LOST ISLAND | bxb adventure

16: THE BOY FROM FINISTERRA

Video above - GILDA 1946 trailer
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A brawl with thugs gives Brad something extra to look forward to ...

Brad awoke at dawn to the subtle noise of the morning harbor front. He yawned, wondering when the lumpy pile of a bed had turned so comfortable. It was amazing what you could enjoy when you desperately needed a good night's sleep.

He went to stretch his arms and realized they were pinned down and, startled, he jumped. But he was hardly able to move at all because of the heavy sleeping bodies holding him down. Clint was on one side of him, Jimmy on the other. They each had a leg and an arm thrown over him and their heads were right alongside his.

"Jeezus!" he muttered, scrambling to get the two big lugs off him.

It was daylight and everybody along the harbor could see them laying all over each other on the hatch cover. Clint and Jimmy groaned and moaned as Brad pushed them off, but they both rolled back over and stayed asleep as he jumped down to the deck.

One of the harbor security guards, a light-skinned Malay, was standing in the bow. He'd been looking north out to the islands dotting the straits but now looked back at Brad with a knowing grin. Brad balled his hands into fists and rolled his eyes, knowing the man had seen them cuddling together. And who knew who else had, too?

Brad shrugged and figured, what the heck. This was the waterfront. Sailors all knew the score. There probably weren't more than one or two of them anyway who hadn't partaken themselves of the exotic pleasures of men at sea.

Brad chuckled at that thought. He and Clint and Jimmy together – yah that was freaking exotic. Sure to attract a lot of attention with the local seafaring crowd.

Brad noticed the gun in the holster at the guard's hip, and was glad to see it. The rifle he'd been carrying since the caves on Coastwatchers Hill was up on the hatch cover near where he'd been sleeping. They were in the toughest town in the whole South Seas with a valuable gold shipment aboard. It was definitely a time to have guns at hand, and plenty of them.

Gazing east past a myriad of masts, stacks, and funnels, he saw the pink rays of dawn rising up from the hills on a far point of land beyond the harbor. At its northern tip, sticking out into the sea, were a melange of shipwrecks along the shore, masts and hulls and skeletons of ships from recent years and centuries past. This was the dangerous Storms End cape where the storms swooped up through the Bismarck Straits from the Solomon Sea, catching mariners by surprise and bringing many of them to quick and unexpected ruin on the rocks.

But even with the ship graveyard out there, it all looked peaceful on this windless morning. The water was as smooth as glass. A few large tankers lay at anchor farther out. Smaller ones and harbor craft, including a couple old battle ships, junks, launches, and other boats lined the wharves by the cargo sheds.

Decks were coming alive with sailors. The aromas of cooking breakfasts wafted over, getting Brad's nose sniffing and his stomach growling. Boats were heading out and shouts of good voyage could be heard. It may have been the riffraff of the Seven Seas all concentrated in this one infamous spot, but Brad felt an adventurous thrill about it and was eager to start the day.

In the light of morning he could see the Balanga much better. It was about ninety feet long and twenty-five feet wide at the beam. There was a slightly elevated bridge and wheel house, behind it a galley and the saloon, and beyond that a short aft deck where Brad could see diving and salvage equipment. He knew the boat had a diesel engine, but there were masts with plenty of rolled-up canvas for sailing.

A whiff of a delightful aroma caught his attention and he followed it over to the galley door. It smelled suspiciously like bacon and eggs, and Brad peered through the open doorway to see that Zinali was cooking up a storm at the range. The man grinned at Brad as he flipped over an egg.