Book Excerpt

Chapter One

Dangerous times define history, and the people who live it. Soldiers too often turn away from the fight, while others prove to be heroic in ways that would have been unimaginable to them before their character was tested.

Martin Rellim stood 6’1” tall and muscled in at 14 stone. He was a man of strong character with a high work ethic. A ‘dinky-di’ Australian, he was ‘brought up the hard way’ in a fledgling nation almost destitute of fine young men (casualties of WWI) and investment finance.

The World Depression of the late 1920s/early 1930s only added fuel to an already depressed economy. Still, he considered himself most fortunate to have been born and raised in the land down under.

Martin was not unaware of the events in the world. His position within the Department of Defence provided him access to Government papers and strategy. As well, he meticulously read the daily press and monitored the rise of Fascism, the rise of Nazism, the rise of Japanese Militarism and the rise of Communism in Russia. He ‘read’ the danger signals toAustralia, to world peace.

However, his attention of late had been focused on his studies and on Christina, his young wife. A new engineering degree, a marriage and a baby son had a way of making even a foggy spring morning seem a bit brighter as Martin, dressed in shorts, T-shirt and sandshoes stepped out onto the porch of his Woolloomooloo home.

“Bloody gorgeous,” he whispered to himself as he closed the front door behind him.

The groans of cargo ship winches and the ear piercing shrills of the Red Funnel Trawlers unloading their catch were testament to a tough Woolloomooloo community already at work as he glided down the front steps onto Crown Street.

Martin smiled as he thought back at the image of his wife, still sleeping in bed as he’d slipped out from beneath the covers to go on his morning run.

He jogged south past the Sydney Eye Hospital into Cathedral Street then, to follow his regular routine, up St Mary’s Road, past ‘Jonesey’s Cottage’ and into the Domain, where he increased his tempo as he ran through the foggy parkland in central Sydney.

He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he thought about the ‘Sunday soapbox orators’ – the colourful, loud hawkers who dotted the park, shouting out their ‘expertise’ to one and all on every topic from religion to politics to economics. To Martin and Christina, the performances of these self-styled experts amounted to enjoyable entertainment when they walked through the Domain after Mass at St Mary’s Cathedral.

His body moving at a comfortable, increasing rhythm, Martin arrived at Lady Macquarie’s Point, where today the majesty of Sydney Harbour was shrouded in fog. He hazarded a moment from running and paused, soaking up the alluring aromas filling the air wafting along from the nearby Botanical Gardens as they mixed with the fresh salty air.

He was completing his regimen of exercises when the fog, enveloping the finest harbour in the world, slowly but surely began to lift. As the first rays of a new dawn sun rose from out of the Tasman Sea, naval vessels, riding at anchor off the fleet baseGardenIsland, eerily materialised before his eyes.

‘Magnificent,’ he thought to himself.

Continuing his run, Martin moved onto the Domain tidal pool. A half hour’s swim, followed by a quarter mile dash along the eastern roadway, took him to steps chiselled out of the rock face, adjacent to new excavation works, overlooking Brown’s Wharf.

He descended the steps into Lincoln Crescent, then sprinted back to his house. He paused before going back into the house and took in the sights of his street. He breathed deeply of the wonderful smell of home, his own home. He felt blessed; wonderfully blessed.

“G’day, beautiful,” he said, stepping into the kitchen after he’d showered and dressed.

Christina turned from the kitchen bench and smiled at Martin as she poured him a cup of coffee. “Sit down, honey. I’ll put the eggs on. You need a good breakfast before your meeting,” she said cheerfully.

He came close to her, nuzzled against her, then kissed her cheek. “You didn’t sleep late.”

She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. The bed gets lonely so fast without you.”

“You’re welcome to come for a run with me,” he laughed.

“Not likely,” she said with a smirk. “The bed doesn’t get that lonely.” Then she turned her attention back to the wood-fired stove.

Martin completed his breakfast deep in thought. Why had he been called to his inspector’s office first thing this morning?

After embracing Christina, he climbed onto his bicycle and rode the eight miles to the Department of Defence’s Aviation complex atMascotAirport. Not needing to lock the bicycle, he leaned it against the building and went directly to Tim Willow’s office, where he’d no sooner stepped inside and sat down, than he noted the addition of a sturdy safe in the corner of the office behind Tim’s desk.

“Close the door behind you, would you, Martin?” Tim said, glancing up and smiling at Martin’s prompt arrival.

Martin closed the door and then took a chair opposite Tim.

Tim rested the file he’d been studying and looked at Martin. “Well then, I believe congratulations are in order.” His smile widened. “Well done. Your university results are outstanding,” he went on, reaching across the desk to shake Martin’s hand.

“Thank you,” Martin said, accepting the congratulations.

“So, how’s my new engineer?” Tim asked as he settled back in his chair.

Martin let out a slow breath. “Calmer,” he said with a grin. Then he nodded behind Tim’s desk. “What’s with the safe?”

Tim shrugged. “All part of the security upgrades being put in place. All senior officers have had one installed in their offices this past weekend. You’ve got one; surely you noticed?”

Martin’s expression showed some surprise. “Really? Ah no. I came straight to your office. So things are getting that interesting?”

Tim arched his eyebrows. “Starting today, security officers are being stationed in this building 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. You tell me whether that constitutes ‘interesting’.” He paused. “All files, documents and correspondence of strategic importance are to be locked away – day and night.”

Martin let out a long sigh as Tim tapped the file on his desk with the tip of his finger. Then he lifted the file to show Martin the ‘Confidential’ stamp imprinted on the outside. He rested the file back on his desk, opened it and began to read aloud, “Father: Williamborn Glenelg, South Australia, 12 March 1885. Married Katherine, 8 August 1908. Williamserved in the 5^th Division, 1^st AIF in WWI. Returned traumatised. Deserted Katherine and son, Martin, in 1924…”

Martin’s eyes were on his hands folded in his lap. “I didn’t think that would rise to the level of a confidential file,” he said softly.

Tim acknowledged Martin’s comment with a quick intake of breath before continuing. “Martin Rellim. DOB 15 August 1910. Student at St Mary’s Cathedral Boys’ High. Reputation for intense scholarship, particularly in the sciences, mathematics and history. Talented pianist. Economic circumstances forced Martin to leave school in 1924. He worked as a block boy for the Sydney City Council, cleaned Government offices and helped Mother Katherine set up a general store in Darlinghurst. Through the Depression he worked numerous jobs, including conducting his own dance band, all the while being privately tutored in advance mathematics and algebra and attending Technical College in the evening…” Tim looked up at Martin. “Where’d you get the bloody time and energy to do all this?”

Martin chuckled at the incredulity in Tim’s voice but then he grew serious. “It was darn hard, I don’t mind telling you. But those were the times. You had to find the get-up-and-go…”

Tim nodded and went back to the recitation of the outline of Martin’s life, including his marriage to Christina and the birth of his son, Jack. When he finished, he looked up. “Did they miss anything?”

Martin didn’t know whether to be impressed, amused or troubled by the detail included in his life history. “Only my daily run and swim, what I ate for breakfast this morning and the last time I made love with Christina,” he said with bemused annoyance. “Oh, they did overlook that I drove cabs on and off for De Luxe in 1930.” He grew quiet. “Otherwise, I think they got it all, whoever ‘they’ are.”

Tim slowly closed the file. “‘They’ are the Commonwealth Investigation Service.”

Martin straightened in his seat. “And why, may I ask, is the Commonwealth Investigation Service investigating me?”

Tim raised his hand in a friendly gesture. “Your early Technical College studies and results put your name up in neon lights; this Department recognised your outstanding potential and offered you university studies and a career. Your advancement through the ranks is due to surpassing departmental criterion every step on the way. But before investing too much in you, they had to be certain of your bona fides.”

Tim smiled at Martin as he closed the file and clasped his hands together.

“You passed with flying colours. I’m happy to report that your security clearance has been upgraded to the highest level. Furthermore, you will in future accompany me to all Department forums to evaluate and resolve matters of strategic significance toAustralia.”

Although he was well pleased with the increased clearance, he still felt a bit bruised by the process. “Fair enough,” he conceded. “But it’s a bit intrusive and heavy, don’t you think? What about privacy?”

Tim shrugged. He knew only too well that such concerns quickly went by the wayside at times like these. “If one has nothing to hide…” With that, he turned and took another file from the safe. This one he handed directly to Martin. Martin weighed the file in his hands as he studied the stamp across the front: ‘Strictly Confidential’. He looked questioningly at Tim. Tim nodded, indicating he should examine it.

“It is your Government’s appraisal of its one main asset – manpower,” Tim said evenly. “Should Europe explode – as we all expect – the proposed secondment to private industry of officers of this Bureau is contained therein.” He eased back in his chair. “I want your evaluation by week’s end. That must be your highest priority.”

“Yes…” He held himself. He almost addressed his good friend Tim as ‘Sir’. As awkward as that would have felt, he could not help but feel the importance of the assignment seemed to warrant such a response.

“Now, to your first major Defence Assignment…”

Tim outlined Martin’s history working with De Havilland Puss Moths and Fokker aircraft at Mascot. His familiarity with the basics of aircraft manufacture and flight prompted the ‘powers that be’ to assign him to the Bristol Beaufort project.

“Powers that be eh?” Martin asked, still running his fingertip along the edge of the folder in his lap.

Tim let that comment go by without remark. “You will scrutinise contracts and specifications, make recommendations or, if warranted, make your concerns known… Martin, The Department of Aircraft Production is very anxious to receive your report.Australianeeds this aircraft.”

Tim went on. “Mate, this is one hell of a gigantic leap forward for this Nation; we’ll actually be manufacturing aircraft before we manufacture our first motor car.”

Martin was going to protest that his background in aeronautics was not nearly sufficient for the task but Tim cut him off. “You will take an extensive course in Aeronautics at Sydney University beginning in the New Year.”

There was a moment of silence between the two men.

“Any questions?”

If he had one, he had a hundred. But Martin shook his head.

“All right then. That will be all for now.”

***