Free The Widow & Her Hero by Thomas Keneally

which then, beyond the strait, ran up
contrary to delay them. For after a further day they pulled
down their Japanese flag and the flag of the Singapore port
administration. They were in range of Australian coastal
bombers. Nav suffered a burst of manic delight, and
ordered the wireless operator to send a message to a friend
of his, an American at Potshot, with the news that Lombok
Strait was lightly patrolled.
    The others could hear Doucette chastising Nav in the
wheelhouse and later in the day Doucette made a speech
over the evening meal, eaten under awnings on the tank
amidships, which Leo recorded in his occasionally kept
diary. It would seem, said Doucette, from a rash radio
message recently sent, that some of the party expected to
be welcomed back with parades, and to have our expedition
written up in the weekend newspapers and made a
newsreel of. I'll tell you now, said Doucette, that will not
happen. Pengulling will be used again, and then there may
be further raids on Singapore and other places using the
methods we used. If you think your exploits are going to
be spoken of in pubs, and that decorations will come plentiful
and fast, then I suggest you should avoid any further
association with this type of operation. In the meantime,
you have the satisfaction of the secret knowledge of
what you did.
    Nav sulked, but so did some of the younger men who
thought their motivations had been questioned. Five days
later, they made it into Exmouth Gulf and its desolate but
well-supplied shore station USS Potshot . This was a desert
shore richly endowed with the plenty of American logistics,
but lacking in any extensive population and any atmosphere
of triumphant return. Ulysses might have said, I
resisted Circe and fought the Cyclops, and all the rest –
Scylla and Charybdis, and the rudeness of the sirens – for
this banal docking? Mooring there with sealed lips was not
an exhilarating experience. Mortmain was left in charge,
and Doucette and Leo were flown by bomber over the huge
vacant earth to Melbourne for a debriefing. However
secretly, they would be permitted to speak to select officers.

Four
    Leo and the Boss travelled to Melbourne in the belly of
a bomber, the noise atrocious, the vibration worse than
the Pengulling 's at the point of engine strain, and the cold
far too intense for tropic-weight clothing. When they
landed at Essendon, Leo, waiting for a car to take him and
Doucette into Melbourne, made a trunk call to my office.
    Dear, dear Grace, he said plainly. My sweetheart.
    I said, You're back! And I began bawling, as was normal.
I did not know where he had been and would not for years
yet, but I knew he had gone into a forest dense with perils
and come back with a voice still fresh, if not refreshed. I
believed till that second I'd been confident he'd come back,
but now my previous naivety on that point seemed ridiculous
and I could see I had been oppressed by the waiting.
    Are you still un-booked? he asked. Has some Yank
claimed you?
    What a question! But how are you?
    You wouldn't believe how well I am. Would early
December be okay?
    He had a calendar in front of him.
    What about Saturday, December eighth? I know I can
get leave. The Boss has assured me.
    Yes, I said. That will be it then. My darling.
    I had never before called anyone darling in my life.
Endearments sounded rusty yet compulsive in my mouth. I
would just the same need to be accustomed to using them.
I also knew well enough what would accustom me. Sex
without fear.
    From Essendon, Doucette and Leo were driven to a big
old house in South Yarra, Radcliffe House, the sort of place
built by someone who made a fortune in the gold rushes,
more lately having been a temperance boarding house and
now the headquarters of IRD. The sentries on the door
saluted them – they wore blanco-ed webbing and gaiters on
the rare occasions I went there myself. Piss-elegant, Leo
said. Leo and the Boss, who had worn sarongs or gone
naked on the deck of Pengulling ,