Five airmen survive the crash of their bomber on a remote tropical island. Unfortunately, the island is inhabited by 800 dangerous tribesmen who don't like white-faces. Oh, and there's also 200 Japanese soldiers. That's not going to be the worst of their problems, though.

A Daughters of Time story set in the Pacific during WWII. Remember, the Moebius Institute is still 30+ years in the future.

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Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2010 Penny Lane. All rights reserved. Don't expect this to be historically accurate in any way.

The huge aeroplane barely made it over the crest of one of the heavily weathered ridges before the downdraught greedily sucked it into the valley on the other side.

"Oh -"

Whatever Joe Maguire was about to say was lost as the B-24 Liberator ploughed into the upper canopy of the jungle on the steeply-sloping hillside. The starboard wing, already weakened by the fire to the inboard engine, folded away as it struck one of the taller trees, causing the main body of the aircraft to cartwheel in the opposite direction. The damaged fuselage fell apart as it ploughed into the forest floor. The crew, thrown against their straps, prayed to any and every god they had heard of as the plane that had served them so well came to an abrupt and untidy end.

The normal cacophony of the tropical rainforest was momentarily silenced by the crump of the crash. Fortunately there was little fire since Les Parnell, the engineer, had long dumped out the excess fuel after they had realised that a crash-landing was inevitable. A few tense seconds after the noise and movement stopped, Joe, amazed to still be alive, cleared his head and reviewed his position.

He was still in his seat in what remained of the cockpit, on his left side, suspended eight feet or so above the ground. He could easily determine this since the whole side of the cockpit had been ripped off. His right hand was still firmly clamped around the now-useless yoke. He gingerly released his straps and lowered himself carefully to the ground.

"Hello? Anyone?"

"Skip? You okay?"

"Doc? Yeah, I guess so. Anyone else alive?"

"I've got Paul here, he seems more or less whole, if a little groggy. I think Robbie was dead before we came down. Dunno where Les might be, that whole chunk of fuselage has gone."

"I'm over here," a voice groaned in the distance. "I'm not one to complain, Skip, but couldn't you find a smoother bit of jungle to crash in?"

Another figure stumbled through the undergrowth and leant against the trunk of a huge tree.

"Jeez! I think I'm getting too old for this nonsense," said Jack Harris. "Taylor's dead, Skip. What do we do now?"

The five survivors gathered and Doc tended to their wounds. He was called 'Doc' because he had been a Doctor of Anthropology before the war, but it helped that he was also the crew member with the most first-aid experience.

"Right," said Joe, erstwhile captain of the recently deceased bomber, "time to think about our next move. You did get rid of the codebooks, Paul?"

"Yes, Skip, dumped over the ocean. All the paperwork I could find, in fact, went into the weighted tin. Oh, except a map of the island Doc asked me to keep hold of."

"What about the radio gear?"

"Some got damaged in the crash. I'm not sure about the rest."

"Find one of the axes and make sure, will you? The rest of you, find all the emergency kits and food you can and bring them here. Check around, make sure everybody we think is dead is actually dead. We don't want to leave anyone for the Japs. Any fires you see, try and put them out. The Japs will be here soon enough, but we don't want to help them any more than we have to by leaving smoke trails. We'll meet back here. Paul, can you lay hands on that map? I'll have a look at it when we get together again."

"What about the big guns, Skip? We don't want to leave them for the Japs."

"No. What can we do with them, assuming we can actually reach them to dismount them?"

"I passed a small crevasse," suggested Jack. "We can dismantle them and dump them down there."

"Okay, let's do it."

The five Royal Australian Air Force aircrew reconvened shortly, having combed what parts of the wreckage were reachable for anything that might aid survival. They had a bush knife each. Two had machetes, and Paul carried the short-handled fire axe he had use to wreck the radio and radar equipment. There were four hand guns, two American automatics and two ancient revolvers, one of which Les swore had last been fired at Gallipoli, plus a flare pistol with six cartridges. Doc unfolded the map and spread it on the ground and they all gathered round.

"This island is called Pakalui, and it's part of the Solomons," he explained. "I got Joe to change course this way when he told us we were not going to be able to make it back to Oz. I chose this one for two reasons, firstly, I've been here before, and secondly, I know from intelligence reports that there's only a small Jap garrison here, and they are spread around the coastline."

He gestured to the map.

"It's sort of oblong as you can see, and those are three huge volcanic cones running the length of the spine. The ash the volcanoes throw out is so soft that there's been erosion around most of the coastline, which means that there are only two or three places you can get ashore, the rest is hundred-foot cliffs. Add to that the reefs outside and it makes it a poor asset for either side to want to hold. So the garrison is mostly concentrated here and here."

He pointed to two small villages, one on either side, where access to the sea was possible. He looked up at the rest of the crew.

"The island is also inhabited by tribesmen. I got stuck here on a schooner back in thirty-eight while on my way to do some research on another island, spent about six weeks here while they mended the boat. The locals don't like white-faces."

"So, what you're saying is, it's a choice between the Japs and the locals, and neither will be happy to see us?" Joe asked.

Doc grunted. "No choice, really. We have to try the locals. Or, preferably, stay away from both, although that's not very likely. The island isn't that big."

"What's the chances someone saw us come down?" asked Jack. "Can we stay here?"

Joe shook his head. "No chance, mate. Even if no-one saw us, the scar we made in the jungle will be instantly obvious to any overflying patrol. No, we have to move."

"Do we take the life-rafts?" asked Les, eyeing the two large containers at their feet. "How are we going to get off the island if we don't? Can't see us wandering into one of those coastal villages and borrowing a boat, somehow."

"We'll take them so far," decided Joe, "and hide them up somewhere in case we can make use of them. Which way, Doc?"

"We keep to the mountains. The vegetation is a little less up here, and there's less chance of meeting a Jap patrol if we stay away from the coast. We'll go north-east."

"Okay, mates, grab the gear and let's be going."

~o~O~o~

They had to stop after a while to rest. As they made their way through the dense forest, their path crossed that of a number of very narrow trails. Given that there were supposed to be no large animals on any of the islands in this group, the trails had to have been made by natives, so they avoided them where possible. One path gave them concern, since it was quite wide and the many prints it contained were those of boots, probably Japanese army boots. They found a small grove of dense undergrowth and cleared some of the ground cover so that they could sit down without being surprised by insect life. Joe passed a water bottle around.

"Doc, where does all this come from?" Jack gestured at the surrounding jungle. "I can understand some of it getting across from other islands, but all of it? What about the animals? We've seen several monkeys along the way."

"You'd be surprised," he replied. "We've no direct evidence for a lot of it, of course, but much is easy to work out. Seeds - and birds - get blown by the wind. Insects get here that way as well. Birds sometimes carry larger seeds with them, either in their gut or stuck to their plumage or feet. A good tropical storm can pick up some surprisingly large items, you know that from back home. A cyclone in Darwin can make off with entire houses."

"Yeah, I suppose. But anything that goes up in a cyclone is going to be a mess when it lands."

"True, although small rodents and such are more resilient than you might think. And it only needs one breeding pair to survive, and enough time, for the whole island to be overrun. Another mechanism is rafts. If there's a big storm, or perhaps a giant wave caused by an earthquake, it can easily wash a chunk of jungle straight out to sea, complete with whatever happened to be living on it at the time. If it gets washed up on another island, the castaways get off and start another colony."

"There's also humans," added Joe. "I know that the early settlers here brought pigs and chickens with them, along with some of their staple foods. There's a lot of island commerce, things get traded." He changed the subject slightly. "Doc, can you tell us what we're likely to be facing here? Is this jungle the same over the whole island? What about the villages?"

"Okay. There's about twelve villages around the slopes of the three mountains. Some are larger than others. The people are mostly hunter-gatherers, although some villages do tend small patches of root crops and fruit trees. As I said before, they do a fair bit of trade so don't expect them to have just stone tools and such. They know about steel knives and iron pots and similar items, although there's a move to make sure they don't get anything too advanced that might upset the balance too much. They do know about firearms, although I don't think the Japs will have let them keep any.

"The climate is much like this all year round. Expect it to rain every afternoon some time and rarely otherwise. Occasionally you'll get a big storm which obviously will blow over at it's own time and speed. The vegetation generally changes as you go from sea level up to the slopes of the volcanoes. I know on this island the upper slopes of two of the cones are bare. The northern-most cone is - or was recently - active, the other two seem to be dormant. By active I mean it's known to have erupted in living memory, not that it's spewing ash and lava all the time. The locals mostly tend to live on the slopes because it's cooler and less humid than down at sea level. The two fishing villages are the obvious exception."

"Thanks, Doc," said Joe. "What'll we do when we find a village? Are you aiming for any one in particular?"

Doc grinned. "No, nothing definite in mind. And I think they will find us rather than the other way around. We might be under observation even now, we'd never know. If we do come across any of them, just keep calm and don't do anything threatening. Just give me a chance to talk to them and we should be okay."

~o~O~o~

It was difficult to say who was the most surprised as they entered the small clearing, the five aircrew or the eight-man Japanese patrol. Both started firing the instant they realised the other party was there. The airmen dove for the undergrowth, the soldiers standing their ground and aiming their rifles carefully. One round ricocheted off a life-raft pack, fortunately not causing too much damage. Joe felt rounds cut through the leaves near his head. He heard an automatic bark nearby, followed by the louder bang of a revolver.

Looking through the foliage, Joe was surprised to see the rear man of the patrol fold and collapse on the ground, followed by the soldier next to him. Two men had already been cut down by his crew, but not enough rounds had been fired to account for all the falling bodies. Next to him, Les aimed his automatic and snapped off two shots, killing one soldier and injuring another.

The remaining three soldiers turned and ran, but stopped instantly when they discovered that their retreat was blocked by dark-skinned men wearing little but grass and feathers. One of the tribesmen threw a spear which brought down a soldier. Another soldier raised his rifle, but a shot from a revolver felled him before the tribesmen could react. The last soldier raised his hand to his neck before collapsing on the ground. There was a sudden silence.

One of the tribesmen walked into the small clearing and looked in their direction. He raised a hand and beckoned.

"We'd best get up, mates," said Doc. "They know exactly how many of us there are and where we are. If they'd wanted us dead, we would be."

The five cautiously emerged from the undergrowth, Jack gingerly rubbing an arm where he'd fallen across a huge tree root.

"Let me try and talk to them," continued Doc. "There's a sort of common language amongst the islands called Trade, one of them might speak it."

It turned out that one of the tribesmen did speak a little Trade, so a complicated, disjointed conversation was held with him as interpreter. There was much pointing, of the direction each of the three parties had come from, at the bodies, and at the sky.

"Okay, mates, it's like this," Doc said after a pause. "Like I said, they don't like white-faces, but they absolutely hate the guts of the yellow-faces. The fact that we five took the patrol on by ourselves impressed them, and they said they'll give us some assistance. They'll take us back to their village, and we'll have a talk with the head man, and decide what to do from there. I've got a sort of safe-conduct, so that we can leave their village unharmed if they decide not to help us."

"How far is it?" asked Joe, who had already flown a bombing mission that day and was getting tired.

"A fair way. These chaps have been tracking this patrol all day. It seems to be round behind this mountain." He gestured at the slopes beside them.

"Fair enough. Let's go, then." Joe assented.

"What about these bodies? Paul ventured.

"Yeah, we'll have to hide them. Doc, ask them if there's something special they want to do with the bodies, otherwise we'll hide them away from the path."

"I saw a fissure in the ground a short while back," Jack said, "can't we dump the bodies down there, or somewhere like it?"

"Good idea. We'll take anything of use for ourselves."

They searched each body and took a rifle and bayonet from each, together with a meagre amount of ammunition, perhaps fifty rounds altogether. The soldiers had had few personal items, just the odd photograph and letter, and a pack of evil-looking cigarettes each, which they left. The bodies were then hidden in a nearby crevice and covered before the crewmen followed the tribesmen away from the scene.

~o~O~o~

It was dusk by the time that the combined party staggered into the open area in the middle of the village. On either side a row of substantial residential buildings stood, Long Houses, each perched ten feet in the air on a grid of tremendous tree trunks. Between them a row of fires burned, children played, and pigs and various fowls rooted in the earth under and between the dwellings. The presence of strangers in the party brought silence and a gathering of men, women and children round the group.

An old man, decorated in garlands of flowers and with many feathers in his headband, came forward and spoke to the leader of the expedition. After an explanation, he nodded and began giving orders. Their interpreter spoke to Doc, and Doc relayed to the rest of the crew.

"We're okay for tonight. They can see we're tired, we can talk in the morning. They'll give us a meal and then show us where to sleep. They say they'll have to hide all the bits and pieces that we brought with us." Joe looked as though he was about to protest, so Doc held up his hand. "Yeah, I know, but he's given his word, and we're honoured guests. The problem is if a patrol comes through the village, which happens about once a week, and finds anything that's not native there'll be reprisals. So they have to hide everything you wouldn't expect to find in a village like this. So unload, chaps. And watch your manners."

Reluctantly they handed over all their weapons and other items, Doc retaining only his small medical kit. Some tribesmen gathered them up and carried everything off into the darkness. They were led to logs around one of the fires, and some of the women came and handed them baskets of fruit and sticks bearing slices of pork from a roast on one of the other fires. It didn't take long before they were all nodding off in the warmth from the blaze.

Each airman was helped to a different house, and laboriously assisted up the ladders to gain entrance. They were shown pallets to lie on, separate from the family quarters, and all were asleep within seconds.

~o~O~o~

"It's like this, mates," Doc explained the following morning, "the whole island's bottled up tight. The tribesmen can't get off to do any trade with other islands. They're not even allowed to fish any more. To get off ourselves, we'd have to find a suitable spot and scale the cliff with the life-rafts, then hope we can get through the reefs and out to sea before the patrol boats see us. All at night, naturally. So I guess, unless you've a better idea, Skip, that we're going to be staying here for a while."

"Yeah, I figured as much. Do you know what kind of numbers are involved? I mean, could we take the island?"

"Temporarily. I think, and I'm not sure, that there are about two hundred Japs here, like I said before. There are probably six or seven hundred tribesmen living in a number of villages on the mountains. I'm not counting those living in the little port villages where the Japs are. It seems to be a kind of stand-off. Yes, we could probably wipe out the Japs, but they'd just come and bomb the villages and kill everyone. So it's live and let live. The Japs run patrols through the villages every so often, and they know that the villagers could overwhelm them, but they'd just call down some aircraft if that happened. Sounds like an uneasy balance."

"And then we come along and upset the balance."

"Too right. Couple of the elders wanted to hand us over so they can have a quiet life. They got slapped down but things were awkward for a while. There is a solution, but I'm not sure you're going to like it."

"Why did I know you were going to say that? Go on, tell us the worst."

"We become temporary villagers. They've lost some young men to enemy action, shall we say, so if we wanted to pitch in to assist village life they wouldn't object. Also, we know stuff about the Japs and we can pass that on, teach them things. Some of the men were eyeing up those bayonets yesterday, they're good steel knives after all. They can't use them, of course, as any patrol would know instantly what they were. But there's always 'afterwards'."

"Afterwards?"

"Yeah. They don't believe that the Japs will be here for ever. They recognise that things are going to be different once this whole shooting match comes to an end. So we get to give them a leg up, as it were."

"What's the catch?" asked Paul. "You mentioned a catch."

"Well, we don't exactly look like tribesmen. We're going to have to be disguised."

Joe mulled over their predicament. "Anyone any other suggestions? Anything else we might be able to do? No, thought not. Doc, tell the elders we agree to join the tribe, but remind him that we belong to our own tribe, and a day will come when we'll have to go and rejoin them."

~o~O~o~

"That stuff smells awful!" shuddered Les. The iron cauldron, obviously obtained in trade, was filled with a thick dark brown liquid. Earlier in the day it had been bubbling as the contents were brewed together over one of the perpetual fires, but now it was just warm to the touch.

"It's okay, it's only going on the outside," Joe said. "You don't have to drink it."

The five airmen had completely stripped, some of them feeling extremely self-concious amongst the curious tribesmen and women. Two of the tribesmen now came and used rough brushes to daub the brown stain over each of them, making sure that the whole of each body was covered, with the exception of the palms of their hands and the soles of their feet. These had been protected with clay. Les sighed as his blond hair turned a very dark shade of brown. They stared at one another.

"You're going to have to stay like that for an hour or so, then you can go and have a rinse off under the waterfall at the bottom end of the village," Doc told them. "By then, it will be time for the evening meal."

"This is going to take some getting used to, Skip," said Paul. "It's going to take a while just to recognise you all again. You don't half look different when you're that colour."

"We still don't really look like tribes-people," complained Les. "Their faces are different to ours, and we don't have the crinkly hair."

"Now, there you're wrong," said Doc. "If you look carefully, you'll see that some of them do in fact have straight hair, and one or two even have noses like ours. I asked about that today, and it seemed that there was a Dutch missionary living here about forty, fifty years ago, they weren't too sure exactly how long ago as you can imagine. Looks like he left something of himself behind in the population. Happens quite often out in the islands. No, the big problem we have is that we don't speak the lingo. Starting tomorrow, we start language classes."

"Great," Jack groaned. "You know I have trouble with languages."

"I shouldn't think you'll have too much difficulty, these tribal languages don't have huge vocabularies as a rule. A lot of the words are borrowed from English or another of the colonial languages, anyway. It's just the pronunciation and the fact that every single verb is irregular that you'll have to worry about." Doc grinned at Jack's expression of horror.

Some of the young men escorted them down to the river to bathe, and they stood under the waterfall and made themselves clean. The water didn't remove any of the colour from their skins, just the excess dye from the daubing exercise. Then they were taken to a big hut at the other end of the open area where a number of young women stood carrying baskets. Each woman selected an airman and began to dress him from the contents of the baskets. A short skirt of grass falling to mid-thigh, a flat collar of grass which spread out over their shoulders and upper chest and back, circlets consisting of a frill of grass went around each upper arm and the top of each calf, and a strip woven from grass with feathers inserted went around their foreheads. Finally, and much to the embarrassment of the five, they were presented with 'athletic supporters' or jockstraps woven from some locally-produced fibre. They tied these around their waists and between their legs under the grass skirts.

"It's better, Doc, but I still don't think we look quite like them," Jack said when they had all finished.

"No, but I'm banking on the fact that the Japs will think the tribes-people all look the same, just as we think the Japs all look the same. Isn't true, of course, but I hope they don't look too closely."

"Er, some of them have ear piercings, and a couple have nose piercings," said Les nervously.

"A lot of them don't, thank goodness. The ones who do are mostly the older population. I'm sure we can manage without. Now, let's get at that food."

~o~O~o~

The following morning their uniforms were taken to be hidden with the rest of their belongings. Joe, who had a thought about the state of metal objects in a humid environment, went with Les to see where their things had been stashed. Once they had arrived there with their accompanying guides, they realised that if nothing was done the metal would all have corroded away and their clothing would have rotted, so Joe sacrificed the life-raft which had been damaged. All the items were parcelled up in the fabric of the raft to protect them before the bundle was hoisted back into the sky and hidden in a cavity in one of the huge trees that made up the upper level of the rainforest.

Once back in the village, the hair of the five was laboriously clipped back to half an inch and then rubbed with a mixture of clay and ash. By the time the young men had finished drawing designs on their faces and torsos with more of the white clay, it would have taken an expert to determine who was villager and who was not.

Their education began and continued without a break for the next few days. Each of the women who had dressed them was from a family who adopted that airman, each going to live in their Long House with the family. Initial cynicism amongst the tribes-people about the naive nature of the soft foreigners soon disappeared as the newcomers drove single-mindedly into their task. A feeling of mutual respect soon grew between the groups, and as their familiarity with the village dialect became greater, the differences between them grew less until the five were finally absorbed into the village population.

It helped that the men were young and able to adjust to new circumstances. Front gunner and bomb aimer Jack Harris, nineteen, was the youngest. He had been an apprentice butcher in Sydney when war had been declared. Les Parnell, twenty, was the engineer. He had worked in a garage in a small outback town, and was the only one of the five who didn't have an urban upbringing. Paul Davis, twenty-one, had worked in a radio studio in a small provincial town, so was ideally suited to running the radio and radar equipment on the long-range bomber. The pilot, Joe Maguire, twenty-three, had done some pre-war work flying miners to remote workings but was originally from Adelaide. The oldest of them was only twenty-five. Dr Andrew Ballantyne, PhD in Anthropology, had spent a number of years researching the tribal customs of the Solomons, New Guinea and the eastern end of Indonesia, so was a perfect fit for navigator. They were all still adaptable, and Doc considered the chance to live amongst a village of tribes-people, as one of them, an opportunity he could not pass over, war or no war.

On the third day after their arrival a force of about fifty Japanese entered the village, obviously looking for the airmen. Forewarned, the five stayed in their Long Houses, just looking out with others of their adopted family at the troops filling the centre space. A machine gun had been set up on a tripod at the higher end of the space. Most of the villagers had gathered silently in small groups as the troops arrived, and a local who had been co-opted under duress from one of the fishing villages came forward as interpreter. The village headman advanced to meet him.

Since the language the two had in common was more or less what the villagers spoke, and the only outside language the interpreter spoke was a rough English, it took a fair while to explain to the headman what was wanted. He of course professed ignorance, and waved his hand at the houses to indicate that he was quite happy for them to be searched. Squads of soldiers split up and went through each of the buildings, finding nothing that shouldn't be there. They ignored anyone who was in the building, except to order them out of the way while the search was taking place. They also ignored the groups of curious onlookers standing in the central area, except to cover them with their rifles and the machine gun. Finally, frustrated by the lack of evidence, the officer in charge barked out orders and the whole column marched away into the jungle.

Only when the lookouts reported that the column had indeed departed did everyone relax. When they gathered again near one of the fires, Les had a guilty look on his face, and one of the young tribesmen with him had a barely suppressed smirk.

"That wasn't a total loss, mates," Les said eventually.

"What do you mean? Apart from the fact that we stood right out in front of them and they never twigged," asked Joe.

"Ah, matey here spotted something when they were milling around getting ready to leave. He nudged me and raised an eyebrow, and when I saw what it was, I couldn't resist."

"What have you done now? I hope it's not something that will make them come back."

Les gestured to the young man who went off and came back with a satchel, obviously mislaid by one of the soldiers. Opening it, they saw it was filled with boxes of rifle ammunition.

Les smirked. "Someone's going to get a bollocking when they find that missing," he said. "And the best part is, it could have been dropped anywhere on their route. I don't think anyone's going to imagine the natives would have the nerve to pinch something like this, so I reckon we're safe. Skip?"

Joe considered, then nodded. "Fine. It's done now, so we'll have to live with the consequences. It means we can make better use of those rifles when the time comes. I'll get the villagers to stash this away with our other stuff. But, Les, we have to be real careful here. It's not just our lives we're risking, it's seventy villagers as well. So, next time you have an idea, think twice, and see if you can get approval before you do something like this again. Nevertheless, well done, excellent spur of the moment idea."

~o~O~o~

Days turned into weeks. The occasional patrol came through the village and saw nothing. On a small number of occasions, an aircraft flew high overhead, but whose and what for remained a mystery. All the airmen went out in turns hunting with the young men of the tribe. Doc, to his astonishment, managed to spear a boar in full flight. Paul and Les found that they could reach monkeys in the high canopy using blowpipes. With the addition of the five, the village soon had more than adequate food for its needs.

The biggest difficulty the five faced was adapting to bare feet in the jungle. There were a number of unpleasant incidents involving particularly aggressive ants before they finally found the knack to travel without boots. The only real problem was Paul, who began to feel progressively tired as time went on. Finally, he was forced to stay behind one day when one of the hunting groups went out, saying he was both worn out and hungry.

Doc checked him over. He made Paul sit on the porch of the house in full daylight while he inspected his body closely all over.

"Apart from the usual ant bites on your feet," he said, "I can't find anywhere else on your body where you might have been stung, or bitten, or brushed up against anything nasty. Mind you, it's not easy looking for marks when we've been stained so heavily. Do you have any other symptoms?"

"I've got an ache in the small of my back," Paul replied, "but that's just a result of sitting funny in these houses, isn't it? Oh, and my teeth hurt, but it's not like a toothache, more an all over thing. What do you reckon, Doc?"

"Dunno, Paul. Aching teeth might mean a vitamin deficiency, but given the amount of fruit we all get through each day that's unlikely. I wondered if you've picked up a parasite, you know, something like a tapeworm maybe. You do know I'm not a real Doctor, don't you?"

"Course you are, Doc, just not a medical one. Yeah, I know, but I thought as how you've spent some time around people like these, you might have seen something like this before."

Doc nodded. "You're right, but I can't say I've noticed anything like this. You're not seriously ill yet, so I suggest we give it a little time and see if you get over it. Tell me if there's something else though, or if there's any change, won't you?"

"Sure, Doc. Any chance you can get someone to bring me up a snack?"

A week later, a disturbed Paul got Doc to check him over again. This time, there was fear in his expression.

"Doc, I think my balls are disappearing."

"What?"

"They're going, I'm sure. They're half the size they used to be."

"Er, will you let me take a look? I'm going to have to examine you properly, I think. Do you mind?"

"Doc, you're the nearest thing we have to a medical man. Of course you can have a look."

Paul reclined on his pallet and used his hands to lift the grass skirt before spreading his legs apart.

"I don't have to touch anything to see they've shrunk. Your dick looks about the same size, though."

"When did you -"

"When we all got tarred and feathered," replied Doc. "It's not normally something I take much interest in, you understand, but we were all standing there naked for quite a while, and one's eye seems to get drawn to the parts normally hidden, if you understand me."

"Yeah," replied Paul. It was impossible to tell, under the dye, whether he was blushing or not. "I guess you're right. So, what does this mean, Doc?"

"Way out of my league, Paul. No idea. I'll have to report this to the others, though," he warned. "It might be something that's only affected you at the moment, but I have to remember the health of the others - and myself, of course."

"Fine, Doc. We've no secrets here."

"Have you noticed anything else change recently? Things that might be relevant?"

"I dunno. All this food is making me a bit flabby. I'm not getting enough exercise stuck up here." Paul yawned. "Funny, though, it hasn't gone on my waist. In fact, I've had to tighten up the string on my grass skirt, otherwise it'd be halfway down my hips."

"Well, different types put on weight different places. I wouldn't worry too much about that. You should soon burn it all off again once you recover."

After a further week, with Paul spending half of each day asleep as well as all of each night, and with a seeming inexhaustible appetite, Doc had to admit defeat and asked the headman to come and examine him. Paul laboriously waddled out of the interior of the house and lowered himself to the floor of the porch. The headman took a single look at Paul from the ladder and stopped.

"Km'lilleh."

"What?" asked Doc.

"Km'lilleh." The headman then gave a stream of explanation which Doc's limited language experience couldn't decipher. Seeing the look on Doc's face, he tried to make things simpler. "He is not sick. He has the km'lilleh. Soon, he will be able to do things again but he will not be a man."

Dead right there, thought Doc. He's got no balls. What do I tell him? And what's km'lilleh?

The head man climbed to the ground again and called out to one of the older women. Soon, a small crowd of older women had gathered by the ladder, some bearing baskets of food.

"I do not know of the km'lilleh," explained the headman to Doc, "except as told to me by my father's father, and to him by his father's father. It was thought that a spirit inhabited a person long ago, and changed him. tk'Pallo -" which was the nearest they could get to pronouncing Paul's name, "- has km'lilleh, and he is changing also. Soon, he will be well again, two, three moons, perhaps. Elder wives of the tribe will guide him."

"Doc? What's going on?"

"Dunno, Paul. It seems the headman knows what's wrong with you. He says you'll recover in a couple of months or so. These women are going to look after you. I don't understand what he's saying, though, he's using a word I can't get a translation to. I'll try and find out what's going on. You just do what the women tell you, okay?"

"What about my balls, Doc? They've gone completely."

"Paul, I don't know the answer to that. Look, do you feel unwell? Ill? Is your mind clear? Anything you feel anxious about you need to talk to someone?"

"Strange you should ask that, no I don't. In fact, I feel quite well, apart from the tiredness and wanting to eat. I have had some very odd dreams lately, but that's not really surprising."

When Les, Jack and Joe came back later that day from hunting, Doc called them together and brought them up to date.

"He says his balls have gone completely?" asked Joe. All of them looked involuntarily towards their grass skirts.

"Yeah, Skip. He's worried, but less so than I might have been in his position, I think. Now, have any of you had any of the symptoms Paul has shown so far, that I told you about before?"

The three shook their heads.

"So, it's affecting him, and just him. Do we know anything about his family, Joe, that might give an indication what's going on?"

"He's an orphan, that I know," replied Joe. "There might have been an aunt - or was it an uncle? I don't remember. He never talked about them, I just remember it was in his file when he joined the crew. Nope, nothing helpful there I can remember, I'm afraid."

"He was perfectly all right till we got here," Les pointed out. "Is it something he ate or drank in the village, do you think?"

"Or got stung by, or bitten by, and so on," finished Doc. "If so, why him and not us? Besides, you know Paul, never catches anything, heals up faster than the rest of us. I would have thought he'd be the last person to go down with some tropical bug. I must admit, it's got me stumped."

"What's the word the headman used? Come-lily?" Joe asked.

Doc grinned. "Near enough. I can't work out what it means, whether it's a disease, or something that's happening to Paul, or the name of the last person who had it, or a forest spirit or what. I'll keep asking around, though. Meanwhile, it's something else to think about while you knock monkeys out of the trees. By the way, Jack, your ideas have really improved the local cooking, did you know?"

"I like to think so," replied Jack. "A meat pie and two veg would be nice occasionally, though."

"We'll get home one day," Joe reassured him. "It may take us a while, but we're going to get home eventually."

The five airmen have hidden in a native village and have been accepted by the locals. One of them appears to have caught a rare ailment, however.

"Why, Doc? Why me?"

"We've been asking ourselves that since you fell - ill. We've no idea. I'll talk to the headman soon as I can find him and see if he confirms my diagnosis. Of course, he said, didn't he, that the elder women of the tribe will guide you. I wondered why he said it that way, I took him to mean they would look after you. That's not what he meant at all. Shit. Fighting the Japs I can cope with, how are we going to deal with this?"

Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2010 Penny Lane. All rights reserved. Don't expect this to be historically accurate in any way.

---

Three mornings later, Paul came out of the house onto the porch just as Doc was walking across the clearing towards him. When Doc saw Paul he stopped involuntarily, shocked by what he had just realised was happening to Paul.

"G'day, Doc. Hey, what's the matter? You look as white as a sheet. Seen a ghost?"

"Something like that." Doc recovered his poise and climbed the ladder, his mind still shocked by his discovery and by the different complexion it suddenly put on their position. "G'day to you. Look, Paul, if you don't mind, I've just noticed something, and I'd like to confirm it by giving you a thorough physical examination. Would you mind coming back into the house?"

"Sure, Doc. What have you figured out, then?"

"Tell you in a minute. Let's go out the other end of the house, so we can get enough light for me to examine you without drawing a crowd."

"Whatever you say, Doc."

Doc gave Paul the most complete examination he had ever given anyone, ending by asking Paul to take the grass skirt off and lie on the back porch and open his legs. Paul's penis was a mere nub, and behind it were distinct signs of definite developing bodily structures. Taken with the evidence he should have noticed previously, the conclusion was unmistakeable. Doc sighed.

"Okay, Paul, I've seen enough, and I now know what km'lilleh is. Put your skirt back on and come inside. We have to have a talk."

Inside, they sat and Paul turned his face expectantly towards Doc. Doc could see it now, now that his attention had been alerted by other aspects of what was happening. The face was softer, more rounded. The mouth had definitely changed shape, had become more - feminine. There, he had admitted it to himself. Now, to try and convince Paul that neither of them was crazy.

"Paul," he began, and then failed. This person sitting in front of him wasn't going to be 'Paul' for much longer, was he? Or should that be she? He began again.

"Paul, you're turning into a woman," Doc said quickly, to get it out in the open. "Down below, your dick has almost gone, and you have the beginnings of a woman's equipment forming between your legs."

Paul's eyes were wide. "Doc? You can't be serious."

Doc sighed, and his shoulders dropped. "Deadly serious. I only realised it when I saw you come out onto the porch this morning. What I saw in the daylight for the first time was a female silhouette. What I hadn't noticed before, and neither had you, is that you have started developing breasts. The dye hides the big circles round the nipples that women have, and you thought the rest was flab. The fat you've been putting on has changed your shape. I watched you walk through the house just now and you walk like a Sheila. Oh, yes, I'm serious, all right."

"Why, Doc? Why me?"

"We've been asking ourselves that since you fell - ill. We've no idea. I'll talk to the headman soon as I can find him and see if he confirms my diagnosis. Of course, he said, didn't he, that the elder women of the tribe will guide you. I wondered why he said it that way, I took him to mean they would look after you. That's not what he meant at all. Shit. Fighting the Japs I can cope with, how are we going to deal with this?"

"Excuse me, Doc, if you're right, I've got bigger problems than that. What am I going to do? Are you absolutely sure you know what you're saying?"

"Paul, there are no mirrors in this village. I don't think you've looked at yourself for weeks, have you? You look more like a woman now than a man, although the change is slow enough we haven't really noticed it happening. Come to that, when was the last time you shaved?"

"You know, Doc, I never shaved that much before anyway. I think I shaved once after we came here." Paul ran his hand over his chin, realising that the skin was very soft and smooth. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah. Have you touched your skin lately? Soft as anything. I bet you thought most of that was from being overweight. Somehow, I don't think it is."

Paul looked at Doc, his eyes large and round and troubled.

"What am I going to do, Doc? I'm a man! I know nothing about a woman's world, except what I've seen in the magazines in the squadron ready room, and I don't think I believe most of that stuff."

"We'll look after you, just like we've been doing so far. You'll need the women of the tribe to help you understand the basics. Heck. There are a whole load of implications to this I haven't even had a chance to consider, yet. Look, just stay in here quietly this morning and let the women look after you. Have a think about what might be happening. Just as important, have a think about anything that might have caused this. If any more of us start changing, we're in big trouble."

"Okay, Doc." Tears trickled down Paul's face as the reality of the situation hit home. "Is there any chance you might be wrong? Any at all?"

Doc shook his head. "Don't think so. Look, I know of certain herbs which can make breasts grow on men, but they don't do to people what I saw between your legs. They don't stop you shaving, and they don't change the shape of your face. Or body. I reckon you've got a one-way ticket, Paul. Sorry."

Doc stood, and walked towards the entrance to the house, where two women were waiting to attend to Paul.

"Look," he said, turning, "The lads are out picking fruit this morning. When they get back here at lunchtime, I'll call a meeting of us five and we'll discuss the whole matter. We'll have to do it, it's going to affect us all. I can barely figure out my own reaction to discovering this as it is. Can you manage that?"

"Yes, of course, Doc. And - thanks."

"What for? I've just booted you clear out into the unknown. We need to help you - us - through all this."

When Joe, Les and Jack came back laden with baskets of fruit picked in the forest they were joking and laughing with several of the young men they had become fast friends with. Their expressions faded rapidly when the saw the grim look on Doc's face.

"Doc?" Joe asked. "Is it Paul? Is he okay?"

Doc nodded. "Yes, he's okay, and I think he's going to be okay. He seems to be improving now, not so tired, although he's still eating like a horse."

Joe looked relieved. "That's great! It's a shame he's been stuck in the village while we've all been out having so much fun. But why the long face?"

"Joe, we have to talk. All of us. Now. Paul's situation is serious."

"I thought you just said -" Joe started, but stopped at the expression in Doc's eyes.

"Find a place where we can sit down," Doc said, "I'll fetch Paul. It's lunch time, you might as well organise us some food and drink."

Doc came back with Paul, who was carrying a grass mat. The other three watched him carefully as he folded it into a pad and lowered himself onto it beside them. Doc sat down beside Paul, and put an arm round his shoulder. The touch of Paul's skin shocked Doc again, as he realised that his subconscious was already treating Paul's body as female.

"Paul here is not actually ill, as we define the term," Doc began. "He's turning into a woman."

Jack had been drinking water from a gourd and it sprayed out of his mouth.

"Strewth!" said Les. "Doc, that's not funny."

"Indeed it isn't, Les."

"You're serious?" Les looked at Paul, and his jaw dropped. "Christ, it's true."

"How long have you known?" Joe asked.

"This morning, when I first saw him standing in broad daylight. Up till now we've mostly visited inside the house. I'm sorry, Paul, I'm going to have to describe you like I would a specimen."

"That's okay, Doc."

"You can't see very clearly inside, and it wasn't that obvious on the porch, but if you look at his chest you can see breasts developing. See the large circles round his nipples under the dye? And his nipples are larger. Look at his face shape, it's changed. We've been seeing him every day, and we just haven't noticed because it's been so gradual. There are no mirrors in the village, so he hasn't seen what we can see now. He's shaved just once since he's been in the village. His waist is slimmer, but his hips and thighs are larger. He even walks differently. His voice is changing, it's lighter."

"What about... down below?" asked Les. "You told us before that his balls had gone... oh, shit, yes, they would, wouldn't they?"

"Would you mind showing them, Paul? I'm sorry to ask you to do this, but we all have an interest in this in case it happens to anyone else."

"Yes, of course."

Paul shifted his position on the mat, and then lifted up the front of the skirt. There were several whistles followed by complete silence. Paul lowered the skirt again.

"I haven't worn the jockstrap for a week," he commented. "Didn't seem to be a lot of point."

There was further silence, and then Doc turned to Joe.

"Skip? Do you realise the problems we're going to have to face?"

Joe screwed up his eyes, and then looked at Doc. "Sort of. I'm sure you'll help us come to grips with whatever's happening."

"I dunno, Skip. This isn't something that's ever needed to be faced before, I reckon. How often do men spontaneously change into women? I'm still trying to get my own brain round the idea. I'm sorry, Paul, but my mind doesn't think of you as a bloke any more. If you keep changing, it's inevitable that we're going to treat you differently. I'm not sure I like the idea of that, but I'm not sure we can continue treating you the same as before."

"You're right," added Joe. "Before, we were five crew mates. Heck, we're still five crew mates, but I know what you mean, it's not going to be the same. Look, we're still a team, and I think we have to tackle this as a team. Agreed?"

The rest of them nodded, distracted by the impossible puzzle they had just been given.

"So," Joe continued, "we talk about this together, okay? We all have to come to terms with this, Paul as much as any of us. I suggest we have five, ten minutes together every day to talk about what's going on in our heads. Maybe together we can make some sense out of what's happening."

"What about the tribespeople?" asked Jack. "They knew about this, come-lily after all."

Doc shook his head. "It's too far back in history. All they have is a rumour of a legend, a spirit that came out of the forest and changed someone many years ago. Perhaps. Now I understand what's going on, I can talk to some of the older folk and try and get a sense of what they want to do about it. I don't think Paul is in any danger, from what I've seen so far. They are treating him with great respect, which is probably right if he's been inhabited by a forest spirit."

During the afternoon Joe and Jack went hunting, while Les taught some of the younger men the art of knife-throwing, using some of the better trade knives available in the village. Les had often used his knife skills to knock over rabbits on the farm where he had grown up, and the occasional dingo or smaller marsupial. Doc spent the afternoon in the house with Paul and a number of the older village women. After the evening meal the five gathered near one of the communal fires to talk.

"It was a bit strange," said Doc, "at first the women assessed Paul as a potential husband, just like they assessed all of us when we appeared. Oh, not obviously," he said as they looked at one another, "but every man and woman does that sort of thing all the time, whether they realise it or not. Still, once the headman had recognised km'lilleh and explained it to them they were quite happy to welcome him into their ranks. As time progresses and it becomes more obvious what's happening, the move seems natural."

"Well, it doesn't seem natural to me," said Jack with feeling.

"That's because we're all mates," said Joe. "We've known Paul for some time, the village folk have only known him, what, couple of months? Three? We've got an existing relationship that's suddenly changed on us, and we have to try and work it out."

"You're right there," said Les. He looked fully at Paul. "Now don't take this the wrong way, or anything, and I'm not really sure I want to say this, but here goes. I was thinking about you while I was out with the lads earlier. I was thinking of what you'd be like as a woman rather than as a man. I tried to imagine what you'd look like in a few months, and without the dye. I guess, I guess," he suddenly lowered his eyes and looked at his feet, "you could look rather pretty. For a Sheila, that is."

Paul looked tremendously embarrassed, as did Les. Joe cleared his throat.

"Mates, I've been wondering about that myself. Is it going to be a problem to anyone? We don't need that kind of thing going on right now, so can I ask you all to keep hands off? That includes you, Paul."

"Skip, I wouldn't -" Paul protested. "You're all like brothers to me. Always have been. You lot are the nearest thing I've ever had to a family. I'd like it to stay that way."

"That's what I'd hoped you'd say, but I still have to draw the line. None of you must forget, we're still servicemen, and there's still a war going on."

"Skip," asked Jack, "what's going to happen when the Japs get kicked off the island and we have to go back to Oz? They're never going to let Paul fly again. How are we going to explain what's happened, anyway? No-one's going to believe us."

"Shit. I hadn't got as far as considering what happens when we get to leave the island. Doc?"

"I had, but only briefly. That was enough to make me want to think about deserting, Skip." Doc waved his hands over the group. "We have to think about all possible ways we can play this, mates. We're probably going to get debriefed, and we want to make sure we've covered all the possible answers. I guess most of the thoughts I've had so far indicate the end of Paul Davis."

"What do you mean? You're not going to abandon me, are you?"

"I don't think so, but consider: Paul Davis has a service record, and shortly you're going to look nothing like Paul Davis. In fact, you probably don't look much like him now. His sister, maybe, but not like his photo in the files. If that's the case, just exactly who are you going to be?"

~o~O~o~

"I was thinking," said Jack. "You mentioned earlier that we have no mirrors in the village. Well, I know the crate had some mirrors. What do you say Les and I and a couple of the lads go over there tomorrow and we do a bit of salvage?"

"Sounds like a reasonable move," replied Joe. "After all, we've been here what, a couple of months now, and we all understand what works and what doesn't, unlike when we first came here. I think there are one or two items we might find useful, if we can get to the wreck and back safely, and of course, if the Japs didn't trash it when they found it."

"If it's just mirrors you want," suggested Les, "there are signalling mirrors in the dingy kits. Would one of those do?"

"I'd forgotten those. They're a bit small," considered Joe. "I'll ask the headman about an expedition. If he says no, we can try one of the signal mirrors. I don't think they are big enough to show Paul very much, though."

The headman liked Jack's idea, but insisted that no less than six of the young men accompanied Jack and Les. The trip would have other uses, since most of the area round the village had been hunted out because of the restrictions the Japanese had placed on them. A survey of an as-yet untouched hunting range seemed a prudent idea given the circumstances. They were to leave at first light the following morning.

~o~O~o~

Joe, Doc and Paul watched the salvage party depart early the following morning before joining the villagers in breakfast. While they were eating, Joe decided to bring up some comments made in private the previous evening.

"Doc, both Les and Jack have told me privately that they are having difficulty talking about Paul's predicament. I can understand their reluctance to talk, it's not really something a bloke does, is it?"

Doc extracted a fruit pip before replying. "They didn't seem to be too bothered yesterday, did they? I guess it's half embarrassment and half morbid curiosity, with a dash of Stiff Upper Lip thrown in for good measure. We can't force them, but I personally - and professionally - believe it will be good for all of us if they do, for two reasons. Firstly, it might help Paul here through whatever's happening to him. That's assuming that he - or she - is going to be all right, and that the tribesmen know what they are talking about. The other reason we have to keep it out in the open is that Paul may just be the first, what's happened to him may happen to any of us in the future."

"I agree," added Paul. "I still want to be considered one of the team, whatever I look like. I understand Les and Jack's problem all too well, but if they back off and treat me as an exhibit in a freak show, it's going to be much harder for me to get through this. The tribesmen and women are all giving me support, but I need the support of my team mates as well. I know both of you are doing your best, but we need Les and Jack as well. We can't afford anything that might cause extra problems while we're in the village."

Joe nodded. "You're both right. I'll do my best, but there's that old saying about taking a horse to water, you know? Don't worry, Paul, I think their hearts are in the right place, even if their minds are a bit confused about what's going on."

Mid-afternoon the party returned, both Les and Jack carrying bags of recovered items, their companions bringing food hanging in net bags from the end of their spears. After getting a welcome drink the five got together.

"Japs trashed most of the plane, took off practically everything possible to remove," Les reported. "However, they didn't find the tail section, which was just as well, as Robbie's body was still in the turret. It was jammed a hundred feet up between two tall trees about two hundred yards downhill from the rest of the wreckage. Nevertheless, we managed to find some useful bits and pieces. Here, Paul, this is for you."

Les dug unto his bag and pulled out the cockpit mirror, normally fixed to the outside of the canopy so that the pilot had a rear view, and handed it to Paul. He held it up and examined his face, turning it different ways to catch the light. As he understood the transformation of his features, tears formed at the corners of his eyes and began trickling down his cheeks.

"Oh. Sorry, Paul, I didn't -"

"It's okay, Les. It's happening, I have to get used to it. It's just a shock, the last time I saw my own face was in the bathroom the morning before we went out on the mission," Paul replied. "I hadn't realised how much it had changed."

Les dug out another mirror. "This one's from the rear turret." He looked at Joe. "We had a job getting up to the turret, but it was worth it. We got Robbie's body - what was left of it - out and buried him. We also found these up there." He held out a notepad and pencil. "You ought to have these, you might want to write up a log or something."

Joe took the items. "It's an idea, but I'll have to find somewhere secure to hide them if a patrol comes through. Anything else?"

Les said, "The bomb sight was completely mangled, of course, but I managed to salvage out some lenses. I thought the locals might find them useful for making fires and such. I'll present them to the chief later on."

Jack held up the bag he was carrying. "This seemed like a good idea," he said, pulling out the contents. He held up Robbie's parachute pack, still with harness attached. "This was still hung in the fuselage in front of the rear turret. Doesn't seem to be damaged at all."

Joe looked puzzled. "What do we want with a parachute? We can't all jump off the cliffs with it."

Jack grinned. "I'm thinking ahead. Paul can't wear a grass skirt when we get rescued, can he? Or should that be she?"

Paul cleared his throat. "Actually, I'll be a he for a few days yet. I had a talk with some of the tribal elders today. It seems there'll be a full moon in five days. They are thinking up a ceremony to be held then, to officially change me over from man to woman. I take it you think we can make up some clothes from the parachute silk?"

"You got it." Jack grinned.

Joe asked, "Who's going to make these clothes? And what with? See any needle and thread lying around, or a sewing machine? And what if the Japs see the clothes?"

Jack's face fell. "Hadn't got that far, skip. Just thought that having the silk here would be useful. I hadn't thought of doing anything with it till the Japs are driven out anyway. We can't stop being tribesmen till then."

"Perhaps not for a while afterwards," muttered Doc. "This skin dye seems to be permanent. I hope they know some way of getting it off us, or we'll be the most heavily tanned crew in the entire Air Force."

"Actually," said Les, "There's a needle and thread in both of the life-raft kits, although there probably isn't enough thread to do more than repair a tear or two. It's a start, though."

Joe nodded. "Good work, both. We'll stash the parachute with our other stuff. Was the hunting any good?"

"Oh yeah. We spotted a couple of areas that could be worked as we walked along. Saw a couple of groves of fruit trees, give the local ones time to recover. Our chaperones have probably told the headman all about it by now. At least it secures the food supply of the village."

~o~O~o~

Paul spent the next few days closeted with some of the women in one of the big houses, interrupted only by another Japanese patrol passing through. He wouldn't tell the others what he was doing, but they assumed that it was something to do with the impending ceremony. Despite the apparently crazy things happening to his body, he seemed cheerful when they gathered for meals each day. Doc was in two minds about this, as if this had happened to himself he was sure that he would be in a far worse mental state.

Eventually the day came and most of the village spent all of the day in preparation for the ceremony, to be started at twilight. Pigs were slaughtered and set up to roast on several of the fires. Fruit and other green-stuffs were gathered, and a fearsome-looking brew was produced from somewhere it had been fermenting for a week. The costumes of all the villagers were inspected and repaired. Flowers were gathered from the forest and used to decorate the feasting area, as well as to make garlands for each villager. A row of torches made from bamboo poles was placed each side of the area and lit as the sun set.

"Km'lilleh! The forest spirit has honoured us with it's presence," pronounced the headman as the tribe gathered around him. "It has chosen to enter the body of our brother tk'Pallo. Km'lilleh has decided to change the body of tk'Pallo, and he should no longer be deemed a brother of the tribe, because he will no longer be a man. The time has come for all to say good-bye to tk'Pallo, and to remember him as he was before the spirit came to him."

He paused, and looked at the silent circle of people around him.

"Say good-bye to him as though he is of the dead, for you shall not see him again. Do not mourn for him, though, for he will return again to us in another shape. When all have said their farewells the Elder men will take him down to the river to bathe, to wash away his signs of manhood. Then the Elder women will accept her as a new sister of the tribe, and she will return to us to be greeted anew. Then the tribe will feast at the birth of a new sister."

The five Australians had been seated in a row on a long log at the high end of the feasting area, with Paul in the middle. The headman was standing in front of them, surrounded by the rest of the tribe, and he turned to them when he finished speaking.

"tk'Pallo, come forward. Go to each of the tribe and say farewell. I will ask your friends to say farewell last, because I know that it will be more difficult for you. Then the Elder men will take you to the river."

Paul stood and walked slowly to one end of the circle of people. He clasped each person in a soft hug, before separating and saying a few words to them. Some of them, the younger men who he had had most to do with since they had first arrived in the village, got a few more words and occasionally a grin or a back-slap. Paul squatted down to talk to some of the smaller children, giving them a smile of encouragement. It took some time before he had spoken to all of them, and by then it was fully dark in the feasting area, lit only by the double line of torches.

Paul finally returned to stand in front of his four friends. Awkwardly, he approached them, and Doc understood the problem and came forward to clasp him in a loose embrace.

"You're doing fine, mate," he said quietly. "Just do this to the others and we'll get through it okay. You've started on an amazing adventure, and as long as we are able to, we'll stand beside you and help you through it. You've got the whole tribe behind you as well, if you need it. How are you feeling?"

Paul's blue eyes looked into Doc's brown. "I don't feel it's wrong, if that's what you mean. I mean, I think this is what's supposed to be happening to me, although I know it's never happened before. I'm okay, the women have told me what we're going to do, so I'm not nervous or anything like that. Thanks, Doc."

Doc reluctantly released Paul and beckoned Les, who happened to be the nearest, forward.

"Just give him a hug and have a word with him, Les."

"Sure, Doc."

Jack followed Les, and Joe came last. He embraced Paul and had some words with him, and then when he stepped back he shook hands with Paul. Finally the four returned to stand in front of their seats on the big log. Doc nodded to the headman. He raised a hand, and four of the heads of village families stepped forwards to stand in front of Paul. With two either side, and the headman following, they escorted him alongside one of the rows of torches down the slope towards the river. Doc noticed that at the same time, the wives of the five escorts walked down the other line of torches, keeping pace with the group of men.

The rest of the crowd opened out so that they could watch the procession, and at the same time they began singing. Doc realised with a start that he understood the words, that they were singing a song of mourning that he had heard just three days ago when they had buried one of the older men of the tribe.

The close harmonies of the men and women sent chills down the spines of the four airmen. The words had been slightly changed, but they were giving tk'Pallo a full send-off as though he had been an honoured warrior of the tribe. As the song proceeded they all realised that they owed much to their friends in the tribe, and that they had an obligation to protect them just as much as if they had been Australian servicemen fighting in the same battle as themselves.

As the song came to an end, a number of the young men and women began circulating with small gourds apparently filled with drink. Jack sniffed suspiciously at his, but it was only water.

"It will take a little time to make our brother into a sister," the young woman who had brought the gourds said, "and the headman thought that you might need a drink while you wait. Please sit down, you will know when she is ready."

It was easy to tell when she was ready, as after about ten minutes or so the five women who had gone to the river began to chant. The crowd assembled again and watched. As their chant reached a climax, the full moon rose over the clearing and bathed everything with light. Immediately, the crowd started singing again, this time a song of birth. Again, the words had been slightly modified.

Slowly, the five women walked back along their line of torches, kept pace by their husbands on the other side. This time it was the women who were accompanied, and it was the figure walking with them that had the four friends amazed into silence.

She had been completely stripped, washed and re-dressed while at the river. The clay markings which were daubed on the skin of every male in the tribe had been cleaned away. A garland of flowers went round her brow. A choker of woven grass, with flowers intertwined, went round her throat. Her chest was enveloped in a halter-neck garment of coloured woven fibre which supported two very obvious breasts. She was now wearing a woman's grass skirt rather than a man's, which reached down to just below the knee. All the male clothing she had worn was held in a bundle in her outstretched hands.

When she reached the group at the top of the area, she turned towards the nearest fire and tossed her male clothing on it. The dry grasses and fibres went up with a brief whoosh of sparks, and she watched it disintegrate in the flames before turning towards the waiting headman.

"The forest spirit has given the tribe a new sister," he pronounced to the assembled villagers. "I ask all of you here to welcome her into our tribe. As any woman of the tribe does, she must have a name, and I name her m'Lanui, the unexpected woman. She is one of us. Protect her, guide her, treat her with the respect due to all women. May she long live amongst us, may she be fruitful and have many children. m'Lanui!"

He held up her hand and shouted her name as he spoke. The whole tribe echoed him in a great shout. Then, while she stood beside the headman, each member of the tribe came forward one by one and embraced her. Finally only the four stunned airmen were left.

"Time to go, chaps," Doc murmured. He stepped forward and clasped the radiant woman who stood in front of him.

"Mind my chest," she said quietly. "It's not entirely real."

"I was wondering how you'd managed to sprout since this morning."

"It's not that bad, actually, but the women decided that it had to be clear that I was a woman from tonight onwards, so I've been padded out with moss for the time being."

"You look beautiful, er, m'Lanui. It's amazing what a slight change in appearance can do for how you view someone. As I look at you now, I'm surprised that I ever thought you were a man, although I know that you once were."

"Doc?" called Joe. "You going to be all night?"

"A moment more," he called back. To the woman he asked, "What are we going to call you now? While m'Lanui is okay here, it might not go far when we get back to Oz."

"I thought I'd run with what I'd been given," she said. "I just Anglicised it into Melanie. I'll tell you the rest later."

Doc moved back and muttered to the others, "Melanie. That's going to be her Aussie name, okay?"

"Melanie? Where did she get that one from?" muttered Les, as Jack went forward.

"m'Lanui, of course," replied Joe.

"Uh, sorry, Skip, I'm a bit slow. The whole thing's just so amazing," Les apologised. "And the singing! I've never heard anything like it. It's not surprising my head's a little fuzzy."

Les walked forward to talk to the new woman as Jack came back, shaking his head with wonder.

"Christ Paul, uh, Melanie. You look fantastic! The new outfit really suits you."

"Thank you, Les," she said quietly. "It's only a few bits of grass and string, but it makes me feel different, somehow. It feels... proper, if you know what I mean. The brassiere is a bit padded out, that's not all me you can see, although I don't think it will be that long before it will be, the way things have gone so far. You chaps okay up here? Obviously I missed some of the show, being down at the river."

"You're the star turn! But listening to the whole tribe sing in harmony is something that I'll never forget, it was amazing."

"Yes, it made my skin go all funny. Look, go back and let Joe have a word now, we can all have a good chin-wag later on."

"Yeah, if we're still sober enough."

Joe came forward. "You look good even under all the dye. I wonder what you'll look like when we get back to base," he said to her.

"You think so?" she asked a little shyly.

"We-ell, it's a little difficult, what with the moonlight and the fires and the flickering torches, but from where I'm standing I don't see anything bad."

"I suppose I need a mirror."

"Typical woman," Joe grinned. "Don't worry, you'll do. Now, let's get this party going."

He turned to the headman and nodded.

"It is complete," the headman called to the waiting crowd. "Now let us feast to celebrate the arrival of our new sister. m'Lanui!"

"m'Lanui!" the crowd shouted in response, and about a third of them gathered round Melanie, while the rest headed for the food and drink.

Some of the younger women from the houses where the airmen slept came forwards with food and drink for them. Each was handed a small basket woven from green strips of palm leaves filled with bite-sized fruits, nuts and sweetmeats. They were also handed a gourd filled with a milky liquid. Jack smelled his with suspicion.

"You go careful with that," Doc advised. "It looks and tastes fairly harmless, but it's got a kick like a 500-pounder."

Les took a sip of his. "Tastes okay to me," he pronounced, "I've had stronger in the 'Gator Bar back home."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Doc. "I dare you to come back tomorrow morning and tell me the same thing. Oh, and by the way, there's no possibility I can make you a hangover remedy, okay? You'll just have to suffer like the rest of us."

The four settled on their log and began to eat the food provided. Since this had been a special day, they had not been given an evening meal at the normal time, so were all quite hungry. Most of the other tribesfolk were also eating, and things quietened down for a while. Finally Melanie pleaded thirst and hunger and the crowd allowed her to come and sit with the others. They moved to each side so that she could sit in the middle, and she began wolfing down her portion of food.

Soon, as people finished their meals, the party started to liven up. Someone began banging a rhythm with two stout sticks on a hollow log. A few began singing, and soon most of the villagers had joined in. Those that weren't singing had begun to dance between and around two of the fires. Soon enough the crowd had drunk sufficient that the atmosphere became relaxed and most people were having fun. The airmen recognised some of the songs being sung as hunting tunes they had been taught, so joined in.

"Does your tribe have any songs like ours?" one of their young friends asked. "Will you sing them for us?"

Les looked thoughtful, put down his gourd and stood up. "Sure. Course we do. How about this one?"

"Stop!" Joe shouted, horrified. "No! You can't do that! Supposing a Jap patrol heard us?"

"What are you talking about, Skip?"

"If they heard someone singing that, they'd know that the crew of that downed plane were in this village, and they'd just flatten it. We daren't risk anything identifying us, you know that."

"Aw, Skip, it's late at night. We've never seen a night Jap patrol, they always come mid-morning."

"Just because we haven't seen them doesn't mean they're not there. Don't forget, the village doesn't put out sentries, and normally by this time of night we'd all be asleep. We've no idea what the Japs do at night. Anyway, we don't want to break our cover at all until the time comes, so button it. Sing native songs by all means, but keep the use of English down to a minimum as we've been doing so far."

"Yes, Skip, sorry. I guess this booze of theirs is a bit stronger than I realised."

Doc explained in the local tongue what had happened to the curious group who had surrounded them when Les started singing. The headman nodded to Joe in approval, and everyone returned to the party, which continued until the moon disappeared behind the hillside above the village.

"Jealous?"

"No, not really. It was your night, after all. What did those chaps want, anyway? To marry you?"

"Of course. Suddenly, there's a new eligible female in the village, of course they were going to have a go. I told them it was a bit too soon for that kind of thing, I'd only been a woman since the sun set after all. Most of them seemed to accept that."

"They'll come back, you know that, right?"

Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2010 Penny Lane. All rights reserved. Don't expect this to be historically accurate in any way.

---

"Strewth!" Les moaned the next morning. "Doc, you were right about that stuff we drank. My head feels fit to explode."

Doc, who had drunk a gourd of water for every gourd of the drink, still felt fairly tender as they walked across to get breakfast. He replied, "I know. You should be all right by mid-afternoon. You'll just have to go and lie somewhere quiet in the shade until then."

Les winced. "You don't have to shout, Doc."

"I'm not shouting," said Doc, but he lowered his voice all the same. "Make sure you down as much water as you can, as well. You're already dehydrated."

Most of the tribe seemed in the same state, with the exception of one or two of the elders and some smug-looking women who had not touched any of the brew. It was clearly understood by all that no serious work would get done that day, and most of the village retired to dark corners of their houses to rest their aching heads, clapping their hands over their ears whenever a particularly loud bird started up in the trees above them.

The Japanese patrol arrived mid-morning. The subaltern leading the group was puzzled when the usual crowd of villagers didn't congregate, and his shouts produced exactly the opposite effect to that which he had expected. Eventually the headman staggered out of his house and over to the officer in charge of the patrol. He explained that they had had a celebration the previous evening, on the occasion of the forest spirit appearing during the full moon. The local translator was familiar with such events and passed the explanation on, which seemed to mollify the officer in charge. He shouted at his men and they soon filed out of the village.

When they had gone, Joe and Doc came cautiously out of their houses to meet the headman.

"This cannot continue," Joe said. "The yellow-faces could have killed us all, and we would not have been able to defend ourselves."

"True," said the headman, in a voice just above a whisper. "Can we go somewhere out of the sun to continue this talk?"

They walked between two of the houses and a little way into the jungle beyond.

"If you will accept some advice," Joe said, "I think it is now time that we started taking a few basic precautions to ensure the safety of the village and all it's people. I don't think that it will interfere too much with the work of the village."

"What do you have in mind, tk'Joe? We know that you understand the yellow-faces, their ways are strange to us, just as the ways of your own tribe are."

"The ways of the yellow-faces are strange to us also, and we do not understand why they do some of the things they do. But they do things that we would say are cruel and unnecessary."

Doc joined in. "I have a little more idea that Joe does, but there is much that I have yet to understand. In my own land -" Doc stopped at the blank look on the headman's face. "Okay, on my own island, I have a special job which is to teach certain things to the young of my tribe. Not children, but the young men and women of the tribe. To teach I first have to understand, and my job is to understand the ways and customs of different tribes, and that is why I spoke some of your tongue when we first arrived here, because I've been here before."

The headman nodded. "I remembered you. I was not headman then. You came with others, although you did not stay in the village, but came each day. Your boat was damaged."

"That's right. Now, listen. The yellow-faces think that they are better than all the other tribes, which is why they are fighting them. If they win, they will treat you worse than you treat your own pigs and goats. They think that you are animals. They will not let you live peacefully in the village, but you will be worked hard doing what they want you to, and you will be badly treated and poorly fed. We have seen this happen on other islands."

"Then perhaps the tribes should join together and remove them from the island."

"We can probably do that," said Joe. "But, if we do that, they would send metal birds, like the one we came in, and drop fire and destruction on you from the sky. We don't want that to happen."

"Fire and destruction?"

"You know the mountain, km'Palaoi?" The headman nodded. "When that becomes angry, and throws rocks and ash and smoke into the air?"

"Oh. Like that? I understand."

"Except that the mountain doesn't deliberately throw hot rocks on your village, the rocks just go wherever the spirit flings them out. The yellow-faces will aim their bombs with care to make sure that your village and all it's people are no more."

"What is your suggestion then, tk'Joe?"

"We need sentries and dispersal points and..." Joe stopped, as his head had begun pounding. "I can't do this now, my head's not at all well. tk'Doco and I will work out what we think we need to do, and then come to you and the elders and we'll work out the best way of making ourselves safe."

"Agreed." The headman looked at Joe. "Come, we had best return to the houses. I think we all need to lie down again."

~o~O~o~

"I still can't get over how great you look," Jack said to Melanie, as they walked to the river for a late-afternoon drink. "Does it worry you, having such short hair at the moment?"

"Not really," she replied. "Some of the other women have short hair as well, particularly those with very curly hair. I don't think I'd want it to get too long while we're still at the village, though, because it'll start to look a bit too European. Besides which, it'll be difficult to put the brown stuff on if it gets too long."

While their skin seemed to stay much the same colour under the dark brown dye, of course the hair which grew out of their heads and bodies came out it's original colour. This required continuous touch-ups every week to ten days.

"Tell me," Jack said tentatively, "What do you feel like now, since the ceremony? Like a man or like a woman?"

"Like a woman, of course. But, it's strange since I never grew up as a girl, so I feel like there's a lot I've missed. The women here have been ace, teaching me all kinds of things and taking me into their confidences just as though I was a girl born. My big worry is," she turned a concerned face to Jack, "What's going to happen when we leave here. There's half a planet of women out there with peculiar customs and practices that'll make tribal ways look like child's play." Jack could see the real concern on her face. "But to get back to your original question, I think the ceremony helped enormously. As it was meant to do, it provided a clear line where one existence ended and another began. Wearing this outfit helps, too. I'm beginning to identify with the women in the village, and wearing the same clothes as them makes me feel like one of them. If you can call these wisps of grass clothing, that is."

"Yeah," said Jack as they reached the bank of the river to stand in the shade of one of the larger trees along the edge. "I guess that 'strange clothing' might be as much of a problem once we get out of here as the 'strange customs' will be." He lifted down one of the gourds strung on the trunk and handed it to Melanie before finding another for himself. "We'll just all have to do our best for you. We're not going to leave you in the lurch once we get back to Oz. Count on it."

They both dipped their gourds into the small river and drank deeply.

"I got several proposals last night," she said to Jack as they walked back. He stopped abruptly.

"What? Have you told Skip or Doc about them yet?"

"No worries, leastways I don't think so. No, you're the first person I've seen today. Is everyone sleeping it off?"

"Yeah, by common consent I think. That stuff wasn't half powerful, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but then I saw how silly some of the warriors were getting and I started drinking water with it like Doc was doing. I didn't have an opportunity to drink that much anyway since everyone kept coming up and talking to me."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"Jealous?"

"No, not really. It was your night, after all. What did those chaps want, anyway? To marry you?"

"Of course. Suddenly, there's a new eligible female in the village, of course they were going to have a go. I told them it was a bit too soon for that kind of thing, I'd only been a woman since the sun set after all. Most of them seemed to accept that."

"They'll come back, you know that, right?"

Melanie sighed. They reached her house. "Do you want to come in and talk?" she asked.

"Okay, but -"

"But what?"

"I dunno," he said miserably. "It's not like talking to a mate any longer, is it? I have to be careful, otherwise the others are going to get ideas. I never realised it would get this awkward."

"Come inside, out of the sun," she said practically. "You're still a mate. Uh, and I don't mean that kind of mate either."

"Yeah, okay," he conceded. "My face is beginning to ache from squinting in the bright light, so it's a good idea to find somewhere with a little more shade."

Jack followed Melanie up the ladder into the house, and they sat down just inside the first partition. The family whose house it was were dozing further in, and Melanie didn't want to disturb them any more than she had to.

"That's better," he said. "Not so hot either."

"It'll likely rain in an hour or so, so it will be a lot cooler. Now, we were discussing men queueing up for my favours," she said.

"Uh, yeah," said Jack, uncomfortable with the subject.

"Don't get concerned, Jack. I'm not about to marry anyone here, or do the native equivalent. I wouldn't know what to do with any of them anyway, at the moment. You're all perfectly safe. When I talked with the headman this possibility was brought up, and he was very good about it. He knows that we won't be here for ever, and there's a war to fight, and he knows that if I hitched up with any of the young warriors, for example, it might be a problem when the time comes for us to leave."

"Yeah, I hadn't thought of that."

"No reason why you should. But it's the same problem as if you or Skip or Les or Doc hitched up with one of the young women, isn't it? So there's been a tacit agreement that anything other than the usual social fun gets discouraged. Didn't you realise?"

"No, I didn't. I'm afraid I've been too busy learning how to hunt and to find fruit and vegetables to notice, actually. I can see it makes sense. What about us four, though?"

"Me pick one of you? Not while we're on the island, no. I told you before, I consider you all to be my brothers by adoption, and that's the way it has to stay till we get back home. Then there's still the war, and who knows what will happen to any of us?"

"Have you figured out what you're going to tell them yet? I mean, have you made up a story for whoever rescues us?"

"I've got the bones of it laid out, yes. When we meet up for the evening meal I'll lay my thoughts out for everyone and we can all contribute. After all, we've all got to know the same story, and it's going to have to be watertight."

"Yeah. But do we have to have so much detail? Might be a lot to remember."

"Not so much, I don't think. You'll see. But, think about this. Suppose we run into a particularly diligent intelligence officer when we get back? If he finds any discrepancies, he might think I'm a spy that's been planted by the Japs."

"Blimey. Nightmare. You have been doing a lot of thinking, haven't you?"

"Yes," she admitted. "A lot of it to little effect, but there are so many things that can go wrong I have to keep at it. For example, there's the question of children."

"Children? What you mean, you having them? Is that even possible?"

"Not the faintest idea. But if I'm turning into an actual, real, fully-functional woman, then that would presumably include the ability to have children, yes." Melanie looked unhappy. "I'm not sure if I like that idea. The whole baby thing strikes me as being messy and complicated."

"I shouldn't worry if I were you," Jack said. "Every other woman seems to manage it reasonably well. Mind you, I can just about accept you as a woman, now, especially after last night. Seeing you as a mother is going to take a little more time, I think. Maybe a year or two, perhaps. Maybe longer."

~o~O~o~

The five were seated in a circle, eating their evening meal.

"Gentlemen," Melanie said, "My name from now onwards is Melanie Chisholm. I don't have a middle name yet, so if one of you has an idea I'll consider it. Now, I've decided that because it's obvious I know a lot about things Australian, I'd better be an Australian, but one who hasn't lived in Oz for a while. So, I think I'll be the daughter of a couple who worked out here in the islands. I haven't decided yet if they were missionaries, or anthropologists, or traders, or what.

"I'll have been to Oz a number of times, because I'm obviously familiar with ships and trains and traffic and so on, but I think that I'll have spent most of my life out here. That will explain why I don't have much of a clue about how women function in civilised parts. I'll have been home-tutored, so I'll have some level of education. How's that so far?"

Doc inspected a chicken bone for meat that he'd missed. "You said your parents were. I assume they're dead?"

"Yes. Either killed by the Japs or previously died from disease or something. Does that sound possible?"

"I think I'd stick with 'killed by the Japs'. You obviously escaped by running into the jungle, and you made your way to this village on your own. If you say that, there's no paper trail to worry about."

Joe had an objection. "If both your parents were Australian, you are therefore Australian also."

Melanie nodded. "Yes, that was the general idea."

"In that case, won't there have been a birth registered somewhere? You had to have some kind of papers to go in and out of Oz, at any rate."

She shrugged. "Yes, I realise that. I wondered if you four had any ideas."

"Well, your papers got lost when you fled from the Japs," said Joe. "But if they start looking back to find your previous visits to Oz, they're not going to find you or your parents, are they."

Doc said, "I don't think that's going to be too much of a problem. If they came and went on a schooner, like I did, no-one's going to have a record of us coming or going. Certainly didn't for the crew I was with. There was a record of the schooner itself leaving and arriving back, but that was all. I'll have to think about the business of registering births, especially for someone who might not have been actually born in Oz."

Les questioned, "What about your radio knowledge? Do you want to retain that, or do you want to pretend you don't know about anything like that?"

Melanie pulled a face. "I'd rather keep it if I could, but I don't see how I can. I'm not ever going to be allowed to be aircrew again, am I, but I thought I might be able to contribute to the war effort back at base somehow."

"That one might be more tricky," replied Doc. "Although, of course, there is radio equipment out here in the islands. We might be able to fake up a correspondence course in radio maintenance or some such, but that would mean more records that would have to exist somewhere." He tossed his chicken bone into the fire and reached into his bowl for another drumstick. "There may be a way to get round all this," he said, "but it involves significant risk and the right circumstances occurring. I'll think about it some more."

Joe said to Doc, "You're actually more than just a navigator, aren't you?"

"Yes and no," Doc replied. "I am just a regular navigator, but I have connections in the intelligence community because of my past experience in these islands. They wanted me to transfer but I said no, so they just keep pestering me with questions every chance they get. Got. What I was thinking was that I might be able to sneak Melanie in under the wire, so to speak, via my intelligence connections. But, if I do that, it would probably mean telling someone the truth, and I don't know anyone who'd believe it without having witnessed it first hand."

"It's been tough enough having actually seen it," Jack muttered.

"Okay, chaps," Joe concluded, "Melanie sounds like she has a plan, so we'll work up some kind of suitable history for her and her parents over the next few days. We don't want something that's too elaborate, because that's the way we'd become unstuck, but we might be able to arrange it so that the 'fog of war' covers a lot of the defects. Agreed?"

They all nodded assent.

"We have something else to discuss," Joe continued. "Doc and I talked with the headman this morning, and we decided that we need to lay out some kind of defence plan for the village. I don't know if you all realise it, but a patrol came through this morning while we were all hung over, and they could have finished us all off with hardly any resistance."

"Did they?" asked a startled Jack. "I never noticed."

"Ah, well, that's the problem. I'm not talking about attacking them, but we want to be able to get the villagers out if the Japs seem to be getting aggressive. We owe them that much at least. So I want to set up some kind of 'Civil Defence' measures. Sentries or lookouts. Safe areas in the forest they can escape to if anyone starts shooting. Caches of food and weapons, that sort of thing."

Doc gestured with his drumstick. "If you're going to do that, it's possible we'll have to involve the other villages. We can't just push the problem off onto them and save only this village."

"I suppose so. But the villages all have a sort of rivalry, don't they? How are we going to overcome that?"

"I think the yellow-faces did that for us. But let's first make a plan for our own village, and see if we can establish some basic principles we can then sell to the other villages for their own benefit."

~o~O~o~

The 'Defence Plan', as it came to be known, turned out to be reasonably straightforward to figure out and implement. Two rendezvous points behind each side of the village, one near each end, meant that the villagers could flee from trouble no matter which direction it came from. Deep in the jungle at either side, a further assembly point was made, where food and weapons could be cached. Food was difficult as most was perishable and lasted only a few days, but a rotation plan took care of that. One or two of the villagers resented giving up an extra pig to stock the caches, but every one of them understood the need for the precautions, and as they all helped each other anyway the ruffled feathers were soon smoothed over.

Lookout positions were established, some covering the established paths in and out of the village and some overlooking other possible approach routes. Each was staffed by one of the older village members together with one of the young girls. With two at each post there would be less chance for boredom, and they could keep each other occupied with crafts or food preparation or other quiet work. Lookouts were changed every couple of hours to keep everyone fresh, and the pairs rotated around the sentry points. At the first sign of any trouble, the younger member would return at once to give the village an initial warning, the older following later when more details of the situation could be determined.

As most of the lookouts were women or young girls, by a process of elimination Melanie ended up running the system. This suited everyone, as it gave her something concrete to do and she was close to all those involved. On occasion returning hunting parties tried to test the alertness of the lookouts, showing inventiveness to try and pass them without detection but with limited success.

Japanese patrols, by contrast, made no attempt at concealment but simply wandered along the established paths as though they were going for a picnic. If they saw a young native girl in the jungle, what of it? They had been doing these patrols for nearly two years with the only incident being the bomber crash. Most were bored and homesick.

~o~O~o~

As the weeks went on it became obvious that Melanie was blossoming. Her hair grew out to what she considered a 'proper' length for a woman of the tribe, and she discarded the additional moss padding after just a month. About that time, she awoke one morning in distress and had to be hurriedly helped down to the river by a gaggle of attendant women. On returning she informed the concerned men that she now had proof that she was a fully-functioning woman as her 'time of the month' had arrived somewhat unexpectedly.

Doc was unconcerned by the news, but when the details were explained to the others they turned distinctly pale under their dyed skin tone.

"You mean that all women go through that? Every month?" asked Les.

"That's right, mates," Doc explained. "Always have done, always will. I think our Melanie here has got away lightly, but it can cause some discomfort to some women. Stomach cramps, headaches, moodiness, temper, bloating, tender breasts, sometimes more severe symptoms. Any or all of those can happen."

"Well," said Melanie tentatively, "I did get some stomach pains just before, but I thought they were indigestion from something I'd eaten. You mean it's going to happen every time?" She didn't look thrilled by the news.

"It depends. Remember, this is just your first time. It may take a few months for your body to settle down to a proper rhythm," Doc assured her. "Besides, the women are looking after you okay? I bet they've got traditional remedies to help you over the four or five days or so when it happens each month."

Melanie nodded. "Yes, I'm well looked after. I'll just have to take it a little easy, is all."

~o~O~o~

The Defence Plan had been running successfully for a number of weeks when it suddenly became important to think about the next stage. One morning the group had come out to get breakfast when the headman walked over to them, gesturing.

"Thunder Spirit speaks from beyond the sunrise. Sound funny. Not sound of storm coming, or sound of angry mountain. Do any of you know what disturbs Thunder Spirit?"

The five stopped and listened.

"Don't hear anything," said Jack.

"Yes, listen there!" said Les. "Wasn't that something?"

"Yeah, I hear it," said Joe. He turned to the headman. "Can we go up to the top of the ridge, up the back? I think we'll hear it more clearly up there."

"Of course. You want to go now, or eat first?"

"Eat first, I think. Come on chaps, I think things are about to change around here."

"What d'you mean, Skip?"

"I think that's the sound of the war coming our way. I want to go up to the top and see if we can see anything."

While they ate breakfast, the headman arranged for six of the more experienced tribesmen to accompany them, since the area they would be going to was out of the accepted territory of the village. When some of the other villagers became concerned, it was explained to everyone that this was merely a scouting party and that no-one was likely to be endangered. However, there was always the chance of meeting a party from another village, or even a Japanese patrol, so precautions had to be taken.

The party slipped out of the high end of the village in single file and put some distance between it and themselves before turning uphill. They wove a deliberate and carefully considered route so as not to leave an obvious path behind for anyone to follow, standard technique for hunting parties. It was noticeable that the trees became less lofty, and the ground-level vegetation less dense, the further they climbed above the village.

"Is the ridge likely to be bare?" Joe muttered to Doc as the light levels continued to grow.

Doc shrugged. "Possible." The headman glared at them for not being quiet.

The slope lessened, and fortunately it appeared that the trees just covered the ridge at this point, although each stood alone and was covered in dense blankets of creeper. The 'ridge' was actually the saddle between the two non-active peaks, heavily weathered, but at this point low enough to have some vegetation cover. While several of the party dispersed to keep watch, the headman and Joe cautiously climbed one of the trees using the creepers for assistance. It was the first time since the crash that Joe had seen the eastern side of the island.

"What do you see, tk'Joe?" asked the headman in a whisper.

Joe looked over the ocean beyond the further slope, at the islands in the distance. There was a little early morning haze still, the sun would soon burn that off, but Joe could see all that he needed to.

"It is my tribe, fighting the yellow-faces. Look there! Did you see that flash? That was a bomb. See the cloud of smoke rising?"

"I see, but my eyes are not so keen. If you had not told me I do not think I would have known what it was. Are there many of your tribe, do you think?"

"I do not know. Both my tribe and the tribe of the yellow-faces have the ability to put bombs anywhere. They don't have to be near where the bombs get dropped. That's what my metal bird was doing. We had dropped bombs on some of the yellow-faces' ships and were returning home when we crashed here. What we are seeing may be more of the same."

Joe omitted to tell the headman that they had encountered not the expected resupply convoy but a major battle group. It was only by sheer luck that they hadn't been blown out of the sky within minutes, but had managed to creep into cloud and get away with one engine on fire and major structural damage to the tail. Two of the Liberators in the sortie of four hadn't been so lucky.

"I can see... many, many ships, I think. Look to the water between those two islands. It's so far away, I can't make out much detail." Joe pointed.

"Yes, I see them. Are your ships so big that they can be seen that far away?"

"Oh, yes. There are several ships belonging to my tribe that can carry more warriors on them than there are people on this island."

The headman shook his head in amazement. "Wonders indeed."

The two watched the distant battle for some minutes before carefully climbing down again.

"Skip? Sounds to me like gunfire from down here," said Les.

"Yeah. There's a major sea battle going on about thirty-five to forty miles to the east, maybe further. No idea who's doing what to who, but the fact that there's a battle going on at all means the Japs must be in retreat. I can just make out what seems to be capital ships, but that's all. There's bombing or shelling going on on a couple of the nearby islands as well, but it's too far away to make out any planes or anything like that."

The headman had brought his fellows up to date with what he had seen, and now he turned to Joe.

"Will the battle between your tribe and the yellow tribe come to this island, tk'Joe?"

"I have not that knowledge," Joe replied, shaking his head. "It is possible that it may, but it is also possible that my tribe will decide that there is nothing which they need on this island, and just pass it by. There are not many of the yellow tribe here, and there is no port for large boats to use and no flat area which they could use for metal birds." His expression was determined. "We must prepare in case they do come here, though."

The headman nodded. "That is my thought also. It means we will have to have a council of all the tribes. You will come and explain to them what this will all mean?"

Joe's reply was cut off by a brief hiss from one of the lookouts which sent them all diving for cover. Perhaps a minute later, while they all tried to make themselves into shrubs and fallen logs, a strange tribesman walked into the area where they had been standing. He looked around and then spoke softly. The headman stood and made a reply, then spoke to his party.

"Come out, it is safe. He is from one of the villages on the other side of the mountain."

As the members of the party stood forward, three other tribesmen entered the area and approached the headman. Some words were spoken quietly. The headman turned to Joe.

"We were seen climbing the tree. They guessed that we were investigating the noise."

"Can we speak to them?" asked Joe.

"You can, although they speak some different words to us. We can usually understand one another. Why do you want to speak to them?"

"They must have known about what's going on over there, because they can see it all the time. I'd like to find out what they know."

"They probably know less than I do, tk'Joe. But speak to them anyway." He gestured with a hand towards the newcomers.

Joe went forward and the newcomers immediately recognised that he wasn't a native islander. Doc approached, offering to try and cover any gaps in their discussions as best he could. It appeared that the battle had started the previous day, and the tribesmen had seen four immense grey fish-shaped boats go past Pakalui towards where the fighting was taking place. Joe explained to them what was actually happening, which impressed them greatly.

He also explained to them that he and four others were actually white-faces who had been living in disguise in the headman's village, and that they were trying to make arrangements so that all the tribesmen on the island would stand a better chance if the fight between the white-faces and the yellow-faces came to their island.

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because we can't get off the island and back to our own people, and the yellow-faces would probably kill us if they found us. Because the headman took us in and hid us from the yellow-faces at great risk, and we recognise obligation. We wish to repay that obligation," explained Joe.

"Besides," added Doc, "we have made many friends here and we want to protect them however we can. Between all the villages, we can probably kill all the yellow-faces, but the time is not ready to do that. We must wait for the fighting to come to us first, so that the yellow-faces are distracted and cannot retaliate against us."

"You would help us? Even though you are not of our tribe?"

The headman interrupted. "We have taken them into our tribe. They are like brothers to us. tk'Doco wants to hold an Island Council to discuss these matters. Will you ask your headman to send word? We will send to the villages on the sunset side of the island. We will meet as soon as possible, not tomorrow, but one day more, in the usual place. Do not let the yellow-faces find out about the meeting."

"As you wish. There is another matter before we go."

"Speak."

"Our party saw you climb the tree. It is possible that the yellow-faces did also. There is a small house that the yellow-faces have built over there," the tribesman pointed along the ridge towards the central peak. "If one were looking this way, you may have been seen."

"A house?" asked Joe. "A lookout post, perhaps? Is there a wire which leads from the small house down to the place where boats can be reached?" There was a blank look from the tribesmen. "Oh, something like a small, long, smooth vine with no leaves or branches."

The tribesman who had been speaking nodded. "Yes, there is such a thing. Is this one of the yellow-faces' talking devices? It would be simple to cut."

"It is a talking device, yes. Best not to cut it, it would only mean that the yellow-faces would come and mend it, and then they would know that you knew what it was. If they think that you don't know what it is, it will be safer for you and your village." Joe gave a fierce grin. "Then, when we take the battle to the yellow-faces, they will be even more surprised."

"True," the tribesman answered with a grin that matched Joe's. He turned to the headman. "You made a good choice taking these into your tribe. Not all white-faces are bad, it seems."

"Yes. We value them," the headman said. "Go in peace."

The two parties separated and the headman led the way back down below the mountain ridge. Using the same care they had taken on the way up they returned to the village, taking the opportunity to collect some forest fruits as they did so. Once they arrived, the headman organised two groups of warriors to take the word to the other villages either side of their own while Joe and Doc brought Melanie and a number of interested villagers up to date with what had been seen.

Over lunch, Joe announced, "I've been thinking. Now that we've got a definite objective in mind, I'd like to take a look at our stuff that's been stashed away. I know we've had a look every so often, to see if anything's got damp or started to rust or been eaten, but we might need to use some of that stuff when the fighting comes this way. In particular, I want to see if our firearms are still usable."

Les nodded. "Good idea, skip. If push comes to shove, we're going to need those rifles. Spears and blowpipes are perfect in the jungle, but they've no range to speak of compared to a rifle."

"There are other things we can do, besides the rifles," suggested Melanie.

"Oh? Like what?" asked Joe.

"For a start, we've got our own natives at home and the Abos have weapons we could use in the open."

"You're right," said Doc. "Woomeras. Boomerangs. Even slings. I don't think I've seen the locals here use slings."

"You can kill someone with a sling at a hundred yards," said Les. "Leastways I've killed a wallaby at about that distance. Good idea."

"Just what are we thinking of doing, Skip, that's going to involve such weapons? Surely, with the island covered by jungle, we have the advantage of close combat from cover," asked Jack.

"There are areas where the vegetation isn't so dense," replied Doc. "You're standing in one at the moment. If the Japs came into any of the villages and just stood in the centre, it would be almost impossible for the locals to do anything about it. They would be within spearing distance, sure, but the thrower would have to expose themselves to do it. Meanwhile the Japs will just rake all the houses with rifle and machine-gun fire." He added, "If it was true about the lookout post, what that other tribesman we saw said, that sounds as if it will be high enough up the mountain to be clear of the tree line. That would mean an attack across open ground."

"We'll see if the headman will let us check our stuff this afternoon. I want to know where we stand before we go to this big chin-wag," said Joe. "I know everyone in our own village will do what we want, but I want to be able to convince the other chiefs that we know what we're talking about."

"I'm coming, too," said Melanie.

Joe looked at her, then remembered who she had been six months previously. She had had the same training as the rest of them, and another pair of knowledgeable hands would be of great value. He nodded.

"Can't argue with that," he said. "Think you can still lift a rifle? I can't tell how your strength has changed since -"

"Only one way to find out," she said simply. "Besides, I can still deal with some of the other things we've put away, can't I?"

~o~O~o~

"They don't look as bad as I was afraid they would," muttered Les, pulling a rifle out of the makeshift wrapping. "There's a touch of rust on the outside of this one, but the barrel looks clear. Shit! There's a bug inside it."

He upended the rifle and shook out the offending insect - and it's two friends - before holding it up and working the bolt.

"Huh. Could do with a clean, but I think they'll do, Skip. What's your one like?"

"Same here. What about yours, mates?"

"Okay," said Jack. "We could probably do with getting some grease on the action before we use them."

"Pork fat any good?" asked Doc. "I understand it caused some trouble in India last century, so there's precedent for using it on weapons."

"Eh?" asked Les. "Oh, yeah, the Mohammedans didn't like pork fat and the Hindus didn't like beef fat. Don't think we'll have that problem here. Yeah, pork fat from the hog roasts, that should work out."

"Melanie?" asked Joe. "How are you managing?"

"I can clean it and hold it and fire it, but I think I'd need to be braced against something if I didn't want to fall on my backside. I'm still trying to understand my new balance."

"You should be all right if you are shooting from cover and you can rest the barrel on something," said Doc. "If you're not shooting from cover you've got bigger problems."

"I don't think these revolvers are going to be much good," said Les. "The only rounds we've got are in the cylinders. Three left in one and two in the other. The automatics are slightly better off because the magazines are bigger. Probably couldn't hit a barn door with either one, though."

"They're only really good for close-range work, like when we were ambushed back at the start. Still, they might have their uses. How about the bayonets?" asked Joe.

"Need a bit of a rub up," replied Les. "We can soon find a patch of volcanic sand and some grease to clean them up with. Were you thinking of fitting them back to the rifles or using them separately?"

"Hadn't thought that far yet," said Joe. "Right, put them all away, except for one rifle. We'll need to get them out, clean them all and stash them much closer to the village when the time comes, but for now they're safer here."

"What about the one you're keeping?" asked Doc.

"That's going to the meet with us," Joe replied.

"Skip?" asked Melanie. "The two life-rafts each had a radio. D'you think we could signal whoever's out there, let them know we're here?"

"Hadn't thought about the emergency radios. I know they're not that powerful. Would they work on terrain like this?"

"Maybe." She considered. "I think I'd like to take it up to the ridge. The coverage would be much greater from up there."

Joe nodded. "Okay, get one of the radios and bring it back with us, see if you can get it to work. That could just make our life a whole lot easier."

~o~O~o~

"The radio looks as if it'd work, but the batteries are long dead," reported Melanie. "I guess being hung up in a tree for, what, seven months in tropical heat can't have done them any good."

"D'you think the batteries in the other set would be any better?" asked Joe.

"Probably not," she replied.

"I know a place where it's almost certain there are batteries," put in Jack.

"Oh?"

"That lookout hut. Unless they have only a wind-up field telephone, there's almost got to be something with batteries, even if it's only a torch or two."

The five looked at each other.

"Looks like we have another reason for getting rid of that lookout post then," said Joe thoughtfully. "And, about the time we would be planning to do that would just be about the right timing for using the radio as well." He nodded in satisfaction. "Looks like it's all coming together just the way we want it to. Good work, mates. Now let's get some of that hot pork before it's all gone."

Sounds of war can be heard in the distance. The airmen want to protect the villages, so the natives have to be told what will happen if the war comes to their island.

"Will you just look at that?" Jack murmured to the others. Melanie was walking towards them carrying baskets containing their lunch, her body swaying with a natural rhythm that made the men's pulses quicken. "Can you believe, just a few months ago, she was Paul? I see it every day, but my brain still finds it amazing."

"It's a miracle, that's what it is," Les opined. "If she was a Catholic, she'd be in line for sainthood, that's for certain."

"Well, no," Doc said. "The saint would be the one who changed Paul into Melanie, not Melanie herself. But I agree, she's a good mover, isn't she, for someone who was a bloke when we landed."

Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2010 Penny Lane. All rights reserved. Don't expect this to be historically accurate in any way.

---

As Doc approached the sacred meeting place he had to suppress a smile. It was a shallow bowl, heavily weathered as it was on the windward side of the island, totally overgrown with vegetation. It was also an old secondary cone of the central volcano and thus a place that none of the islanders would ever have gone near if they had realised the fact. Even though it was old and weathered, the bowl was still about thirty feet deep in the middle and over a hundred feet across at the rim. Access was possible through two separate weathered gashes on the lower, seaward, side, and both of these were guarded by groups of strange tribesmen. Doc expected trouble.

"tk'Tenepti, we greet you," said one who waited, a headman's feathered headband indicating his rank. "You are late. Was there difficulty with the yellow-faces?"

The headman of Doc's village replied. "Some, tk'Torendi. We simply waited till they passed. None of them has knowledge of the forest, which is probably for the good. We also had other difficulty, since our group here is not as usual."

The groups from two other villages had arrived in the airmen's village before Doc's group set out, as it was on their route. A tense stand-off had immediately developed when the others had discovered who was joining tk'Tenepti, meaning delay while the reasons for the Island meeting had to be made early to convince the other groups that their decisions were right. Doc thought that they had been convincing enough, sufficient to give them valuable allies for the heated debate which he knew was about to begin.

tk'Torendi's eyes flicked across Doc's group, counting. At these meetings, the groups from each village always consisted of nine men, six would be warriors who would ensure the safety of the group in transit plus the village headman and two supporting elders. tk'Torendi counted ten, and he checked again, his eyes finally coming to rest on Joe.

"I do not recognise this man, tk'Tenepti. Is he of your village?"

"He is of our village, but not born there. He is tk'Joe, and he was headman of the metal bird which fell on our island some eight moons ago. He is the reason for this meeting."

The other considered, then nodded, although he had an uneasy feeling that something else was wrong. He gestured to the entrance to the crater.

"These are strange times, tk'Tenepti, but I do not approve the breaking of custom. Please enter, all others have arrived. We must not keep them waiting, some have a long journey to return home."

Everyone squeezed through in a big group. Once inside, the warriors dispersed to stand in six groups spaced evenly around the rim of the crater, although still concealed from those outside, one from each village to a group. This was supposed to ensure that there would be no surprise attack from any village. The Elders made their way to the centre of the crater where some trees had been felled and the trunks arranged in a circle. In the centre was a pile of ash from the inevitable fire, but it was cold today. By common consent no-one wished to advertise the existence of the Island Council to the yellow-faces.

"What is this?" asked another headman in outrage. "You have defiled the sacred meeting place with a woman!"

"A woman!" a third echoed, his face twisted with anger and revulsion. "tk'Tenepti, your village will suffer for this!"

There were other shouts, and the groups of warriors surrounding them turned towards the centre, their spears held tightly but nervously until they found out what was happening. No-one wanted to start a fight that could cause significant injuries among those present.

"tk'Tenepti," a very old headman came forward, his expression one of disgust. "What is the meaning of this? You have made the meeting place unclean."

"On the contrary, tk'Panekti, I have blessed it," tk'Tenepti replied. He gestured at the woman, who stepped over the nearest log and approached the fire.

"I am km'lilleh," Melanie said. "Hear me. I speak concerning the Thunder Spirit most can hear from their villages."

The men in the centre of the crater stopped and looked at her, their expressions wary. If she truly was an embodiment of the Forest Spirit, then no-one wanted to do anything which might incur her wrath. On the other hand, who could say that she really embodied the Forest Spirit? Three of the headmen turned away, as though to leave a place which had now become unclean.

tk'Tenepti spoke. "Eight moons ago, a metal bird fell from the sky onto our island. Five white-face warriors survived the fall. Three are standing here with me now. Do you want to take the risk that what they have to say is of no concern to you?"

The three stopped and turned. One spoke. "I do not believe that the white-faces would send their women to war," he remarked. "What story is this? A child could do better!"

Melanie said, "When I fell from the sky in the metal bird, I was not a woman. I was as much a warrior as any of you standing here. Do you not remember the story of km'lilleh? I did not ask to be changed, but the Forest Spirit chose me. Will you listen?"

One of the two headmen who had travelled to the meeting with Doc's group spoke up.

"I stand with tk'Tenepti," he said. "I was very angry when we arrived at his village and discovered that this woman would be coming with us. tk'Tenepti and these others explained, and I understood. I also asked others of his village, and they confirm the story. There are many there who witnessed the change from man to woman."

The other headman added, "I also stand with tk'Tenepti. I have spoken with his people, and also with the white-faces. What they have to say is important, tk'Toporu. Even if you do not agree with a woman coming here, as I do not, you should listen to what they have to say."

The old headman, tk'Panekti, decided to take a hand. "Enough! We shall all stay and listen to tk'Tenepti tell us the story of km'lilleh. When that is complete, those who wish to leave may do so, those who wish to stay may do so. For myself, I wish to hear what the white-faces have to say. Since the yellow-faces came to the island, life in my village has been hard. If the warriors who fell from the sky in the metal bird have useful things to tell, then I suggest we listen to them. Be seated. tk'Tenepti, begin."

With much grumbling, the headmen and their assistants took places on the tree-trunks surrounding the remains of the fire. tk'Tenepti remained standing but frowned at two of the parties seated before him.

"You are not headmen of villages. Who are you, and by what right do you appear here?"

One of the men, who wore a headband with a single feather in it, stood and addressed the gathering.

"I am sent by those of atu'Palunaan. If our headman tk'Kiptanui were to leave the village, the yellow-faces would know about the meeting. tk'Kiptanui is not free to do as the village needs, the yellow-faces prevent him."

Doc turned to Melanie and Joe. "atu'Palunaan is the fishing village on our side of the island. It's one of the main places the Japs are stationed, just as I understand the remainder are mostly at atu'Tapunaan, the fishing village on the east side. I should imagine the headmen of those villages are firmly under the thumb of the Japs."

tk'Tenepti glanced at Doc, hearing the English speech, and Doc explained what he had just told his companions. tk'Tenepti nodded and turned to the other native.

"I speak for the people of atu'Tapunaan," the man said. "As tk'Manopti has said, our headman thought it wise not to come. The yellow-faces are cruel and mistreat our people. I wish to hear what the white-faces have to say."

"Very well. Be sure nothing, nothing of this meeting is known to the yellow-faces. I shall begin with the arrival of the metal bird and what happened afterwards."

He recounted how a hunting party had followed a Japanese patrol towards an unusual sound that had occurred one afternoon, watching with interest as they had fought five surviving white-face warriors with guns at a small clearing. When it became clear that the white-faces were willing to keep up the fight the hunters stepped in to help them and then took them back to the village. Having explained the situation to the rescued men they had agreed to hide out by becoming villagers, a decision that tk'Tenepti had no hesitation in telling the other headmen had been a very good one. Although the airmen had had little woodcraft to begin with, they had more than offset that with their enthusiasm and fresh ideas.

Then he spoke about how tk'Pallo had become sleepy and hungry and started changing in front of the whole village. He was closely questioned by some of the headmen about the details of the transformation, and some of them had nodded as the answers apparently agreed with their own recollections of the legend. tk'Tenepti then told them about the ceremony when tk'Pallo had officially become m'Lanui, and that she subsequently had proved to be a 'proper woman'. Melanie had felt the stares of all eyes upon her as they understood that she was now a genuine woman with all that implied.

When tk'Tenepti stopped speaking two of the headmen stood up.

"This may be true, tk'Tenepti," one said. "I have known you a long time, and I believe what you say. This is still no reason to bring a woman to the meeting. I am leaving."

Joe spoke up. "If you leave now, your village and all those who live in it will probably be destroyed. We have come here to explain how that may be avoided."

"You don't remember me, tk'Toporu," Doc said. "But I remember you. I lived on this island many moons ago, as a white-face, not hidden as I am now. You were always difficult to convince, even then."

tk'Toporu frowned at Doc. "I remember the voice. You are the white-face who went from village to village learning our words. Are you a warrior too?"

"I am at the moment. The yellow-faces are so numerous that everyone on my island has had to become a warrior of one sort or another, to prevent them travelling further into our territory. They will stop at nothing, yield to no-one. Will you listen to us?"

tk'Toporu stared at Doc, conflicted by what he felt was right and proper and what he realised had suddenly become important. Eventually he motioned to his assistants and they all sat down, followed by the other headman who had stood.

"We will listen. These are not the ways of our people, but then we never had yellow-faces or white-faces on our island before. Proceed."

Joe stood and began to tell them all what his own people had learned of the Japanese invasion of almost everywhere he knew about. He told them how hard it had been in the beginning, and that the advantage had very gradually changed after the shock of the initial defeats. He then described the kind of war that was happening elsewhere, and what it would mean if the actual fighting came to atu'Pakalui - the local version of the name for the island.

"The fighting will mainly happen with guns, as you might expect. Every yellow-face will try to kill every white-face, and every white-face will try to kill every yellow-face. So much is expected when two tribes fight one another. But the fighting will take no account of the island people. Your villages will be burned to prevent them being used by the other side. Your pigs, goats, chickens will be killed. If you run away and hide in the forest, you may be lucky to survive for a time. If any yellow-face or white-face sees a movement in the forest, they will shoot just in case it is their enemy. Your weapons will be as nothing against the modern guns of the outsiders. Your women and children, if not killed, will be collected and held in pens like animals, and treated much worse. The white faces may treat you better than the yellow-faces would, but even that cannot be trusted in the confusion of war."

tk'Toporu asked, "You speak of terrible things. How much of this story is real, how much is to make us believe you? Have you seen this happen on other islands?"

"I have," Joe replied. "I was not involved in that fighting, because my task is to steer the metal birds to where they need to go, as if they were boats on the sea. But I have visited islands where fighting has happened." Joe didn't explain that his bomber squadron had been moved to a forward base on an island ravaged by fierce fighting between Japanese and Allied forces, that would have been complicated and unnecessary. "My story is as true as that told of m'Lanui. I do not wish that to happen here."

"Then what can we do?" asked tk'Toporu. "Are you asking us to run away? Because we cannot do that. Even if it were possible, we would wish to defend our villages. The people of the sea villages cannot do even that, as the yellow-faces would not let them."

"We have made a special plan to help prevent loss of life in our own village. We would like to tell you of it, so that you can all do the same in your own villages. It involves extra work by some, but it does mean that your people can escape into the forest if the fighting comes near. If you will permit, m'Lanui will describe it, since she is the one who directs the plan in our own village."

tk'Toporu pulled a sour expression, but he waved a hand in assent. In truth, he had considered the Japanese presence on the island to be little more than an irritant up until this point. The thought of major fighting here on his island, now spelled out, worried him more than the presence of a woman in the sacred meeting area did.

Melanie stepped forward and spoke about the precautions they had taken, the lookout posts, the rendezvous points should the villages come under attack, the assembly points deep in the forest where the villagers could hide until danger had passed, how the lookouts were manned and rotated to ensure no-one could approach the villages unseen, day or night. She had a problem drawing maps in the dust of the ground, as many of the headmen couldn't seem to grasp the idea, but some judiciously placed small rocks seemed to help get the ideas across.

The old headman, tk'Panekti, stood and said, "This is a good idea, and one that we should all consider. I cannot speak for others, but I do not think it would be difficult for my own village to do. It involves the use of an extra pig or two, perhaps, more than usual, but if it helps to save the lives of our women and children then it is worthy of consideration."

"But this is still running away," tk'Toporu said. "Must we hide and watch our houses be destroyed? Why can we not fight? We want to rid the island of yellow-faces." There was a general murmur of agreement.

"You know why," Joe responded. "Because, although there are easily enough warriors to overcome the yellow-faces, when the yellow-faces on other islands learn of it, they would send metal birds to destroy both you and your homes, and more yellow-faces would follow to take back the island. There is, however, a way which, together, we may be able to prevent that, and that is directly because we can hear the Thunder Spirit in the islands towards the sunrise."

"How so?" asked tk'Toporu. "The Thunder Spirit we hear is not like those that bring the black clouds and the heavy rains. What do you know of such things?"

"What you can hear is the sound of guns. Big guns. Very big guns. Guns that can throw metal cans as big as a man and heavier than a man can lift, and bombs that metal birds are dropping from the sky onto the yellow-faces. The fighting is approaching our island. When it gets very near to here, then the yellow-faces will become distracted and will not be able to prevent us taking back the island."

Then Joe explained in detail how he expected them all to help defeat the Japanese with less risk to themselves than from an open assault. Finally he produced his trump card. He had arrived at the meeting carrying a long thin basket slung diagonally over his shoulder which looked like a quiver full of spears. Some of the warriors had wondered why he had been carrying so many, and thought that this might be part of what the newcomers wanted to demonstrate. Joe carefully untied some small vines threaded around the top of the quiver and pulled out the bundle of spears, which turned out to be stubs a foot long tightly lashed together. Then he reached into the quiver and pulled out one of the captured rifles. Everyone in the centre stood up, surprised.

"These were taken from that patrol we met the day we fell on the island," Joe explained. "We have found some extra bullets for them, too."

"Do the yellow-faces know you have them?" asked tk'Toporu.

"The yellow-faces don't even know we are alive," replied Joe. "The patrol disappeared without trace. They must suspect, but they don't know. All villages have been searched for weapons and white-faces, many times, and nothing found. We think we are safe enough."

"How many of these do you have?" asked tk'Panekti.

"Eight. It is possible we may be able to get hold of more in the future. Are there any of your people who know how to use such things?"

"Some in my village," tk'Manopti responded. "But of course they are all watched. One or two may be able to slip away when the time comes."

"Can you not teach us how to use them, tk'Joe?" tk'Panekti asked. "There are enough warriors who would be willing, even here."

"No," Joe said. "Because we would have to use up our bullets in the teaching. Also, the noise of the shots would tell the yellow-faces that villagers have their guns, and they would come angrily and investigate. If there are any of the people who already know, then we would give guns to those first."

Joe held out the rifle to Melanie, who took it.

"I can kill a man with this at a distance farther away than any here can throw a spear," she said, holding the weapon up and operating the bolt. "Does any here doubt that I am still a warrior?" It was obvious to all that she knew how to handle the weapon properly.

"You are truly km'lilleh," tk'Toporu said. "We will listen to your words." He turned to Joe. "So, what is your plan, tk'Joe?"

Joe told them how he thought it was going to happen, and then the headmen all discussed the plan, each with their own viewpoint. Some of them had trouble thinking that far ahead, or in that much detail, or on so large a scale - for them. Between all of them they managed to make everyone understand what was at stake and the best way of ensuring that as few of the islanders got hurt as possible.

~o~O~o~

The lookout hut had been built fairly high up on the south side of the central volcano, well above the vegetation line. It had been built of bamboo poles hammered into the ash of the cone, hard up against a large boulder which protected it from the north, with more bamboo for the walls and broad palm fronds for the roof. The half nearest the boulder was completely enclosed, the southern part having only half walls like a verandah. At this hour of night, the only thing visible under the stars was the red glow from a cigarette one of the look-outs on the verandah was smoking.

It had needed a call for volunteers among the tribesmen of the nearest villages to find some who were willing to go that high up the cone. Now, a group of six crept up the boulder-strewn ash slope from each side of the ridge. Each group contained two of the airmen plus four natives. For the operation, it had been necessary to convince the natives to clean the clay decorations from their bodies in order to make themselves less visible in the dark in the exposed ground below the lookout hut. Fortunately, sound was not so much of a problem, since the attacking forces were now engaged only two islands away from Pakalui and even at this hour there were sporadic bursts of gunfire interspersed with the much deeper boom of naval bombardment.

There was a thrashing in the jungle down one side of the ridge. The red speck vanished, and there were voices from the hut. Doubtless the lookout from one side had come across to see what the other might have noticed. Soon all was quiet again and the cigarette reappeared, but the distraction had enabled one party to approach quite closely to the hut. A figure stood outlined against the night sky on the northern side of the boulder, an arm raised as a signal.

A trickle of stones started tumbling down the side of the ridge, and a lookout leaned out of the balcony to try and determine what had caused the movement. Suddenly he sagged, collapsing half over the rail of the balcony, his cigarette falling to the ash below. There were shadowy movements then, as one group came right up to the outside of the hut, opposite the gap in the verandah which was the entrance. The faintest of noises, and his companion fell with a thump to the floor of the verandah.

A sheet of canvas strung across the doorway into the enclosed half of the hut was pulled aside, showing a dim red-orange glow from instruments within, and a man appeared, alerted by the unexpected noise. He got two steps into the verandah and then collapsed across the lookout. A fourth man appeared briefly, startled by the unexpected attack, but before he could withdraw into the hut and give the alarm Les stood up from his place at the entrance to the verandah and threw a knife which hit the man in the chest. He fell back into the hut as the two parties merged and converged on the verandah.

"It's safe, Melanie, come on in," Joe said quietly. "There were only the four as we expected."

Melanie picked her way over the bodies and made her way into the enclosed half of the hut. Behind her, natives had started dragging the bodies out and were removing them from the verandah ready for transport away from the immediate area.

"Radios!" she said, looking at the equipment in the hut. "You were right, but I wasn't convinced." She sat down on a folding camp chair in front of the apparatus. "These are all marked up in Japanese, of course. It'll take me a while to figure out what does what, but they look like some of those captured samples we examined at the last forward base, they're copies of some of the older American models. Looks like they're hot, too, which will save me from having to figure out how to switch them on."

"Two phones," Les added. "Looks like that guess was right, too. Since the lookout hut is about halfway between the two main Jap camps, it would make sense to use it as a message centre. You sure we have to leave this, Skip? Seems a shame to let the Japs continue to use it while our boys are struggling to retake the islands. They have a grandstand view of operations from up here."

"I know, but if they get the slightest thought about local involvement in this little event they'll start taking the villages apart piece-meal. The general idea for now is to spook them, get them all twitchy about who's doing what to them and where they might strike next. When the next shift change comes at dawn all they'll find is an empty hut and no men. It'll seem like the Marie Celeste."

"Yeah, I know. Stick to the plan."

"How are you doing, Melanie?" Joe asked. She had a set of headphones on and was tentatively turning a dial on one of the units in front of her. She held up a hand briefly for silence, then turned and spoke.

"It's mostly Morse, of course, and all of it heavily coded," she replied. "I can send Morse out, I think I can find a frequency using by the Allies for rescue work, but without a valid code-book that'll be a flare-lit tip-off to all that there are allied personnel on this island. Of course, as we discussed, there will also probably be radios down in the fishing villages which could pick up anything we want to send. Doc?"

"Yeah. It's fortunate I have a good memory, isn't it? I know a code you can use which will get noticed, so I wrote up a message just in case. It's well out of date, of course, but the recipients will know that and know the reason why." He gave her a page torn from the notepad that had been salvaged from the plane. "Send that. Uh, better send it twice with about five minutes or so between transmissions. Then there might be as much as an hour before we can get a reply."

Melanie looked at the page of five-character groups, nodded, and turned back to her dials.

Joe nodded. "Good. I'll get our helpers to start disappearing those bodies and erasing the tracks we made coming up here. Remember, the moment we see any sign of the sun even thinking about coming up over there -" he gestured towards the east, "- we have to be leaving this place. And we have to leave it exactly as we found it. Okay?"

"Yes, Skip," Melanie said. "I've made a mental note of how this radio was set, I'll put it back when I've finished."

It was nearer two hours than one before Melanie heard a transmission she determined was a reply to the message she had sent for Doc. She copied it down - onto a page of Joe's notebook, she didn't want to leave traces by using any of the Japanese paper - and then gave it to Doc. He looked at it carefully in the dim light from the radios before nodding.

"That's it, chaps. It will take me a while to figure out what it says, so it's time to go. Skip?"

"Too right," Joe said. "I'm beginning to feel a bit exposed up here. Melanie, can you set that kit back the way it was?"

"No worries, Skip. Do you want me to turn it off when I've done that? The batteries will be flat by the time the next shift gets up here if I leave it all on."

"Leave it on," Joe said, shrugging. "If they have flat batteries that's their problem. You can't expect the disembodied spirit that took away the men to know how to switch radios off, can you? Besides, the longer the delay before they get operational again, the longer our lot will have without being observed from here."

"I'd still like to smash it all up," complained Les. "Seems wrong somehow to leave it all intact for them to continue using."

"Two reasons for that, Les, as you well know," Joe said as they tidied up the hut before leaving. "First, it adds to the general spookiness if everything's still going when they find it and second, we might need to use it again. Next time we come, we'll be back to destroy this place, but even so we might want to take the radio and batteries away with us."

"You spoil all the fun, Skip."

"There'll be plenty of fun later, just mark my words. Let's go."

Leaving the hut with a dim glow just visible past the edge of the canvas screen the party silently made their way down the side of the ridge and into the cover of the jungle. The last two of the party, warriors, very carefully brushed the volcanic sand so as to obscure the marks of their feet. Others carried the bodies of the four Japanese slung from poles while Les and Joe carried the real prize, four more rifles and a bag of ammunition.

Once in the forest it became too dark to proceed very far, so they moved to a pre-arranged hiding spot where all could rest until enough daylight showed for them to resume their journey. On the way the bodies of the Japanese soldiers would be expertly concealed. By breakfast time they were back in the village.

~o~O~o~

Doc grinned. "How's your Shakespeare, anyone?"

"Doc?"

"The reply, it's a cipher made using a Shakespeare quotation as a key. Look at this and tell me what you think." He handed round a piece of paper to the others, who sat eating fruit by one of the fires.

The paper had a single string of unspaced letters and numbers: "winter2discontent2summer". It passed through all hands before returning to Doc, leaving puzzled expressions behind.

"Didn't do much of the old bard at school," Jack said.

"What's that supposed to mean, anyway?" Les asked. "How do you know it's Shakespeare?"

"Because that's the system the Intelligence chaps I know tend to use," Doc explained. "You pick a random phrase from a play and use that to construct your cipher square. Any takers?"

"It's Richard the Third," Melanie said. "Don't know very much of the play, but that speech is about as famous as they get -

"Now is the winter of our discontent,

Made glorious summer by this son of York,

"Is that right?" she asked. "I guess the figures are the number of words between the given words."

"Bull's eye! So I can use that quotation as the basis for any message I want to send back to them."

"Did they tell us anything useful?" Joe asked.

"Oh yes. They now know there are five Aussies here on Pakalui, two hundred odd Japanese and no major assets either side needs. They haven't made a decision yet on whether to spend time and effort taking this island or leaving it alone and pushing on. They might spare some planes to annoy the enemy, again that depends on the current operations."

"You got all that out of a page of random letters?" Les asked.

Doc grinned. "In this kind of situation you have to learn to read between the lines. Think of all those cryptic cables people send just to save themselves the odd penny. There's a little more, but it's mostly house-keeping, so to speak. The main thing is, they know we're here, and by that I mean, they know we are here. My name on the original signal makes that clear, although they won't know who else survived until we're actually rescued."

"You said five people," Melanie observed. "You must have included me in that count, if so."

"I said there were five Aussies here," Doc replied. "I didn't say that they were all survivors from the plane, although that's what everyone will assume to start with." He grinned at Melanie. "Don't worry, it's all under control."

~o~O~o~

"Will you just look at that?" Jack murmured to the others. Melanie was walking towards them carrying baskets containing their lunch, her body swaying with a natural rhythm that made the men's pulses quicken. "Can you believe, just a few months ago, she was Paul? I see it every day, but my brain still finds it amazing."

"It's a miracle, that's what it is," Les opined. "If she was a Catholic, she'd be in line for sainthood, that's for certain."

"Well, no," Doc said. "The saint would be the one who changed Paul into Melanie, not Melanie herself. But I agree, she's a good mover, isn't she, for someone who was a bloke when we landed."

Melanie approached with a smile and handed out the baskets before sitting between them with her own meal.

"You seem to have adjusted well," Joe told her. "I wondered whether you would object to doing the jobs the other women do, but you seem happy enough."

Melanie shrugged. "I wondered myself at first, but that soon went away. It just seems natural. I thought I'd get bored weaving these halter-tops, for example, but there's quite a bit involved in the process and I got interested. I suppose much of the rest is pretty similar. You know I've been looking after m'Tuana's two kids while she concentrates on the new baby? I'd never done any of that before, and I've realised that I quite like doing that as well. It makes me wonder what having my own kids will be like." She pulled a face. "I definitely don't like the monthly thing. That's one of the few unpleasant aspects of becoming a woman." She looked pensive. "Ask me when we've been back in Oz for a few months. Now, that's something I'm not looking forward to. Being a woman in Australia is going to be a whole lot harder than doing it here, I guess."

"You got that right," Doc said. "We'll try and look after you as best as we can, but we're still servicemen and you're not any more. Don't think I haven't been worrying about that exact point."

As Melanie stacked the empty baskets to take them to the river and rinse them a force of Japanese entered the bottom end of the village. All activity stopped as the force, about twenty strong, walked into the cleared area and stopped. The interpreter came forward as tk'Tenepti hurried out from his house to meet them. Melanie noted that the soldiers seemed on edge, unlike the casual attitude they had shown on most previous visits. This group was double the usual patrol size, if not larger. Doc casually glanced around, making sure that nothing incriminating was on view. They were sitting close enough to hear the exchange between tk'Tenepti and the interpreter.

"There has been a disturbance, and some of the yellow-faces are missing."

"Oh? I know of no disturbance around here."

"It wasn't around your village. There is a house built by the yellow-faces, up on the slope of km'Pataloi where the forest does not grow."

"A house? On km'Pataloi? The yellow-faces would dare?"

"They did. From there they can see over most of the island as a bird does. They can see a long way over the sea, also. They judged it necessary to have such a place to warn them if the white-faces should come."

tk'Tenepti scowled. "They must have angered the Mountain Spirit, or the Thunder Spirit. The Thunder Spirit complains all the time now, it must be because of the yellow-faces going where they should not."

He took a step back from the interpreter, a movement noticed by the officer leading the soldiers. The interpreter told the officer what had been said so far, and the officer abruptly nodded. It seemed that they had been told the same things in other villages the party had been through. The interpreter returned to tk'Tenepti.

"He asks if you know anything of such matters."

"I have heard about the house from other villages. I have not seen it myself, and I would not dare to go there myself. What of these you say are missing?"

"There were four who went to the house yesterday as the sun set. They were supposed to keep a watch in the dark."

"In the dark? How could any see anything in the dark, except when the moon has risen?"

"They keep talking devices up there. It is said that they can talk to yellow-faces on other islands with the devices. In the morning more yellow-faces went to allow those who had stayed over night to rest, and there was no-one there." The interpreter made a face of contempt, although he was careful not to let any of the Japanese see it. "It was thought possible that the men may have become frightened and run away. If so, it is possible they may have been seen by your hunting groups. Would this be so?"

tk'Tenepti considered. "We have sent out two groups this morning, and no-one has mentioned seeing any yellow-faces, or indeed any other people at all. For myself, I think the Thunder Spirit has become angry and taken them."

"As do I, but if I tell him that he may become angry and strike me."

The interpreter turned and gave a heavily-edited version of the conversation to the Japanese officer. It sounded like he had heard much the same story before, so he called his men to order, and without glancing at the villagers at all marched his men out of the higher end of the village.

"It worked. Did you see the look on those soldier's faces?" Les asked after the coast was clear.

"Simple psychology," Doc answered. "Fear of the unknown. Those Japs have been on the island a while now, and they've soaked up some of the stories the locals tell. I bet a number of them are ready to believe a spirit came and plucked away some of their number. What with the fighting coming closer, some of them must be getting real twitchy now."

They were still discussing the business in low voices when, fifteen minutes later, a sudden load roar shattered the early afternoon calm. Two single-engined planes swooped low over the ridge and flew directly down the centre of the village, diving down almost to sea level before disappearing.

"I'm real glad that didn't happen when the soldiers were here," Doc said as he picked himself off the ground.

"Why?" Jack said as he helped Melanie up.

"We'd have given ourselves away, just like that," Doc said. "Didn't you notice? We were the only people who threw ourselves flat."

"Shit, you're right." The other villagers were just standing around in groups, trying to see where the aircraft had gone. Only the five had taken action by falling to the ground.

"Why, Doc?" asked Joe, dusting himself off.

"They've never experienced strafing, I would guess. To them a plane is a thing of wonder. No-one's told them about the guns in the wings, and they probably won't take any notice until it happens to them anyway. The Jap soldiers, on the other hand, would have spotted our different behaviour. You okay, Melanie?"

"I think so," she replied. "I don't think these'll be much use, though." She held up the stack of baskets, all mashed flat where she had fallen on them. "Fortunately, they don't take very long to make."

"Anyone identify the planes?" Joe asked. "Ours or theirs?"

"Neither, actually, Skip," Les said. "I saw US markings on the side of one, so they're Yank planes. Hardly surprising if they are fighting only a couple of islands away."

"Tail hooks," Melanie added. "Carrier planes. Don't recognise the type, though."

Doc said, "The Yanks have some new models in the pipeline, may be a couple of those. They needed some better performance to beat the Jap fighters. Might not be off a carrier, though. Could be a forward base on one of the nearby islands."

"So we're as close to getting rescued as that?" Jack asked.

Joe shrugged. "A week, a month, you know what war's like. Perhaps it's time to take the next step."

"Not tonight," Doc cautioned. "They'll have extra sentries posted for a couple of days. Let them stew for a while before the Forest Spirit visits them again."

"Now," Joe sighed, "We have another problem." They looked around as the whole village converged on the five in order to be told what just happened.

~o~O~o~

"The runner says," reported tk'Tenepti to Joe one morning several days later, "there are yellow-faces hidden in the forest below their house on the mountain. He says that his headman believes they are there to catch anyone trying to attack the house at night, but that it should be easy to deal with all of them if necessary. Do you want to try again tonight, tk'Joe?"

"Tonight or tomorrow night," Joe replied. "If we don't, then -" He stopped as a strange warrior loped into the high end of the village towards them. "Who's this?"

tk'Tenepti beckoned the man over to them. His brow furrowed, he did not recognise the village markings on the warrior's chest and face.

"May the forest be fruitful and your pigs fertile," the warrior gave a greeting. "I come from atu'Pokelu with strange news."

"May your hunt be successful and your feasting plentiful," tk'Tenepti responded. "atu'Pokelu? You have come a long way. You do not wear the marks of atu'Pokelu."

"It was thought wise to change the markings, in case we were captured by the yellow-faces. They may know what marks belong to which villages. Will you hear my message?"

"Speak."

"We have found a white-face wandering in the forest. We do not know how he got there. He wears clothing we have not seen before." The man turned to Joe. "You are one of the white-faces who are helping those of atu'Pakalui? It was thought that this stranger may be connected to you and your friends."

Joe was startled. Perhaps another downed airman? "What have you done with this person?"

"He stays in the forest, with hunters to prevent any yellow-faces from finding him. He speaks a little of the Trade tongue."

"We will come and speak to him. If he is a friend, we will bring him back here." Joe turned to tk'Tenepti. "I will go with tk'Doco. We will need an escort if we bring him back, will four hunters be sufficient?"

"Yes. I will call them. You had better get ready, and take a little food with you. atu'Pokelu is a long way."

The guide led Joe, Doc and four young hunters back the way he had come, taking a narrow track which led along the western slope of the mountain spine towards the south of the island. Once they saw another village in the distance but did not go near it. Eventually, after a break for a rest and a snack they rounded the slope of the southernmost volcano and looked out over the ocean. It seemed that the guide's village was one of the more remote on the island.

Their guide took them to his village, atu'Pokelu, where brief greetings were exchanged with the village elders. Joe recognised them from the Island Council meeting. They were told in more detail about the finding of the strange white-face before their guide set off again down the slope below the village. After some careful threading along narrow hunting trails through the thick vegetation another hunter appeared in front of them.

"You have come to talk to the white-face? He only knows a little of the Trade speech. Follow me."

They were led into a tiny secluded space hidden from casual sight in the mass of jungle foliage. A white man sat against a tree, fanning his face with an Australian issue slouch hat. He was dressed in khaki shirt and shorts, but a crumpled jump suit lay on the ground near him alongside a bulging duffle bag. He looked up as Joe and Doc entered. The other tribesmen remained on watch outside.

"Not more bloody natives," the man muttered. "Where are the white blokes who are supposed to be here?" He addressed Joe in Trade. "Can you take me to the white men? Do you know where they are?"

"You don't have to struggle with Trade, Brian," Doc said with a grin. "Good old King's English will do just fine."

The man started, his eyes wide. "My God! You're really Aussies? What a disguise!" A thought stopped him. "How do you know my name?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because I know you, idiot. Andrew, Andrew Ballantyne." Doc held out his hand.

"Bloody Christ on a pogo stick! I'd never have guessed! Andy!" He grabbed Doc's outstretched hand and shook it vigorously. "So it's true, then."

"Yes. For my sins I was on the plane that came down on this island. That would have been about nine months ago. Joe, may I present Brian Fraser, an associate in the Intelligence world whom I also had the misfortune to be in college with. Brian, this is Joe Maguire, the pilot of our plane."

"Pleased to meet you, Joe." Brian shook Joe's hand. "So, what's the plan, then?"

"We take you back to our village, although we'll have to keep you out of sight," Doc explained. "We'll need to know why you're here before we do anything else. We do have a plan, but it didn't involve outside help. Just how did you get here, anyhow?"

"Parachuted in last night. Muggins here got chosen because I knew some Trade. Those chaps found me this morning and made me stay here."

"Okay. We can talk about it as we go. We have a long walk back, so we'd better get started. I'll let your minders know that you're not for the pot."

Brian's face paled. "God, they're not cannibals, are they?"

Doc grinned. "Thought that would get your attention. No, fortunately not, although it did happen as recently as forty years ago. If this lot didn't like you, they wouldn't be so kind as to just eat you, they have other ideas about dealing with those they don't like. Fortunately for us, it's the yellow-faces who are the enemies at the moment, we're held in reasonably high regard."

"I'm not surprised! Until you opened your mouth I had no idea you weren't a native. That's a hell of a good job of blending in."

"Actually, we've been here so long that we practically are natives. Come on, let's get started. God, whatever have you got in this bag?"

Brian grinned. "A few bits and pieces. Some rations in case I couldn't find anything to eat -"

"That was just plain stupid, given how productive these islands are."

"Yeah, I told 'em, but they insisted. Also a radio in case you couldn't get to the one you used before, and some toys to help take the island back when the time comes. Grenades, plastic explosive. Binoculars, torches. Automatics with extra magazines. I wasn't sure I'd find you at all, so I had to be prepared to wage war all by myself, you understand."

"Plastic explosive? What's that?"

"Looks like putty. You can mould it around whatever you want to break or destroy."

"Okay. Let's break your bag into separate bundles and then we can all carry some, it'll be easier than shifting that monster round every half-mile. There's four here from our village to help out if we need them."

They stopped in an overgrown boulder field on the northern side of the volcano in order to rest and eat a little food. When an opportunity presented itself, Joe drew Doc away for a quiet word.

"What are we going to do with Brian when we get back to the village, Doc?"

"We can hide him in one of the houses. We have enough look-outs now that we're not likely to be surprised by an unexpected patrol, are we?"

"That wasn't quite what I was getting at. I understand that part of it, and it's not going to be quite so difficult as when we first went to the village, so much has changed since then. No, what I mean is, what about Melanie? I can't imagine Brian being there very long before someone mentions km'lilleh, can you?"

"Fortunately for us, his grasp of Trade isn't that good - although, to be fair, he can make himself understood - and he doesn't speak any of the local tongue at all. I would be surprised if he didn't pick some up in the few days he's going to be with us, he does have some knowledge of these islands after all."

"What is he? I mean, what did he do out here?"

"He covers biology and botany, mainly. Think of him as your traditional naturalist, interested in everything. I get what you're saying about Melanie, though. There's every chance that someone in the village is going to try and tell him the story, and they're going to assume he understands it the way we do."

Joe grunted. "Which is, in my case, not at all. Do you think we should tell him everything? After all, I remember when this whole mess started you suggested using intelligence contacts to get her off the island."

"I did, didn't I? Okay, let me try and figure out something as we walk back to the village."

~o~O~o~

"Where's Les?" asked Joe.

"Oh, he was down by the river helping some of the lads square up that new roof timber," Jack replied. "He'll be along any moment now."

"You sure this is a good idea?" asked Brian.

"No worries, mate," Doc assured him. "All the villagers are naturally at home in the jungle, so setting up look-out posts and sentries was dead easy. Any sign of trouble, we'll get plenty of advanced warning, and you can just fade into the forest behind the houses."

Brian Fraser sat uneasily in a corner of an inside room in the Long House where Doc lived. Seated on the floor around him were Joe, Doc, Jack and tk'Tenepti, although Brian was having difficulty determining who was really a native and who was a disguised Australian. The fact that everyone else looked 'normal' for the locality made him feel as though he stood out like a sore thumb.

Les, sweating with the effort he had recently been expending, walked through the door followed by Melanie. Both inspected Brian before taking seats.

"Er, I guess having the headman here is okay, Andy, but do you need to have someone's girlfriend as well? She's a bit of distraction, and I'd like to keep my profile as low as possible if you don't mind."

There was a shuffling and clearing of throats, and, although Brian couldn't read the expressions of those around him because of the dark dye, he realised that he'd said something he ought not to.

Doc coughed. "Brian, let me introduce you to Les Parnell, our engineer, and Melanie Chisholm, a lone Aussie girl also hiding out from the Japs. Les, Melanie, this is Brian Fraser, who's parachuted in to help us get the Japs off the island, and then to help us get off the island."

"G'day, Brian," Melanie said.

Brian looked extremely embarrassed. "Oh, cripes, I'm sorry, I didn't realise. I was expecting five blokes. We naturally assumed that all five people here were members of the bomber crew."

"Yeah, well," Doc said to cover any awkwardness, "I didn't want to make my message too long, I didn't know how much time M-, we would have to send it. I knew you lot would probably draw the wrong conclusion. So, what can you do for us, and what can we do for you? Are the Allies planning to take this island or bypass it?"

"Normally, where there's only a token force left behind we'd bypass it and sort them out later, but since you were on the island we decided to rescue you. If there's really only two hundred Japs here, then we'll take it. You're more important than a bunch of natives."

"In the greater scheme of things, you're probably right," Joe said. "But don't go saying anything like that to the locals or you'll get lynched, okay?"

Brian looked at tk'Tenepti, who had understood barely a word of what had passed. "Uh, yeah. So, we have an outline plan, but we need to know what resources you might have set up here. Sounds like you've been busy from what I've seen and heard so far. Perhaps you'd better tell me your story first."

After a hesitant start the five told Brian of their nine months in the jungle, concluding with a description of the arrangements Joe and Doc had set up with all the other villages. Brian was increasingly puzzled by the contribution which the young woman was making, but he decided that if they had lived together in the same village all that time she would naturally be involved in all the plotting.

"That look-out post on the ridge," he said when they had finished, "we can take care of that. Is it that easy to spot from the air, do you think?" When they nodded, he went on, "I can organise an air strike, take care of that little problem. No-one would know that the villagers had anything to do with it. I have a radio with me, so we don't need to capture the Japs' ones to make contact. Next thing would probably be an attack on the fishing villages by aircraft. Can you get the villagers out, if that happens?"

Doc relayed the talk so far to tk'Tenepti, who nodded in return, a mannerism he had picked up from the airmen.

"If you shoot up the look-out hut," Joe said, "I'm not sure what the enemy would do. They might come out of the port villages to try and rebuild the hut or they might decide to sit tight. If they come out, we can pick them off piece-meal, and we can probably evacuate the villages. If they sit tight, I don't know what we'd do."

"Experience so far indicates they'd probably let the locals run off so as not to be underfoot," Brian said. "That shouldn't be a problem, and also saves the Japs from having to feed them all. If they stay put, the next step would be a destroyer or two handing out a naval bombardment." He grimaced. "Experience also indicates they're likely to dig in on the mountains. It's the devil's own job getting them out if they do that. The US Marine Corps has taken fearsome casualties clearing some of the islands we've freed up so far."

"There's not so many of them here," Doc said. "We have been told, eighty in atu'Palunaan, sixty-one in atu'Tapunaan. There are also four coastal look-outs, one at each corner of the island, twelve men in each plus an officer each end makes fifty. We ought to be able to stop them scattering over the countryside."

"Sorry, those names?"

"Oh, eighty in Palunaan, sixty-one in Tapunaan, fifty scattered round the coast. Heh, we've been whittling them down ourselves. There were more."

Brian considered, then nodded. "Okay, let me get a message off to base with what you've told me and then we wait for instructions."

"I'll have to take you out into the jungle a distance," Doc warned. "We don't know if they have direction finding equipment anywhere on the island."

"No problem. Then I can come back and start enjoying a bit of village life. I'd like to hear a bit more of Miss er, Chisholm's tale if I may."

~o~O~o~

The coastal look-out posts had been eliminated. Most of the men in them had been distracted by the light show from the battles taking place on nearby islands, but it made little difference to the experienced hunters who had crept up in the darkest hours of night. Now, groups of armed tribesmen watched all escape routes out of the two port villages in the dawn light. As Brian had predicted, most of the villagers had been allowed to scatter when the first air attacks had hit the tiny ports, apart from a few who had thrown their lot in with the occupiers.

"You sure you can hold that thing?" Brian asked Melanie.

She tried to position the heavy rifle more comfortably as they lay side by side in the ground cover beside one of the main pathways. She knew that when the rifle fired she might not have full control of the resulting kick, never having used that particular weapon type before.

"Yes, I'm damned sure," she replied in a low voice. "I'll probably be black and blue by the time we're finished, but I have to do this. Those bastards killed my parents, I want a chance to get my own back."

Brian looked at the figure lying beside him. How did such a pretty girl get caught up in such a mess? He wondered what she'd look like if they ever found a way to get the dye off.

Crump, crump. The naval bombardment had started. After an hour and a half, launches could be seen leaving the grey shape visible offshore. Shortly afterwards, shouts could be heard from further down the path followed by shots. A line of green-uniformed soldiers could be seen half-running up the path in the distance. Those armed with rifles waited until the soldiers were so close they couldn't escape, then opened up after an initial shot by Joe, who was nominally in charge of the operation.

The soldiers who avoided getting shot immediately dived into the cover either side of the path, stunned by the unexpected ambush. However, this didn't help, as a second line of warriors fifty feet beyond the rifle wielders were waiting with blowpipe and spear. There was an occasional panic-stricken random shot from the bush, then all was quiet.

Warriors rose from cover all around, converging on the path. Some dispatched wounded soldiers with spears - and bayonets. Melanie stood, rubbing her shoulder.

"Ow, that hurt," She said. She was about to add, "Not like the rifles we had in basic training," but bit her tongue. As she approached Joe, the forest around her wavered, and then she began to feel nauseous. Joe grabbed her before she fell, holding her as she tried unsuccessfully to retch through her tears. The heat, the noise, the shock and the sudden violence had finally got to her. It had been a battle none of them had ever expected to take part in.

"There, there," he said, patting her on the back. Just this once she gave in and held him. At a time like this, she needed some support of a kind her new body demanded that the old body hadn't.

He added, "Shall we go down to atu'Palunaan and form a welcoming committee?"

With the help of the locals in the other villages, the natives have defeated the Japanese invaders. Now the airmen have other strange tribes to deal with: Americans and Australians!

"Our friend here," Joe indicated Melanie, "has been working undercover behind enemy lines. We're accompanying her to assist in the debriefing. She's a civilian, so she may not appear on your documents, if you take my meaning."

The sentry looked guarded. "Uh, I don't rightly know as if I can let her in, sir. She's not on the list, you see."

"Corporal," Doc asked the sentry, "You'll let me in, won't you?"

"Yes, sir, you're on the list."

"Then why don't you let me use that phone in your hut, and I'll see if I can sort this little difficulty out."

"Right you are sir. This way."

Disclaimer: The original characters and plot of this story are the property of the author. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. This story is copyright (c) 2010 Penny Lane. All rights reserved. Don't expect this to be historically accurate in any way.

---

Of course, it wasn't quite as straightforward as strolling down the hill into Palunaan and greeting the Americans coming ashore in their boats. As the Japanese had retreated from the tiny port, some of their number had peeled off to form a rearguard protecting the main body as they headed for the dense jungles which coated the island at higher altitudes. Unfortunately for the Japanese, they had not considered that a credible enemy existed behind them, so most of the defenders who had dug in were facing the wrong way. And plainly visible to the island hunters who watched them begin to dig in before attacking them with spears, blowpipes, and machetes. The fight was bloody but brief.

Down at sea level, the air in the fishing village was hotter and much more humid, especially as it was on the sheltered western side of the island. The group of natives crept cautiously along the pathway towards the village, scouts alert on both sides for the presence of either Japanese or Allied troops. After all, it wouldn't do to be shot by one's own friends.

"Stop right there!"

Green-uniformed figures crouched behind a make-shift barricade. It was difficult to make out who until a head raised far enough to show a helmet that could only have belonged to a GI. Brian made his way out to the front of the group.

"Captain Brian Fraser, Australian Army," he called. "These are the chaps who finished up your battle for you."

"Captain?" muttered Doc. "He never mentioned that."

"Say what, bud? You're an Australian?"

"That's right. You from the destroyer?"

"Sure am. You-all stay over there till I fetch the Loo-tenant, right?" The figure turned. "Barnes, Podolski! Don't shoot those guys, they might be friends."

"Sarge!"

The Sergeant scuttled away from the barricade towards the heavily-damaged buildings behind. Brian, Doc and the natives made themselves a defensive position either side of the path, just in case a stray Japanese happened to return to seek revenge or satisfy honour. Shortly, a group of US Marines ran cautiously back towards the barrier and one stood and called out over it.

"Hey, there! You Fraser, the Australian?"

"That's me," Brian called back.

"We been told to expect you," the Lieutenant called back. "Come on in. You find those airmen at all?"

"Yes, they're here with me."

The group of locals walked cautiously towards the tumbled, broken furniture the Marines had thrown across the entrance to the village to make an assault more difficult, Brian in the lead. When he reached the obstruction, the Lieutenant pulled it apart to make an entrance and strode through it. Both he and Brian gave sketchy salutes before shaking hands.

"Lieutenant James Brady, US Marines, at your service. These some of your local irregulars, Captain?" The Lieutenant waved at the group of islanders surrounding Brian, most with a rifle slung over a shoulder. "Left us almost nothing to do. Wish we'd had help like this on some of the other islands." He shook his head. "Hell doesn't begin to describe what we've been through."

"Not me, Lieutenant," Brian replied. "The Royal Australian Air Force is responsible for what's happened here. Shall we find somewhere to exchange notes?"

Brady frowned. "Air Force? I don't remember seeing any of their planes in the area. Oh! You mean the airmen who were shot down here! Of course!" He briefly looked around. "They not here with you, then?"

The combined group started to walk down the sloping path towards the remains of a warehouse on the quayside, where the Marines had set up a temporary command post. The other Marines looked askance at the locals, but let them pass without comment.

"Oh, they're here all right," Brian said as they walked. "You have to remember, they've been hiding out on the island for nine months. What did you think they might look like?"

Brady stopped. "What, you mean..? Here? In this crowd?"

Brian grinned. "I'll buy you a beer if you can figure out who the five Aussies are. Hell, I'll buy you a crate."

Brady turned and inspected the group, who consisted of twenty-two young males and a woman. He looked closely at several who seemed to know which end of a rifle was which, but eventually admitted defeat.

"You taking a rise out of me, Captain? There's one that might be, I can't believe any of the others are. You," he said, pointing to Doc, "are you an Australian fly-boy?"

Doc replied - in the local language. "tk'Biryanu has told the white-face that some of us are white-faces, but the other cannot work out which. We can have a little fun here."

Smiles broke out on everyone else's face and there were some chuckles, which disconcerted Brady.

"What did he say?"

"How do you expect me to know?" Brian replied. "I don't speak the island language. I know a little of the inter-island trade tongue, which is why I got brought here and thrown out of an aeroplane."

The group reached the warehouse and Brady entered, Brian following him. The front wall was missing, and most of the roof had fallen in, but there was enough space at the rear to afford some protection from the elements. One of the Marines guarding the warehouse stepped in front of the locals, rifle held horizontally in front of himself as a barrier.

"You stay out here, buddy," he growled at an inquisitive local. "Let your betters decide what's happening, okay?"

"If you don't put that rifle away, sailor-boy," Les said in a flat tone, "I'll take it off you and shove it up your arse."

The Marine looked at Les with shock. The phenomenon of an Australian accent speaking good English coming from someone who looked entirely native and was dressed in nothing more than a handful of grass was almost too much for him. His mouth opened and his rifle hung limply in his grasp. Joe stepped forward.

"Let us pass, there's a good chap," he said. "I'm Flight Lieutenant Joe Maguire, Royal Australian Air Force, and some of these are my crew."

Brian, hearing the exchange from inside, grinned and turned to Brady.

"You'd better let them all in. Things might get tricky if you don't."

"Schultz!" Brady called. "Let'm in! They've cleared the island of Japs, they know how to handle themselves."

Everyone crowded into the available space. Joe stepped forward and introduced himself, followed by Les.

"We had to disappear into the culture so as not to get picked up by the Japs," Joe explained to the astonished Lieutenant. "One of our number is an anthropologist who visited the island before the war, so he knew we could do it. We also knew the island only had a small garrison on it, so we were unlikely to be caught by a search."

The Lieutenant briefly examined Joe, his eyes running up and down his costume.

"Well! I'm impressed," he said, shaking Joe's hand. "If you fooled me, there's no chance the Japs would ever have figured you out. Still, five of you took on a force of what, two hundred?"

"Two hundred and thirty-one, originally," Joe replied. "We know exactly what happened to who, so if you can get your men to tally up the ones you've encountered, we'll know just how many managed to get past the locals and run off into the bush. I'm guessing, not many."

"I'll do that," the Lieutenant said. "It'll make our job so much easier. On some of those islands, we've spent months digging the bastards out." He switched his attention to Les. "You are?"

"Flight Sergeant Lesley Parnell, sir. I was the Engineer on the old bus."

"I was in that trade before the war, myself. Maybe we can have a quiet chat another time, once we get this little paradise of yours cleared up."

"I'd like that, sir. I know you can't be specific, but are you chaps going to be around here long?"

"Well, I don't rightly know, Sergeant. I do know we have to secure the island before they'll call us to the next trouble spot. Oh! You're wondering how we're going to get you guys off. Well, I don't know exactly, but it's my guess you'll catch a ride on a troopship going back for a refill. Sure won't be with us at any rate. Our Cap'n will know for certain."

"Thank you, sir."

Brady turned to Brian. "You say that the other Australians are here as well, sir? In this room?"

"That's right," Brian replied, grinning again. It was about time someone else got embarrassed. He was looking forward to the fun, as were all of the tribesmen. He waved his arm expansively at the group. "Take your pick, Lieutenant."

"Hmph! This ain't gonna be easy."

Brady walked among the group, looking closely at all of them. His brow furrowed when he came to Melanie, but the fact she had a rifle over her shoulder meant that she had as much right as any other native to be in the group and he passed on. He spoke to several of them, ones he considered likely prospects, but received only blank looks in response. Finally he stepped back, baffled.

"I dunno. Whoever you are, you're hiding well. I give in. No, wait - I have an idea." He walked over to the front of the warehouse and gestured a line on the floor. "Captain, if you could ask them all to line up here, with their rifles to their shoulders, facing the sea. I might get a hint that way. I shan't ask them to fire any shots, it might not be a good idea just at the moment."

Brian looked at Joe, who relayed the instruction to the crowd. All grinned at him and they walked forward to form a ragged line with their rifles at their shoulders ready to fire out towards the beach. Some of them made a meal out of the process and Brady watched carefully to catch any possible hints one way or the other. Finally he approached one of the natives and put his hand on the man's shoulder.

"You. I think you're a bit too familiar with a rifle to be a native, am I right?"

The man turned and lowered his rifle butt to the floor. "I guess you could say that," Doc replied, "Although one or two of these locals have a great deal more experience than I have. Most of my experience is small-bore." He held out his hand. "Flight Lieutenant Andrew Ballantyne at your service. I'm the navigator. I've been here before, before the fighting started, and it was my idea to put the plane down here rather than trying to struggle home and end up ditching in the sea."

"Just as well we did," Joe commented. "I doubt the plane would have got many more miles if we hadn't."

"Incredible," Brady said, looking closely at Doc as he shook his hand. "I've seen people blacked up for the movies and such, but you can always tell that they were originally white folks. This is something else!"

"Ah, well, we had the benefit of the locals' knowledge," Doc replied. "Besides which, it was a matter of life and death for us, not just a credit at the end of the picture. The dye they boiled up for us really seems to have done the trick, doesn't it?"

"How you gonna get it off?" Brady enquired.

"No idea," Doc replied, "and I don't think the natives have any idea either. I'm hoping we can find something on your ship to get it shifted. Kerosene, gasoline, degreaser, anything. Otherwise we're going to look pretty strange on the way home until it wears off naturally."

A distant machine-gun chatter followed by a volley of rifle shots in reply recalled them to the present circumstances. Joe intervened.

"Lieutenant, I think we'd better cut this short. Jack, Melanie, come forward. Friends, the yellow-faces are still nearby. We should not forget what is happening outside, even though we all want to have some more fun. Everyone! You can put your rifles down, but keep them ready and be alert for a possible attack."

Brady gaped as Jack and Melanie came out of the crowd and stood before him.

"But..." he turned to Brian. "Your message clearly said there were five airmen, or so I was led to believe. I can't believe your air force sent a woman on a bomber mission."

Doc replied. "I sent the message. I had to make it short, and I stated that there were five Australians on the island, and that I was one of them. I understood immediately that the wrong conclusion would be drawn, but we had limited time to code and send the message, and I wanted to keep it short to avoid detection. Melanie here is the sole European survivor of the small number who used to live here before this all started. Her parents were killed but she managed to escape into the bush."

"Ma'am," Brady said as he offered his hand for her to shake. "You had a bad time?" he asked her.

"Lieutenant," she replied, pronouncing it the English way. "Not so much once I got to the village, but the days before were so unpleasant I've tried to forget them."

"I can imagine," Brady said. "Do you know what happened to the other Europeans?"

Doc replied again. "We have put together an account from some of the locals who were living in this village and in Tapunaan when the Japanese arrived. A small number were shot out of hand, but most were deported, no one knows where, probably to be interned on a larger island somewhere to the west, maybe. We have a list of names of those we know lived here, and which ones died, if that would be of use to you."

Brady grunted. "Don't think so. Like I said, we're due to head off west to another island once this'un's been secured. Your Captain Fraser here has been designated Governor pro tem until we can get the proper civil authorities organised again, perhaps you'd better give your list to him."

Brian looked surprised. "Me? Governor?" His shoulders slumped. "Somebody back home must really hate me." He nodded. "Seriously, Lieutenant, I half expected it."

Brady turned to Jack. "I'm forgetting the introductions." He held out his hand.

"I'm Flight Sergeant Jack Harris," he replied, shaking Brady's hand, "Front Gunner and Bomb Aimer."

"Right, then," the Lieutenant's gaze swung to include the whole crowd. "What are we gonna do with all you fine people?"

~o~O~o~

The Ensign at the top of the gangway looked over the side with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. The approaching boat had Lieutenant Brady at the back and someone in an Australian slouch hat at the front, but the middle of the small launch was filled with natives. They were black as the ace of spades and dressed in nothing but fringes of grass. What on earth was the Captain thinking, letting primitives like this on board his ship?

The launch reached the gangway and the sailor at the front "hooked on" so that the party could disembark. Everyone stood up and began to climb the steep stairway. The Ensign straightened himself and assumed an appropriate position.

"Ow! Jesus Christ, that's hot!"

The first native had placed a bare foot onto a steel deck which had been frying in the sun for hours, and abruptly skipped back onto the top of the wood-decked gangway. The Ensign gaped as the native let out a stream of invective in perfect English with an outlandish accent. Brady pushed his way past the others waiting in line behind Les and made it to the top.

"Ensign! Break out some life jackets and lay them on the deck from here to the hatch, so our guests can cross over without getting their feet completely cooked. Don't just stand there looking like a fish!"

"Yessir!"

He detailed off a couple of men working nearby on deck and watched as they spread the jackets flat on the hot metal. They would be awkward to walk over, but that was a small price to pay for avoiding serious burns. Most of the men on duty in view of the gangway had turned their attention on the curious goings on, but Brady sent them all back to their stations with a word. Some of them were supposed to be on aircraft lookout duty after all.

The party gingerly made its way across to the hatch and into the interior of the ship. The Ensign was astonished to see that the last native was a young woman, a very pretty young woman, and he wondered just what was going on. There were rumours from the island already, and he didn't know what to make of any of them.

There was just sufficient room for them all to cram into the tiny wardroom. They shuffled to make themselves comfortable and as they did so the destroyer's captain appeared.

"Afternoon! I'm Captain Barney Fredericks, welcome aboard the USS Sakakawea. I hope you'll all managed to get comfortable, unfortunately there's not a lot of room on a tub this size."

They went round the table introducing themselves and Fredericks found a perch on the end of one of the seats. Brady described their difficulty with the hot deck.

"Jeez, I should have thought of that, guys," Fredericks said. "We'd better get you some shoes issued out of supply. I guess looking at you that you'll want some clothes as well? You can't very well get on a transport looking like that, can you?"

"The thought did cross our minds, sir," Joe admitted. "We do have our flying gear, but it's designed for cold at ten thousand feet, not heat and humidity at sea level. Most of it's beginning to rot from being hidden up in the jungle, anyway. We'd be obliged if you could give us the minimum to make us look civilised again."

"No problem, guys. We keep some extras on hand for people we fish out of the drink." His eyes narrowed as he considered Melanie. "I can issue shirts and shorts for you four men, but I don't know if that's proper for a lady." He considered for a second or two, then brightened.

"Where are my manners? You've been stuck here for what, months?"

"Nine months," Brian supplied.

"You must have been eating all kinds of outlandish food. How's about I offer you all a taste of home?" Fredericks stood and leaned out of the wardroom door. "Ted!"

"Aye, Captain!" came a voice in the distance.

"Get the engine room to send up enough coffee for eight, will you? Oh, and find out where Benny Rosenblum is, have him sent up to the wardroom."

"Food?" Doc said as Fredericks sat down again. "Our diet has been mostly pork, with some chicken and monkey thrown in. We did have wild boar a couple of times early on, that was delicious. An awful lot of vegetables and fruit as well, of course."

"Oh! Well that doesn't sound too bad, Lieutenant."

"Not at the beginning, no, sir. Unfortunately, the Japanese prevented anyone fishing except themselves, which meant that the island's resources are getting used up. Two hundred-odd extra mouths on an island with a population already around eight hundred is a bit of a tough order. We were beginning to consider rationing when we found Brian, that is Captain Fraser here, had arrived with a promise of rescue."

A seaman brought a big pot of coffee and some mugs, more mugs being carried by a second man. The second man was stripped to the waist, filthy despite the rag he was wiping himself with, and very frightened.

"Sir?"

"Rosenblum! You were busy?"

"Aye, sir, nothing that can't wait."

"Don't look so upset, man, you haven't done nothing wrong. Now, lookee here, Benny, these guys who look like natives are Australians who have been hiding out on the island blacked up to keep from getting caught by the Japs, but that's not what I wanted you for. We have a lady present. I can issue these men with shirts and shorts from supply, but I don't reckon that they'd have anything suitable for the lady here. Do you think you can put together something decent for her to wear as she travels back to the rear?" He turned to the seated group. "Benny here was a tailor in New York when the war started. He should be able to put something together."

Rosenblum eyed Melanie with a professional air. "It's not really my line, Cap," he replied, "but I know the basics and I should be able to put something simple together. Uh, I'll have to measure her, of course, and I'll need some cloth."

"You agreeable to that?" Fredericks asked Melanie. She nodded, and he turned back to Rosenblum.

"You confident you can do it?"

"Aye, sir."

"Then get started. I'm taking you off all other work till this is done, since we don't know how long we're going to be here. You can ask supply for anything you want for this - within reason. Use whatever cloth you think will work - except maybe the altar cloth. I'll get Ted to square it with Chief Wickens. You can even go ashore to fit it once it's made."

"Aye, sir!"

"Right, go and get yourself properly cleaned up, and I'll send Miss -"

"Chisholm," she said.

"- Chisholm down to you when you're ready. Dismissed."

~o~O~o~

"Those duds fit you all right, then?" Fredericks asked as they reconvened in the wardroom.

"Yes, sir, thank you," Joe replied for the party.

They were all wearing their native outfits again, the Navy clothing they had been issued carried in one hand. By common agreement they had decided not to 'go western' until the day they left the island, so as not to cause confusion amongst the locals they all knew. The exception to this was the deck shoes, which they realised they would have to wear at least until they got back to shore after their visit to the ship. Melanie wore deck shoes but carried no clothing.

"Miss Chisholm, are you satisfied with what Rosenblum proposes to do for you?"

"Yes, Captain, thank you."

"You didn't get any trouble down there? After all, you're on a warship full of men who haven't seen a woman for quite some time."

"Not at all, Captain. He was the perfect gentleman, and I had my friends there anyway to make sure everything was handled correctly."

"I'm glad to hear that, miss. I don't know how fast he can work, but I'd guess he'll have something ready by tomorrow, or the day after at the latest. I'll let him go on shore to give you a fitting, it'll save you coming all the way out here."

"Thank you, Captain."

"So, how did the four of you - excuse me, and Miss Chisholm - manage to see off a couple hundred Japs, then?" Fredericks asked as they resumed their seats.

"Luck and circumstances mostly, sir," Doc replied. They had decided, as Doc had the most comprehensive knowledge of what had happened on the island, to let him lead the debriefing.

"Firstly, the island was all garrison troops, sir," he continued. "We had a fairly thorough intelligence network running through the villages so we knew exactly what we were facing. Mostly young kids, mostly city born, mostly conscripts. It seemed like it was a big adventure when they were first dumped here but I guess it got very boring very quickly. Most were homesick and just wanted to be somewhere else. Because of the reefs and the cliffs the island has no strategic value, as I'm sure you've figured out yourself, so there were very few regular soldiers stationed here, just enough to organise the look-out posts and run the radio up on the ridge. The fact that they were outnumbered by the locals didn't help, either. Only the threat of retaliatory air strikes stopped them from getting wiped out within a week of arrival."

"Even so," Fredericks objected, "we're talking about two hundred trained troops armed with modern weapons."

"They split their forces, sir, they had to. Eighty-odd in one port village, sixty-odd in the other, and fifty scattered at the northern and southern edges in four look-out posts. That meant we could take them on piecemeal. Our chaps can see a lot better in the dark than the enemy, sir. They can move so quietly you'd never know they were there, and they are experts with those blow-pipes. We took out the look-out posts one moonless night, that gave us some more firearms. We knew we couldn't get them out of the port villages without a lot of bloodshed, that's why we asked for a little air and naval support to encourage them to move. The rest you know."

Fredericks grunted. "I wondered why our orders were so strange, but that explains it. Have we got all of them, Lieutenant?"

"If our count of the numbers is correct, there's still four hiding out on the mountains somewhere. They'll be found soon enough by the locals. Almost all the rest are dead, I believe we have three prisoners. It seems such a waste, but, kids or not, they still were quite prepared to die for their emperor." Doc sighed. "War's a bitch, isn't it, sir?"

"You got that right. Even so, I'm glad we secured this one with such light casualties."

"Not so light for the tribesmen, sir," Joe put in. "We have fifteen dead and twenty-seven with severe injuries. Our thanks to your medical teams who have done their best in very awkward circumstances."

"Least we could do, Lieutenant. Even so, Captain Fraser here is gonna have to organise something different for after we leave, medical-wise. We couldn't justify leaving a medic here, not considering where we're likely to end up next."

"I'm sure we'll manage, sir," Brian replied. "We always do."

~o~O~o~

"Nice place you got here," Fredericks said. "A real tropic paradise, just like in the movies."

Fredericks, Brian, Doc and Joe were standing at the high end of the village, looking down at the domestic activity taking place between the houses. Everyone was relaxed for the first time since the Japanese had arrived. The villagers were wary of the Americans, but knew that they posed no threat to them, at least not a threat that they would have recognised.

"It would be better if you didn't look too closely, Captain," Doc said. "Quite a lot of what happens here is extremely basic. These people are only just taking up agriculture, after all."

"Maybe," Fredericks replied, "but it's probably little different to the way some of the guys in the backwoods live, back in the wilder parts of the U S of A. I was thinkin', maybe I could come back here when the war's over, just relax for a week or two, you know?"

"I'm not sure what kind of reception you'd get, Captain," Doc said. "At the moment, you're in favour because your people helped to clear the island, but in general, they mostly want to be left alone. I don't know how much longer this conflict will last, maybe years yet, and memories will have faded somewhat by the time it's all over. Best to just take the memories you have away with you."

Fredericks grunted. "Maybe you're right, Lieutenant. Say, what are my guys doing down there?"

He pointed to a group down at the other end of the open space, a mixture of sailors from his ship and young men from the village.

"I can see Les down there," Joe said, "and if I know Les, they will all be doing throwing and target practice with whatever weapons they can lay their hands on. I bet some of our chaps are more accurate with blowpipes than your sailors will ever be with a rifle."

"You're probably right," Fredericks said. "Some of them couldn't hit the proverbial barn door. Comes of city living, I suppose. What's happened to all the pioneering skills Americans used to have? Mind you, some of my crew are a little too expert with a switchblade - I carefully don't ask too many questions about that, if you get my drift."

Brian shrugged. "If it enables them to better fight the enemy, I'd say you were doing the right thing, Captain. We take whatever we can get, these days."

Joe added, "Here's your dressmaker, Captain." He pointed at Rosenblum, walking slowly up towards them, all the while mopping his forehead in the heat. The sailor approached and gave a sketchy salute to his captain.

"Benny! You all finished up, then?"

"Yes, sir. She'd pass anywhere in polite company, now, sir. Beggin' your pardon, once she manages to get the dye off her skin."

"Ah." Fredericks turned to his companions. "Sorry we couldn't help with that. I guess we tried everything on my ship that could pour, I don't think anything made any difference, did it?"

"No, sir," Doc said. "We started with the usual solvents, then, as you said, we tried everything else on board, even vinegar, ketchup and tabasco from the galley. Nothing made the slightest difference. We're probably going to have to wait till we get back to civilisation and then try some more exotic chemicals."

"I guess so. I just hope you don't get too much trouble on board the transport. With your skin that colour, folks are going to get the wrong idea about you. I don't hold with it myself, but there's plenty who think that black folks ain't as good as white folks. That's one reason I kitted all four of you out with officers' duds, make sure you had as much advantage as possible till you managed to get back to your own people."

Joe coughed. "Hadn't realised things were so bad, sir. I thought your Civil War was supposed to put an end to that?"

Fredericks grunted again. "Not so's you'd notice, Lieutenant."

Doc added, "It's the same all over the world, Skip. Some races just like to look down on other races. We do the same with Abos, don't we?"

"That so?" Fredericks asked. He turned to Rosenblum. "We gonna see the lady in her new finery then, Benny?"

Rosenblum gulped, then said, "Sorry, sir, I don't think so, least, not till it gets dark. They're going to have a special ceremony for her and the airmen, when they stop being villagers and start being Australians again. Miss Chisholm told me all about it."

"Oh." The Captain looked disappointed. "I can't stay here much longer," he said to the others, "I have to get the ship ready to move off in the morning. As soon as the Portland Star and her escort drop anchor, we have to be leaving."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir," Joe said. "We - the natives, that is - do tend to conduct our ceremonies just after sunset for various reasons. I'd hoped you and your men could stay for the party. There'll be a pig roast and lots of dancing and other entertainments."

"Perhaps not such a good idea," Doc pointed out. "We also have alcoholic drinks so powerful they could probably strip paint, sir. Not such a good thing if you need to be alert first thing next morning."

Fredericks' eyebrows raised. "That so? Guess it's better I pass on that one, then." He looked at the sky, gauging the angle of the sun. "I think it's about time I returned to the ship, in any case. Orders can change like the wind in these parts, as you guys well know. Come on, Benny."

Fredericks and his men took their leave, and the five Australians prepared for their last night on the island. The two rows of torches were prepared, and everyone bustled about getting the food and drink ready. Finally the sun sank below the horizon to the west and everyone prepared for the ceremony. Since this would be a group transformation, both Elders and their wives accompanied the five down to the stream, the rest of the tribe singing hunting songs as they did so. Although the moon was not full there was enough of it to light the scene, supported by the usual torches and fires.

The women of the tribe took charge of Melanie and clustered round her while she was stripped and washed, away from the men's gaze. When she emerged from the group she was wearing the clothes Benjamin Rosenblum had stitched together for her, a demure knee-length dress with short sleeves the same colour as the men's khaki uniforms. Underneath she wore a petticoat that Rosenblum had made from some of the parachute silk, and from the same silk he had managed to conjure a simple brassiere-style breast support patterned on the halter top Melanie had worn as a villager.

All the men at the stream side stared at her wide-eyed. A few whistled, a habit they had picked up from the American Marines.

"Amazing," Joe said. "That tailor is a genius. I don't know anything about fashion, Mel, but you'll turn heads in that get-up anywhere you go."

"Thank you, Joe," she said softly. "I wasn't sure this was a good idea to start with, but I find I'm wondering what I'll look like when we get back, now. Benjamin," she might have blushed, but the dye made it impossible to tell, "said he copied styles he saw around him in New York," she explained. "I really felt comfortable wearing the grass clothes," she added, "but wearing these I just feel great. I can't explain it any better than that."

"All the men here agree you look great," Doc added in the local language. "Even the elders here."

"Thank you," she said to them. "And now, perhaps it is time for the men to show that they can look good as well."

The men exchanged places with the women and the four were ritually washed under the waterfall, cleaning away the village markings from their faces and bodies, and the ash and clay from their hair. Their grass outfits were carefully piled up by the elders as the four put on the shirts, shorts and shoes provided by the US Navy. Their headgear had not survived the nine months in the jungle, so they were bareheaded, but a salvaged comb smartened their damp hair into some semblance of a western style.

Once ready, they each picked up their old village wear and the elders led the way back to the centre of the village. The five stood in a row near one of the big fires, Melanie in the middle, and tk'Tenepti addressed everyone.

"This is an unusual ceremony. The only way a warrior leaves the village in other times is by death or capture, which ends in death anyway. Today it is different, because times are changing and so must we. These men, and our km'lilleh m'Lanui, leave to continue fighting in a conflict so large and so strange I have difficulty understanding it. They have given so much to our village, our tribe and our island in the moons since they have been here.

"They have rid the island of the yellow-faces. They have shown us that some, if not all, of the white-faces can be trusted from time to time. They have shown that the villages on the island can achieve much if they co-operate, and that is something that I would have found quite strange before they came. They have shown us new ways of hunting, new ways of tending crops and so many other things. They have told us much about the islands surrounding our own that we did not know before.

"Finally, they brought with them, although they did not know it at the time, the magic that is km'lilleh. For that we shall be for ever grateful. To have seen it with my own eyes is something that I shall tell my children and my children's children. She has shown us that while the forest remains eternal, yet it changes all the time, and we must change with it. Once the yellow-faces have been defeated there may be other changes to come, tk'Biryanu has spoken of such things.

"These five have become part of our tribe, and I tell you that, even though they return to the tribe of their birth, they will always remain part of our tribe. They will always be welcome here among us. They go tomorrow with our blessing, and that of the tribe. And now, you have heard enough of an old man's talk. Let us proceed with the ceremony, the food and drink awaits."

Melanie walked to the fire, and, as she had done so many months previously, threw her grass garments onto it. One by one the others followed suit. When they had finished, there was a roar from the crowd and everyone surged forwards to surround them. Soon, the party was in full swing.

Much later, as everyone began to start feeling the effects of the local brew and things started to quieten down, Brian cornered Doc.

"Andy old mate, there's something going on here you haven't been telling me," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"It's Melanie. It seems to me, since I've been in the village and watched the five of you, that the relationship between you isn't quite what it seems. Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting anything improper, but you four and she don't talk together quite the way I might expect a young woman to talk when she's recently met four men in the jungle. It appears to me as though she's known you a bit longer than the dates would suggest, and she knows far too much about the Australian military for my liking, for a girl who's supposed to be brought up on a tropical island away from western contact."

"I don't think so," Doc said. "It's just that we've grown together because we're in the same boat. It's natural for her to pick up things from us."

"You forget why I'm here, Andy, I'm theoretically part of the intelligence community. I'm supposed to notice things like that. I've also picked up a fair bit of the local lingo since I've been here, and something tk'Tenepti said in his speech made me curious. Something about 'they brought the magic that is km'lilleh, though they did not know it', and then he said, 'she has shown us...'. That implies that you brought Melanie, about the same time you arrived here, rather than her already being here. And I've been asking round about km'lilleh, although everyone is stonewalling me about that one. So what's really going on?"

Doc sighed. He had discussed with Joe whether they should tell Brian the truth, since he was basing himself in their village and would eventually be told... something... by the villagers after the five had left. It seems he had already begun to work out what had happened, although whether he would manage to guess the whole story was open to question, especially as none of the five really knew what had happened anyway.

"Brian, mate," he said heavily. "I'm going to tell you a story. It's entirely up to you whether you believe it or not, but I promise you I'm only going to tell you what actually happened and not embroider it with fanciful speculation. You forget, I'm an anthropologist, and I have to be accurate and unbiased - as much as I ever can - in my dealings with people like these. I caution you, don't repeat anything of what I'm about to tell you to any European, because you'll endanger all of us, especially Melanie.

"So, when our plane crashed on the island, there were actually five survivors."

~o~O~o~

"I still don't entirely understand why we five have been stuck away in a corner on our own table," Les grumped.

They were sitting in one of the two restaurants on board the old liner. It was less than half full, most of the passengers for this leg of the voyage being confined to beds or bunks by their injuries. About a third of the other eaters visible were medical staff, the rest were walking wounded, those who had enough mobility to be able to make their own way around the ship. A very, very few were black Americans.

"They just don't know what to do with us," Doc explained again. "We don't fit into their perceived hierarchy. We're not in the American military command structure, and we're neither white nor black, that is their own definition of what being black might mean. We're not wounded, and we're not going back to the same place any of them are. Four of us are wearing recognisable officer's uniforms from the wrong nation's forces, albeit without rank insignia - which causes it's own problems - and the fifth is a civilian. No wonder they can't figure us out."

"I can't figure out this grub," Jack muttered, suspiciously eyeing the cube of bright pink meat on the end of his fork. "What did you say this stuff was again?"

"SPAM," Joe answered. "You've eaten SPAM before, I've watched you. When we were at that forward base."

"Maybe, Skip, but it at least looked edible that time."

"It's all good food," Doc encouraged. "They may be down to the canned foodstuffs by now, but there's plenty of nourishment in it. I must say, it's refreshing to eat a different selection of vegetables and fruit for a change. You can have enough of yams and sago and mangoes and suchlike, a change of diet is good for the body occasionally."

Jack put down his fork with a grimace. "Can I have that in writing, Doc? I think part of it is having canteen staff, pardon me, galley staff, who know which end of a ladle is which."

"Well, I think what we're being given is tasty," Melanie said. "As Doc said, it's a nice change."

The group finally finished their dinners and eventually a steward appeared with a dessert plate for each of them. It contained two pineapple rings covered with a white substance which was definitely not cream. Jack looked at his plate with distaste.

"There's a war on, you know," Joe said. "Eat up, there's a good chap."

"Canned pineapple," Les said. "At least you can guarantee the quality of the fruit. We tried to grow it on the farm, but it was too dry at the wrong time of year. I love pineapple." He dug his spoon into the rings.

"Now there's a thing," Doc pondered as he ate. "Did we try any of these fruits or juices when we were on the destroyer?"

"We only had the one meal on board, Doc," Joe pointed out. "They wouldn't have offered us samples of everything they had, would they?"

"I didn't mean to eat," Doc replied. "I meant to try and get rid of this dye."

He cut a square of pineapple with his spoon, then picked it out with his fingers and rubbed it on his other forearm. All of them gasped as the skin colour was visibly lightened.

"You did it!" Les said.

"Yes. It had only just occurred to me that there are various specific and useful substances in most fruits. I wonder... steward!"

After some delay, a steward approached.

"Yes? Is there something wrong with your meal?" Doc stared at the man impassively. "...sir?"

"Would you happen to know," Doc asked, "if there is much of this pineapple left in the stores?"

The steward looked confused. The five people in front of him looked like outlandish natives dressed up in US uniforms, but the voices coming out of their mouths spoke good English. The question was not one that he had expected.

"Er, I don't really know, sir. I shall go and find out." The man couldn't figure out the possible significance of such a question. With a tiny bow, and an even tinier shake of the head, he turned away. Some considerable time later, he returned with another man and began removing the plates, which by now they had all cleared. The other man was bigger, older, and had bars on the epaulettes of his shirt.

"Is there some kind of problem with my food, gentlemen? And lady?"

"The food's fine. We just wanted to know if you had much pineapple left. The quantities involved could be of interest to us," Joe said.

"That so?"

"Yes," said Doc. "They might solve a problem we have. If you have stocks, we'll be going to see the Chief Medical Officer as soon as we've finished our meal."

"We need that food to feed our injured," the man said. "I don't want to see it wasted."

"You won't see it wasted," Joe said. "Just tell us what we want to know. If there's enough, we'll come back and talk to you, try and work out something."

"As it happens, we have crates of the stuff. We have mebbe nine, ten thousand tins, if that's what you want to know."

"That sounds good enough for us. We'll come and find you later today, if we may. Your name is?"

"Grissom, sir. Chief Steward Grissom."

"You're a civilian?"

"Yes, sir. With the ship when she was requisitioned. Glad to do my bit for my country."

"Thank you, Grissom. We'll find you later."

~o~O~o~

The heat, humidity, noise, smell, crowds and furious activity was a shock to all of them after the relative calm of their sea voyages. Three days on the troopship, an enforced layover at a staging point on an un-named atoll followed by an interesting trip on a Liberty Ship laden with ammunition had finally seen them deposited on the quayside at Port Moresby in New Guinea.

The pineapple juice had done its work. All now looked like properly-tanned white Australians. Melanie had shocked everyone on the troopship when she had emerged from the dark pigment hiding her, making her the centre of some serious attention. Even here, as they stood trying to get their bearings, all male eyes within visible range locked onto her shapely figure. The others had learned quickly to gather protectively around her. Here, at least, the men weren't quite so overly attentive as the Americans on the two ships had been!

Joe looked around to try and get his bearings. They had been to New Guinea before but previously had flown in and out so the port area was unfamiliar to them. Spotting a Military Policeman in a kiosk, he led the way over, pulling out the paper with their orders as he did so.

"Sorry, gentlemen," that worthy replied after a single glance at Joe's paper, "you need the US transit office opposite dock number five. That way." He pointed.

"Sergeant," Joe patiently pointed out, "if you'd actually read our orders, you would discover that we're Australians. US warships don't usually keep stocks of Australian signal forms or for that matter spare RAAF uniforms." He held out the paper again.

"Oh, sorry, gentlemen," the MP said again. "You looked like Yanks, so... let me see that." He took the paper and read. "Ah. Right. You're to go to 58 Signals, there's a regular bus goes that way every hour or so, stops down there at the end of that warehouse." He pointed. "Um, it only mentions four aircrew here, not the lady." He looked directly at Melanie, who gave him a smile back.

This was the first awkward moment they knew they had to handle, since they knew that any orders they were sent would only cover the known survivors of the original flight.

"I'm a civilian who was based on the island where their plane came down," she said. "What I was doing there was need-to-know, Sergeant. These men are in fact accompanying me to 58 Signals. We've spent nine months under cover behind Japanese lines."

"I see," the MP nodded in understanding. He wouldn't be asking any questions about what they had been doing. "That's fine then. Anything else I can do for you?"

"Yes, Sergeant," Doc replied. "Because we were forced to go undercover, we have no ID papers. Is there anything you can suggest?"

"Yes, sir. There's an office through that way about three hundred yards for misplaced persons. There might be a queue, though. Have you men still got your ID tags?"

"Yes, Sergeant, but our friend here has nothing, literally, other than the clothes she's standing in."

"We have had a fair number of civilians through here fitting that description," the MP said. "It shouldn't be a problem getting her temporary papers today, especially if you're about to go to 58 Signals. That's where most of the identity checks are carried out in any case."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

Getting temporary papers for all of them proved to be straightforward, but they all knew that Melanie could be exposed if anyone decided to do a thorough check on her supposed background. There was a volunteer point serving tea and sandwiches near the place where the bus stopped and the five stood and munched a snack while they waited. The 'bus' when it arrived turned out to be a lorry with seats in the back. There was just enough flare in the skirt of Melanie's dress to enable her to scramble up the tailboard with help, but it wasn't very dignified.

"Is this the route to that airfield we arrived at before?" Joe asked as they bumped away from the town. "This road doesn't look very familiar."

"No," Doc replied. "This is almost the opposite direction. When I went from our billet over to 58 Signals those two times I had to go into Port Moresby and out again. Five hours travelling for about twenty minutes of talk that could probably have been handled by a phone call."

They were dropped at a gate in a barbed-wire fence by the side of the road, the men helping Melanie down from the lorry. Although the surrounding area was forested, it had the look of a cultivated district rather than raw jungle. Other than the gate and the sentry post within, there was no other building in sight. The lorry rumbled off into the distance and they walked to the gate.

"Yes, sir?"

"I believe we're expected." As this was Doc's territory, it was he who held out the paper with their movement orders on it. The sentry took the papers through the wire of the gate and retired to his hut, leaving them standing beside the deserted road. They could see the sentry pick up a telephone and make a call. Soon he returned with a clipboard.

"Captain Ballantyne, Lieutenant Maguire, Sergeant Parnell, Sergeant Harris," he said. "There's no mention of a woman."

"Captain Ballantyne?" Doc asked, shocked. "When did that happen?"

"Dunno, sir, don't ask me, I just mind the gate."

"Our friend here," Joe indicated Melanie, "has been working undercover behind enemy lines. We're accompanying her to assist in the debriefing. She's a civilian, so she may not appear on your documents, if you take my meaning."

The sentry looked guarded. "Uh, I don't rightly know as if I can let her in, sir. She's not on the list, you see."

"Corporal," Doc asked the sentry, "You'll let me in, won't you?"

"Yes, sir, you're on the list."

"Then why don't you let me use that phone in your hut, and I'll see if I can sort this little difficulty out."

"Right you are sir. This way."

Doc spent some time talking on the phone in the hut, and then called the sentry in. After some more extended conversation they both emerged and the sentry opened the gate to let them all in. There was a further delay before two limousines and a Willy's Jeep arrived. Each of the large cars had a guard armed with a rifle as well as a driver. Doc climbed into the back of the Jeep, the others went two to each car, and the three vehicles drove off into the plantation.

The convoy sped past groups of huts set back from the road under the trees and eventually arrived at what must have been the original plantation mansion. They were all ushered out and into the building, following their guide through the corridors before being left in an ante-room with a secretary busy in front of a typewriter. A telephone rang, and the secretary picked it up.

"Captain Ballantyne? Colonel Gibson will see you now. If you would go through to the Colonel's office, please."

Doc rose and went through the indicated door.

"Ballantyne!" The man behind the desk stood and held out his hand. "I'm glad to see that you've finally arrived back safely."

They shook hands, and Doc took the indicated seat.

"Thank you, sir. It's been an interesting year or so of my life, I can tell you."

"That's why you're here after all, isn't it? To be debriefed. But tell me, why have you asked for the survivors of your crew to come here with you? And a civilian woman? I didn't really understand your message."

"It's... complicated, sir. And, to be perfectly honest, the story I have to tell is one that I'm almost sure you're not going to believe. I wouldn't believe it myself, sir, if I hadn't been there and witnessed the events myself. But, first of all, how did I manage to get promoted Captain, sir?"

"That's an easy one to answer," Gibson replied. "You've actually held a reserve commission in Signals since you first offered your services here. Your normal rank of Flight Lieutenant in the Air Force was enough to allow you to function effectively there, but the greater rank was always yours if you ever needed it in the field. I'm surprised that information seems to have escaped you."

"There's probably a packet of papers with my name on it that's gone astray, sir. Ah, that explains why Brian Fraser is a Captain, doesn't it? I thought that was strange at the time, but, you're right, it was extremely useful when he arrived on Pakalui."

"Pakalui? That's the island you were on, wasn't it. Okay, so tell me this tall tale, then."

"With respect, sir, I'd rather have the other members of my team here with me as I do. All five of us are in this together. As I said, there are special reasons why we can't be debriefed in the normal way."

Gibson looked at Doc for a long moment and then picked up his phone.

"Send in the people who came with Captain Ballantyne, will you? This will be a confidential meeting, Lucy. Oh, and find someone to bring in tea and snacks for us. We could be here some time."

Gibson looked taken aback as the others entered. The men, well-tanned and still dressed in their American clothing, looked odd, and the woman with them was an absolute stunner, if a little young. The attitude of the men was strange, too, almost as if they were protecting the woman against all comers. The Colonel began to have a feeling that this meeting was not going to be a straightforward one. He gestured towards seating and they all sat down, if a little tensely. Doc introduced them individually, but said very little about Melanie other than her name.

"Very well, Captain, you have the floor. Tell me what's so special about Pakalui."

"Uh, I know it probably breaks a number of strict regulations, sir, but I'd rather you didn't take any notes until we've finished, sir. By then you'll understand why."

Gibson raised an eyebrow, then tossed down the pencil he had been holding ready. He nodded to Doc to proceed.

"Well, sir," Doc began, "it's like this. All five of us here were in the Liberator that crashed on Pakalui." Gibson raised an eyebrow again. "All five of us were airmen. This person," he indicated Melanie, "used to be Paul Davis, our radio operator."

~o~O~o~

Gibson leaned back in his chair, his mind ringing with the story he had just been told. It was late. The sun had set, the blackout curtains had been drawn and lights lit. A second round of tea and sandwiches had been provided.

Part way through the retelling he had asked for files on all the crew of the Liberator to be brought, and from the file of Paul Davis, radio operator, he had asked Melanie Chisholm a significant number of questions, all of which she had answered accurately. Now he sat and considered the unique, impossible thing that they had told him had taken place.

He understood now why the men had seemed so protective of her, and why Ballantyne had brought the problem directly to him. He understood the peculiar problem she represented, and exactly why no-one who hadn't interviewed these men would believe any of it. He understood the additional problems she presented in time of war, and he also understood just how vulnerable she was. Finally he came to a decision and sat up straight.

"There exist no notes of this conversation, Miss Chisholm and gentlemen. This conversation, in fact, never happened. As far as the record will show, there were four survivors of the plane crash, and they met with Miss Chisholm here while hiding out in the jungle. Do I make myself clear?"

There was an audible sigh of relief from the five, who relaxed into their chairs. It had been a long day, after all.

"Yes, sir," they all chorused.

Gibson continued, "Your chosen cover story will be made bomb-proof and become the official record. Now, Ballantyne, do you still wish to transfer to fifty-eight Signals as you earlier indicated?"

"Sir, I do, but only if I can be accompanied by Miss Chisholm. Er, there's nothing improper in my request, sir, just a wish for her to be somewhere where one of us at least can keep an eye on her, till she finds her feet."

"I understand your concern, Captain. Miss Chisholm, would you like to work here, for me? You can be a radio operator, if that's what you wish, or there is work waiting in decoding or analysis if you think that would suit you better."

"Thank you for the offer, sir. Would that mean I'd have to sign up?"

"No, we do have civilians on site. You don't have to sign up if you don't wish to. I think, on balance, it would probably be better from a security point of view if you didn't."

"May I consider it, sir? It's late, and we're all tired."

"Of course, Miss Chisholm. Whatever you decide, I'll have the documents section provide everything you need to make you entirely legal throughout the Empire."

"Thank you, sir."

Gibson turned. "And you three men. I can send you back to the regular Air Force if you want that, but it so happens I could use you here. About half a mile away we have a small airstrip where we dispatch clandestine flights from, over enemy lines, to drop agents and supplies, that kind of thing. You'd be welcome to join our select band of flyers, if you're interested? You'd also be around to keep an eye on Miss Chisholm."

"What sort of planes are we talking about, sir?" Joe asked.

"Mostly Hudsons and Mitchells, Lieutenant. The strip isn't big enough for Liberators, although we have the use of those from another airfield when necessary. We go as far as Borneo and Malaya if you're interested, with occasional messenger flights to and from India. I can easily get you converted onto those airframe types if you accept my offer."

Joe looked at Jack and Les, who both nodded. "We'll accept, sir."

Gibson nodded. "Good. Then I suppose it's time I found you all billets. Welcome to 58 Signals."

~o~O~o~

Epilogue

Her well-manicured hand carefully placed the cappuccino back onto the saucer as her eyes looked at the speaker through long lashes. Something inside her definitely moved. She spoke.

"So, don't keep us in suspense! Did you marry Doc, then?"

The speaker smiled as he replied. "No, not Doc! Unknown to all of us, he was sweet on one of his research students, who he eventually married after the war was over. No, I married Joe." His face was thoughtful, remembering the past. "Those were happy years, despite the war. Joe took me back to a small place not far from Adelaide and we settled down."

"Joe married you?" the other woman said. "Despite what he knew about your past?"

The man nodded. "Yes, in fact, probably because he knew my past. He, like all of the crew, wanted to protect me." His face changed. "That all lasted until our second child was born. Joe could take Paul Davis turning into Melanie Chisholm, what he couldn't take was me turning back into Paul Davis."

"Crap. Not a good thing, especially in post-war Australia."

"Oh, yeah," the man said. There was a barest trace of an antipodean accent in his voice. "He took to drink and that was the end of us, I'm afraid."

"We understand all that," the second woman said, raising her own cup to take a sip through perfectly-made-up lips. "Clare here hasn't suffered that experience, fortunately, and I do hope she never will. I wasn't quite so lucky. Either time."

"Remind me what the relationship is between you two again? I don't think I quite got it straight, and you can't possibly be sisters," the man said.

"I'm her birth mother," the second woman said. "Then for twenty-four years I was his father. Now I'm her cousin." Shelley Madden gave an evil grin. "Easy, isn't it?" She put down her cup. They were seated at their favourite place for observing humanity, an outside table at a cafe in Redcliffe. "Did you follow what happened to the others in your crew?"

"Jack never came back from a flight, we have no knowledge why. Les survived the war and ran an auto repair shop somewhere in Queensland until he retired. We did keep in touch by mail for a long while, although it was difficult after I changed back, of course. As I said, Doc married Brenda, his research assistant, and he went back to studying the natives after the war, the pair of them roaming the islands together."

"So, all loose ends tied up, then?"

"Sort of. Colonel Gibson kept his word, and nothing was ever written down about what really happened on Pakalui. Oh, except by Doc. I discovered long after he'd died that he'd written a monograph on what happened - disguising all the names and locations of course - and submitted it to one of his anthropology journals as a curiosity. He couldn't back it up with pictures or anything like that, of course, but being a good scientist he wanted there to be some sort of record for posterity. His daughter found it after he died and did some digging, and her searches were what eventually came to the attention of the Institute. She never found me, I was long gone by that time."

"Did you ever go back to the island?" Clare asked. God, he looks handsome!

"Yes," the man said. "Twice, in fact, once while I was Melanie and once after I became male again. It was interesting. People in the village knew who I was, once I started speaking in the local lingo. I discovered that after Doc had retired from the university he and Brenda moved to Pakalui to live in our village. Both eventually died and were buried there.

"I originally went back to the island because I was curious about why I changed. After the second time I became female - and that was a shock, I can tell you, going from a forty-nine year-old male to a twenty-one year-old woman! - I wondered if something in the environment triggered the change, but circumstances meant I couldn't do anything about it. Now I understand what was going on, of course. The fact we were on the island was just a coincidence."

"But... twenty-one years old!" Shelley objected, "There must have been something! We don't normally transition until twenty-four or twenty-five."

"You're right. The Institute heard my story and sent some guys out to do some careful digging. After a while they remembered about the dye. Of course, things being what they are, no-one there makes or uses the dye any more, there are too many white people around for them to be bothered about it any more. They managed to get a couple of the elders who remembered the recipe to knock up a batch, and that was the answer." He smiled. "So, we can bring transition forward if we wish. And, whatever age you transition, that's what your body clock gets reset to each time."

"We know that part," Clare said. "I'm quite envious of the fact you can become twenty-one all over again."

"It's a shock to the system," the man said. "A lot of work needs to be done by the body. In the case of my second male-to-female transition, a lot of work. It also means people don't believe you have the maturity for certain things. Being too young can bring it's own problems."

"The weather's changing," Shelley said. "Do you mind if we go and do some shopping? And I'd really like it if we could go out for a meal together this evening."

"With both of you?"

"Judging by the look on Clare's face, it will have to be both of us. Is that all right with you?"

The smile on his face instantly melted both of their hearts. "Of course! Two beautiful women? It's about time I finally relaxed and enjoyed myself a bit."