The skies have cleared and from 8,000 feet the sea looks beautiful and placid with only the jagged claws of occasional reefs to mar the surface. Duties completed, most of the crew are lulled to sleep by the drone of the engines. In the cockpit George is switched on and the pilots read and eat and take naps as the controls gently twist and turn to the direction of their robot master. No need to search the skies. The war is over.
All Japanese fighters are grounded.
The beach head on Cocos. I wake up with muscles cramped to watch the sinking sun. The western sky is suffused in bloody red. It's a gaudy yet glorious picture, like so many one experiences in this part of the world, almost impossible to capture in words, paint or film. Overhead a ceiling of stars unfolds.