consequences. Do you remember how, back in 2016, the British voted to leave the EU and the Yanks elected Donald Trump? It was the same deal, nothing good can come of it. Anyway, he's a very minor player, who would believe him?"

"Warren, they had a poll in the news tonight. A fair number of people believe him. They say that America can't, or won't help us after the big earthquake on the west coast."

I had no answer to that one, "They've certainly have a lot of rebuilding to do after the latest quake." No point in adding that too many of those so-called earthquake proof buildings had proved to be anything but, and a huge debate about the corruption underlying the building failures was raging in California.

"What are the Chinese websites saying dear?"

"Their own nationalist," she hesitated for a word and reluctantly added, "hate."

"Not good." Her face was gaunt with worry and knowing that nothing positive would turn up, I turned off the TV.

As we washed up, she asked me, "How's the boat?"

"Good, I was working on the new solar panels this afternoon. They should be able to charge the batteries for a night's run and drive her at three knots all day."

"That's good?"

"Huge advance on the old set, justifies swapping the diesel for the electric motor and batteries. She gained two storage lockers as a result."

I noticed Yvonne stare as if into the distance and she muttered "We may need them."

I thought about those words as we passed the evening. Jeremy emerged from his room long enough to pick up a piece of fruit and say "Dad, sorry I wasn't with you for dinner, swotting – you know what I mean."

"Only one year to go, son. Then you'll have to learn to have a conversation." There was a click as his bedroom door closed, and I looked back at Yvonne, her shrug and a small tightening of the lips as her eyes switched from our son's bedroom door and back to me.

We were getting ready for bed, when Yvonne took me by surprise. "What about a summer cruise?"

"The boys were talking about spending a couple of days up at Pittwater. Most of them have to go back to work after the New Year."

"Where would you go, if we came with you?"

"But you don't like sailing."

Yvonne had accepted the boat as part of me, when we married, but had never shared my love of sailing my tough old gaff cutter. "Are you that worried?"

"Yes, Warren, I am," she said quietly, "what would happen if the power went out across the City? Jeremy says there would be chaos after only a couple of days."

I pulled her gently into my arms and held her, "Yes, it could be bad. When do you want to sail?"

"When Jeremy's exams are over." Even in her fear, Yvonne remained a good Chinese mother, education before almost anything.

"A couple of weeks. We should be able to organise it, but I need to get the boat slipped to clean the bottom, it will be difficult to get a yard to haul her out, with all the preparations for the Sydney to Hobart race." Sitting on the side of the bed, I held her hand trying to instil a glimmer of hope that she seemed to have lost. Up on the top of the wardrobe, I noticed the wooden case of my old sextant. On impulse, I stood up and took it down. "I guess I can practice with this, haven't used it for years."

Those next two weeks passed in a blur. Yvonne followed the news, both English language and Chinese and became more and more grim, but I buzzed around preparing for our voyage. I bought stores including hard to replace gear and lists of food in quantities I had previously never considered. Yvonne helped by preparing detailed shopping lists and inventories then lists for each storage locker. We got lucky about slipping the boat when several of the international competitors for the big race suddenly cancelled. That was something good, out of the international situation but it emphasised that we were not the only ones concerned. That said, there were enough yachties preparing for the race and ready to mock Seakeeper's old fashioned rig. One wag called out, "She might not drown you, mate; but you'll certainly starve."

His companion responded in the same vein, "Nah, they'll die of boredom."

Jeremy stayed in his room and swotted for his exams.

I spent a day aloft, inspecting the rig and lubricating fittings, another day on the computer updating charts and navigation tables. Even contemplating ports as far away as South America. Suddenly it all seemed desperately real.

That last day, as we were packing our bags and loading the last of the fresh food, the Secretary of State flew in from Washington. We listened on the car radio as the news crews flocked to hear the great man thank Australia for its "multigenerational commitment to the Alliance," and to praise its "dependability in the present crisis." I dug my fingernails into the palm of my hand with frustration at the unimaginative parroting of our leaders and the other international players.

To make matters worse, the next news item reported that North Korea had suddenly demanding food shipments and other concessions to ease its latest crisis. The newsreader managed to report the demands without comment and noted that, "The DPRK's demands will be referred by the government to an," he introduced a new phrase, "International Reference Group" The Prime Minister announced that Parliament would be recalled to discuss the deteriorating international situation. A bit of clever editing managed to insert the braying voice of Mister Higson goading him with a cheeky, "I told you so."

We had told our neighbours, Max and his wife that we were going out to Norfolk Island, a long trip, fifteen days, perhaps three weeks sailing. "Just keep an eye on the place, and have a nice Christmas," we had said. It didn't seem we would be gone long. Passionately, I hoped this was true.

We had shopped together, too. Yvonne needed suitable sailing clothes, wet weather gear. I wondered what the other shoppers thought as they saw us. Yvonne, straight backed and clear eyed, her black hair with the first streaks of grey and me; stooped, clearly older than my wife with my hair entirely white. I hoped they wondered about our story rather than rushing to stereotypes, but shuddered knowing that some would be listening to the merchants of discord ranting on their favoured radio stations. Perhaps I imagined it, but I thought I saw other darker thoughts behind strangers' eyes.

Jeremy's last exam ended at lunchtime and we were aboard by five. I had mixed feelings as the mooring buoy splashed down into the river and Seakeeper drifted backwards, then I started the electric motor. "Let's hope this all proves to be an anticlimax and we're back home in a month, Yvonne."

"So do I Warren, so do I." The intensity of the sadness in her voice struck me to the core. I reached over and squeezed her hand. Hopefully, she felt some reassurance in the gesture. Whatever happened, we were prepared for six months at sea. Surely the crisis would be over by then.

We slipped down the Parramatta River, under the high concrete arch of the Gladesville Bridge, past the old dockyard, now the Cockatoo Island Arts Centre and then under the Sydney Harbour Bridge. To our starboard side, the brightly illuminated city was busy and the ferries were rushing to and from Circular Quay with the last of the commuters hurrying home and pre-Christmas revellers going to their parties, oblivious to the international crisis.

"Most of my class will be over there." Jeremy said, nodding towards the city.

"Sorry you're missing the party, son?"

"As long as I don't miss next year's, eh dad?"

"You'll have graduated, so we're free of you at last, eh?" I chuckled.

A couple of party boats were already chugging round the harbour, the beat of their music reverberating across the darkening waters. I looked to port, up to the high towers of North Sydney and down on the waterfront at the party lights winking in the PM's residence, Kirribilli House.

"I hope there are some wise heads in there tonight." I joked to Yvonne when she put her head up through the hatchway, followed by the waft of laksa from the galley stove.

"Wise heads – we all need." She said, unconsciously mimicking the latest in the interminable Star Wars series that had been rebroadcast a week or two before.

Without a glance at the Opera House, I went forward and set the staysail to take advantage of the fading sea breeze and Jeremy took the helm. It took less than 5 minutes and back in the cockpit I received a bowl of laksa with a piece of fresh bread to sop up the gravy.

"Delicious, dearest." I smiled

"Enjoy! When will we have fresh bread from the bakery again?" She replied.

"Dad, will there be a war? Surely they can't be that mad?"

I looked around us, ahead were the darkening cliffs of North Head and the lighthouse marking South Head, at the Manly Ferry cutting past us and behind at the city towers silhouetted against the bright red western sky.

"No, they can't be that mad. It will just be a leisurely trip to Norfolk Island and back in time for university to restart." Before it got fully dark, we hoisted the big gaff mainsail, a task made much easier by Jeremy helping with the second halyard while Yvonne steered.

Jeremy was facing aft, so he saw the movement of the vessels first and pointed to them. "Dad?"

A quick glance resolved the nearest shape into one of the navy's harbour tenders. There was a second closer to South Head. An amplified voice from the nearer launch, instructed us to move over to the North side of the channel and Yvonne turned Seakeeper as instructed. The sails slatted and I darted back into the cockpit to speed up the motor and keep the boat under control. Following behind the launches, its blackness indistinct in the fading light, was a submarine.

The launch turned to follow the deep water channel, but to my surprise, I realised that the sub was taking the turn wide and was edging past us only 100 metres away. Another amplified voice wafted through the twilight.

"What yacht is that?"

"Seakeeper for Norfolk Island." I bellowed back.

"What engine are you running?"

"Electric – Solar PV to batteries."

"Very quiet," I thought I detected a hint of admiration in the voice of the unseen speaker, "have a good trip."

Almost silently, the sub surged ahead.

Yvonne look at me. "What was that about?" She asked

"Probably wondered why they couldn't hear our engine. Subs use sound like we use eyes."

## 2 - Quiet voyage

Jeremy took over the watch at midnight. To the west, Sydney's lights had dropped below the horizon but the city's location was still a glow against the night sky.

"Course 068, no shipping about at present, but keep a good watch. See you at dawn."

"Thanks Dad."

Such a simple exchange. I went below and lay down in my berth; close to the hatchway and the desk which held the charts and navigation instruments. It was hard to sleep. My mind drifted to the friends we had mislead, "just a summer cruise" we had told them, neighbours like Max who we had asked to clear our letterbox. Not easy for a bean counter, or as, a wag had quipped at my retirement party "has been bean counter" to lie. My mind drifted, the dome in Hiroshima, clouds lit by their own devilish light remembered from film of nuclear weapons tests... The next thing I knew was Yvonne waking me with a cup of coffee. It was 6 o'clock. My head felt heavy.

"How was it?" I asked

"Steady breeze, made four and a half knots."

That was another 27 nautical miles, better than 45 kilometres offshore – clear of the merchant shipping routes down the east coast to Melbourne but we were still in range of the city's AM stations. Through the static, we listened to the news of escalating tensions. We were no less helpless at sea than we would have been at home, but it felt free to be butting into the head seas as Seakeeper worked steadily to windward. The wind was veering and before lunch, we were forced to sail 090, due east.

Later, I checked the GPS – only four satellites which was unusual, but I marked the position on the chart, we were well over 110 kilometres out to sea. Jeremy was on the helm and I ducked below to sit with Yvonne.

"How are you going, dearest?" I asked.

"I feel awful, I'm seasick and I'm worried sick Warren. You don't think it could come to war?" Yvonne's eyes flicked up to the hatchway, clearly concerned more about Jeremy than herself.

I sighed, "Like I told Jeremy, it would be madness, but at least we won't be in the queue for the non-existent bomb shelters, will we?" I tried to smile but saw in her eyes that she had missed the pathetic attempt at humour.

"Or panic buying in the supermarket aisles." Her voice was barely audible. Then she added, "I feel sick, I'm going on deck."

Before joining them, I rechecked the GPS. It now showed only three satellites and the reading was flagged as "unreliable." With a sense of foreboding, I checked the AM band but it was full of the meaningless crackle and hiss of the ether. My hand shook as I turned to the HF band radio, old technology, quirky at times, but always a signal somewhere.

The voice had an American accent, devoid of emotion it could have been listing sports results, Singapore - Brisbane - Sydney... it faded again in a new wave of static. I went and sat with my wife and son, trying to make sense of what I had just heard. Were we among the last of our race?

"Dad, you're hurting my arm." I hadn't even noticed that I was holding Jeremy's arm. I released my grip. "Sorry, son. I'm afraid the madness may have begun."

The afternoon passed in deep despair. No satellites were reaching the GPS now. I cooked dinner and we shared it silently in the cockpit, as the sun burnished the western horizon. After that we reduced sail, snugged the rig down for the night and the prepared to turn in. Yvonne would take the watch until midnight. Jeremy washed up and put his head out of the hatch. "All good Mum?" I think it was Yvonne's first night watch on her own.

The night passed uneventfully, the sky overcast and the wind moderate, but the atmosphere aboard Seakeeper in the morning, was still intense. Ocean sailing has a measure to it that I love. I used that rhythm to avoid too much thought and passed the morning with the steady routine of voyaging checking gear looking for wear and tear; on a boat the phrase is meant literally. Jeremy and Yvonne were silent with worry.

We ate lunch. Somehow each bite seemed to have a special significance to me. Yvonne read or tried to appear that she did. Jeremy tried, unsuccessfully, to get reception on the radios. Eventually we shared some bread, now slightly less than fresh, some soup and cheese.

"I was thinking, I'll have to send you up to the crosstrees to shout 'land ho,' unless things improve, eh son?" His look told me that Jeremy was in no mood for humour, even black humour.

The wind turned to the south west and settled into a steady breeze, force 3 or about 10 knots. Seakeeper drove across the low regular swell at a steady four knots. As evening came on, I decided to leave the jib up overnight. On previous evenings, Jeremy and I had taken in the big headsail set on the long bowsprit, but with a clear sky and the promise of a full moon, I felt this was unnecessary.

Jeremy took the first night watch, and I turned into my berth for four hours sleep after an early dinner. Yvonne came past and gave my forehead a gentle kiss.

"Love you, husband; whatever happens." She went forward to her berth in the saloon and after a while, I could hear her regular breathing. Yvonne must have been very tired to sleep in the circumstances.

"Good night dad." Jeremy whispered down the hatchway.

"I hope so son, I hope so."

We changed watches with few words, logged our speed and kept lookout as the boat sailed herself. As we changed over the watch, Jeremy pointed out to the number of shooting stars he had observed.

"Or space junk, Son, or space junk."

"Mind if I sit with you for a while, Dad. Don't think I could sleep, anyway." Jeremy ducked below, pulled on an extra sweater and re-joined me in the cockpit. The moon was full and its light was enough to see the details of the sails and spars easily. To leeward, its reflected path illuminated the endless march of waves. Beautiful, but poignant as Seakeeper carried us forward in a very uncertain world.

Half an hour had passed in silent companionship when Jeremy cocked his head and focused his gaze to the south. "Dad," Jeremy's voice was almost a whisper, "do you hear anything?"

I strained to pick out a noise above the gentle passage of the boat through the swell.

"No."

"A diesel, I think."

I reached down through the hatch and turned off the navigation lights. My first admission that the world we were entering, might be far more dangerous than the one that existed when we departed Sydney. I closed my eyes and listened intently. Perhaps there was a lull in the wind, but for a moment, I heard the sound distinctly, it came from starboard, the south, made dark by the moon's brightness on the port side. I grabbed my binoculars from their position on the shelf inside the companionway and scanned the dark sector. Nothing, except the occasional wave reflecting the moon's light, but I was sure I had heard it, a low frequency, more felt than heard.

"You heard it, Dad?

I nodded, "can't see anything." I paused. "Nothing we can do about it if we could. You'd better get some shut-eye."

The wind eased before dawn, so I checked the charge on the batteries and engaged the motor. Seakeeper edged forward. I tightened the sheets to stop the sails slatting. The sound of the diesel did not recur.

Yvonne took over from me soon after dawn. I took the opportunity to scan the HF band. High Frequency signals propagate best around dawn and dusk. The interference was severe, but another ham in the Midwest of America confirmed that there had been a limited nuclear attack in Asia, Australia had been hit including Sydney and he managed to sound genuinely sympathetic for me, even as he said, "Apart from San Diego, mainland America is untouched and the President is holding off from any military response until we have enough details to make sense of events." Then he added, "Seems they knocked our allies about, but provoking Uncle Sam too much was not part of their plan." That left unanswered, the identity of "they."

After breakfast, we gathered in the cockpit. I looked at Yvonne and Jeremy; the only two people I knew I had in the whole world.

"Well, if he's right, it looks like Sydney has gone, so we are probably homeless." I looked from one to the other, Yvonne looked ashen, Jeremy stood and looked out at the western horizon and I thought I saw the gleam of tears in his eyes. "Well we've got provisions for close to six months; the water maker is hooked to the solar panels so that shouldn't be a problem. Question is, where do we go?"

There was a hardening in the set of Jeremy's jaw. "New Zealand, Dad. North Cape is what, six days away? We could be in Auckland in little more than a week."

Yvonne backed Jeremy, but I remained uneasy. Even if New Zealand had not been attacked, how would it be coping, did it still have imports? Fuel in particular, distributed across the region from Singapore could be New Zealand's biggest short-term problem. Jeremy's comment "Cities will descend into chaos in two days, once the lights go out," haunted me.

"Anyway," I added, "I think we should start fishing, anything we catch will extend our supplies. Remember, it looks like we will be penniless refugees, when we get there, wherever there is..."

Silently, I kicked myself for not buying gold or silver coins, or something tradeable. Perhaps I had thought it was just another crisis which would blow over, like so many before...

## 3 - The unquiet sea

We changed our course to 110 degrees. This would take us 100 kilometres north of the tip of New Zealand and keep us out of the main shipping routes.

"Why dad, it will add a day or more to the trip?" Jeremy asked.

"You're relying on my old fashioned astro navigation. Sure you want to take it closer?" I didn't tell them that I wanted sea room if New Zealand was less welcoming than they expected.

Jeremy didn't pursue the matter and went to get some sleep. Yvonne stayed in the cockpit beside me. I looked at her with admiration, she seemed so composed, sucked into an environment which I knew she did not enjoy, even in normal circumstances.

"You're holding up well," I said.

"What choice have we?" She sighed. "At least we are all alive. How many are dead?"

She squeezed my hand and lapsed into silence, while I found myself thinking about our city and imaging it blasted and wrecked, only it's steep valleys and waterways recognisable but poisoned with radiation and destruction.

Eventually, Yvonne took a heavy breath, "Warren, I remember the first time I saw you. When I moved into my little flat. I thought you were an old Gweh Lo, but you were thoughtful. You were there, patient, while other people, men, took, or tried to... You were greying already and stooped - the long hours at your desk; people teased me, dating an old man. I was right though, I got a good man. Thank you, husband."

I rested my hand on hers and on the sun warmed timbers of the cockpit. "I remember when I first noticed you - With that sleeve of yours, caught in the garbage chute."

We both smirked at the memory and I looked into her eyes.

Yvonne smiled gently, "Yes, great place to start a relationship. But you un-snagged me. I admired the way your hands worked so neatly, gently, you barely damaged a single thread." She slid along the slatted seat and I put my arm gently around her shoulder. "That yellow top is still in my wardrobe, you know, I never threw it away."

"A long time ago in a place that probably doesn't exist anymore." I sighed. We were silent for a long while.

The wind swung to the west and freshened. We reefed the mainsail and lowered the jib. Seakeeper was in her element in the brisk conditions making a steady six knots running across the empty sea. I scanned the radio frequencies, heard nothing but static and went back on deck.

It was late afternoon when Yvonne spotted an orange smoke flare on the horizon to the east. I took a bearing and altered course. Yvonne ducked below to wake Jeremy. The binoculars didn't reveal any detail until we were quite close.

"Rubber dinghy, dad." Jeremy called. He was halfway up the shrouds to get a better view.

Soon I could see the raft and realised that any rescue was going to be tricky. The wind was too strong to rely on the motor. That left the choice of trying to stop Seakeeper within a throwing lines length downwind of the dinghy, or drifting down on it with all the risks implicit with that manoeuvre.

Closing the distance, I could see that the raft was an aviation type and it had a canopy inflated over it. The windage catching the canopy had the raft drifting downwind quickly so I decided to make a windward approach. The shelter of Seakeeper's sails would make a sheltering lee which would slow the raft's drift as we in turn drifted down on it. I could see a figure was standing-up in the raft, waving.

"Jeremy, life jackets for each of us, please. Then we'll need a heaving line and a bowline ready. I'll be ready to cast off the mainsheet. Yvonne, take over the helm, try to keep the staysail driving, but don't bring the raft under the bow or we'll crush it."

It took three attempts, but Yvonne brought Seakeeper to the perfect position to windward of the raft. I let out the mainsheet to reduce her speed.

"Jeremy, heaving line, now."

The figure in the life raft fumbled the line which slithered beyond his reach. Jeremy pulled it back in as quickly as he could. The raft was almost under the boom this time and the line almost fell into the raft.

"Dad, there's someone else in the raft." Jeremy had seen the figure duck down under the raft's rubber tent held up by inflated tubes. A moment later, the raft was alongside and we were pulling in the line, which was tied around an incapacitated and apparently unconscious figure. It took all our strength and the help of the man in the raft, before the figure flopped over the gunwale - just as the wind filled the staysail and turned Seakeeper down wind. The raft jerked out of reach before the man standing in it could climb aboard. It fell behind as we turned and the mainsail filled. It took another quarter of an hour to get the unconscious survivor below, then tack back to the raft and manoeuvre back into position. By now the light was beginning to fade. It would be hard to find the raft again if we failed to pick-up the remaining survivor on this attempt. What was worse, he must have been weakened by the time in the bobbing raft, and his effort in getting his companion up into the yacht.

"Tie a bowline in your line, Jeremy and throw that to him." Again the big mainsail was allowed to flog and Seakeeper slowed close to the raft. Jeremy through the line with unerring accuracy.

The figure grabbed at the looped rope. I saw him grab it and stand up to get it around his shoulders. Distracted, he forgot the boom above his head. One moment, he was struggling to get the loop of rope over his shoulders, the next he was poleaxed into the water. Jeremy jumped. I heard Yvonne's scream, "No, Jeremy." Too late, Jeremy was swimming across to the still figure in the water by the raft.

Years of manoverboard training cut in. I tossed the dan buoy into the water, and was relieved as the light on its tall pole flickered into life. At least we could find our way back to them, even in the gathering darkness. With only Yvonne and myself on deck, we would be hard pressed to get anybody back on board. In desperation, I untied the boarding ladder from its stowage on the cabin roof and positioned it on the gunwale. It took a couple of tacks before we drifted down on the two figures in the water. Jeremy had the second survivor's head out of the water, he waved weakly and held up a small loop in the survivor's lifejacket. "Boat hook," he mouthed. I fumbled with the cords securing the boat hook to the cabin top, then reached down with the long shaft and sighed as Jeremy guided it into the loop.

With the survivor on the hook, Jeremy released him and in two heart stopping strokes got himself within reach of the boarding ladder as Seakeeper rose on the swell and threatened to come back down upon him. I watched breathlessly as he grasped the sides of the ladder, and somehow despite the weight of his waterlogged clothes got his feet onto the bottom rung and climbed. A moment later he was back beside me helping to pull the injured man aboard.

Yvonne abandoned the helm and threw herself at her only son. "Never, never, take a risk like that again." She screamed at him. With no one at the helm, the yacht turned away downwind and we struggled to get the semi-conscious man down into the cabin.

Eventually, I took the helm and got Seakeeper under control, while Jeremy assisted Yvonne with the two casualties. He re-emerged on deck an hour later, dried and in fresh clothes and carrying my oilskins. It was dark and I realised I was already chilled to the bone.

"Thanks, son."

"Sorry Dad, didn't mean to scare you – Just instinct."

"Did you apologise to your mum?"

"Yes, dad." He paused. "I couldn't see any other way..."

It was my turn to pause. What do you say in circumstances like this? I reflected. "Proud of you son, you've had your hero moment. Don't do it again!"

"They're Chinese, dad. Mum's worried about them, she thinks one has severe exposure, he's conscious, his name is Lieutenant Liu. The other one, the pilot Major Fung got a wicked bang on his head. Mum says he's badly concussed, possibly worse. They need a hospital."

"Well that confirms our destination, doesn't it - New Zealand it is! Look out the navigation pilot book for North Island and see if its index shows which towns on the east coast have hospitals, and work out if we can get into their harbours." Jeremy ducked below and started rummaging on the bookshelves above the chart table. It would have to be the east coast, the harbours on New Zealand's west coast are infamous for their bars and the ships wrecked on those treacherous ever moving sands.

It had been impossible to keep track of our manoeuvers during the rescue so I admitted to myself that I was pretty uncertain of our position. I was also tired, we all were. I set course downwind and balanced the sails and engaged the self-steering gear to keep the boat on course. One last look around and I went below. Seakeeper would have to sail herself.

In the dim light of the cabin, I could see the two casualties were lying on the saloon berths, someone, presumably Jeremy had rigged lee sheets to stop them rolling out. The door to the tiny fo'c's'le was closed and I guess that Yvonne was asleep on the narrow berth up forward, among the spare sails. We had done all we could. Jeremy was asleep in the quarter berth opposite mine. I sat down and closed my eyes.

## 4 - Intruders

I don't know how long I had slept, but a thud on deck woke me. Blearily, I swung my feet over the side of the berth but jerked awake as a bright light was shone in my face. A dark figure in the hatchway was yelling "On deck, on deck!" and I saw the silhouette of a gun as the man swung around.

Yvonne burst out of the fo'c's'le and screamed at the top of her voice; Jeremy sat-up and promptly cracked his head on the deck beam above his berth and fell back dazed.

Another dark figure plunged down the hatchway and we were bundled up onto the deck, the three of us and the two rescued Chinese aircrew each of whom was carried bodily up the companionway. I took in the situation as best I could. Seakeeper was plodding along under her self-steering gear. I guessed she was making about three knots. I looked around for a boat on which the intruders had boarded us. After the blaze of the torch light, I could see little until my eyes adapted to the dark. Barely a boat's length to starboard, was the sinister black fin of a half-submerged submarine keeping pace with us. From the side of the fin, a diving plane reached out of the darkness towards Seakeeper and I could just see a rope ladder hanging down. Clearly the intruders had used this to board us.

Once we were all on deck, the one who seemed to be in charge turn to me and said. "I'm requisitioning this boat in the name of the Royal Australian Navy. You'll be accommodated aboard HMAS Waller, until we can put you ashore or return your boat to you. We'll deal with the POWs too."

I did a double take, "POWs?"

"Prisoners of War" he said contemptuously, "or didn't you know there is a war on?" The submarine had edged closer and the rope ladder now hung over the deck. The men in dark, tied the hands of the Chinese men we had rescued and half carried them towards it. Dark bodies up on the diving plane reached down and grasped them, then lifted them and carried them up to the fin and through a hatch.

Yvonne and Jeremy were guided after them and disappeared climbing up to the diving plane and disappearing into the submarine. I was stunned, it had taken five minutes to completely overturn my world. My family gone, my yacht, probably the only possession I had left, seized, and gunmen surrounding me. One of the invaders dropped several heavy bags onto the boat's deck, then took them down into the cabin.

Some minutes later, he came back on deck and gestured to his leader that he should come below. He re-emerged a minute later and faced me. "I'll need a briefing." He said shortly.

"Stuff you." I shouted, "Give me back my family and get off my yacht."

"Sorry, I can't do that. We need your boat." He put his hand firmly on my shoulder stopping me from standing.

"Why?"

"Because we can't exactly take a sub into a New Zealand harbour if the Chinese are there first, can we?" He paused. "Look, I'm sorry but there are three of you and forty odd men on that sub. We have to find out what's going on before endangering them. That's why we need a little look-see. You'll be safe on the Waller, while we take your boat in and out."

I sagged, perhaps he knew I was defeated. We had fled the war before it came for us, and now it had claimed us anyway. The pressure of his hand on my shoulder eased.

"Sorry Sir, no choice. Really sorry."

"Have you ever sailed a gaff cutter?" I asked heavily.

"No, but subs use electric motors." He replied. "You use electrics too, you told the skipper as we left Sydney."

I shook my head, "Solar PV won't drive her into a headwind for long; she's a sailing yacht, not a motor boat."

"Come below." Then he added, "Johnny, you steer her, give the boat some room." I reminded myself that among naval people, submarines are always called boats.

In the light of the cabin, I watched as the black balaclava and goggles were pulled off and the intimidating leader's face was revealed. Blond hair cut short in a military style, and what should have been an easy smile buried by the immediate seriousness of his task. The early wrinkles around his eyes hinted at a ready smirk. Far less intimidating than the mask and goggles. "Lieutenant Mark Anderson at your service, Sir. We're really sorry about this. F'ing mess as you can imagine. How much do you know?"

"Not half as sorry as I am, and what about my family?" He ignored this.

"Well, communications pretty much stopped at the time of the attack. As best we could make out, Sydney's gone, so is Brisbane and Canberra, beyond that, Singapore and the American naval base at San Diego. North Korea is being blamed, and Uncle Sam would have belted them about a bit but China invaded within hours. The funny thing is the Chinese were suddenly everywhere within about a day of the attack. They had a taskforce in the Solomons after the recent cyclone, best we can figure it out, it moved down to New Zealand."

"Why would they do that?"

"If Singapore has gone, the whole fuel distribution network for Asia is gone. Think about it, no fuel - no civilisation."

"Jeremy said something like that - If the lights go out in a city for two days..."

"Remember, China has a huge investment in New Zealand agriculture, they'd want to protect their food pipeline, I suppose and yeah, you're right, chaos." He paused and looked away for a moment, "Anyway, my job is to get into North Island, see what PRC assets are there and get back to the Waller. Someone has taken down the satellites so there's no GPS so it all a bit rough and ready..."

I was struggling to keep up, but nodded, "Yeah, I watched as the satellites went down, good thing I can use a sextant." I saw a look of uncertainty cross Anderson's face.

"You have used a sextant, haven't you?"

"Not in real life." He murmured.

"Who dreamed-up this harebrained idea? You don't know where you are and you want to go to New Zealand. Did you happen to know that the bars on some of the entrances to North Island harbours are vicious? You haven't any idea how to cross them in a fifteen ton sailing boat, have you? You'll wreck her, and then you won't be able to get back to your precious boat, will you?" The uncertainty in Anderson's face was palpable now.

He hurried on. "We saw you rescue the Chinese pilots. I think they were having difficulty without their version of GPS too. Anyway, bloody glad they aren't hunting us anymore. Their radar was making us nervous every time we put a mast up. Actually, you were very useful. We stayed nearby and hoped they would mistake any reflection coming from it as coming from you."

He looked at me thoughtfully. "Your boat will get us in and out, without raising too many questions." He left this assertion hanging.

"Well New Zealand was our plan, until you chose to interrupt it – and what about my family?"

"Sorry about that. What's your name, anyway?"

"Warren."

"Look Warren, I was to send you over to the boat, but you've made your point. I'm going to need your help - please. Help us do our job, save your boat and get your family back, quicker..."

Anderson seemed to take my acquiescence for granted and gestured for me to follow him back on deck. "Johnny, take her close to the boat again."

The dark figure on the helm turned the wheel towards the dark shape of the submarine's hull.

"Careful," I grabbed the wheel. "That's not how you handle a heavy boat like this." I slowed the turn and steered towards the Waller at a finer angle.

Anderson shouted across the narrow space of water. "Sir, I'm keeping her skipper on board, he's agreed to help us."

I had heard the voice which answered before, the night we left Sydney. "If you think so Mark. Good luck, and thank you for your help, Sir." The distance between the yacht and the submarine increased until I could not see it any longer.

The weapons disappeared, at least I was grateful for that.

And so I joined the war...

## 5 - Yvonne's story

Yvonne shut the door of the fo'c's'le behind her and took a deep breath. The movement of the boat was far stronger here, well forward of the boat's centre of gravity. She hurriedly climbed into her sleeping bag and reflected on the changed situation. The younger of the two pilots, the one who had called himself Lieutenant Liu would be Okay, sunburned and badly dehydrated from his time in the liferaft but he'd been attempting to come on deck to assist when they had rescued his partner who he called Major Fung. It was the blow to the Major's head that worried her, initially he been lucid but had he deteriorated after they got him into the cabin. She had bandaged his gashed head and used pillows to elevate his head and torso, it would reduce the blood pressure a little in his skull and that might help. Now he was either asleep or unconscious or in some borderline between the two. Bleeding on the brain, he needed a hospital.

She sighed. Jeremy, her heart leapt as she recalled his leap into the water. He had changed into dry clothes and would sleep in the berth opposite Warren tonight. There was nothing more she could do until morning. Yvonne could feel sleep reaching out to engulf her.

"On deck, on deck." She had no idea how long she had slept, but the shouting woke her. She pulled open the fo'c'sle door and was blinded by the powerful beam of a torch. A voice was screaming, it stopped and she realised it was her voice and she needed to inhale. A burly man seized her and she was half lifted half thrown up the steps into the cockpit. A moment later, Warren was beside her, and Jeremy was lifted up and dumped on the seat of the cockpit. She stood up and tried to attack the dark figure at the top of the cabin entrance.

An elbow winded her and Yvonne fell backwards as first Lieutenant Liu and then Major Fung were manhandled into the cockpit like lumps of wood. Warren was sitting, but holding her protectively, while one of the dark figures was standing talking down to him. Yvonne found that she could not focus on what was being said.

Out of the darkness loomed a shape hanging down over the deck. A rope ladder hung from it and within moments, she saw the two Chinese officers tied and carried bodily across to the darker shape looming on the starboard side. A moment later, she found herself lifted and forced to follow, up the ladder and then hands helped her to stagger into the dark. Beneath her feet, the surface felt slightly soft, rubbery yet smooth.

A hand reached down and Yvonne found herself reaching up, climbing. A glance behind her reassured her that Jeremy was following, but she couldn't see Warren. Two arms lifted her up and then she was standing in a small crowded space, in the middle of which was a hole, a hatchway with a dull light at its bottom.

"Down the hatch, please." A voice said quietly but authoritatively. Jeremy was crowding behind her and she found herself complying, uncomprehendingly, stepping into the round hatchway with its heavy steel fittings and convenient rungs. The descent was longer than she expected. By the time she reached the bottom and looked up to see Jeremy's legs following her, she felt sore. Around her were men, mostly wearing woollen jumpers with little detail on them. Two were guiding them through an oval doorway.

Yvonne found herself in a small space with berths on each side of it and a table in the middle. The two Chinese officers were already lying there and she was relieved when Jeremy joined them. The space was crowded and she wondered how they would fit Warren in as well. Warren? A moment of panic, she struggled to get past Jeremy, "Warren" she screamed. A figure wearing one of the ubiquitous jumpers stood in her way. It was useless. Jeremy held her back, protectively. The shock overwhelmed her and she started to sob. "Where's my husband? Where's Warren, what have you done with him?"

The burly figure stood aside and a smaller man entered the space, leaving almost no room to stand. "Do you speak English?" The audacity of the question stunned her. Hadn't she been shouting in English a moment before?

"Of course we do." She snorted.

"I'm sorry." The man's eyes encompassed the two Chinese men, her own appearance and Jeremy's dark hair. "Are you Chinese?"

Her anger flared, "I'm a fifth generation Australian, what about you mate" She spat the words out. "A new chum, fresh out from England?" and was surprised by the absolute contempt her inflection added to her challenge. "And where's my husband?"

"Ouch. The other member of your crew is helping us. Who are these?" His gesture encompassed the space."

Fighting back her anger, Yvonne said icily "This is my son, Jeremy Blake and" she took a deep breath, "please let me introduce Major Fung and Lieutenant Liu, and I want to untie them. Major Fung is seriously injured, I think."

In fact, the major was clearly far worse than he had been, his face was ashen and he lolled against the seat barely conscious, the lieutenant supporting him as well as he could with his own hands still tied behind him.

"Get me something to cut those bloody ties." The other man, the burly one, slipped away and return with a snip. In the crowded space, she took it from his hand and proceeded to release the two men's wrists. Lieutenant Liu gave her a grateful nod and turned to assist his companion. Yvonne returned the snip and looked at the major. The pupils of his eyes were dilated, a symptom of serious injury.

Yvonne was torn. She had a patient, she had her son but she didn't have her husband. Perhaps worse, she had no idea what was going on.

"What's happening?"

With a sigh, the man; she was already thinking of him as the officer, said, "I'll get the skipper to talk to you, but he's busy topside at the moment." Then he left, but the burly one continued to occupy the corridor outside the space. She heard a disembodied voice say "SBA to the PO's mess." It meant nothing to her, but within a couple of minutes, another sailor appeared carrying a medical kit.

The new arrival assessed the occupants of the space with a professional air, "What happened to him?" He asked.

"We rescued him from a dinghy. He helped save his crewman but the boom hit his head as we tried to get him on board." Yvonne sighed, remembering Jeremy swimming to the stunned figure in the water. "You are?"

"Johnny Gough, SBA."

"SBA?"

"Sick berth attendant - Are you trained?"

"Was a nurse." Yvonne responded. "I think he has a subdural-hematoma, bleeding on the brain."

Johnny sucked in his breath. "Not good."

Another figure appeared in the doorway. The burly figure stood back with a simple, "Sir."

"I'm Captain Martin, sorry about this."

"Where's Warren?"

"The yacht's skipper?"

"Yes, my husband, Warren Blake."

"I've had to requisition the yacht, I'm afraid. We need to see if it's safe for us to take the boat into New Zealand. He's agreed to help us."

"Help?"

"Navigate."

Yvonne sagged against Jeremy.

"Dad? You've taken him and Seakeeper?"

"Sorry, no real choice."

## 6 - Northern approaches

I hadn't slept. The unfamiliar presences on Seakeeper and the snatching of my family, hardly surprising. Why had I stayed instead of insisting on going with Yvonne and Jeremy? Overall, I was just confused. The dawn woke me, I turned out of my berth and cooked breakfast. Johnny was still on the helm, the balaclava and goggles had gone and his face, which I had not seen before, showed the signs of fatigue.

"Morning, I grunted." Good was not a word I chose to add. I looked at the dark bodies occupying the other berths and felt a deep sense of futile resentment just looking at them. To keep busy, I decided to make breakfast, and I didn't give a damn if the noise woke them. It was my boat; my food and I was hungry.

Anderson rolled out of one of the saloon berths and joined me as I was cracking eggs.

"Shouldn't we be saving some of those?" He asked, seeing that I was using up the last eggs from the ice box.

"They won't last much longer, better not have them die in vain, eh?" I replied. Only after the words had left my mouth did I realise I had joked. Was I accepting the situation? A small part of me, deep down felt like a traitor and I hated the fact.

"And the same goes for the bacon?" He nodded at the packet I had opened.

"Cereal and powered milk after today, I'm afraid. We were keeping them for a feast." He saw my eyes scan the horizon astern, the only part visible through the hatchway. The sub, if it was out there had dived.

The sound and smell of sizzling bacon filled what would otherwise have been an awkward silence. The other two boarders stirred and woke, yawned and stretched. Mark introduced Dave and Knotty. Neither made much more than a grunt, except to call Mark, "Sir."

I put the food on the plates. Dave ate his and wordlessly and took over the helm. I watched as he tentatively turned the wheel and observed the effect of his actions. Johnny took his plate and sat at the table. I observed as his intelligent eyes darted around the cabin examining the equipment of the yacht. The silence lay over us like a pall.

Mark clearly decided he had to break the silence. He chose to go to the burden that lay over all of us. "Yeah, it's a bastard. I left a wife and baby son in Sydney. We're probably breathing their ashes right now."

After a long pause, he added sadly, "Johnny's family are in Dubbo, so there probably safe, for now." Later, as he helped me wash up, Knotty revealed a heavily tattooed torso and biceps adorned with images of ropes which seemed to change shape as his powerful muscles moved.

"Your family," I asked, "will they be safe?"

"Human Services. I won't grieve for the bloody welfare workers or their welfare department which took me into its so-called care." He left it at that, but the bitterness in his voice stuck in my mind.

We sailed east south east for three days and finally heard Kiwi voices on the AM band. We listened carefully for any international news, and were puzzled by its complete absence. The bulletins were limited to local events, music and calls for registration of households. By that time, I had begun to teach Seakeeper's new crew the rudiments of sailing a vessel with a gaff rig. Anderson, who now encouraged me to call him Mark, had experience in yachts, which helped a bit and Johnny, who still insisted on calling Mark "Sir" had some dinghy sailing. Dave and Knotty were completely unfamiliar with sailing, although Knotty was one of the Waller's electrical artificers and was quickly comfortable with the yacht's photovoltaics, batteries, motor and other equipment.

The wind had been kind so far. Seakeeper had made a steady five knots, one hundred and twenty nautical miles a day. My fixes showed that we would raise the Surville Cliffs of New Zealand's North Cape by the evening.

"Mark, we should make a landfall today. If we don't, we should take sea room and approach again in the morning. Don't want to get too close in during the night."

Johnny, Dave and Knotty were keeping regular watches while Mark and I navigated, cooked and trained them to work the yacht. I also spent time trying to teach Mark to do the spherical trigonometry required to turn the readings from the sextant into a position on the charts.

"Look, Sir." It was Knotty on the wheel who was pointing at a vapour trail, high in the sky. The first we had seen for, well since before the encounter with the Waller. "Heading nor' west, give or take," said Mark.

"First we've seen." Pointed out Johnny. Marked nodded thoughtfully, at that.

"China?" I ventured.

"You guys had better drop the Sir, its Mark from now on, got that?" He looked at the other three; who nodded thoughtfully. "If Warren can get us into one of the East coast ports, we can pick-up the local news and perhaps the general situation, sail out and re-join the Waller. Warren gets his family back and we can go our separate ways, whatever they may be." He sounded deeply uncertain.

It was after lunch that I spoke of my immediate worry. The swell had been building gradually for hours. "Mark," I said, "see that line of cloud to the Northeast?"

He nodded.

"I think we'll have a blow tonight."

We spent the afternoon snugging Seakeeper down for the expected storm. I wondered if I was being paranoid, but sailing without weather forecasts, was a new experience for me.

Late in the afternoon the wind came. A hot hard Nor'easter, down from the tropics. It was whipping the tops off the white horses as the light began to fade. We were down to a reefed staysail and triple reefed main and I prowled around the deck looking for wear and tear. I kept my harness attached to the jackstays that ran the length of the deck to provide secure attachment. We made do with a pot of soup and some dried biscuits for dinner and I said to Mark, "Everybody wears a harness on deck until I say otherwise. We won't find anybody who goes over and even if we did, I doubt we'd get them back aboard in one piece with the boat moving like this."

## 7 - Storm

Lee shore, two words that have scared ever sailor since antiquity with the implicit threat that your vessel will be blown downwind onto its dangers. If we held our course, we would be close to North Cape and without GPS, perhaps too close. I feared we could suffer the fate of so many other sailors in such treacherous conditions. If we did, it was likely that our fate would remain unknown. I told Mark we would have to tack before nightfall. All five of us were needed on deck. I was at the wheel. Johnny was on the mainsheet, giving Mark and Knotty the tricky job of swapping the backstays while Dave had to handle the staysail. I gave them a shouted briefing in the cockpit.

"I'll need speed to drive her through the eye of the wind. I'm going to bear away ease the sails a little to get extra speed. When I give the word, I'll need the mainsheet brought in again, that will take two of you on the winch, then one of you has to get the starboard backstay down tight, that's you Mark and the other, you Knotty, you get the port backstay off. Mark, you'll get back on the mainsheet as quick as you can."

"Dave, rig this rope from the staysail boom down to that cleat on the deck. When we tack, don't let the staysail come across till I shout. That way, it will push the boat's bows around, it's vital in these conditions. Take a knife, cut it if you have to, because when I shout, the staysail must come across or it will drive us backwards. Got that?"

I eased the helm and Johnny eased the mainsheet away. Seakeeper accelerated, as much as her heavy design allowed. She heeled more and a couple of waves swept across the deck and drained through the scuppers on the lee side. I looked up to see Dave positioned close to the mast as I had instructed. He was holding on grimly.

"Tacking." I bellowed above the howl of the wind. Then I turned the wheel and felt the waves crash over the plunging bow and a wall of water swept aft along the deck. I had a fleeting image of Dave washed off his feet, flailing on the end of his safety harness, winded and of Mark up to his armpits in the same wave as he struggled to connect the vital backstay. The boom was above my head, flogging. If it hit any of us it would be fatal. Seakeeper was still turning, but slowly. The tack was in the balance for long seconds but finally, the pressure of the backed staysail forcing her head around, more seconds passed, a glance aft and indistinctly I saw cliffs and breakers, one mile perhaps, certainly less than five astern. Mark had the starboard backstay secured and Knotty was releasing its partner on the port side, "Good, Knotty," I shouted. Then I filled my lungs and shouted, "Now Dave."

The bow plunged down scooping up another wall of water. Dave was still struggling from the last one. He lost his footing again and I realised that he wouldn't get there before we were out of control and broadside on to the waves. I hesitated only a second, "Mark, take the helm now! Keep her turning. Knotty, release your backstay now!"

There is always a sharp knife kept close to the hatch of sailing yachts. I ducked past Mark, reached blindly through the hatchway, found it by touch and dashed forward feeling the deck cant at a crazy angle. Opening the blade as I ran. I was at the straining rope in five desperate paces and it parted at the first touch of the blade. The staysail and boom banged across to the port side with the sound of a cannon shot. The heel reduced but another wave crashed over the bow and my feet slipped from under me on the sheen of water covering the deck. Thoughts flashed through my mind. "Idiot, why didn't you clip on? How long before hypothermia gets me? Will they save Seakeeper and tell Yvonne and Jeremy?" It probably only took one second. I still have a vivid image of the sea reaching up for me. Then a painful jolt as my harness pulled me up just short of the bulwark.

It seemed like a miracle. I was head down in the port scupper, with waves rushing past my face, winded and spluttering. Above me, braced against the mast was Dave, holding my harness line for grim death. Amazingly, the lanyard of the knife was still around my wrist. A moment later, Knotty slipped along the lee deck, grabbed my other harness line, clipped it to the jackstay and guided me back to the cockpit. As Seakeeper headed out to sea, I gasped my thanks to Dave and Knotty, feeling incredibly lucky.

The storm lasted three days. At times I estimated the waves were eight sometimes ten metres high, almost as high as Seakeeper was long. The self-steering vane disappeared during the first night so one of us was on deck at all times. After two hours we would change places, streaming with water and shivering with cold. We ate cereal bars when we could and tried to vomit into buckets when the need arose - the more easily to throw the waste over the side. In the end, we were exhausted but we survived. Somewhere along the way, I had to let go of the anger I felt towards my alien crew. Perhaps that is the point about a crew, you depend on each other, like it or not.

The clouds and rain meant that it was not until the fourth day that I could use my sextant to get a sun sight and calculate a position. Even then, the boat's motion was so violent that the calculation would have been tens of miles out. Cautiously, we headed towards North Cape a second time. The seas were still rough, but we shook the reefs out of the staysail and only left one reef in the main.

It took another two days of sailing to get a sight of the Surville Cliffs and North Cape again and by the evening we were running down New Zealand's east coast. The AM band continued to provide a little local news, except there were now grateful, if rather stilted references to "international aid parties." The interference on the HF band made it effectively unusable.

"Whangaroa, we'll go in there, there's no large towns so it is unlikely the "international aid parties" will be there." Mark said had been studying the charts. "We'll be in and out in a day, and back on Waller two days later."

"Nasty entrance." I said.

"Ever been there, Warren?" Mark asked.

"No."

I reached up and pulled down the pilot book from the bookshelf. "Five knot tides, with overfalls and cliffs to blanket the wind. Nasty."

"You want to bowl into the Bay of Islands and ask the first people we see what's going on? They might well be an International Aid party. We want information, not a confrontation with anybody 'helpful,' who might be there." He took a deep breath and added, "In any event, put your gear away guys and once we're in New Zealand waters you're civilians, yachties, and don't forget it!"

Later, with Mark, I worked up a cover story to account for our voyage. We were on a team building exercise, employees of the security company which I supposedly managed. It was thin, but hopefully, it would never have to be used. "And keep those damned weapons out of sight."

## 8 - Reflections

We'd been through one of the worst storms I had ever experienced, but I bounced back quickly enough. It took me a couple of days to realise that the submariners, younger and fitter than me, though they were, simply were not recovering. They were sore in body and shaken in spirit by the unremitting brutality of raw nature over so many hours.

Mark gave me the answer inadvertently. "Give me a submarine every time, Warren, subs dive under storms, no need for sea legs."

With easier sailing, I decided to tackle the lethargy that had settled on them. The role of cook had fallen to me by default. After all, I had provisioned Seakeeper and I knew the contents of each locker. Every item was entered in our inventory in Yvonne's neat handwriting. I ran a finger over the pages, and for a moment thought it was like her skin. Then I pulled myself together.

I found a tinned ham, potatoes, tomatoes, with peas and corn. I served the ham sliced thin with a cream sauce and a precious six pack of beer around the saloon table. The smell of cooking, perhaps the very banality of it seemed to lift spirits. The food seemed to complete the cure.

"Better than your biscuits, Warren."

"Thank you, Dave." I said with a mock bow.

"Cheers, a feast." For Johnny, this was a speech. I had wondered what depths lay beneath his taciturn exterior. Perhaps he was letting down his guard.

Knotty was stretching out his beer with slow sips, as he ate. I watched his eyes dart around the cabin, and guessed that the troubled child was still there, deeply buried in the tough capable persona he projected.

"What got you into the navy, Knotty? I asked.

"There was this geezer in the Department. He wasn't like the others, straight if you like," the others chuckled, "no not that way you bastards, he was – to the point. He sat me down one day and said, "Richard, in two years' time, we will say you've grown up – you're eighteen and on your own, and believe me, you will be on your own. You think you're tough lad and streetwise. You're not, you're a kid. The system spits out kids like you every day, and most of them are stuffed within a year. You will have nothing and you'll lose what little you've got. Find yourself a place and get yourself the education we were too hopeless to give you. If you don't, you'll go the way of all the others."

Knotty paused and looked at each of us. I doubt he was looking for sympathy, something more ephemeral perhaps, rapport...

"Anyway, he must have pulled some strings, 'cause I got an interview for the navy a couple of months later. So here I am, Electrical Artificer Richard Tree, Knotty for short, at your service." This speech ended with a snort from Dave.

"You'll have us believe you were a character out of Dickens, Knotty, or was it Calamity Jane?"

"Well what about you, Dave?" I asked taking advantage of the relaxed atmosphere.

"Me? I grew up in the Sydney, the Western Suburbs, didn't I?" He snorted, "For us a boat trip was the RiverCat ferry into Sydney City to go Christmas shopping with my nana." His voice softened, "We'd go on a Saturday, when she wasn't working at the hospital. We'd see all these crazy little sail boats racing around. Never did get that, I preferred Footy." He paused to chuckle. "That was the nearest I ever went to going to sea, apart from one trip to Bondi Beach with my mates, I got caught in a rip and had to be rescued. Yeah, like Knotty, it was a job after school, and I was bloody glad to take it.

Johnny polished off his beer and got up, wriggling around the corner of the table. He picked up some empty plates and put them in the galley sink. "Mark," he called up through the hatch, "I'll spell you on the wheel; Warren's chow is great."

"Ghost man." Dave nodded quietly towards Johnny's back. "Known him three years and never got anything out of him. Not even when he's drunk."

I watched as the shadow of Mark was relieved at the wheel by the shadow of Johnny and a moment later, Mark came down the hatch, blinking at the warm light of the cabin. "Smelling the food and waiting to be relieved, was torture. Good stuff Warren. What were you chatting about?"

"How the guys got into the navy." I said

"Ah, talking of the old world." A veil of sadness enveloped Mark's young face. Suddenly he seemed old. I remembered his remark that the ashes of his wife and baby were probably in the air we were breathing. The reminder of my own situation sent my mind fling out like an albatross, soaring over the ocean waves, looking for Yvonne and Jeremy.

## 9 - Down deep

At least Captain Martin had taken the trouble to visit them. He was standing at the entrance of this crowded space they were in. Someone in the corridor spoke to him and he turned to the questioner who was out of her sight up the corridor and she heard him say "Yes that's fine, carry on."

Then he turned back to her and sounding genuinely apologetic he said. "Look it should only take a week or so. Believe me, I wouldn't do it if there was any other choice."

The deck dipped slightly and within seconds, the motion of the waves had stilled. With a frisson of nervousness, Yvonne realised that the submarine had dived.

"How are the Chinese, SBA?"

"I think Major Fung has a subdural-hematoma. He needs a hospital." Yvonne said.

Johnny Gough straighten up and looked at his captain, "She could well be right, Sir. His pupils are dilated, and he's barely responsive."

"Hospital! Yes well - do what you can. Thank you, John, what about the other one?"

"Mrs Blake, says he's recovering. Exposure and seasickness."

Captain Martin looked directly at Yvonne again. "Mrs Blake. You're a doctor?"

"No, I'm an RN, a registered nurse. I used to work in intensive care, until we had Jeremy." She looked down at her son, who was rubbing the bruise on his head where it had banged the deck as he sat up during the boarding.

"And you speak Chinese?"

"Enough, it was helpful with some of the patients..."

"SBA, will you give us some room." Johnny Gough rose and left quietly and Captain Martin looked at her. "Will you translate for me please?" Then he turned to look at Lieutenant Liu "Your helicopter, where were you flying from, Lieutenant?"

As with any communication wracked by the need for translation, the conversation was necessarily stilted. Yvonne found the questions and the replies, totally predictable, a series of formal words that produced expected responses. It ended as she knew it would.

"I'm sorry Captain, he says he cannot discuss PLA Navy operations with you."

"Tell him that if I am to find hospital assistance for Major Fung, I need to know the situation ashore."

Yvonne relayed the complex phrases as best she could.

"Lieutenant Liu says that they are flying humanitarian aid around North Island and got lost when their navigation system failed. He says we are not at war, they are just giving assistance following the attack on Australia and the consequent disruption to shipping." Then she added, "He says he is grateful for your concern and regrets his inability to help."

Captain Martin shook his head and looked at Yvonne. "He must think we were born yesterday." He turned on his heel and his place in the doorway was taken by the same burly sailor.

"Are you OK, son?" She felt Jeremy's forehead, it was hot from the bruise and he flinched, but there was no bleeding and Yvonne reassured herself that the skin was not torn. "You'll live Jeremy. Yes, live."

Yvonne stood up and turned to the sailor. "I need a toilet."

"Someone will have to escort you, Ma'am."

"Don't you trust me?"

It's not up to me, Ma'am, but toilets on subs don't work like toilets on land, see."

Eventually, a young woman appeared in the corridor and escorted Yvonne to the toilet compartment. Normally, Yvonne would have been too embarrassed at being accompanied and would have argued but her need was urgent. Frustrated, she asked her escort, "Why no toilet doors?"

"No doors at all, so they can't jam and trap you. By the way it's always called a head in ships."

The conversation served to distract Yvonne from the situation as she attended to her needs. "Why?"

"In the old days, sailing ships, the crews' toilets were up in the bow, or head of the ship. Guess we never changed the term."

Yvonne returned to their compartment to find SBA Gough leaning over Major Fung. "We'll have to make him comfortable. His blood pressure is low and breathing uneven. Please ask them," indicated the lieutenant and Jeremy, "to help me get him into a berth."

The crowded space made the task difficult, but eventually they got the Major out of his flight suit and into a berth.

Hours dragged by, there is no night or day in a submarine. Clocks advance and watches change, but the light never changes. If you want to sleep, you may dim a light and pull a curtain over your berth, but the boat continues, hidden in the depths of the sea. Yvonne asked for books, but found the few on offer of little interest, she nursed Major Fung with what little resources Johnny Gough could provide. He had a vial of corticosteroids and she injected them, trying to recall the guidelines for the correct dose.

Jeremy was bored too, his restlessness was getting irritating, he wanted to do something, he said; anything to get out of the confines of the tiny mess. "Mum," he quipped, "I'm beginning to understand the notion of cabin fever."

At the change of watch, some while later, Captain Martin put his head into the compartment to see how the patient was progressing and Yvonne took the opportunity. "Captain, my son is getting bored..."

"Oh." He thought for a moment. "It's not like the old days, we don't exactly have idlers you could help with routine tasks - Would you mind helping in the galley, Jeremy?"

"Gladly, Sir. Anything to be useful."

"I'll take you down, I'm sure cook can use your services." Relieved, Jeremy followed the captain into the corridor.

"Anything to get him out from under my feet." Yvonne sighed. The statement produced a muffled chuckle from Lieutenant Liu.

"You speak better English than you admitted." Yvonne said accusingly. "Why did you put me through that charade of translation?"

"A little." He replied with a shrug. The accent was heavy but perfectly intelligible.

"Why didn't you say?"

"You didn't ask."

To cover her embarrassment, Yvonne checked Major Fung's conditions. He was feverish but his blood pressure was up, but not yet back to normal while his colour had improved. When she had finished, he tried to speak, but the effort was too great and he fell back. She asked for Johnny Gough and working with the help of the SBA they gave the major a sponge bath. As they tucked him in again. In a faint voice the major whispered "xièxie" to them.

"That's Mandarin for, thank you." She said to the SBA. Then lying down on one of the opposite berths she slept soundly.

The Waller's galley was a deck lower than their cubicle. Even the short walk was a relief for Jeremy, after the confinement with the two sick aviators and his mother. The captain led him through the control room and showed enough interest in his passenger that he asked. "University?"

"Yes, dentistry at Sydney, one more year."

"Oh, you'll be useful then."

"Hope so." Jeremy replied. "If I still have a university." He left this hanging and Captain Martin merely grunted and descended the steps to the lower deck.

The cook turned out to be the young lady who had escorted his mother to the head.

"I've got a volunteer for you Katya - Jeremy."

"Thank you, Sir. What do you want me to do with him?"

"Medium rare, will do, but basted if the air-conditioning plant plays up again." The captain chuckled at his own sense of humour and added, "He's bored, make him useful." With that, he left.

"Hi Jeremy, I'm Katya. Here's an apron and a hygiene hat;" the latter she fastened carefully to his head. "The lads get picky if they get hairs in their chow." Finally, she pulled from a draw, a strange bundle of mesh which she fastened on his left hand and revealed itself to be a protective glove.

"Chainmail like mediaeval armour."

Within a minute, Jeremy found himself provided with a large cook's knife and standing at a chopping board with a large pile of onions facing him. Another minute and he was wiping his eyes. Katya took another knife and shared the task with him. He was awed by the easy rapidity with which she worked through her pile. His expression caught her attention. She smiled and said, "Four years practice..."

"A woman cook?"

"Why not? Not PC enough for you?" Jeremy detected a hint of mirth in her voice.

"PC?"

"PC, you know, politically correct – no woman should be doing women's work, et al." Jeremy looked up and saw fierce determination in Katya's eyes. "It may not be PC, but when I finish with this lot, I'll be running a hotel and all our bright matelots will be coming to it for a drink and a feed. Who'll be the smart one then, I ask you?"

Jeremy was momentarily nonplussed. "Matelot?" He gasped.

Katya shook her head laughing, "It's French for sailor, silly. It's been part of naval slang for hundreds of years." As she shook her head, a long plait of black hair become dislodged from under her hygiene hat. The feminist warrior woman felt it come loose, reached for it and dissolved in laughter. "Jeremy, your face is a picture."

Perhaps it was. Without seeing her hair, he had not ventured a guess at the cook's origins. Seeing the long plait he felt an immediate surge of empathy. "You're Asian?" He blurted out.

"They used to say half-caste." Katya responded with equanimity.

Half-caste – It's an ugly term loaded with exclusion, he had endured it at school, as one has to endure many things, but reflexively he still cringed. There had been plenty of Asian pupils, but not one other mix – an equally horrible term. His Mandarin was pathetic, most of them were native speakers. Jeremy had never felt he belonged.

"Cook first, talk later." Katya, Jeremy realised, in galley or hotel kitchen would always have her priorities focused.

## 10 - Northland

Perhaps it was a mistake, but I had not tried to settle who was in command of Seakeeper, Mark or me. If we had, Mark would probably have insisted on his claims, but by leaving the situation open, I felt I had more influence. In any event we were off Whangaroa on the flood tide, in the early morning. The narrow entrance and surrounding mountains were every bit as forbidding as the pilot book had warned, but Mark was adamant. "It used to be a timber port. If ships could make it, we can!"

We were over a mile offshore observing, I had not intended to attempt the entrance until later but with the flood tide running close to five knots and the swell left over from the storm behind us, we were committed to entering before we realised. I engaged the motor and eased the sheets as the tide carried us in.

"Life jackets and harnesses everybody, then, hold on tight."

The ocean swells were building in the entrance. Most of the time, the beaches were invisible because of the wave crests ahead of us. I looked towards the mountains and attempted to set course by them, recalling details of the chart Mark and I had studied.

"Committed, aren't we." That was Mark, he understood that this was a tricky manoeuvre better than the others. They all had their lifejackets on and gathered around me at the wheel. "Dave, take that rope and tie it on to that" I pointed at a strong cleat on the deck. "Tie the boom so it has to stay on this side." The last thing I wanted was the boat out of control surfing down the front of a wave, if I lost control we could have nearly a quarter a ton of boom slashing across at little more than head height.

A mile to the entrance, now perhaps half a mile and a mile through the narrows. We were in for twenty minutes of considerable danger. The wheel kicked against my hands as a following sea lifted the stern and Seakeeper accelerated heavily down its face.

"They're travelling!" Johnny, still the quietest of the group was pointing. I could only afford a glance at the powerful motor launch was coming out of the entrance. It was still a long way off, but coming fast; from its bow wave, I judged at least twenty knots, and the smoke of its exhaust trailed across the water behind.

"I suppose they know what they are doing." I said doubtfully and concentrated on controlling Seakeeper. The launch swept by, leaping up each wave until it was nearly airborne before crashing down into the next trough. It swept out to sea, passing 200 metres from Seakeeper, still close enough for me to feel the kick of the wake through the wheel of the yacht.

Knotty was watching the motorboat closely, "Bloody police. Always there when you don't want them, never when you do." By the time Seakeeper was through the narrows and I could relax, the launch was nothing but a dot in a blur of white spray in the distance, its position marked by the exhaust smoke which would trail it to the headland and then down the coast to the south.

The waves had eased but the current swept Seakeeper between the mountains and into the harbour. I looked back at the entrance and the breaking waves, then looked at Mark, "Phew, glad that's behind us."

"Until we go out again."

A quick glance at the chart for Northland showed a small insert map of the large harbour and marked the settlements. "Where do you want to land?" I asked, pointing at the insert and Mark leant over the chart.

"What's wrong with Whangaroa?" He asked.

"Totara North is smaller..."

"Not sure of our welcome?"

"No, Mark, not at all sure."

In the harbour the wind died so we lowered the sails and the electric motor carried us almost silently towards Totara. There were a lot of yachts and motor craft lying off as we approached. More than I had expected from the tourist guide to Northland that I had pulled from one of the bookshelves above the saloon berths, earlier.

"We're not going to get in close to the wharf, are we?" I said to Mark. The moored boats ranged in size from monstrous flybridge motor cruisers to little trailer sailers, which looked too small to venture out into the Pacific through the narrows we had just experienced.

"Refugees from the Auckland or further south?"

"Likely as any, Johnny, perhaps some from our side of the ditch, too." I said. "We'll have to anchor and then pump up the dinghy." Johnny took the helm and I cleared the anchor from its cleats on the foredeck and flaked out its chain ready for use.

After the anchor was down, I took over the helm again and ran the motor astern for a moment to test that it was holding. Then I got Dave to help with cleaning the rust flakes that running out the anchor chain had inevitably left on the foredeck. It was then that I got a prickling feeling at the back of my neck. It was too quiet. When yachts gather in an anchorage, there will be dinghies with puttering outboards going to and fro. Stores for the galleys, booze for the ice boxes, dogs to be walked or kids just being kids. New arrivals will always attract a head out of a hatchway giving them a good looksee. There should be music and voices. There was no sign of such activity. Few dinghies were even trailing on their painters behind the moored craft. Something akin to silence lay over the assembled fleet. From somewhere on the south side of the harbour, presumably Whangaroa, the sound of a helicopter rose for a moment, it's pitch increased and then faded as the machine departed, unseen by us.

I looked at my watch as I went back to the cockpit. "High tide soon, Mark. - You know, it's bloody quiet."

Mark had the binoculars out, scanning the sky to the south, presumably for the helicopter. He lowered them at my comment and then focused them on the shore.

"Is that a boatyard over there to the west?"

"Looks like it" I muttered.

"Bit of activity over there." He passed me the binoculars and through them, I saw a crowd around the big roller doors of the building. Along the water's edge, I saw quite a number of tenders and other dinghies.

From behind us, came the familiar sound of an outboard motor running at low power. The sound came from a fair sized aluminium dinghy, the type universally called a tinnie. This one was a bit bigger than those that people use for harbour fishing. It motored slowly towards us from the direction of one of the larger motor boats. In it were three men.

"Where from?" A voice called as they got closer.

"Sydney."

"How is it over there?"

"Don't know. Don't know much really. You got any news?" A fleeting thought flickered in my mind, that this must have been how voyagers conversed before radio ended the isolation of a sea voyage.

"No news." The speaker's bearing became more erect, official. "Are you registered?"

"Registered?"

"I'll take that as a no. All new arrivals have 24 hours to register and pay their fees, boats are counted as households, until you are moved ashore. See you up at the marae." The boat moved off and we saw painted roughly on one side of the stern 'Harbour Master.' The other side had a marlin board level with the water.

I looked at Mark and our crew. "Phew, registered, fees... moved ashore..."

"Marae?"

"Maori meeting house, don't know more than that." I replied.

Seakeeper's inflatable dinghy was in the after locker, well buried. Looking for the pump, I found a bag which turned out to be filled with Yvonne's shore clothes. I ran my fingers over the familiar silk of one of her favourite cheongsams. My hands shook and my eyes filled with tears, missing my family. I hoped that the Waller was safe – somewhere out there.

Lunch was corned beef and biscuits followed by tinned fruit. Eventually, we found the pump and went to work inflating the dinghy. This took an hour or more and it was mid-afternoon before Mark, Dave and I were headed ashore. Johnny and Knotty were left behind to tidy up. The electric outboard hummed away and we motored round to the beach where the other dinghies had been pulled up. The beach was littered with dinghies, well over twenty of them, most were half full of water. I scooped some up as I passed one and tasted it.

"Fresh" I said after I spat it out.

Mark and Dave looked at me blankly.

"Fresh water, rain; the dinghies must have been here a while, and someone has chained and padlocked them all up."

Mark reached down and tasted the water too. "Dave, take our dinghy back to Seakeeper and keep a sharp lookout for us." Mark and I walked thoughtfully towards the boatyard where the crowd was dispersing. There were now a few people moving along the shore road, heading listlessly toward the point where the road turned up the slope. We fell in beside two of these men.

"You off that cutter that motored in this morning? Where you from?" One of them asked.

"Yes, out of Sydney." Mark replied. "We hear we need to register."

"Yeah, it's one of their new rules, introduced because they need to agree where to deliver aid and not waste fuel." The tone was dispirited.

I nodded towards the harbour side sheds, "What's going on over there?"

"Bastards had us launching their Waka Taua, didn't they! Hard bloody work."

"Waka Taua?"

"War canoe. A working party to launch their bloody war canoe. It's part of the Community Commitment Programme. Another local idea."

"What?"

"Community Commitment." The speaker paused and saw our total lack of comprehension. "Look, you're from Sydney. Sydney doesn't exist, as best we can make out, sorry. But after that, a lot of people pulled out of Auckland too. Get away from any possible target. A lot of people came up here. A lot of stress on the local community."

"So?" I asked

"Things are a bit, shall we say tense. Local people up here are angry at the city folk. The," he paused balancing his words. "The International Aid groups - damn it, the Chinese, are working with whoever has power and organisation locally. The locals took my boat off me because I couldn't pay their fees. Sent me to stay in a camp, rules for this, rules for that and work for our food. Of course, at the prices they charge, they'll likely have your boat off you too. It's a neat bloody tyranny they've set up. Everything has to be paid for in food, work or fuel."

"Phew..." I half whistled in surprise.

The man looked at us speculatively, "You got any Kiwi currency?"

Mark shook his head and I muttered, "No."

"Shame, Aussie won't do you any good, now. Will it? Anyway, the marae is behind those trees." He turned and shambled off with his mate, who hadn't said a word.

The set-up seemed innocent enough, a tent with a sign saying "Visitor Registration" painted on it, stood outside the actual marae. We ducked inside and found a table and a few chairs. One of these, the only one behind the table was occupied by a powerfully built man who looked at us appraisingly.

"Off that cutter are you? Here to register?" He pushed a form on a clipboard towards us.

"What are we registering for?"

"Housing, financial assistance, fuel allowance."

"But we don't need..."

He cut me off "It's a flat fee per head. How many of you and where from?"

I was beginning to dislike his tone, "Five from Sydney." I said carefully.

"Well that will be fifteen thousand. Have you got New Zealand dollars? Otherwise we'll take your boat as part payment."

Alarm bells were going off in my head. The PV cells on Seakeeper were worth more that fifteen thousand dollars alone, and how were we to get back to the Waller without her? Fortunately, at that moment he was distracted. Two Asian men in suits had entered the back of the tent and called our interrogator over. There was a hushed discussion but I noticed a couple of glances in our direction.

When he returned he resumed with, "As I was saying fifteen thousand, or we'll take the boat in lieu."

Mark stepped into the situation. His tone was completely even, "That's no probs; we've got that on the boat." With that, he looked at his watch, touched my shoulder and said, "We'd better get back to the boat before the tide falls any further."

He smiled to the man behind the table and said, "We've got 24 hours, see you in the morning."

I waited until we were outside the tent. "I didn't realise you had money on the boat."

Mark looked over his shoulder to make sure we were out of earshot. "I don't but they're not taking the bloody boat, are they? Not without a fight."

I looked at him and realised what kind of fight he meant.

"You saw those two Chinese?" He asked

"Yeah. Lot of Chinese in New Zealand, just like Australia."

But Mark was looking meaningfully at me.

"Yes, but the label badges they were wearing were the flag of the PLA."

"People's' Liberation Army? Ah the International Aid Parties..."

We hurried back to the beach without another word. Seakeeper was where we had left her, and I saw our three crew standing up in the cockpit. Alongside was the Harbour Master's boat. The sound of raised voices came across the water, indistinctly.

Mark didn't wait for me, he stripped to his underwear and before I knew what he was doing he was swimming powerfully out towards Seakeeper.

In other circumstances, I would probably have been impressed by Mark's strong swimming stroke, but at that moment, I realised that Mark had not confided in me the rendezvous where we were to meet the Waller. Then he disappeared from view behind another moored boat.

Helplessly, I stood on the beach watching the confrontation. The distance was too great to make out individuals, but it was three against three and I watched as the men in the boat attempted to get past the sailors on the yacht. Suddenly, two of the men in the boat seized one of Seakeeper's crew and threw him into the water with a splash audible from the shore. With the odds changed, two men from the boat were on the deck in seconds and advancing menacingly on the two remaining sailors while the third threatened their backs from the boat.

The fight should have been all over at that point, but at that moment I saw the near naked figure of Mark climb onto the stern of the harbour master's boat and launch himself at its only occupant, whom he felled and tossed into the water. Another leap put Mark beside his men on Seakeeper and a moment later, both invaders joined their companion in the water, while their boat drifted away empty.

Ten minutes later, a grinning Knotty had collected me in our own dinghy and returned me to the yacht. The three men in the water had swum over to one of the large motor boats and Knotty was collecting their boat which he attached to our stern.

"We can't stay here." Mark said.

Five minutes later I was on the foredeck operating the electric winch to pull in the anchor cable. Dave and Knotty were throwing the sail ties off the mainsail ready to hoist and Mark was in the cabin putting on dry clothes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the three men from the boat swimming to shore, and then head off in the direction of the marae. One of them saw me watching their retreat and yelled across the water, "We'll get you, you bastards, then look out."

Seakeeper, towing the tinnie as well as our dinghy motored quietly out of Totara North bay.

"I guess they'll follow us." I said as we cleared the anchorage."

"Doubt it Warren," Knotty said, "that's what they were after, fuel. Their boat is almost empty, I checked the tank."

## 11 - Idyllic harbour

The sun was already slanting to the west as Seakeeper motored out of the anchorage. We passed closed to a couple of larger motor boats. On one I notice a silhouette watching us through the smoked glass of the windows in her hull. Without thinking, I waved and the figure ducked down, then disappeared. "I think we may have ruffled a few feathers back there." Mark said.

"Good one," I said. "You know Maori use feathers in their ceremonial cloaks."

"Do they?"

"We're being watched." I said looking around the moored boats. Mark turned to scan the shore, "No, I saw someone on that one." I nodded, and with my eye turned to the task I saw more furtive movements on other boats. "There are still people on some of the boats, Mark, I think they're hiding."

I sighed, "Before we even set-out, Jeremy told me that civilisation would last two days without fuel. Perhaps he was right, Mark."

"Those guys we met by the boatshed?"

"Yeah, I got the feeling that they were," I paused looking for the word, "broken \- crushed. I wish the harbour was bigger." I sighed and went below to get the chart.

The evening would be beautiful. There were clouds gathering on the mountains to the west. They caught the light and diffused it pink and scarlet, across the landscape, and the rippled waters of the harbour reflected it back to the opalescent sky. Mark and I spread the chart in the cockpit. It gave us more room to look at it. I also had out the pilot book and the old tourist guide.

Johnny was steering, a role which I noticed he took whenever he got the opportunity. Dave and Knotty looked on as Mark explained.

"I think we've kicked over the beehive back there and I don't think we'll get any more information over at Whangaroa. We'll get back to the Waller as quickly as we can." He paused and looked at us, before continuing, "It's early in the flood tide now, no point in tackling the entrance until the ebb. How do you feel about that at night, Warren?"

"Bloody nervous." I replied honestly.

"The alternative will be late afternoon tomorrow." Mark looked at me thoughtfully.

Dave said, "What difference does it make, if they've got no fuel?"

"Remember that police boat, as we came in. They weren't short of a drop." Knotty added and the conversation lapsed into thoughtful silence.

I took the chart below, and sitting at the navigation station flipped on the VHF radio. There had been no voices, or traffic since the day after we left Sydney and we had got into the habit of leaving it turned off. I was shaken to realise that almost three weeks had passed, it was mid January. The speaker hummed for a few seconds as it warmed up. I set channel 16, the internationally accepted calling frequency and left it on. Occasional indistinct, presumably distant voices proved that the frequency was active.

Back in the cockpit as the evening drew in, I relaxed. "How's the battery charge Knotty?"

"Eighty two percent, Warren."

"Good, slow it down, we may need it before morning."

From the direction of Totara a sound of rhythmic voices carried across the windless harbour.

The loudspeaker sprang into life, "Whangaroa – Whangaroa, this is Totara. We have had a boat stolen from our harbour master. Boat was last seen being towed by an unregistered gaff cutter heading up harbour."

Another voice chimed answered "Totara, this is Whangaroa. Copy that. The police boat went round to Russell this morning. Should be back tomorrow, same time. We've got no running boat, until then."

"Whangaroa, thank you. They won't go far with the flood tide running, and we saw which way they went. We'll send the waku after the bastards. Totara – out."

"Whangaroa – Don't take any nonsense from them." There was a vicious chuckle and "Out."

"Shit." The obscenity slipped out unintended. Taking the motorboat had been intended to prevent pursuit, in fact it appeared to have provoked it. I looked around in the gathering dark. The rhythmic chanting was getting louder.

"Echo sounder, please. Dave tell me if we are in less than five metres of water."

I looked at Mark and reluctantly said, "Mark, weapons close to the hatch, please but out of sight."

Marked nodded to Johnny. "You do that, Johnny, Warren, you on the wheel?" It was phrased as a question, but could have been an order, anyway it suited me. "Lights out."

Dave's voice sang out from below, "Five metres."

"Drat, that's the south west limit of the harbour. I swung the helm and in the last of the twilight spotted lines of piles – oyster beds as we turned. Behind us, the rhythmic chanting had stilled. I settled the boat heading north as slowly as possible while having enough speed to steer. Not for the last time that night, I blessed Seakeeper's almost silent electric motor.

I had an idea. "Knotty, does that boat of theirs have an anchor?"

"Yes."

"If we drop it off at the bay, while they are down here, we can say it was all a misunderstanding, can't we."

"It's slowing us down towing it, Warren. But I suspect those bastards have more in mind than getting their bloody boat back."

"Five metres," whispered Dave from below. I turned the helm to starboard again and waited until the fluorescent glow of the compass settled on 100 degrees. The wind had gone completely and the water was glassy smooth. In these conditions, I realised that even Seakeeper's small wake would be a clue for the searchers.

Off to starboard, the south, a paddle splashed. Then silence again. The wake, angling behind us from Seakeeper's hull would reach the paddlers any moment, I thought. We knew the moment, it did, because the chanting started again. I tried to imaging the acceleration of the light canoe, propelled by, I guessed forty paddlers and compared that with the speed I could expect from Seakeeper. The shouts changed and I suspected that they could see us from their lower position on the water. They were getting closer. Then Mark spotted them, 200 metres to the south of us and arrowing towards us at a small angle, while just keeping pace with us. The shouts timed with the powerful movements of the paddlers urged the canoe forward. No attempt at stealth now, I pushed the throttle fully forward and we began to edge ahead.

From the canoe came a flash and a report. I ducked down, we all did, but a moment later, Mark was standing again. The chanting stopped but the paddlers continued their strokes. A voice shouted over the water above the noise of the paddles. "Stop or I'll shoot."

Mark shouted back, "You'll need better than a shotgun mate." Another flash and a moment later I heard the rattle of pellets on the hull. Mark muttered and sat down. The chanting resumed, but we had gained some distance. "Bastards, they won't keep that pace up for long."

"You OK Mark." I asked.

"A couple of the pellets stung me. I'll live."

"Good, you haven't told me where we are to meet the Waller. Don't get yourself killed until you have, damn you."

"The Poor Knights."

"Don't joke Mark, this is important, for your guys too."

"The Poor Knights, look at the chart, 15 miles offshore and 30 miles south of the Bay of Islands. And we've got two days to make it, before Waller moves off to a safer spot.

Over the radio we heard "Totara, this is the waku. We see them, they're heading east."

Dave, still dutifully monitoring the echo sounder called out "five metres," and I steered off to the north guessing it was one of the islands that dotted the harbour. "Battery life."

"Fifty five percent, Warren."

Mark cut in, "Don't want to try that game with them again, with a flat battery."

"I'm going back to Totara." I said.

"What?" I don't know who said it. Perhaps they all did.

"We'll drop their bloody boat off, then nobody can complain we stole it, and we'll hide among the other moored boats till the tide turns."

Guided by the flickering light at the end of the wharf we glided into Totara. A rattle of chain and the Harbour Master's dinghy was back in the harbour. We rigged fenders and pulled alongside one of the larger motor boats. Its high hull and cabin concealing the yacht from the shore.

None of us were in a mood to sleep, we sat silently in the cockpit and listened. Eventually, the chanting; now ragged with fatigue, approached and passed us on the way to the boatyard.

I was tired, we'd entered Whangaroa harbour only that morning. Since then, none of us had got any rest and we were facing a trip through the narrow entrance in the dark in a few hours' time. I sagged down, reluctant to leave the wheel. Mark passed me a woollen jumper and an oilskin and settled down beside me, too tired to risk sleeping and thereby missing the tide.

## 12 - Tough for an officer

Yvonne's hand was shaking my shoulder insistently, "Warren, wake up, Warren." I sat-up and found myself aching from my posture slumped by the side of the wheel. Wondering why I was there I looked up as Yvonne's face morphed into Johnny's.

"You went to sleep." He said, stating the blindingly obvious. In his hand were two mugs of steaming coffee. Above us, clouds partially obscured the stars and a breeze was rippling the reflections of the feeble light at the end of the wharf.

Mark supped his coffee silently. Looked around and nodded as if re-assuring himself. "Time to go." He said.

I looked at the battery condition indicator. "Fifty two percent. I hope there is more wind in the channel."

We cast off the lines without another word and Seakeeper headed silently out of the bay into the wider harbour. There we hoisted sail to spare the batteries for driving through the narrows. The staysail went up first, followed by the main. I was glad to have fit young sailors to sweat up the halyards. After that, we pulled the jib out to the end of the long bowsprit and hoisted it. Seakeeper was sidling through the harbour at three, maybe three and a half knots, fast enough that any prowling waku would be hard put to catch us, and even if they tried, the exertion required would ensure noise thus preventing our being surprised.

"What about the topsail, Mark?"

"You think so?"

"Might be useful, it's up high where the wind will be stronger."

We rousted the topsail out of the bins under the fo'c's'le berth, and I found the long yard which carried the sail aloft and showed the guys how it was attached by the shielded light of a torch. When it was ready, we gathered at the foot of the mast and I put the essential ropes in each sailors hands.

"Hoist it on the halyard in the usual way. That's you, Knotty. Dave, take up slack on the sheet, it runs back down the gaff to the mast and then back to you. Johnny, keep the downhaul running free. Only pull it on when Knotty says he can't pull the halyard any higher."

"Time?" I called and Mark at the wheel replied "02:05."

"Tides running, we'll go for it." I stepped down into the cockpit and said to Mark, "I'll helm her, I think."

A shaft of moonlight penetrated the clouds and I could make out the entrance ahead of us. The tide took us into the narrows, faster than Seakeeper would sail in many conditions. The wind freshened as it was confined between the narrow walls of the channel and in moments, I could see the standing waves that marked the entrance ahead. I pushed the throttle forward in its quadrant and felt the prop bite deep down in the water.

We rode the first wave easily enough but came down into the trough with a crash which buried the bowsprit and the foot of the jib deep in the water. For a moment, I thought that their position, so far forward would make the boat uncontrollable, but Seakeeper lifted with the dignity of a matronly lady heaved the water off her deck and rode the next wave more comfortably. I heaved a sigh of relief, the worst of the waves were behind us and ahead was the Pacific Ocean, no waku was likely to ambush us on the open sea.

We sailed nor north east to clear a feature which the chart called Flat Island, and then east to clear the coast. We had no desire to encounter the police launch during its promised return from Russell. With full sail and a steady offshore breeze we were making four and a half knots.

"Dave, you take the helm. Mark and I need to look at the chart."

In many vessels, the light at the navigator's table is kept low. This serves to protect the night vision of the crew in the cockpit, particularly the helmsman's. It wasn't until Mark put his hand on the chart, that I realised that it was bloody. It was mostly dry and flaking onto the chart. I looked up and saw that his face was grey. "You're hit." I said.

"Just a pellet, stung a bit." There was the slightest hint of a slur, perhaps grogginess in his voice.

"I'll take a look." And brooking no objection I got Mark to sit on the starboard saloon berth, and positioned him where the light would not shine directly up into the cockpit. In the light, I saw that the dark blue of his clothes were darkened by blood at the shoulder and hip. He tried to pull them off, but in the end allowed me to help as moving his arm clearly hurt badly. The puncture wound in the shoulder was surrounded by ugly bruising. I got him to lie down and removed the stained trousers and blood soaked underpants.

"Doctor Warren, eh. Thanks." Mark said weakly.

I fetched the first aid kit, well supplied as it always was, thanks to Yvonne, and pulled out a pair of tweezers, then some sterilising wipes. "No anaesthetic I'm afraid. This is going to hurt like in the old western movies."

Mark nodded grimly. "Do your worst, Warren," his lips formed a forced smile and he added, "but you're no Jane Russell, would that you were."

It took all of twenty minutes and Mark made barely a sound. The shot were heavy gauge and the swelling had begun to fill the wounds. Finally, I extracted both slugs and, remembering that foreign bodies, bits of clothes punched into wounds caused more infection that the shot themselves, I carefully probed the wounds for any such debris and removed it.

Finally, it was done, as far as I could see and Mark lay back as I bandaged him.

"You were lucky Mark. Ugly, but they could have been a lot deeper, and if it had been a rifle..."

His reply was soft, but still in control. "His first shot was from a shotgun, so the second would be too. Good choice in a way, standing up in a canoe - chance of hitting with a rifle, nix. Shottys don't have the range though, I thought it would be birdshot, but it was heavier, went further. Damn it, a silly way to get hurt." He lay back and, after a few moments, slept.

"How's the patient, Warren?" Dave asked from behind the wheel.

"He'll live."

"Tough bugger, for an officer."

By sunrise a bit after five in the morning, the coast was a low band on the western horizon. We changed course, angling out from the coast. By seven, only the highest hills could be seen but the presence of the land was marked by cloud. Aotearoa – The land of the long white cloud, I remarked to Dave. Seakeeper foamed forward towards the mysteriously named Poor Knights Islands and her rendezvous with HMAS Waller. I watched as the crew worked the boat and felt that my training had achieved all that could reasonably be expected to turn the submariners into, I chuckled to myself, proper sailors.

Finally, I headed below to get some sleep.

I woke to the sound of Johnny chopping onions for our lunch. He smiled down at me and said, "Thanks for looking after him, Warren" and nodded towards Mark's still sleeping form. "Not bad for an officer." For Johnny, this was positively loquacious.

He served the onions fried as a hash with corn beef on dry "ships biscuits" and accompanied by tinned tomatoes. We ate in the cockpit. There was little conversation. Perhaps each of our minds was too occupied. After lunch, Dave volunteered to wash-up and I climbed the mast with a hand compass. From there, I could make out the higher hills of North Island peeping above the horizon. That put them fifteen to twenty miles off shore. It was unlikely that the police boat would venture out far enough even to see us. At least that was what I hoped.

Back at the chart table, I attempted to settle our position and cursed myself for failing to get a noon sight of the sun. In any event, we were making good progress. It was time to lower the topsail. Less wear on the boat's rig, and less to worry about, if the wind got any stronger. With Mark still below, I took the halyard and sheet and Dave pulled the sail down. Johnny was on the helm and eased the boat up into the wind. This released the pressure in the sail and Dave and Knotty gathered it up. When we took it below, I saw that Mark was awake.

"How are you?"

"Better, thanks. What's the time?"

"Gone three. We've stowed the topsail. We're off the Bay of Islands, good progress, so I decided we could do without it."

Mark grunted and attempted to get off the berth. "Stay there for a while, Doctor's orders."

He chuckled and closed his eyes. I looked down at him, and found myself speculating, had I married earlier, perhaps I would have had a son like him. This thought was followed immediately with a sense of betraying Yvonne and Jeremy.

Perhaps as a form of atonement, I filled a bucket and put Mark's bloodied clothes in to soak.

## 13 - The Poor Knights

There must have been a current flowing south. I was soundly asleep in the navigators berth when Seakeeper gibed suddenly. The wind had been coming from New Zealand to our west had been blowing from our starboard beam. I woke immediately and jumped up the companionway ladder into the cockpit and found that the wind was now blowing from our port side. We were heading north.

"What happened?" I shot at Johnny who was on the wheel.

"Nearly ran into your knights, didn't we." I looked into the darkness astern and made out the greater darkness of towering rocks with their bases surrounded by phosphorescent breakers. The night breeze was very light and as I looked, I saw that the current was carrying us backwards onto the rocks. I yanked the throttle forward and felt Seakeeper begin to gather way. Looking over the side, I realised that the rocks extended out at sea level on either side of us. My first reaction had been instinct. Caution took over and I slowed the motor until it held us against the flow of the current, no more. Then, very slowly, we edged past the rocks towards the open sea.

We almost made it unscathed. I had begun to relax when a larger run of swells pushed us sideways against a barnacle encrusted rock. There was a moment of grating before the rebounding swell carried us off and we were free in deep water. "Damn," I said feeling the shock of almost losing the boat, and guessing at damage to the anti-fouling paint on the bottom at minimum.

The wind had driven the swell in from the west; so, steering carefully in the dark, I positioned Seakeeper to the east of the islands, close enough to enjoy some shelter from the movement of the ocean. As good a place as any to await the arrival of the Waller.

We felt it through the hull first. A powerful thump that seemed to make the whole boat lift up in the water and then drop back. "What the heck?" I gasped.

"Underwater explosion." Replied Johnny. He held his hand up to cut off my next question.

Then we heard it, the roar of an explosion, distorted and confused by its travel through the islands and around their cliffs.

"Twenty seconds." Johnny replied. "That means about ten miles away, off to the west, since we didn't see it. I'll tell the skipper."

"No need; I heard." Mark was standing in the hatchway. "Deep."

"Deep?" I asked

"Deep under water, like in anti-submarine."

We looked at each other in silence. The question remained unspoken, had someone attacked, perhaps sunk the Waller?

In a gloomy silence, I guided the boat further from the islands, eastwards until the false dawn began to hint at the horizon. Johnny took the opportunity to get some sleep, he had done a long trick on the wheel. Perhaps, if he had been fresher, he would have spotted the danger of the islands earlier.

After Johnny went below, Mark climbed stiffly into the cockpit.

"You OK, Mark?"

"Sore. Thanks for your butchery, Warren." I suppose he saw my concerned glance as he settled himself in the corner of the cockpit beside me. "You think I could stay below after that?"

We lapsed into another long silence. There was enough cloud to make dawn slow and grey so that the sky lightened imperceptibly, without the usual shafts of brightness. We sat there, wondering, at least I did.

Eventually, Mark turned back to me with a wistful sigh. "Cynthia was the most beautiful woman I ever met. Navy sent me over to the UK for training and I met her down on the Hamble River. It was one of those wonderful summer days. Cool if you're used to an Aussie summer, fresh with a lovely breeze and the promise of a long, long evening." He saw that he had my attention and continued. "She was bringing this lovely little boat alongside the pontoon and fretting that her crew was late. She threw me her lines and we talked while she waited. Anyway, the fool didn't turn-up so she asked me to crew. After the race, we went to the pub for dinner then went for another sail in the twilight. We were putting the cover on the boat, our hands working along the lacing over the cockpit. They touched, it's a cliché, I know, but I never felt such electricity. We kissed."

He paused and I thought he had finished. Finally he drew a deep breath.

"We married at the end of my course. The real deal in the Naval Chapel, officers with swords drawn making an arch for us to walk under, it was - perfect. We'd only known each other for three months, but we knew it was right. Navy pulled a few strings and we flew straight to Sydney. Tough on her parents though, what with her being an only child. And now I'll have to tell them..."

It was fully light now but the mist over the sea created a strange kind of intimacy. I looked at Mark's face, it seemed to have aged ten years and tears were coursing down his cheeks unnoticed. The silence stretched out, I was content to let it.

We heard Knotty putting on the kettle below. The officer in Mark exerted itself and with a visible effort, he settled himself, looked up at the rig, and without looking at me, said "Warren, you must be worried sick too. I'm sorry I got your family involved in this."

## 14 - An operational dilemma

Captain Martin appeared at the door of their compartment. "Mrs Blake, would you come with me, please."

Yvonne followed him meekly through the control room to what she immediately realised was his own cabin. She noticed that even this, nominally sacrosanct space was denied a door and felt a wry twinge of, was it amusement? There were two chairs in the cabin, and barely room to avoid knee contact as she sat in the chair indicated and the captain opposite her.

"I've apologised for appropriating your boat and hijacking you and your son." The captain began. "Now I have to apologise for your inadequate accommodation. Oh, and thank you for the help you have given Johnny Gough."

Yvonne found herself moving uncomfortably. "You've got to understand that by their nature, ships have spaces which can be used in situations like this, subs don't."

"You intend to keep me," she corrected herself, "us, with Major Fung and the Lieutenant." She said. She could see the direction the conversation was going.

"I've already had to kick my petty officers out, to make room for you. That's four PO's who have moved into the berths of the men who joined your husband on the yacht." He paused, leaving an opening which Yvonne chose not to fill. Then he continued, "It's untidier than that. Look, some of the men think we are at war with China," his look spoke a thousand words, "but we simply don't know. All we know is that we can't communicate with Canberra." He looked at her thoughtfully. "Defence communications are intended to survive an attack."

"So it must be bad! Well, what do you do in...?"

"We don't go and start a shooting war, particularly one we can't win, without orders." Yvonne wondered if she detected a hollowness behind Captain Martin's thoughtful voice.

He took a breath and continued, "When we come up to charge, we monitor whatever traffic we can. As best we can tell, the attacks have been mercifully limited." Yvonne saw that he was looking at her, assessing her reactions and perhaps her understanding.

"MAD," he said, then after another pause and explained, "Mutually assured destruction, it hasn't come to that, at least. Australia seems to have copped the worst of it, but some other places, particularly Singapore have been hit. That's caused major disruption to international trade. Oil isn't getting to countries in the region."

She looked at him, trying to assess how much he was telling her and how much he was holding back. "No fuel, no food distribution, limited electricity for refrigeration. Thus chaos?"

The captain nodded. "Yes, that would fit. Most of what we are hearing is from New Zealand. They seem to be getting some – shall we say - help – help from China."

"And?"

"I've got two officers, possibly enemy officers, on my boat. And if that's not enough to complicate the matter, there are other submarines operating in these waters, the New Zealanders don't have any subs, by the way." He sighed and his eyes wandered around his small cabin. "We may not be at war, but we are certainly operational."

"Anyway, you see my dilemma." The tone had changed, and Yvonne realised that the captain had said everything he intended to."

"How many women do you have in your crew?"

"Only two. No special facilities I'm afraid." He stood up, and in the crowded space, Yvonne did as well.

"Thank you for being so understanding." He led the way back to the PO's mess with its guard outside the curtain.

Yvonne was far from sure that she shared the captain's understanding.

Jeremy was already back. On the table were three trays of onion bhaji and an Indian curry. The smell was inviting, and she smiled at Lieutenant Liu. "How's the major?" She asked him in Mandarin.

"Sleeping. Thank you," he replied in the same language.

Her instincts as a nurse over-rode her appetite and Yvonne checked the Major's condition. Yes, he certainly seemed to have improved.

"Katya let me cook the bhaji, Mum. Hope you like it." Jeremy mumbled as he tucked into his curry."

"Katya?"

"The cook."

"The sailor who usually escorts me to the toilet?"

Jeremy nodded.

The angle of the deck changed. Muffled commands could be heard coming from the control room. The boat began to rock and Jeremy adroitly caught the trays and prevented them from falling to the deck.

"Have we surfaced?" Yvonne asked.

"Charging batteries. They like to do it every opportunity they get. But, if they have to, they can stay down for about three days, Mum. Katya told me.

Yvonne smiled, "She's managed to get you to cook more than I have in the last ten years. Do-oh of course, you can't study. I was forgetting." Jeremy snorted and Lieutenant Liu looked enigmatically at mother and son, with a twinkle in his eyes.

## 15 - New Realities?

A helicopter found us in mid-morning. The noise had brought the rest of the crew bundling on deck. After the experience of Whangaroa and the mysterious explosion early in the morning, I don't think any of us were happy with the intrusion of the outside world. The chopper hovered near our stern but we could not interpret the markings. Clearly, it was getting a good look at us, then it circled around and flew across our bow, twice, before flying right overhead and heading north west.

Somewhere in the archive of my mind, I recalled that this was the signal to "follow me."

Mark nodded, "You're right, Warren. Guess we'd better do what they want."

Reluctantly, we tacked the boat and set course to abide with the instruction, as closely as the wind allowed. The helicopter turned back, when it saw that we were not following the course it had indicated, but seeing that our sails were trimmed as close to the wind as possible, it resumed its course to the west and soon disappeared into the thinning mist.

"Co-axial rotors." Mark said thoughtfully. I looked at him for the significance.

"Kamov?" Johnny asked. "No western helicopters use that configuration, must be Russian or Chinese."

The sailors were phlegmatic, "No point in making a run for it at four knots." This was Dave, he sounded resigned. Perhaps we all were.

There would have been precious little point in making a run for it. Within half an hour, the grey shape of a frigate emerged from the mist sailing directly for us. We watched as she veered off to pass down our starboard side, and considerately slowed so that her wash was not too severe.

Mark watched through the binoculars and then passed them to me. "Type 054 of the Chinese Navy." We watched as the frigate made a tight turn and steadied on a parallel course, closing on our port side. Several figures looked down at us from the wing of the bridge. Another joined them and a megaphone appeared. The voice that boomed out spoke passable English.

"Hostile submarine activity in area. Please proceed to Bay Of Islands as quickly as possible." We waved which appeared to be accepted as acquiescence. The ship's wake broadened as her propellers bit into the water and she accelerated back to the North West. As she passed ahead, her hull sheltered us from the wind and for some minutes we rolled heavily, before resuming our course in silence.

Mark looked at us thoughtfully. "Right, we have a cover story, don't we? Knotty?"

"We work for Warren, out on a sailing trip, when the balloon went up."

"Company, Dave?"

"Leander Security"

"Offices, Johnny? Johnny hesitated.

"Glebe. And don't bloody forget it. Our lives may depend on it."

Mark looked at me, "Warren, how long in business?"

I gasped, this was getting serious, "Six years, I've had the company. Long history before that."

"You're an accountant, how come you bought it?"

"Distress sale."

"Yes, you're an accountant." This got a moment of laughter.

We drilled the story, even as we ate lunch. We drilled as we passed north of the Poor Knights. We drilled until it was evening and we approached Cape Brett where we had to tack into the wide entrance of the bay. At dusk a seagoing launch met us and passed us a line. Then towed us rapidly into the darkening anchorage off Paihia. To our north, the grey shapes of several large warships bulked against the hills, while the anchorage itself was packed with assorted pleasure craft.

I was up in the bows, getting the anchor ready to lower and Dave was helping me. He straightened up and looked around at the mass of moored boats. "Shades of Whangaroa on steroids, I should say."

The launch slowed and a figure in its stern shouted to cast off the line and anchor. "See you in the morning." He shouted as the launch headed into the darkness.

I cooked a curry with rice. Handling Yvonne's rice cooker made me think about her, then about Jeremy. The whole sorry, uncertain mess. I took a bottle of scotch down from the drinks locker and offered everybody a glass. Mark and Johnny declined but the others joined me in sipping the spirits silently.

I suppose it helped me sleep. I dreamed, images from the submarine films about World War 2 circulated in my mind. Images of terrifying explosions and of water crashing into hulls and battering life to extinction. Mark woke me in the darkness. "You OK Warren? You were calling out."

"Bad dream." I kicked off my sleeping bag and sat opposite him.

"Yeah, I've had a few of those." We talked quietly until I yawned and this served as a signal to turn in again.

The early morning brought the bustle of a busy anchorage. Tenders were rowing between boats and the shore, few with outboards I thought. A few motor launches fussed busily around. On the warships, helicopters were active, while at least two of the ships were clearly preparing to get underway. Mark scanned them with professional interest, "That's the Chinese ship from yesterday, and the one following is looks like one of ours, an Anzac."

"Anzac?" I asked ignorantly.

"A class of frigates, we built eight and the Kiwis two, the..." He paused for a moment and Johnny stepped in.

"The Te Kaha and the Te Mana, Mark."

"Thanks Johnny."

"Do you think they're going hunting?" I asked.

"Bloody stupid place to be, if you thought there was a hostile sub looking for you. If I was after those boys, I'd have my boat in the deep water just off the heads and I'd just pop off two torpedos and that would be that. I'd have kept at least one ship out there covering the entrance, even if we had to resupply the other." He stood up and watched as the two frigates got underway leaving another naval vessel moored closer in behind.

We dropped our anchor again, among the crowd of yachts and motorboats. I drank in the relaxed atmosphere, so different from Totora.

"Somebody put the kettle on. I need coffee and a feed."

It was cereal and reconstituted milk for breakfast, and I morosely contemplated our stores situation. Yvonne and I had victualed for several months, but that was for the appetites of one youth and two more modest appetites. Feeding five was a different equation, and I remembered the ominous comment from Whangaroa, that Australian Dollars were no longer acceptable.

The frigates were heading out towards the entrance of the bay. Remembering Mark's observation, I waited for the dreaded explosions, but nothing happened and I turned my interest to making contact with the shore. I watched where the dinghies were landing, and tried to work out what facilities were available. At the same time, Knotty and Dave pumped up the inflatable dinghy.

It was an hour later, that Mark drew our attention to another frigate that was entered the bay and maneuvering into the space vacated by the ships that had left. "Seems they had the entrance covered, after all."

Mark looked closer at the warship which had not moved. It was bow on to us and partly obscured by one of the islands so we had paid little attention to it, with the other matters on our minds. Now it became the focus of Mark's professional interest. Eventually, he decided, "Armed resupply ship. I reckon she could fuel those frigates for months. That explains a lot."

After breakfast, we got the dinghy inflated and I set-up the little electric outboard and its battery. Mark didn't want to fall for the same trap as before. "Knotty, you come with Warren and me, bring the boat back here. Return to the point where you dropped us in two, no make that three hours, noon."

The wharf at Paihia was a hive of activity. Clearly, some level of authority was being effectively imposed. Signs directed "Civilian craft" to a pontoon close to the seawall. "Naval and Official craft" had the end of the wharf, where I recalled, whale watching catamarans had taken on their passengers. We joined the throng going up and down the brow onto the shore.

The brow was lightly build, designed to adapt to the different angles between the land and the pontoon as the tide rose and fell. I watched as an obese man jostled his way down pushing past other folk or making them retreat back to the bottom before his resolute mass. Mark and I stood to one side allowing this human piston clear the way, which he did with neither acknowledgement nor apology, then we used the space he had cleared to make our way up the brow ahead of a surge of people.

Once at the top of the brow we found a checkpoint manned by two bored looking New Zealand policemen. "Registration papers, please." One said.

"Newly arrived."

"Over there." He pointed across the road to an open door. Meekly, we followed his instructions.

The office, it had been a booking office for whale watching, as advertised on the glossy notices around the room, had clearly been busier. There were four tables set-up, as well as chairs for those waiting. An individual in navy uniform detached himself from a group standing near the rear and smiled, as if welcoming the interruption.

"To register?" We nodded in response.

"Off one of the yachts?"

"Yep, we came in last night." I replied.

"Oh the cutter. We were worried about you."

"We'd come all the way from Australia, why worry about us?"

"The frigates think they sunk one of the hostile subs last night."

Mark spoke for the first time, "Hostile subs, how many?"

"Who's at war?" I added, more urgently.

"Please, please," he gestured for us to sit. "When did you sail?"

"A couple of days before Christmas, from Sydney."

His face clouded. "You know there was an attack on Sydney, a bomb."

"Are you saying a nuclear weapon?" I asked, wanting to confirm all the vague fears that had accumulated, with one definite statement.

"Yes."

I looked at Mark, neither of us could to speak. Our fears fully confirmed.

"I'm sorry." I formed the impression that the officer, a lieutenant, had been through this conversation before.

"Who?"

"DPRK – North Korea, we and the Chinese think."

"We knew it was bad, the GPS satellites going and all. Where else?"

"In Australia, Brisbane and Canberra. Pearl Harbour in the Pacific and Singapore too, but nothing more widespread, thank God."

"We were just shaking our heads. Why North Korea, and what's been done about it?"

The lieutenant seemed content to talk, perhaps he thought it would help us. "The US President held off an all-out response. Made sense that, NK is too small and too close to China, Japan and South Korea to melt into the earth. China moved in, it took them three days. Cleaned the much vaunted DPRK army up completely. Oh, and their special forces took Kim, no heroic last stand for him."

"And here?"

"The fuel import system collapsed completely with the bombing of Singapore and there's piracy in the Malacca Straits, and more. So the government took control of all fuel stocks. The Americans are looking after their own problems, but the PRC sent tankers. Some bastard, presumably NK sank the first couple off Auckland. With the next lot, the PRC sent an escort. Two of their frigates are in here with ours. They've got their own oiler and she's fuelling us too. They're rather good actually."

Mark could constrain his curiosity no longer. "What happened early yesterday morning? We heard an underwater explosion?"

"The Yue Yang attacked one of their subs. They report breaking up sounds after the attack."

"Sure they were NK?" I noticed the urgency in Mark's question. Understandable, but I didn't want to drop our cover, yet.

"They're confident, said the signature was highly characteristic."

"Poor Bastards. I guess they were just following orders from their bloody high command." Mark's sharp intelligence and imagination understood the situation and his voice was now surprisingly sympathetic. "I was RAN years ago, before I joined Warren. Any news of the Australian ships?"

"No, a lot would've in harbour for Christmas. Poor bastards. Wouldn't have stood a chance."

"Yeah, bit like the attack on Pearl in 1941, got them on a Sunday morning, all lined up in harbour. But one of the Collins boats left Sydney the day we did, any news of her?" I admired Mark's subtlety at getting to the point most urgent to both of us."

"That would have been the Waller. She was coming over here on deployment. No news that I know of."

"Anyway, that's the big picture. You've seen the moorings, madness. Half the boats in Auckland shoot up here before Christmas most years. The other half joined them out of panic this time. We got a lot to go back after a week or so, but then the oilers were attacked right off Auckland and panic became general. Every harbour and anchorage up the coast is packed. Without fuel there are a lot of local situations, one or two pretty ugly. It will take time to deal with them."

"Totara?" It was a mistake, I hadn't meant to say it.

The lieutenant looked at me sharply. "You've been in there?"

I sighed, "Yes, they wanted $3,000 to register us, $3,000 each, or they'd take the boat."

"Blimey, officially it's only $30. That's the worst I've heard of."

"They tried to take the boat, but we tossed their so called coastguards off."

His eyes lit up. "Ah, yes. You gave them a swim didn't you and stole their boat. We heard a bit of that on the radio. They were a little upset." He chuckled.

"We never stole their boat," I said with a faux degree of anger, "We left it anchored in their very own bay. It was out of fuel."

"You didn't deprive them of their property... I like that."

"And they shot Mark, here!"

"Shish... You OK."

Mark's grin was distinctly forced. "You might say, after Warren dug the pellets out of me. Wouldn't mind seeing a quack, just to check it over. No disrespect to you Warren." He nodded to me.

"Let's get your details, then I'll arrange it with the naval clinic, they've set-up."

"We weren't going international, so we don't have any NZ dollars.

"Fair enough, we'll get that sorted later. I'll just list your crew for now, then down to the clinic."

I let Mark give the details of the crew, then, before I let the lieutenant whisk us away to have Mark's wounds checked, I blurted out a fear that had been unformed in my mind since the hiding figure on the boat, the night we escaped from Whangaroa. "Back at Totara, the small boats and tenders were all chained up and, I think the men were all ashore. There were still some people out in the moorings," I paused, there was no nice way of saying what I feared, "I think it was the women..."

He looked at me, one of those long appraising looks that says, "Do I take this guy seriously, because there will be consequences." Finally, he exhaled and said, "You'd better talk to the boss."

The New Zealand navy is small, so when, five minutes later, I was talking to a commander, I guessed I was being taken pretty seriously. He gave me the same long thoughtful assessment as his subordinate and finally said simply, "We'd better see about that. Thank you."

The doctor at the clinic was mercifully silent about my butchery of Mark's wounds but saw no need to open them again so we were back on the pontoon with a phial of antibiotics and twenty minutes to spare.

As we waited, a voice called over from the naval part of the wharf, "Mark, Mark Anderson. What are you doing here?"

I followed Mark's head as he turned to see another uniformed officer push his way down the brow onto the pontoon.

"Good to see you Mark, any news of your family?" The newcomer saw Mark's face, "Sorry, tactless. But what are you doing here? Last I heard you were in the Waller."

Mark turned to me with an imperceptible shrug, then made a very formal introduction, "Warren, may I introduce Lieutenant Gordon McLean anti submarine warfare officer of HMNZS Te Mana. – Warren Blake, skipper of the yacht Seakeeper."

The words and the accompanying handshake were so formal, it was laughable, but in that formality was a certain lubrication of social norms. From then on, I observed the conversation of two naval professionals, I was an outsider.

As best as I could tell, Mark maintained our cover story, and Gordon was fulsomely grateful to the Chinese, but concerned that they might be in New Zealand for what he discreetly called "a long time." Knotty appeared punctually at noon with the dinghy and Gordon left us with the words, "We'll deal with the new realities whatever they turn out to be. Anyway, good to see you, Mark, Warren."

With a nod, Gordon turned back up the brow and was lost in the crowd.

## 16 - Moments of stress

Major Fung recovered steadily. Whether this was due to her care and the corticosteroids Johnny Gough had provided, Yvonne had no idea. He complained of headaches, and she assured him that these would diminish in time. They complained to each other about their boredom, but at least Jeremy had his daily visit to the galley.

When he returned to their compartment after one such visit, he told Yvonne that the captain had ordered rations cut, explaining that their patrol had been extended. Later, Captain Martin himself visited them.

Looking alternatively at the Chinese officers and Yvonne as she translated, he stated the uncertainty of his position. "Gentlemen, I have to extend our patrol, there will be some discomforts. This is not a nuclear boat, as I am sure you are aware." The captain continued "I also regret very much that we are operating on radio silence so I am unable to report your survival, we all know that your families will be deeply distressed for you."

Neither officer found words to respond, and merely nodded at Yvonne's translation.

Because she hadn't revealed Lieutenant Liu's ability to speak English immediately; Yvonne now felt that her complicity in the deception deepened with every charade of translation. In her sense of guilt, she rehearsed excuses; that the lieutenant's English was inadequate to convey the full meaning of what was said, and Major Fung needed the translation anyway. The issue kept churning in her mind.

On Jeremy's next visit to the galley, Katya was in a foul mood. Jeremy picked up the atmosphere within moments of arriving. "How does he expect me to feed fifty odd people with rice, pearl barley and tins?" She grated. "They always blame the cook, never look at the stores I've got."

She soon put Jeremy to work stirring a large cauldron of soup. For short rations, it didn't smell any too bad, but he didn't recognise the recipe. Katya relaxed a little and explained, "Forget the fancy jargon; most cooking is a case of making the best of what is available. Goulash, for example, it's what a woman in a Hungarian village could put in the pot to feed her family. Well this is what my grandma says they ate in the camps. A lot of water and starch, with a bit of flavouring."

"Camps?"

"I'll tell you one day, perhaps." He glanced at her, "Not today, keep stirring."

It was clear to Yvonne that the rations had diminished when their trays arrived in the compartment for their next meal. The tantalising smell of curry was replaced by a non-descript aroma of stock. The meal was eaten in near silence and added to a miasma of boredom which she recognised as an opening for depression to enter her spirit.

The boat had an electronic library. It took some persuasion to get access to a tablet computer which served as a terminal. The captain insisted that one of the techs ensure that its access was restricted to the library alone. She read, until boredom intruded, then she attempted to teach English to Major Fung and expand Lieutenant Liu's mastery of the language, in the process she wondered vaguely if her Mandarin was also improved.

The confinement was getting to all four of them. She came to look forward to her visits to the head, at least it allowed her more human, perhaps she meant female, contact. She was still escorted there, either by Mercy Gonzales, one of the sonar operators, or by the enigmatic Katya. From Mercy she learned that the boat was running almost as quietly as possible, so as to avoid attention from other submarines which Mercy could hear from time to time on her equipment. Yvonne didn't fully grasp the concept of sound libraries but gathered that whatever craft were being detected, they were outside Mercy's experience. When it was Katya's turn to escort her, she wanted suggestions for new rice dishes that didn't deplete her stores unduly.

"We've been running quiet since the balloon went up." Mercy confided on one such visit, "Only one condition we can go quieter, that would be silent running - Fans off, motors dead slow, real primitive, like in the old movies. We'll only do that, if the captain gets really concerned, thinks we are being hunted, or whatever."

Yvonne had lost count of the days since they left Seakeeper. The tablet provided to access the electronic library re-connected her with time. Ten days, she wondered how Warren was. Were the sailors helping him? She gathered there had been a storm, but the Waller had dived below most of it. That she was grateful for, but was Warren OK. She'd seen some rough weather with him, but no real storms, the very thought frightened her.

Eventually, Captain Martin told them they had reached the rendezvous where Seakeeper would meet them. "We should have you back with your husband tomorrow or the day after, he said with a smile."

After that, the hours had passed even more slowly for Yvonne, as she waited to be reunited with Warren and Seakeeper. Mercy came to escort her to the toilet as usual. She was just washing her hands when she heard Mercy called to the control room. For the first time since entering the submarine, she was left to herself. It was a strange sense of independence as she made her way, unescorted to their compartment. A petty officer moved along the corridor whispering, "Silent Running" to everybody. The fans stilled, the quiet of the boat became near total silence. Then another order, "close all watertight doors."

Yvonne looked at Jeremy. There was something perversely comforting about his presence, at least if they were to die, they would die together, she thought. At the same time, she yearned for Warren; for Warren to reach out and take them out of this madness. Then her swirling of emotions wished Jeremy was with his father on the sea above instead of hidden in the blackness of the submarine's world. Muffled voices were audible from the control room, she attempted to read, but concentration failed her. Major Fung was sweating, his eyes focused on the curved side of the cabin, as if waiting for the inrush of water and oblivion.

The deck angled downwards, and the waiting continued. She felt the boat turn, and imagined its thousands of tonnes weaving through the water. From the control room she heard the words "... in the water; then it's headed..." the words were cut off by an enormous explosion which made the boat lurch terrifyingly. It wasn't just one sound, it burst on them and echoed and roared and was followed for seconds by more echos and the sounds of tearing steel, then silence. She looked at the curved side of the cabin, and wondered about the horrifying violence to which she had just been privy.

She heard an unknown voice say, "Phew, somebody just bought it."

Another voice, tight with stress added, "But who?"

Yvonne found that she was checking her watch repeatedly. Was it a symptom of shock? Silent running continued for another three hours, at least her watch told her it was three hours, but but it seemed far longer. Finally, she heard small noises, the hum of fans and then the Waller appeared to increase speed. Finally, a message was passed, "secure from silent running." Life returned to the cabin. Yvonne noticed that her fingernails had torn the skin of her palms, they had been clenched so tightly.

## 17 - Running repairs

Knotty waited until we were out of earshot of the crowded pontoon. "Did you learn about the explosion, Sir, was it the Waller?"

"It's Mark, remember that Knotty. No, there's no news, that's all I can say, I'll tell you all when we are back on board."

"Right Mark, Yes." Knotty paused and looked at me. "I went over the side, while you were away, Warren, to check for damage."

I felt a sudden pang of guilt. This was my responsibility; Seakeeper was my vessel, regardless of the, so-called requisitioning by the Australian Navy. I should not have got distracted by the issues of the morning. I almost panicked, had Knotty found some major damage?

"And?"

"There is a fair scratch, but we were going slow, it's less than 18 inches, say 40 cm long."

I sighed. "Could be a lot worse?"

But Knotty had not finished, "Do you have a fitting level with the cockpit bulkhead? It would be about a metre below the waterline. There is a bare patch there at the end of the scratch, as if something has been knocked clean off."

Nothing sprang instantly to my mind, there were no skin fittings for pipes through the hull at that point. Then I recalled looking at Seakeeper standing on the hard in the boatyard. "Damn, the anode."

The anode is an exposed piece of zinc secured to the hull. Every hull, but steel hulls like Seakeeper's most of all, generates small electrical currents. The flow of such currents corrodes metal surfaces, propellers, shafts and of course the steel of the hull itself. In fact, these micro currents greatly increase the rate of corrosion. Like the zinc pole in a battery, the anode dissolves first, preserving the hull, technically, the correct description for the zinc is a sacrificial anode.

Mark and Knotty needed no explanation, but Mark flagged a higher priority. "That'll keep. The others need to hear our news first."

Back on Seakeeper, we discussed the news we had gathered over lunch.

I was beginning to see that Johnny was the thinker of the crew, perhaps more, even than Mark. He said little, but when he did, it was clearly carefully considered. "At Christmas, all the sturm und drang was with China. Now it's all North Korea – I don't get it."

I noticed that he pronounced "sturm und drang" in something close to native German, and wondered again about his background, of which he had still revealed nothing.

"Has it ever occurred to any of you that Australia is the perfect target for a nuclear strike?" Mark had everybody's attention with that. "Look, this is hypothetical, a guess, but getting on for 70 percent of our people live in the coastal cities but our resources, the things an attacker would want are remote from those cities. Seen like that, the attack makes perfect sense. Kill off the administrative class and the service industries and take the agricultural industries and the mines as and when you chose."

"And take out the government in Canberra, in the process."

"Exactly Johnny, but it still doesn't answer the big question - who?" Clearly, talking among ourselves would not increase our knowledge.

It was time I bit the bullet and inspected the damage to the hull. The January sun was warm and the sky brilliantly blue, so I put on bathers and goggles before I dived over the side to inspect the damage. This proved to be precisely as reported by Knotty. All that remained of the anode was a couple of steel studs which had secured it to the hull.

We talked as I dried off and put my clothes back on.

"When was Seakeeper last slipped, Warren?" Mark asked.

"Early December. There was a little slime on the hull just now, no significant growths."

"The tide's big enough to put her against the piles somewhere and give her a scrub. Perhaps we should take the opportunity and fix the anode at the same time." Was Mark hinting at a longer voyage? The Poor Knights were less than a day's sail away.

"We don't have a spare, I'm afraid."

Mark ignored this and asked, "Knotty, can you take me ashore again, please."

"Provisions?" I interjected

"OK Warren, you come too."

We separated at the top of the brow, but when Knotty collected us from the pontoon two hours later, I was despondent. The Australian Dollar was now valueless, my credit cards as useless slivers of plastic, and such provisions as the shops offered were exorbitantly expensive. Mark, on the other hand was cheerful. He carried in his hand a substantial, and almost new anode. The bare zinc metal dull in the sunlight.

"Where did you get that?" I asked in amazement.

"Off a wreck."

"A wreck?"

"You know that storm that caught us. Well it came through here too. Some boats weren't properly moored, they drifted into other boats, they drifted... Dozens of them were abandoned on the beach over there." He pointed towards the south west corner of the harbour. "I just had a hunch..."

"Scavenging Mark - Well done. I think we'll have to do more of that, if I can't get some money. They'll only take Kiwi Dollars and even then, the prices are insane. It feels more and more like we're refugees, already."

"And I was told that there are scrubbing piles over at Russell. Too late to catch the tide today, but we can fit it tomorrow." He said hefting the anode with satisfaction.

Leaving Johnny and Mark guarding Seakeeper, we set off in the dinghy, scavenging.

The wreckage from the storm was easy to find. It was hard to say how many boats were jumbled, beached or semi-submerged at the end of the harbour. A causeway had reshaped a river mouth and its seaward side was draped wreckage. We tried the shoreline initially but it quickly became clear that any easily accessible material had already been gathered. Knotty was not deterred, he had his swimming togs under his shorts and was soon stripped to these and donning a facemask he was soon exploring the wrecks lying in deeper water.

With a whoop of excitement, he surfaced and beckoned us over. Then he started pulling tins from one of the motor cruisers lying with little more than it's flybridge above the water. Written in permanent marker on the first of the tins was SALMON.

When we returned to Seakeeper the sun was low in the west. We were cold and tired but satisfied and the little dinghy was almost overloaded with recovered tins. Along with the food was a greater prize – four 4 litre tins of anti-fouling paint. The five of us stowed the tins in the yacht's sadly depleted lockers, before eating supper from our salvaged resources.

The anchorage was noisy that night. Many of the boats were celebrating the sinking of the submarine. There were barbecues on some of the boats, clearly quite a lot of alcohol and later chants. A bass voice calling out "Who sank the bastard Kim" answered by raucous shouts of "Yue Yang, Yue Yang,Yue Yang." We listened in silence. I guessed that, as submariners, my companions were thinking of explosions and deaths quite differently. How could anybody be certain that the submarine destroyed by the Yue Yang was indeed North Korean.

Next morning, dawned windless with a sapphire blue sky. We motored Seakeeper across the harbour to the scrubbing piles off Russell. For most of the distance, the bottom was clearly visible through the still water and we watched shoals of fish darting beneath the shadow of our hull. It was quieter off Russell, but the anchorage was still quite crowded, more yachts, but fewer motorboats, a slightly different vibe. Once secured to the piles, we waited as the tide fell and when the water around Seakeeper was thigh deep, we got out the scrubbers and worked on the slime. The gash on the starboard side was already beginning to show traces of rust which Knotty attacked with some wire wool he found in the tool kit.

On deck Dave worked with quiet contentment as he reshaped the anode to fit on the stub bolts that remained on the side of the hull. Mark assisted and passed him tools as requested, while I was struck by the willingness of the officer to learn from the skilled sailor. The tide dropped further and revealed more damaged paint on the cast iron ballast keel. This damage was less serious but we could take the opportunity to paint it too. Before the tide turned, the anode was installed and the whole hull, particularly the exposed metal was painted with a coat of the salvaged anti-fouling.

Feeling as if I, rather than the boat, had recovered from a wound, I steered Seakeeper back to the anchorage in the early evening. There was a new air of normality. A radio service had begun broadcasting on the VHF band.

The radio station claimed it was "speaking to the people of the Northland and its many visitors." They played music and talked to local people, presumably locally significant people - we'd never heard of them. No authoritative politician reached the station, yet a theme which quickly emerged was the importance of "getting back to normal." The message was pretty explicit, New Zealand, which in this particular case seemed to mean the yachties from Auckland, had to go home and get back to work.

"Looks like they want to wind up the party," Mark said.

"Yes, but again the question, who are, 'they' on this occasion?" I asked.

## 18 - Rendezvous, Deep South

The crew probably got a clear idea of what was going on through their duties. In the tiny space Yvonne shared with Jeremy and the two Chinese officers, their isolation was excruciating. The curved wall of the hull was an ever-present reminder of the deadly sea so close to them. That curved steel, it was becoming oppressive to Yvonne. She ached for natural sunlight and fresh air.

When they had secured from silent running Jeremy had promptly appropriated their computer tablet, plugged in earphones and immersed himself in a game. But for Yvonne, the echoes of the destruction still reverberated in her mind. Unconsciously she had curled into a ball, as if to make herself the smallest possible target. She was lying in her berth staring with tear-filled eyes at the side of the submarine. Lieutenant Liu came and sat beside her.

"Yvonne," he said quietly, "Yvonne, look at me." She turned her head reluctantly, as if redirecting her gaze would allow the sea to come crashing through the thin veil of the hull. "Yvonne, there is a war. We flyers train for war, so do the sailors – you do not." He paused to make sure he had her attention. "We do not want war, nor do Captain Martin's people, but our minds," he hesitated looking for the right words, "Our minds, they are prepared for it. People die in war, it is terrible, but it has always been so. Today, we lived. Be brave, Yvonne, your son is also being brave, in his way, but he will need you when the shock wears off."

Reluctantly, Yvonne uncoiled herself and met his eyes. They were sad, she thought, perhaps compassionate. She looked over at Jeremy. The headphones had isolated him and he was absorbed in the fantasy world of the screen. How much older than Jeremy was Lieutenant Liu? Perhaps four years, yet he was a man. A darker thought struck her. Would Jeremy live to be a man?

The submarine stole silently along, Yvonne wished that someone would tell her what was happening but there was no-one to ask. Deep breathing helped her relax. She forced herself to do the exercise, familiar from her early days of nursing, but long neglected in her usually busy life. It helped and after a while, she slept.

She woke to the same dull world. Someone had covered her with a blanket, was it getting colder? The only change in the compartment was that Jeremy was absent, presumably off helping in the galley. Both the Chinese were asleep, she felt for them, they had even less to do than she did. She looked over at their sleeping forms and felt a moment of gratitude to Lieutenant Liu for his stilted words of kindness.

Time passed, depression reached out of the boredom to drag her down again, but the sleep had strengthened her and she fought it, using the memories of the days when Warren had courted her. The patience with which he had wooed her. He had been there, patient, when others sought to take advantage of her. Warren, who had taught her that bullies, so common around hospitals, were bullies because of their own vulnerabilities, how to look for shadows of that vulnerability and to take strength from seeing in those shadows, weakness. She remembered the first time he had taken her to one of secluded beaches in Sydney Harbour, one that could only be reached from a boat...

Thinking of the boat brought her upright like a jolt of electricity. Where were Warren and Seakeeper, what was their immediate predicament? She decided that she needed a visit to the toilet and was delighted when Mercy appeared to escort her.

"The explosion, what happened?" She asked as they walked the few paces to the head.

"We were at the rendezvous, near the islands, but there was another sub." We tried to identify it, but its sound signature was not in our library." Mercy's eyes darted around, recalling; Yvonne suspected, her own moments of fear. "We thought that they had detected us but then we heard a surface ship manoeuvring. The captain took us down into an underwater canyon and we went silent. I think that the other boat was looking for us, so perhaps was the ship. Suddenly, there was a torpedo running. It could have been dropped from a helicopter or a missile. Anyway, it went right over the top of us and hit the other boat."

Mercy stopped. Her imagination encompassing the sudden death of perhaps sixty other submariners. Yvonne didn't intrude.

The silence remained until she was about to re-enter their compartment, when Yvonne asked "Would the captain tell us what's going on, please?"

She was surprised that Captain Martin came to their space within five minutes.

"My apologies for neglecting you. I can understand that you would have been worried." He looked around. "We were to meet up with the yacht in the morning. Actually, I think we heard her motor briefly. Anyway, another submarine tried to crash the party. Either it was trailed by an anti-submarine ship, or one turned up by co-incidence. In any event, the ship fired a torpedo, which fortunately chose to home on the other boat. You heard the result."

The result, epitaph for a lot of lives, Yvonne thought.

"You said you heard Seakeeper?" This was the important point to Yvonne.

"Sorry, yes, that was a good bit earlier, in the middle of the night. It got busy after that."

It took Yvonne a moment to understand that the busy meant the rest of the drama of the night. "What happened to Seakeeper?"

"Afraid we were too busy to track her, there was a lot of other noise and her electric motor is very quiet. Then again, she might have been sailing."

"What now?" Yvonne asked and looked around to see the eyes of both Chinese following her.

"I've had no communications from Canberra, or Australian Naval headquarters. In such a situation, there are a number of rendezvous set out in my orders. We are going to one of them. Mark Anderson, knows where we are headed."

"Mark Anderson? Is he with Warren on Seakeeper?"

"Yes."

"I can't see any harm in our knowing where we are going, too?"

Captain Martin paused, clearly thinking - Yvonne guessed that he was not in the habit of divulging such information. He sighed and said, "Fair enough, Chatham Island."

"Never heard of it."

"South and East. It's pretty obscure, I guess that's why it was chosen."

## 19 - Exodus

After our repairs and a quieter night on the moorings, the morning dawned clear. The new radio station was now burbling enthusiastically that the threat of hostile submarines was eliminated and praised the efficiency of the Chinese International Aid group and the Frigate Yue Yang in achieving the "heroic elimination" of the submarine threat. Soon it revisited the theme that a return to Auckland was recommended as another storm, actually they said cyclone was building north of Fiji.

"Mark, what do you think?"

"Well, we've got to go south to meet Waller now. They won't have stayed around to be the subject of the next attack, will they?"

"South?"

"Yes, I agree. We didn't clear customs inbound and I doubt there'll be formalities outbound. I might as well slip across to the office and do the courtesy bit, it probably won't take an hour. Knotty can take me and you guys can get the sails ready to hoist."

I was left wondering if Mark had just been evasive or just rushed. To be fair, the dinghy was back alongside in an hour. Ten minutes later we were threading our way out of the anchorage and joining a steady procession of vessels heading out of the bay past the pretty headlands and shaping a course for Cape Brett.

"A lot of the motorboats will have to stay, don't have the fuel for a return trip. Should have gone photo voltaic like you, Warren."

By the time we had rounded the cape and were shaping our course south east along the coast, we had the dinghy stowed and the motor shut down as the sails drove us over the steady ocean swell.

"Ah, Auckland and civilisation." I mused

Mark gave me a quizzical look. Later he said, "Current is stronger offshore. It won't help the faster lightweight craft so much, but good old Seakeeper will enjoy an extra knot from the north."

I changed course and we edged out further offshore. The details of the shoreline gradually faded into the haze and the procession of craft hugging the coast and sailing from headland to headland became indistinct dots of white.

The Poor Knights fell astern as the afternoon wore on and by nightfall we were in sight of Burgess Island in the Mokohinau group, the beam of its lighthouse striking out into the darkening evening.

In my assumed role of cook, I brought my dinner up into the cockpit after passing the others their plates. It was a lovely evening, still warm enough that a jacket was not yet required. The radio station had long since faded into static. What conversation there was, consisted of little more than jokes about the food.

"If it's so terrible guys, try your hands at fishing. Pacific tuna will be on the menu for your delectation, gentlemen – Tomorrow, if you would kindly catch and clean it."

"Yes Warren, but you'll have to come up with something better than this pap to serve as bait. We'll have to shout you real fish 'n' chips in Auckland"

"Thank you, Dave, most gracious I'm sure."

"We're going to Waitangi." Mark said quietly.

"But Waitangi is back there, a mile from Paihia." I protested, recalling the chart for the Bay of Islands.

He waited calmly for the interjection to pass and said slowly, "Waitangi on Chatham Island and we've got nine days to reach it, or Waller will move on."

Later, under the dim light of the navigation desk I checked the large scale charts of the pacific and set a course for the prosaically named East Cape, our point of departure for the pin point in the ocean, Chatham Island.

Nine days, it would be touch and go. It was ironic, the yacht race folk back in Sydney had mocked boats like Seakeeper for being seaworthy but slow. Now we were in a race against time and in addition, we'd be relying on my sextant and calculations to even find the island.

## 20 - Navigation

"Let's go through it again, Mark." The line of position Mark had calculated from the sextant sight put us west of New Zealand in the Coral Sea, nearly 500 nautical miles west from where we knew that we were, and Mark was clearly frustrated.

This time, I wrote out a template for him to use, so that he had the structure to complete the calculations. The calculations for navigation, a branch of maths called spherical trigonometry are tricky.

"You're a bean counter, Warren, these 'calcs' are simple to you, damn it," he groaned. Inwardly, I groaned too, if anything happened to me, Mark would have to take over Seakeeper's navigation and without modern aids, he seemed to be struggling.

"Practice makes perfect, Mark. Don't forget, we will be looking for a dot in the ocean. A rocky dot at that."

"I know, you don't have to remind me of the Poor Knights, I doubt we'd be as luck again."

"Come up on deck Mark and clear your head." I guessed that he was on the verge of seasickness.

All his career Mark would have used satellite systems, such systems give you a single spot on the surface of the planet. As he struggled with the calculations, I felt intuitively that he had difficulty with this older form of navigation. Using a sextant and a clock you get an angle, we call it a sight. The sight allows you to calculate a line on the map. On an indeterminate point on that line, your vessel was located when you took the sight, which by the time you have done the calculation will have been almost an hour before. Noon sights are quickest to work out and they give you your latitude. That's the simple bit.

The problem is how to create a line that intersects your calculated latitude. For that you need the sun at a different position in the sky – a different time of day. Then the calculation is harder and after you've done it, you have to work out the distance you've travelled between the two sights and the distance you have travelled since the last sight while you were making the calculation. That, if you are lucky and skilled, is your position. No wonder everybody relied on GPS when the technology became available.

Traditional navigation is fun, if you like that sort of thing, which I do, but even using the sextant itself requires skill on the pitching deck of a yacht. A one degree error equals sixty nautical miles. There is a hint of derision when maritime historians attribute losses at sea to "navigational errors" – How many of them have practical experience?

I went on deck too. The breeze was fresh out of the West but the swells were not too large. Seakeeper was surging almost due South making six knots. Half the jib was rolled up and we had one reef in the mainsail. Mark was sitting with his feet over the windward rail steadied by the guard rails. I joined him in silent companionship and looked at the grey western horizon.

Johnny, was on the wheel, as he so often seemed to be. I tuned into their conversation as he explained to Knotty the situation.

"It's close to 500 nautical miles to the Chathams, right? We're doing six knots now, but realistically we might average five, so that's 120 nautical miles a day, right? If the wind heads us, it'll be say four, probably less. A storm, zero."

"So why are we heading south, Johnny, not south east?"

"It's the current, isn't it? It's called the Circumpolar Current. It makes a steady two knots from the west, more if there's a storm, goes all the way round the southern ocean, see, nothing to stop it. Result, Warren heads us south, but we go south, south east. Simple."

"And when will we get there?"

"Five, six days from now. We'll have you up the mast, Knotty, yelling – land ho, like in the films, eh."

Beside me, Mark was listening tensely to the exchange and I worried about the effect Johnny's confident dissertation was having on my companion.

## 21 - Bleak refuge

Captain Martin took the Waller slowly south. They travelled deep and quiet while optimising fuel consumption. Boredom pervaded the whole crew, and the Captain and officers were active in trying to raise spirits, moving around the boat and attempting to defuse issues which in other circumstances would have warranted no more than a shrug.

Jeremy was helping Katya in the galley. He had come to enjoy the work in the galley and the snatches of conversation with some of the crew when he was serving the modest offering that was all that could be produced on the allotted rations.

"This is the worst Chinese restaurant for thousands of miles in any direction, Katya." One wag gripped. "The lad looks tender, how about serving him up with an apple in his mouth?"

"How about, I serve you up Spong," Came Katya's quick-fire response, "One less idle hand and there's twice the meat on you, so the guys will get a decent feed." Someone banged a metal saucepan on the offender's head. It was barely a blow, meant to be humorous, but in the quiet of the submarine the noise jarred. An unwarranted intrusion, and there was the Captain in the entrance of the mess.

"Enough, Watson." The mess came to attention, shamefacedly. "You can work off your energies cleaning Katya's pots and pans, if that's how you're going to treat them."

"Sir."

His body language relaxed a fraction, "I know, it was only a little fun to break up the boredom. Nothing I can do about the boredom but don't go ape on me, please." His eyes searched the faces of the men in the mess.

One of the others asked "Why go to this godforsaken spot, Sir? Why would they send us there?"

"You're asking me to commit treason twice over Gunnison. First you want me to read the collective mind to the naval staff, and then you want me to," He let the words hang for a moment his eyes scanning the room, "divulge to you what their eminences intended." This earned a few smiles and the mess relaxed.

"Sorry sir. But they must have a reason, sir."

"You want to get into the war, or to get home, don't you?"

"Sir," The tone of the response was a strained affirmative.

"Think - where is the war, who's the enemy, what intelligence have we got since the satellites went down? I think they want us out of the way, so they can use us at a time of their choosing."

Jeremy relayed this conversation to Yvonne when he returned to their compartment.

"I don't pretend to understand, Jeremy. I just want to get the two of us back on Seakeeper with your dad and then get warm."

The drop in temperature was something they had all noticed since the Waller had headed south. Extra layers of clothing, blankets in the berths and the dampness of condensation was becoming a problem.

"I don't understand either Mum."

"Its classic naval strategy," Lieutenant Liu said in his by now quiet familiar way. He conversed briefly with Major Fung in Mandarin interspersed with jargon with which Yvonne was unfamiliar, then resumed in English, "It's called a 'Fleet in Being'. While this submarine exists, it is a factor in the minds of every enemy commander. If it is destroyed, it is forgotten."

"We haven't forgotten the one which was sunk." Jeremy said hotly, feeling a sense of guilt for the cataclysmic death of the unknown submarine.

"It is forgotten in the military calculations of those who remain." Lieutenant Liu explained patiently.

In the absence of sunlight, time is marked in a submarine by the changing of watches, meals and perhaps most importantly by snorting, putting a breathing tube up and running the boats diesel engines to recharge the all-important batteries, before heading back into the depths. These routines continued as Waller headed south.

Then one day, everything changed. They surfaced, and everyone felt the movement of the hull in the waves, crewmen went on deck, the time honoured business of seamen preparing to anchor began. HMAS Waller had arrived at Chatham Island.

Eventually, Yvonne and Jeremy were allowed on deck, their first sight of daylight for nearly three weeks. Yvonne drank in the natural light and the salty air and realised how much she had missed them in the claustrophobic space of the submarine. The Waller was tucked behind a headland which provided some protection for a small harbour little more than a small pier and a small rocky breakwater with moorings for some local fishing boats. Certainly not enough for the Waller to stay if the southern ocean turned nasty. An inflatable boat was motoring over to the pier, beyond which a settlement of modest houses and a few businesses was visible.

Captain Martin saw them from the top of the fin, from the height of which, which he had a better view of the settlement. He called down to them, "Bloody quiet over there. Nothing stirring that I can see." Then he disappeared down into the submarine.

Yvonne saw gulls circling and heard the bark of seals. It was cold and the inflatable boat was returning. Yvonne decided that they would be in the way and headed for the hatch coaxing Jeremy to follow. They were met at the bottom by the captain and a party prepared for going ashore in the boat. All were wearing bulky immersion suits and lifejackets. Jeremy stepped aside for the captain but caught his foot on a round tube projecting from a canvass carrier. In the confined space, he couldn't move his feet to recover and fell straight into the padded arms and lifejacket of Katya. He blushed crimson with embarrassment as the space exploded with laughter.

She reached down and helped Jeremy up and smiled at him. Someone gave a low wolf whistle and Jeremy wished the deck would open up and swallow him. "This one's been a lot more useful in the galley than any of the others, Sir. I'll take him. Then these gourmands can appreciate his contribution to their food."

This remark was greeted with more hoots, to which Katya replied boisterously, "Jealousy will get you nowhere lads."

Captain Martin seemed as amused as the others and said, "OK Katya, but you've only five minutes to get him kitted out. The boat can't wait for you."

Jeremy was used to wet weather gear and the kit pulled from a locker while different in detail was sufficiently familiar that he was dressed and ready as the party trooped up onto the casing. As the boat headed for the shore, he called to Katya above the sound of the motor.

"What gives?"

"Victuals." She replied enigmatically.

"Gather around, people." The captain called once the party was gathered on the pier. "I want to try the local radio transmitter, see if we can establish contact with Australia. That should take about two to three hours. You are to gather resources as instructed. If you take private property, leave the chits you've received to be settled when things return to normal. Remember, we are still sailors, not pirates." This last earned the captain a cheerful laugh, made the more ironic by the fact that the captain was escorted by two sailors carrying submachine guns.

Katya followed Jeremy's surprised glance. "Security detail, standard procedure."

The settlement, village would have been generous, had a bank branch, a fishing charter business and a couple of stores. These commercial premises looked down on the beach from a low cliff and all were locked and shuttered. Houses, nested in rough gardens lined gravel surfaced roads leading inland. Katya prowled around the back of the stores, if anything this side of the buildings was even bleaker than their public faces, the paint was peeling and flakes dotted the tussocky grass, which seemed well able to withstand its use as a carpark. Katya rattled more locks in vain.

"I don't get it," he muttered to Katya. His voice muted by the glaring absence of humans. "Where is everybody? It's as quiet as the Mary Celeste!" Gulls were wheeling over the town and some seals had taken up residence on the beach. It was as if the human population had been teleported away by aliens.

Katya was looking into the salt stained window of a shed at the back of the carpark. Whatever she saw, seemed to satisfy her.

"Right, time for plan B." She saw that Jeremy was perplexed and added, "Plan B for burglary. We'll get the bolt cutters."

"What did you see in there, Katya?"

"Tinned food, stuff that will keep."

At the landward end of the wharf was a white building, larger than the others. A peeling sign marked it as the Waitangi Fishermen's Co-Operative. Above it towered a guyed mast reaching up into the sky, a radio antenna. Several members of the captain's group were standing in front of the open door. "He said he wanted a radio. Guess he's found one."

The front of the building had been protected by roller shutters and padlocked. The locks had been cut and the door was open. They went through the open door and Jeremy immediately felt a sense of guilt, an intruder.

Captain Martin was standing at the door or a smaller room at the back of the building. It was dark and he was watching two sailors examining the radio equipment, using torches. Katya, plucked Jeremy's sleeve and said quietly, "better not disturb them, eh."

Eventually, one of the figures straightened himself from under the radio equipment. Jeremy recognised him as one of the submarine's electrical technicians. "Sir," He said. "We can fix it. It will take at least four hours. We'll have to re-route the power supply and the cable to the antenna."

"And the external supply?"

"That's from the wind generators, Sir. Shouldn't be a problem, down here once we fix the master switches."

"Do what you can Chief, the sooner we know what's going on in the world, the happier I'll be."

"Yes Sir, you won't be the only one."

The Captain swung around. "Thanks for your patience Katya. What did you find?"

"We found the bulk stores, Sir. Just need to break in and we'll need a trolley to get the victuals down to the pier."

"One of these do?" The captain pointed at a row of small carts, apparently designed to move goods between the co-operative and the pier."

Katya bent and examined the wheels. "Yes Sir, the wheels are a bit small for the gravel but we'll manage."

"Oh, Katya. We'll bring the boat alongside at high tide, two hours' time. Make it easier to load. I think we'll also take on some fuel, too."

They headed back to the store, a battery powered angle grinder rattling on the bed of the trolley they were pushing. It wasn't far, but the effort had their heads down as they pushed the trolley to the back of the building.

The exertion might not have been great, but wearing the immersion suit, Jeremy was perspiring. He stood up to wipe his forehead and eyes and noticed a small white truck, the open backed kind known to Australians and New Zealanders as a ute, in the corner of the yard. He was sure he would have noticed it, if was there before. He walked across and placed his hand on the bonnet. It was warm. A moment later, he caught the smell of tobacco smoke.

## 22 - Weary voyage

I was concerned that Mark showed no aptitude for the sextant or the related calculations, but it was largely irrelevant as we sailed south. You need the sun and a horizon before the instrument is helpful and most of the trip south, we had neither. Cold cloudy and windless spells were punctuated by a howling gale, a gale quite unlike the one we had endured north of New Zealand, this one was laced with the cold brutal malice of the Southern Ocean. Tied to the narrow time window of our rendezvous, we drove south as hard as the conditions allowed; Seakeeper's bow plunging into the waves which poured back along the deck to the leeward scuppers, while the spray drenched the luckless crew on deck. Below was almost worse, Mark was mostly prostrate with seasickness. When he lay in his berth, he kept a bucket beside him. Fair enough, but one way or another, it stank and made the atmosphere truly foetid. That affected the rest of us.

In some ways conditions were worse when the wind moderated. Without the steadying effect of the wind in her sails Seakeeper rolled on the oceanic swells. We tied preventers to the main and staysail booms, these ropes prevent wear and tear from the yacht's rolling, but nothing could prevent the knowledge that we were falling behind the schedule for the rendezvous at Chatham Island. On one of the rare occasions when Mark came on deck, I asked directly.

"If we miss the Waller at Waitangi, what then?"

He shook his head, "No idea, no idea, Warren." Perhaps unwilling to talk further, he went below again.

I felt Mark's admission in my guts. In fact, I was beginning to hate the Waller, all I wanted was Yvonne and Jeremy back, and to be rid of these intruders. I sat there in silent misery in the cockpit, oblivious of Dave on the wheel, and perhaps wisely, he did nothing to disturb my introspection.

Eventually, Johnny came on deck to relieve Dave.

Almost diffidently, he asked "Warren, I suggest that we steer 195."

"Why?"

"Look, no opportunity to take a sun sight. The current as well as the gales, all pushing us east." He looked at me thoughtfully, assessing my reaction. "If we reckon we are on the latitude of the Chathams, then we have a choice, go west against the current and into the wind, or go east. Which way will we travel further? Stands to reason, doesn't it."

I nodded. No doubt, Johnny was absolutely right, I should have realised before.

Occasionally, the wind cooperated. Two days after the change of course suggested by Johnny, it backed to the North West. We set the jib and were again rolling south at seven knots. With the sun out, I finally managed to get a sight. The rough conditions made it harder, so in my head, I allowed fully 60 nautical miles of error, but it showed that we were close to latitude 44 south.

The time had come for us to turn east for Chatham Island. We would have to gybe, the north westerly wind had been coming from over the helmsman's right shoulder, now our change of course would bring it over his left shoulder, and in the process, the boom would change sides, with all its mass hurled across by the wind and the movement of the still powerful waves. It was time to call "all hands."

Mark was last on deck, still grey from his battle with seasickness, but he demanded, "What's going on, Warren?"

"Gybing, time to run east, Mark."

"Why east?"

"We'll go further along the latitude with the current behind us." I said patiently.

Did Mark shoot a dirty look at Johnny or was I just imagining it? "If you think so," he muttered.

"Stand by to gybe." I called. Dave's job was most important, he winched in the big mainsail. This would reduce the violence of the manoeuvre by centring the boom and mainsail before the wind hit its other side. Mark took his position to pull on the port backstay while Johnny's job was to release the starboard backstay allowing the boom to swing out and Dave at the front of the cockpit would handle the jib sheets. Knotty was beside me at the wheel. With the crew settled in position, I turned the wheel. "Gybing."

The boom banged across, but Dave was allowing the sheet to run, absorbing its energy like a spring. Johnny released the starboard running backstay to allow room for the boom to swing out. Mark's muffled shout warned me of the danger, he had dropped the coiled rope of the port backstay and it had tangled. Panicking, he pulled the end of the rope and by doing so had tightened it into a knot around the block and suddenly the mast was unsupported by either backstay. It took only an instant to see the danger and I spun the wheel hard to port instead of straightening Seakeeper's course. With the mainsail already swinging wide out on the starboard side, the wind accelerated the yacht's turn into wind.

The mast was probably saved by a larger than usual swell which at that moment lifted us and heeled Seakeeper sharply over on her beam. Knotty, at the front of the cockpit was closest to Johnny. He saw his friend's danger, dropped the jib sheet he was manning and grabbed for his friend but too late. The unexpected movement of the boat had me hanging desperately to the wheel. Johnny caught off balance, was pitched over the side before he could get a handhold.

The momentum of the turn brought Seakeeper head to wind and she stopped with the boom thrashing just above our heads. Johnny's head was a boat's length astern, but with the boat almost stopped there was no water flowing over the rudder so I had no way to steer. Gradually, the wind began to drive us backwards.

"Starboard backstay on Knotty, now!" Fortunately, he reacted instantly, I reversed the helm and the backward momentum turned the boat slowly onto starboard tack again. Dave was frantically winching in the mainsheet to get the boat moving and under control, we had turned through 270 degrees and were sailing slowly away from Johnny. I started the motor to gain a little extra speed through the water and assist in maneuvering.

"Get the Dan buoy over." That task took Knotty about thirty seconds and as the temporary marker slipped astern I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I looked astern, trying to judge the distance between its little orange flag and Johnny's occasionally visible head. Finally, we could attend to untangling the mess of the port backstay.

It seemed to take hours, but more likely it was five minutes before the tangle was cleared away, we tacked and steered for the fleeting glimpses of the dayglow orange of the flag on the buoy. To his credit, Johnny was treading water close to the flag as we approached.

"Easy the sails out. We'll drift down on him. Get a bowline for him, we won't have time to waste."

It was a risky manoeuver, if the boat had come off a wave on top of him, it would have been fatal, but I judged that the cold of the water and shock from his sudden fall into it, would bring on hypothermia dangerously fast. There was no time to waste.

It took all of our strength, but we got him back on board. Exhausted and wet ourselves, Dave took Johnny below to get him into a warm berth. Finally we set course eastwards, in sullen silence.

Without a word, Mark went and settled himself to leeward of me. His look of abject misery beyond any immediate encouragement or apology.

Hours later, he was still sitting there in brooding silence when I noticed that the dark base of one of the clouds on the eastern horizon did not seem to move. "Dave," I said very quietly, "we've had enough dramas today, but I want you to climb those shrouds and have a look." I pointed ahead.

He padded forward, climbed on the port gunwale and then cautiously climbed the ratlines woven between the vertical shrouds to form a ladder. Two minutes later, he padded back and sat down beside me. "Islands."

## 23 - Captives

The ute must have been travelling fast for the rough road. As it cornered, Jeremy and Katya would be bounced from one side of its tray to the other. With their wrists and ankles bound, they were unable to untangle themselves. They did their best to prevent their heads from being banged on the floor or side of the vehicle, nonetheless, they were bruised and stunned before their journey ended with a screech of brakes and the sound of a shower of gravel as the motor stopped.

There was another waft of tobacco smoke as their captors got out of the passenger compartment of the vehicle, and Jeremy looked up to see two burly Maori men scowling down at them.

"Well, let's see what we've caught ourselves, Mickey. A little sailor boy and a little sailor girl, a pretty one too, or put simply, two bloody thieves."

"Not thieves." Squawked Katya. "We thought the place was abandoned, we would have paid, if there had been someone to pay."

This was greeted with a snort from the two men. They dropped the tailboard of the ute and pulled Jeremy roughly to its end, then they untied his feet and dropped him none too gently onto the ground. He saw them do the same to Katya, in the process their hands, well it might have been accidental, but it could have been a deliberate grope.

She lay on her side for a moment after they dropped her, winded beside him. Jeremy wondered if she was seething. Finally she got her breath and said. "We're Royal Australian Navy, you bastards, and by god, you'll pay for this."

"Says who, girlie? This is Wharekauri, Chatham Island to you pākehā, and since you pākehā chose to evacuate, it's our land again, isn't it." The speaker aimed a kick at Jeremy and said, "Come on, up!"

It was a struggle to get up with their hands still tied, then with one of the Maori dragging each of them by the upper arm, they were pulled over to a building, then into its dark interior. While he waited for his eyes to adapt to the dark, Jeremy attempted to organise the impressions he had gained of the place. It was on the east coast, he had seen the ocean below low cliffs. There was a road down to a wharf and a couple of fishing boats moored offshore, the building was some form of steel structure with steel cladding, perhaps a warehouse or fish factory.

As his eyes adapted, he looked around and saw that they were leaning against a wall. There was fishing gear in piles, marker buoys with poles three or four metres high, anchors, nets neatly folded. Beyond were boxes which he guessed were freezers.

"You OK Katya?"

"Sore." She said quietly. Jeremy could detect the building anger. Then louder, "The bastard groped me."

"Yeah, I saw him."

Their captors had been standing off in the deeper darkness at the back of the space, away from the open door beside which they had left their captives, but one of the men heard her, came over and leaned over them. "Yeah, well you got to be useful for something, girlie." He was followed by two others, the second of the men from the car and another older man, whose face and upper torso was a mass of tattoos. Beside him, Jeremy felt Katya brace herself at the sight.

The older man saw Katya's reaction and laughed, "She's never even seen Ta Moko, boys. See, she likes my face tattoos. Look how your Royal Australian Navy," he said this with mocking emphasis, "is scared now." He turned and spat on the ground.

The younger men joined in the laughter.

"Let's have a look at the sorry pair." They were unceremoniously pulled back outside into the full daylight and the older man looked them up and down. "Untie them, they can't get far."

With their arms still numb from their bonds, their life jackets were removed showing the blue immersion suits underneath. "Tree and Miss Obraztsova." Jeremy was confused until one of the men pointed to the black lettering on his dark blue suit. Then his eyes followed across to the same point on Katya's chest. "Obraztsova."

The older man rolled her name around his mouth with evident relish. "Well, Miss Obraztsova, and what do you do, and what submarine is that, over at Waitangi?"

When Katya hesitated to answer, the man's fist pulled back coiled to hit her. Jeremy gulped and blurted out, "It's the HMAS Waller and she's only the cook."

The older man turned to him and he gulped as the man's breath, a mixture of tobacco and something foul reached him. "Thank you, Mr Tree, and what do you do, you're such a gentleman, for a thief."

This last was spat out with a venom that shook Jeremy. This was Katya's turn to intervene. "We picked him up at sea. He's been helping me. Really, I am the cook. That's what we were looking for, food."

"Well, I'll give you that, you found the right store, didn't you. An' you were going to break-in weren't you."

"Our government would have paid for it." Said Katya.

"Your government. Eventually – maybe... If it still exists." The older man replied, as if his attention had wandered slightly.

"We thought there was nobody left on the island."

"Just the three of us. Stayed to guard the place from rats like you, didn't we?"

"That's the trouble when you evacuate a population, rats like you." This was one of the younger men.

"Lock 'em in the guesthouse boys. Let them fester 'til evening. I'm going for a Panadol and a lie down." The older man shambled off toward one of the houses along the slope while the younger ones escorted Jeremy and Katya to a house at the back of the factory and locked them in.

"Christ, I need a toilet." Said Katya as they left. "The bastards, the absolute bastards."

Ten minutes later and greatly relieved, they were standing in what must have been the guests' lounge room. It was a bleak space with a window locked from outside and shuttered against the weather. It made a very effective prison. Through the slits in the roller shutter, they could make out the shape of the back of the factory. "If we could get out of here, we could steal their car and get back to Waitangi," said Jeremy.

"Forget it, unless you can hotwire a car. Why antagonise them more?" Replied Katya.

## 24 - Blighted reunion

By the time Dave told me that he could see the islands, we were south of them, and the wind was in the northwest.

I roused Mark out of his miserable torpor with an impatient "Come on, work to do."

We changed course, pulled the sails in tight, and sailed as close to the wind as we could manage. Even so, the current nearly took us to the east. In these southern latitudes, the solar cells didn't recharge the batteries as fast as I would have liked, but reluctantly I added power and Seakeeper gained a knot of speed. It made the essential difference, we watched breathlessly as our increased speed drew us north of the menacing cliffs of Pitt Island and across Pitt Strait. Our chart was too small scale to name the headlands we passed, clawing our way along the southwest coast of Chatham Island. At one point, an outlying reef nearly caught us but we tacked in time and when we resumed our previous course, we found the coast turning away to the east.

"Mark, what day will Waller sail, again?" He checked his wristwatch and drew breath, "Today."

Within 20 minutes, we could see the Waller tied to the pier at Waitangi. She was only a couple of miles away. The weeks of stress finally took their toll and I sat at the wheel sobbing. Dave reached over and patted me on the shoulder. "Well done skipper, well done."

The excitement brought Johnny up from his berth and suddenly they were all in the cockpit, chattering excitedly, crowding out my emotions.

To my surprise, it was Mark who interrupted the excitement. "Prepare to anchor, smartly now." After the weeks of informality, the edge of naval discipline was discordant. The moment of shared achievement and pride snatched away in seconds. Knotty headed for the foredeck to clear away the anchor with a sullen "Yes, Sir." While I just stared hungrily at the submarine.

It seemed like hours before we reached her, but in reality it would have been less than 30 minutes. There were crew busy on the casing, too busy to acknowledge us, and I thought I could see a fuel hose connected to her.

Mark asked that we steer close to her, and as we passed, yelled up, "Captain, please." We were passed her and heading for a vacant mooring I had picked out, when a megaphone answered. "Well done Seakeeper, we'll come across.

"Knotty," I called, "we'll pick up that mooring, no need for the anchor. Just get the boat hook." Was I imagining it, or did Mark bridle at my countermanding his call for the anchor?

For the first time since the Bay of Islands and the third time on our entire voyage, we lowered the sails. After so many miles, Seakeeper swung head to wind on a mooring.

An inflatable boat left the pier and headed for Seakeeper. I could see Yvonne's dark hair blowing in the wind, and the gold trimmed peak of the captain's hat as he stood with his arm protectively around her shoulder.

Below, bags were being packed and gear stowed, I heard Johnny say, "...fell over didn't it Knotty, OK?" It made no sense at the time and I focused on finding the right words as impending reunion and separation approached across the water.

The boat was alongside. A sailor, obviously a friend of Knotty's was exchanging a joke with him, even before his boat hook caught Seakeeper's guardrail and the captain stepped aboard the yacht and turning to help Yvonne across the gap. She fell into my arms sobbing, I looked over her shoulder for Jeremy.

Captain Martin waited patiently, leaving it to Yvonne to explain. "Jeremy and one of the crew are missing. We think they were kidnapped yesterday."

"What?"

It was the captain's turn to explain. "The island appeared to have been abandoned. In fact later, we saw notices about evacuation. Anyway, I sent the two of them looking for food and suddenly a car roared off over the headland. We haven't seen them since."

"Search parties?"

"There isn't a working car in the entire settlement. They've been all been outside for five or six weeks. Flat batteries and flat tyres. Not a runner among them."

"But you've got an entire crew."

"Yes, and the island is huge. I've got less than sixty men and don't imagine that I can just abandon the ship to look for one sailor. We'll have to sail without her."

"Sail?" At that moment, it hadn't occurred to me that they would deliberately leave a crew member behind.

He turned to the operator of the inflatable and said, "Take the chaps and come back for me." Then turned to me and asked, "Can we go below?"

Knotty was clearing one of the boat's lines. His head came close to mine and he muttered. "Thanks Warren, we've left you a present, up forward." Then they were climbing down into the boat.

It was the end, such an anticlimax. All I managed to say was "Well guys, it's been a voyage I won't forget in a hurry. I wish you well."

Without waiting for an answer Captain Martin led the way below. His eyes took in the cabin; clearly one familiar with yachts and other confined spaces, he sat down on one of the berths and looked up at us.

"I've explained to Yvonne already, but I should explain properly to you, too..."

They had lost communications about the same time as we did in Seakeeper. Their principal communications system, the VLF – Very Low Frequency system which penetrated to a considerable depth in the sea was silent. Their alternative systems mostly worked on satellites. We knew what had happened to them. That left the usual short range VHF signals but using them would betray the submarine's position, putting her at a huge disadvantage when she had no idea who the enemy was, or where they were.

Captain Martin continued patiently, "Chatham Island has a powerful High Frequency transmitter, it can reach anywhere in Australia; in the right conditions, anywhere in the world. We can get fuel and provisions – and it's a long way off the beaten track, even for satellites, if the enemy have any left."

They'd got the radio working the day before we arrived, and finally had contact with Western Australia and some idea of what had happened.

His eyes focused on me, straying occasionally to Yvonne, who clearly knew most of what he was saying. "The US and China were going toe to toe before Christmas. You'll recall that. Well it seems that North Korea thought they could take the opportunity to attack a US ally and by doing that, discredit the US government, without getting a nuclear attack right back. It appears that they thought a little bit of ambiguity about who made the attack and they would get away with it. Maybe they planned to grab some mines or strategic real-estate in the aftermath, too."

Captain Martin's informants seemed to think that the China had convinced the US that none of its submarines were in a position to have launched the attack and in turn, China had decided that their unpredictably ally had outlived its usefulness.

"The attack on the West Coast?" I asked, doubtfully.

"A modern version of 1941," he shrugged.

"Sounds too bloody convoluted, for me," I said bluntly.

"The madness of dictators. That's what they're saying in Perth, and who am I to argue?" He said heavily.

I wondered if I detected a hint of disbelief in the captain's tone but let him continue.

"There's a provisional government in Melbourne led by Higson. He's being helped by the Chinese. The fleet base in Perth is still operating and I've got fuel now to get there and orders to depart. I'll do it minus one sailor, if I must. Maybe the Kiwis will find out what happened to her when they return."

"And our son?"

He looked at us bleakly. "I'm sorry, orders."

He stood up and instinctively I did too. It was then that I realised he had heard the inflatable returning.

"What will you do know?" He asked.

"Find our son. Whatever it takes."

He nodded, "I thought you would. Watch your mooring. When the wind comes round to the west. It will be very exposed."

"Thank you."

"Believe me, I'm truly sorry for the way things have turned out."

I believed he was sincere, but sincerity cost him nothing.

I met his eye and said "Cui bono."

"Ugh?"

"Cui bono. One of the Roman jurists, Cicero, or maybe it was Cassius. He used to ask the question." I saw understanding in his eyes. "Who benefits?"

"Cui bono. That's beyond the pay scale of mere ships' captains. Good luck with your search." He swung over the side and down into the inflatable boat. A moment later, all we could see of him was his back as the boat headed for the wharf.

We were on our own. Yvonne sobbed on my shoulder. "Jeremy, Jeremy."

"We'll find him, dearest. We won't leave here until we do."

"And Cui bono?"

"Who benefits? – Who has benefited from all this, this catastrophe?"

## 25 - Lost afternoon

"My watch says 12:30, it can't be right, can it, Katya?"

"Sure is, Jeremy." Came the reply; "Lunch time, without the lunch, and I have a feeling those bastards don't intend there to be one."

"Who is Tree?" Jeremy asked to pass the time.

"Oh, Knotty Tree, Richard Tree, electrical artificer, Knotty's his nickname of course. He's with your dad, that's why I knew his kit would be in the locker."

Katya slumped down in a corner, then thought better of it, got up and started pacing, nervous energy radiating from her.

"Obraztsova, is that Russian?" He asked, unsure of his own motivations for asking.

"Yes." She made no effort to go further but continued pacing.

"Oh, shit, shit, shit. Jeremy, you're a nice kid. Promise me you won't do anything rash, you're no match for any one of those bastards."

He looked at her, uncomprehending.

"I won't be the first member of my family to be raped, they survived. I will and I'll pay them back, I promise."

"You think they'll?"

"That bastard who groped me. They've locked us up 'til evening, they said. Then what?" She left the question hanging for seconds. "Now don't go getting all heroic. You'll only get yourself killed and perhaps me too. So promise, Jeremy, no heroics!"

Reluctantly, he said "OK." The conversation died and Katya continued to pace. Finally she stopped and flopped on a hard chair facing him.

"Obraztsova. You asked, so yes it's Russian. My several greats grandfather was in the civil war. Actually, he was a general of the Whites. When they lost, he escaped to China, with his family, and they say, quite a bit of gold, then."

She looked at him to see if she still had his interest. "One of his daughters got to Europe, ended up dancing for the Ballet Russes." She paused again. "Well he set the family up in Shanghai, great grandma was born there. Then there was the Chinese civil war and the war with Japan. Well, you know, the money didn't last forever. With the chaos and the fall of Shanghai - well they couldn't all get on the train. They sent her on first, with a Chinese general, he trusted." She snorted.

"He raped her that first night, on the train. Kept her for years as his golden haired concubine, damn him as he ran west abandoning his troops."

Katya was lost in the story now. Jeremy could see emotions chasing each other across her face as she imagined her ancestor's experiences.

"Eventually, he was caught. He was lucky, the Japs just cut his head off. Great grandmother Elena had a daughter by him by then. Come the surrender in 1945, she was the mistress, perhaps I should say slave of a Japanese colonel in Hong Kong, and another baby by him, too. Anyway, to the British she was just a Russian tart with a couple of half caste babies. Not their kind of priority for help, as you can imagine. Somehow, she contacted her aunt in Paris, who wired her money. Her father had been incarcerated in Shanghai right through the war. They were the only ones who survived."

She continued with a touch of wistfulness, "She must still have been a looker because suddenly an Australian soldier marries her and brings her back to Sydney. Course, he doesn't want her half caste kids, does he. She left them with her dad. Broke her heart, she said. He did business, made enough money to educate them and give them his name. He had a Chinese mistress, too. He didn't give her kids his name, abandoned her when the chance came to come to Australia, so my nana said." She paused and looked at him for a while. "So that's how we came to Australia, and I got a touch of the tar brush, as they used to say."

"What a story. Puts mine to shame. My mum and dad lived in a block of units, that's how they met. Very boring."

"Well we're in the same boat now, as you might say. Remember, people can survive, worse things."

A silence settled between them, as shafts of sunlight penetrating the shutters marked the lowering of the sun in the west. The story seemed to have exhausted Katya, she sat motionless on the hard chair staring into space. Eventually she said, "I'm glad I had somebody to tell."

Footsteps on the shingle outside their prison announced the return of their captors. The door was unlocked and thrust open. Mickey stood there, menacing in his size. "Right Brat, we want you."

They both stood. Then Katya stepped in front of Jeremy, and without warning, kissed him on the lips. For a moment, she pressed her body against him. As she did, she whispered, "keep safe, Jeremy. You promised." Then she pushed him back turned, looked directly at Mickey and said, "It's Miss Brat to you."

After the door had been closed and locked. Jeremy was in turmoil. He paced around the guesthouse looking for an escape. There was none and frustrated, he settled down with his imagination on fire.

Tired and hungry, as he was, he couldn't sleep, but he must have lost track of time. He was still in this haze when the door banged opened again and Katya entered, carrying a tray of food. Behind her, the door was pulled shut and he heard the lock click. Jeremy stood up suddenly alert, "Katya, are you OK?" He looked her up and down. The naval immersion suit was gone, she was wearing jeans, a bit over size tied with a rope in lieu of a belt and a thick T-shirt tucked into the waist.

She smiled at him reassuringly. "Fine, let's have dinner."

"You mean?"

"They wanted me to cook dinner for them."

He looked her up and down,

"Well, you wouldn't want to wear an immersion suit, cooking in a kitchen, would you?" She burst into laughter.

"Really, Jeremy. They wanted me to cook. Try it, its mutton and good at that."

He took several deep breaths as a tide of emotion drained away. "Thank god." He paused again, "I guess I am hungry, too."

"Katya, do you think they'll try something later?"

"They've got plenty on their minds, apart from me. The chief is sick. I made him a conge. You know, Chinese meat porridge."

"What's wrong with him?"

"Fever. The doctor was evacuated, of course." She nodded.

Jeremy thought for a moment, then took a breath, "Not strictly my field, but can I look at him."

"You're a dental student."

"Better than nothing..."

"I'll say you're a dentist."

You can say whatever you like to a locked door. Nothing would happen until the morning. With the food eaten, they rinsed the bowls in the sink but found no detergent. Then with nothing to read, they sat and were soon yarning.

Jeremy was tense in a new way. Her kiss, as she faced her moment of crisis was burned in his memory. Had she meant it? Was she playing with him or protecting him. Perhaps she was just concealing her own fears. Perhaps she was using him to deflect Mickey and the other Maori's attention. His hand edged nervously across the space towards, hers and was both relieved and disappointed when her hand reflexively withdrew. Nothing was said.

## 26 - Change in the weather

I sat looking at Yvonne. There was so much to say, and nothing to say. Eventually, I put on a kettle and made us tea. We continued to drink it in silence, until she took a deep breath and said sadly, "I wish we'd had another child, Warren."

"All's not lost dearest, but, well we tried. Anyway, we're not leaving here without Jeremy."

We lapsed into silence again. There was a question taking shape deep in my mind, shameful, dissonant but I had to ask. "The girl, you don't think they, well they just - ran?"

"I don't think they'd have had a moment in private together in all the weeks on Waller, Warren. It crossed my mind, but really, I don't think so." She looked at me for a few seconds and added, "Our boy wouldn't do something so bloody stupid, would he!"

I sighed and gave a weak smile of acquiescence.

Seakeeper was beginning to pitch uncomfortably. Remembering Captain Martin's comment about the inadequacy of our anchorage in a westerly, I went on deck and confirmed that the wind had shifted. In addition, I saw low grey clouds coming in from the west. The pier was empty, while we were below, Waller had sailed.

"Weather's turning bad, dear. We'll have to get out of here, or we'll lose the boat."

"What about Jeremy?"

"The weather will change again, but we can't waste time. We've got to get the sails up without him."

The wind was building fast. Before we hoisted the main, I tied in the first reef. Less sail and fewer metres of halyards to pull through the blocks and down to the already rolling deck. The more helpful because I could only pull a couple of metres on the peak halyard which lifts the top of the gaff, before securing it and pulling the same amount on the throat halyard which pulls the gaff up the mast. Working the halyards together, the sail is pulled up the mast in roughly the right shape and the gaff is prevented from swinging uncontrollably. Hoisting the main of a gaffer is hard work short handed, and I was already out of breath before the full weight of the sail made the final part of the job doubly hard.

That sense of desperation, coupled with physical exertion at your absolute limit, your focus become locked entirely on the task at hand. I didn't know anything about the arrival of the two Chinese officers on board, but suddenly, I had help, strong hands were heaving down the standing part of the halyard, the part of the rope that comes down the mast, with all their strength and the sail was going up steadily. The throat halyard was being hauled in too.

When it was done, I flopped down on the cabin top, gasping for breath, and looked up into the concerned eyes of a Chinese man. "You OK?" He asked in heavily accented English.

I nodded and looked around. With the big sail hoisted, Seakeeper was seething on the mooring as the sail sought to do its job, first one way, and then the other. "Staysail," I said, struggling to my feet on the pitching deck and staggering to the mast. I put the staysail halyard into the hands of a second Chinese and said simply, "Go."

The first man was hovering, clearly unsure what to do. "Sail up," I pointed at the rising staysail, "Then drop mooring." I pointed to the bow. Between heaves on the halyard and heavy gasps, some form of translation was achieved.

Finally, I checked that the main halyards were properly cleated and headed aft to join Yvonne in the cockpit. As I did so, out of the corner of my eye, I saw an empty dinghy tossing in the surf. Clearly, that was how the Chinese men had come aboard. Crazy risky in this sea, but most assuredly, welcome.

Almost before I was settled at the wheel, the drag of the mooring was released the wind started backing Seakeeper towards the lee shore, a scant two hundred metres astern. I waited till the drift astern was strong enough for the rudder to bite. Then swung the helm to starboard, which had the effect of turning the bow to port. I gestured to the two Chinese to come aft and set them on the sheets and runners. "Pull, pull. It needed no translation." The boat accelerated slowly but gained enough speed to allow us to tack again before we reached the beach and with more shouts of "Pull" Seakeeper headed out into the white topped waves and the open sea.

"Warren," Yvonne said woodenly, "this is Major Fung and Lieutenant Liu.

I nodded to them and said, "They're going to need some wet weather gear my dear. When we're clear of the island, could you help them, please? Jeremy has a spare set for starters."

She looked back at the island, already growing indistinct in the spume of breaking waves.

"They'll be alright, we'll come back when the storms eased and we've extra bodies to search for them."

## 27 - Clinic run

It was the other Maori who came for Katya in the morning. They had woken stiff, hungry and cold, in the earliest grey of dawn as it tested the shutters of their prison. Jeremy was actually glad as shoes crunched on the gravel and approached. Katya reached for his arm and said, "Remember your promise, nothing rash, OK."

He nodded, wondering if claiming to have completed his final year, would in the circumstances be deemed rash. The door pushed open and the burly figure looked at Katya and said simply, "Come."

"How's the chief this morning?" She asked.

The big man looked at her, perhaps looking for dubious motives behind the question. He reached a decision and said, "Worse, his pain is worse and his fever is up. There is swelling too. No doctor, and no plane."

"No doctor, but you've got a dentist." She nodded at Jeremy, who nodded in confirmation.

"Then come."

Yesterday, they had been prisoners and in fear of abuse. Today, their status was clearly ambiguous, their escort seemed more guide than warder as they hurried towards the low houses across the gravel road from the fish factory and its guest house.

The patient was sitting up, Jeremy saw that his tattooed face was grey with pain and the lower part of the face, the whole jaw and neck were swollen and his breath was rasping as he breathed with difficulty. Katya got a whiff of his breath and almost gagged at the smell.

"A torch please." Jeremy asked and was pleasantly surprised when a pen torch was placed in his hand almost immediately. His attempt to open the mouth elicited a groan of pain, but he was able to squat beside the big form and direct the torch beam into his mouth. Then he touched the side of his jaw, "Which hurts worse?" He asked. "Right," came the mumbled response. Jeremy looked closer and then examined the surrounding area.

"Ludwig's Angina." He stated heavily. "It's not too advanced at this stage, but left untreated, it can certainly be fatal."

"Sheesh." This came from Mickey who had entered the room behind them. This was followed by a rapid fire conversation in the Maoris' native tongue.

Eyes swung back to Jeremy. "What is the treatment, Tree?"

"If I had them, antibiotics, then extract the tooth that's causing the problem and drain the abscess. If it gets worse, intubate to keep the airway open, that's the most likely thing to kill him, suffocation."

"The clinic has antibiotics."

"Well?"

"Back in Waitangi."

Jeremey touched the chief's forehead. No need for a thermometer to tell that the fever was severe. He used the torch to look in the mouth again.

"That molar the lower right, the gum is purple, there'll be septicaemia as well if it doesn't come out. Does the clinic have a dentist?"

"Yeah, he does the local stuff."

"Well we've got to get the chief there."

"How? The Ute."

"We've got nothing else that's running, Tree."

It took the four of them to get the chief onto the mattress they had placed in the tray of the ute. The powerful figure, reduced to almost complete impotence by the fever and pain as the four struggled to load him. Jeremy and Katya wedged themselves in beside him, on the tray, to protect him from the sides of the vehicle.

Mickey drove sedately, so the journey itself took far longer than their ride as prisoners had done. Eventually, they stopped at the top of the hill above the town, then rolled down the slope with the engine turned off and stopped at the side of a modest house. A side door was marked with the single word, "Clinic." Clearly, even in this dire situation, Mickey did not want to attract attention to the party.

To Jeremy's surprise, a key was produced and the door opened. Perhaps the possession of the key was a sign of the three stay behinds status. Inside, was a typical waiting room and beyond, a doctor's consulting room, a dental suite and at the back of the dental suite, a storeroom. Undoubtedly, everything was basic, but adequate for normal practice. Precisely the kind of facility that Jeremy had hoped to own himself in five or ten years' time somewhere in Sydney.

"I'll need light." He said, and Mickey's friend departed. A few minutes later, lights started coming on throughout the clinic. "Wind power." Muttered Mickey to Katya who was standing back, feeling isolated by her ignorance of such things.

There were cupboards down one side of the suite, he opened each and assessed its contents.

"Is the hot water on?"

"It's heating up."

Jeremy started gathering the instruments he would need and preparing the autoclave.

"Where do they keep the antibiotics Mickey?"

"In the cupboard in the storeroom. It's locked."

Jeremy looked at Mickey, who left the room, and they heard the outside door bang. A minute later, the door banged again and from the storeroom, they heard breaking timber.

Mickey returned holding a crowbar and smiled seraphically, "It's not locked now, doc."

Looking at the neat piles of medications, Jeremy pondered his needs. Antibiotics would be essential, but in the short term, he was concerned that the pain would make take the chief into shock or worse, before he even began the extraction. He washed his hands then selected ampules of penicillin and pethidine and placed disposable syringes on a dish beside them, as an afterthought he selected a scalpel, he would cut the sleeve of the chief's shirt if moving his arm and rolling up the sleeve aggravated the pain.

While he waited for the autoclave to finish, Jeremy tested the lights and the other equipment around the chair. "Katya, you're going to have to help, scrub up and put on a gown and gloves. There is going to be liquid in his mouth, I'll need you to suction it, so I can keep working." He showed her the tube.

Finally, he could put it off no longer. He took a deep breath and tilted the chair and the now semi-conscious chief back. He marvelling at the raw size of the man. Even in his prostrate condition, the latent power of his body radiated presence.

Removing the he first molar took nearly an hour, by then it was obvious that its neighbour would also have to be extracted. With the teeth removed, the abscesses drained their content directly into the chief's mouth. Behind her mask, Katya was gagging at the stinking mess as she suctioned where he asked.

The draining of the wounds had to continue, so Jeremy gently placed absorbent lint in his cheek and stepped back, exhausted. The patient was barely conscious so Jeremy returned the chair to an almost upright position to ease the weight on his chest. Already, the chief's breathing seemed a little easier.

Someone shoved a chair behind his knees and reflexively he sat down. Katya leant against the wall, then took gloves and mask off and was about to rub her face and eyes. "Wash them." Jeremy grated. He saw a flare of irritation followed by understanding, and she relaxed and turned to the basin.

"Thanks Katya, you were a hero." Jeremy was rewarded with the flash of a smile.

He turned to Mickey. "That's all I can do. We need to get him home. He needs good nursing.

They found a proper stretcher in the storeroom. Clearly, it had not been used for years, they dusted it off and between the four of them they got the chief back onto the ute. Jeremy looked at Katya and saw she was exhausted. Then he realised that his own hands were shaking too. It was not just reaction, a bitter wind was blowing up the street from the beach and blowing their hair and knifing through his perspiration drenched clothes.

"Damn, the wind!" Jeremy muttered.

His tone alerted Katya that more than the temperature worrying Jeremy. "What about it?"

"It's come round to the west, the Waller might have sailed."

Mickey overheard, "Sure, boats can't lie to the pier in these conditions. She'll have gone." He paused and then added, "but to set you mind to rest, we'll go past and show you."

It was subtle, but Jeremy saw the words hit Katya. For a moment, after such a harrowing 24 hours, she sagged. A moment later, the weakness had passed and she rewarded Mickey with a ghost of a smile. "Yeah, Mickey, that would be good, if it doesn't delay getting the chief home for too long."

And of course, Mickey was right. This was his island. There was nothing at the pier, and nothing in the bay apart from some of the larger fishing boats lying on moorings. In the surf, he saw a dinghy tossing waterlogged at the end of the beach. Nothing else moved. Mickey stopped and got out. He stretched and smiled. "Guess you'd better come and help with the nursing, then." He said with a hint of triumph.

The ute moved off again, retracing the road back over the hill. The route over which they had been abducted, he supposed. They were wedged in beside the chief again to prevent him being hurt as the vehicle went over the potholes so they were looking back over the tailboard of the vehicle. As it approached the top of the hill, the elevation gave them a better view out over the breaking whitecaps of the ocean and Jeremy gasped. For a few seconds, he thought that he saw a gaff rigged vessel driving south far out in the bay. Then the vehicle dipped towards its destination and his view was obscured by the tailboard.

Under his breathe, Jeremy muttered "Seakeeper." it was less a statement than a prayer, but what other gaff rigged vessel would be in these waters?

## 28 - Ride out the storm

In my haste to get Seakeeper away from the lee shore, I had not sought any explanation of the very welcome arrival of the two Chinese officers. By the time, I felt that we were far enough out in the bay to feel safe, we were all cold, wet and extremely tired and the only explanation I had received was, "Captain Martin left us behind."

Yvonne took Major Fung below and he re-emerged dressed in old oilskins of mine. He made an odd sight; his powerful torso filled the jacket, but his shorter arms and legs resulted in his sleeves and trouser legs rucking up in a caricature of Pirelli's India Rubber man of so many years ago. She had also put her own foul weather gear on and after a quick look around, I left her to take the wheel and headed below to dry and change. I nodded to Lieutenant Liu and he preceded me down the hatchway.

A part of me felt disloyal, but I roust out one of Jeremy's waterproof overalls and handed them to the Lieutenant, who was shivering. He attempted to put them on, but the wild motion of the yacht made difficult to get the unfamiliar garments on and as he struggled, I watched the colour drain from his face - A clear sign of seasickness. Half dressed, I urged him back on deck and got his head over the lee rail, before the first paroxysm of vomiting struck him.

I took a look around and then asked "Yvonne, you OK on the wheel for now? I need to reduce sail."

She nodded, then translated for the two Chinese. Only Major Fung was going to be able to help me, I saw. After his minutes below decks, Lieutenant Liu was going to need time to recover.

We started with the Staysail and tied a reef into it. It helped a little but importantly, the relatively simple process gave Major Fung an idea of what was required without continuous translation. Then we turned our hands to the mainsail. He had been helpful in hoisting it before, and now, as he came to grips with the difficulty of working on a spray soaked and pitching deck, he helped to reef it. Finally, I was satisfied that Seakeeper's sails were rigged to suit the conditions. However, we were exhausted, and I was extremely worried. Exhaustion is an under recognised killer.

The exhausted sailor makes mistakes that they would never make in other circumstances, and I was the only experienced sailor aboard. I could well imagine the condition of the other three facing testing conditions in such circumstances. We needed somewhere to hide from the building storm. We headed south to pass Pitt Island again; I did not want to attempt the channel between the islands in these conditions, but the closer we got to Pitt, the more rocks we saw, breaking the waves well offshore of the island. Some were already to windward of us.

We were sailing fast into a deadly trap.

"I don't like the look of those rocks, Yvonne and tacking out against this wind would be to much. We'll take the channel after all."

Yvonne's a great girl. I'm sure she realised I was worried but she didn't say a word, just nodded and awaited the sequence of orders for the tack. With more to cries of "pull, pull" we turned Seakeeper's bows through the wind and then eased away from the wind to reach away between the islands.

If there had been rocks ahead of us, it would have been over quickly in that maelstrom. We'd never have seen them until there was no escape. Death would have been quick in those cold, brutal seas.

In reality the wild ride was over in little more than an hour and I headed Seakeeper to the shelter of a headland on the east coast of Chatham Island. Within five minutes, we had gone from a bucketing rolling career though the channel to relative safety behind the sheltering cliffs. Around another smaller cliff and a bay opened up. A small pier reached out and a couple of moorings buoys bobbed empty nearby. On the beach below the cliffs, some fishing boats had been pulled above the tide line.

A shed above the pier, a couple of houses and not a soul moving about, not even a dog. We picked up one of the mooring buoys and lowered the sails. All of us were completely exhausted.

Yvonne, bless her, put on the kettle and in less than fifteen minutes, all four of us were settled in the cabin with cups of hot soup in front of us.

I looked at Lieutenant Liu, "You both OK?"

He nodded, indicating the soup, "OK, now – Thank you."

"Glad you came aboard, what happened?"

"The wind change. Suddenly, the submarine was going to sail. The captain decided he should leave us on the island. Said we would be safer, than," Lieutenant Liu hesitated, "Safer than where they were going. We were in the cabin," he glanced at Yvonne, perhaps remembering, "then, suddenly, we were on the," he hesitated for the word, and I completed the sentence. "The pier."

He nodded. "Thank you." Another pause, "We saw you struggling with the sail, understood, storm coming, must get to sea, so we took the boat that was there and came to help."

"Helped. Yes, good timing; most grateful."

The lieutenant stopped and translated for Major Fung, who nodded towards me in acknowledgement. Then the major turned to Yvonne and asked a longer question in the same language, to which she responded. Clearly the questions touched on me, as he looked in my direction several times.

"Major Fung would like to get back the New Zealand. Their families must think them dead."

I nodded with wry understanding. There were a heck of a lot of people dead, and a lot of people worrying about who might still be living, on our troubled beautiful planet.

"And what did you tell him?"

"That we would find Jeremy then return to Australia, via New Zealand but I didn't know when."

I nodded, she was right, but in truth, I needed time to think.

## 29 - Knotty's gift

We'd come to our sheltered mooring in late afternoon. The four of us were exhausted. After Yvonne's soup, we dozed. For me at least, it was a fretful sleep as the boat tugged at her moorings as swells found their way into the bay. The low clouds were still scudding in from the west when I went up and did a quick round of the deck checking for obvious damage or simple wear.

I found nothing urgent and went down into the cabin again, glad of the long evenings that the higher latitudes enjoy in summer.

Yvonne greeted me with, "Darling, help me set myself up in the fo'c's'le, please." This request puzzled me - getting a sleeping bag spread on the berth up forward was no big deal, Yvonne had done it before, indeed; she'd done it when we rescued the two Chinese officers. I chuckled to myself, the secret of a successful marriage is, at times to be compliant, this was one of those times and I followed her.

She closed the door in the bulkhead and lifted the berth. Underneath was the topsail in its bag. She lifted it aside and revealed, wrapped in waterproof covers, two sub-machine guns and a separate pack of ammunition magazines.

"Wow!" I exclaimed looking at the silent, menacing weapons. After a moment enlightenment dawned on me, "Knotty's present." Yvonne looked questioningly at me. "As their boat pushed off, Knotty said they'd left us a present." I explained.

"What would we want them for?"

"To rescue Jeremy for starters."

"But we don't know anything about guns, and we don't know where they are."

"But we have help," I nodded back towards the main cabin, and they're military..."

In the end, we decided not to mention the weapons, unless the need arose. We left the fo'c's'le and Yvonne started to cook a meal, while I dug out my sailmaker's kit and went on deck with needle, twine and palm to repair some of the chaffing on the hard worked rig.

Thimbles are for fancy work, a palm, as its name implies protects not the finger, but the palm of the hand. Sailmakers' three sided needles are in proportion to the size of ordinary needles as a sail is to a dress. Often it takes all your strength to drive your needle through a sail, particularly when you are working on the reinforced corners. A mistake, the back of your needle missing the resin strengthening of your palm, will cause you a nasty injury.

I worked on until the light was fading and making the task too difficult. Then I gathered my things and went below. In the companionway, I was greeted with the smell of a casserole and Yvonne's smile. Our two companions were smiling too, the effects of the seasickness appeared to have left Lieutenant Liu, and he was smiling at the prospect of food.

We ate silently. Perhaps Yvonne knew our companions' stories already, and I knew nothing of them. The uneven knowledge made starting a conversation hard, anyway, we were hungry. When we finished, I made to start washing up, but Lieutenant Liu insisted that he would do it. In turn, Yvonne insisted on helping him, probably an act of self-preservation to ensure that everything was put in its proper place in our tiny galley. Major Fung went on deck and I followed. The last of the light suggested that the wind had moderated, hard to judge, sheltered as we were by the cliffs, but I thought that the clouds at least, were higher.

Divided by the gulf in language, we stood silently looking out to sea. Eventually the major mimed lighting a cigarette, looked at me with a sad smile and turned to go below. As his head descended to deck level, he stopped. I had been about to follow him below, but he pointed towards the shore. A faint light was showing in the window of one of the houses above the beach.

The atmosphere in the cabin was transformed. Yvonne dashed up the companionway and stood there for more than a minute, just staring at the light. Later she told me that she was imagining Jeremy, our little boy, the school boy, so many images of his childhood. Now depending on us to rescue him, one more time.

Major Fung took charge. Using the last of the light, he drew a sketch map of the settlement. Yvonne and I prepared the dinghy to go ashore and swung the electric outboard onto its stern. Lieutenant Liu picked up the sailing knife from beside the hatchway and checked its edge. Major Fung explained his plan, with Lieutenant Liu and Yvonne translating for me. The two Chinese would go ashore in the dinghy and reconnoitre. If they could liberate Jeremy and the girl; that would be that, the dinghy could only take four people. If they could not release them, they would come back and develop a new plan.

I formed a strong impression that assistance from a relatively elderly couple was too embarrassing to contemplate. The dinghy with its mercifully silent electric motor disappeared into the darkness and Yvonne and I waited on deck in silence. I tried to stop myself looking at my watch incessantly, and failed. The boat tugged at her mooring and above our heads, the rigging rattled against the mast, an irritating noise that must surely carry to the people in the house above the beach.

Seventy minutes after the dinghy disappeared, it reappeared out of the darkness. The two officers climbed silently back on board and we descended to the cabin. Quickly they answered our questions. Yes, they were there, they had heard Jeremy's voice. There were at least two others, possibly three, and one was patrolling outside with a gun and a dog. There were sheep in an enclosure close to the house, and other dogs could be heard barking in the distance. Perhaps they were abandoned dogs preying on the sheep. Was the guard protecting the sheep or something more sinister? The animals would be a problem, as disturbing them would alert the guard.

A new plan emerged. All four of us would go ashore. Yvonne would guard our boat, ready to push off. She would tie to it an aluminium fishing dinghy that the Chinese had found close to the pier. The two Chinese would settle close to the house, while I would creep out to the sheep pen. My job was to open the gate and set the sheep running. Hopefully, the dog and the guard would head over to investigate, while I crept back to the pier. With the diversion in place, the two Chinese would enter the house and rescue Jeremy, and Katya, if she was also there.

A simple plan, but it is often said of military plans that they survive until first contact with the enemy. Yvonne went into the forward cabin and returned carrying Knotty's gifts, the submachine guns.

## 30 - Owenga

Mickey drove steadily back along the road and they reached the settlement in early afternoon. Jeremy was greatly relieved, as sitting in the rear of the ute, he had watched as the rain clouds built up over the island and began to follow them down the stark landscape. At one point they had passed a faded enamel signpost pointing in the direction of their travel. One meaningless word, Owenga. Jeremy's noted it, but his mind was in confusion, had he seen a sail, or was it just a large wave breaking far out to sea? If it was a sail, was it Seakeeper, would she survive the storm, which was clearly working up over the island? Would the rain bucket down and drench his patient, upon whose wellbeing, he suspected the wellbeing of Katya and himself depended? Guiltily, he also wondered if the relationship with Katya had also changed.

Once back at the house above the pier, they had carried the chief along the path and into his room. The Maori lit a fire for him, but Jeremy insisted that the chief needed fresh air. They compromised and pulled blinds over the window to keep out the light and let the sick man rest. Outside, the rain rattled down or the corrugated iron roof and cascaded off the gutters of the wide veranda.

The chief was more comfortable on Jeremy's next visit to the sick room, and his breath was easier. Jeremy checked his watch, it was getting late and knowing that his concentration would deteriorate as he became more tired, he wrote out a medication chart, listing the times for the painkillers and the antibiotics. Then he called Katya in from the kitchen and they changed the puss covered gauze in his mouth with forceps he had brought for the purpose.

The stench of the gauze was so unpleasant that Jeremy took it outside to a bin and discarded it. Standing there, on the back veranda of the house, he stared through the rain trying to identify features on the heath land beyond the sheep pen. After the warmth of the cottage, the wind bit through his clothes. "God help sailors on an evening like this," he muttered the old prayer with feeling.

By the time he returned, Katya had disappeared into the kitchen and the noise of a knife chopping on a board told that she was preparing dinner. Mickey's mate was sitting quietly with the chief as Jeremy entered his room.

"He's better mate, I can see it. The swelling's going down, you can see, thanks to you."

"Thanks," Jeremy replied, "it was touch and go, you know. He's still very sick." He looked at the man, were all Maori so big, he wondered. "By the way, I still don't know your name?"

"Des, mate, Des." He wiped his hand on his trousers and extended it in acknowledgement. Jeremy took the opportunity to correct something that had been irritating him. "Jeremy, Jeremy Blake," he said with emphasis.

"Not Tree, Doc?"

"No, borrowed kit. Sorry."

"Sorry too."

The conversation had clearly reached its end point and Jeremy slipped back into the kitchen to rejoin Katya. Mickey was standing against the outside door watching as Katya prepared the meal. She looked up at Jeremy and he wondered if the look was one of pleasure, or relief. In any event, Mickey chose the moment to put on outdoor clothes and disappear out into the gathering dark.

"Thanks for your help today. Katya. You did great."

"You didn't do so bad yourself, Jeremy. Was that the first one like that which you'd seen?"

He nodded, "No, but the first case I've worked on. Lucky, it was at an early stage. Even so, if it had presented like that in a city it would have been flashing blue lights to the hospital, straight away."

Katya took a deep breath, "Don't leave me with Mickey again, Jeremy. When he came passed me, he patted my bottom again. I don't like it, and you saw the way he was blocking the back door" She stopped and looked at him, "But don't get in a fight with him, what good would that do?"

They ate their evening meal in the kitchen. The two Maori ate in the chief's room and brought their plates back to be washed up. Jeremy was amused that when he was caring for the chief, he was Doc, but in the kitchen, he seemed to receive the same consideration as the proverbial scullery maid. Still it enabled him and Katya to stay together.

"I'll put this mutton in to marinade overnight." Katya said.

"Well when you've done that, I'll help you wash-up and then we'll check on the patient, nurse." He replied.

He was disturbingly pleased that Katya rewarded with a chuckle and a smile.

They returned to the chief's room. Outside, a dog was barking. Mickey got up from the bedside and opened a cupboard from which he pulled down a rifle which he loaded. "Foxes or stray dogs," he said.

Des looked sadly at Jeremy, "Come the evacuation, a lot of folk shot their dogs. Can't have them running wild, not with all the sheep, but some folk couldn't bring themselves to do it. Could they? They revert to wolf, pretty quick though, when they're hungry."

"Why did they evacuate, New Zealand wasn't attacked, was it?"

"Wellington doesn't care much for the Chathams, does it? Look we're a bit over 500 people, but we need air services, and ships to bring in supplies and take off the cargo, mostly sheep and fish. They were short of fuel, so they said evacuate. Simple as that, like. I guess we three are the only islanders left here, then there's you two."

Katya joined in, "Get the same probs in Australia, remote outstations..."

"Des, will one of you be staying up with him, all night?"

"Yes, Doc. We'll take turns."

"Call us if anything changes for the worse. Can we have the keys to the guesthouse and some bedding, we'll go over there now."

Des produced the keys and, from a cupboard, sheets, pillows and blankets. So burdened, Jeremy and Katya walked unaccompanied to the guesthouse. Certain that they would not be overheard, Jeremy said "Katya, as we drove back over the hill from the clinic today, I thought I saw Seakeeper."

"Where?"

"It was only for a moment, before the ute went over the top of the hill, but I think she was out in the bay. Probably trying to get clear of the lee shore, before the gale. Just like Waller did."

There were separate beds in separate rooms, singles only, not double anywhere. "I guess it's for visiting staff," muttered Jeremy, hoping that he was hiding any disappointment he felt. Katya, on the other hand seemed relieved. "At least, we've got the keys this time, not Mickey. I'm going to bed, it's been a very long day."

Katya turned her light out, but Jeremy couldn't sleep, he stood peering through the shutter into the night. In the distance he could hear the dogs barking, and beyond the combined voice of a large flock of sheep. Once, he thought he heard Mickey pacing close by, was that the steady crunch of his boots on the gravel? Finally, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes.

He must have slept, and deeply, because the first thing he knew was that Katya was shaking him. It was pitch dark outside, and she hadn't turned on the light.

"Jeremy, Jeremy, I just heard a shot. Wake up Jeremy."

He sat up suddenly, his head banging hers as he did so. The noise of the dogs barking and the sheep was much louder. Then he heard shouting followed by another shot answered by a burst of three. Another shot followed, this time the bullet smashed through the cladding of the guesthouse above their heads. Jeremy dived out of bed and grabbed Katya and lay on top of her. She struggled for a moment and he whispered, "Katya you're wonderful, and I'm staying on top of you till this is over – and no, I'm not Mickey."

Beneath him, he felt her giggle. "I know you're not Mickey," and he felt her hands reach up for his head. Just fleetingly, her lips touched his. Then she whispered, "No, you're a rather special young man, Jeremy Blake."

There were no more shots but they heard running footsteps pass the end of the guesthouse. They waited perhaps another fifteen minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. He whispered, "No more casualties, I hope."

He rolled off Katya, and helped her up. "We'd better get back to the house, see what's happening. Keep low and follow me." They unlocked the door as quietly as possible and crept into the deepest shadows. Jeremy held Katya's hand tightly and they crept forward, to the edge of the gravel road. Here it would be impossible to move silently and he whispered to her, "twelve paces forward, then lie down immediately," he paused took a deep breath and said, "ready, steady, go."

Jeremy started up, holding Katya's hand, but lost his grip Within moments. He wasn't sure if he had counted to twelve, but threw herself down in what must be the gutter on the far side of the road, stones cut his arms. He started to get up, when a bullet zipped overhead and banged off the front of the store.

"Katya, are you alright?"

"I'm here," he heard from slightly to his left. "You OK?"

"Yes." She said, then another shot came from the direction of the house. It was followed a moment latter by a burst of three shots from right behind them.

Lieutenant Liu's familiar voice said urgently, "Jeremy, Katya, keep low, down the hill to the pier, get under the pier – run!"

In the darkness, Jeremy somehow found Katya's hand and pulled her after him. Their movement attracted another shot from the house but it cracked into the front of the factory as they ran. Then the start of the pier emerged from the darkness as their breath rasped in their chests. The ground vanished from under their feet and they fell forward and sprawled on the sand less than a metre below.

As he shook his head to try and get his bearings, his mother's voice said "Jeremy, Jeremy, is that you?"

"Mum?"

Yvonne threw herself on him and found she had captured Katya, in her embrace as well. "My son, my son." She sobbed.

From up near the factory, another burst of three shots ripped into the night, followed by a second. Then running feet. Lieutenant Liu jumped over the bank to land within metres of them. He pointed his gun into the sky and fired a longer burst.

Major Fung appeared silently from the darkness on the other side of the pier.

Yvonne asked urgently, "Warren, where's Warren?"

In the quiet after the gunshots, they heard his voice from along the beach.

"I've done my ankle, damn it."

Yvonne made to run to him, but Major Fung held her back. Lieutenant Liu said, "We go for him. Get boat ready."

He spoke quickly to Lieutenant Liu in Chinese and received a grunt of assent. Then he looked briefly over the parapet of their position and fired another short burst up the slope. Then the two Chinese dashed into the dark, only to return two minutes later helping a limping Warren between them. By then Yvonne had the others in the inflatable boat with the dinghy in tow. There was a splash as the mooring painter was cast off and the electric outboard carried them out onto the heaving sea.

Jeremy was puzzled, he could see no light offshore, but when they slowed after a few minutes, he saw a faint light pitching between the dinghies and the shore. They turned around and motored slowly to the light which resolved into Seakeeper's hatchway, illuminated by a small torch. Suddenly overcome by the release of tension, they climbed the boarding ladder onto Seakeeper's deck. Then they turned to help Warren aboard.

In the early dawn, Seakeeper, with Warren, sitting at the wheel with his ankle strapped, hoisted sail and headed north along the coast of Chatham Island.

# Section 2 - Return Journey

## 31 - The turn for home

My family was reunited, we had escaped under gunfire with the only injuries my sprained ankle and my dignity. My dear Yvonne had strapped the injured limb and provided a painkiller and Seakeeper was headed home, rushed by a near gale blowing over the island and with me at the wheel. Life seemed simply wonderful.

Yvonne stuck her head up through the companionway.

"Warren, what's happened to all the stores? They're in chaos."

I attempted to explain about salvaging food, with the sailors, back in the Bay of Islands, but somehow ended-up in the middle of a sea shanty that I hadn't sung since boyhood, at least not in any printable version. Yvonne gave up on me with a look of intense irritation and after a couple of minutes, Jeremy came on deck with the girl, Katya. I tried to make conversation with her, but somehow ended-up tying myself in knots over some joke and stuttering to silence leaving Jeremy blushing. Not off to a good start.

"Dad, what did Mum give you? You're not fit to ride a bike." I remember Jeremy chivvying me back down the companionway into the warmth of the cabin, where, with Yvonne's help he got me to a berth in the saloon. I wanted my usual berth, but she pointed out very patiently that with my ankle in such a mess, the coffin-like quarterberth, almost a box extending aft under the seat in the cockpit was not practical. Reluctantly, I accepted the berth in the saloon. I guess that was the about the time we cleared the islands. The full force of the ocean waves began to toss the yacht and even as a haze settled over my mind, I relished the feel of her heavy steel hull crashing through the waves as Jeremy and the Chinese changed course \- northwest for New Zealand. Then I slept.

When I woke, it was bright daylight. Light from the cabin portholes was angling across illuminating the cabin. Even lying down, I could tell that the waves were less violent than the day before. Sitting opposite me Lieutenant Liu was dozing. Yvonne was in the galley. She saw me watching her and asked;

"How are you feeling, Warren? Want some breakfast?"

"Headache, what did you give me?"

"Panadeine forte. There's a bit of codeine in it. How's the ankle?"

"Better." But Yvonne kept me lying down while she checked the bandage clucking like a mother hen, at the swelling, before carefully re-applying the pressure bandage.

"We'll have to cancel ballroom dancing for us in the next few weeks, husband."

That was a laugh, we'd talked about ballroom dancing for years, but had always been too busy. Frankly, I never felt I had a talent for it, but I confess we both love a Strauss waltz. I hummed a couple of bars of Blue Danube, and Yvonne went back to organising breakfast.

By sitting up and leaning against the back of the seat, I could see back into the cockpit where Jeremy was explaining something to Major Fung. The Major was steering and, the two of them seemed to be happy enough, the language gulf bridged with hand gestures. I heard pumping from the toilet compartment and the splashing of water in the basin. Katya emerged from it and smiled down at me. "Feeling better?"

"Much, thank you. Sorry about yesterday."

This was greeted with a delighted hoot of laughter, "You think I haven't had ten times worse in the navy?"

The boat heeled more sharply and distracted Katya. She took pity on my limited mobility and with a smile said, "I'll see what's happening on deck."

I watched as she climbed easily up into the cockpit and then sat herself beside Jeremy. A minute later, Major Fung relinquished the wheel and Katya took over, while the Major came down into the cabin and removed his borrowed oilskins, while chatting to Yvonne in Mandarin.

I lay back against the bulkhead looking up through the companionway as Jeremy introduced Katya to the business of helming the yacht, and tried not to speculate about things outside my control.

Breakfast appeared, a bowl of cereal with reconstituted milk followed by crispbread with margarine and jam. Finally, a cup of warm coffee. Yvonne was not going to risk steaming hot beverages with the boat still pitching heavily. Afterwards, I tried to get up and assist with the washing-up. Instead, I was scolded and told either to lie down or get myself into the cockpit, out of the way. I chose the latter and struggled into a waterproof top and then with difficulty up the steep steps.

The smile with which Jeremy greeted me contained perhaps a hint of regret. "Katya, I'll leave you in Dad's hands. I think he's safe now." He was rewarded with a happy smile and a shake of the head that set the girl's hair blowing in the wind. Then her eyes switched to me.

"How am I doing, Mr. Blake?" The smile started at her mouth, but reached up to crinkle the corners of her eyes which I fancy sparkled.

"Fine," I said without hesitation, "and its Warren."

I looked around. From horizon to horizon, the waves marched relentlessly down wind. Some wave tops were breaking, their white scars making dark the blue black skin of the southern ocean. Seakeeper's wake but a transitory intrusion on the power of nature. I looked up at the mast and sails circling through the sky above our heads. We had one reef in both the main and staysail. Enough canvass for the conditions. In the distance, a couple of albatross skimmed the waves.

Jeremy came back up from the cabin zipping up his waterproof top.

"When did you shake out the second reef?" I asked.

"First light." He said, "We were down to three knots before that."

I nodded and Jeremy folded himself into a corner of the cockpit beside Katya.

An hour or so later, I went below and left Jeremy and Katya to steer the boat. As I went below, my hand flicked up to the instruments above the navigation station and, out of habit, turned on the GPS. We'd left it off since the satellites disappeared and it became useless, but now the display came alive, quickly registering two and then three satellite contacts. With three, it gave a position, flagged as uncertain, but working.

"Jeremy, GPS is back." I called excitedly, "Somebody's working on recreating the system." The news lifted everybody's spirits. The world was returning to normal, civilisation in some form would continue, it seemed.

Soon Katya was getting tired. The concentration of steering the heavy boat through each wave tires experienced sailors, and an hour is enough for any novice. I took over, struggling awkwardly onto the seat behind the wheel and caressing its familiar spokes, as I had done since childhood.

The steady round of ocean sailing settled over Seakeeper. Lieutenant Liu came up and took the wheel, I watched patiently as he gained more confidence and then hauled my body awkwardly down below and checked the charts. We were making four and a half knots, better than one hundred nautical miles a day. Later, in the cockpit again, I said to everybody, "Five days, give or take to Auckland." I smiled to the two Chinese officers, "I am sure your families will be delighted to hear from you." We settled watches for the night, Yvonne suggested sharing her shift with Major Fung overcoming the language barrier represented by his limited English, and Jeremy promptly volunteered to partner Katya. Was it pique that I asked them to take the early evening shift?

I came on deck with Lieutenant Liu as the last of the sunset was fading in the west. Jeremy and Katya were sitting close sharing the wheel. Did they separate a little when we emerged? Then Jeremy asked if I was able to join him checking for wear and tear. I edged carefully forward, conscious of my injured ankle until we stood at the mast. "Jeremy picked up the loose part of a halyard and started to recoil it.

"Dad, half an hour ago, we saw two warships way off in the west. They were heading south, fast."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"What's the point? They'd have had us on radar I guess but they wouldn't have seen us in the twilight, and judging by the spray they were in a real hurry." He finished coiling the rope and we edged cautiously up to the bow. "I just wonder whose they were." Our inspection found nothing of immediate concern and we returned to the cockpit. Katya was already below and Jeremy followed. I sat with Lieutenant Liu as the full darkness of night gathered around us.

## 32 - Auckland

The trip from Chatham Island to Auckland actually took nine days. The wind turned against us, blowing from just north of west and with the current along the New Zealand coast sweeping south against us, our progress sometimes slowed to a crawl.

The voyage had acquired a strange atmosphere, a time between events. Simple activities like reinforcing chaffed gear, or changing frayed ropes, practical tasks done with few words and much companionable silence. I wondered if there was something of the mediaeval monastery, the regular change of watches taking the place of the routine calls to prayer. At times I felt like an outsider as Lieutenant Liu attempting to teach Katya Mandarin and Jeremy joined in. In turn Yvonne engaged Major Fung in the project leaving me an interested observer as Jeremy and Katya struggled with the pitches of tones of Chinese while Major Fung struggled with the vocabulary and syntax of English.

You learn a great deal about a person sharing watches with them. One evening, as we ate in the cockpit, Lieutenant Liu talked about his life as a "little prince" a member of the last generation raised under China's one child policy.

"I grew up in Lüshun City," he remarked and seeing my blank look added, "you would know it as Port Arthur. You know, where the Russians and the Japanese fought a great battle over 100 years ago." I nodded recognition. He added with a smile. "My father was a sailor and there was never any doubt that I would be too."

"There will be rejoicing in your parents' home when you contact them." I replied.

He nodded, "They are getting old and believing me dead..." He tailed off.

It seemed that he was immensely impressed that Katya had three siblings, her two sisters and a younger brother. Sometimes she teased Jeremy and Wai Man, which the Lieutenant confessed shyly was his given name; that they were from fragile stock – "You are tenuous gifts from your parents to the future. Both of you, only children."

"Heh," that's not Jeremy's fault." Yvonne interjected laughing. "He wasn't even consulted."

The days past and we became a harmonious, if crowded crew. Eventually, we closed the New Zealand coast.

We'd seen East Cape in the distance two days before but the nor-wester had pushed us out to sea, forcing us to tack wearily against the wind and current, so it was a great relief when we finally approached the city steering a little south of west. The night before, we had seen the glow of a city reflected in the sky. The first such sight we had seen since we left Sydney. Early in the morning, we cleared the Coromandel Peninsula and the Hauraki Gulf with its numerous islands opened up in front of us.

By lunchtime, the chart showed that we were approaching the Rangitoto Channel with Auckland beyond. There were two naval patrol vessel in the channel and one of them surged towards us, then steered parallel and matched our pace. The inevitable metallic voice on a megaphone carried across the water.

"What yacht and where from?"

I could see the speaker out on the wing bridge, "Seakeeper out of Sydney, from Chatham Island." I shouted. That was unexpected, he ducked into the wheelhouse and emerged with another officer who stared at us intently before going back into shelter.

"Check-in at Devonport, please."

"Chart, please Jeremy." It was already on the chart table and was in my hands in 30 seconds.

"North side of the harbour?" I shouted across the gap.

An affirmative wave and the patrol boat's props dug into the water and she surged ahead of us. We read the brass lettering near her stern, Pukaki.

There were lots of ships moored in the harbour, but the recreational activity which had Auckland christened "The City of Sails," was absent. I muttered, "Not much activity on the water today." On all my previous visits to the city, Auckland's harbour had never been without boats. Motorboats scurrying hither and yon, yachts and at weekends, large fleets of racing dinghies. I could see no recreational activity at all, nor even the smoky exhausts of commercial fishing boats. In the distance, I could just make out the Royal New Zealand Yacht Squadron with its marina behind but nothing moved there either.

Instead there were frigates and patrol craft moored two and three deep along the keys of the dockyard, several more were moored out in the harbour while two large liners, incongruous in naval paint and with numerous aerials, were moored at the passenger terminal. Many of the warships and both of the liners flew the Chinese flag. The only small craft moving about seemed to be travelling between these many vessels.

"Reception committee." Jeremy muttered as a powerful launch headed our way from the northern shore.

"Better get the sails down Jeremy. I'll steer."

"I know Dad, that's why you sprained your ankle to avoid the hard work, take it easy." I engaged the motor and followed the launch's course towards the dockyard and one of the finger wharfs already crowded by the busy service launches. The sails came down smartly and Jeremy and the Chinese officers made a fair job of stowing the sails tidily.

The launch surged ahead of us, clearly impatient and reluctantly, I applied full power, knowing that this would consume battery power far faster than at our normal speed, while gaining only a knot or so. As we entered the dockyard area, the launch crew indicated a berth to us, and circled away. Unhappily, I observed a sizeable group of uniforms gathering at our berth. It made me particularly conscious of bringing my boat alongside smartly, but more than that, I was worried that our arrival should attract so much attention.

We made the yacht fast and were promptly escorted to offices overlooking the dockyard wharves. There was only room for me in the small inner office, so I found myself separated from the others and the office door firmly shut while my ankle throbbing from hurrying to keep up with our escort. A lieutenant, elderly for his rank, entered from a larger office behind the smaller one and said bluntly "Private craft are banned during the submarine emergency."

"You were strongly encouraging yachts to leave Paihia, a bit over two weeks ago weren't you. Has something changed?"

He gave me a searching look and shot back, "It's taken you a bloody long time to get down here, then." He looked angrily at me. "There've only been another couple of sinkings, haven't there, not to mention attempts at infiltration." He looked at me suspiciously. "You'll have seen the anti-submarine patrols up north, I take it?"

"No."

He gave me a contemptuous look and growled, "Don't try and pull the wool over my eyes; man! You've taken better than a fortnight for a two day voyage and you turn up here with a crew of chinks. You've been up to something. You can tell me what, or I'll have you all in the brig."

Under this hectoring, I was beginning to get angry, the threat of prison and the derisive use of the term chink was, I am sure, deliberately provocative. I flared back at him. "I don't know what's burning inside you but there's a bloody good explanation if you would care to listen." I spaced out these last words to emphasise them, then I added, "and remember, there are more Chinese ships in your dock than Kiwis ones, if I'm not mistaken. Oh, and since you didn't bother to ask, two of my, Chinks" I threw his term back at him, "are a helicopter crew we rescued. I'm sure your friends will be happy to see them back! The other chink happens to be my wife and mother of my half chink son."

"They haven't lost a chopper, for..."

"Better than three weeks." I completed the sentence for him. "I am sure you have a liaison officer working with them. I would suggest you call him, now!" I snapped.

"You were in Paihia two weeks ago. Why didn't they make contact then?"

"It's too a long story – Since you're so bloody arrogant, call the liaison officer, now please. I'm sure that those gentlemen," I nodded through the glass panel of the door, to my crew outside, "would like to contact their families."

He wasn't going to be rushed and turned to a computer terminal. After searching silently for a minute or more, he asked, "Their names?"

"Major Fung," - his hand was already reaching for the phone as I added, "and Lieutenant Liu."

As he waited for his call to be answered, he glared silently at me.

"Civilian movements, Sir - The gentleman," and I marked the contemptuous tone of the word, "from the yacht says he's rescued the Chinese helicopter crew, Sir." He listened to the voice at the other end, and concluded with, "Immediately, Sir."

## 33 - Captain D

The lieutenant stood-up and with ill grace opened the door. I stood as well and followed him into the outer office where the rest of the crew waited. Without any explanation, he said "Follow me," and ignoring my limp hurried across to a more modern block with an armed naval guard at its entrance. Clearly the two minutes since the phone call had been sufficient time for the guard to be alerted to our arrival and we were ushered straight in.

A younger lieutenant with, I noted, pilot's wings on his sleeve, greeted us immediately. "Very good to get these officers back, wasn't looking good." He turned to Major Fung and Lieutenant Liu and spoke in what sounded to me like very competent Mandarin. There were smiles of understanding and Yvonne translated their conversation for me, "They will be transferred to the Chinese headquarters ship and assisted to communicate with their families." Further smiles and handshakes all round, Lieutenant Liu gave Katya a hug and whispered something to her." She blushed and laughed. A moment later they were gone. I watched them walk to the steps down to a bobbing harbour boat and saw it head out across the harbour.

"Well, Prendergast, I can look after them from here." The tone was dismissive and the older officer slunk out of the door.

"Old school pusser," our new escort groaned, emphasising the archaic form with his ironic tone he added, "I hope my friend didn't give you too much grief. He was about to retire when this business blew up and he wasn't a happy man even before then."

"No problem." I lied smoothly.

"Well Captain D wants to see you, so we'd better not keep him waiting." He started for some stairs.

"Captain D?"

He picked up the surprise in my voice and over his shoulder said, "You're right, we don't have destroyer flotillas these days, Captain D, shorthand for Devonport." He reached the top of the stairs and waited for me. "Bloody good to get that crew back. The Chinese were very unhappy about losing them, one I gather is rather well connected. Apart from that, the whole exercise has been fatality free from their point of view.

"That would be major Fung, I'm thinking. Didn't say much about himself."

I hobbled up the steps to the next floor and our guide headed for a large outer office. "Lieutenant Prendergast said there'd been more sinkings?" I ventured. "After the Yue Yang sank the submarine?"

"You know about that?" He asked but we got no further as the captain himself appeared at his door and waved us inside. It was an impressive office, panelled with light coloured New Zealand timbers, the detail picked out in darker woods and prints of warships from the history of the Royal New Zealand Navy. He indicated a table and seeing me limp across, asked, "Hurt on your trip?"

Yvonne answered for me. "I thought it was a sprain, but I'm worried about it, it's still swollen. I'd like him to see a doctor, please."

"Soon, soon, please. Can you tell me when you rescued the helicopter crew?"

It took half an hour to satisfy him with our story. The young pilot listened silently only interrupting when a tray of coffee was brought into the office.

Eventually, Captain D looked at Katya, "Well young lady, we can't exactly get you back to your boat, as we've no idea where she is. So what are we going to do with you?"

Katya skin darkened slightly. I suppose that the personal attention of a full captain was not part of her daily experience. "I'd like to stay with Seakeeper, Sir. Mr Blake needs me with his ankle messed up."

"I don't think that will be a problem from our point of view. We have a contact over at your high commission. You'd better let him know that you're here and he can do the necessary."

He turned back to me, "We got an image of the Waller on one of the first Chinese satellites to go up after the attack. Poor quality - thought she might be DPRK, and they sent a couple of ships down to see about it." He nodded to Jeremy. "They'll be the ones you saw."

He turned back to me with a smile and said, "Well Mr Blake, that's one heck of a story. Not in the least surprised there were a couple of holdouts down in the Chathams. They've always been somewhat, shall we say, independent on the islands." He paused, "I suppose I should arrange for them to be collected, not your problem, of course."

"Sir," Jeremy interjected. "The Chief really should have been in hospital, and I've no idea if either of the other two were hit..."

"Glad you're concerned. We'll go get to them soon enough, but things are," he paused clearly choosing his words, "rather intense."

"You'll want to know about the situation in Australia, I guess - Bad, I'm afraid. You've heard that they took out Brisbane, Sydney and Canberra?" We nodded. "Well there's a rather touchy crowd in Melbourne claiming to be the provisional government, and the Western Australia state government is untouched and is now claiming to be in charge. The Chinese are in Rockhampton and Newcastle, perhaps Wollongong, trying to help. If they're as good there as they've been here, they are very good indeed, by the way. Your people on the west coast are being helped by India. Not sure how much help they need, too far away for people to get there from the east..."

"Yes," I burst out, but who is they? Who attacked us? Was it really North Korea? And what about America?"

"As far as we can tell, yes. They sent a wolf pack of subs down here to try and isolate us and what was left of Australia too. Classic World War 2 tactics, attack the supply of oil. The official view is that they thought they could exploit the tension between the US and China, perhaps provoke a fight between the big two and leverage the situation to grab part of Australia and its minerals."

"Mad!" I said

"Mad - but dictators with a bunch of sycophants around them get mad advice - and sometimes they act on it." He didn't sound as if he was totally convinced, but I let it pass. He would be following an official line. "Well thank you for that. I'm sure that our friends across the water," he nodded to the liner with its mass of aerials which clearly marked it as a command vessel, "will be most grateful. I'll get you looked at in the sickbay. You realise that your Australian Dollars are valueless for the time being."

"The Americans?" I repeated.

"They've got a bit on their plate, San Diego got clobbered. I have to say that their response to the attack seems to have been very," he paused looking for the right word, "restrained. But what could they do? China took out the DPRK in five days, so what's left to nuke?"

The captain stood up, clearly the meeting was over. At the door, he said to one of the staff, "Get Mr. Blake down to sick quarters. I want his ankle seen to. He's earned it."

Jeremy was fuming as I hobbled along, limiting the pace of the others. "Bloody Americans. So much for the ANZUS Treaty. It's just like the start of the two World Wars. They sit on their hands. I guess it's what you expect."

"And who do you expect them to nuke?" I asked blandly. "China has sorted out the DPRK for them, so who?"

He lapsed into silence and when I was delivered to the sick berth, he followed Yvonne and Katya back towards Seakeeper's berth.

The sickbay was quiet, so the naval doctor who examined my ankle and ordered an ultrasound and an X-ray also had time to scold me for even walking on the foot. He said it should have been immobilised from the time of the accident, torn tendons and an operation to fix them, he opined. "This sort of injury would lay-up a fit young footballer for weeks, and you are no young footballer, are you?" Anyway, he bandaged me up and included an aluminium frame to take some of my weight. It was late in the afternoon before I was able to trek slowly over to Seakeeper.

## 34 - Long afternoon

Yvonne was torn at the prospect of leaving Warren in the sick berth. The naval doctor smiled to her and apologised, "Captain D commands and I obey. The regulations are pretty strict at the moment, I can't let you stay, I'm afraid. I couldn't let your husband in, if it wasn't for the dockyard captain's specific order."

As the three of them walked slowly across the wharves to Seakeeper. Yvonne found herself alone with her thoughts. She was glad that Warren was receiving proper attention but worried about the future. If their money was valueless. She stopped herself from speculating further.

Looking around, she realised that Jeremy and Katya were almost one hundred metres behind, their pace slowed by a vigorous conversation. Yvonne stopped and waited. As they approached, she saw that the colour of both their faces was somewhat flushed. The conversation had stopped, and there was a sullen silence. Neither looked her directly in the eye as they walked past the office where Lieutenant Prendergast had initially interviewed Warren and on down to the boat.

"Do you mind if I cook tonight, Yvonne?" Katya asked. "It will keep me busy."

"That's most kind of you, Katya. Sorry about the limited supplies." She gathering a book retreated to the fo'c's'le. A minute later, the sound of Jeremy's feet were audible on the deck above her head, then he must have sat down, but she could still hear him moving restlessly. After some minutes she put her head up through the fore hatch and said, "Jeremy, you OK?"

"Yes, Mum, just checking some gear." She saw the sailmaker's needle in his hand and the thick leather palm protecting his hand. Jeremy's concentration seemed to be on neither of them, nor on the staysail reefing lines which it appeared Jeremy intended to work on.

She ducked back down the hatch and attempted to concentrate on her book. The boy; she must stop thinking of him as a boy, was twenty-three. He'd had girlfriends before, and broken up with them too. He would get over it. She could not help wondering what had triggered the row. The time spent together on the yacht and before that on the Waller had never allowed any privacy, and she didn't think she had observed anything more than a friendship between them, but then again, they had shared many watches.

Footsteps approached along the wharf, then stopped above the boat.

"Hello there, you in charge?" She heard a brisk voice ask. Jeremy answering with a muffled negative. Then the voice answering with "Well I need to see him."

Yvonne opened the fo'c's'le door, stepped past Katya in the galley and climbed up the companionway. The figure on the quay was a red faced civilian messenger, an older man clearly uncomfortable in the afternoon sun. "My husband is in the sickbay. In his absence, I guess I'm in charge. How can I help you?"

"You've got to move this boat. No business having civilians in the dockyard, right."

"Captain D said my husband should go to sickbay. That's where he is now. Surely that constitutes business with the dockyard?"

"Don't know about that. I'm just delivering orders, right."

Yvonne was feeling tense, she could feel Jeremy standing behind her quivering with frustration at the unfairness of their situation and ready to leap to her defence. Katya had come on deck too. It was she who interrupted now.

"Who is the order from, mate?" She chose to exaggerate her Australian Accent.

"OIC civilian movements."

"Oh, you mean Lieutenant Prendergast, don't you?" Katya extrapolated.

"What of it?"

"Captain D wanted me to stay aboard this boat, pending my reassignment. I think he meant that to be here where he can be sure I will receive my orders. Want me to check with his writer, before we move?"

"You stay there. I'll check." With that he strode away, his arms swinging as if marching to a band heard only in his own ears.

"Thanks, Katya," Yvonne said.

"He'll be back. Bastards like Prendergast don't give up, do they? Anyway, the captain's not Australian navy, there'll be no orders until it's gone through layers of bureaucracy."

"What's his game, anyway?" Demanded Jeremy.

"Give a little man, a little power and nine times out of ten he'll abuse it." Katya said. "You finished those repairs?"

"Soon."

"Good, I've made some tea."

"Offer some to those two?" Yvonne suggested as she noticed a couple of naval police take a position in the shade opposite the boat.

## 35 - Devalued

Somehow, I was not surprised to see that a couple of naval police were lounging close to Seakeeper as I hobbled down the wharf. Someone had thoughtfully opened the guard rails to allow me to climb aboard without too much difficulty. Yvonne was waiting to help me and Jeremy hovered nearby, and from below I could hear the sound of chopping. Katya, presumably preparing dinner. The smell of cooking wafted up into the cockpit from the companionway.

"Don't go below dad, we've got to leave, now." Jeremy said. Yvonne nodded unhappily, she handed me a two page document in large print. It amounted to an instruction to remove "The Vessel Seakeeper from Her Majesty's Dockyard Devonport, immediately upon completion of your business with the Royal New Zealand Navy." Further down the second page it said, "You are reminded that the movement of pleasure craft is banned during the present emergency." It was signed Lieutenant Prendergast.

"The unmitigated old bastard," I said. "I bet signing that gave him real pleasure."

"Yes Dad, can't stay, can't go. What do we do?" Jeremy asked.

I looked along the wharf. The police were still there, their white belts standing out in the softening evening light. I hobbled back onto the wharf carrying the paper and laboured towards them.

"Good day, mate," I laboured the favourite Australian greeting, "need some advice on this instruction, please." I smiled hopefully.

"What you mean, Sir." The older man's tone was uninviting, not a good start.

"Mr. Prendergast wants us to move. Then he goes on to say that civilian craft can't move. We want to comply, obviously, but how?"

The older one shrugged and said, "Not my problem, mate," and turned away.

I shuffled on my injured leg and made to turn. The younger policeman started to follow his colleague and then turned back. "I'll see if the duty launch can escort you, mate. Wait back on your boat." Then he disappeared after his older colleague.

Ten minutes later, one of the naval launches pulled up beside us. The skipper called over, "Follow us please, we've got a berth for you." We cast off our lines and followed the launch. Within ten minutes we had been guided into a large marina and a vigorous wave showed us the berth that had been arranged. The launch disappeared back towards the dockyard.

Moored on a sheltered pontoon with the sails stowed, we and Seakeeper were safe, at least for this night. As Katya served a stew made from various tins and flavoured with dried herbs, I decided that this was the time to open one of our few bottles of wine. I selected a Brokenwood Shiraz from the Hunter Valley, and wondered silently how the wine region had been affected by the attacks. The food was remarkably good considering the limited resources available to Katya and we toasted her for her effort, but somehow the atmosphere remained tense until she produced a dessert of chocolate flavoured crispbreads which she self-consciously flavoured with a glass of Tia Maria.

"After a meal like that; Katya, we'd better get to sea and work off the excess weight we will have put on."

The modest joke got smiles all round, but then Katya shook her head.

"I'm not sure I should stay, Warren. It's been wonderful, but I ought to get back to the Waller or at least back to the navy. I'll try and contact the High Commission in the morning."

There was a set to her jaw that spoke of firm determination. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Jeremy was watching her closely.

"Have you had instructions, already?" I asked.

"No, and Warren, Yvonne, I'm most grateful to all of you, but I really think I must go. I don't want things to get any more complicated." She stood up and added, "I'd like to get some fresh air. Excuse me." With that, she headed for the companionway.

Jeremy made to get up, but in the confined space around the table, his mother's hand stopped him in his tracks. "We've some washing-up to do son."

Later, I went on deck, using the strength of my arms primarily to avoid putting a burden on my injured ankle. Katya was sitting at the guard rail, her feet dangling a few inches above the water. In the reflection of the city lights, I thought I saw her shoulders lift with a sigh, or perhaps it was a sob.

Pausing for a moment, I ventured, "Yvonne thinks you might like to sleep up forward tonight."

"Yes, perhaps that's a good idea, it's very kind of her, Warren. I'll come down in a minute. Thank you." She turned back to staring over the water, past the warships, the headquarters vessels and the lights of the city.

I swung up onto the pontoon and hobbled along it to stretch my limbs. I returned twenty minutes later and she was still there. Things were quiet below, and glancing in, I could see Jeremy curled up in my berth stretching back under the cockpit. Yvonne Looked up at me through the companionway and shrugged. Completely out of my depth, I sat in the cockpit two metres from Katya and said gently, "I'm sorry you've got to go, Katya, we'll miss you. In fact, I had thought you might help us bring Seakeeper back to Australia." She sighed and I went on quickly, "We'll find someone of course, there'll be plenty of people who want to work their passage back home."

Katya got up and headed for the hatchway. Then stopped, perhaps seeing that the others were asleep below, she came back and sat beside me in the cockpit. "Warren, Jeremy is a lovely boy. You and Yvonne have every right to be very proud of him." She paused, in the faint light it took me a moment to realise that she was looking intensely into my eyes. "He's got his career mapped out Warren, in a year, he'll be a dentist, and how would he feel married to a ship's cook? Then there's me, I've another four years before my term in the navy expires. They'll move me around, probably more than in ordinary times. It just wouldn't work. He must see that?"

"He asked you?" She must have heard the surprise in my voice.

"No, but the way he reacted when Wai Man hugged me."

She stood and a moment later disappeared down the companionway. Then I heard the door of the forward cabin click shut. I sat there for several minutes pondering the mysteries and pains of youth.

I went below and closed the hatch, putting the ventilator in place. Sleep came slowly, we could not sail for Australia without an extra able body. The old maritime term struck me forcefully, AB - able bodied seaman. Jeremy and Yvonne were not enough crew, until I was fit again and how long would that be?

The early morning was grey and threatening rain. The harbour rippled by the chilly breeze was devoid of movement other than the circling gulls. Yvonne and Jeremy were still asleep, but I heard movement in the fo'c's'le. Katya emerged wearing the naval issue clothes in which she had been captured on the island, the gold embroidered letters on the blue shoulder flashes proudly proclaiming 'Australia' to the world.

I reached under one of the cushions and pulled out our ensign, already attached to its staff. "Let's do this right." I muttered to her. She understood, took the flag and made for the companionway. I saw her stop for a moment and glance down at Jeremy. Then she was up on the deck fitting the ensign into its place at the stern. Then she was gone, leaving me wondering if I had seen the ghost of a smile as she looked at my son.

Yvonne and Jeremy were up and we had all breakfasted before the moment I dreaded arrived. A couple of figures sauntered down the wharf and stopped beside Seakeeper.

"Anybody aboard? Mooring Fees."

"I've got to go into Auckland to convert some currency," I replied.

"You'll be doing that today, won't you? Not allowed to run up credit, management's rules."

"I pointed to my leg, can't go myself. Sent someone in this morning."

"Girl in navy kit? Saw her go as we arrived. Anyway, you're what 15 metres?"

"No," I replied, "Barely ten."

"What about the bowsprit?"

"We'll bring it inboard."

"That'll be $60 a day, then. You can bring it up to the office when she gets back. Oh, there's a 50 percent discount for IA dollars."

"IA Dollars? What about Aussie?"

"Oh, you are new." The tone was derisive, "International Assistance. The Chinese introduced them, enables us to pay for imports, like fuel, if you can get it. Aussie? We'll be generous, convert at three to one. That'd be $180."

They walked off, their task done. "Generous, three to one," I fumed, "it's usually parity or in Australia's favour.

"Well it's better than you were treated in the Bay of Islands, isn't it?" Yvonne tried to sooth me. "We'd better get the bowsprit inboard."

"How much cash do we have aboard, dear?" It turned out that there wasn't much, about $500 Australian and $2,000 US on a prepaid credit card. "Well at least we don't need to buy fuel, but we'll need provisions."

We sat together over morning coffee, made with powdered milk. The three of us, just as we had set out on our voyage, at least we were still together.

"I think we are faced with a choice," I said. We can try to sell the boat, and God knows what we would get for her, then settle for being refugees here; or we can head for Australia. If we do that, the sooner we go, the better."

"What about your ankle, Warren."

"I know dear, we'll have to find somebody."

## 36 - International Assistance

The atmosphere on Seakeeper was tense. I turned on the AM radio and found a music station, but Yvonne snapped at me, "Can't we have some peace and quiet, Warren."

She understood why we had decided that we had to get an extra crew, but didn't like the prospect of intrusion, a stranger in our little world. Anyway, we had no idea from where, but we also had to do it quickly, before our modest cash resources drained away, yet I was hobbled by my ankle. In immediate terms, we were on the wrong side of Auckland harbour and the trip across it, so easy by water, was an impossibly long journey for me, lame as I was unless the ferry started operating.

Perhaps to give herself something to do, Yvonne decided to check the bandage on my ankle, muttering to herself as she looked at the swelling. "Without an operation this may never recover you know Warren, think about that. If we have to sell Seakeeper..."

"Dearest," I said in my most placatory tone, "you're very good to me. You know, your nursing skills gives you the right to be worried, but what would we get for her, if we did sell her? Second hand boats were two a penny even before the crisis, and if the new owner can't go sailing." I let this statement hang in the air.

Reluctantly, she nodded, "At least, she's a home for now, we'd be paying rent on a barely habitable flat otherwise, I expect. But I don't want you crippled, Warren."

In part, I knew she was right, a boat was no place for an injured man, but I had a hunch that even the value of Seakeeper would not pay for the operation to fix my ankle; not while we were stuck in New Zealand.

"I could get a job Dad. It would pay for a mooring." I looked at Jeremy with pride, offering to give up his studies now and start at the bottom, if he could get a job, to provide for us. There again, there was still the requirement to do that final year, would there be a place for him in the changed world?

"No Jeremy, you've worked hard to get into dentistry and hard at your degree, we've backed you all the way, and it's only one more year. We'll find a way, the three of us. And once you are qualified; well, your income will be so much higher that we'll all be better off." Sitting there in Seakeeper's cabin on a pontoon in the middle of a major city, I felt, perhaps we all felt, incredibly alone. I felt a tear in my eye, but also a swell of pride in my chest.

"Dad, why did Katya leave?"

"Duty, I suppose, son. Anyway, I expect she'll be back for her kit."

The wind was freshening, the repetitive metallic banging of halyards beating on aluminium masts sounded drearily across the marina and rain pattered on the deck. On one of the boats nearby, a wind generator added its incessant whirr to the din. In frustration, I put on a waterproof and hobbled up to the marina office. One of the men from earlier was there.

"Come to pay your mooring fees?" He greeted me.

"No, waiting for the girl who went ashore earlier. Do you know if she took the ferry?" I pointed at a sign to a separate jetty outside the marina.

"Too early, I should say." Only runs every second hour, 'til we get more fuel. It's the IA dollars, you have to use when you pay for fuel see. Look over there." He pointed over the Auckland Harbour Bridge and I saw that apart from a small number of buses, hardly a vehicle was moving. "They've opened some lanes for pedestrians, it's so quiet."

He gave me a searching look. "You the guys who rescued that Chinese helicopter crew, then? Aussie cutter...? The radio was full of it this morning."

I shook myself with surprize. "Yes, we found them. What did they say?"

"Oh, just how delighted the Chinese were to get their boys back. Seems one of them was well connected."

"Really, I guess that would be Major Fung. Quiet guy, didn't let on much about himself."

"That would be him. Son of a Politburo heavy, apparently. The other one did all the talking on the interview. Said you went over the side to rescue him. That how you did your leg?"

"Really, Politburo?" I guess my voice expressed my genuine surprise. "No, it was my boy who went over the side. Scared me and the missus when he did, too."

"He did alright, I reckon. I can tell you, they" he nodded emphatically down harbour towards the terminal and the Chinese command ships, "they'll be very grateful."

I noted a distinct change in his attitude. Where before we had been viewed as penurious refugees, I suspected that he now saw us having connections direct into the Chinese hierarchy. I took the opportunity to change the subject to the immediate concern, I asked, "What's the ferry ticket going to cost me?"

"Four dollars, ah, but you've got no cash, have you? Tell you what, I'll swap you fifty Australian straight for Kiwi, but if you end up with IA, you swap it back as IA to me, what do you say?"

"Sounds fair enough, I'll go back to the boat. What's your name?"

"Dylan." He stopped, distracted by a movement. I followed his gaze and noticed a fast launch heading towards the marina, its course coming direct from the larger command ship. "Remember, I'll convert IA for you, one to one." He said as I left the office.

##  37 - Pre-op

By the time that I had limped back to Seakeeper, the launch was entering the marina.

I called down the companionway to Yvonne, "Dearest, I think we are about to have some visitors," I stressed the words, "naval visitors."

Jeremy stuck his head above deck, before ducking down again. I heard him say "Do your hair Mum, looks like a delegation arriving."

It was an impressive craft. The old term pinnace came to mind, she was sleek, about twenty metres long and from the speed that she had crossed the harbour, powerful. The exhausts burbled quietly as she passed up the pontoons with scarcely a ripple. Viewed from close up, the paint, or more likely fibreglass might have been the lighter grey used by the Chinese warships but the polish on the hull ensured that the rippled water of the marina reflected from the sides despite the bleak day. Other details struck me, details that would have given satisfaction to the coxswain of an admiral's barge in Queen Victoria's navy; polished brass, beautifully flemished rope work coiled on the deck and turk's head knots painted white decorating the guard rails.

The boat was expertly handled. She came level with Seakeeper, her motors ticking over, then with a deft touch of the throttles, she reversed into the barely adequate space forward of our boat, needing even the space where we had brought the bowsprit inboard to reduce our mooring fees. The bowman hooked onto a mooring ring with his boat hook and two sailors leapt ashore with mooring lines. The motors hushed to a barely audible idle, while sailors lined up and saluted as, ignoring the spitting rain, several officers stepped onto the pontoon.

Yvonne and Jeremy emerged from the companionway as the party approached. It was led by a naval officer whose broad gold stripes would be recognised as an admiral in any navy. Walking half a pace behind and barely recognisable in fresh unfamiliar uniforms were Major Fung and Lieutenant Liu. The major was talking confidently with the admiral but I could tell from his bearing that Wai Man as the more junior officer was distinctly nervous.

Standing on the deck, I straightened myself, very conscious of Yvonne and Jeremy behind me in the cockpit. "Mr. Warren Blake," the admiral began in slightly American tinged English. "I nodded and made the same half bow, I had often seen my Chinese friends offer respectfully. "I am Admiral Teng of the People's Liberation Army Navy, may we come on board?"

With barely a hesitation for my assent, he stepped onto the deck of Seakeeper but realising I was in danger of tripping because of the limited movement of my ankle, he reached a hand out and prevented me from falling backwards. "Thank you Admiral," I gasped.

"Most embarrassing to knock over a very fine seaman, Mr. Blake."

"Sir."

"My colleagues have given me a very detailed description of your adventures. Very impressive." The practiced gaze of a mariner encompassed Seakeeper, "and in such a small craft, yes, very impressive." He turned to Jeremy and smiled, "and you're the brave young man who dived into the sea to rescue Major Fung?" Jeremy nodded mutely. "And you are the kind nurse who cared for him, Mrs. Blake?" His smile embraced us all and he paused for a moment.

"I am here to thank all of you. We, our service, our country, are very glad to recover these two young officers." He paused, I was about to blurt out the usual platitudes about rescue at sea, but he took a breath, looked at me and resumed. "I am sorry you were injured Mr. Blake. The dockyard sickbay tell us that you need an operation to repair your ankle, difficult to arrange in your circumstances. Beijing has instructed me to offer you treatment on the Xu Xiake, she has a full hospital which, very fortunately, is underutilised at this time." He gestured across the harbour to one of the headquarters ships.

The admiral smiled and turned to Yvonne. They conversed in Mandarin for some time. I took the opportunity to look around and noted that even on this dull day, we seemed to be drawing a crowd. I noticed Dylan from the marina office standing to one side with several other silent civilians, I thought I saw a mobile phone lifted to record the scene. Standing back closer to the pinnace also discretely recording the scene was a Chinese film crew who must have arrived with the others.

The admiral nodded to Lieutenant Liu who handed a mobile phone to Yvonne. Then he turned to me with a smile. "A good Chinese wife will guard her husband's home if he is away. The phone will allow Mrs Blake to contact you while you are recovering." There was something about the chuckle which accompanied his smile that was hard to resist, "I have a sailor's wife too. Very strong."

I looked at Yvonne for a moment, I suppose she knew me well enough to interpret my concerns but she smiled at me and nodded firmly.

Despite her nod, it was with mixed feelings that I followed Admiral Teng onto the pontoon. Major Fung shook my hand enthusiastically and fell in beside me matching my pace. He said nothing, but his smile was as generous as the admirals. As we approached the pinnace, I looked back towards Seakeeper and waved to Yvonne and Jeremy. I realised that I was confused by the suddenness of our changed situation. Perhaps my acquiescence was a symptom of how helpless I had felt.

The coxswain nodded, lines were cast off and I took a loving look at my family and my sea worn but faithful Seakeeper. Lieutenant Liu was standing on the pontoon talking to them. Then the cabin blocked my view. Within a minute we were out in the harbour. The engines growled and the stern dug into the water as we accelerated towards the Xu Xiake, moored against the skyline of the city.

##  38 - Harbour bound

Yvonne saw Warren's face for a moment as the launch swung around, then his view was cut off as it headed out into the harbour. Lieutenant Liu smiled at her and said, "I've pre-programmed some important numbers into the phone, Yvonne." He stepped down beside her and took the phone, opening the contacts app. His own number was listed, as was "BLAKEW Hospital" and numbers for local banks.

At that moment, Yvonne wanted nothing more than to cry. Little more than 24 hours before, Seakeeper had entered the harbour, a crew of six, working companionably together. Now, Warren was headed for his much-needed operation, the two Chinese aircrew were back with their service, while Katya was walking to the city, at least that's what she thought. After the brief intervention of the Chinese party she and Jeremy were about to be left alone.

Instinctively, to buy time before his departure, she said "Please, a cup of tea." and led the way below putting on the kettle. With just the three of them, the cabin seemed bigger, emptier. "How are your parents, Wai Man?" She asked feeling stupid for such an obvious question.

His chest seemed to swell with pleasure, "They are so happy. They said they never gave up hope, but they were looking for a flat where they would not be alone when they got older. You know, with other people with no children," he paused, looking for a word and not finding it said simply, "like, if I had died."

Yvonne nodded thoughtfully, well aware of how many couples must face this terrible prospect in China, torn between the mandate of the now defunct One Child Policy and the imperatives in intergenerational respect and obligation so deeply imbedded in the culture. "How about Major Fung?"

"They were happy too, of course. There was to be a memorial service in Beijing, but it was cancelled at the last moment, when they got the news. Instead, the good news made the national TV news. His family were leaders in the revolution; that is still very important."

Yes, Yvonne understood that. In Chinese culture, there was always an element of looking back, even in her own family.

"Where is Katya?" He asked and Yvonne noticed a sharp look from Jeremy as a drip of tea fell from his cup onto the varnished cabin table.

"She set off to walk to the city this morning. You see, we have only Australian currency, and that is worthless in New Zealand now. She went looking for an Australian bank to see what to do and she also needs to make contact with the Australian navy."

His head rocked back in understanding. "Ah, yes the currency. I don't have any New Zealand dollars either, but if these would help?" On the table, he laid some unfamiliar notes, several were denominated as $500 and some of smaller values. "International assistance currency. The New Zealand government fixed the exchange rate as two for one, and some imported supplies like fuel can only be bought using IA."

He clearly saw her hesitate. "Please, I collected a lot of back pay, yesterday, and I wouldn't have got it without you, would I? But you can pay me back later, if you wish."

Yvonne felt her lower lips quiver, but no words came.

His tea finished, Lieutenant Liu stood up and said, "Sorry, must get the next ferry. I don't qualify for the admiral's barge." Wordlessly, she reached out and hugged him. Then gathered herself, stepped back and said, "Wai Man, I don't know how to thank you."

He climbed out of the familiar companionway and a moment later she felt the slight movement of the boat as weight transferred from the side of the boat onto the pontoon.

It was Jeremy who broke the silence. "I should get a sim card for my mobile, so I can keep in touch, too." Then he stepped up into the cockpit and sat, watching the pontoon. Yvonne shrugged and said to herself, "He'll get over her."

Feeling a complex mixture of guilt and gratitude, Yvonne counted the money, it totalled over $2,500 and given the premium for IA money, she realised this probably amounted to twice that sum in New Zealand's currency. Instinctively, she began to calculate, how long before Warren would be able to safely voyage in Seakeeper. What would it cost to moor the boat? Food before they departed then for a voyage to Australia and gear that would need to be replaced or repaired. Warren, she knew would have a list. Suddenly, the pile of money seemed very small indeed.

She called Jeremy down and organised a light lunch, ticking off her list of things that were essential as they ate. After washing up, she began a new inventory of their supplies. The phone rang in the late afternoon and Warren's voice came cheerfully across the water. "Dearest, they are going to take me down to theatre shortly. I've already had a pre-op, but I thought I should say I love you and Jeremy before they put me under." In the circumstances, it was banal, reassuring and also deeply moving. Yvonne felt a rollercoaster of emotions as she passed the phone over to their son.

When she received the phone back, Warren already sounded slightly sleepier. "I'll call you tomorrow, Dearest. Bye." Then the connection clicked off. Yvonne went up on deck and stood for a long time looking across the harbour at the Xu Xiake.

She was still standing there when Katya appeared on the pontoon. "Hi, Yvonne, you lost in contemplation? May I come aboard?"

Behind her, Yvonne heard Jeremy come up the steps into the cockpit and ask, "Hi, Katya. How was the big city? You must be exhausted."

"I'm pooped. Sailing is good for some kinds of fitness, but not for a twenty-kilometre walk." She smiled at Yvonne and asked apologetically "I think I've got some blisters; do you think I could have a sticking plaster?"

Her nursing training came to the fore and in the cabin. Before Yvonne reached down the first aid kit and prepared a bowl of salty water and set to work ministering to Katya's blistered and reddened feet and encouraged her to talk about what she had learned.

"There is a particular branch of the ANZ in Auckland. They're dealing with marooned Australians. I suppose that's natural, the Australia New Zealand Banking Corporation, they should do that. If you had an account in Australia, they're letting customers convert $50 a day into New Zealand. Seems they've re-established some datalinks with Melbourne, but everything is a bit tenuous, even now. They've also put up a swap board where people can list things they want or that they want to sell. Lots of things on offer.

"And?" Jeremy could contain himself no longer.

"And they let me phone the High Commission in Wellington. I left a message for their naval liaison officer, but he was too busy to talk to me. So here I am, back like the proverbial bad penny. If you'll have me, that is?"

"The ferry is running occasionally, and now we have some money... You won't have to walk all the way, next time."

They ate an early dinner and chatted into the evening, listened to the local radio station. It was Yvonne who asked, "Have you noticed that there is almost no international news on the radio?" There was a brief silence as the implications were digested, but before long Katya announced that she was tired, and they all turned in for the night.

Yvonne lay awake for a while wondering how Warren was, across the harbour.

##  39 - Housekeeping

Yvonne went shopping. It seemed so incredibly banal, a list written out in her neat handwriting of the things they would need in the next week, and money with which to pay for it. It was banal but also liberating and she walked up the ferry pontoon with a feeling of confidence.

Jeremy and Katya stayed with the yacht. They had all noticed how Dylan and one or two of the other hangers on around the marina looked wolfishly at them after they had paid a week's mooring fees using some of the IA currency that Lieutenant Liu had provided. There was no discussion, without words, it just seemed to be best that two people stay with the boat.

Katya absorbed herself in giving the galley area a thoroughgoing clean; the sort of clean that can only be done with the yacht in harbour and many of the storage lockers empty. There was no room for Jeremy in the space where she was working so he made himself useful checking the attachment of the hoops which hold the mainsail to the mast. Whipping twine, sailmaker's needle and palm and a sharp sailor's knife. Practical satisfying work and genuinely important, work he had done since boyhood and in which he found quiet contentment. In the distance he heard the rumble of the ferry's engines and looked up to see Katya silently observing him.

"Like some coffee," she asked.

"Mum?"

"Next ferry, I should think. We should meet her, she'll have a bit to carry - There again, shouldn't leave the boat, should we?"

"You stay, I'll go."

"Toss you." They chuckled and adjourned below for coffee.

In the intimacy of the cabin, they lapsed into silence, for several minutes.

Eventually, Jeremy said cautiously, "Sorry Katya. I didn't mean to speak out of turn."

She gave a muted half snort, half laugh, "It's alright Jeremy." Then she paused weighing up how to go on and restarted with a sigh. "We're mixes Jeremy, aren't we? You must have copped it at school, my sisters and I sure did. It's hard, isn't it?" Another pause, then she added, "So you and I had something in common from the start, you knew that, didn't you?"

He pitched his voice in bitter imitation of the yard at primary school, "You're not one of us – you don't belong. Then there were the mocking chants... I fought a lot in primary school. The teachers didn't care, all they wanted was a quiet life."

"Yes, you know how I told you, I played sport. What I didn't say was that I set out to beat them, beat them at the sports they loved, and I did until they got too tall for me at netball."

"Yeah, I played rugby as a junior, but it's no fun being one of the smallest players on the field, and some of the guys saw it as a chance to do me over, within the rules, of course. But I beat them in my own way, the Chinese and Indian kids, they studied, crammed every day of every year, it worked; they were topping the class, so I crammed even harder."

"Won't have made you popular."

"Sure, but the Chinese kids were practical, if I was topping the class, they were happy to do assignments with me and group work. I never really belonged but they were happy enough to work with me, and Mum helped, she cooked and made them welcome. Above all else, she talked Mandarin or Cantonese to their mothers."

"Why didn't you learn more Mandarin?"

"If I'd done it for high school, I'd have been marked as a native speaker, compared with kids who only spoke it at home. It would have pulled my marks down."

"My older sister did. Wai Man told me I should have. But me, I just rebelled. Navy was good for me. Stopped me running wild and gave me a skill. "

"Can't imaging you running wild."

She hooted again, "Careful, don't tempt me, I might start again. We're not on the Waller here."

"Perhaps I should." They laughed together.

The coffee was cold and they made a fresh cups.

"I found these in the bottom of one of the lockers." Katya put a packet of caramel crème biscuits on the table. "They're almost out of date, so we can eat them with a clear conscience."

Somehow, in the simple action of reaching for the biscuits their hands touched. A private moment, a look exchanged. "Jeremy, I know what you're thinking, but we're in a war, or something like one. I don't want to be hurt, and I don't want to hurt you and I don't want to spoil your future, Doctor."

He slipped his hand on hers, lifted it and kissed it. "I understand," Then, feeling embarrassed, he shook his head and said "I'd better go back on deck." And the truth was that he knew that he didn't understand at all.

##  40 - Shopping

Sitting on the morning ferry to Auckland, Yvonne was debating whether to call Warren when her phone rang. His familiar voice clear and cheerful. "The surgeon has just reviewed my leg. He's very pleased with the result."

"How long will they keep you?"

"A week to ten days, they want to start me on physiotherapy. You can see me tomorrow, I'll ask Wai Man to deliver a pass to you. He said he'd drop by today. What are you doing?"

"I'm heading past your ship to the ferry wharf, I need to do some shopping. In fact, we're almost there. Must go, love you Warren." She made a point of being among the last to leave the ferry and asked the deckhand for directions to the bank. These were easy enough to follow and she found herself outside it thirty minutes before it opened. To use the time, she explored the street level retail areas of the office blocks looking for a supermarket, but to no avail.

When Yvonne returned to the bank there was already a queue at the door. She chided herself, since the bank had imposed daily cash withdrawal limits it was hardly surprising that there would be early birds waiting for it to open. She was diverted from the line waiting for the tellers by a receptionist who guided her to a chair and explained that she would have to be interviewed. Of course, there were already a couple and two other men on the chairs waiting to be interviewed too. The chairs were positioned facing a large TV screen which switched between corporate promotions for superannuation, business insurance and the like and the weather. She did her best to ignore it and contemplated their improved situation. The couple were escorted into the interview room and she allowed the screen to capture her attention with the rotating one word display, "News."

The first item was the final day of the Chinese New Year celebrations. An International naval parade starting at the wharves and marching, she thought, past the very building in which they were sitting. The Chinese contingent was clearly the largest, and the commentator listed the parties from each ship. The New Zealand contingent were completely overshadowed, and for the first time, she learned that there were also contingents from Malaysia and Indonesia providing support. She noted the repeated use of the phrase "Until maritime trade gets back to normal."

Yvonne's attention wandered as the Prime Minister made some interminable speech but she was brought up short by the next item. There was the admiral stepping aboard Seakeeper, his words clearly picked up by a microphone that he must have been wearing. She heard Warren's muted response and saw how the admiral had neatly rescued him from almost overbalancing. The camera panned across the yacht and the scene and for a few seconds settled on her face before moving to Jeremy and back to Warren and the admiral. The footage cut to the launch pulling away from the pontoon and then displayed a view of Seakeeper before lifting up to show her spars against the grey sky. The final words of the commentary as she allowed them to penetrate her brain were, "The People's Liberation Army – Navy is profoundly grateful and always repays its debts." She blushed and hoped that no one had recognised her, for a moment she would have been happy to find a hole in the ground and crawl into it. Neither of the men sitting beside her had recognised her, why should they, they would only see her in profile against the morning sun penetrating the bank's window.

No such luck, someone must have phoned from one of the teller booths and within moments, a lady wearing a power suit emerged from the private back office section of the branch.

"Mrs. Blake, how can we help you? I'm so glad you're a customer of ours. You must have had a most demanding voyage." Any hope of anonymity was gone immediately. Yvonne allowed herself to be escorted into the relative privacy of the manager's office, feeling all the way that most of the eyes in the bank were following her.

She emerged thirty minutes later, with one thousand New Zealand dollars and suggestions on insurance and investments in the country, and the not too subtle suggestion that, as the manager put it, she could "introduce her friends" of the bank. There was something tainted about the whole interaction such that, as she emerged into the sunlight and anonymity, she felt a need to shake babherself, like a dog emerging from the sea. Then she followed the directions she had been given to the supermarket.

Fresh food was her first priority, they'd been living on tins and dried food for too long, then to top up supplies like detergent, toilet paper and soap. With the extra money from the bank she also invested in a folding trolley which was standing near the checkout marked "Special $29.99." Then out of curiosity, she added a copy of the New Zealand Herald to her purchases and piled the goods on the conveyor belt for the checkout. Finally, with her new trolley loaded, she headed back to the ferry wharf, sat down and started reading the paper.

The headlines were little different from the snapshot she had seen on the screen. Their own story was a double page spread on pages six and seven, complete with colour photos. Yvonne had no idea how they had been taken. One even showed Seakeeper forging up the channel into the harbour. It might have been taken from one of the patrol boats as they approached. Had they been expected, she wondered?

The shadows of passers-by fell on the page but she looked up cautiously when one stopped there.

"Good morning Yvonne, I see you have been adding to your supplies."

She looked up at the smiling face of Lieutenant Liu. "She indeed, Wai Man. You know what they say, Man shall not live by bread alone, but by all the products of the supermarket."

He sat down beside her chuckling and Yvonne saw the corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement. "That's right, no supermarkets at sea, supermarkets are the basis of human rights so must ban ocean voyages. Ah, ocean voyages are human right – must start again."

Now she was laughing too, and they sat side by side waiting as the ferry pulled into the wharf and the arriving passengers disembarked.

On the trip back across the harbour, she looked at him. Straight and confident in his uniform. He might be young but his presence commanded a space for them and they chatted naturally. It was in a lull in the conversation, she looked around at her fellow passengers. The diversity of the group was typical of the multi-cultural society that New Zealand had created. Very similar to the community they had inhabited in Sydney. The thought jarred, how many of those familiar but anonymous faces were now dead? Another observation intruded into her consciousness, no one met her eyes. Wherever her glance fell, people averted their gaze.

##  41 - Vanity

"You were coming to see us?" Yvonne asked Lieutenant Liu.

"Yes, indeed. I promised to drop passes off for you and Jeremy to visit Warren on the Xu Xiake, but let me help you take your purchases back down to Seakeeper." He smiled and seemed contented as he helped her new trolley over the irregular decking of the pontoons without further conversation.

Jeremy and Katya saw them approaching and came up the pontoon to help. "Sorry, Mum, we met the earlier ferries, we were getting worried about you."

"It's OK Jeremy, I had help after all, thanks to Wai Man." She acknowledged him with a nod and a smile and the four of them proceeded back aboard Seakeeper

"You were promised passes to visit Warren on the Xu Xiake, and I'm the postman."

Yvonne spoke for them saying, "That's most kind of you, Wai Man. We're very touched at your taking the trouble to come yourself. I'm going to cook lunch, will you join us?"

He looked at his watch and shook his head. "I'm sorry, I have to get back. I'll be flying home this afternoon."

"I suppose that was inevitable, but we'll miss you. Is Major Fung also flying home?" Her glace encompassed the three younger people at the cabin table. Did she detect relief in Jeremy's face, or disappointment in Katya's? She wasn't sure.

"Yes, he's been called back to Beijing."

"So we won't see you again, at least, not for some time?"

"Yvonne, Jeremy, Katya, it's been an," he paused looking for the right word, "a great adventure. One I will always remember, I will tell my children that I voyaged from off the map in a sailing ship. I will tell them the story and show them a picture." He pulled out his mobile phone and the flash blinded them. "I will tell them that I voyaged almost as far as Admiral Zheng He." His gentle laugh seemed tinged with sadness, but his smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, again.

"Can you give us an address so that we can write to you, Wai Man?"

He looked at his watch and replied, "I'll text it to your mobile phone, I must make sure I get the ferry, or I'll miss the bus to the airport." He stepped up into the cockpit, they followed but sensing the sudden urgency of his need to depart, shook hands quickly and he stepped ashore. He took a few paces, hesitated and turned. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, they're lifting the ban on civilian craft, day after tomorrow." He waved, turned again and within a minute, he was out of sight.

A silence fell in the cockpit. Yvonne looked at the others and said, "Well we still have to eat lunch, then I'll go and see Warren."

"Call him first Mum. That's what mobile phones are for. And please, get me a sim card. We were freaking out, you were gone for so long."

"You go first, call your father and tell him you're coming; and here is some money. Remember, we have no income and we need to pay for moorings, food until we can depart, and for the trip to Australia, and God knows what after that."

Fresh food for lunch. Yvonne's mind focused on cooking, to the extent that when Jeremy held up the phone, and said "Dad!" She was a little startled.

"Warren, how are you?"

"Good," came the reply. "Jeremy tells me you're cooking. I miss your food, Dear."

"Food not so good?"

"No, no, it's just I miss your cooking, and you."

"I'll see you tomorrow. Wai Man says they are lifting the ban on civilian boat movements."

The smell of burning meat began to fill the cabin and she hurriedly returned the phone to Jeremy.

It was late afternoon by the time a ferry disgorged its commuters and Jeremy among them. Katya saw him first, sauntering down the pontoon. There was a change about him, which she could not immediately fix, but as he came closer, she realised that he had also got his hair cut. Yvonne didn't spot the change immediately, her first question was "How's dad?"

"Much better, Mum. He was doing physio when I arrived, they've got him doing it morning and afternoon and it will be hydro therapy once the doctors decide his wound is healed enough. That will be in a day or two. How was the afternoon?"

"Stowing the stores, cleaning cupboards and chatting. Did you get a sim?"

"Yes, Mum. I'll set it up in a while." The explosion Katya had expected came.

"You've had your hair cut. I told you not to waste money, we've got no income. How much did you waste on that," Yvonne paused seeking a suitable word, "vanity?"

"Only $15 Mum, and with the TV crew coming tomorrow, I thought it was sensible."

"TV Crew? Warren didn't tell me."

"He may not know. They were from TVNZ, you know, TV New Zealand and said they wanted to do a feature on Seakeeper. They buttonholed me outside the bank. That was after I'd seen dad."

"And you said yes... What time are they coming?"

"11:30."

Unconsciously, she had reached up to her sun frayed hair. An instinctive feminine gesture and she caught her son watching her. His mouth silently silently echoing her own word "Vanity." He smiled at her seeing her recognise the irony.

"Oh, and I explained about the absence of cash flow and they promised a contribution in return for the interview."

##  42 - Hunger for news

Next morning, Yvonne left early for her visit to Warren. By then, the marina was alive. In contrast to the earlier days of their stay. People were coming and going to the yachts in some numbers. Jeremy noticed three men in matching tops carrying a long sail bag down to one of the ocean racers and another wearing the same garish outfit pushing a trolley loaded with boxes of supplies. The seagulls too were seemingly energised as galleys were cleaned and scraps were thrown into the water.

Jeremy and Katya had the local radio on and the news was full of the lifting of the ban on private craft. "The International Assistance Forces report no further attacks and no contact with hostile forces for two weeks. Three ship loads of fuel have arrived safely in that time. The government, in agreement with the Royal New Zealand Navy and International Assistance command has therefore decided to lift the ban on private craft on New Zealand's east coast, effective tomorrow."

The radio turned to another domestic story and Jeremy quipped "Good, but who were the hostiles? I still can't see the DPRK, particularly when China wiped out the old regime in a week."

Katya had no answer but their attention switched back to the radio as the announcer switched focus. "From Washington," Katya's voice interrupted, "Finally, the US." The voice continued, "The President, Mr. Wilson Woodrush, has repeated his thanks to China for its belated but decisive actions regarding the rogue regime in the DPRK. He was touring the remains of San Diego naval base. Behind him, you can see the outlines of docks which were once the home of the USA's pacific fleet. In some are the gaunt remains of ships which bore proud names like Enterprise and Brooklynn, annihilated in a blast of extraordinary petulance by the DPRK missile. The president said revenge is impossible when the attacker has already been destroyed. We will rebuild, better and stronger than before; he said. Commentators are however asking if America still has the resources or the will to carry out the president's promise. This is Jonathan Cain reporting from the ruins of San Diego."

The new anchor took over, "By contrast, in Beijing, the survival of two aviators, plucked from the sea by a passing yacht and recently returned from New Zealand has been the lead news story. The two officers, including Major Fung, son of a leading politburo member were welcomed home at the headquarters of the People's Liberation Army Navy. They spoke highly of the seamanship of their rescuers and the generosity of the people of New Zealand and their delight in being able to contribute to the success of the International Assistance campaign. Now, turning to sport..." Katya reached up and turned off the radio.

"Phew, the tone has changed hasn't it, Jeremy. This is the first bulletin which they have really let loose on the international news."

"I wonder if the end of the emergency here has anything to do with it."

"What, Jeremy?"

"The change of tone, previous bulletins were far less informative."

"You might learn something from the news crew. They'll be here in 30 minutes."

"Mum should be back by then."

"Jeremy, I'm going to make myself scarce."

"Why, Katya?"

"Nobody has mentioned the Waller, so far. I don't want them going off in that direction, just instinct. You know what I mean?"

"Where will you go?"

"I'll put on a hat and sit over on the seawall and watch you perform. OK?

Sitting on his own in the cabin, Jeremy assessed what to say. Perhaps it depended on what the news crew already knew. He was relieved when his mother stepped back aboard.

"Hi Mum, Oh spendthrift, whose had her hair done now?" His mockery was rewarded with a self-conscious laugh. "Anyway, how's dad?"

"Better, they've used biodegradable soluble sutures to secure the cartilage and if he wears his boot for the next month he should be fine. No need for another operation, they say."

The conversation was interrupted by a voice from the pontoon, "Seakeeper, Mr. Blake, Mrs Blake, may I come aboard?"

Before they could answer, they felt the slight rock of a person's weight stepping onto the boat and then the sunlight in the hatchway was cut-off by a burly figure in a blazer. "Hi, I'm Kiran Patel, from TVNZ New 24."

"Come aboard, Mr. Patel, I'm Yvonne, I understand you've met Jeremy."

"No, that was one of my assistants. Hi Jeremy." He climbed backwards down the steps into the cabin, which seemed to shrink in proportion to his size. Jeremy wondered at the bulk of the man, he guessed 6 foot 7 inches which would be about two metres tall. Their visitor was powerfully built clearly athletic, but flecks of grey at his temples suggested that his days of athletic competition were well past, at least in any football code. He turned, attempted to stand and promptly banged his head painfully on one of the deck beams. "Oh, that hurt!" He said as he stooped and held his head.

Yvonne grabbed his hand and got him seated at the cabin table. "You've cut that, I'll just apply some antiseptic, if I may."

"Thanks, and you came all the way from Australia aboard this little boat? Amazing." He paused as Yvonne applied the ointment and a bandage to the broken skin.

"Please be careful when you stand, I'm not sure the deck could stand another blow like that."

Mr. Patel sat for a couple of minutes gathering himself. Yvonne looked expectantly at the cabin, but no one else appeared. "No TV crew today, they are covering the departure of some of the IA ships. My job is to find out what happened and see if there is a story for TV in it."

He shook his head again, clearly affected by the blow. "I'll get you an ice block, Mr. Patel," Jeremy said.

He shook his head, "No, no, I'll be alright. Look, you obviously made the news a couple of days ago, and the Chinese were properly grateful for the rescue of their two chopper boys. We'd like to interview you and your husband about your voyage and the rescue. You'll have heard that they're lifting the ban on private craft, tomorrow. Perhaps we could do the interview under sail?"

Yvonne shook her head. "Sorry, Mr. Patel. With my husband in hospital, I don't really want to take the boat out with only Jeremy and me as aboard."

"Oh, yes, the report that your husband was in hospital, I hope it's not serious?"

"He had a fall, they've pinned his Achilles tendon back to the bone. He should be walking in a boot in a few days but we won't be able to sail for a while."

Mr. Patel nodded seriously. "Understood, a yacht at sea in no place for someone even temporarily disabled. But I thought you had a fourth crew member, apart from the Chinese, when you came in?"

Yvonne had also been pondering how to account for Katya, without opening up the question of the Waller to her interrogator. Forced to deal with the matter, she gained time, "Oh, who told you that?"

"One of the dockyard people."

"It's true, we picked up an Aussie girl, when we touched, she needed to get back to Auckland, so we took her. Now, I need to cook lunch as Jeremy has the shift of sitting with his father this afternoon. Trust me, he's a difficult patient."

"Any chance of an interview with Mr. Blake?"

"Only if you can get a pass to the Xu Xiake."

Jeremy chimed in "We got a bit more international news on the bulletin this morning, I noticed, Mr. Patel."

"Yes, Jeremy, information flows are getting back to normal."

"What about Australia?" Yvonne completed the question.

"Not good. There is some speculation that it was the main target. Take out Sydney, Brisbane and Canberra but leave the mineral resources and their operators, along with the farmers and the ports. I guess you've heard that?

They nodded. "Well," Mr. Patel continued, "that federal system of yours is not really that resilient, what you've got now are two competing power centres, Melbourne and Perth. Perth has a lot of the resource income, and Melbourne what remains of the financial markets. So of course, they're squabbling, as you would expect. Each claims to be a provisional government, Melbourne seems to have gone for Mr. Higson and Perth for some unity coalition."

"How bad were the casualties?"

He shook his head momentarily, "We'll never know for sure. Millions clearly. Sydney was lucky, in a way. The bomb seems to have missed and gone off above the sea. The big population centres in the west of the city escaped with less damage, but the east was devastated. Brisbane, the bomb wasn't over the CBD either, went off to the north. Canberra took a direct hit, basically, nothing left."

"But parliament wouldn't have been sitting, surely they could convene?"

"I'm sorry Mrs. Blake, but it had been recalled for an emergency debate. Actually, many suspect that's what made them a target."

"God, what a mess, what an evil mess." Yvonne sat down and placed her head in her hands. "Thank you. I'm afraid we are not really much of a story, in the big scheme of things, are we? I'm sorry if we're a bit of a disappointment."

The cabin seemed to expand again as Mr. Patel stood cautiously and climbed out of the companionway. "I'll contact you tomorrow and see if we can still use your story." His bass voice came down from the cockpit. A moment later the hull heaved slightly as Mr. Patel's weight transferred to the shore.

Jeremy sighed, "The Waller's heading for Perth, isn't it? Will that be where Katya wants to go?"

##  43 - Suspicion

Some ten minutes after Mr. Patel had departed, they felt the boat rock slightly again and Katya's face appeared at the hatchway. She saw that Yvonne was cooking and said, "Smells great, what's for lunch?"

"Only beef stroganoff," Yvonne replied.

"Anything someone else cooks sounds great to me."

Katya sat down in the cabin and drew a deep breath. "I couldn't wait any longer to get aboard. That guy Dylan from the marina office, he saw me sitting up there and tried to hit on me. Pathetic. I'll give him persistence, he kept trying until Kiran Patel left the boat, and then he followed him.

"You know Mr. Patel?" Asked Jeremy.

"Don't you know him?" She snorted, "You don't follow football, then. He was one of the first Fijian Indians to play in a rugby league grand final. He's smaller than I remember, but I was only little then. What a man."

"Guess that explains Dylan's interest, then, but surely he wouldn't be interested in us, we're hardly a sports story?"

"That's one football player whose brain you wouldn't want to underrate. He got his masters in journalism the year he played in the finals, so when he did his knee the following season, he moved straight across to a new career in that field.

They looked up as the familiar bass voice of Mr. Patel said down the hatch, "That's a very generous summary of my career to date, Miss?" The raised interrogative sounding strange from such a deep voice. He turned his head and said "Thank you Dylan, you were right, I'll see you later." Then he climbed back down the companionway and turned around.

"You have the advantage on me, miss. You know my name, and I don't know yours."

"Katya." She said a little uncertainly.

"And where do you fit into this mysterious voyage?"

Yvonne cut in, "Mr. Patel, may I remind you that I did not invite you to come back aboard this boat a second time, and that listening at key holes is profoundly rude."

"I'm afraid it goes with the job, it's surprising what you hear at key holes, you know."

"Well how do you make our voyage from Australia surprising or mysterious?"

"Well for a start, the times don't add up. You must have left – Sydney was it? – About Christmas. You turn up in Auckland in early March. Let's think, even if you got caught in a couple of storms and I'll allow there were a couple of nasty ones. Awful slow, even for a gaff cutter. Gaff cutter, now come to think of it, friends of mine tell me there was an Australian cutter up at the Bay of Islands, Paihia I think, oh, about a month ago. In fact, she came in the day after the Yue Yang sank that sub. Couldn't have been this boat, could it? It was crewed by five men. Funny that, it was also called Seakeeper and had a lot of solar panels."

Yvonne filled the silence left by Mr. Patel's resonant voice. "Well it can't have been us. Do we look like five men?"

"No, and you don't look like four men either, since your husband was so quickly whisked away by the Chinese."

"I don't know what you are suggesting Mr. Patel, but my husband was injured. We saved their flight crew, and they were very grateful. They offered to operate on him, the Admiral even came to collect him in his barge."

"And gave you a whole lot of IA Dollars too, if my little friend Dylan, is; shall we say? On the money?"

"Wai Man Liu gave us a small gift. From his back pay, he told us. What's wrong with that?"

"IA Dollars, we have to accept them at two to one for anything the bloody Chinese want. The bastards turn up after two of our tanker shipments go to the bottom with offers of generous help including fuel when things have almost ground to a halt and our esteemed government accedes to their request for a fixed exchange rate for IA Dollars – To keep the economy ticking over."

"That sounds very generous of them." Interjected Jeremy.

"You're not studying history, are you lad, nor economics."

Jeremy shook his head, "No, Mr Patel, dentistry."

"Well, at least you'll be useful. Now you recall that the Germans occupied France in 1940. They promptly printed themselves Occupation Francs and fixed the exchange rate. Then they used their Occupation Francs to rob the country blind, and if you argued, well you got sent to Germany as slave labour, like enough. You take my point?"

"And is anybody being locked up, or shipped off as slave labour?"

"No, but they are using their bloody IA Dollars to buy our farms, particularly dairy farms, like there was no tomorrow, and people here, they don't like it."

"Mr Patel, I don't know what you are driving at, but we rescued two aviators from a life raft. That's what we did. We don't know anything about the economy of New Zealand, except that we have to survive here until we can sail again and Lieutenant Liu gave us the chance to do so, while your young friend Dylan just sought to profiteer from our distress. As far as we are concerned, the sooner we can get out of this miserable greedy little country the better. But first Warren has to recover, or does that offend you?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs Blake, I didn't mean to offend you. Just doing my job."

"That's the oldest excuse of every gutter reporter who ever climbed out of a drain. You've been watching too many American movies. I think you should go, and go now."

The cabin seemed to expand again as Patel stood-up, narrowly avoiding striking his head on the deck beams again and climbed up into the cockpit."

"I've got the beginning of a story Mrs. Blake, I'll see you again."

##  44 - Marina berth

"Thanks to that bloody man, I've burned the Stroganoff." Yvonne declared.

"I'm going to strangle that Dylan." Katya responded.

"He'll keep, dear. Give me a hand with these pots, they'll have to be soaked. The rice is overdone too, but I can turn it into congee. I'm afraid we'll have to make do with bread and cheese and a bit of salad."

"Can I buy anything after I've been to see Dad, Mum?"

"Sorry Jeremy, you're not very good at shopping back home, and when things are tight..." She handed him the plates and bread and they ate their lunch in a disappointed silence.

"I was looking forward to that Stroganoff," said Katya, "It's one of my favourites, I'll make that bloody Dylan pay, you'll see."

Once Jeremy had left to get the ferry, they gathered up the plates and started washing up. Yvonne's mobile phone rang. "Damn, they never chose a good time, do they?" She said taking off her rubber gloves and picking it up. She listened for a moment and handed it to Katya.

To Yvonne the conversation appeared to be one-sided. Most of Katya's contribution consisted of several statements of "Yes Sir," and "I understand Sir." It was over in less than two minutes and Katya turned to face Yvonne. "I am now on unpaid leave, pending discharge when I return to Australia. That was the naval commissioner in the High Commission in Wellington. They have no news of the Waller and the provisional government have disbanded the Australian navy."

"What?"

"They have disbanded the Australian navy."

"But we've just been attacked."

"That's what he just told me, said I was free to make my own way back to Australia, guess that means I can stay with you, if you'll have me."

Yvonne hugged her. "You mean I shan't have to drug you and keep you locked below deck until after we sail? I could have done it, I think Jeremy would have been an enthusiastic accomplice." The two women laughed and resumed the washing-up.

"He said there were flights to Cairns and Melbourne, but I think Waller would have gone to Perth. That's where the bulk of the RAN subs have been based for years."

"Madness," fumed Yvonne.

They passed the afternoon in desultory conversation and grew bored listening to the radio. Eventually the mobile phone rang.

Yvonne answered. "Warren, how are you?"

"I've got Jeremy with me, Dear. They've said I can come back to the boat in a few days."

"You're coming home."

"Well what passes for home." They shared a moment of silence. "Yes dear, but they want you to come over tomorrow and learn to dress my leg and change my boot."

"It will be great to have you home, again. Did Jeremy tell you about Mr. Patel?"

"He did, and we'd better make sure our stories match-up. Don't want to put anybody offside, including Katya with the navy."

"The navy may not be a problem, I'll let Katya tell you tomorrow. Now I'm going to do some shopping, we've got a celebration when you get home."

Once Yvonne had departed for her training in caring for Warren and her shopping expedition, Katya was at a loss for things to do. She went and sat on the deck observing the people moving about the marina. If anything the pontoons were more crowded than during the morning, as people prepared their boats for the lifting of the ban on recreational craft. Several people stopped and looked down at Seakeeper, clearly recognising her from the media coverage. An older man, dressed as a yachtie asked politely, "permission to come aboard?"

"I'm afraid the owners are not aboard, sir. I'm only crew."

The man pulled back and nodded, "fair enough. You're part of the crew, did you come all the way from Australia?"

Katya shook her head managing to combine the movement with a dismissive shrug, "Nah, it's a long story."

He shrugged, too, and realising that Katya had no intention of telling the story, said, "OK, have a nice afternoon" and sauntered off along the pontoon.

Katya spun around as Dylan's voice cut in, "So you didn't come all the way from Australia with them, Kat; where did they pick you up, then?" He was standing on the pontoon beside a mate she had seen him hanging around with. He must have sidled up among the people coming and going as she talked to the older man.

The two of them stepped down onto Seakeeper's deck. "Nice of you to invite us aboard, Kat." They advanced menacingly towards her.

Katya wondered if they were contemplating raping her, there in the crowded marina. There was a set in their faces that she didn't like, but all she could manage to squeak was "mind the solar panels."

"Ah, Jock, what a good crew she is, mind the bloody owner's solar panels, she says." The tone of Dylan's voice lifted in parody, of her own.

Katya retreated to the cockpit, then to keep close to the same level as the youths she climbed back up on the seats on the other side of the boat and held onto the running backstay. Dylan crossed the cabin top to the deck on the same side of the boat, while Jock continued his menacing along the pontoon side. It was Dylan who made the first move. Katya had anticipated that, confidently, he took two steps forward and grasped the backstay with his hand inches above hers. Katya ducked and drove her left elbow into his solar plexus using the power of her shoulders to drive the blow. He doubled over, but his grip on the backstay prevented him from falling overboard. He grabbed at her trying to get his left arm around her waist, as he snarled "bitch."

Jock tried to cross the cockpit in a single leap, but caught his foot on the varnished coaming. Tripping projected him forward and he crashed into Katya's legs as he tumbled. Jock's extra impetus knocked Katya forward against the unbalanced Dylan and for a moment all that kept them from falling was Dylan's grip on the backstay. Katya, pulled her knee up sharply and felt it connect satisfyingly with Dylan's groin. Reflexively, he grabbed at his crotch and so released his grip on the backstay. He tumbled backwards into the water.

Katya grabbed the guard rail, regained her balance and swung to deal with the threat from Jock. Seeing him sprawled on the deck, she grabbed his left wrist, twisted it behind him and placed her knee firmly on the small of his back.

Jock whimpered, "You're hurting me." Katya looked up as a ripple of applause greeted her modest triumph.

"And what were you and Dylan planning for me, damn you?" She whispered as she pulled him to his feet and shoved him across the cockpit with a snarl of "Watch your step, this time, Jock." The crowd began to disperse as Jock shambled away, but one of them reached over and handed her his card.

"That was nicely done. I've wanted to give those two a clip around the ear for years, but the little rat's uncle owns the marina. He thinks they can do no wrong. I only stay because it's affordable, but when those two are around, there's always a bit of pilfering. Give me a call, young lady, if they try to make any trouble over their little misadventure."

Katya smiled back at him, then turned to watch as Jock limped off and join a sodden Dylan who had climbed out of the water using a ladder further along the pontoon. The the youths shambled off with an angry backward look at her. Seeing that she was watching them, Jock made a crude gesture as the headed up the ramp to the dockside.

Katya looked down at the card. Angus Johnson LLB SC. An old song came to mind, "Better get a lawyer, son. Better get a real good one." The crowd had dispersed, it was a bit too late to get the names of potential witnesses.

##  45 - Homeward bound

"THURSDAY, 19th (April). In the P.M. had fresh Gales at South-South-West and Cloudy Squally weather, with a large Southerly Sea; at 6 took in the Topsails." The words were wholly familiar, the beginning of Captain Cook's account of his encounter with the Australian coastline in 1770. The weather wasn't so different now, I thought. It would have been colder then, for sure and we were five degrees latitude north of their landfall, but we'd had a fresh gale, lowered the topsail and the jib and had ploughed west under staysail and reefed main. I felt Seakeeper plunge through another wave and ducked down to dodge the spray that would come aft in the darkness. For better or worse, we were nearly home.

Cook was sailing into uncharted waters. We had a chart plotter and the GPS fully functional again, but we were sailing into an uncertain political situation. The provisional government established in Melbourne was claiming to represent the whole of Australia, we'd got an inkling of their attitudes from their indifference to Katya and from limited local reports during our last days in Auckland. The provisional government was committed to peace and the promotion of peace overseas. That was the line before we sailed, but what did it mean. We would find out in the morning, I thought. I felt the helm for balance and decided I could leave it and shake Jeremy to take my place.

He came on deck, and I grunted "Morning, son. Course 270 and we should make landfall soon after dawn. Oh, there's a merchant ship up north. Keep an eye on her, she's too far away to see what course she's on."

"Thanks." In the faint light of the binnacle, I saw his head move as he looked around. "Is that the first one we've seen, Dad?"

I followed his pointed arm up toward the northwest. "Yes, and a fair sized one too. We'd better keep a proper lookout from now on. Strange how long it has been since we had to worry about traffic." I slipped below, shed my wet oilskins and rolled into the saloon berth.

I couldn't sleep. Sure, I was tired and we were about to complete a long voyage, but so many images crowded in. First among those images was the banquet which Yvonne and Katya had produced on my first evening back on-board. To be fair to the Xu Xiake, the food had been good, and I had enjoyed it, but it was uniformly Chinese, perfectly reasonably and I was craving a big rich sauce with the flavours of my youth. The Stroganoff was accompanied by a good New Zealand white wine and a fruit platter served with ice-cream. The boat had rocked irregularly as the marina filled up with boats returning from their first trips since the emergency began, or as they filtered back to Auckland after the panicked exodus. In a haze of bonhomie I toasted "Seakeeper and her crew, and a safe return to Australia."

"Home," chorused Jeremy and Katya, while Yvonne watched on with a hint of a tear in her eyes.

We had slept well that night. It was Jeremy who woke us with a call of "Eruption," and when we looked we could see a vertical pillar of smoke rising from the cone shaped island guarding the harbour entrance. A glance of the chart and I said "Rangitoto." There were small crowds looking towards the island, but most people were going about their daily affairs with little apparent concern. Someone turned on the radio and the news bulletin made it the lead item. "Seismologists admit that they are surprised by the unexpected eruption of Rangitoto volcano. The eruption is expected to last for several days but with the wind from the west, ash is not expected to present a major problem in the city. The mayor advised people to continue their normal activity and not to be unduly alarmed."

I turned to Yvonne and said, "Kiwis have plenty of experience of these things, dear. Nothing to worry about."

Jeremy was still standing in the cockpit but heard my glib response. "Well why, Dad, are the Xu Xiake and all the other ships in the harbour starting their engines?" I climbed up into the cockpit and saw black viscous smoke rising from the command ship's funnels and from the funnels of several of the other naval vessels. Even as I watched, I could see the shimmer of hot air from the funnel of one of the New Zealand frigates as she fired up her gas turbines. Several yachts were already heading out of the harbour.

"Not everybody trusts the seismologists," I said. There's nothing keeping us?"

"Let's go, then." Jeremy completed the sentence for me and was already up forward casting off the mooring lines.

The battery was at 75% and I nudged Seakeeper aft to turn the bow out into the gap between the pontoons. There was a roar of diesels and the blast of a horn as a motor boat with towering flybridge and massive beam surged out of its berth and bore down on us. A figure high up on the bridge screamed "Out of the way, you old fool."

I pointed down at Seakeeper's hull and bellowed back, "Steel," as we moved sedately in front of him. There was no space for him to pass us and with a roar he threw his engines into reverse and managed to avoid ramming us from astern. His electric horns blasted across the marina as he shadowed us out to open water. Here the big motorboat opened its throttles and roared past with another blast of his horn. "So much for a shortage of fuel." Jeremy quipped. Twenty minutes later, we were past the Devonport dockyard and for a moment, I wondered what Captain D was doing. The ships at the quays were warming their engines and one of the Chinese frigates was already underway.

"Take her Jeremy, keep her close to the land, there's not a lot of wind and we don't want to get in the way of any more heroes with big bank accounts and little seamanship." My ears were still ringing from the blasts on the motor boats horn but I could hear the continuing rumble of the eruption from seaward.

The sight was impressive, as we passed the Island. Some boats stopped, presumably for pictures, we even saw some launch their dinghies and head for the island, but the ships kept moving north and we followed them.

We were off Taranga Island in the evening. The smoke from the eruption was still visible, breaking on the southern horizon. We had become used to it, so when Yvonne climbed up into the cockpit and pointed and said "Look."

I turned and saw that the pillar of smoke was now far thicker and rising fast into the stratosphere.

"Wow, Plinian eruption. So much for the experts."

"Plinian? Dad."

"A big vertical column which has to collapse and send out masses of debris. Like the one that did for Pompeii."

"Wow."

The roar of the eruption reached us. The sound was like a violent physical force, devoid of pitch, just power.

"At least we're in deep water."

"What?"

"Tsunami! They're worse in shallow water"

I needed no extra encouragement to head Seakeeper further offshore.

The radio reports late in the evening said that Auckland had a lucky escape. The Westerly wind was strong enough to carry the clouds away to the east, but there were casualties among them a number of people on boats observing the eruption. There had also been a small tidal wave in the harbour and many boats and facilities had been damaged.

"Good thing we got out of there." I said. "Did the ships know something, they certainly didn't hang around?" The silence that followed this question, confirmed our ignorance.

"Australia seems like a good choice." Katya said into the silence.

And so when morning found us twelve days later, the coast of Australia was breaking the western horizon.

#  Section 3 - New Realities

## 46 - Port Stephens

Our point of arrival in Australia; we had debated it as we sailed up the coast of New Zealand. Neither Sydney nor Brisbane were practical and the Australian East Coast doesn't have many deep water ports, most of the rivers have dangerous bars. The entrance of Newcastle's harbour, the mouth of the Hunter River is narrow and much used by large ships. The small fishing ports further up the New South Wales coast offered little for Seakeeper, Some had road bridges effectively excluding sailing craft. Eventually, we had settled on Port Stephens. In normal times, the small towns on the south side of Port Stephens, notably Nelsons Bay are popular tourist locations, little more than an hour north of Newcastle. Given how little information we had, it was as good a choice as any other. It certainly avoided entering the treacherous channels of the Great Barrier Reef off the coast of Queensland.

"And don't forget there's Williamstown, Dad." Jeremy had reminded us that the Royal Australian Air Force had one of its major east coast bases just north of Newcastle.

Jeremy was comfortable at the wheel, so I started making breakfast. I was getting pretty nimble on my legs despite the boot which Yvonne checked each day. Her head lifted from her pillow and she smiled at me. "English breakfast with percolated coffee, please, my man."

I smiled back, "Your man will give you what he has, and that means cornflakes with powdered milk and instant coffee."

"We'll have to voyage on a different line next season, husband."

"Maybe tomorrow in Nelsons Bay, one of the swankier cafes perhaps." She swung off her berth and stood up. I've always admired her straight carriage, envied it, accountancy is hard on your back, many, many hours at a desk, but even with the passing of years and the appearance of the first grey hairs, Yvonne was still beautiful, upright and poised. "Love you wife." She smiled at me, little wrinkles reaching the corners of her eyes and the top of her nose.

The wind was easing, but being in sight of our destination, I decided that adding more sail to gain at best half an hour, was pointless. Seeing that it was almost the top of the clock, I tuned through the AM band and heard the familiar voice of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, announcing it was broadcasting from Melbourne. The familiar introductory fanfare hit me with unexpected emotional force, but an unfamiliar voice started reading the news. "Interim Prime Minister Gerald Higson announced that timing of new elections would depend on the establishment of a new electoral roll and consequent redistribution of seats." A new voice, obviously Mr. Higson himself, was inserted into the bulletin. "The Victorian community and the Melbourne community will give all possible assistance to our fellow Australians in New South Wales and Queensland. We are focusing on providing administrative support to enable those states to re-establish viable and self-supporting governments and tax bases."

I looked over at Yvonne, "In political talk, he has his base in Victoria and will be as parochial as he needs to be to remain in power." I said over the radio.

Another voice took over the report. "Turning to international news, reports are coming in from Chile of a major earthquake associated with a volcanic eruption of Mount Tacora in northern Chile. The area is sparsely inhabited and the threat to human life is considered small. Nearer to home, the eruption of Rangitoto, the island at the mouth of Auckland Harbour seems to have died down. For residents of the shaky isles, this concern has been replaced by signs of markedly increased activity on Mount Ruapehu, a far larger volcano in the centre of the North Island. Authorities have closed the neighbouring parks and walking trails. Now to sport..."

Yvonne turned the radio off and shook her head, "No good news, ever. I don't know why we listen."

"Morbid fascination, dear, and a desire not to be taken by surprise."

We cleared away breakfast and dug out fenders and lines in preparation to moor. The water in Port Stephens was smooth despite the breeze and as we headed toward the marina at Nelson Bay, we lowered the sails and engaged the electric motor.

There were plenty of boats about, some lying off the marina on moorings. Many of these had laundry drying in their rigging showing that they were occupied. Behind the marina pontoons, I saw one of those ugly stacks where powerboats could be stored and moved to the water using giant forklifts. Unsurprisingly, when we entered the marina, there were no berths vacant. One of the staff, dressed in cliché "Le Yachting" white trousers and blue blazer, called out, that we could fuel, but would have to lie off. "No fuel." I called. Then pointing up at the yellow, "Q" flag, I called "need to clear customs."

"Sorry, we're full then. Don't bother with customs, they've lost interest" he shouted back. I reversed the motor and headed back into the harbour. Feeling rather discouraged, we motored slowly along the southern shore looking for a place to drop anchor. We found it in the shallow bay behind Corlette. It was quite crowded, but there was enough room and we set about inflating the rubber dinghy.

"Where you come from?" a voice asked. We'd been too focused on pumping up our inflatable tender to notice a youngster, row over from one of the other yachts. He looked about fourteen, blonde freckled and more than a little sunburned.

"New Zealand. You?"

"Sydney."

"So you missed..."

"The bomb. Yes, we sailed two days before. We've been here ever since."

"How is it?"

"Ashore? OK, bit boring. Nothing to do. Mum says the shops are profiteering. She gets angry, and shouts at dad."

Better to ignore that last point. "Where are the shops?" He pointed off to the west. A fair row, but no problem with the motor. "Where are your dad and mum now?"

"Off with the labour buses, of course."

"The labour buses?"

"You have been away, haven't you! Unemployed folk are taken into Newcastle to help get things built or fixed. We have to keep people working, keeps morale up, says Mr. Higson."

He pulled lightly on his oars to keep close. "You?" I asked.

"No school, so I keep an eye on the boats. Don't want anybody to salvage them, do we?"

"Salvage?"

"Beach 'em, and rob 'em. It happened a bit early on."

"Police?"

"If you're lucky. Spread pretty thin with all the refugees and troublemakers from Sydney."

Yvonne came on deck and tossed our new friend a chocolate bar. One of the small supply we had bought in New Zealand.

"Wow, thanks, ma'am. Haven't had one of these for ages. Mr. Higson doesn't think they're important."

He rowed away to a small fiberglass sloop and I looked at Yvonne. "Well done, dear. You've made a friend for us."

"Not sure about Mr. Higson's morale management, are you?"

##  47 - Coupons

The inflatable tender was in the water waiting to take us ashore, but Yvonne intervened, "We'll have lunch first. Shopping later." She declared. "What about that boy, has he got lunch, do you think?"

"We could ask him," I mused. I swung over the side and allowed the electric outboard to carry me silently across to the little sloop to which he had rowed. I tapped on the hull and called diffidently, "hello." Did I hear conversation stifled? Perhaps it was the radio. After a moment, his head appearing out of the hatch. "Oh, it's you."

"My wife asked if you'd like to join us for lunch." His look was indecisive, it flicked down into the cabin for a long second and then back to me. His evident uncertainty turned to decision and he looked at me again, straightening himself as if reminded to remember his manners. "That would be very kind, Sir. Can I come across, when I've put some things back in the fridge?"

"That's fine. By the way, what's your name?"

"David."

Yvonne greeted me with a glare and declared it was too risky for me to get down into the dinghy, and anyway, I would get my dressing wet.

About 5 minutes later the sound of oars reached us and announced David's arrival. I nodded to Jeremy and he went on deck to take the dinghy's line and bring him aboard. A moment later, the two boys were introducing themselves and then coming down into the cabin. Yvonne had spaghetti bolognese on the stove and David sniffed the fragrant steam with visible appreciation. It appeared to relax him. "Mm, Mum liked to cook like that, when she got the chance. Did you buy all that in New Zealand?"

"Yes, but we'll go shopping this afternoon. Sorry we don't have fresh veggies, yet," Yonne smiled at him.

"Hope you can do as well shopping here." He replied doubtfully.

I said nothing, but looked thoughtfully at Yvonne. Things had been tricky in New Zealand, but surely not here at home too...

"How are things ashore?"

"It's not the same as before. Folk with work, or on the labour buses get enough, but if you can't work, it's harder. You don't get as many coupons, see."

"Coupons for food, like in World War 2?"

"That's exactly what dad said, right. Mr. Higson said we have to control resources to ensure everybody gets enough food, but workers get food at work as well, see."

David sat at the saloon table; Katya appeared from the fo'c's'le, which I had begun to think of as her cabin. She'd come aboard with only the clothes in which she was kidnapped at Waitangi and had almost no chance to shop in Auckland, so she'd had little choice but to wear clothes borrowed from Yvonne. She must have found a bit of time for sewing as I recognised that she had altered one of Yvonne's tops to a slightly more youthful form. She had also pulled her hair back and tied a ribbon in it. The change was subtle, but suggested that Katya too, felt as if the end of our journey was close.

The meal didn't last long. It was not as if David gobbled his food, but the presence of food on the table clearly occupied his being to the exclusion of conversation and he readily accepted a second large serving of the "spag bol" and cleared his plate with relish.

Up on deck as he prepared to row back to the little sloop he looked at our inflatable tender, with its electric outboard and said, "I wouldn't leave that about at night, Warren, they didn't get all the salvagers, I reckon."

When he was already rowing back home, I asked Yvonne what we had learned.

"The boy was hungry, wasn't he?"

"What boy isn't?"

"No, I mean really hungry, like he hadn't fed properly for a week."

"What else did he say? What's happening ashore?"

"Not much, he was too busy eating."

"He reckons there are still some thieves about, too. We'd better be careful."

Later, I stayed aboard Seakeeper while, the other three got into the dinghy, Yvonne and Jeremy to go shopping and Katya to bring the boat back. We would take David's warning to heart, for the time being. They headed off west to the knoll that marked Soldiers Point. "I'm not having you jumping down into the dinghy again, Warren, apart from that there's a fair walk to the shops. Your ankle is healing well but you're not to push it, OK."

Katya had returned and disappeared into her cabin. I could hear music playing quietly on the radio. Bored and a little frustrated, I fiddled with my mobile phone trying to get it to work. Something else to investigate when I finally got ashore. For now, I was restricted to watching from Seakeeper's deck.

The afternoon passed and with it the heat of the sun, On the beach, the scene was idyllic, a few people walking, some with dogs and a couple of children playing. A couple of older men were fishing. For a moment, I forgot that this was now the time after, after the attack and that time before, might as well have been ancient history or never have existed at all. There were clearly new realities to deal with. I greased and oiled gear and made notes of things to be replaced when the opportunity presented. The afternoon past soon enough, evening was approaching when Katya got into the dinghy to collect the shopping party and I waited. After twenty minutes, I went and fetched the binoculars and scanned the beach. None of them were in sight and I began to worry, but soon afterwards Katya and the dinghy emerged from behind one of the yachts returning to Seakeeper without the others.

She must have seen the field glasses focused on her, as she mouthed "Nothing" at far too great a distance for me to hear. A couple of minutes later, Katya tied the dinghy to Seakeeper's stern and repeated the word glumly, "nothing, not a sign of them."

"Damn. Was there anybody you could ask?" I scanned the beach again with the binoculars and tried to suppress a gathering feeling of panic in my guts.

Katya went below to get a drink. I stayed on deck wrapped in a terrible feeling of helplessness as I continued to scan the beach and the sun dipped towards the western horizon. I had observed David row ashore to collect a couple of adults, his parents I assumed, and then return. It was so windless, I could hear the rhythmic splash of his oars, most of the way to shore and back, it was dark enough that he had left a light on in the cabin of the sloop and I wondered if I saw a movement within.

It was close to fully dark, and Seakeeper's lights were on, to provide a beacon for Yvonne and Jeremy. Finally, I heard Jeremy's voice calling from the shore. Without thinking, I hopped down into the dinghy and pushed off for the shore. The quiet electric motor allowed me to identify the location of his call and I ran the boat straight onto the beach, in my anxiety to collect them.

"Dad, hold the painter, keep her from drifting back we've a lot to load." Jeremy, putting the dinghy's damp mooring line into my hand, I'll go and help Mum," then he disappeared into the darkness. He returned carrying a bunch of shopping bags and loaded them into the dinghy before going back and returning, again loaded and accompanied by an equally burdened Yvonne. It was a struggle to push the burdened dinghy out into the water put finally, we purred back to the yacht, where Katya was waiting.

"Warren," began Yvonne, "I told you not to get into the dinghy. Now you've got your boot wet."

"Sorry dearest, I was panicking that you were missing."

Back alongside Seakeeper, Jeremy was passing stores up to Katya, and then climbed aboard himself, next he offered his mother a hand to climb aboard. Finally, they cleared a space and I was helped back aboard, with Yvonne fretting about my ankle.

Down in the cabin, I exclaimed, "What took you so long? I was going crazy."

"We had to walk to Nelson Bay, register for coupons for food rations." Yvonne said.

"And work" added Jeremy, "We're on the labour buses at seven tomorrow morning."

"But?" My hand encompassed the stores they had purchased.

"We got some coupons." Jeremy explained simply, as if I was a child. "It's mostly meat and dairy that's rationed, so we got plenty of vegies. We left the butcher for last, being that we only had coupons for two. There wasn't much in the shop, not for coupons and Aussie dollars, but when Mum flashed an IA note, we were into a back room.

Yvonne joined in, "They thought I was from mainland China. They had a room set-up everything was in Chinese characters, international currency only, so they let us in. Everything you want, for IA, and at a price."

"I can imagine how much the locals like that." I growled.

"True, but do you want to eat? Now get out of the way, I've got cooking to do and an early start in the morning."

Outside, it was dark, and I heard the whine of evening mosquitos, we were back home. No mosquitos at sea - another way it's better. Someone turned on the radio for the news.

Inevitably the first item had the irritating voice of Mr. Higson exhorting people to "redouble their efforts for the rebuilding of the country."

##  48 - Registered

I had woken during the night, perhaps it was the quiet with the boat silent at anchor, perhaps I heard paddles, but standing up in the companionway, I saw nothing. But after that, I could not get back to sleep. My overriding fear was that this unfamiliar world would break us apart, perhaps steal Seakeeper from us and toss us back on the land, helpless. We woke at five. The alarm clock was an unwelcome change from the rhythm of watchkeeping at sea. Soon afterwards, Katya motored Yvonne ashore to catch the Labour Bus. The evening was growing dark by the time she returned to the beach, and Katya collected her again.

"How was your day Dear?" I asked, as Yvonne climbed wearily down into the cabin.

"Exhausting. When they found I was a nurse, they assigned me to the field hospital at Morisset."

"What the old mental hospital, south of the city?"

"It's a burns unit now. Very hard," she sighed. "What about all of you?"

"Tired, but Morisset is closer to Sydney, Radiation?"

"The worst of that's past, they tell me - Thank God. Now, what about you?"

"We're both registered, we've got our coupons - I've filed them over there." I said pointing at the shelf above the saloon berths. "They wanted Katya on the buses, too. I think we've fixed that and sorted Jeremy too."

"How?"

"Well the local dentists need a helper. A lot of old people here and they need their teeth fixed. Jeremy will be," I sought the right word, "apprenticed, to one of them. It will save travel time, and he'll get extra rations, too, just like you get because you are on the labour buses."

"That must have taken a bit of wangling?"

I laughed, "when they saw Jeremy's field of study on his form, their eyes jumped out on stalks. Seems they were desperate for dentists, in fact the woman interviewing us was having difficulty getting an appointment for her own mother."

"Katya?"

"We're going fishing." Katya tossed her head and laughed lightly.

Yvonne swung to look at her. "Fishing?" She looked back at me, her eyebrows raised.

"There's no diesel for the fishing boats, and while there's plenty of veggies, and meat for people with IA dosh, there's a shortage of meat and fish generally. It's causing discontent, we gathered."

"Not surprised, what I saw shopping last night."

"Mr. Higson's new regime doesn't want discontent, does it?" I interjected. "So we fish each day and land the catch at the dock, like a regular fishing boat."

It had taken some persuasion, Mrs. Fernandez at the government office, didn't like boats, "People will say I'm allowing you to go on a holiday, yachting, that's not fair?" She had argued.

"You've seen my leg," I told her, "I can't work anyway. So all you lose from your system, is one person's labour. We won't need fuel and you'll get fish in the market."

"It will stink." Yvonne interjected.

"I thought of that. We'll need ice anyway so the plan is to tow one of the local fishing boats. Then do the fishing from her, it's got ice boxes and all the gear. Two of the old fishermen are keen to get back into business. They've got the local knowledge, too." I could see that Yvonne was still doubtful, but so was Mrs. Fernandez. We'd have to prove it would work.

"Mrs Fernandez? Was that the Indian woman at registration?"

"That's her, Sri Lankan, actually. She was very proud of her Portuguese ancestry, made a point of telling us about it."

"May be she came to Australia on a boat, explain why she doesn't like them."

I shrugged, "she's a real enthusiast for Mr. Higson, I can tell you that. We had our meeting in her office, covered in posters with his sayings. Anyway, we've got two weeks to get it to work."

"What else?"

"What else? - Oh, we got the mobile phones working. That's important, so we can contact you when you're on the way home. Tell you where we are."

##  49 - Duty

Yvonne woke with the smells of fish and antiseptic still in her nose. The cabin was dark but she could feel the reassuring presence of Warren beside her. Her wristwatch showed 04:45. It would be time to get-up in fifteen minutes and she resolved to lie still until then. Warren moved, his hand stretched out through the gloom and gently caught her wrist. She was surprised that he too was awake. His hand was calloused from the tiring work of fishing, far rougher than from the preceding weeks of voyaging, but he seemed content. She murmured "Love you" and felt his affectionate squeeze, on her wrist.

By the time Yvonne reached the bus stop, there were already two other people there. She vaguely recognised them after a week of making the trip each day and gave them a silent nod of acknowledgement. She had to give credit to the local organisation, Nelsons Bay was contributing to the great rebuilding project, while remaining, as far as possible, a functioning community.

She hadn't bought meat since that first day. It gave her a bad feeling, to be privileged with access to IA currency. Not that it would last long, she reminded herself, unless kept for necessities. Anyway, there was plenty of fish. Warren and Katya, aided by the two old fishermen, were landing more than fifty kilos of fish each day and over one hundred occasionally.

Jamie, one of the old guys reckons that working with solar PV and sails, he'd have made more money than ever he did after buying diesel for his boat. Warren had said.

She hadn't told him that despite his diligent washing, they and the boat stank of fish. It stank, but it was home and family and she wouldn't wish to be anywhere else.

The bus rolled into view and the small crowd climbed aboard. She got a window seat and, ignoring the other passengers, she put her head down to try and get another half hours precious doze.

The roar of a jet jarred her awake. Her immediate impression was of the jet departing only a few hundred feet above her head, its wings forming a vast arrow pointing at the dawn illuminating the eastern horizon. They were passing the big airfield at Williamstown, twenty minutes to Newcastle and a change of bus for Morisset.

The person beside her said, "He was low."

Reluctantly, Yvonne met the eyes of a woman a few years younger than herself. "Yes, I guess he was." She turned back to the window and the diminishing shape of the plane.

"I used to work there," her neighbour said, nodding across toward the airport, with its flashing beacon and many lights. "It's all changed since they came."

Yvonne forced herself awake. Clearly, her neighbour was going to talk and short of being deliberately rude, she would have to respond. "Really, what did you do, there?"

"Catering stand in departures. It was a good little business, 'till they came."

"What happened, sorry, who are – They?"

"The Chinese. They gave me a few IA dollars and took away my security clearance. Since then I've been on the buses, damn them."

"I'm sorry," It was one of those inevitable "multicultural" pauses, she knew she had to choose, Australian or Chinese. It was unfair to have to defend herself or to be forced to make such a choice. Reluctantly she said, "My family have been here three generations."

She felt her neighbour relax, "Sorry love, wasn't getting at you, but they were so high handed flashing around their IA Dollars, left and right. Paid me out on the basis it was a domestic terminal and next day, it's an international terminal and being extended to service more flights to China. Bloody scam, if you ask me. They'll be making a bundle, I tell you."

"How do you know?"

"That one that took off. He's an A340. Long range, bound for Beijing I should think. Troop rotation, probably. There'll be three or four more this morning, not to mention the inbound flights, see."

"Only China?"

No, China mostly, but all over, New Zealand, The Gulf and on to Europe. Even a few flights to America."

"That's a lot of people. What about Perth?"

"Not many, not 'til they accept Mr. Higson's leadership, but you're right, it was a good business, the bastards."

"What do you do, now?"

"They've got me working at a warehouse down at the docks, catering for the ships."

"What ships?"

"Coal ships, cattle ships, busy taking stuff off to China. Their navy ships, too."

"So, we're still exporting?"

"Where've you been love? We've got to pay for the International Assistance they are delivering, haven't we? Got to pay for it in IA dollars or the equivalent."

"But I thought it was aid?"

Yvonne's companion looked over her shoulder, as if to ensure no one else was paying attention to their conversation, then she lowered her voice and said, "Bloody theft, if you ask me, and bloody Higson's backing it to the hilt." She paused again, and added with a sigh, "At least we are alive and we eat."

The bus lurched into the field that served as a transport hub, people stirred and rose before the bus had stopped. "See you tomorrow, love. Remember what I said and be careful." Then her informant was gone, lost in the crowd.

Yvonne shook her head, trying to make sense of everything and headed for the bus to the hospital. A woman in grey, with an old fashioned scarf tied around her head against the morning chill strode up to her and said, "Ignore her, she's just a malcontent, won't last long." Before Yvonne could focus on her, this woman too was lost in the crowd.

The sides of the motorway down towards Sydney were a mass of abandoned cars. Someone had told her they had run out of fuel and been abandoned as people fled Sydney. Some were seriously expensive, a big BMW sports utility caught her eye. It marked the turnoff for Morisset, simply abandoned and seemingly undamaged. She dozed again, trying to force the ideas thrust upon her, from her thoughts. Soon, the bus turned into the hospital grounds. The rows of tents reminded Yvonne of pictures of hospitals from the First World War. At least the weather was fine today, no tramping through mud.

It was basic nursing care, most of the people with severe burns had already died. The survivors' burns were generally already healing, but the damage of exposed skin was still horrifying. Yvonne was very grateful that she had been assigned to a ward of adult women. "I couldn't bear see so many children disfigured, like that." She had confided to Warren in the evening.

Yvonne was bathing one of the patients, a grandmother, when the old woman suddenly asked, "Where were you when it went off, Dearie"

Yvonne paused for a moment, before responding, "At sea, we didn't even know it had happened, not for sure, for over a week."

"Lucky you. It was like a second dawn in the east. We were walking on the Gladesville Bridge. Nowhere to hide." She started to sob, "The little ones died first. More skin to body, the doctor said, nothing he could do, then my Judy, if only she'd not been wearing shorts, her legs were red raw, and the infection got in and killed her. There was nobody to help, everybody was in a mess."

"How did you get here?"

"Buses, it always buses. They organised a convoy of buses once the fires in the trees along the highway had died down enough." She was silent for a moment, then almost inaudibly whispered, "My poor Judy, my babies, I'd like to kill the bastards who did it." Her sobs made Yvonne feel completely helpless and she was glad when she had returned the old woman to her bed and moved on to the next patient.

At first, Yvonne told them of some of her impressions, some she felt it was better to keep to herself. It was Yvonne's mention of Williamstown, or more specifically, flights to Perth, that caught Katya's attention. With the mobile phones working, there was patchy internet access and she tried unsuccessfully to source details of flights. Eventually, she gave up in disgust and announced she would go to the airport herself.

"Sorry, Warren, I've got to find out what happened to the Waller."

"I know dear, duty. We can manage the fishing without you. I'd want to know if I was in your shoes. I'll see if young David would like to help."

"I can't understand why it's so hard to get news from Perth, we're seeing news from around the world now, at least when the internet is working."

With the prospect of losing Katya, dinner was a silent affair. I broke out a bottle of wine to try and lift everybody's spirits. "The Jews, during their long wanderings were won't to drink a toast, 'Next Year in Jerusalem' – I give you, next year on Seakeeper."

"Next year on Seakeeper" they responded dutifully, but privately I think we all wondering if it could ever be true.

##  50 - Connections

We sat over that dinner, dragged it out, unwilling to lose the connection we had shared until we had to. Slowly, small talk died and an urgent practical consideration emerged.

Jeremy asked "Katya, how will we keep in touch? You've already been unsuccessful calling the naval offices over in Perth. We've heard what Mr. Higson says, they've laid up the navy because it's no use to us in this situation. Perhaps the navy offices in Perth aren't staffed any longer? How will you call us?" There was a hint of panic in Jeremy's tone.

"Here, give me your phone. While you were swotting for dentistry, girls like me were learning useful things like how to set-up Skype connections and VPNs." She played with his phone for twenty minutes, occasionally swearing when the wireless broadband played up. Finally, she handed him back his phone and said, "I'm going on deck."

A minute later, Jeremy's phone gave an unfamiliar chirp and he opened it, "Wow, Kats. You've done it."

"Don't ever call me Kats - Jerry." The voice with Katya's hoot of mirth came clearly over the phone as well as down the companionway, then she ducked back into the cabin with a triumphant smirk on her face. "So much for my miss-spent youth playing with computers and technology."

"Can you do that for ours, too?"

Reluctantly, we cleared the table and put the dishes in the small galley, Jeremy and Katya went on deck together and as Yvonne and I washed up, we heard their voices from time to time, but too faint to hear what they said. Eventually, I stuck my head up on deck and called, "We're turning in." The cockpit was empty and I took another couple of steps upwards. They were sitting up towards the bow. Their feet dangling above the water, apparently staring out into the darkness of the harbour. Perhaps they had their arms around each other, it was just an impression. "We're turning in." I repeated. They seemed to jump, but their voices chorused "OK. Good night."

I were awake before five, something which was becoming a habit. The door of the fo'c's'le cabin was firmly shut, but I faintly heard the boards of the main hatch lift, a waft of cold air reached into the cabin and then they were replaced. When the alarm went off at five thirty, Jeremy was in his berth, tousle headed.

A couple of minutes later, Katya appeared from the fo'c's'le, her hair was brushed, but there were shadows under her eyes.

Breakfast was almost silent, but I joined them on deck as the three of them prepared to climb down into the dinghy, with Katya's small bag of possessions already dropped onto its bottom boards. "Warren, it's been very special. Thank you." She reached forward and hugged me, then held me as I lost my footing with my awkward boot. Again, a tiny hint of her hoot of laughter, "See, I'm a strong girl." Then she turned to Yvonne, kissed her on the cheek and whispered for a moment. Then she climbed easily down into the dinghy, Jeremy and Yvonne followed and they headed for the beach.

I felt incredibly alone. It lasted only fifteen minutes, Jeremy brought the dinghy back alongside and came aboard.

"Have you seen young David, Jeremy?"

"Dad?" He asked distractedly.

"OK, have you seen David, Jeremy?"

"He dropped his parents ashore for the buses, Dad. About the same time as I dropped off Mum. But you can leave off recruiting him till tonight, I'm helping you today. I need a day outdoors. The dentists can make do without me for a day, I've promised to give them some fish in return."

I looked thoughtfully at Jeremy and said, "Fish for a day off. What a strange world it's become."

We motored from our anchorage to the fish wharf. Jamie was there, with our buddy boat, already loaded with ice.

He greeted us with, "Lachlan's crook as Rookwood, I've got Roberto from the restaurant to come and help out."

"Rookwood?"

"It's the name of Sydney's main cemetery" Jamie cackled. "Full these days, eh."

"Jamie..." My tone said enough.

"Sorry Warren, I know, tactless."

"Roberto?"

A figure hurried out of the pre-dawn gloom, yawning. "That's him, slug a bed. Let's get on with it, I don't like the look of the weather. One thing they've not got sorted since Christmas is the weather forecasts."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Ask Mr Higson. He seems to take credit for every success and any little bit of rebuilding." He checked himself and looked around before adding quietly, "even if his Chinese friends, or our labour, does the work."

"Weather comes from the west."

"So what, Jeremy?"

"We don't seem to hear much about the west, Western Australia, that is. Hadn't you noticed?"

"I'm sure Katya will give you a report later today."

##  51 - Landing the catch

"They're not biting today, are they Jamie?" I called across to the fishing boat.

Jamie glanced up and shouted back "I told you, the weather's got an edge to it. Time to go home, I think, Warren."

"But the sky's blue?" It was late morning and it was true, the sky above us was bright blue. Off to the west, over the distant ranges, clouds were building up, hinting at increasing moisture in the atmosphere, but it looked like a beautiful day.

Jamie pointed upwards. Above us, reaching out from the clouds gathering on the ranges, the blue was being interrupted with a few tenuous fingers of high cloud. "See how fast those outliers are moving, there's a change coming. You want to try towing The Lass in a gale?"

It left no room for argument. "Roberto can help you, I'll steer The Lass." The Lass of Corlette, as Jamie's boat was called, drifted astern until the towline came tight and we motored slowly ahead taking up the tension.

"Jeremy, I'll take the helm, staysail up, please. Show Roberto the halyards."

Jamie's voice carried across the water, "Steer south of the entrance, current and leeway." Then Jeremy had the ties off the staysail and as it edged up, the sound of wind in the canvas made further communication with Jamie, impossible.

I felt like a fool, heading back before noon, blue sky and a moderate wind. The staysail was aiding the motor and I got Jeremy and Roberto working on the mainsail. It would mean I could shut down the motor and use the sunlight to charge the batteries while still towing the Lass home. With Jeremy doing the hard work on the peak halyard and Roberto shadowing him on the throat halyard, the sail was almost up, when I looked away to the south. The change was starkly defined on the water, even in the distance I could see it, a dark line picked out with whitecaps. A southerly buster, Australia's equivalent of a Mistral. All too often they bring winds of up to 40 knots.

"Get it down, now." I yelled. Jeremy's glance followed my pointing arm and saw the approaching danger, he began running out the halyard as fast as he could control it. Roberto, unfamiliar with the gear hesitated. In a moment, the peak, normally higher outboard end of the gaff was almost down at deck level but the throat, where the gaff pushed against the mast was still almost at full height, thanks to Roberto's hesitation. There was an ominous silence. The change was less than a mile away, I could see the spume above the water obscuring details of the coastline.

"Drop it, you'll never hold it, Roberto, let go!" Jeremy shouted. Still Roberto hesitated, Jeremy grabbed the halyard from this hand, let it run and the heavy gaff crashed down the mast, the friction of the snaking rope making cleats the smoke. The wind hit, the uncontrolled mainsail flogging it out almost horizontally across the water, while Seakeeper heeled to the power of the closely sheeted staysail. The gaff, all hundred plus kilos of it thrashed like a toothpick just above my head.

I'd followed Jamie's advice so we were only a bit over a mile, perhaps two kilometres offshore. The wind didn't have the opportunity to whip up big waves in so short a distance but it was driving the current up the coast. I glanced astern and saw Jamie standing calmly in the Lass's wheelhouse, steering along in our wake, then I turned my attention back as Jeremy struggled to get the mainsail back under control.

Eventually, we got under the lee of Mount Tomaree, the southern promontory of the entrance to the bay and the shelter allowed Jeremy to get the mainsail secured. Roberto was slumped by the shrouds, hanging on grimly, a streak of vomit was being washed down into the scuppers by the spray coming over the bows. A glance aft assured me that the Lass was still towing along behind us.

We were an exhausted crew when we approached the fishermen's berth. I slowed Seakeeper and Jamie guided The Lass alongside. Roberto was sufficiently recovered to come back aft and say, shortly. "Thank you, but I not good at this. I no come again." He held up his hands and I could see burst and weeping blisters on fingers and palms. Gingerly, he climbed across to join Jamie and Seakeeper pulled ahead again to tug her through the entrance to the fish dock. With The Lass moored, Jamie released the tow line and Jeremy coiled it down along the side deck. "Small cargo today, Jamie. Sorry about that."

"Not your fault Warren." He said calmly.

I looked up, Roberto was already off the wharf and heading up towards the offices above the fishermen's big communal freezer at the head of the dock. I expected him to get one of the trolleys and bring it back for our modest catch, but without a backward look, he disappeared through the gate.

Jamie's eyes followed him with a strange look. Was it satisfaction, or distain? Despite his age he vaulted over his boat's gunwale and started up the berth, only to be met by his mate Lachlan bringing the trolley down for him.

"That, Jeremy, was a quick recovery." I nodded towards the two older men as they met.

"And I wouldn't think the son of Italian fisher folk who owns an Italian seafood restaurant, would be so bloody hopeless on a boat, not to mention that faux Italian accent" muttered Jeremy. "I think Jamie owes us an explanation."

##  52 - A Bigger Fish

Jeremy was restless that evening, Yvonne sensed it too as we prepared dinner. "He's waiting for her to call" she whispered to me as he fingered his mobile phone yet again. Finally, unable to wait longer, he went up on deck. He was back down again two minutes later.

"No answer, damn it."

"Did you get a dial tone?"

"Dad," There was a derisive edge in his voice, "Skype doesn't do dial tones; she wasn't online."

"Sorry, son. Will you be fishing or drilling tomorrow?"

"I promised Dr. Phong some more fish, if he'd let me have another day off."

"We we'd better catch a few more than we did yesterday, eh?"

I returned to the matter on all our minds. "Your mum saw her get off at the airfield, Jeremy. That was the last she saw of her?"

"Yes, she gave me a wave and said she'd be in touch as soon as she got to Perth." Yvonne focused on Jeremy and added, "she'll be alright, she's a very capable young lady, dear."

Jeremy turned to me. "That's as it maybe, Dad, but I'm worried about her. The world is different, now. You don't see a lot of people, on the boat, I hear things at the surgery; people are worried. They're getting enough food, but there's not a lot of trust."

We'd heard nothing from Katya during the night and Jeremy was beside himself in the morning, so I said, "Go with your mother, get off at the airport and see what you can find out."

"But Dad, what about the fishing and I promised Dr. Phong."

"You'll be no use to me son, not in the state you're in. Like enough you'd get yourself hurt. I'll handle Seakeeper well enough, with Jamie and Lachlan. Anyway, we need to give the rig a check over after the flogging it got yesterday. I'll see you both tonight." At least there were no protests at my getting down into the dinghy to take them ashore on this occasion.

I got to the fish quay earlier than usual, and was checking over the mainsail when Jamie and Lachlan ambled down in the early light.

"You're a bit early, Warren, or did we sleep in?"

"You're right, Jamie. Just checking things over, after yesterday. Take me up the mast on the bosun's chair will you."

"Sure."

"How you feeling Lachlan?"

"No problem, thanks."

It was the first opportunity I had to go up the mast for a careful inspection, since we left Sydney. I was relieved to see that there was relatively little wear and tear, but still spent an hour aloft repairing chaffed gear and varnishing exposed timber. Finally, I was back on deck, "Ready to go?"

"Can't wait all day Warren, like you amateurs."

"Touché, Jamie. And thanks for your wisdom yesterday. I'd not have picked it soon enough."

Seakeeper plugged out of the quay at our usual sedate speed, The Lass following behind. On my own, I couldn't hoist sail so I knew we wouldn't be going too far offshore. Soon, Jamie rang The Lass's bell to get my attention. I slowed Seakeeper and he used his residual speed to steer alongside and jump aboard. I restarted the motor and resumed the tow, with Lachlan steering in our wake.

"You seem very pleased with yourself, Jamie." I said, observing a kind of swagger as he stepped down into the cockpit.

"That Roberts, he sure learned his lesson. You saw his hands, he won't be back on his computer for a week or more."

"Roberts, computer?"

"You know, Roberto, one of Mrs Fernandez spies. Or maybe one of her boss's spies. He told Lachlan to take a day off, wanted to see what we were up to. Well, now he knows - bloody hard work."

"Spies?"

"Mustn't have people taking advantage," He struck a pose and pitched his voice a bit lower, "We will have no bludgers, all will work together to rebuild the nation." He resumed his normal voice and smiled.

"Ah, Mr. Higson would be proud of you Jamie."

"Yeah, but I'd not want a prick like Mr. Roberts to hear me say that. He's not big on" Jamie resumed his imitation "disrespect."

"Noted." I said thoughtfully. Now where should we go fishing?"

"We'll try around the Cabbage Tree Islands, but watch out for whales, the migration is slowing but there'll likely still be a few stragglers. Don't want them to carry away our gear. Do we?"

"Why haven't we been there before?" I asked.

"It's a marine reserve, at least it was under the old government. One thing I learned from bloody Roberts yesterday was that the new mob, couldn't give a damn, so long as they get enough food to keep the local populace happy."

"Really, I thought Mr. Higson was a hero of the Greens?"

"Greens are politicians, Warren, and what do politicians want, power! We feed the people, they turn a blind eye. You look surprised. They're still bloody politicians."

"Strewth!"

"You don't come ashore much, do you? Well I'll tell you, we are the largest source of fresh protein for ordinary people in Nelsons Bay and Shoal Bay. See now why Roberts was interested? Remember, fish go on the coupons, he was looking for a black market, wasn't he."

Jamie was looking out for the signs which would tell him where to set his gear. I scanned the islands as we plugged between them, it was a good opportunity to get a close view of the precipitous cliffs with their seabird rookeries.

"Whale." I pointed toward the tip of the northern most island and instinctively turned Seakeeper in that direction.

"Must be sick, it's not moving." Jamie replied after a little while. It was true, all the whales I had seen before had been heading north at a steady speed, usually faster than the three knots we were making with The Lass in tow. This one was drifting in the current, lifting only with the waves.

"Got some glasses, Warren?" I gestured towards the companionway and Jamie reached in and picked the binoculars up, put the strap round his neck and focused on the distant shape. "Get closer Warren." Then after a pause, "That's no whale."

"What is it, then?"

It was floating low in the water, most indeed below the surface, but a single aerodynamic fin still floated clear above the surface. That was what we had seen. As we came closer, I could make out the shape under the water, something like a large ray. Another description occurred to me, a flying wing, but there was no cockpit.

"Looks like a plane, Jamie." I said.

"Aye, Warren, it does but it's way too small." He pointed, at the base of the fin, in faded black stencils against the grey blue structure were the words "US Navy."

"Well what the hell do we do about it?" I asked. "I guess they'll want it back."

"Put me back on The Lass and pull us up beside it. Her derrick will lift it, I reckon."

Jamie, knew his boat well. He operated his gear as if the drone was a large fish, he gaffed a lifting lug close to its nose and got a couple of lines attached. The heavier line he connected to the wire rope of the derrick and with the two old men working the windlass by hand, the grey shape slowly emerged from the water. Cautiously, they edged it over the deck and lowered it onto the hatch.

"Very light," he called across the water to me. "Tanks must be empty. Now, let's do some fishing.

We managed to get five hours fishing and a catch of better that sixty kilos, before we called it a day and headed back towards the setting sun. I called both Yvonne and Jeremy's phones, but neither answered.

##  53 - Out of Touch

Yvonne could feel the tension in Jeremy as he sat beside her on the bus. Across the narrow aisle the woman who had told her about the airport and the loss of her business was trying to catch her eye, presumably to resume her litany of complaint. Jeremy's presence frustrated her, and Yvonne was relieved. The noise of the bus created a kind of privacy they had not enjoyed on the boat.

"Mum, I'm so worried about her." Jeremy muttered close to her ear.

Yvonne attempted to make her smile reassuring. "We can see that."

She paused, "Jeremy, there's been no space up until now, but I've got to offer you a mother's advice." She saw his face close up, unwilling to hear whatever she was about to say, she plunged on, regardless. "We've lived the most remarkable adventure with Katya, these last months. True? It must have been even more intense for you, after Chatham Island." At least he was looking at her.

"Mum..."

"Be realistic, you may be in for a big letdown."

"She loves me, Mum."

She sighed, "The dreaded L word. Jeremy, she's a couple of years older than you, and established in her career. She's been around sailors and naval bases for how long?"

"Four years."

"While you've been at uni, right?"

"I've had girlfriends too, Mum."

"Yes, the dental student with career prospects. A juicy catch among students – yes?"

"Perhaps."

"Well Katya's got ambitions too, hasn't she? She's not some silly art student looking to be kept in the style to which she'd like to become accustomed." He reddened allowing Yvonne to draw breath. "Your words, Jeremy."

The lights of the airfield were getting close, Yvonne rushed on. "I'm just warning you, it's a possibility. She's a great girl, but I don't want you hurt. Now go and set your heart at ease, I hope you find her."

The bus was slowing, a voice shouted "Williamtown Airport" Jeremy swung up from the seat and said, with something that might have passed for sincerity; "Thanks Mum." Then he was off the bus. His wave reminded her of Katya's wave only two days before.

"Your son, is he?" Her companion from her earlier bus trip had manoeuvred herself across the aisle into the seat left vacant by Jeremy. Yvonne felt herself recoil from the intrusion. Her silence was taken as assent. "Nice looking lad, looks like you, you know."

Yvonne shook her head and said nothing. It did no good. "More ships left for China yesterday, coal and iron ore and a sheep transporter, ninety thousand head, they said. Robbing us blind, all the international currency goes Bloody Higson, and we get back local dollars and lunch each working day. How's that fair?"

Ignoring her was impossible. She raised her voice enough to ensure she was heard. "It's a complex situation. I accept you feel aggrieved, but I don't pretend to understand everything. Please allow me to suspend judgement, until I've got a better understanding."

Yvonne saw the woman's face stiff with a mixture of defeat and anger. "I've got two kids to feed, and all we get is rice and veggies. They're hungry every day. It's alright for you; you get your fish every day, damn you." It was so unfair, but the bus was lurching into the transport hub and Yvonne decided that she wasn't going to waste time trying to convince her otherwise.

As the bus stopped, she stood and stretched, relieved that her burdensome neighbour was hurrying to her connection taking her misery with her. The queue at the door thinned and she moved to the exit.

"A word with you please." The tone was commanding, expecting instant obedience.

Yvonne turned. "Me?"

"Yes, you. You've been talking to that Pascoe woman before, haven't you." The speaker was the woman with the headscarf who had accosted her after her earlier conversation. The words were a statement, not a question.

"And you are?"

"Sergeant Maria Lipson – Special Branch."

"She never told me her name."

"Oh, good field craft, that. What did she tell you?"

"That she had a business at the airport, it was bought by Chinese investors and she feels hard done by. Now she works at a warehouse in the docks."

"Did, Mrs Blake, she did." The finality of Sergeant Lipson's words was absolute. Her tone became harsher "And?" Perhaps Yvonne looked confused, "And what else did she tell you, Mrs Blake?"

Yvonne was struggling to remember. "Oh, the ships mostly go to China."

Two cars pulled up by the bus, she saw Mrs Pascoe pushed into one, and Sergeant Lipson took Yvonne's elbow and pushed her into the back of the second. The trip lasted only a few minutes. The cars pulled into a school. A school that had been surrounded by barbed wire, and Yvonne found herself jostled into an office.

"How long have you know Doreen Pascoe?" Yvonne was sitting facing the desk. She had lost track of the time she had spent there, she wanted a drink, but even more, she wanted to go to the toilet.

"She sat next to me on the bus a couple of days ago. It was the first time I ever saw her. Then she started going on about it again today. You must have seen that, After Jeremy got off at the airport."

"Ah yes. Jeremy Blake, age 22, your son. What's he going to the airport for? Not thinking of flying out, is he? Fit young man like that, he should be working on national reconstruction."

"He's looking for his girlfriend. She went to the airport two days ago. She wanted to go to Perth, but hasn't called since."

"Not surprised, you need a permit to travel to Perth. Can't have people flitting off to join the enemy, can we."

"Enemy? We're talking Western Australia, not North Korea!"

"In bed with India and their hyper nationalists. Arming to the hilt so they can come here and take over all the good work we've done under Mr. Higson's leadership."

"Katya only wanted to rejoin her ship. She promised to call when she arrived. Jeremy wanted to find out if she's OK."

Sergeant Lipson smirked, "Ah yes, Able seaman Katya Obraztsova, formerly of the former HMAS Waller." Yvonne felt her jaw drop. "You see, we have all the information. She's in block B, charged with attempting to defect. You can join her for now. Spying is more serious, as I'm sure you would understand."

"This is absurd. I've been nursing burns patients at Morisset, I don't know your Mrs. Pascoe."

"Mrs Bloody Doreen Pascoe, spy. Do you recognise this?" Sergeant Lipson held up a USB drive. "It was in her pocket. Most incriminating, a list of shipping movements through the port of Newcastle, including for the next ten days. Very useful to an enemy. As I see it, she slips it to you, you give it to your husband and your husband slips it to some contact, out at sea. Think about it, while you spend some time with Ms Obraztsova, why don't you?"

##  54 - Airport

Walking up the long road to the civilian airport, Jeremy had a sense that everything was out of proportion. He stopped and drew breath, "You're not fit for this kind of exercise, lad" he mused. Then it hit him, the terminal was a typical regional airport, built to service turboprops and small jets. The mainline Airbuses and Boeings made the buildings seem too small.

At the front, there were a couple of coaches dropping their passengers, documents were presented and the passengers with their baggage filed inside.

Jeremy waited for the queue to clear and approached a counter outside the door with the word "Security" stencilled crudely on a board.

"Pass?" Demanded one of the men at the counter.

"I'm not travelling."

"What you here for, then?"

"Friend of mine went through here a couple of days ago, haven't heard from her since."

The hint of hostility had already been replaced by boredom, "Where was she going?"

"Perth."

"Perth? She had a pass then?" interest had returned to his eyes.

"Did she need one?"

"Where've you been since the attacks? Of course she needs a pass. What was her name?"

"Katya, Katya Obraztsova."

"I'll check, wait here."

"Thank you."

He was back in two minutes with another man, who asked, "You are?"

"Jeremy Blake."

"Come with me please, Mr. Blake." The formality of his tone puzzled Jeremy.

The man's swipe card opened the doors marked "Secure Area, Keep locked" and he led the way to a starkly furnished office overlooking the airfield. "Have a seat, I'll find someone."

There was a desk and two chairs facing each other across it. Left alone, Jeremy stood at the window. Beyond the terminal's apron and the runway, on the military side of the field was a substantial tented encampment. Camouflaged transport aircraft and rows of military vehicles stood in the distance. A four engined Airbus was taxiing towards the terminal and behind that a small private jet.

From behind him, a voice said, "Impressive isn't it."

Jeremy looked around. The speaker was wearing a military style uniform, an officer, he thought but he didn't know what rank.

"I suppose. I didn't think we had that much stuff." Then he cautiously added, "Sir."

"You were looking for Miss Obraztsova?"

Jeremy nodded.

"She was arrested for attempting to leave government controlled lands without obtaining a permit."

"But what permit? We've registered, when we arrived in Port Stephens."

"And when was that?"

"A bit over a week ago."

"Really, and where from?"

Jeremy contemplated saying the Chatham Islands, but instantly decided to keep it simple. "Auckland."

"Really, what airline?"

"We came by sea." This earned him a pause. His interrogator sat in the chair with his back to the window and instinctively, Jeremy sat opposite him. Another man entered the room and stood menacingly behind Jeremy.

"That's what she said, too." This brought a strange sense of relief to Jeremy. At least, he was on the right track to find Katya. "She told us some cock and bull story about being rescued by a yacht. I suppose you were with her?"

"Sort of!"

"Well trying to get to Perth without a permit is an offense. She's been arrested."

"But, how could we know?"

"Not my problem, you know what they say. Ignorance of the law is no excuse." He stood up and Jeremy attempted to stand as well. His wrists were grabbed from behind and cuffed together by the man behind him with practiced ease.

"What the..."

"Don't worry boy, we'll think of something." It had never occurred to Jeremy how easily you could be controlled if your hands were trapped behind your back. He was spun around and forced to follow his interrogator through the door and down the corridor further into the bowels of the building. He was pushed through some double doors and caught a glimpse of a sign "VIP Area – Keep Secure."

Beyond he entered a hubbub of cameras news crew and lights. Blinded, he staggered and tripped over a cable and without the use of his arms fell heavily on another body. A boot found its mark in the small of his back then the figure behind him reached down and pulled him painfully upwards by the cuffs.

Another figure pushed through the media scrum, "Jeremy! What's happening?"

"Wai Man, they've arrested Katya, and now me, just for looking for her."

"No talking," the voice behind him shouted, Jeremy had a fleeting image of flashing cameras before he felt a violent push and staggered forward again through more doors and then outside and into the back of a small van.

##  55 - Summary justice

The van jerked to a halt and Jeremy was pulled out. Still dazzled by the bright sunlight, he got an impression of gates and barbed wire before he was thrust into a guard room and left sitting on a chair, still handcuffed. There were four men lounging around and a TV broadcasting a game show high up in the corner to which they paid desultory attention. The prize was won, a solar electricity installation for the winner, the applause finished and the familiar fanfare announcing the news filled the room. The men stopped their conversations and focused on the screen.

"In a speech to workers in the industrial city of Geelong, Interim Prime Minister Gerald Higson told them that their efforts were making a vital contribution to the massive reconstruction task facing the country." The bulletin swept on, details of successful projects and partnership achievements with the International Assistance authorities. More references to Mr Higson and his government...

The men's attention left the screen. One of the men said loudly "Sixteen. Higson was at sixteen." The men counted and discussed, then money changed hands. Jeremy shook himself and realised he was watching the settlement of a bet. He decided the wager had been on how many words into the bulletin would Mr. Higson's name make its first appearance.

Jeremy's focus was returned to the screen by a diatribe from Mr. Higson's defence minister accusing the "Militarists in the West" of conspiring to break the peace established by Prime Minister Higson's wise government.

"In a new development, a nest of spies has been arrested in the Newcastle region of New South Wales. The leader, a known malcontent working in the Port was caught with details of recent and future shipping movements on an electronic device. In the case of such betrayals, the justice of the people must be swift and certain" One of the men half whistled half said, "Whee - That was quick. She's down the corridor in number five, with Mr. Roberts."

The other man chuckled, "I don't think he enjoyed his boat trip yesterday. Fishing - you should have seen the rope burns on his hands."

"Yesh, he's in a foul mood, I don't think that poor old duck will be down there for much longer. The other quipped.

"Five dollars, it's before lunch" said the first.

"You're on," said another, then they lapsed into a silence as the TV turned to a children's show.

"I need to go to the toilet" said Jeremy into the void.

"Piss in your pants, kid" called one of the men, but another replied, "no, we'll \- damn, it'll stink, give him a hand."

Finally, one of the men came over, assisted Jeremy up and undid his cuffs. "This way." They passed through a door, down a corridor and into a toilet.

Jeremy finished and washed his hands. Meekly he allowed his guard to cuff his hands again and lead him back into the corridor. A woman, similarly handcuffed was being escorted into the guard room ahead of him, and he followed. Looking after the woman as she was guided out another door, Jeremy realised that she seemed vaguely familiar. Sitting on his chair again, he thought she might have been the woman who had sat on the other side of the aisle on the bus that morning.

His guard was now the only other occupant of room and Jeremy took the opportunity to look about him. There was a cupboard on the wall which had previously been closed, now the doors were open, but at such an angle that he could not see inside. From somewhere nearby came a noise like firecrackers and a couple of minutes later the rest of the men re-entered the room carrying rifles casually. These were replaced in the cupboard and it was closed.

Somehow, Jeremy managed to avoid vomiting. Later, he was helped up again and walked across to another block, his handcuffs were removed and he was thrust into a darkened room. He stepped forward and tripped over somebody's legs.

"Damn, sorry."

"Jeremy?" He heard his mother's and Katya's voices chorus in the darkness.

They told him their stories, while Jeremy remained almost silent. Eventually, he gathered his thoughts and blurted out his conclusion. "Mum, Katya, I think they just shot a woman."

After a stunned silence, his mother asked "Blue jacket, brown trousers?"

"Yes, they were pushing her outside when I came back from the toilet."

His mother's voice was cramped with anguish, "Poor Doreen, she was just upset at losing her business, but they decided she was a malcontent and a spy. Mr. Roberts said they'd fix her, even if I wouldn't testify against her." Yvonne began to sob. "It seems they did, what will happen to her boys, I wonder."

##  56 - Nightmares in the afternoon

"Who was she, Mum?"

"Just a woman who got the bus with me. She felt she'd been cheated and couldn't get justice. She told me all about it, on the bus, only a few days ago."

"And they shot her for that?" There was incredulity in Jeremy's voice, Yvonne could understand that, she felt the same.

"They told me she had a memory stick in her coat. Roberts said she was going to give it to me. He reckoned I was going to pass it to someone else, an enemy."

"And?"

"If he couldn't get me to confess and name my fellow conspirators, he said he'd have me shot tomorrow." Yvonne responded bleakly.

The silence in the darkened room stretched on. Eventually, a bucket was provided for their toilet needs, but no lunch, or even water. Later, there was another crackle of gunfire. Yvonne flinched, reached out her arms and held the two young people close to her. They said nothing, what was there to say?

Late in the afternoon, a tray with three bowls of watery soup arrived. It was delivered by yet another guard with the single sneering word, "enjoy." Before he relocked the room.

"Mum, you said she had a son?"

"Who? Oh Doreen. Two kids I think, I didn't talk to her about it, Roberts said she had." A terrible thought struck her, "You know, I never saw young David's parents close up. She got on the bus with me. Do you think they were living on the sloop moored in the bay." The silence resumed. "Poor kid."

"One thing, Mum. When they were putting me in the van, I fell over and as they were pulling me up; there was Wai Man Liu."

"Is he a prisoner too?" She asked bleakly.

"Don't think so, I think he came on a VIP jet, there were cameras and all that."

"Can't see how that helps." She said bleakly, "I just wonder how dad is."

The sun must have been low in the west. Rays of yellow sunlight penetrated their dark prison through a ventilation brick high on the wall. The shaft illuminated some floating specks of dust and painted a matrix of light on the opposite wall. Yvonne knew she should take action to raise their spirits. Eventually, she said, "Son, I want you to know, I'm very proud of you. Whatever happens, as long as I live, I'm very proud of you." Then she turned to Katya and added, "And any parent, Katya, would be very proud to have a daughter like you."

Tears streaked Katya's face, as she gave Yvonne a hug and whispered, "Thank you, thank you Yvonne."

In the silence that followed, they heard a vehicle screech to a halt somewhere nearby. Disinterestedly, they listened to raised voices outside presumably in the guardroom. Dispirited, Yvonne couldn't connect these to their plight, the world had reduced to the dark room, the patch of sunlight moving up the wall and the overwhelming misery that enveloped them.

Brisk steps, several people, came down the corridor, and stopped. A key was inserted in the lock and the door swung open, a light was turned on, they struggled to their feet, blinking after the hours of darkness.

"Are you alright?"

"Wai Man, Lieutenant Liu." Yvonne stopped, unable to find words.

"Wai Man," Katya up on her feet a little quicker, hugged him, "We are now."

"Well what are you waiting for, Katya? You'll miss the plane to Perth. Here's your pass, come-on the three of you," and not waiting for an explanation or any comment from the guards, he hurried them out to a PLA staff car. The waiting driver, had the engine idling and let in the clutch before they had time to settle themselves and fasten seatbelts. Yvonne had a final glimpse of Roberts' face, red with rage.

Back at the airport, Lieutenant Liu had the car parked right in front of the terminal, barked at the driver in Mandarin, and escorted Katya through the doors of the terminal. She just had time to squeeze Jeremy's hand, say, "I'll be in touch, I promise." Then she pecked him on the cheek and was gone.

In two minutes, Lieutenant Liu was back in the car and directing the driver to head to Nelsons Bay, "Now to rescue Warren" he called over his shoulder as the vehicle took the corner onto the main road skidding on loose stones.

"Is Warren in danger?" Yvonne shouted.

"Not once we get there," he shouted back.

"Will Katya be OK?"

"She's in the Chinese military area," he replied, "she's as safe as if she was in Beijing."

##  57 - The Drone

The sun was touching the western ranges as Seakeeper nudged the Lass into the fish dock. The drone conspicuous on her fore hatch. Lachlan cast off the tow line and Jamie gave me a cheerful wave as I edged the yacht astern. From close by, I heard the sound of an outboard running at low power and saw a dark launch idling between the pontoons of the marina. A dab of forward throttle and Seakeeper was almost stationary waiting for them to pass. They came forward but instead of swinging past Seakeeper's stern, they swung alongside and a moment later, three policemen were on the deck with their guns drawn. They were followed by a hard-looking woman in plain clothes.

"Moor up over there," she said curtly, pointing at a vacant berth opposite the fish berth. Out of the corner of my eye I saw other police herding Jamie and Lachlan along the quay. In ominous silence I secured Seakeeper's lines and fenders and reluctantly climbed down into the launch.

Another dab on its throttle sent the launch across the marina so that we could join the party surrounding Jamie and Lachlan.

"I am Sergeant Maria Lipson of the Special Branch. You've been caught in possession of enemy military equipment. I hope you've got very good explanations, Gentlemen!" The mocking derision in her voice hinted at a sense of triumph.

"We salvaged it." Jamie said. "The Yanks will want it back and we should be paid, it was hard work hoisting it on deck."

There was an almost sibilant tone in Sergeant Lipson's voice, "A likely story, an American drone, in deed." Then she added with derision, "Where was it launched from? The aircraft carrier lying off the coast." She looked at them and at the strangely shaped flying machine still lying on The Lass's deck.

Jamie coughed and said stoically, "It says US Navy at the base of the tail, Sergeant."

Something about her body language told me the Sergeant Lipson might lash out at any moment. Foolishly, I sought to draw her attention from Jamie. "Perhaps it ran out of fuel, fighting that southerly change yesterday. It was quite light when they pulled it aboard."

"Really? Mister?"

"Warren Blake," I said.

"Oh yes, the electric boat." Her tone was getting more derisory by the second. I got a strong smell of her scent, as she came and stood inches from me. "How very convenient. With the fuel shortage, you're the only people fishing off the entrance. You're supposed to be getting food for the people, and instead you go gadding about rescuing the American's toy plane. Then you try and smuggle it back in the dark."

It was early twilight, but I had a shrewd idea that it would not sound like that if Sergeant Lipson was telling the tale in court.

"We found it this morning, but we kept fishing because we had been told how important our work is. Did we attempt to hide it, Sergeant? No, we brought it straight to the dock. What else could honest people do?" I was beginning to get frustrated with the insanity of the accusations. "What should we have done, Sergeant? Mobile reception is patchy the marine VHF service hasn't been re-established, and the fishing is important, yet, this might be important too. What would you have said, if we'd ignored it, or just kept fishing and let it sink? Would you have grounds for suspicion then?"

"You could have called us on your way in. Why didn't you? We'd have specialists here by now to ensure its safe." That one surprised me, it hadn't occurred to me that it could be dangerous. Sensing my uncertainty, she leapt into the silence, "What about the fuel, jet fuels are highly toxic. Did you let it contaminate the fish you caught?"

"No sign of fuel where we found it. Did you call your specialists, would that be Williamstown?"

"They'll be here soon enough. Until then, you three are under arrest."

One of the police guarded us against the side of the fishermen's co-op. He seemed rather bored, and perhaps a little embarrassed by the affair so far. I watched as Sergeant Lipson directed the rest of her troops to use the derrick to lift the drone onto the wharf. Two of them operated the windlass and the drone appeared level with the quayside.

"Those two idiots are going to get themselves hurt, if they don't watch it," Lachlan muttered.

I looked at him for explanation. "They've got the pall off the windlass so the ratchet won't work. If either of them let's go, it will kick back, could easily break an arm with that load."

I watched as the drone rose to the level of the jetty. Another policeman was attempting to pull it across from the boat to the land. It hung stubbornly over The Lass's deck, the derrick was not large enough to allow much travel. A second man joined the one pulling the drone onto the quay. With the extra pull, it began to move, the derrick started to swing across and someone shouted, "Ease away."

In the twilight I couldn't see the detail of what happened. Perhaps it happened so fast that I would have been unable to work out the sequence of events in daylight. One moment, the drone was swinging ponderously towards the quay, the next, it was pitching sideways out of control, pushing the men on the quay with its weight. At some point the men on the winch let go and the whole machine landed on the quay, canted back over the edge and slipped sideways onto the men standing on the deck of The Lass. There was a scream, cut-off with a terrible suddenness and for a second, silence.

Then all hell broke loose. Sergeant Lipson was screaming "get it up, get it up." Someone else, a man was yelling "ambulance, he needs an ambulance."

Jamie looked at me and said simply, "They need help. Come on." Then he looked at our supposed guard and said, "you too, sonny, and put that pop-gun of yours away, unless you want to hurt somebody." He strode across the quay to the wreckage of the drone.

From somewhere, he had procured a rope and deftly knotted it around the wingtip still on the quay and a protruding aerial. A moment later, he had the tail of the rope through one of the quay's mooring ring and tied off tight. "You," he shouted at Sergeant Lipson, there's rope in that bloody dinghy of yours get it" and when she opened her mouth to argue, he shouted louder, "Get it now." Her image of control evaporated and she dived down into the launch and reappeared with a tow rope.

"Give it here," snarled Jamie, seizing it from her hand, the old man ducked under the drone and found a fitting to which he could attach the rope. He re-emerged and found another bollard to which he could secure it.

"Right, Lachlan, Warren, follow me." He was down on the deck of The Lass with agility which would have left many twenty year olds breathless. When I caught up, I saw that the drone had sliced into the wheelhouse at head level. Further forward, it had ripped itself open on the windlass, jamming it with torn aluminium, and smashing into the chest of one of the men who had been operating it. His blood was already draining through the scupper and into the water of the marina. The other man at the windlass seemed to have been spared but was standing looking at his colleague with his mouth moving wordlessly.

"Warren, get that twit off my boat and out of my sight. Lachlan, tools from the engine room, now – and Warren, watch how you walk on the deck it's slippery." Gingerly, I stepped over the spreading black stain, grasped the survivor's wrist and led him aft, around the leaning wheelhouse and then guided him back onto the quay.

Sergeant Lipson confronted me, "How is he?" Her look was directed forward. I shook my head.

"Your equipment was faulty. You've killed one of my men." There was a hysterical edge to her voice which I ignored. Instead, I turned my back on her and returned to the other two and we set about clearing the winch of jagged bits of drone so that the rope could be released and the mess sorted out.

I was sweating profusely, as we worked. The winch was almost clear of the structure of the drone, and Lachlan was taking the strain up, one pall at a time. From the quay, her voice was a snarl of hatred, "I'm arresting all of you for the manslaughter of Pat Jorgenson." She was standing right behind me, with her gun drawn. "You killed a copper, with your lousy equipment and you're going to pay for it." Jamie straightened up to his full height and looked down at her.

"You're barking mad, woman. Barking mad. Your man disconnected the pall on the winch, then your gang mishandled the load and somebody let the thing go. It's nothing to do with the equipment, Lachlan and I pulled the whole thing aboard at sea, it was hard work, but done right..."

She took a step forward and slipped on the pool of blood. There was a crack and Jamie's body jerked backwards across the windlass. A small patch of blood stained his dirty white jumper, just below the heart.

In the silence that followed everything seems to be slowed like special effects. Jamie let out a sound like a soft gurgle, his hands slipped off the handle of the windlass and his knees gave way as he fell forward.

"The bastard attacked me," Lipson screamed, "You all saw it, didn't you!"

"That's not what I saw." The voice was clear and articulate. Standing straight on the quay, as if he was on guard duty, was Lieutenant Liu. He was dressed in regular uniform. Lipson's gun began to turn, and Wia Man's voice hardened. "Going to shoot an officer of the People's Liberation Army – Navy now are you. How will you cover that up?"

I heard my name called, Yvonne's voice sharpened with a half hysterical edge. I turned and saw Jeremy and behind him Yvonne, running down the quay from a car.

# Section 4 - China

## 58 - Beijing

After take-off, I reflected on the evening. It was a series of impressions, disjointed already by the imperfections of memory. The first image was of Lachlan picking up Jamie's lifeless body, as gently as a mother would pick up her sleeping child. He ignored the blood from the bullet's exit wound which was staining his grey jersey black. He stepped heavily forward, careful not to slip on the bloody deck and advanced on Sergeant Lipson. "Well, you've shot one unarmed man today, shoot me too, or just get out of my bloody way."

She hesitated for a moment, then retreated before his steady advance, past the tilted and smashed wheelhouse, with broken glass littering the deck, across the stern and up against the quay. I could see Lachlan's chest rising and falling from the exertion but his pace was absolutely steady. Lipson darted up the ladder onto the quay and continued to retreat. When Lachlan arrived at the steps, he reached forward and placed his friend's body on the dirty concrete and climbed up, then he knelt down and lifted him again. I heard a faint exhalation of air from Jamie's chest, an echo of the life so brutally snuffed out.

As if released from a spell, policemen were moving to assist. Another was disarming Sergeant Lipson, who squawked "You saw it David, it was self-defence."

"I know what I saw, damn you. You won't drag me into another of your schemes."

Lieutenant Liu grabbed my hand and said "I'm getting you all out of this madness." I had a final glimpse of Lachlan, still wading forward through the policemen towards the fishermen's co-op office. One minute later, Lieutenant Liu's driver had turned the vehicle. The lieutenant climbed in beside him and with the three of us in the back seat was careering out of Nelson's Bay.

"Back to Newcastle?" asked Yvonne.

"Airport," he replied from the front seat. "I don't understand this madness. The interim government is paranoid, and so are a bunch of its officers. It's time I returned you a favour, eh?"

This had been followed by a long conversation on his mobile phone. Eventually, the flow of Mandarin stopped and he turned and smiled at us, "They've held the late plane to Beijing. You'll be on your way in fifteen minutes."

I gaped, clothes, basic necessities? "What about Seakeeper?"

"It will be taken care of." He smiled, "first thing is your safety. Colonel Fung will meet you at the airport."

"Colonel Fung."

"He got promoted. He is a national hero, survived a remarkable ordeal." He looked back at us, clearly pondering what to say next. "His father gained a lot of face too, you see. Not many Politburo members would allow their sons to risk their lives serving China, really serving China. A lot of people were impressed by that, it did the party's image no end of good, too. Then his son seemed lost. Finally, the son is miraculously restored to him. It made Colonel Fung's father very famous."

"And you?" I asked.

"I'm sure my character will be in the movie - so will yours"

It took a while to sink in. "A movie?"

Our heads spun, but there was no more time for conversation, the vehicle pulled up straight outside the VIP entry to the airport. Doors were opened and we were whisked inside, through the departure area and out to the airliner. There were no airstairs, Newcastle airport did not have the facilities of an international airport. We climbed the ladder and were guided to seats in first class. The plane was already starting its engines as we strapped in.

I suppose we slept part of the way, but most of the time, I was reliving the images of the last few hours and questioning everything. "How had this madness started? Did it flow down from Higson or up from the likes of Lipson? Who had the real power? What were the Chinese doing in Australia and New Zealand? Was it just help?" So many unresolvable questions scrolled through my mind, and most important among them, what would happen to Seakeeper?"

I looked at Yvonne, sitting silently beside me. I could see lines on her face sharpened by the events of the last 24 hours... "Well, we're all alive so far." I said and tried to smile.

"I was thinking about young David. You know, the boy on the sloop. We think it was his mother that they shot today on some trumped up charge." Beyond her, Jeremy nodded his wordless confirmation.

At Beijing, we were escorted off the plane as soon as the doors were open and taken straight to a VIP reception lounge. We were greeted by Colonel Fung full uniform and in turn congratulated him on his promotion. He personally escorted us to a suite in the hotel airport where changes of clothes had been laid out for us and Yvonne translated his invitation to join him for breakfast. It was a breakfast of Dim Sim and other northern Chinese delicacies was he the Colonel appeared to take pleasure in describing to Yvonne. She did not interpret, but giggled like a young girl on her first date. Later, she would tell me that had she translated, it would have ruined my appetite. Afterwards, we were introduced to a small group of media, cameras rolled and a number of questions were asked. Again, Yvonne answered most of them, but translated for me, when I had questions directed to me. These were mostly about Seakeeper and sailing under the difficult circumstances, or the rescue of the aircrew.

Fatigue was beginning to take a toll and I for one was grateful when Colonel Fung brought proceedings to a close. As we were escorted to a limousine he spoke to Yvonne again. She turned to me and translated, "We are invited to meet Colonel Fung's father this evening."

"Then we'd better get some rest."

The limousine took us to a luxury hotel in the middle of the city. A suite had been ordered and we were greeted by a doctor, concerned about stress and other possible injuries. He spoke English with a pronounced American accent and I asked how he acquired it.

"Harvard Medical School. I did my postgraduate studies there."

I still didn't sleep well. Much later, I scrolled through the channels on the TV. To my surprise, I found myself idly watching the BBC. Suddenly, one item caught and held my attention.

"A US task force has arrived in Townsville to render assistance to the bombed community of Brisbane, the most northerly of the three cities destroyed in the recent attack."

##  59 - Permission to come aboard

The normality of arriving at Perth Airport was almost too shocking for Katya. The plane hadn't been crowded, but she sat and watched as the other passengers grabbed their bags and headed out of the door to the air bridge. A stewardess looked at her, with a hint of frustration and Katya pulled herself together and followed the others into the terminal, with a weary "good night" to the cabin staff.

She looked at her watch - just before two in the morning, corrected for the time difference, almost midnight, and no one to contact. In a toilet, she looked at herself, a mess. No change of clothes since she had been arrested, not even a comb, and no personal possessions at all. Still, she was alive. She recalled the crackles of gunfire at the prison and Roberts threats, and shivered.

A cleaner wandered in, mopped the floor and wandered out again. A couple of minutes later, a police woman entered, looked her up and down and said, "You can't doss here, you know."

"How do I get to Garden Island, then?"

"The naval base?"

"Yes, HMAS Stirling."

"Get a taxi."

"No money, I got left behind by my ship."

"You'd better come with me, and I hope you've got a better story than that for the MPs."

Outside the toilet a male officer was awaiting his colleague, "Got her. Security I think," and Katya found herself being led by uniformed personnel yet again. The click of electronic passes releasing locks and doors swinging open, even heads turning, it was familiar, and she was too tired to care. The office was empty but its door said "Military Police." Once again, she was told to wait and numbly did so. Some quirk of the ventilation wafted up the smell of chips and she realised she was very hungry. When had she last eaten a proper meal? Breakfast on Seakeeper, two or was it three days ago.

As bored as the regular police, a Military Policeman with Sergeant's stripes arrived after about ten minutes. "Right, what's your story lass?"

His tone suggested that he'd heard every imaginative story ever concocted by personnel adrift from their leave, and he wasn't about to believe her, however good her invention might be. She sighed and picked up the smell of stale cigarettes as she did.

"AB Katya Obraztsova of HMAS Waller. I want to get back to my boat."

"And what are you doing away from your boat, Able Seaman?"

"I got left behind."

"How often have I heard that one, do you think? And where did you get left behind?"

The thought occurred somewhere in her tired brain, that the Waller's activities might not be public knowledge. "I'm not sure I can tell you, Sergeant."

"You came in on the last flight from Newcastle, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"So how come you were over east with crazy Higson's people, when your boat is based in Perth?"

She yawned. "There was a public relations trip to Sydney, before the attack."

"So you did a bunk before your ship sailed, did you? You'll be looking at a dishonourable discharge after all this time. Perhaps some time in the glasshouse too. Not nice for young girls, the glasshouse."

Even the threat of military prison couldn't keep her awake any longer. Katya realised that the world was spiralling before her, and said, "Sergeant, please just put me in a cell. All I want to do is sleep."

She came around on a cot. A doctor was peering at her. "How are you feeling young lady?"

"Weak, Sir."

"When did you last eat?"

"Several days ago, Sir."

"You don't know?"

"I was kept in a darkened room, Sir, and they didn't feed me, apart from occasional soup."

From behind the doctor, the sergeant asked, "Whose they?"

"Police in Newcastle."

"What did they have you for?"

"Trying to get to Perth without a pass. Said I was trying to defect. When I said I was a sailor, they said the navy had been abolished, but they arrested me anyway. At least they didn't shoot me."

"Shoot you? They're shooting people?" The tone was somewhere between shock and disbelief.

"Yes Sir, one woman just for having a USB stick, they said she was a spy."

The doctor intervened "Get her a sandwich and a sugar drink, please Sergeant. Then I'm going to give this young lady a shot to make her sleep."

"Thank you, Sir, but I've got to get back to the Waller."

The doctor looked over his shoulder and quipped, "Not your average leave breaker, eh. You sleep here tonight, and I'll arrange for you to be driven to the base in the morning."

The doctor was as good as his word and, clean, fed and rested, Katya could have wept as she came over the brow onto the Waller. Lieutenant Anderson greeted her as she snapped to attention and asked formally, "Permission to come aboard, Sir?"

He looked her up and down, "Carry on, Obraztsova. You seem to have lost weight. So have we, without the benefit of your cooking. Welcome back."

##  60 - We are sailing

Captain Martin was in the control room. Katya heard a voice up ahead of her, telling him, "Sir, the Brat is back," and his reply of "Good, consider morale improved."

The watertight doors were open and stepping over the sill into the familiar crowded space of the control room, Katya finally felt that she was back home.

"Morning, Obraztsova, welcome back." There was a twinkle in his eye, "Sling your kit and come to my cabin in five minutes." Then he turned his attention back to the clipboard with the checklist down which he was working.

He was already in his cabin as she knocked on the bulkhead and responded to his "Come in."

"Good to have you back, Katya. Sorry for leaving you behind at Waitangi. Storm coming in, orders to sail immediately and no idea how to reach you."

He sounded genuinely apologetic, "I understand, Sir."

"I'm going to have to ask you for a written report of your activities, in due course. Bureaucracy, you know the form, but I'd like to hear what happened to you and young Jeremy."

"Some locals thought we were looting, arrested us and took us across the island, Sir..."

As she was explaining to him, that the Australian officer in New Zealand had told her that the navy had been abolished, he stopped her and said, "That's an important point. I want you to emphasise it in your report. Along with the limited sources of information. What happened next?"

"He said I was free to come home with the Blakes, Sir. They needed me, because of Warren's injury."

He stopped her again when she described how she had been arrested at Newcastle airport and described the interrogation and the threats, the accusations of being an "unreformed militarist." Finally he said to her, "That's a remarkable story, Obraztsova. Let me have your written report in the forenoon tomorrow. In the meantime, check our food stocks and talk to the executive officer about provisions for sixty days. And you'd better put in for another set of uniforms, too, if yours have got lost. We are sailing in a few days."

Mercy Gonzales found her, sitting on her berth, yawning. "Good to have you back Katya, the food should look up, too."

"Mercy, I think the skipper has just coached me how to write my report."

"Report?"

"Since you dropped me off at Chatham Island."

"Come on Katya, no rest for the wicked, that by the way, is an argument for reincarnation. You're being punished for sins in a past life as you haven't had enough fun to get yourself damned in this life - yet." Mercy laughed at her own joke and Katya felt a little more relaxed.

Storing plans, databases, requisitions and orders filled her head, along with remembering the advice that the captain had given her and writing her report. Katya yawned and got up.

It was close to sunset when Katya went up onto the casing of the submarine to get some fresh air. The sea breeze, the wind locally called the Freemantle Doctor, was blowing across the fleet base towards the land. North of the island she saw a naval supply ship accompanied by two frigates heading for the docks. "Not ours are they?" She asked idly.

"No, Katya," someone said, "they'll be Indian over here. They've got the Chinese over east Supporting Mr. Bloody Higson, and now the Yanks have landed at Townsville..."

Katya woke during the night. The gentle hum of fans was a familiar and reassuring background, but something was bothering her, images of the recent weeks, the sense of abandonment after the Waller had sailed from Chatham Island, the stinking puss as she had helped Jeremy extract the Chief's rotten teeth the following day. Where were Jeremy and his family, now? Had they fallen back into the hands of Roberts and his cohorts?

A phrase came to mind. "The bases are loaded." She thought the term came from Softball, or was it Baseball? Was the pitch Australia and what part was the Waller play? The captain had said, "We are sailing in a few days."

##  61 - Hired

We were awoken by respectful flunkeys. It seemed a strange word to use in the People's Republic of China, but it encapsulated their demeanour, perfectly. A major domo led them and presented us with a miracle - Somehow, as we slept through the day, well-tailored suits and silk shirts had been created for Jeremy and myself, while for Yvonne, an elegantly cut black cheongsam with a golden dragon motif was presented by its creator with immense pride. When we had dressed, I turned and looked at her with admiration and said, "My wife is still beautiful, after all these years. Proud of you dearest."

"And you're a tough grizzled old seadog, husband. I'm proud of you too. It's a good thing you don't need that wretched boot any longer."

Soon afterwards, Jeremy knocked and entered our room. He looked us up and down. "Wow, where are you two going tonight, do you think?"

I burst out laughing. "Son, we are staying in a fabulous hotel in a great foreign city and we are absolutely penniless. I've no idea what's going to happen." Yvonne laughed too, albeit nervously, but I could also see that Jeremy was also unsettled by the situation.

I was saved from ineffectually trying to reassure Jeremy by a knock on the door. The same major domo who had brought the party with the clothes reappeared. "Mister Sung Ming Law will be arriving in a few minutes. Would you be kind enough to receive him, Mister Blake?"

Yvonne saw the absence of recognition in my face and saved the day, "Mister Sung Ming Law, the film director?" She asked in English, then switched to Mandarin and exchanged a rapid fire conversation with our visitor. He bowed respectfully, with a glance that embraced the three of us, reverted to English and said, "Thank you, I will arrange for refreshments to be sent-up."

"What was all that about, Yvonne?"

"Cultural sensitivity, Warren. A famous film director wishes to meet us, so Wai Man may very well be right about a film. But Chinese people need to build relationships, particularly with foreigners. A light meal seems to be a sensible starting point. We won't be meeting Standing Committee member Fung until much later."

Our suite had a dining room. We'd been so tired when we arrived that I had not realised how palatial our accommodation was. Suddenly a partition was swept aside and the room with seating for at least twelve was revealed along with a breathtaking view over the Forbidden City, it's gardens dappled by the early evening sun. A banquet was being assembled on a side table and two bottles of champagne were placed on ice.

Yvonne whispered, "Trust me, Warren."

In the distance, a muted chime announced the arrival of a lift and a moment later, Sung Ming Law with a party of men and women. His appearance bespoke accustomed power, striding ahead of the others into the room, pausing to say "Mister Warren Blake" in perfectly intelligible if accented English, and then bowing to Yvonne, before shaking our hands and introducing a producer, a script writer, a lawyer and several other subordinates.

"Yvonne gestured graciously to the table, and in English asked "champagne?"

"Why not?"

The meal was presented exquisitely. Yvonne switched to Mandarin and held the director's attention, apart from toasts and some formal exchanges. On my other side, was the young woman who had been described as a scriptwriter. In American accented English she asked "What is it like to be on a sailing yacht at sea?"

"It depends on the conditions, but usually, it's quite crowded." I replied. Soon the conversation become quite detailed, so I asked, "You are thinking of making a film about our adventures?"

"Oh, yes. It has been decided." She replied with a naïve smile which revealed perfect teeth.

Mister Sung turned to me and said, "Yes, we need to create a film in six weeks. I'm sorry but tight timeline doesn't allow the niceties of negotiation. Sui Lin here has a basic script, we found a suitable boat down in Hong Kong and to make the deadline, we need to start shooting next week. To save time, how does five million sound as your fee?"

I choked. "Five million."

"You'd set-up the boat, we don't need to use it 'til week three, that will give you time and give you all time to learn your lines."

At heart, I'm still an accountant, "What currency, and our expenses?"

He laughed, "Very good, Mr Blake, OK, US Dollar equivalent and we meet your expenses?"

"Done."

"I'll have the contract sent to you tomorrow."

The party left soon afterwards, and I looked at Yvonne, "Wow, that was fast."

"Chinese culture yields to the imperatives of propaganda departments, I think."

"I think that Politburo member Fung is getting a public image make-over."

"Why the tight timeline?"

Yvonne shrugged, but Jeremy laughed and looked at me, "Dad, you might have let me talk to Sui Lin, I could have told her about sailing."

I looked at him for a moment, then to his mother and said, "Our son is a real sailor now, or at least he wants a girl in every port. What about Katya?"

Jeremy blushed deeply but even he joined in as we all burst out laughing.

"At least we can afford the rooms."

##  62 - Reception in the Great Hall

Within minutes, of Sung Ming Law and his party departing, our limousine was announced, and we were whisked away into the night, using traffic lanes provided exclusively for the vehicles of the elite.

"That's Tiananmen Square," whispered Yvonne, impressed. Then ahead of us loomed a massive complex and we were driven under a high portico. Overawed by the size of the place, Yvonne muttered again, "Phew, it's the Great Hall of the People." The car doors were opened, and we stepped out and were received by officials with bows and handshakes. In the background, cameras flashed as we were escorted into the building along marble corridors, to a large pair of ornately carved doors which opened into an opulent reception room. Colonel Fung stepped forward and introduced his father.

Yvonne acted as my interpreter, which absolved me from having to make polite conversation. I felt completely out of my depth, and hoped that my confusion was not reflected in the photographs that continued to be taken. The awkward conversation was interrupted by the entry of a uniformed aid who sought out Fung senior's attention and engaging him in an urgent whispered conversation. Judging from the body language, instructions were given and the aid rushed away. After only a moment's pause, dinner was announced. Yvonne placed herself between me and our host. This was a considerable relief, as I dreaded the awful formality of a stilted conversation interpreted by intermediaries.

"I'm just a country boy, Warren and out of my depth, too." I looked around with delight. Lieutenant Liu stood beside me, in a superbly tailored uniform.

"Wai Man, am I glad to see you."

"A familiar face in the vast crowd?"

"You might say. What are you doing here?"

"Same as you - about to make a film glorifying the Fung family dynasty."

"I'm intrigued. The Fung family are a dynasty?"

"His grandfather defected from the Nationalists to Mao back in the thirties, brought a lot of weapons and troops with him and was made a general. He got killed fighting the Japanese. Fung's father was only a baby."

"And?"

"Beautiful young widow, gets rescued by one of Mao's favourites. Son gets education... Party membership, you know." Then he sends his son to serve China overseas. Not many of the elite do that, so he gains a lot of prestige and he's made a member of the Politburo. Finally, his son is miraculously rescued, thanks to you. He gets membership of Standing Committee of Politburo. The Party looks very good, lot of publicity. Now they want an instant film. Do you know what people call it? – New Socialist Realism?" He laughed quietly and his eyes twinkled with mischief.

Somehow, I felt uncomfortable and looked around, in case we were being watched or overheard.

"Don't worry. Everybody understands, everybody here." I detected real old fashioned realism in his tone.

Yvonne seemed to achieve a rapport with Fung Senior. They conversed in rapid fire Mandarin and laughed heartily together. Occasionally, I was required to answer questions relayed by Yvonne, but most of the time, I was able to converse with Wai Man.

"How did your parents welcome you home?"

A shadow passed over his face. "My father did his best, but my mother is not well. The stress of thinking me dead."

"I'm sorry. What happened?"

"A stroke."

"Is she?"

"No, she's in hospital. She knew when I came in, she squeezed my hand."

"You should be with her."

"The agenda of the Party..."

"Can't Colonel Fung help?"

"No, The agenda of the Party. Nothing must get in its way, but she is getting excellent care."

"I'm glad of that. Where is this film to be made?"

"Lüshunkou."

"But isn't that where you come from?"

He nodded and said, "Thank Colonel Fung for that, it helps that the landscape around there will pass for New Zealand, with a bit of care."

Yvonne tapped me on the shoulder and said, "I think the speeches will be short." By some kind of osmosis, silence fell across the room. Fung Senior stood, and made a short speech, which Yvonne did not attempt to translate directly. Instead, she whispered. "He apologises for necessary brevity but thanks us for returning his son, and wants us to know how greatly the people appreciate your service. Now, can you say something short, simple and polite?"

I'm as scared of public speaking as the next person, and was horrified by the absence of a microphone. Bowing to necessity, I stood and cleared my throat. "Standing Committee member Fung, Colonel Fung, your son's accident and our part in the rescue has made my family small players in a significant story. It has been an honour to know your son," I bowed to Colonel Fung, "and return him to his people and his family." I bowed more slowly to his father. "May I, in my turn, thank you all for the generosity of your reception and care for my family."

I hesitated, unable to think of anything else to say, and was rewarded by a round of applause led by Fung Senior. Yvonne pulled on my jacket and I realised I could sit down. Fung Senior said something to Yvonne. She translated, "He says, thank you. You are mercifully brief compared with most Western visitors he has received."

I looked up and met his eyes. A smile and a nod, then an assistant grabbed his attention for a few words. He stood, I responded and we shook hands. Then he was gone.

After we got back to our suite, Yvonne said to me. "That was a good speech. It was all that was required in the circumstance."

"They're usually longer in China."

"Not when there's a crisis."

"What crisis?"

"I don't know."

##  63 - The Scorpion

The next few days in Beijing passed in a blur. Film director Sung's lawyers produced a contract, which Yvonne did her best to interpret and vet. Eventually, it was signed and suddenly, we possessed an account with the People's Bank of China, and were, in the old form, "In funds."

There were script conferences, often held in restaurants filled with shouting and enthusiast exclamations and heated arguments. The Mandarin was complex, and I could tell that Yvonne was working very hard to keep-up. Even so, she tried to keep Jeremy and me involved.

"You know the old line, based on a true story," she said during a rushed break. "It translates as five percent fact and the rest fiction."

"Mustn't let the truth get in the way of a good story, eh Mum?"

She laughed, "Get in the way of the politically necessary story, I think." She turned to me and said, "They've got the basic story right, actually. It's just the emphasis, they put on it. Still, if it pays the bills..."

"That's right, you're the accountant in the family, now. I'm retired."

"Oh no, you're the master mariner in the story. Enigmatic and appalled by all that's going on. The perfect foil for the decisive Major Fung."

"And who is playing the star?" I asked.

"Major Fung's role?" Yvonne rattled off an unfamiliar name and gave an exasperated chuckle at my blank look. "He's one of the top actors in China. Then there's..." This time she snorted. "I'm not going to waste time on you, you'll never get them right."

"OK, who's playing us?"

"We are, of course, who else?"

That was only two days before the whole caravan was on the move to Lüshunkou. The intensity of land use I was seeing on first experience of flying over China in daylight was awesome.

From my window seat, I muttered to Yvonne, "I always knew the level of development to support the population was huge, dear, but I had to see it to believe it. Even at cruising altitude you can see that the impact is dramatic."

"Yes, Warren, but imaging how it would have been without the one child policy. Nearly twice as many people..."

I knew that the legacy of the one child policy was sensitive and muttered, "The world should be grateful for that, but you never heard any Western leaders admit it, did you?"

We descended down through the haze of the airport and our party was whisked away to begin the next phase of preparing for the film. An entire floor of a modern hotel had been reserved for our party complete with meeting rooms. Indeed, at Lüshunkou the whole production process acquired an overtly military process. There were groups tasked with selecting locations, others with finalising the script. I noticed Jeremy joining this group and standing near Sui Lin.

A smartly dressed naval officer came over and spoke to me in excellent English, "Mister Blake, may I take you to inspect the boat? We have her being prepared, in the dockyard."

We were driven through the old part of the town. Many of the buildings still had the air of a European settlement, preserved in aspic from the early twentieth century. My companion noticed my interest and remarked, "Yes, old Port Arthur. The dock we are going to was built for the Russian Fleet."

"You're very knowledgeable?" I replied.

"If you get the opportunity, get someone to show you the remains from the sieges. Some of the fortifications are quite impressive. You know, it was the first time that an Asian nation defeated a modern western nation, not just in a battle, but in a war."

"Yes, I can understand that, but it was the Japanese and their aggression started forty years of warfare and grief for China." I replied.

"Forty years before that, Japan was forced to open to America, by their Commodore Perry, only fifty years ago, China was still backward."

"You have made remarkable progress since then," I said and lapsed into silence, had I just been given a none too subtle history and politics lesson? We drove in silence through the gates of the dockyard and were quickly at the edge of a basin where a number of patrol craft were moored. Apart from them, at one end was a freshly painted gaff cutter.

"There you are," said my companion, looking the stone edge of the quay into the boat.

I could see that she was a little shorter than Seakeeper, and her hull was far lower in the water, not a boat for the deep ocean, I thought, but if she could play the part and get the film over with, we would get back to Seakeeper. I climbed down the dockside ladder and felt the boat heel slightly as my weight came onto the deck. My initial impression was reinforced, small and lightly built.

"Where did you get her?" I called up to the quayside.

"One of our ships found her abandoned after a storm. No one has claimed her." He called back.

I felt a tingle of fear run down my spine, but attempted to remain composed. The hatch was unlocked and I climbed below. As I had assumed, the cabin was half the size of Seakeeper's. Six people at sea in this yacht for an extended period, was just not believable. That said, film audiences' knowledge of boats... There was a musty smell of damp. I found a small hatch in the floor of the cabin, lifted it and saw that there was about two inches, say fifty millimetres of dirty water glistening in the bilge underneath. Reluctantly, I touched the surface of the water with a finger, tasted it and spat it out. My suspicions confirmed, it was brackish. Seawater will pickle the planks and preserve them to a degree, fresh water leaking through the deck, is close to a guarantee of rot in a wooden boat. I looked around the dingy interior. This was not a boat in which to face a storm.

Up near the mast was a life ring. It's flaking paint announced "Scorpion of Hong Kong."

##  64 - The Whited Sepulchre

The cabin of Scorpion was low, and I had to duck as I moved forward. In the fo'c's'le, where I would have expected to find the sails stored, there was nothing, except a chemical toilet emitting a smell. I chose not to examine further. Feeling a mixture of depression and frustration, I returned to the cockpit.

My escort was still on the dockside. He beamed down at me and said, "She looks good doesn't she. The dockyard just finished painting her yesterday."

"How much do you know about wooden boats?" I emphasised the word wooden and was rewarded with a blank expression. I gestured and added, "You'd better come down."

He scrambled down the ladder and I showed him my immediate concerns. "Bilges have brackish water in them." He looked at me, puzzled and I realised that a good many native English speakers wouldn't know the word brackish. "A little salt water, but more fresh water. Fresh water means a leaking deck, and probably rot." He indicated his understanding with a nod. "We need to know how bad the rot is."

Then I added, "I also need to look at her sails and other equipment. Where are they?"

"I'll send for them."

"Thank you. Then we had better look Scorpion over a bit more thoroughly." The galley draw contained some tired cutlery. I pulled out a couple of kitchen knives and my guide looked nervous, until I handed him one. "Look for soft wood." I said, "See what I'm doing," and I started probing along the edge of the deck.

"This?" He asked after a few minutes, from the other side of the boat. His knife had found the base of one of the stanchions which carry the guard rails and it had slipped straight through the gunk that should have sealed the join between wood and metal and stuck an inch into the timber releasing a film of blackened water.

"That's it. Now let's see what it's like underneath." Below deck, the damage was worse. The water had softened not only the deck timbers but the knees which tie the structure together. In an effort to fix the leak, someone had put a galvanized iron bolt through the timbers to tighten things up. The bolt had crushed the damaged timber and made matters worse.

Within half an hour, we had found another three places where rot was advanced. The worst was where the plates to which the wire shrouds that hold the mast up were bolted to the sides of the hull. Scorpion was clearly unsafe. I looked at my companion and said, "Would you," I said emphasising the 'you' - "take her to sea?" He shook his head sadly.

"Well we'd better tell the others." I said.

Back at the hotel, my opinion was received with derision. "The boat was refitted by the dockyard on instructions from Politburo member Fung. It can't be dangerous." Sung Ming Law declared.

"You're most welcome to see for yourself." I retorted, "But if you've any idea of taking that craft very far, you'd better have a rescue boat handy."

"I will inspect it after lunch." He declared with a long suffering air.

And inspect it, he did. Mr Sung was incandescent, he raged on his mobile phone, without, so far as I could tell, any attempt at the courtesies normal in Chinese business conversations. He stormed off the boat and paced up and down the dockside, phone pressed to the side of his head.

Within five minutes a staff car pulled up. An admiral got out, presumably the base commander. He received the full wrath of the director in front of his own staff. Angrily, he turned and stomped across to the Scorpion and demanded, "What is the problem with the little boat."

I prized a piece of rotting timber from the interior and showed him the spongy mass. "Rot."

"We were told to paint it. It's a film..."

"Prop." I completed for him. "Yes, but it's dangerous. Would you take it to sea?"

"We are a naval dockyard. We work in steel, not wood." He looked at me and added with something that passed for derision, "Not like your HMS Victory or USS Constitution." Was he preparing excuses in his head already, I wondered.

"HMS Victory is British, not Australian, and my ship, Seakeeper, is steel too." I stood aside inviting him to come below. He sniffed at the smell of the interior and I pulled my rabbit out of the Scorpion's hat. I drove a blunt table knife into the soft timber at the base of the mast. It sunk in two inches - give or take 50mm and stood back as water seeped down the blade. "Even a prop sailing boat must be able to sail."

Back at our hotel, there were phone calls going in every direction. Yvonne looked at me and said, "You've set the cat among the pigeons, was the boat as bad as all that?"

"Worse dear, if that's possible."

"They've been on to Fung's office. They're to find another cutter, now."

Across the room, I caught sight of Lieutenant Liu. "Wai Man, you evacuated us so quickly, what happened to Seakeeper?" Perhaps it was a measure of the stress that I had been under that I had not asked before, and I felt vaguely disloyal to the boat that had carried us so far for this omission.

"Navy took her to Newcastle. She'll be OK."

"Come on, Yvonne. There's only one way to fix this." And with the two of them in tow, I crossed to the director, and stood in front of him until he completed his current phone call.

"Yes." He said abruptly.

"The boat scenes, how many people will you need?"

"Why?"

"Fly to Australia, use the real Seakeeper. It will save time and probably money."

"Expensive."

"Cheaper than trying to fix that whited sepulchre." Yvonne intervened and translated.

There was a pause, clearly he was thinking. "Twelve people, we can use some who are there already. What about locations?"

"Sandy beaches, north and south of Newcastle, Islands off Port Stephens, both a couple of hours sailing from Newcastle, everything you need." He gave me a long thoughtful glance, then nodded and replaced his phone to his ear.

I turned to the Lieutenant, "Wai Man, have you seen your mother, how is she?"

"Better," he said sadly, "but it will take a long time."

"And your father, you'd better spend some time with them today. I think we will all be going back to Australia very soon to complete the film."

# Section 5 - Waller

## 65 - Volunteer mission

"Morning everybody." Captain Martin accepted the overlapping greetings of "Morning Sir" modestly. They were a good bunch, he thought. They'd been through a lot since departing Sydney. Hunted for real by helicopters, and nearly taken out by a homing torpedo off New Zealand. Still better than what happened to the other guy. Chatham Island and then the long boring slog against the prevailing current back to Perth. They were Waller's people, his people and he was proud of them.

He looked across the serious faces crowded into the mess deck, some had faced the loss of family members in the attacks, or had affairs ashore demanding their attention, but they were all here. Command of a ship is a huge responsibility, billions of dollars' worth of kit, but at this moment he was almost overwhelmed by the responsibility for these men and women. "Gentlemen, ladies, you know we've been victualling and have topped off our fuel. We'll be sailing tomorrow. I can't tell you where we are going, but I know that some of you have not," he paused seeking words that would not sound trite. "Have not had a joyful homecoming."

His statement was greeted with, not silence, but a stifled collective sigh. "If any of you feel unable to give their commitment to this trip, I want you to talk to me privately and I will make arrangements for you to be replaced. That doesn't apply to you Obraztsova, the catering has improved markedly since you showed up again, and so has morale." He had calculated that this remark would amuse everybody and was pleased with the laughter with which it was greeted. "Right, we'll sail at 06:00 tomorrow and under water by 08:30. I will brief you further then. For now, I'll be in my cabin."

He'd been working at his computer for twenty minutes when there was a tap on the bulkhead. He looked up and said "Come in, Yes Katya?"

"Sir. It's about the people from Seakeeper. I think they were in danger, after I left. I was wondering, has there been any news?"

"You mean, confidential news, not on the internet, I suppose."

"Yes Sir."

"None that I've seen, Katya. But I'm very glad you were able to tell people about your experiences over there. Anybody who had any sympathy Mr. Higson would have been thoroughly cured of it, reading your experiences.

"What I don't understand, Sir; is the legal situation. Western Australia, Victoria, elections?"

He sighed. "A lawyer would say, actually, said the other day; that the Constitution doesn't provide for this situation. Federal government wiped out so Higson claims to be in charge. It won't wash over here and with South Australia and the Nullarbor Plain between us..." He wondered how far he should go, perhaps he'd gone too far now, but; "It's a stalemate, unless another power intervenes."

"China or the US, Sir?"

"Remember, we've got India interested over here, too."

"Thank you, Sir."

Next morning, it had been a huge relief to get underwater, the natural habitat of all submarines. The routine settled over the boat within a day. Captain Martin looked across his cabin at the safe with his orders locked therein. No need to re-read them, a few words, and mercifully, a lot of discretion; "Carry out a reconnaissance of Sydney Harbour and neighbouring waterways to assess general and radiological situation. If that situation permits, you will insert your swim team to make an on shore inspection. At your/their discretion they will seek to establish what political structures survive in the region and how they are disposed to current developments."

He'd had only one request to go ashore, a surprising one, at that; Johnny Jorgensen, and he'd had to deny it. "You're a key member of the swim team Jorgensen. I'm sorry, but I can't replace you of all people at short notice." The man had stood there for a moment, as if about to argue, then thought better of it, he had come to attention, turned and left his cabin.

##  66 - Slow boat

Katya hadn't been sleeping well. It was the dreams, she was handcuffed to a poor shambling figure, perhaps Doreen Pascoe, the sudden rattle of gunshots, she woke whimpering in fear... The recurring dream had her waking in a sweat most nights. She swore Mercy Gonzales to silence, but Mercy tried to help, to get her to talk, and that made it worse. Awake, she felt guilty and asleep, she got no rest.

Her temper had got progressively worse, with her lack of sleep. The usual wisecracks of the likes of "Spong" Watson, drew short angry responses and eventually the atmosphere drained the mirth out of the canteen. Lieutenant Mark Anderson had attempted a joke when she delivered a trolley to the officers' crowded mess. Her icy look discouraged any further attempt to leaven her mood.

Captain Martin was in the habit of marking the boat's position on a map in the canteen, each day. She watched dispassionately as the little submarine shaped sticker headed south around Albany and then through the great bight south of Australia. They were in the Bass Straight fourteen days out of Perth and a day later plodding more cautiously up the east coast. For the first time in the journey, there were vessels moving around, mostly merchant ships heading for Melbourne but also warships. There was talk of "Another bloody 054" and she knew enough to realise that these were Chinese frigates. The sticker representing the Waller seemed to be staying close inshore.

Jervis Bay was there first destination. The deep water close to the shore allowed the submarine to get a good view of the naval base without surfacing. The gossip in the canteen told Katya all she needed to know. Three frigates, three of Waller's sisters and a fleet support ship were all laid-up there. The control room crew were shocked to see no sign of personnel no activity, the ships floating so high that they must have been emptied of stores and fuel. The base seemed to have been abandoned. "Looks like the information I was given in New Zealand, is literally true," she remarked bitterly. "Bloody Higson's government is selling everything it can to the Chinese and given up on any form of defence. Needed to pay for rebuilding, he says."

Later, in the cabin that the two young women shared, Mercy Gonzales told her that the skipper had been swearing as he inspected the base through the periscope. "How can they just lay-up ships and abandon them like that. Don't they know that their electronic equipment can't just be switched off and abandoned like a PC or iPad?" Mercy wryly relayed his frustration.

They had turned and were slipping back out to sea. Katya was preparing lunch when the boat angled steeply down, and she had to grab saucepans and utensils to stop them clattering to the deck, with consequent unacceptable noise. Within a couple of minutes someone passed along the corridor and said, "Not all the dosey blighters were asleep back there, there's a helicopter up, and the boss thinks it's looking for us. He dropped a pattern of sonar buoys, so he sure is looking for something."

The Waller proceeded seawards, running deep, slow and silent.

They'd gone well offshore and recharged the batteries. At dawn, two days later, Waller came to periscope depth offshore of Sydney. Katya had been woken as the submarine went to torpedo launch stations. Soon there was the familiar pulse of compressed air and a nod in the boat's trim. Something had been fired, but clearly not a standard torpedo.

Katya tried to get some rest between breakfast and lunch, but curiosity got the better of her when Mercy came off watch. "What's going on? Did we fire a torpedo? What at?" She asked her friend.

"No, just a bird."

"Do you mean a missile, Mercy?"

"No, it's just a simple drone, comes out of the tube, pops up to the surface in a canister and launches itself into the wide blue yonder and sends back pictures. It's over Sydney now, what's left of it, that is."

"That bad?"

"Skipper said the expensive eastern suburbs were a write-off, but we could see a fair bit of that through the 'scope, its inland where we need to get details. On the plus side, radioactivity isn't too bad."

##  67 - Briefing

As Katya was supervising clearing-up after lunch, the canteen began to fill again. All crew not required for other duties were, she noted the captain's tactful expression, "invited," to attend a briefing on the findings of the drone.

At 14:15, he stepped quietly to the front of the crowd and cleared his throat. "Right people, I'll be direct about what we know so far, then I'll answer any questions, as best I can. OK" There were nods all round.

"As you know, we launched a drone at dawn. It's not a high-performance jet device, but relatively long endurance. It broadcasts a data stream, that means that anybody with the right software can decrypt the signal, but it means we don't have to emit any signals to communicate with it, which for obvious reasons we can't." There were nods here too, but Katya wondered about all the secrecy, "We're all Australians, aren't we?" She thought, to herself, and then reflecting on her experiences in Newcastle, she knew the answer.

"For any of you with family in the Eastern suburbs of Sydney, I have to tell you, things do not look good." The tone was measured and heavy, "It's pretty clear that the hypocentre, the spot immediately below the explosion was offshore. Predictably, apart from the fireball, there was a tidal wave." Katya noticed his eyes scanning over the group, several heads were down while others stared back at him, waiting. He took a heavy breath and began.

"OK, North of Manly, things look less extreme, indications are that there would have been a fair number of survivors, but very few people were actually observed. Next the bird moved along the harbour and covered the naval base, the original Garden Island, and the CBD. A lot of damage there. You wouldn't want to be in a skyscraper caught by the blast of an explosion, as I am sure you can all imagine. There's also an ANZAC frigate sunk alongside at the base, too. Oh, and some derelicts left in the harbour. Some good news, the Harbour Bridge is still standing."

"West of the city, things are somewhat better, at least in terms of obvious damage. Remember, the mission was flown at eight thousand feet. We judged that, for a first pass, this height was the best compromise between wide view, detailed resolution and line of sight for the signal. These areas were spared the firestorm, and the blast would have been greatly attenuated. Fortunately, the wind at the time was out of the west, so the radioactivity would have been blown seawards. We definitely saw survivors, a small number of vehicles moving, and considerable crowds, apparently attending distribution centres, presumably for food."

"That means there is some kind of government functioning." Captain Martin lifted his head and scanned the faces, he focused on Katya and said, "Katya, while you were over this side, did you hear any reports of relief going into Sydney?"

She was unprepared and drew a long breath, "Well Sir, Yvonne - that is the skipper's wife, was nursing a woman who had been evacuated north to Morrissett. She said that she'd been caught on the Gladesville Bridge with her family, so there was some organisation, pretty soon afterwards. There could have been food coming from the west, I didn't hear about it, but a lot of product was coming to Newcastle and being shipped out."

"Nothing of the grapevine, then?"

"No Sir, you wouldn't want to be seen as a whinger, they shot one, I encountered, Sir, just for that."

Those of the crew who hadn't heard Katya's story, turned, one or two gasped.

"Yes, gentlemen," Captain Martin brought the attention back onto himself, "Mr. Higson, who claims to be the legitimate Interim Prime Minister, seems to have a problem with, what was the word you used, Katya?"

"Malcontents, Sir."

"For any of you, who may be wondering what we are doing here." He scanned the room again, their attention was on him now. "The Western Australian government and navy in the west, can't get reliable information out of the east, Mr. Higson requires that they accept his authority, before any cooperation is forthcoming. And I don't see Perth accepting the authority of a crazy whose underlings shoot malcontents. Right?" The assembly was nodding now. Katya found herself nodding too.

"Any questions?"

A couple of hands shot up, questions about specific locations, presumably the homes of loved ones or friends.

"What are we going to do now, Sir?"

"Good question, Mercy." Katya admired how Captain Martin knew the given name of every member of the crew, without hesitation. It made relationships in the confines of the boat so much easier, "Tonight, we will send over another bird, and a smart fish into the harbour. The bird will hopefully show us where people are still living, or at least where they have electricity, and the other will give us a map of any obstructions in the harbour."

"Are we going in, Sir?" That, Katya saw, was the taciturn Johnny Jorgensen.

"You may be, Johnny, that's what we have you divers for, but I don't think there's room for Waller, not without surfacing and I think we'll keep our presence under wraps, for the time being. Now any other questions."

"Can you put the pictures on the ship's web, Sir? Help us make out details, those of us from Sydney."

"Yes, I think I can do that. But, if you are looking for hope in the eastern suburbs..." He shook his head sadly...

##  68 - A Crazy Idea

The fish, unlike the birds was recoverable and Waller hovered close to the recovery point until dawn, when the fish announced its return with a carefully encoded acoustic signature. Katya had prepared a hot breakfast for the swim team, who had exited the sub to recover the fish and guide it back aboard. The torpedo room specialists had all been involved too and soon the canteen was full of excited crew, relieved to have had an active role in the proceedings. Busy as she was, Katya heard snatches of conversation, "Do you think you could swim in there Johnny?" Somebody asked.

"Its water, so we can swim, can't we," came Johnny Jorgensen's confident response.

"You could use the mule, couldn't you?"

"If I was going in with a buddy, I'd prefer to swim," Johnny displayed the arrogance of an athlete, "the mule can carry a team, but you're already tired when you've unlocked the beast from the hatch. Anyway it's tricky to handle the beast in shallow water, in that respect it's little improvement over the world war two midget subs," Johnny snorted his derision.

"Go on, that was the X craft, wasn't it. They scored three VC's didn't they?"

"Anything that gets people VCs is just that, Very Crazy."

Knotty Tree ducked in and said, "The data pack from the fish has gone to the control room for interpretation. It looks OK."

"Makes our efforts this morning worthwhile, then, doesn't it."

Sometime later Lieutenant Anderson came past and said, "Obraztsova, we'll have another briefing after lunch today. Have the canteen ready as before, please."

Her "Yes, Sir." Was followed with an unspoken, "do you think it wouldn't be, damn you." For some reason, the man irritated her. Damn it, he was probably just relaying a thoughtful message from the skipper." The sooner she got out of the navy and started her own pub, the happier she would be.

Captain Martin was punctual as was his habit. "Just an update from last night's activities. The bird went over between 18:00 and 02:00. Definitely quite a bit of activity to the west of the CBD. More or less normal street lighting in most areas. That's not surprising, since the bulk of the city's electricity comes down the grid from the north and the substations are in the northwest quadrant of the city. It was also equipped to pick up broadcast transmissions. There was limited VHF broadcasting, from somewhere west of Parramatta, low power, so I'm not entirely surprised we aren't picking it up out here. There is also some mobile data activity, but a tiny fraction of what you'd have had before."

"You'll be wondering what that all means, of course." His eyes scanned the room. "Please understand that I can only guess too. Some trucks were coming in from the west, over the mountains. Probably food supplies. There was also one train on the line from Melbourne, that one appeared to be tankers, so that's how they're getting what fuel they have."

"Any aircraft activity, Sir?"

"Good one. Yes the air force base at Richmond seems to be operational, but little traffic, probably limited fuel supplies."

"What now, Sir?"

Captain Martin's eyes swivelled to Lieutenant Anderson, "I suppose you'd better take that, Mark."

"Thank you Sir." He stood and looked about the room. "There are three waterways into Sydney. Botany Bay – Captain Cook's entry, Port Jackson – the main harbour and Governor Phillip's entry and Broken Bay, that will be our entry. The swim team will take the mule and visit some of our contacts."

Katya noticed the startled look on Johnny Jorgensen's face. "That's where you live, Sir." There was the small hint of accusation in his voice.

"Minimum risk of security being breached if we can find friends, don't you think, Jorgensen?"

Katya took a breath. "Sir, is the bulk of activity in Parramatta? That part of Broken Bay is what, forty kilometres from Parramatta. If I may say so, from what I saw in Nelson's Bay, you'd never make it. You'd need a vehicle and there aren't any private ones, or you'd need to be registered, to get a pass to use public transport."

There was a tone of exasperation in Lieutenant Anderson's voice, "Well have you got a better suggestion, Obraztsova?"

"Yes, Sir. I've a friend," some wag interrupted with "someone's got no taste," but she plugged on, "She lives in Putney. Right next to the Parramatta River. She'd give us a read on what's going on, and you could walk from there to Parramatta, if that was helpful. Could the mule take us that far?"

She thought that Lieutenant Anderson was about to dismiss the idea, but the captain spoke first. "Interesting, Katya, Parramatta is certainly where things seem to be centred. I have to admit that we were worried about Mark's plan, but couldn't see an alternative. Meet me in my cabin in half an hour, please."

After the officers had left, Johnny Jorgensen looked at her strangely and said, "You've got to be crazy, Brat. The river's too shallow for the mule."

"And, in this new world, Johnny, it's the only way you will ever get to Parramatta. Short that is of Lieutenant Anderson's crazy idea which will undoubtedly get you to Parramatta soon enough, under arrest, unless they shoot you first, of course. That's what they did to one woman I met, shot her."

Johnny flashed her an aggrieved look and left the canteen, leaving Katya wondering what she had got herself into.

##  69 - Unexpected intervention

As Katya made her way nervously to Captain Martin's cabin at the appointed time, he bolted out without seeing her and darted through the watertight door into the control room.

"Not a good time," she muttered to herself and headed back down to the galley. Within minutes the instruction was passed in whispers, "Silent Running." She slipped over to the galley's range of cookers and turned them off, cooking required air conditioning and air conditioning meant extra noise. She gathered several loafs of bread, butter, salami and tomato and began preparing sandwiches. With practiced economy of movement, she deftly arrayed them on a plastic tray and moved through the boat distributing them and receiving muttered thanks from her crew mates.

It had given her something to do, and helped her deal with the sudden stress. Either the Waller was about to attack or was in danger of being attacked. At the watertight door of the control room, she paused, waiting to catch the eye of one of the officers. She watched as Captain Martin, at the periscope rotated in 360 degrees and muttered "down scope." Straightening up, he saw her, smiled and whispered, "Good idea, Obraztsova." His formality told her that her was concentrating on the operational situation.

Gliding past the operators at their consoles she came to Mercy Gonzales' station. Her friend had headphones on but nodded to her while a frown of concentration masked her face. "He's moving astern of us, Sir. Reciprocal course, I estimate range 600 metres."

The captain paused for a second and then said "steer 095 go to 600 feet." Katya felt the deck dip as the Waller headed into the depths. He was looking at her thoughtfully, "Obraztsova, as you go back down, you can pass the word that we have an unidentified sub in the area and will remain silent until it's identified. Sandwiches were a good idea, but keep things quiet, right?"

With a nod, Katya moved on around the boat.

Katya finished her round, deposited the tray in the galley and went back to her berth, she lay down, unable to sleep, but unable to concentrate either. Waiting in ignorance was the worst part of the job. At this moment, she envied Mercy Gonzales at her console in the control room, part of the operational team.

At times Katya felt the submarine turn, rise or dive and each time recalled the nightmare of the torpedo powering past them to impact on the other, noisier submarine. With the air conditioning set for silent running, the waft of galley smells and worse began to build-up and she recalled the epithet used to describe the German U-boats of two world wars – "pig boats."

She noticed a slight oscillation and wondered for a moment, what it was. Then she realised, the boat must be at periscope depth and experiencing a hint of the surface waves. Mercy came in and smiled, "You won't believe it, but the Yanks are finally here!"

"Really?" She almost yelped.

"Yes, it's the USS New Hampshire. An SSN."

Katya felt dumb fumbling with the acronym.

"Nuclear powered hunter killer submarine, silly."

Katya found herself nodding. "How do you know all that?"

"We set-up a laser communication signal for the skippers to talk, of course."

"Hey, I'm only the cook."

"But you're no fool, Katya. The skipper and Lieutenant Anderson had a hissing row about your suggestion of penetrating the harbour. Didn't want people to hear, but Lieutenant Anderson was very upset, that his plan was being questioned."

"Damn, why did I open my mouth?"

"Because you were right, Katya. His is a silly plan."

A voice on the ship's comms channel announced "Secure from silent running, carry on normal routines. You will be interested to know we are no longer alone. We've just made contact with the USS New Hampshire." While the announcement was being made, Katya felt the boat angle down into the depths, again. Then, as an afterthought the intercom added, "Obraztsova to the Captain's cabin."

He was standing as she entered and smiled at her. "Right, Katya, your suggestion was very good and; if I my say so, given your experience, courageous. Thank you. The situation has, however changed. It seems that Mr. Higson will be speaking in Parramatta in a few days. He's campaigning to get the Prime Ministership democratically, it appears. The New Hampshire has a remote aerial which picked up the announcement today, although we couldn't receive it at sea level."

"Really, Sir."

"Yes, they have issued a summons for the survivors to assemble at certain locations to hear the great man." At this last, his voice was a mixture of loathing and derision. "So it seems they will lay on a bus to take Lieutenant Anderson straight to Parramatta."

"That's very good, Sir."

"If we do need to penetrate the main harbour, I'll remember your suggestion. It was a good one. Thank you."

Later, sitting on her berth, Katya found that her hands were shaking.

##  70 - Making it up as you go along

Heading back to her berth, after meeting with Captain Martin, Katya ran into Johnny Jorgensen dressed in his wetsuit.

"Hi, Johnny, going outside?"

"Might say, take the bloody mule across to the yank boat and run errands."

"Sorry I asked," Katya looked after him as he headed aft to the docking hatch.

Ten minutes later, she felt the Waller give a slight dip as the mule released and wondered about Johnny. He'd always been quiet, but since she had re-joined the Waller, he was positively sullen. There were more important things to consider, the meal schedule had been thrown into chaos and she needed to get a meal prepared quickly, Stroganoff, quick and always well received. She smiled, it was her go to dish for situations like this, "Katya Stroganoff" it had been her nickname in training school.

Forty minutes later, she brought a dish to the captain's cabin and was surprised to find him talking to a black officer in American uniform. "Katya, Commander Benson would enjoy a plate of your famous Stroganoff, too; if you've made enough."

"Yes, Sir."

She hadn't even realised that the mule had returned, but when she went to get another tray and take it to the skipper's cabin, Johnny Jorgensen was loading his plate from the servery. As she got to the curtained door of the captain's cabin again, she heard the unfamiliar American accent say, "Well Martin, I can't say I envy you, guess you'll have to make things up as you go along."

She knocked on the bulkhead and responded to the softer "Come in," of Captain Martin.

"This is the young lady I was telling you about, Commander. - Katya, I've told Commander Benson about your experiences in the world of PM Higson and your suggestion for going into the main harbour. He's very impressed." Katya felt herself darken with embarrassment.

"Thank you, Sir."

She turned to go, but heard Commander Benson say, "Unlike ours, your mule has a diesel generator to charge the battery..."

She slept a little better that night, the dreams of Doreen Pasco did not come to haunt her. Instead she imagined voyaging through the dark sea in the mule.

In the morning, it was Johnny and David Jacobs the two crew of the mule that were sleepy. They were sitting apart from the others in the canteen and as she cleaned-up she overheard them discussing delivering Mark Anderson and Knotty Tree into Broken Bay leaving Johnny and Dave to pilot the mule home. "You should see the place he has, proper wharf, deep enough to get the mule in, no problem and a forty foot fly-bridge cruiser tied up there too, very nice."

"Won't be worth anything without some fuel, Dave. Give me old Seakeeper with her solar panels these days, I reckon."

"Yeah, but that's serious money goes into a place like Anderson's."

"So right, his dad is a property developer, you know. Put his boy in the navy, to give him some class."

"Really?"

"Didn't work, snotty bastard."

"Better see the skipper about refuelling the mule, after this. Don't know when we'll need it again.

Johnny caught her eye and called, "Hey Brat, you've sailed in Seakeeper. What did you make of being a real sailor?" Perhaps the stress he had been under had temporarily broken his taciturn image.

"Johnny, don't shout. She's a good boat, got us safe from Chatham Island back here didn't she." She came over and picked up their empty plates and came away wondering if she had smelt vodka on their breath.

"And what did you make of the owners?"

"OK."

"Heard you took a shine to that boy of theirs?"

"Crap, Johnny, and even if it wasn't, it's none of your business."

He lurched to his feet, but Katya cut the conversation off by ducking back into the food preparation side of the galley, out of sight from the canteen. "Silly bastards," she thought. They'd been noisy and a bit objectionable, probably a reaction to stress the night before. "They wouldn't be so bloody stupid as to get tipsy on patrol, surely," she mused.

At lunch time, the red silhouette marking the submarine's position was still off the northern coast of Sydney.

#  SECTION 6 - Making for home

## 71 - After the movie

"Tell me it's not socialist realism, this time." I said to Yvonne.

She almost doubled over as she put her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. "Truly husband, it is not socialist realism, it is real, they're going." Socialist realism had become our way of survival, during the making of the film. A way of saying, "Yes, it is absurd, but this is theatre of the absurd, so accept it. "Socialist Realism, if I never heard the term again..."

The plot had included the key events of our rescue of Major Fung and Lieutenant Liu, but it had been topped and tailed with heroic events, in the crashing helicopter, on the submarine and on Chatham Island. These additions positioned the major as an authentic hero, who modestly overcame insurmountable challenges and then looked at his dearest possessions for inspiration, the two photos one his father and the other of Chairman Mao. A faithful son of the people...

Lieutenant Liu had helped, laughing with us from time to time, while playing his assigned role as Major Fung's faithful and slightly bumbling underling. He was, I thought, the only member of the cast and crew to detect the derision in which we wrapped those loaded words, "Socialist Realism."

The director, Sung Ming Law had accepted that we were not professional actors, with the same mixture of grace and derision that, during my career as an accountant I had reserved for well-meaning and marginally competent new graduates - We survived by observing the Socialist Realism. At least the film was over.

A limousine arrived at the dockside and we watched as the great man walked towards it, then he stopped and turned back towards us.

Yvonne translated, as usual, "Mr. Blake, Mrs Blake thank you for your efforts. Clearly you have learned a lot about filmmaking. I have learned a lot about boats. The film will be released in one month, you will be in Beijing, please."

The air of a royal command was inescapable. Yvonne replied without reference to me. I looked at her, and said, "I think you just accepted?"

"Not the kind of invitation, you refuse, Warren. Anyway, Jeremy would never forgive us if he lost an opportunity to see Sui Lin, again." She nodded towards Jeremy who was standing on the foredeck, watching the film crew, Sui Lin among them, packing the last of their gear into a bus.

"I thought she was quite nice to him, in the circumstances. A girl like that must be used to youngsters drooling over her," I snorted.

"Don't be so harsh on her, Warren." Yvonne looked me in the eye and said, "I think you fancy her yourself, don't you. Anyway, some girls exploit their beauty, and others don't. She didn't, perhaps that would make her an exception in the film industry. Jeremy will get over her."

She paused still looking at me and sighed, "I didn't manipulate you, too much, did I? Let's have a cup of tea."

It was my turn to reflect. We had come a long way together.

As I sipped my tea, I raised a question that had been in my mind for some time. "Where to now?"

"What about home, dad?" Jeremy asked. "Rumours are that it might be OK. Eastern suburbs copped the worst of it."

"Higson and his people? Your mother saw them in action, too."

"We've still got the International Assistance passes, which they gave us for the filming. They can't touch us."

"That's a big bet, Jeremy. They might be paranoid enough to just rip them up in front of you..."

"We could take Wai Man, Lieutenant Liu. He's not returning to China for a while as he's been assigned to the Chinese relief programme for Sydney. I've got his mobile number."

Jeremy went on deck, I guessed to call Lieutenant Liu. "I think he's being very optimistic, Yvonne."

"I'd like to go home, too, Warren. But not while Mr. Higson's madness is untamed – We could at least see if the house is OK, couldn't we?"

Jeremy called down the hatch, "Wai Man says he'll come, but it has to be tomorrow. The PLA-N will be moving their relief operations down to Botany Bay and Sydney in a bit over a week's time, but he can get four days. He says, he needs a break." He chuckled, "He said that he'd had too much Socialist Realism, too."

It was my turn to double up with laughter.

##  72 - Sydney Harbour we was bound

Lieutenant Liu was in high good humour when he came aboard next morning. From somewhere he had acquired a ukulele and as we headed down the Hunter River towards the open sea, he struck up some chords and mutilated the words of the old sea-shanty.

"Sydney harbour we are bound, haul away boys haul away..."

"Wai Man, wherever did you learn to play that thing?" I asked.

"Well, you've got to learn something useful at flight school, haven't you?" He replied with an air of injured innocence. "I dug it out for the party last night, we were celebrating the work in Newcastle and the move to Botany Bay."

Yvonne leaned against me as I sat at the wheel of our tough little cutter and asked innocently, "Really, more Socialist Realism, we do not need!"

Even Wai Man was unable to keep playing as he rocked backwards and forwards with laughter.

"Anyway, I am sure that the song was about South Australia." I remarked.

"But not for this voyage." Came the reply.

"Coffee," Yvonne said firmly, "and Wai Man, I think you need it strong and black."

She brought mine on deck as we neared the breakwaters and the swell began to shake the boat. "We'll make sail as soon as we've drunk the coffee, dear. Please ask the boys to come on deck when they've finished."

The day passed pleasantly, with the wealth we had been given for taking part in the film and the International Assistance passes that we had been given, stores had been no problem. Even fuel would have been easy, if Seakeeper had needed it. The cold lunch Yvonne provided was excellent and, as we were approaching the northern outskirts of Sydney in the late afternoon, we were in excellent spirits, we had seen no sign of damage, so far. "We'll never make Sydney before nightfall, so we'll drop the anchor in Pittwater if that's OK with everybody?" I asked.

"Sounds good," Jeremy responded, "what about one of those little bays on the west side."

The hills of the national park shaded the bay and we looked back to the sheltering peninsular the existence of which creates Pittwater. Some of the most expensive real estate in Sydney, but in the gathering dark, barely a light was visible. Depressed, we went below to the welcoming smell of Yvonne's stroganoff, served with rice and a salad. After dinner, Yvonne turned in early and we men washed-up and then sat on deck and talked quietly.

"The follies of the great, for which the little people suffer." Liu Wai Man said sadly as he looked across the water to the dark, abandoned houses. Several suburbs displaying a dozen lights between them. He pulled out a small flask and offered it to me. "Good whisky."

I shook my head "Better not, I might get angry. Bloody Kim. Starting a war, which he clearly wasn't going to win, but I'm sure he saw some gain to be had." I muttered. "I just don't see what he was trying to achieve."

Jeremy joined in, "Everybody seems to think it was bloody opportunism, Dad; with America and China squaring off like a couple of barroom fighters, he must have thought he could grab some crumbs from the upset tables."

"What I don't understand is how he thought he could keep them." I mused.

"I wonder what might have been said to him, which would lead him to that decision?" Replied Lieutenant Liu.

I don't suppose that in the dark he saw the look I gave him. "I'm turning in, good night." In truth, Wai Man's last remark had my mind whirling. The North Korean attack seemed complete madness, unless – as he had just suggested, a promise had been made.

Off shore, next morning, we watched the familiar features passing by, headlands and bays, "Ideal conditions for a surf. Surprised there's no one one the beaches." Jeremy remarked to no one in particular.

"You'll see why, Jeremy, if you look at the houses with the binoculars."

He focused them and said, "The front windows are blown in, dad."

"Yeah, and anybody who was behind those windows would be lucky to survive, I reckon."

A sharp intake of breath showed that Jeremy had grasped the brutal reality.

The damage got progressively worse, as we approached the towering cliffs of North Head. Clearly, Manly was severely damaged and for the first time, we could see that many of the buildings had been burned. The old Catholic seminary on the hill was a gutted ruin and the seabird rookeries on the cliffs were almost abandoned. Nobody had spoken for a while, we stared at the desolation, and wondered about the death and destruction before us, still raw after almost six months.

Seakeeper past the headland and like the curtain of a vast stage, Sydney's famous harbour was revealed to us. The once dainty white lighthouse on South Head was a blackened stump, and looking further south, the sense was of blackness. The binoculars revealed flattened buildings, older stone and brick structures than the concrete which had made up much of Manly. They had burned, the parks had burned. Blackness.

Lieutenant Liu ducked down into the cabin and re-emerged a couple of minutes later, "You had better wear these." He said proffering us small badges. "Dose meters, just in case."

"Why have you changed into uniform?" I asked.

"Just in case." He said thoughtfully.

Once we were within the harbour, we could see all the way to the city. The familiar skyline seem little changed, but there was something, different, darker. Finally I thought I knew what it was, "there's no glass left in the tower blocks," I whispered.

"And no sign of any attempt at repairs, dad."

I scanned the shoreline and finally saw movement. "The pilot station," I nodded to the old wharf next to the ruin that had once been a famous fish restaurant. A low grey launch was starting its motor and a cloud of dirty diesel smoke rose above the blackened land to soil the blue morning sky.

"I think you might say, our arrival is noted." I said.

##  73 - Smitten city

The launch surged out from the pilot station, its stern down as it's motor's power drove it up onto the plane. The smoke of the exhaust belched out behind it.

Lieutenant Liu watched for a moment, then turned to me, "A bad batch of fuel, I'd say and likely the engines haven't been run regularly for a while. Warren," he looked at me seriously, "let me do the talking, these will be Higson's people. Right!"

I nodded mutely as I watched the launch already approaching our stern, fortunately on the leeward side, allowing its exhaust smoke to blow away from us. It's helmsman chopped the throttle resulting in even more smoke from the exhaust.

"What boat is that, and where from?" They were close enough that I could see the speaker as he leant out of the deckhouse window, a man in his forties, I judged, greying and unshaven, he was wearing a heavy white pullover that was none too clean, even at this distance, I could see what appeared to be oil stains across it. Beyond him, I could see the man at the wheel, and through the side windows I saw the movement of others.

Lieutenant Liu stood up in the cockpit and spoke for us. "Cutter Seakeeper, working for International Assistance, latterly out of Newcastle. Any problems?"

"We'll come alongside. Stop your boat."

"Wai Man, it will take minutes to get the sails down, tell him."

The boatman saw this and shouted, "What's he saying?"

Lieutenant Liu called over, "We'll drop the sails, could you give us some room, please; it will take a couple of minutes. If we go head to wind, will that do?"

There was a tone of indifference in the voice that came back across the water, "Whatever."

We rounded up into wind and I nudged the electric motor into gear to create some flow over the rudder and allow us to continue to steer. A moment later, the launch was alongside. They hadn't bothered to put out fenders and I was glad that Seakeeper's hull was steel. The hulls came together with a crunch, and I fancied that I could hear fibreglass re-aligning itself around the unyielding steel.

Three of them jumped down onto our deck, as the launch sheared off again. There was no sign of uniforms among them, but each had a pistol in a holster of some kind. Their leader, the one in the oil stained pullover looked us over and then faced Lieutenant Liu. "Well what are you doing here, Mr International Assistance?"

"Just a reconnaissance. You know we're moving our operations down to Port Botany, now that the mess there is cleared up a bit. Not before time, I may say." He paused watching as pullover struggled with this information.

"Nobody told me."

"Well I'm telling you, now, aren't I!" Before adding in a more conciliatory tone, "bloody liaison, well at least you know now."

Pullover mulled this olive branch over. "Will that get us some decent fuel? Sounds like we'll be busy and every time we run the motor, we have to clean the damned filters." He made a gesture towards his stained garment.

Wai Man managed to sound almost sympathetic, "I'll mention it to the appropriate authorities." Then he was all business, "Now, the bulk of the populations based out at Parramatta, right? We can barge stores straight up the river, how far up is it open? We'll need barges to run up there, who do I see about that?"

His tone left pullover out of his depth. "Can't say I knows. We was just told to stop any unauthorised coming and going and any wasting of fuel. Some folk, the rich folk, seemed to think they can do whatever they like, even in the new situation."

"Who's the authority you are acting for, Mr. Higson?"

"Ultimately, I suppose so. They've appointed a harbourmaster now, and we've got rosters now. One week on and one week off, back at Parramatta."

"But dirty fuel, and not much of it?"

"True, Sir." The sense that this Chinese officer might solve his immediate problem seemed to have positioned Wai Man as a person of consequence, in Pullover's mind.

"OK, where do I find the new harbourmaster?"

"Cockatoo Island, Sir."

"Thank you for that. What's your name?"

"Polson, Sir."

"OK Polson, thank you again. Look out for us tonight, we'll probably be coming out after dark. Wouldn't want you troubled having to start her up unnecessarily." Polson came to something that passed for attention and the party climbed back onto the launch and trailing smoke, they disappeared back to Watson's Bay and its pilot station.

"That was amazing, Wai Man." I gasped. "You took control of the conversation as if he was a child."

"It's the power of a uniform, Warren," he said seriously, "your military have a truism; bullshit baffles brains. Hopefully he won't work out how much bullshit I've just fed him when we come out."

We'd been heading slowly towards the city during the conversation with Polson and were now in sight of the Opera House. It seemed little damaged, the top of the world famous white sails bore a scorch line, but the rest seemed undamaged. The tower blocks had fared far worse. Many were reduced to gaunt skeletons suggesting that the blast had swept straight through them. We looked at the wreckage in awe.

"Wow, do you think they were all killed, dad?"

I nodded my head, numb with the imagined images. Bleakly, I said, "Most, I should think Jeremy – most, and there must have been a firestorm too. Look at the houses." I pointed to the suburbs to the south, the most expensive real estate in Sydney and at times among the most expensive in the world. The white stucco villas and architect designs mansions with their motor cruisers in the waterside docks, all were blackened, some were barely recognisable as houses. In the face of such devastation, words were inadequate and conversation died. Yvonne went below, and I heard her sobbing. I resolved that I would do my crying later.

We passed Kirribilli House, where the Prime Minister's Christmas party had been in progress as we sailed down the harbour before. The palms were gone and the sprawling building was roofless and open to the elements.

Then, there was the Harbour Bridge, I approached it cautiously. Its gaunt steel structure rusting where the paint had been burned or blasted from it but its 1930s engineering seemingly intact. On the city side half on the shore but disappearing into the water was part of a train. North Sydney looked as battered as the main city centre at the south end of the bridge, but as we came under the bridge, the effect of the fires and shockwave seemed to diminish markedly. Low rise buildings here were mostly intact, a few people were visible, mostly fishing. With barely a word between us, we pulled into the jetty at Cockatoo Island just before noon.

##  74 - The front door

The historic shipyard had been taken over by the artistic community years ago. Sleepovers for art groupies in rows of tents where once the shipyard workers had toiled on ships damaged in the Pacific War. "Why was the harbourmaster based here?" I wondered as I followed Lieutenant Liu up to the building I recalled as the ticket office. A surly individual, stepped out of the building and directly in front of us.

"What you want, then? Private boats are banned, don't you know?"

"Does that apply to International Assistance boats? My superiors would be most concerned." Wai Man was his cool self, and I saw the arrogance bleed out of this latest bully as he continued; "We're here to see the harbourmaster. Lieutenant Liu and Mr. Warren Blake from International Assistance, to see him and we're in a hurry." Wai Man took a step forward and the man barring our way took a step back. "Now, please."

"What's going on?" The speaker, who had emerged from the office was the antithesis of the slovenly representatives of the new regime we had met to date. His bearing was ramrod straight and a naval style hat sat atop greying hair matched a dark blue reefer jacket. "I'm the harbourmaster, and what's your business. He's right, private boats are forbidden for the time being, no fuel to waste on them."

Wai Man was magnificent in his calmness. "Thank you sir. I am Lieutenant Wai Man Liu of the People's Liberation Army - Navy, this is Mister Warren Blake. For this purpose, we are from International Assistance in Newcastle, and, I might add, the yacht uses sail and solar cells, so no fuel is wasted. Now, can we go inside?" He maintained his front in the harbourmaster's office. "You know that assistance operations will be more effective once the move is made from Newcastle to Botany Bay. It will be even more efficient if goods can be barged to your main distribution centre at Parramatta. You can help us assess the possibility of doing this, I think? Now, might I ask your name, Sir?"

"I'm Warren Tench, harbourmaster. Harbourmaster of an abandoned harbour in a forgotten city," he added bitterly. "You're the first outsiders we've seen since the bomb, you know. Some trucks with food are coming in over the mountains and fuel for them is coming up from Melbourne, but that's all any of us have seen." If you want barges, I can give you a couple of dozen of those, what you'll be short of is tugs. Most of them would have gone, with the bomb." He paused, his professional poise slipped for a moment, as he added, "Like a lot of good people."

"You lost people?" I asked.

He looked directly at me for the first time. "Yes, most everybody did. Where were you?"

"Better than a hundred miles east of here."

"Lucky, you."

Tench turned back to Wai Man and said, "I might be able get you a couple of small tugs, perhaps three, but too small to come around from Port Botany. The only seagoing tug left is the museum's old steam tug." This last was added with a hint of derision. "Anyway, where would you unload?"

"What about the ferry terminal at Parramatta itself," I asked, "or against the riverbank there? It would be the shortest transport task from there, no vehicles. It could be distributed directly."

"Tricky, river's very narrow and thanks to the old ferries, it's pretty shallow. No good except at high tide." The three of us discussed the options for a while. Time was wasting, I took a risk, "Join us on board for lunch, as we talk."

"If you can offer me something better than bloody corned beef." Tench replied, "With the greatest respect to International Assistance for the corned beef, of course."

It took two hours to get permission to head up harbour. Mister Tench ate like a man who had not seen a full meal for months, and perhaps that was the truth. Someway through the meal he turned to the subject of our voyage. "Your trip took quite a time to get back here, didn't it?"

"I guess, but we didn't know the situation. The first reports we got were that the city had been wiped out. Headed for New Zealand."

"Wiped out, in a lot of ways it might as well have been. Cities, these days, they're about business, and with the CBD gone, business at a standstill and the much vaunted markets in chaos." He sighed, "The bastards destroyed the core of the city, but left us two thirds of the population to feed."

"Who, in this case is, us?" I asked.

"Well there was chaos for a week, food stores ransacked, as you can imagine. Several big fires out west, looters, you understand. A lot of people died in them. That Saturday, they had the election in Victoria, rum time to have it, everybody said, just after Christmas, but with the state government having fallen, you know. Anyway, Higson won with his anti-war/Green alliance and next day he brought a relief train up to Sydney with a thousand police and troops and a thousand tons of food and fuel. Basically, they took over, and very glad we were too, I might add."

"And you?"

"I got this guernsey because I have a master's ticket. I hadn't been to sea for near twenty years though, had a soft billet running a marina. Anyway, my brother works for Higson, so they gave me a job." He looked sadly around the table, "I know that doesn't sound good, but it stopped me drinking myself to death, they're all gone." His voice ended with a quaver of emotion and I put my arm on his shoulder reassuringly. I felt the muscles tense as he physically willed the emotions down within him.

"I'm glad we weren't here soon afterwards, then." I muttered.

"True, but it did take you a long time to get back?"

"We rescued Wai Man, here and another flyer on the way to New Zealand. That led to some complications."

"That was you, was it? One of them was the son of a Politburo chap, I heard?" Wai Man shook his head to say, "Not me."

"One of them was a Major Fung." I completed the words cautiously.

"Right. You heard this Fung's old man is standing in for the Party Chief, what's his name... Anyway, he's been sick and Fung's dad has been doing his duties."

"There was some kind of crisis brewing, when we were in Beijing." I looked at Wai Man, "Did you hear anything?"

"One thing I learned when I was young was never to trust rumours."

Our priority seemed suddenly lifted in Mister Tench's mind. "You'd better get on with your reconnaissance, then."

We slipped westwards, here the character of the waterway changed, the port and harbour became clearly a river, and very much a residential one. We passed under the Gladesville Bridge and Yvonne told us about her patient whose family had been exposed on its heights. With nowhere to shelter, I could imagine how the blast would have burned them but spared so much sheltered in the valleys around the river, but the thought of the family exposed up there made me feel queasy.

Eventually, we reached Kissing Point and moored Seakeeper to the ferry wharf. Leaving Yvonne and Wai Man to guard the boat, Jeremy and I set off in the late afternoon sun, to inspect the house.

Walking up the familiar path, I smelt wood smoke and thought of Max and his family who lived next door. Their pizzas cooked over a wood burning stove were a treat. I thrust the key into the lock. It didn't turn. I twisted it in an attempt to overcome the rust, when the door was opened from the inside.

"Who the hell are you?" A stranger demanded.

"Who the hell are you?" This is my house.

"Not anymore, it isn't. Abandoned houses, as at the end of February were reallocated on the basis of need, this is ours, so sod off!" The door slammed in our faces. I thumped on it again and a moment later, it was flung open, "I said sod off." This time, he had a shotgun pointed at us and behind him was a rough looking woman holding a pistol.

"OK, ok, we're going."

We retreated down the path and with a final threatening gesture with the shotgun, the door slammed again. "Shit!" I swore and looked into Jeremy's equally shocked face.

"Shit!" he replied.

##  75 - Exit

I felt sick, the naked aggression of the people who had assumed our home was from a world I had never encountered. This was a personalised violence, the like of which we had not even encountered during our fraught visit to Whangaroa, in New Zealand.

Jeremy stiffened, "Dad, we'd better go, they're watching us." In the gathering darkness, he led me down the footpath towards the river.

We'd barely turned the corner when a soft voice said "Warren, Warren Blake?"

We stopped dead in our tracks, "Yes, who's that?"

"Max, Max Rockatansky. Little Max said he saw you. I wouldn't have believed him, but I had to check when I heard that oaf next door," he paused, "your place. But you're supposed to be among the dead? Quick, come inside, out of the chill."

The atmosphere inside Max's house could best be described as a fug. A wood stove was crackling in the lounge room and perhaps twenty people were crowded in to enjoy the warmth. I recognised several neighbours by sight and gave a cautious waive to them, as Max dragged us into the front office. "You need to be careful with that bastard in your house. He's one of Higson's enforcers. I heard him tell you he was given the house in a ballot when empty houses were distributed. There was a ballot, OK, but we all know that the fix was in. He's in with Higson, how else did he get a prime spot by the river?"

Max paused, his son, Little Max peeped around the door, "Have you still got your boat, Mr. Blake?"

"Yes, Max, she's down at the ferry wharf. Do you still want to be a sailor when you grow-up?"

The child's face lifted to us, softly apologetic in the weak light, "I'm sorry Mister Blake, I want to be a policeman now, so I can lock-up all the bad people."

His father looked down, "Off you run son, see if you can help your mum, she's very busy." As the boy left, Max looked at me. "Not a good place to linger, the ferry wharf. A lot of desperate people still, one's who aren't getting much help from Mr. Higson, yet and some who are getting too much." He paused clearly reflecting on what he had just said. Then he added, "and for god's sake, don't quote me. I've a family to raise."

"It's that bad here, too?" I asked, and received a grim nod.

"You'd better get yourself back on your boat quick smart. Our friend next door, may have called some of his friends already. They're the only ones with fuel."

We shook his hand and hurried back down to the ferry wharf. The wharf is built out over rocks to reach the main channel and a hundred metre walkway connects it to the land. We had almost reached the walkway when Jeremy stopped and pulled me into the shadows of the trees. "Dad, she's gone. Look." The boat had gone, but Jeremy pointed as several figures left the unlit canopy where ferry passengers had once waited for the ferry boats to the city.

They walked disconsolately past us. From the shadows, snatches of muttered conversation reached our ears, "Worth a chance mate, only a man and woman."

"They won't get far, Charlie, they'll get picked up down river. Pity, though. There'd have been some food on her, I reckon." The figures disappeared into the gathering darkness.

"Damn, didn't think of that, should have had a contingency plan. The boat must have seemed an obvious target to them."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Dad. This is a new world. You can't second guess everything."

"Thanks, Jeremy – just such a bloody obvious mistake."

"Dad, if you were in Mum and Wai Man's position and felt so threatened that you cast off, what would you do?"

"Wait an hour and come back, I suppose."

"Right, we wait, dad."

After about half an hour, we felt and then heard the rumble of powerful motorbikes. "The friends that Max was warning us about, Dad?"

"Could be." I replied nervously. "Look!" I pointed down to the end of the ferry wharf. Another three figures were running up to the land. "They left a surprise party behind."

"They must be desperate."

"But scared of whoever has those bikes." I added.

"I see movement, Dad." Jeremy pointed across the river.

"Your night vision is better than mine. Keep down." The three figures were off the walkway now and hurrying past us.

"Yes, Dad, it's her. Ready to run?"

"I see her, give her another couple of minutes, the tides against her."

"Dad, you go first, as quietly as you can. If you hear me shout, you've been spotted. Run as fast as you can. OK?"

"OK, what will you shout, so there's no misunderstanding?"

He paused, "Seakeeper."

"Good enough." I squeezed his hand and set off silently. It was a strange feeling, the familiar made unfamiliar, darker than before without the light from the city reflected down from the sky. The moon was low and Seakeeper was creeping up against the tide almost silently. I was well over half way along the walk when Jeremy's voice yelled "Seakeeper." Keyed up as I was, I ran as fast as I could for the end of the wharf. Behind me, I could feel Jeremy's feet pounding along the timbers.

For a moment, it looked as if Yvonne would shear the boat off at our approach, then Jeremy's voice, breathless this time, yelled "Seakeeper" again and the boat nosed into the wharf. Gasping, I stumbled over the bow and felt Jeremy hurdle the rails behind me. This was followed by a dark figure leaping after him and landing on the deck as the boat reversed away, a second figure launched itself across the growing space, misjudged the distance and hit the side of the boat with an ugly crack that might have been bones breaking followed by a splash.

Winded, I looked on helplessly as a powerfully built stranger squared up to Jeremy. He looked twice Jeremy's size and moved with brutal confidence.

"To late, you little bastard. You can bring her back to shore now, or after I've bashed the crap out of you. Which is it to be?" He took another step forward, leaving Jeremy with no alternative but to retreat pace by pace. "No more room, boy - Make it easy on yourself, come to daddy!"

"Are you sure?" Wai Man's voice was icy cool and the stranger swung around, he took two steps forward along the side deck and suddenly toppled forward. His foot caught in a loop of rope. As he tried to get to his feet, he found Wai Man holding a boat hook to his throat, like a pike. "Don't even think about it, jump or I'll open your artery right there." Even in the darkness, I could see the movement of the boat hook against the big man's throat. "Up, nice and slowly, now Jump!"

"I can't swim, sharks!" The swagger had evaporated, he was pleading.

"Good time to learn then." Snarled Jeremy.

It was Wai Man who pushed the intruder backwards until his feet were against the raised gunwale. Panicking and falling backwards he grabbed for the boat hook. To my amazement, Wai Man released it and the burly figure toppled over the side still holding it. There was a splash and he released the boat hook which Wai Man recovered using its lanyard.

At the helm, Yvonne gave Seakeeper full power and we turned down harbour. There was a roar of motorbikes at the top of the wharf and lights swept across the water, but we were away.

I put my arm on Yvonne's shoulder and whispered, "You done good, girl." Then I added, "Thank you Wai Man. That was neatly done."

"Better than his blood on the decks, I think."

"Did anybody see what became of him?"

"He was swimming very effectively for the shore, Dad."

##  76 - Running downstream

To the east, the ruins of the city were dark, and the navigation lights had not been restored, so we steered by GPS, down the river towards the harbour proper, and then the sea. With the breeze behind us, we got the sails up and I killed the motor. The batteries were already down to sixty percent, better to save the juice until we needed it.

Our trip down river was marked by the distant rumble of motorcycles which finally faded to nothing. "Warren, do you still have those machine guns?" Wai Man was looking at me thoughtfully.

The truth was that I had barely thought about them since the fight back on Chatham Island, but we still had to get under the high arch of Gladesville Bridge, but I was scared. "Yes."

"Get them loaded."

The moon was above the tangled ruins now, and silhouetting the high concrete arch of the bridge. With the wind behind us and the ebb tide carrying us down river, we were already committed to shoot under the bridge. They would be waiting, I couldn't see them, but they were there.

"Yvonne, I want you below, now please. Stay there unless I'm hit and if I am, steer the boat, don't look after me until we're out of range. Got that! Wai Man, they could be on either side, or right above us. Jeremy, let Wai Man do most of the shooting, he's trained."

High above us, at the centre of the span, I saw the glow of a cigarette. Using the light of the cigarette as a mark, I could now to see a throng of figures at the height of the span. I turned towards the north bank and they walked slowly to position themselves above the point where we would reach the bridge, then the characteristic noise of chains being fed over metal came faintly from above us.

"They plan to drop something on us, they're getting it over the railings."

"Do we start shooting?"

"Not yet, Wai Man. I've one more trick to play. Hold on." I swung the wheel hard over and headed for the southern bank, at the same time, I kicked the motor to full ahead.

The change was seen. A whistle blew and headlights from numerous motor bikes blazed across the water dazzling us. Someone was shooting from the northern bank but they were shooting downwards and the bullets went high. From above us fell a series of weights, apparently joined together with chains. They crashed down into the water on our port side. The larger weights made a series of impressive splashes which roared towards us joined by a curtain of spray made by the chains holding the weights together.

Wai Man was firing short bursts at the gun flashes on the northern bank, then more shots at the men on the bridge. High above us, I heard a scream and a second later, a weight thudded onto Seakeeper's deck, a dull thump, not the damaging crash of a hard object like steel. Then we were through.

"Everybody OK? Wai Man, what on earth fell on us? Is there any damage?"

In the glare of the motorcycles' lights I saw Wai Man take a couple of steps towards the mast, then he staggered to the side and vomited into the water. Finally he came back aft shaking his head, "I think he got caught in the end of their chain. Barely recognisable as human."

A flicker of light allowed me to glimpse the horror. Perhaps the chain had torn him as he fell and the unyielding steel deck had completed the job, his blood was trickling stickily into the scupper and over the side. From somewhere above us, a voice shrieked "Ryan, Ryan!" A couple of shots were fired but the range was too great, we swung round the bend in the river and the lights faded one by one.

"What the hell were they dropping?" I asked.

"Engine blocks, I think." Replied Wai Man, clearing his gun and making sure that the chamber was empty after removing the magazine.

He turned to Jeremy, "Did you fire?"

I thought that Jeremy sounded embarrassed, perhaps ashamed as he replied "No."

"Good, no need to waste ammunition. Now give it here and I'll clean them and put them away.

"What about him?" Jeremy asked.

"Toss him over the side," I said indifferently. "and swab his blood off our deck."

I disengaged the motor and Seakeeper headed east under sail into the harbour itself and then under the silent Harbour Bridge.

The wreckage of the city was mercifully hidden by the night, not a light showed but with spirits lifted by adrenalin we headed for the harbour entrance and the imposing mass of North Head.

Yvonne said thoughtfully, "I'm afraid we've been in this position before, haven't we; sailing out of the Heads."

"And we're all still alive."

##  77 - Reunion

For the second time, the Mule had returned from Broken Bay without recovering Lieutenant Anderson and Knotty Tree. "Skipper's getting worried," Mercy Gonzales confided to Katya as she came off watch.

"Get some sleep, Mercy, no point in worrying about things we can't control." Katya replied with a yawn, "I'm turning in, you lot will still expect to be fed in the morning."

Katya knew that the hand on her shoulder wasn't Mercy's. She woke with a start and saw it was Johnny Gough, the sick berth attendant. "Sorry to wake you, Brat, but the skipper wants you in the control room."

"Why me? I've barely got to sleep," she groaned, but rolled out of her berth, pulled on trousers and a jumper and headed up to the operational heart of the submarine. Captain Martin was at the periscope as she arrived so she stood silently, until he stepped back from the eyepiece and saw her.

"Morning Obraztsova, have a look at this please, and tell us what you see."

Katya had scarcely used the periscope before and never at night with the image intensifier operating. It took her a moment to get her eyes to focus beyond the waves in the foreground and ignore the cliffs of North Head in the background. She tried to focus on the object which was clearly of interest to the captain. "A yacht, Sir? Sailing out of Sydney Harbour?"

"Yes, Katya, but is it a particular yacht?"

She squinted for thirty seconds, perhaps the boat rose a few feet and suddenly the image became far clearer, "Gaff cutter, Sir." Then overcoming uncertainty, Yes, Sir. I think it is Seakeeper."

"Thank you. That's what I thought, but you were best placed to confirm it."

"Will that be all, Sir?"

Katya could see him thinking.

"How long until sunrise?" He asked someone and a voice said, "A bit over two hours, Sir."

"They've been into the harbour. We need to know what they saw. How long before the Mule can be ready to undock?"

"Fifteen minutes, Sir." The same voice replied

"OK, we'll release a mile ahead of them, then the Mule should be able to surface close to him. Get Jorgensen to the control room, please."

Johnny appeared, pulling his jumper on and yawning as he came.

"Jorgensen, our yachting friends in Seakeeper are about a mile away, coming out of Sydney Harbour. Before it gets light, I want to be talking to the skipper. Take the Mule, and bring Obraztsova with you. Don't want to startle them, this time. After you've picked him up, leave Katya with them, they'll be shorthanded and she knows the boat." He turned to Katya, "Our crew will have to make breakfast as best they can without you."

He took another glance through the periscope and stood back. "On my behalf Obraztsova, please apologise to them and ask them to steer due East. I'll be able to surface once we're out of sight of land. Tell them it may be a matter of life or death."

"Yes, Sir." Katya responded reflexively. In truth, she felt awful that the lives of the Blakes were to be thrown into turmoil again. Deep down inside her, she wondered how Jeremy would respond.

Waiting to launch the Mule was awful. She struggled into her immersion suit and listened while Johnny ran through the checklists with Dave Jacobs. It reminded her of the crew of an airliner's preparing for take-off.

Johnny finally seemed satisfied. "Close the bottom lock."

"Bottom lock closed. Checked."

"Releasing now." She felt the Mule lift off the submerged deck of the submarine and a moment later, she saw Dave move to the tiny periscope of the Mule. "Port 10, ahead five knots Johnny."

"Port 10, ahead five knots – how long?"

"Not more than ten minutes."

The confined space made her uncomfortable. There was a clock on Johnny's control panel and Katya focused on it as some kind of distraction. "How could they get the whole dive team into this tiny space?" She wondered to herself. Johnny had said that people once went to war in boats this size. She struggled to imagine it and at the thought almost panicked.

The Mule angled up and she saw Johnny raise his seat so that he could see through the small Perspex dome above. The boat was rocking, they had surfaced.

"Right Katya, do your stuff." Johnny said. She looked aghast at him. He saw her confusion and snapped, "well I can't leave the controls, can I?"

Behind her, Dave Jacobs said "top hatch open. Quick as you can Katya, and come back quick too, I want another Stroganoff."

Her head was up at deck level before she had climbed more than six steps up the ladder. The boat must still be running its electric motor, it was almost silent. Coming up slowly from astern Seakeeper's bowsprit was already passing her. There in the cockpit were familiar figures, wrapped against the cold in the cockpit. She took a deep breath and shouted, "Warren, Jeremy, it's me, Katya."

The occupants of the cockpit lifted their head and stared. "Warren, Jeremy, it's me, Katya. Permission to come aboard." Johnny must have been watching, the Mule was edging closer to the yacht as she surged by. It was now or never, she felt the movement of the hull and jumped, grabbed the taut backstay and pulled herself aboard.

Jeremy looked up at her as if she was an apparition appearing out of the sea. "Katya."

She stepped forward, caught her foot on the coaming around the cockpit and tumbled into his arms.

"That's quite an entrance, Katya." Warren almost doubled up laughing.

##  78 - Justification

"Mr Blake, Sir." Dave Jacobs knocked on the bulkhead beside the captain's small cabin.

"Come in Mr. Blake. Thank you, David." The curtain swished closed and I stood facing Captain Martin for only the second time.

"You've got a bloody nerve!" I was shaking with anger, but he ignored it.

"Warren? You don't mind if I call you Warren?" It was like something out of a farce, "Sorry for hijacking you again. Two men you know, Mark Anderson and Knotty Tree missing in Sydney. I think they are in danger. We can't get in there, but you have just come out. I need to know what you saw."

"Why can't you just leave me and my family out of it?" I Shouted. Then a shaft of sanity intruded in my self-justified anger, "Mark and Knotty, who were aboard Seakeeper?" I asked, it may have sounded dumb, but I was using the time to gather my thoughts.

"We put them ashore in Pittwater four days ago. They were to try and make contact. Find out what's going on. We've heard nothing since, except this." He pushed across to me a sheet of paper. The words looked like a transcript, perhaps from a news bulletin. "Sydney citizens are advised to be on the lookout for militarist spies. A number have been apprehended and will be tried at the people's gathering on..." I looked at the date on my digital watch, "in three days' time."

"You see my problem, don't you?"

"The peoples gathering?" I asked. "Is that Higson's spectacular at the Parramatta stadium?"

He nodded gravely.

"But you can't know for certain."

He shook his head, "But I can't chance it either. Warren, you saw how quick they are to identify enemies, and the consequences. I'm going to send a team in."

We talked for half an hour. I described what we had seen and what had happened when we landed. "I plan to send the Mule in with a team, plus the driver. We hope to make a contact in the area where that house of yours is. It's a rich co-incidence but young Katya has has a friend at the end of your street.

"I know she's familiar with the area, we talked about it a bit."

Captain Martin sighed, "Of course Anderson and Tree would normally be leading that team."

"Tricky, since you'll have to regard the couple in my house as collaborators."

"Yes, but Katya says she knows the area well."

"Given what she's been through already, I'd say that's one very brave young woman."

"Now I know why she said my talking to you might be a matter of life or death, damn it, hers." I looked at him and added thoughtfully. "One problem you didn't anticipate, we've got Lieutenant Liu aboard, one of the men we rescued. He's taking a break from his duties moving the International Assistance base from Newcastle to Port Botany. I don't think you should kidnap him again."

"Ouch. So what do you suggest?"

I thought for a moment, "He's seen for himself, what Higson and his people can do. I'd tell him straight and hope he keeps his trap shut."

"Better leave out that we plan to penetrate the harbour."

"OK Captain, I'll try and make it plausible."

Ten minutes later, I was back aboard Seakeeper and watching Katya jump down onto the hull of the Mule and disappear down the hatch. A moment later, the hatch closed and with a sigh like an exhaling dolphin the Mule disappeared below the surface.

Jeremy who was steering Seakeeper with tears streaming down his face and Wai Man was sitting beside him with a hand on his shoulder.

"What's the matter, Jeremy?"

He looked up at me, took a deep breath and said, "She'll get herself killed, Dad. Just when we've met again." Then his eyes fell again.

It was my turn to sigh, before I replied carefully, "She said she knows that girl, Amy, who married a guy who lives at the bottom of the street, close to the ferry wharf."

Jeremy paused and shook himself like a puppy after a bath but said nothing, so I pushed on, "She wants to rescue her crew mates."

It was Wai Man who filled the silence that followed. "That's very brave of her." Then he added with a sigh, "Yes, certainly very brave of her."

##  79 - Incursion

Katya was feeling progressively sicker as she waited for the Mule to launch. It was more crowded than on her previous trip, and around her she smelt sweat and diesel, BO and maybe a bit of fear. She wanted to shout, "I'm only a cook, not a commando" but she dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands to keep her mind under control.

She was wedged in between Johnny Jorgenson and Dave Jacobs, close enough to get to the periscope or the transparent dome, if required. The checklists completed, Johnny sang out, "If anybody's got cold feet, this is your last chance to disembark."

She heard muted laughter behind her and breathed deeply to keep calm. The bottom hatch closed and a light changed from red to green on Johnny's panel, he leant forward, lifted a hinged cover over a red button and pressed it. The positive buoyancy of the Mule lifted it off the Waller and they were on their way.

Her previous trip to Seakeeper had been a few minutes each way. A short taxi trip as someone had quipped during the briefing in the canteen. Some wag had suggested taking a book along. Perhaps it had been her nerves, but Katya had responded, "How about War and Peace."

The blank looks told her that few had any idea what she was getting at. Dave saved her from embarrassment with a cheerful, "I hear that one's really long," and his chuckle encouraged everyone else to join in the laughter.

"You take a cookbook, Brat." Someone said, and it was good humoured enough to raise her mood a little more. Nonetheless, she missed her cookbooks at that moment and found that she was questioning herself about volunteering for the trip. "I know what the World War did to my family, I will do whatever I can to save my family from living under this monster Higson and his goons." It had seemed a good enough reason back in the canteen.

The Mule moved silently through the water. Johnny was focused on the screen of the inertial navigation system. GPS would only useful if they could put the aerial above the surface, and to make their destination at high tide, they had left the Waller before dark. At first the Perspex dome had allowed Katya to see the sunlight on the waves above them, but now it was dark.

"Warren said there were no navigation lights, I'm not going to have a look until we're inside."

David nodded to Johnny and said, "I'll warn you if there is less than forty feet under the keel."

Behind Katya, there was a little conversation, several of the men were checking their weapons, or attempting to doze. She watched Johnny's control panel and noticed the speed, 4.7 knots, the speed that Seakeeper had averaged across the Tasman Sea.

Eventually, Johnny turned to Dave and said, "Ready for the scope?"

"Right, we're in, nobody about, thank god. Steer 210 degrees and reset the inertial system with the GPS co-ordinates."

An hour later, the inertial system showed that they had passed under the Harbour Bridge, a quick search through the periscope confirmed this and Dave muttered, "Strewth, it's dark. No lights in the city at all." It was getting shallower, they had to run at periscope depth from here on but they continued to minimise their use of the periscope itself. In the flatter water of the inner harbour, its V shaped wake would be visible to watchers on shore. Soon after, Johnny slowed the Mule to a crawl and they raised the scope, "Cockatoo Island, and there are lights."

"Thanks Dave, now down scope. Just like we were briefed."

They preceded in silence until Johnny said, "Gladesville Bridge in a minute." He slowed the Mule to a crawl and edged forward. With the tide under them, it was still too fast for David. "Slow her down, Johnny. Remember there maybe chains left hanging down in the water."

"If I go any slower Dave, I'll have no flow over the planes and I'll lose control." Both men's voices were tight with stress.

There was a metallic grating from the bow of the Mule. A moment later, the grating noise moved further aft and then there was silence. Dave said sharply, "Watch your depth, Johnny." Katya saw that the gauge was reading 10 feet, the Mule tipped down, and headed further west.

"Three and a half miles to go." Dave turned to her and said, "Katya, if that ferry wharf is being watched, what's your plan then?"

"There's a marina development five hundred metres upstream, we'll go ashore there."

"Sounds a bit iffy."

"When I suggested this, I wasn't expecting the Blakes to have blundered in a couple of days before and attracted attention to the wharf, was I?"

"Yeah, Katya, but it sure doesn't help, does it! Attention is attention and that bikie gang sounded like a bit of a nuisance. After all, we are meant to get in unobserved."

"Well we need to make contact tonight, if we're to help Lieutenant Anderson and Knotty."

Johnny slowed the Mule and Dave raised the periscope again, "Moonrise, have to be extra careful now Johnny, keep her slow. There's a bend ahead, then the wharf should be straight ahead."

He lowered the scope and watched Johnny manipulate the controls. "Take her across to the other side of the river, then use the infrared to see if anybody's about?"

Johnny turned to her for a moment and asked, "Katya, what's the bottom of the river here, sand or rock?"

She thought for a moment and said, "Mud, I think. There's a little sailing club up the river, this side of the marina. When they capsize their boats, the sails are often covered in mud."

"OK, we'll wait, sitting on the bottom then."

##  80 - Ashore

"Up scope, Dave, and set up the image intensifier."

"OK Johnny." Dave pivoted around looking slowly for any watchers. Katya noticed that his breathing was shallow. He's nervous too, she thought and found it strangely reassuring that this tough member of the swim team, essentially the Waller's commandos, was also nervous. "Can't see nothing." He paused and the silence stretched on as half a dozen men behind her also struggled to control their nerves.

"Katya, you know the area, check it out."

The periscope was a miniature of the one she had used on the Waller, with the captain and crew looking on. The image intensifier show her ghostly green images, cars in the parking area for the ferry and the neighbouring launching ramp. In summer, it was a lovely spot, with the trees to shade the vehicles from the sun. Nothing seemed to be moving, then they switched over to infrared.

Again, Dave made the first search with the infrared filter. "Quiet as the pub when the village team is playing away," he muttered, moving aside for Katya.

It was a tiny point of light, probably a cigarette that gave away the stakeout. There was a garden wall, no more than a metre high at the corner of the street where the road turned inland. The smoker had tried to keep his cigarette hidden behind it, but it appeared whenever he lifted it to his lips to take a drag on it.

"Dave, someone, behind the garden wall..."

He took over the periscope and watched for more than a minute, stock still, as if sighting a rifle, then said, "Well spotted, Katya. What now?"

"Check out the marina." Johnny moved the Mule round the last bend in the river and the marina and its units came into view. "Damn, there's a whole crowd of people over there."

"Confound it." Johnny muttered. "The tide will start to fall soon and if we haven't got you off in an hour, you're not getting ashore."

Katya took over the periscope and rotated the scope again. "Dave, have a look at that. It's the sailing club I was telling you about. It's on piles. Could you get us in there?"

Dave looked at the silent little building, "What's that behind it?"

"Mangroves."

"Johnny, what do you think?" Johnny got up, stretched and turned to the periscope.

"Depth of water?"

"At least four metres, the little dinghies they sail can turn turtle, go right over there."

"Thanks, Katya. It's worth a go."

Five minutes later the Mule lifted off the mud and Dave started calling the depth under the keel, "three metres, four, five, five, four, turn now, four, three. Scope up."

"Think you can nurse your way in beside that ramp, Johnny?"

A shuffling of positions again, Johnny looking through the scope, "I reckon."

Then Dave calling "three metres, two you're close in now, up slowly, two, one..."

Johnny's voice cut across, "Down scope, surfaced."

A moment later, the top hatch was popped. Johnny looked at Dave, then at her, "OK you two, take care. See you here same time tomorrow, or drop the transponder of the Aquaphone where the water gets deep, east of the ferry wharf. "We'll recharge over in the little bay and then go to the bottom until then." As she put her head out of the Mule, Katya got a strong smell of the shoreline and wood smoke. Below her, Dave gave a pat to Johnny's head and said, "We're off to the big city, wait patiently for us driver."

A muffled "good luck" came from below and they climbed onto the ramp where the club's sailors launched their boats. The Mule slipped into the darkness and Dave and Katya looked around them. The activities at the marina seemed to be winding down, a round of applause was followed by a choral rendition of "You'll never walk alone," and a distant babble of voices.

From their bags, they pulled the civilian clothes they had packed. "Too late for modesty" Katya said to herself so she took a breath, turned her back and pulled off her uniform and replaced it with civilian clothes. As her eyes acclimatised to the dark, she saw that they were standing on a balcony over the water. Dave moved to the end of it and examined a security screen placed to prevent intruders climbing in, working by touch, he found the fastenings. Somehow he got them undone and pulled the screen away. He climbed over and helped her follow, then lifted the screen back into place. "We may need to use the same door tomorrow, he whispered."

From the club, a board walk lead to the shore. Katya felt horribly exposed as they came out of the shadows, the moon illuminated them on the bleached timbers of the board walk. Dave was carrying a pack and she a small bag with her uniform pushed tightly into it.

Suddenly, there were people on the concrete path along the riverbank where it merged with the board walk. They were walking and chatting, anything but tense. Couples were walking hand in hand and instinctively, Katya felt for and found Dave's. She detected surprise and then understanding as his hand first flinched away and then gripped hers. She held back and made Dave walk slowly. A couple caught up and passed them, with a cheerful, "Great night wasn't it, our first celebration since..."

The speaker hesitated for a word and Katya completed the sentence for him. "Then."

"Yeah, then. Have a good night."

"Good night to you, too."

They had almost reached the corner of the park. In thirty metres, they would reach the watchers they had seen through the periscope. Close ahead, Katya saw a solid figure darker than the surrounding darkness. "Instinctively she twisted her body into Dave's and planted a kiss on his cheek. "That was a great evening, Dave. Thank you so much." She hoped that the voice would carry to the watchers at the corner. She walked forward a few more paces and said "Now Dave, remember what I've told you about Amy, she's very religious, there'll be no hanky panky under her roof, you promised."

Dave managed, "Are you sure, Katya." They were up with the watchers, she smelt the nicotine from the cigarettes and sniffed. Pretending to be unaware of the watchers still, she turned again to Dave and planted a kiss full on his lips.

"You're a lucky bastard," a voice startled them from out of the darkness. Another said, "I reckon you're on a promise, mate." Then they were passed. She felt Dave's hand try and pull away, but held it tight, she whispered to him, "We've got to keep up appearances."

It wasn't too hard to find Amy's house in the moonlight, but she stopped short. The house was completely dark. A moment of panic filled her, unasked questions, had Amy been caught in the original explosion, or evacuated, had the house been taken over, as Warren's had been. Her mind was racing through the possibilities, find a place to be unobtrusive until tomorrow night, unobtrusive, but warm, the night was already pretty cold.

A voice called from out of the darkness behind them, "Katya, Katya, is that really you?"

"Amy?"

A moment of reunion, on the pathway, "Come on, what are we doing standing out here in the cold?" Amy hustled them inside.

Katya could contain herself no longer. She hugged her friend and gasped "I saw the darkened house and thought you must be dead." She paused for breath and added, "What happened, where were you?"

##  81 - New Realities at home

They chatted into the early hours, news of friends, or too often, lack of news. Many neighbours had chosen to live near the ferry wharf for easy access to jobs in the city, a lot had set off for work that morning and never returned, but it could have been worse...

"It was a good thing it happened during the school holidays." Amy said it with a catch in her voice, "a lot of folk were still on holiday. A month later and the death toll would have been far higher."

Katya and Dave nodded silently, so she continued, "You know they've balloted out the empty houses, I suppose? Our neighbour Warren's one for instance, he'd gone sailing."

"What happened to him?" Katya asked, feeling guilty for dissimulating before her friend.

"Doubt we'll ever know. But the bloke who moved in is connected with Higson and security. Lovely fellow, not!"

It was late when Amy showed them to the guest room. Once she had closed the door, Katya looked at the double bed and said to him, "Sorry Dave, fieldcraft, if that's what you call it, is neither intimacy nor a promise." He nodded, but she thought she detected disappointment in his shrug.They had gone to bed late and slept until morning, when they were woken by an insistent banging on the front door. Katya sat bolt upright, fearful that their incursion had already been detected by security. Dave sat up too, reaching for a pistol that he had pulled out of his bag once their hostess had shown them to their room.

"I'll go Dave, and don't show Amy that thing, it would scare her spitless." She went to the top of the stairs, but Amy was already opening the front door.

"Hello, Little Max, why are you so early?"

"A small boy's voice piped up, "My mum sent me down with some fresh milk. She said she owed you for the scones and stuff you gave us."

Katya relaxed and started down the stairs.

"Come in Max. Would you like a brownie? I made them before the party yesterday."

The little voice replied, "Oh, Yes please, Mrs Johnson."

"Remember, you can call me Amy."

The boy stopped as he saw Katya. Amy smiled and said, "Max, this is Miss Obraztsova and," seeing Dave coming down the stairs, "and Mister Jacobs."

Katya smiled and said, "Hi, Max. Call me Katya, everybody else does. My other name is much too long."

Amy added, "Katya and Mr Jacobs are sailors, Max. Just like Mr Blake."

The little face wrinkled with pleasure and he asked, "Do you sail far, like Mr. Blake, Katya?"

"How far does Mr. Blake sail, Max?"

"All the way to the horizon, Katya; but I saw him a few days ago." Behind her, she heard Amy gasp as Max continued, "He was back here and that horrible Mr Brownlow chased him out of his own house. I hate Mr. Brownlow. When I grow up I'll be a proper policeman and arrest bad people like Mr. Brownlow."

Katya looked across at Amy who, she guessed, was keeping her face deliberately expressionless.

After Max had gone, Amy blurted out, "I had no idea that Warren was about. He must have got a terrible shock, finding that bully boy in his house."

"Would that explain the watchers down on the corner of the street?"

Amy paused for a moment, "I shouldn't think so; some of Mr. Brownlow's boys picked a fight down at the wharf a few nights ago." She paused, "But there again, how would Warren have come here - by boat?"

They ate their breakfast listening to the morning radio news. Katya thought it sounded mundane except for the grating references to "Affirm the leadership of the peace loving Mister Higson" and other praise for the leadership group. There were notices about "community meetings" which all citizens should make a special effort to attend. The item that stopped her in her tracks was a report of "another suspected incursion on the harbour last night." She remembered the grating of the chain on the hull of the Mule.

The bulletin ended with a directive to "deliver any spies, war mongers or malcontents to police headquarters in Parramatta, where a number are already being held, pending the people's judgement at the stadium."

After a moment, Dave said, "Sounds positively Roman – judgement in the stadium. Have they got lions?"

Amy looked closely at Katya, "You've gone white Kats. What's up?"

Katya took a deep breath. Amy was right, her mind was in turmoil and she glanced across at Dave. Careful of her words she said, "A couple of our old shipmates have disappeared. I hope that nobody has tagged them as war mongers, just because they were navy, like us."

"Fair enough, but you two have still got to get registered, and you realise you'll have to do that in Parramatta, too." The words might be neutral, but her tone said enough.

##  82 - News from home and abroad

The radio had been burbling along in the background. Now one of the announcers started the usual recapitulation of the headlines but was cut off by his colleague, there was a rustle of paper and the second announcer took over.

"In a new development in Beijing, it has been announced that General Secretary Moon Shi, perhaps the highest ranking official in the Communist Party of China has died after a short illness. In a surprise move, his position will be taken by Fung Huaqing, a relatively junior member of the Standing Committee of the Politburo. Incoming General Secretary Fung has had a meteoric rise based on popular acclaim for his commitment to the Chinese military. His son was missing for over a month after a helicopter crash during the international assistance mission to New Zealand and the younger Fung's return to Beijing, along with his rescuers received extensive coverage."

Katya let out a gasp, "Major Fung's dad, president of China?"

Amy looked at her with puzzlement and mouthed "what?"

Back in control, Katya replied simply "Oh, just a Chinese officer we had visit the boat a while ago."

"Well Katya, friends in high places won't get you registered or food coupons, so far as I know. It's a good walk but you should be home for dinner."

Apart from holding the two Chinese aircrew at gunpoint and then transferring them to the Waller, Dave had not met Major Fung and as they walked west along the riverside path towards Parramatta, he asked, "Well, what's he like then, this Major Fung?"

"He didn't open up much, he gave no hint that he was the son of a bigwig."

"Perhaps that was deliberate."

"Yes, Dave. Perhaps, but I should have guessed there was something special about him, the attention he received, when we got to Auckland. Even the admiral seemed to be very respectful."

Parramatta seemed almost undamaged as they walked along the riverbank. The foot traffic shared the narrow ribbon of concrete with more than a few cyclists, probably hurrying to work. Their way was checked at the footbridge over the river. Several armed guards manned a gate in a barbed wire fence, and directed them brusquely over the bridge. "Unless you want to make your farewells to targets for tomorrow."

As they crossed the bridge, Katya whispered, "Targets, Dave!"

"Doesn't sound good, does it."

The queue to register proved reasonably short and their cover stories seemed to raise no eyebrows so before lunch, they had been provided with provisional papers and an imperative to attend the meeting tomorrow, "You really mustn't miss the opportunity to hear Mr Higson speak!" Relieved, they headed further west along the south bank of the river. "It's like a World War two movie set for a concentration camp," she muttered to Dave.

"Inner fence, outer fence, guard towers. Yeah, you might say they've followed the plan. Is that the stadium beyond it?" He accepted Katya's nod without further comment. "Time we were getting back then."

The winter sun was behind them as they neared the marina development where the party had been the previous night. Katya was feeling tired, "To little exercise since I got back to Australia," she complained to Dave.

There was a hint of breathlessness as he replied, "Not easy to keep fit in a submarine, is it."

The path entered a small copse which ran down to the river, the contrast from the bright sunlight was strong enough for them to pause and give their eyes time to adjust to the shade.

""Miss Katya, Mister Dave," the voice was quaking with nervousness and perhaps a little self-importance.

"Little Max, what are you doing here?" Katya asked.

"Mum said that Mister Brownlow and some of the bad men with motor bikes are searching for you. She said, don't come home."

"Shit." Dave blurted out.

Max reached pulled a small package from the back of the little bike and added, "Mum said to give you these."

Katya took a deep breath and said, "Max, I want you to go to your Mummy and say," again she paused and looked him in the eye, "My friends say thank you for the presents and they will see you soon. - Is that OK?"

"My friends say thank you for the presents and they will see you soon." The statement ended with a lifted tone, and she nodded, "yes, that's all you have to say, Max. Go and tell your mummy, now please – and thank you very much."

Max pulled his small bicycle with a plastic image of a police bike worked into the front of it onto the path and Katya said quietly, "Thank you Max," as the little figure mounted his bike and making siren noises headed off toward his home.

"Phew, what do we do now?" Dave asked, "We can't stay around here and if we head east, we'll run into Brownlow and his goons."

Katya found herself laughing and gesturing to dark mass of buttressing roots in the centre of the copse, "We'll climb a tree."

Two minutes later, and slightly out of breath, they were hidden some seven metres up a huge fig tree, invisible even from the lower branches of the giant. In the fading light, Katya looked carefully at the branch they were on and found what she was looking for. She pointed at a heart cut into the bark long ago, to the left of the heart were the letters MJR and on its right the letters KO.

Dave asked quietly, "and who was MJR?"

"Just a boy."
83 - Waiting for the Mule

Facing the sudden threat conveyed in Little Max's warning, Katya had overlooked the small parcel he had shyly slipped into her hand. There was no writing, presumably in case it was found, but a little outline of a rabbit, the two ears pricked up alertly. Katya immediately recognised the shape as Amy's, one she had perfected in late primary school and used on private messages to her for many years. Embarrassed at overlooking the little package, she opened it carefully. Wrapped in another sheet of plain paper was a transistor radio and two bars of chocolate. She showed them to Dave.

"What are those three letters," he asked. Katya turned the page over and saw "KIT" in bland capitals.

"Keep in touch. Girls have to get messages past their parents, don't they?" She smiled at him. Dave watched as Katya dug a pencil out of her bag and began writing. Her forehead lined with concentration as she wrote.

"What are you writing, a note for MJR?"

"A plan to save as many of those poor people as possible. You go on the Mule with Johnny. I'll take the rest of the team back to Parramatta tomorrow morning and await him doing his part."

"You're telling the captain?"

Katya heard the disbelief in his voice and said, "Please apologise to him, but what's the alternative?" When she had finished the note she handed it to him. "Dave, don't argue. Local knowledge is vital. Remember, I know this area. It's no reflection on you, that I'm the one to stay."

Towards sunset the wind began to freshen and a flurry of rain penetrated the leaves around their hiding place and dampened their clothes. Katya shivered.

"We'll have to stay up here until Johnny brings in the Mule Katya."

"If we get hypothermia we might fall out." She replied, then added "and I need a pee."

"You're not the only one and it gets harder to hold if you get chilled."

Somewhere not that far away some motorbikes revved their engines and growled menacingly around the neighbourhood.

They turned on the radio. It helped to while away the time. Katya listened attentively to the schedule for the following day. The importance of the population arriving before one o'clock was repeatedly emphasised, those walking were encouraged to leave home in plenty of time and to bring a lunch pack and something to drink. At one point she got the folded piece of paper back from Dave and in the fading light added something.

"What now?" He asked.

"Correcting H Hour."

Cramped and chilled, they climbed down from their hiding place with quarter of an hour before the Mule should collect them. Away from the tree, they could see the moon lightening occasional tears in the racing clouds. The river was inky dark as they walked out onto the boardwalk leading to the little sailing club.

"What are you doing Dave?"

"Fitting a silencer to my pistol, that's what. Just in case they left someone waiting for us." With barely a sound, Dave lifted aside the security screen and climbed inside, then reached over and helped her inside. They tiptoed along the balcony to the launching ramp.

The Mule announced its return with a sigh like an exhaling porpoise and a moment later, the dim glow of the hatchway was illuminated. Dave knelt down to stop the Mule banging into the piles of the club.

There was a crash of falling gear behind them and the lights were turned on.

"Told you mate, it would be worth waiting for."

The light revealed two men burly men at the back of the club. They were wearing biker gear which emphasised their intimidating size. One advanced confidently on Dave while the other pulled on a rope and replied to his mate, "I wonder what I've caught in my little net, eh? I big reward, I think, from Mr. Brownlow."

Dave straightened himself and turned slowly towards them, "Name's Dave Jacobs. Sorry to interrupt your fun." Katya was appalled by the clinical efficiency with which Dave shot them then went and quietly extinguished the lights.

"Them or us, Katya. This is a serious business, and if you give orders, you've got to be prepared for the results." He hesitated then offered the gun to Katya. "Take care of it, I had to sign for it."

Dave leaned down into the hatch and spoke to Johnny. Five minutes later, Dave slipped into the Mule's hatch and the mini submarine slipped out into the river leaving Katya and six commandos in the club house. The two dead biker's bodies lay on the outside of the mini-sub and would float off in mid-stream to delay any investigation.

With the aid of pen lights, they made an attempt to tidy up the mess and wash the blood into the river below. Then Katya outlined the plan to her little army.

##  84 - Meet at the church

The plan, as Katya outlined it, had one major virtue. It was simple, they would wait for the signal then clear the guards at the gate of the compound and release the prisoners. She vaguely recalled that something similar had been achieved by bombers in World War 2. It might be simple, but it was risky. They had to get into position without attracting the attention of the prowling motorcycle gang enforcers or any potential informers. That meant they had to move into Parramatta separately. Fortunately, the summons to the meeting meant that many people would be moving around on foot.

Morning light found the party cold and stiff. They had hidden in the mangroves behind the little sailing club, rather than climbing the tree again, there were too many to hide in its boughs. Without raising their voices above a whisper, they ate some dry rations and waited. It was not too long after dawn when people started moving around and most were moving up river towards Parramatta.

They left the hiding place in pairs, Katya with the last two, walking like old friends, and forcing the occasional laugh for the benefit of any observers. A distant whistle came from the east and Katya smiled, "I love old fashioned steam engines." She said to her companions.

"Steam engines."

As they walked along the riverside path, the soft chuffing of a steam engine slowly grew louder and through the fringing mangroves they caught sight of a barge being bullied along by a tug. The funnel of the tug was belching smoke and a strong smell of burned anthracite reached them. "It belongs in a museum," remarked someone.

"If it works, who gives a damn about anything else, now?" She replied. "Beautiful isn't it. I think that's the first barge of aid up from Port Botany, straight to Parramatta, right?"

"But why the museum piece?"

"Because it is a museum piece, I guess the modern ones were at the port and were wrecked." Katya replied patiently.

"Well, why's it stopping here?"

"Tide."

They walked on, leaving the tug and its charge behind them.

By the time they had reached the bridge over the river, it was busy with foot traffic, much of it heading to the north side of the river and ultimately to the stadium, but enough people were heading south that Katya was confident that they would not attract any attention.

The eastern fringe of the Parramatta tower blocks had clearly suffered some damage. "At least concrete doesn't burn, she mused. Nonetheless, scorch marks were visible of some of the buildings and Katya guessed that combustible material on verandas must have been ignited even this far from the point of the attack. She also noticed that at the bottom of many of the blocks, sunlight was scattered by lingering shards of broken glass. The windows themselves appeared to have been repaired and people were coming and going suggesting that normal habitation continued.

With a weary eye for other members of the team, Katya walked on in silence. At street level, the face of Mister Higson was everywhere, posters proclaiming, "Higson, save on weapons, save the peace" or "Higson builds for us" and similar ideas were everywhere. "No sign of any opposition," she thought to herself.

The modern buildings might have been largely unscathed but the old church had taken a battering, one of its twin towers had been knocked askew and both were missing tiles. The west door, under the shadow of the battered towers was locked and they walked around to the vestry door on the north side of the building.

After pretending to read a notice about upcoming services, they exchanged apparently innocent conversation with the other team members who were sitting casually, as if enjoying the winter sun. She checked her watch yet again and this time, nodded to her companions, "let's go." They shouldered their bags and leaving the park around the battered church joined the flow of pedestrians walking north up the pedestrian mall towards the river and the stadium beyond.

Standing near the bridge they looked eastwards to where the tug was finally pushing the barge into the terminus of the now defunct ferry service. A crowd of people were heading down towards the barge, were intercepted by several motorcycle heavies yelling, "After the ceremony" and "Stadium first, rations later."

Katya looked at her watch again. "We'll know in about two minutes."

##  85 - Across the river

There was activity behind the barbed wire of the camp. "What are they doing?" she asked one of the commandos?"

"Dividing the prisoners into batches, I reckon." He muttered, "Easier to handle the victims in small groups, I should think." There were more guards in evidence at the gate by the river too. A small group of people had gathered at the outer gate where they were being held back at gunpoint. The inner gate was manned by, Katya guessed, twenty more of the guards.

The characteristic double bang of a supersonic aircraft resonated across the river. Katya jumped, even though she had expected it. She watched as the commandos bent down and opened the bags they had been carrying. Each pulled out a white submariner's jumper. "Wait for it!" she said as they began to walk towards the bridge.

The first sub-munition struck the inner gate. One moment, it had appeared an impenetrable barrier of barbed wire, reinforced by a pillbox with a machine gun and the next, as the flame and smoke dispersed, it was bloody scorched mud. The crowd at the outer gate were stunned, after a moment of silence, some turned and ran. Others, a few, charged at the guards remaining at the outer gate who, distracted by the explosion had turned their backs. For a second, after the explosion there was silence, then shouting and the outer gate was torn down. The remaining guards took to their heels.

Katya ran as hard as she could. Her lungs were bursting before she reached the chaos at the gates. Around her the commandos spread out, with their submachine guns at the ready.

The next explosions came seconds apart, from the far side of the compound, like an invisible fist striking with the power of some heavenly fury, each of the guard towers erupted in a jet of flame. The concussions throwing many of the occupants of the compound to the ground. Now there was panic. People were struggling to their feet, many with their hands bound behind them. Suddenly, Katya was faced by a tidal wave of people fleeing towards her team from the fires caused by the missile strikes.

"Back across the river," she shouted, "Back across the river" and seeing her instructions heeded, she turned and ran too. At the far end of the bridge, she waited as the squad gathered. The first of the prisoners fleeing over the bridge reached them, and kept running, followed by more who were less fit and others whose wrists were clearly bound.

"They used cable ties." She said, and the commandos pulled knives from bags and wrists were freed for those whose panic had abated enough for them to take the opportunity. A steam whistle screamed behind her and she yelled to her team, "You two stay, the rest of you, get the tug."

Already, refugees were fleeing towards the pontoon. She could see the white jumpers of the commandos making their way through the throng, would they be in time?

Behind her, a voice called "Brat, Brat." Knotty Tree was calling to her as he was having his bonds cut by one of the commandos.

"Knotty, where's Lieutenant Anderson?"

"They took him up to headquarters, the club building next to the stadium, poor bastard."

"Why?" Katya asked.

"Give him another beating, I shouldn't wonder, before shooting us this afternoon. That was the plan, wasn't it? Entertainment, Higson style."

"Get to the tug. Tell them not to wait for us." She looked at the two commandos still busy cutting the bonds of the escapees. "Leave the knives, come with me."

Jostling against the flow of people, they recrossed the bridge. Near the destroyed gate one of her companions handed her a discarded assault rifle. It was still smeared with blood, presumably that of its previous owner. She hefted it, the weight was reassuring. "To the club" she called and they ran.

The entrance of the club was chaos. The steps were held by a crowd of bikers who were denying entry to a crowd of hysterical people. The drifting smoke from the burning guard towers was acrid and the occasional pop of ammunition still lying in the fire added to the tension.

They looked at each other and shook their heads. Access from the front was no going to happen. "Back door." She mouthed, she didn't have the breath to speak the words anyway.

Surprisingly, there was no security outside the backdoor, equally it was devoid of any means of opening it from the outside. One of her companions opened his pack, took out a hand grenade, gestured that she should get back, pulled the pin and rolled it against the door. There was a wait of ten seconds and the sharp crack of the grenade was followed by the rattle of debris. Katya found herself running after the commandos as they charged through the smoke into the building. She found herself in a smoke filled space and confronted by another door. This was also designed purely as an exit and had no handle on the outside. Their problem was solved as the doors crashed open and two leather clad figures with lowered rifles barged into them. There was a blast of gunfire and the two men fell to the floor. Katya looked down and saw a wisp of smoke curling up from the barrel of the gun she held.

At the top of a short flight of stairs, there was a security post, except that it was unmanned, presumably the two men who had charged at them had come from here. There was a bank of monitors playing poor quality pictures. Several showed the crowd at the front door, some were blank, perhaps as a result of the grenade explosion. Others showed internal views. Katya jumped onto a chair found the controls and began flipping through channels.

"This is what we're looking for." She announced. A picture showed a figure tied to a chair, hunched over as another figure stood over him and others moved around in a threatening manner. "Floor two, room fourteen.

Steps led up from the security post to a landing just above the reception. From there, they could see down into the front foyer. Heard from inside, the chanting at the front was intimidating. They could see the backs of the security detail outside beyond the glass and reinforcements standing inside behind the plate glass. Suddenly, one of the glass panels splintered as a large lump of concrete was thrown, the security detail braced. A shower of smaller stones flew over the heads of the crowd, and suddenly the guards outside were retreating inside. The chanting rose to a crescendo as the crowd surged forward. The unarmed guards outside ran behind the reinforcements who stepped forward in a line and lowered the barrels of their weapons.

Katya screamed, "Stop them" but her voice was drowned in a roar of gunfire. The menacing row at the top of the stairs fell like wheat before the scythe and the crowd charged forward. "Let's go."

They burst into the room from which the video feed had come. There were four men standing in the room. At that moment, their attention was on the door and window, not on Lieutenant Anderson who was slumped, tied to the chair in the middle of the room, just as he had appeared on the video monitor. The occupants turned to face the intruders. One of them reached for a pistol at his belt, but stopped in the face of the threat of the pointed guns and slowly raised his hands. The others followed suit.

Katya went to Lieutenant Anderson, he was barely conscious and seemingly unaware of what was happening. "Knife," she demanded. The two commandos shook their heads, they had left theirs back at the bridge to free the escaping captives.

On the other side of the room was a small bar. Katya seized a champagne bottle by the neck, wrapped it in a napkin and smashed it against the structure of the window. It broke and she selected a suitable shard and used it to cut the cable ties holding Lieutenant Anderson helpless.

"We're going to need a car." She said.

"And this one will arrange it, I think."

She looked at the commando and the man he was holding. "Higson. Mister bloody Higson."

##  86 - In the flesh

Higson seemed far smaller in the flesh. The face florid rather than intimidating. He cringed against the wall with the others as the commandos searched them. A bigger man, Katya thought it was the one who had been standing over the prisoner, snarled, "You'll never get away with this, you bastards."

The sound of the crowd echoed up the stairs and Katya snarled back, "Want us to leave you to the crowd?"

She found a packet of cable ties on the bar, grabbed Higson and seized his arms behind him, "A dose of your own favourite medicine, if I'm not mistaken."

"What about a car? You, big man, make it happen, or the crowd will get you this minute."

Higson muttered, "Back stairs, car park."

"One more thing" Katya muttered, grabbed more cable ties and secured the wrists of the other men, before leaving them to their fate and heading for the back stairs. One commando held Higson by his upper arm and the other helped Lieutenant Anderson.

The carpark floor was deserted, but the keys were in the Land Cruiser and it started first time. They strapped Lieutenant Anderson in the passenger seat and a commando sat on each side of Higson. "Looks like we've got a woman driver, Katya – go."

She pulled the seat forward to the maximum extent, started the engine and roared up the ramp blasting the horn to get the crowd out of the way. Fortunately, many had already charged into the club building and the crowd had thinned accordingly. The bridge proved to be the barrier, it was still a mass of people. To cross, they too would have to leave the vehicle. Behind them, even above the noise of the diesel, they could hear motorbikes revving.

"What now?" Someone behind her said.

"East," she shouted above the noise of the engine.

As she gained confidence in handling the unfamiliar vehicle she accelerated down the empty road, sounding the horn and scattering the few pedestrians who were about. It was a strange sensation to roar through familiar intersections where normally she would have been checked by traffic and traffic lights. A ribbon of steam rose from the river.

"They're after us," one of the commandos shouted. In the driving mirrors, Katya caught a glimpse of motorbikes spreading across the road behind her. She pressed the throttle harder and the big diesel roared. "Some of them might try to get ahead of us using parallel streets."

They were coming up the hill to the intersection where the road down to a bridge over the river crossed their eastward path. A glimpse of movement at the top of the hill and Katya reacted by instinct. The big four wheel drive lurched as she slammed it across the central reservation and hurtled down a side street, a few seconds later, she heard a burst of gunfire as one of the commandos reminded the pursuers to keep their distance.

Thankfully the side streets were empty and Katya would only ever recall them as a blur. The gates of the marina development were locked but she drove the Land Cruiser straight through them. Then they dragged Higson and Lieutenant Anderson from the vehicle and round the side of the marina office to the wharf.

A workboat was sitting at the jetty but they ignored it. There was no time to find fuel and start the motor. A large rowing dinghy was tied next to it. Its oars were on the thwarts and thole pins already in place.

"Get them in, Katya rasped with bursting lungs. She cast off the boat's lines and pushed it away from the wharf. Behind them, she heard the first motorbikes reach the marina. They were a hundred metres from the shore as she strained on the oars. The westerly wind, she hadn't realised how strong it was, and the tide were carrying them away from the wharf too. A pistol shot splatted into the water and one of the submachine guns stuttered in reply. She watched as the ancient steam tug emerged from under the bridge and caught up with them, its whistle blowing exultantly. A line snaked out and the dinghy was pulled alongside. Another rope was produced, tied around Higson's shoulders and he was pulled aboard, followed by Lieutenant Anderson. Then the dinghy was left to drift astern.

Katya slid into the wheelhouse and found Lieutenant Liu standing behind the helmsman. "Wai Man, what are you doing here?"

"Try keeping me away? Katya." He said warmly.

In daylight, the old tug's run down harbour seemed very slow. The high arch of the Gladesville Bridge loomed ahead of them for an age, before they were able to make out the details.

"I thought they might do something like that," Wai Man muttered. "They had some of it set-up as we came up stream."

Katya followed his gaze but it took a while for her to work out what was hanging below the high span of the bridge. Heavy chains hung from the arch itself and something, she guessed it was a telegraph pole was lowered horizontally between them. A rope from the northern shore was attached to the pole. With a shudder Katya realised it would be used to pull the timber up and then released to set the timber swinging from side to side in a lethal arc. As they approached, she saw a gang of men pulling on the rope which tightened and then the pole began to move sideways and up as it was pulled towards the riverbank - ready to smash into the old tug's hull or superstructure.

"I want everybody below, except the skipper on the wheel."

"If you're staying up here, Wai Man, I'm standing beside you." Katya found herself saying.

"And you're going to need some covering fire, Sir." Added one of the commandos.

"Spare me heroes, particularly women heroes, I'm staying, Sir." muttered the old man at the wheel.

The two commandos took positions behind the bulwarks, checked their weapons and waited.

Katya saw some splashes on the water close to the hull. It took a moment to realise that someone, up on the bridge was shooting at them. The commandos' guns replied in short bursts. At This range, that probably meant keeping heads down, rather than inflicting casualties.

"South side, now please." Wai Man said to the helmsman and waited as the old tug edged over to the far bank of the river away from the threatening beam.

In the distance, away to the north, there was a burst of sustained gunfire.

"Was that the US Cavalry?" Someone asked nervously.

There was more firing, nearer but still distant, as they approached the bridge. This was the critical moment. "When I say, fire your guns at the gang releasing the beam," called Wai Man, then, "What the... Seakeeper?"

The cutter was heeling under full sail. She surged around the bend in the river heading straight for the northern bank under the bridge. A rattle of gunfire came from the party controlling the deadly beam. "Shoot," shouted Wai Man, and the submachine guns added their bark to the chaos.

The party attempting to release the beam wilted under the fire from two directions. The tug was swinging to face the threat. Suddenly the beam was free, swinging like a massive pendulum across the river. Katya saw it sweep past the side of the tug, slow as it rose on the chains and began to swing back again. This was no telegraph pole, but the trunk of a huge tree, and at each end, she saw a metal shape which she guessed was an explosive device of some kind.

"Now all we have to do is wait, announced Wai Man, as the beam continued to swing.

"How long?" Asked Katya.

"Perhaps half an hour, there's a lot of energy in that huge trunk."

"Did you see the bombs on it?"

"Really, no, I was too busy avoiding the thing." Wai Man laughed nervously.

"Seakeeper's going downstream again." David called from the bow.

"Well they timed their intervention pretty well perfectly."

A heavy bullet smashed the glass of the wheelhouse. "We're a target until we get through here, and if we move back west, they can set the damn thing up again.

Wai Man pulled a two way radio from his pocket and spoke into it in Chinese. Listened to the response and said, "No more than five minutes before the cavalry arrive."

There was another sustained burst of gunfire. "That" said one of the commandos, was a fifty cal. Then looking at Katya and realising that she had not understood, "A heavy machinegun, anybody up there who understands what they are up against will be departing very shortly."

He was right, motorbikes revved and suddenly, the bridge was empty, but the deadly beam continued to swing menacingly below it.

Finally, a convoy of trucks appeared on the top bridge. Figures waived from the top of the arch and the two way radio erupted in Chinese once more.

"They are going to clear the beam now." Explained Wai Man.

They could see a crowd around the chains supporting the beam. Suddenly, the chain at one end came free. The end of the beam plummeted downward still connected to the chain and as its end hit the water there was a powerful explosion. The other end, still loaded with its bomb pointed upwards towards the arch of the bridge. At least the beam was no longer swinging.

The old tug straightened her course and headed under the bridge with an echoing blast on her whistle. With the sun setting behind them, she passed under the darkened Harbour Bridge. Ahead of them was a solitary stern light - Seakeeper.

The fresh breeze was carrying the yacht seaward, almost as fast as the tug.

Katya squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Wai Man."

##  87 - East of the bridge

It was not HMAS Waller that blocked Seakeeper's path as we headed for Newcastle, this was an altogether larger submarine and it emerged right in front of us so that I had to spin the wheel to avoid hitting it and the boat ended up head to wind with the sails flogging. An officer emerged on the high fin and his tannoy announced in an unmistakeable American accent, "Seakeeper, I'm sending a boat."

Quickly, men appeared on the curved menacing hull. A hatch was opened and they pulled out a "RIB," a rubber boat with a rigid bottom and manhandled it over the side. An outboard purred and in moments it was alongside the yacht. A powerfully built black man climbed over the side of Seakeeper, "I'm Commander James Benson of the USS New Hampshire, Mr Blake."

I imagine that Commander Benson read my feelings from my face.

"Today I'm acting as postman," there was a hint of mirth in the statement and he reached into the pocket of his immersion suit and handed me a letter.

The letter was from Captain Martin. It was short and to the point, "Immediate prospects of large scale massacre in Parramatta – team from HMAS Waller attempting to intervene, includes Katya Obraztsova – Need to get reinforcements up river. Seakeeper is only available transport – Request your help."

I suspect I said "Shit." Otherwise my jaw must have dropped.

"He's not kidding, Mister Blake."

"What's up, Dad?" Jeremy had come up on deck followed by Liu Wai Man. I handed Jeremy Captain Martin's letter, he read it, passed it to Wai Man and waited.

Lieutenant Liu looked north, towards Newcastle, then south again. Thoughtfully he pulled out his mobile phone saw that it had a signal and made a call. There was a long wait but the conversation itself was brief. Yvonne told me later that he had called Colonel Fung and told him that he was going back for Katya. Whatever was said, it was enough. He looked at Commander Benson and said, "Right, what are we waiting for, Sir?"

Jeremy nodded vigorously.

"I looked at my watch, I don't see how we can make it?"

"How fast could we tow you?" Asked the commander.

Seakeeper had never travelled faster. Her bow was up and her stern sucked down into the water as the submarine, now half submerged headed back to Sydney. Even so, it was after nightfall when we rendezvoused with the Waller.

We were sitting in the canteen. I could imagine Katya planning menus and managing her inventory in the galley just feet from us, not risking her life roaming around our familiar but now alien city to save others from violent death. The crowd gathered were not waiting for a meal, the benches had been turned into rows and I was reminded of scenes for old documentaries and dramatizations from World War 2, but then, I'm old. Captain Martin entered followed by Commander Benson and without any obvious order, everyone stood.

The format was pretty much what I had expected from the old films. The situation, the general actions the individual objective and contingencies. The four American Marines assigned to Seakeeper gave me a searching look, one of them said "Sir, going into there, on a sailing boat?"

"Yes, Simpkin, a sailing boat that they've seen before and which they probably won't search." Simpkin lowered his head.

Someone asked, "Withdrawal Sir."

"The first lighter run from Port Botany is scheduled for tomorrow morning. That's what the big event in Parramatta is intended to celebrate, if that's the right word. It is intended to confirm Mister Higson as the legitimate authority in Australia. The man who organised supplies for the starving survivors of the city. I'm sure you can see the power of that."

"The Chinese, Sir, they're running the lighter."

"And our RIB is delivering one of their officers back to Port Botany tonight." Commander Benson was not a man to accept doubts in the plan.

By the time the briefing was over, it was after midnight, so I was not surprised to find that the RIB had returned from Port Botany, without Lieutenant Liu. It delivered the marines and me to Seakeeper and I told Yvonne and Jeremy to go across to the Waller.

"Dad, why are you going with them?"

"Because I can sail the boat and we've got to save Katya." I replied.

"I can sail the boat, Dad. So can Dave Jacobs or Johnny Jorgensen, for that matter, they came all the way to Chatham Island with us, remember?"

For, I shall claim, the first time in my married life, I truly lost it, "I'm going and you're not, neither of you!" I bellowed.

Into the silence that followed my outburst, Yvonne said calmly, "Right, we're all going. We've come this far together and we're not letting the girl down. What's more, the thugs at the pilot station will recognise us, they'll probably not bother to search. Oh, and you might bloody well need a nurse."

I tried to apologise and regain some paternal authority, but Jeremy started to giggle, the marines burst out in howls of laughter and somehow, against my better judgement, we were all committed.

We entered the harbour at dawn and Yvonne was proved to be absolutely correct about avoiding difficulty with the pilot station. As we passed, a cloud of smoky diesel exhaust announced that Polson and his crew had seen us. They ranged alongside Seakeeper, greeting us with "Where's Mister International Assistance, then?"

"Coming up with the lighter." I replied, glancing down into the companionway to make sure that the four marines were out of sight.

"Oh yes. You heard the joke about that did you? They had to collect the old steam tug from the museum yesterday, all the diesel ones were wrecked by neglect and bad fuel since the attack. I hear that the old girl started perfectly, give the steamer that." Laughing at the prospect of the modern Chinese navy depending on a steam tug rescued from a museum seemed to please him mightily and the launch surged ahead of us, turned and headed back to the pilot station as we continued up harbour with a light breeze.

We were approaching the Harbour Bridge when the shriek of the tug's steam whistle announced her approach. Whoever was running her boiler room was doing a good job, she was making less smoke than Polson's diesel launch while pushing a deeply loaded lighter without apparent effort.

At Cockatoo Island, there were cheers from a small crowd waiting at the wharf watching the tug and the supplies go up river. Close behind her, I passed within fifteen metres of the watchers, spotted harbourmaster Tench and yelled, "We'll take station a bit further up, in case they need assistance on the way back, wind's getting up." He waved back and seemed to accept the arrant nonsense of my statement without criticism.

I was right about the wind, by ten o'clock it had filled in from the west at about fifteen knots, its bite making the sunny winter's day cool. Seakeeper lay around the corner beyond Cockatoo Island with her sails stowed.

"Warren, look at all these multimillion dollar properties, sitting empty." Yvonne said.

"I wonder why they haven't filled them with their ballot?" I replied.

"They'd try and keep the people in rehabilitated area at first, Sir." Corporal Simpkin called from below decks, "we study a bit about reconstruction at training school after our experiences with cyclones."

Carried from the west on the breeze, I heard the sound of the explosions indistinct and distorted by the intervening landscape, I knew that I would not have recognised them as bombs, had I not been expecting them. The marines grew restless and checked their weapons one more time.

"Yvonne, would you put the kettle on and make us some tea?" I asked. Trivial it might have been, but Nelson sought to distract his men as they endured their slow approach to the enemy line at Trafalgar...

"You Limeys can drink tea at a time like this?" The speaker was Marine Tyson Gillespie,.

"Aussies," I replied "and yes we do." I heard chuckles of amusement from below decks.

Finally, I heard the whistle of the tug carried on the wind from the west.

"Right, up sail." I said.

##  88 - Under fire under the bridge

From where we had moored, we could see the top of the concrete arch over the riverside homes. It was the bridge that worried me, more than before as I watched a working party high up there. The trouble that we had experienced after the motorcyclists ran us out of Kissing Point, then the report radioed from the Mule of their encounter with the chain going up river. It would be at the bridge that the plan would come unstuck. Anyway, there had been no time to get further up river before the liberation plan started. Higson controlled the schedule, not us. I looked again at the high arch standing up above the houses which marked the bend in the river.

I felt cold, and it wasn't all down to the biting westerly wind. The body armour lent to us by the marines was heavy and uncomfortable but also reassuring. We tacked across the river and the fifty metre high span disappeared behind the houses, there was a burst of gunfire and we all tensed. In the shadow of the houses, the wind weakened for a moment and the sails rattled as we tacked.

The gunfire was heavier now, heavy enough for the marines to shelter a little lower behind the bulwarks, then the tearing scream of the steam whistle and with it, the wind caught us as it funnelled under the bridge. Seakeeper heeled and accelerated, we came around the corner of the river and the scene was laid out before us. The construction that the work crews had laboured on, of which hints had been present when we escaped before and which had threatened the Mule was before us.

The huge battering ram was being hauled into position by a large group on the northern bank, while the tug was baulked by its threat and was heading to the south side of the river. Bullets were throwing up spray around her hull.

"At the beam, shoot!" Shouted Corporal Simpkin. A series of short bursts followed but without any obvious effect. The tug was swinging back up river and Simpkin realised that as long as the beam remained in position the crisis would continue.

I could see him struggling with the decision. For second he stopped shooting and his men followed suit. I heard a couple of bangs, bullets hitting the hull. As if anguish Simpkin shouted, "get the work crew and get those bastards who are shooting at us."

We were close enough for me to see the effect of the spray of bullets. The work crew fell in a bloody heap releasing the beam. I was close enough to see smoke as the rope whipped through its anchor point and the beam scythed across the river. We had done all that we could, I spun the wheel, about to gybe. It would bring the wind across the stern and throw the big mainsail violently across to the other side of the boat. In the tension, I had forgotten to tightening the sheets and set up the backstays. Seeing what I was about to do, Jeremy darted out of the relative shelter of the companionway and pulled furiously on the sheet.

Understanding the folly of gibing prematurely, I paused and the boat heeled further accelerating into the narrow space close to the shore. The marines were firing at the gunmen across the narrowing gap of water.

Jeremy shouted, "Ready Dad." I turned the wheel, now too heavily loaded to just spin and felt the boat turning. It took seconds, but it seemed far longer, the bowsprit swept past the multimillion dollar properties on the shore and suddenly the wind was on the other side of the mainsail throwing it across the boat with a crash to be brought back under control by the straining sheets.

"Well done, son. I would have had the mast off her without your help. Now get under cover."

The manoeuvre had but Simpkin and his marines on the wrong side of the boat. Before they get to the other side, the gunmen on the shore fired again. I felt the boat shudder as several bullets hit the steel hull. The wheel jerked violently under my hand and a spoke was smashed, in the next instant, I was struck twice at the waist and thrown forward against the wheel. My immediate reaction was of surprise that the pain was not more extreme and there was no blood. The realisation that the bullets had struck my body armour came only a moment later.

The gunfire from the riverbank had stopped and we were reaching fast down harbour, I release a huge sigh. It was Simpkin who spotted the danger.

"Up on the bridge, shoot you bastards." His gun spat upwards, then fell silent, he grabbed a magazine and replaced the empty one with it.

Suddenly, the laid teak deck in front of me was ripped open, the heavy bullet showered splinters of hot metal and wood in all directions. My face stung and a feeling of wetness trickled down its left side. Blinking suddenly hurt. Jeremy had been standing half down the hatchway. He fell backwards and I heard Yvonne shriek from inside the cabin.

Reloaded, Simpkin fired a long burst towards the figures high on the arch of the bridge. The other marines joined in and a figure toppled seemingly slowly from the top of the span landing with an unheard splash in the water below. The firing died away.

I straightened Seakeeper's course and saw Simpkin looking at me, shaking his head.

"Jeremy!"

There was blood spattered across the cockpit and its floor was slippery.

"Take the helm Simpkin," I said and waiting only a second, I dived down the companionway. Tyson Gillespie was helping Yvonne get Jeremy onto a berth, his powerful muscles lifting our son with a seeming ease and gentleness that contrasted with the violence we had just witnessed.

##  89 - Kissing Point

The scars on my face were still sensitive to the biting wind from the west and I was glad of the shelter as we approached the old church. Its towers were still somewhat askew, but the tiles had been replaced, rendering it weatherproof. I gripped Yvonne's hand and felt her squeeze mine in silent acknowledgement. I felt ridiculously conspicuous at that moment.

On my other side, Wai Man gave me a questioning look. "It's where the team assembled before the rescue began," I said. "It's also the oldest church in Australia."

Inside the thick doors, I paused and took a couple of deep breaths. There was still a lingering smell of paint. My eyes adapted to the shade and I was reassured that the church was full. We walked as unobtrusively as possible to our seats with Yvonne on my right and Wai Man on my left, his uniform and decorations attracting attention. Mercifully, none of our friends stood up to shake our hands. A nod of acknowledgement was enough.

Sitting in the front row, I observed the small sanctuary. The east window, which had caught the full blast of the shockwave had been replaced with plain glass. The higher parts of the sanctuary wall had been repainted but chips in it, where flying debris had struck had only been painted over. Below, the convict hewn stone seemed undamaged. There was a marble tablet there, a young officer pouring out his grief at the loss of a young wife. It ended, "Reader know that no man was ever left more bereft." Our city was still bereft, I thought.

From the back of the church there was a rustle of people standing. Wai Man turned his head back up the aisle then turned and looked at us. Slowly he nodded and we stood.

Jeremy walked down the aisle alone. His limp was still pronounced, but the cane was gone. Wai Man slipped out of his seat and fell in beside him as they advanced to the two low steps of the sanctuary. A moment later, the organ sprang into life, Bach, it had to be Bach. Yvonne's hand gripped mine, I looked at her and saw her eyes were full of tears. I think mine were too. I turned and looked at Katya as she walked down the Aisle on Colonel Fung's arm. Her features were concealed by a classical gauzy veil but the whiteness of her teeth was visible as she smiled. Little Max, looking very serious, carried her train and her two sisters followed behind.

"Dearly beloved..." began the Canon.

I am afraid I tuned out of the religious bits. My mind went back to the moment that the tug had run alongside Seakeeper. The hull trembling as people jumped aboard, of feeling faint. I had woken aboard the Xu Xiake. The Chinese headquarters ship had been relocated to Port Botany. Jeremy was in the bed next to mine lying on his back, wrapped in bandages. Yvonne was sitting between the two of us, dozing.

I woke again, she was bending over Jeremy and helping a Chinese nurse with his dressings. Perhaps she heard me move but after a moment, she turned, smiled and refocused on our son.

The splinters of teak became infected and she was there for us whenever I awoke. She was there when they finally got Jeremy out of bed for his first tentative steps. I was asleep when Katya found us. I awoke to see her standing still at the end of Jeremy's bed, tears streaming down her face. After a little while she saw my eyes open and came and put her hand in mine. "I was afraid we'd lost him." She said.

"So were we."

My focus was called back to the ceremony by the sonorous voice of the minister repeating the beautiful phraseology of the Book of Common Prayer. I felt a shiver down my spine as he said "I now declare them husband and wife."

That a foreign head of state should address the wedding had shaken us. The request had been relayed shyly by Lieutenant Liu. It instantly changed a private event into something profoundly different, suddenly there were issues of protocol and security. I had phone numbers for public figures in my mobile phone, and some for darker, figures, definitely not public.

It was almost over. The bubble of security would evaporate over the next few hours and we could resume our disrupted lives.

General Secretary Fung walk stiffly to the lectern and gathered himself. He put some paper down and began to talk. In the back of my mind, I wondered if he was about to give us a three hour lecture of the kind that Communist leaders were famous for allowing themselves. He lifted his head.

His English was accented but entirely intelligible, "I want to thank, to thank the families of the bride and groom for inviting me to attend this beautiful service. But how could I not attend the wedding of the young man who dived into the ocean to save my son? We have all lived through terrible and frightening times. I hope that this marriage between two young people who embody the best of their multiple heritages will be lived out in a period of peace and international co-operation." A hint of humour appeared in his voice. "I know that Australians say 'it is easy to smash eggs, but impossible to unmake the omelette.' Well, all cultures change and blend. To this young couple I say, I wish you children and that your children will grow up in a world at peace and that they will be at peace with who they are."

"That was surprisingly short." I whispered to Yvonne afterwards.

"Remember, national leaders don't talk to us, they speak from a stage, to other leaders."

I looked at my wife and wondered at her wisdom.

Later, the whole party walked up Church Street, and I could see the scar where the compound gates had been obliterated on the other side of the river. Then we walked along the riverside park to the ferry wharf. We were greeted by the blast of the steam whistle, as security personnel held back the crowd.

There was no better word to describe it, the old tug chuffed down the narrow stretch of the river and arrived at the park. The little sailing club was decked in bunting and tables were laid out in the natural amphitheatre above it. Colonel Fung walked towards me with his father, enjoying the winter sunshine. They looked, I thought, remarkably relaxed.

"They wanted to involve you in politics, Mr Blake?"

"Yes, General Secretary, both sides did."

He smiled at me, "And you declined, very wise, dirty business, politics."

I looked at Yvonne then back at Fung Senior and nodded. "I am definitely retired."

"Very wise, but what will you do now? You are too active to just go sailing every day."

I turned and gestured down to the river. "We have a lot of orphans, you know. I plan to teach some of them to build little boats and sail them."

"Why boats?"

"Apart from accounting, it's what I know. School can only teach so much, but in an uncertain world, practical skills can be a foundation for later life and work. They'll certainly help a kid to get an interview."

He looked at me thoughtfully, "There may be merit in that. Perhaps you could do the same in parts of China too?"

The steam whistle blew three times, signalling that the old tug was reversing away from the wharf. A minute later, Seakeeper glided into the spot the tug had vacated using her electric power.

Jeremy and Yvonne were standing at the base of the huge fig tree, looking up. I walked over to them and said, "Time to go." Katya hugged me and Jeremy self-consciously shook my hand. "Thanks Dad. And thanks for lending us Seakeeper."

The party gathered along the concrete footpath as we followed the newlyweds. Katya stopped in front of Captain Martin. I heard the last of the conversation, "Remember to report in two weeks, Lieutenant Obraztsova." Commander Benson, also in uniform shook her hand and Jeremy's as well.

We followed along the walkway to the ferry wharf itself, and a minute later, Seakeeper was heading downriver again. We turned and walked back to the rest of the party. Colonel Fung turned and asked one final question. "My father would like to know, why is it called Kissing Point?"

"It's where the river shallows. West of here, towards Parramatta, boats with keels, like Seakeeper touch, that is kiss, the bottom of the river.

The end
