Episode Transcript
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The following episode contains violent themes and occasional
strong language.
Listener discretion is advised.
March the 3rd, 1942.
After an arduous hike over a mountain and
through dense jungle, the RAF rear party under
the command of my grandfather, Flight Lieutenant Brian
Rofe, have spent the entire day waiting for
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a flying boat that would never show up.
The airmen have eaten most of their tin
supplies the previous night, a decision Brian is
beginning to deeply regret.
And now it appears the evacuation will be
delayed again.
Here's Brian recalling the moment as they waited
for the flying boat at nightfall on the
day of the scheduled rescue.
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It is nigh impossible to explain the attitude
of mind required to take a night's watch
on a dark beach, waiting and listening for
engines which didn't come even though there were
hundreds of false alarms.
Dawn found three quarters of the party asleep
and the remainder with a puzzled and worried
frown.
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Thus we crawled back to the camp clearing
with why, why, why, being asked and unanswered
by everyone.
Eventually, Darwin sends a signal on March the
4th.
Corporal Ron Bell, the party's senior electrical wireless
mechanic, hands the signal to Brian.
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Broom raided.
Flying boats destroyed.
No hope possible for rescue at our end.
I'm Tom Trumbull and this is Trapped.
Men and women of Australia.
The story of one of the greatest escapes
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of the Pacific War.
The Japanese naval and air forces launched an
unprovoked attack.
The state of war exists between Australia and
Japan.
Chapter 3.
The Jungle.
Despite Darwin's devastating signal, Brian doesn't allow the
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men to lose hope.
From there on, every day begins with the
morning sermon, a prayer and update of news
from Darwin.
Alright, listen up.
Brian sets out a duty roster.
Everyone from officer through to enlisted man has
a task.
Papan, Andrews Gibbs, hunting party with George.
Smith, Graham Burke, medical.
If you're not fishing or hunting, you're cleaning
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the camp or tending to the sick.
But keeping the mood buoyant won't feed his
men.
The splurge on the tin supplies the night
before the scheduled rescue has forced Brian to
impose strict rationing.
They're now on two small meals a day.
The Temelkungs or chiefs of surrounding villages have
stopped providing food to the men despite Brian
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upping the payment of guilders.
It's not about money.
The Timorese don't have enough to feed the
men and their own people.
By March the 10th, a week after the
broom raid, the food situation is dire.
So Brian consults a Timorese man called Manafai.
Manafai is a fisherman from Kapsali, a tiny
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village near the mouth of the river that
bears the same name.
Manafai has a wife and a son.
With a large sum of guilders, Brian entices
him to act as the group's guide and
advisor while they remain in the region.
To formalise the arrangement, Brian names him George,
Manafai being too tricky for the Australians to
pronounce.
George is among the most popular names in
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the English-speaking world in the name of
the king, and George is delighted to be
named after a great rajah across the seas.
In Broken Malay, Brian tells George that his
men need food.
George advises Brian to head north to the
village of Naikliu, where supplies can be bought.
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I decided to make a trip to Naikliu,
about 20 miles from Kapsali, to buy some
native serongs, several blankets, which although as thin
as wafers were still a covering, and also
some copper sulphate.
The copper sulphate would be used as an
antiseptic to treat the epidemic of tropical ulcers.
Brian also plans to buy food.
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Of course, he'd prefer not to leave his
party, but as the only man with a
basic grasp of Malay, there's no way round
it.
But who will take command?
Flying Officer Jock Birchall is out.
Since the broom raid, he's barely moved.
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The obvious choice is the much-admired Flying
Officer Arthur Cole.
Nobody's more fit or energised than Arthur, and
that's part of the problem.
Here's leading aircraftman Len Burke.
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Arthur's not a man who likes staying put.
He wants to keep moving, explore other avenues
of escape.
Brian worries he might do something stupid.
Appointing another leader over Arthur won't work.
He's too strong.
Besides, Brian has a better idea.
By now, Darwin has categorically ruled out rescue
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by flying boat.
There's also no hope the Royal Australian Navy
will send a ship to get them.
The position of the party is dangerously close
to Copang Bay, which is now a significant
Japanese naval base.
Japanese reconnaissance aircraft are constantly overhead.
They'd spot a vessel instantly.
The only other option is airlift.
The best bet is to use what the
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airmen term an emergency landing ground, or ELG,
a naturally formed area of ground suitable to
land an aircraft.
Brian believes that on an island of raised
coral, there must be somewhere around to support
the landing of an aircraft.
So he sends Arthur south to find an
ELG, and leaves solid and reliable flying officer
Bill Arthur in charge.
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Brian also advises Ron Bell to signal Darwin
and request a supply drop with food and
medicine.
And then, with George and his retinue in
tow, Brian makes for Nakhlil.
A few hours after Brian leaves, Ron receives
a response from Darwin.
The supply drop is on.
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Bill Arthur selects 15 men and spreads them
out along a stretch of beach north and
south of the mouth of the Kapsali.
Ron Bell instructs Darwin that the supplies must
be dropped near the mouth of the river
at first light.
The men are all in position at five
o'clock in the morning.
A Hudson is heard an hour later.
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The airmen shout and wave their arms.
The plane flies along the river and cuts
across the mouth.
It circles around south of their position before
setting a course for Australia.
No parachute is seen.
But Bill Arthur suggests that maybe the pilot
mistook the Tarmonu River further south for the
Kapsali and dropped the supplies down there.
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Bill decides to take 10 men south to
investigate.
They keep to the beach, some of the
airmen darting into the jungle, hoping to find
the supplies dropped in the hinterland.
The tide is out, enabling a relatively easy
crossing of the Tarmonu.
After traversing the river, the men scale a
promontory.
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Without realising it, they are at the southernmost
point of the secret Sunbai'i safe haven.
Bill has no intention of pressing on further.
He wants to get back to camp before
nightfall.
Then Len Burke speaks up.
I can see way up there so many
miles, something white on the beach.
They said no, it's probably just a white
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rock.
I don't know whether he said well you
can go if you like or whether I
volunteer.
I decided they let me go off I
went.
I didn't have any arms.
I lost my revolver.
I lost those earlier.
One of the officers said well you better
take my revolver.
As I got near this white rock.
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Heading back to the rest of the group,
Len hears laughter.
He turns around but there's nobody on the
beach.
He hears laughter again, louder this time.
Len tightens his grip around Bill's revolver.
The sound of the laughter seems to be
coming from behind a sand dune.
Len crawls on his belly up the incline
and peers over the edge.
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Over the top, saddled horses are gathered together
in a small clearing.
Sitting nearby, obscured under the shade of a
tree, was a party of soldiers.
They are dressed in olive-coloured combat gear.
Len doesn't see any faces but he recognises
that gear.
It's what those paratroopers wore on the day
of the invasion.
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If it had been Japs they would have
caught me and tortured me.
I don't know how I'd go on to
torture.
You just don't know.
I don't know what do you know.
Where'd you come from?
Where's the rest of the fellas?
You just imagine what would have happened.
Meanwhile, seven kilometres east of Copang, a violent
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spectacle is about to unfold.
Senior officers of the Yokosuka 3rd Special Naval
Landing Force arrive at the clearing in a
truck.
Company commanders take their place in the centre
of the clearing.
Commander Fukumi Koichi assumes his position alongside the
farthest grave.
The crowd parts as Lieutenant Yamabe Masao, the
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soldier charged with leading the execution, walks towards
the officers.
He holds a half-drunk bottle of sake
in his left hand.
Yamabe looks at those prisoners with utter contempt.
He reserves a special loathing for surrendered soldiers.
And at this moment, Yamabe's hatred is spiked
with a deep sense of personal shame.
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Only a year earlier, Yamabe was part of
a unit tasked with a mission to develop
an airborne infantry force, the very force that
would land on Timor.
They were the pride of the Japanese military
and became known as the sons of heaven
in the sky.
Yamabe's commitment to the paratroopers was total.
Even when his brother, a cannon operator in
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the Japanese Navy, was dying of pneumonia, Yamabe
put his dedication to the war above visiting
him.
When his brother died, Yamabe's guilt ran deep.
I felt I should have visited him more
often, but in wartime and as a commander,
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my principle did not allow me to do
this.
The military principles, the imperial navy mentality, is
that war is a lonely thing.
I shall not shed tears for personal matters.
Brother, I will swear to avenge you, and
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soon I will join your side.
The jump on Timor would be Yamabe's great
act of vengeance in his brother's name, but
it was a dismal failure.
Hundreds of paratroopers were killed in a fierce
battle with Australian soldiers near the village of
Babau.
Worse still, the paratroopers failed to capture the
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aerodrome, which had been the unit's mission.
Yamabe was now commander of the guard, responsible
for managing discipline and morale in the unit,
as well as rounding up displaced enemy soldiers
and 5th columnists.
In his twisted, saki-fueled state, this public
execution effectively met all the responsibilities of his
charge.
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Yamabe instructs the executioners into position.
Each executioner is assigned two guards who haul
prisoners to the front of each of their
graves.
Yamabe takes several large drinks from his bottle
before bowing to Fukumi.
He then gives the order to kill.
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March 13th.
Black Friday.
In the days since leaving the rear-partying
camp at Kapsali, Brian has returned from Naikliu.
He has brought back a huge consignment of
rice, blankets, sarongs, tobacco, tea, sugar, cooking utensils,
and copper sulfate as an antiseptic for tropical
ulcers.
It had been a tough slog for the
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three airmen Brian had taken with him.
All except Brian had come down with a
savage bout of malaria.
Ron hands Brian an urgent signal from Darwin
requesting a weather report.
A storm had passed over earlier in the
day and the horizon appears to be clear,
the sky cloudless.
In fact, it's breathless.
Brian tells Ron to signal Darwin that the
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weather is fine without wind.
That night, as the men are turning in,
a sound like distant thunder echoes across the
clearing.
Brian's first thought is that he's got the
weather report wrong but lightning strikes are not
what is causing that thunder.
To the south, orange flashes light the horizon.
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The RAF are paying a visit to Kopang
Bay.
Brian's weather report sealed the deal.
It's the perfect weather for a night raid.
The men are ecstatic but Brian's satisfaction is
short-lived.
Not long after the raid, his body starts
to jackhammer.
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Well, here we are.
The fever has arrived at last.
The malaria hits Brian hard.
He's taken to a hut where he spends
the next three days teeth chattering and sweating.
He slips in and out of consciousness.
Those that witness the leader at his most
vulnerable say that he spent much of the
time hallucinating.
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He curses the Japanese while accusing Darwin of
ignoring his men, as if they are all
expendable.
And then, Brian would start scolding his men
as if they were still on the march
over the mountains.
Goes for you too, Greaves.
Move, all of you, weak bastards.
Then he would pass out.
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Sometimes, when he was unconscious, the men could
hear him muttering.
Occasionally, they would hear him mutter the name
Pat, the name of the woman he would
marry, my grandmother.
My grandparents met on orientation day at the
Adelaide Teachers College in 1937.
As student president, my grandfather was on hand
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to take fees with the secretary and treasurer
in the student office when in walked Patricia
Whitford.
In the letters he wrote to Patricia throughout
the war, Brian would often refer to their
courtship and first meeting.
All of my ambitions, my hopes, my small
successes, my laughter and my tears, my solace
in failure, my strength for every day, my
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love, and even my life itself would have,
as the basis of each, this lovely girl.
In her letters, my grandmother would respond that
she was a convent girl.
Completely at sea in this exciting, co-ed
world.
And there sits this dynamo lounging back with
his feet on the desk, teasing me with
all these idiotic questions over sports fee, though
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I'd like to on the spot, though I
wouldn't admit it even to myself.
They were perfectly matched, each possessing a refined
intellect, a passion for sport and a love
of music.
As a birthday gift, my grandmother saved up
for months to buy two premium tickets to
Ignaz Friedman playing Chopin with the Adelaide Symphony
Orchestra at the Town Hall.
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The Polish virtuoso took an encore, playing Liszt's
Liebestrom, German for dreams of love.
It became an emotional mainstay to which they
would hark back in harder times.
Remember that last encore of Friedman?
After the concert, they dined in town.
It cost 18 pence for a three-course
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meal at a cafe and then a film.
Do you remember we saw mailing?
The tragic Austrian love story with Danielle Derriere.
Of course he remembered.
Brian thought about those days constantly.
He particularly remembered the balls and university parties.
They would arrive together, charm and entertain their
friends and reunite for the last dance.
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With Cole Porter in their ears and love
in their hearts, everything melted away.
Weren't they marvellous times?
Snatched eternities of happiness in a world peopled
by just you and me and away from
the world of families, trams, clocks and trains.
Brian proposed and life was full of promise.
And then came the war.
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Brian enlisted in the RAF as a meteorological
officer.
He trained in Melbourne before being sent off
around the country.
They swore to write to each other every
day they were apart, their letters full of
longing and passion.
When the Japanese raided Pearl Harbour, Brian's time
away from home was extended.
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The threat from the north seemed very real
and in her memoirs my grandmother wrote that
the war changed their lives.
I joined the voluntary aid detachment.
My social life was strange, being engaged to
someone in Timor and news was scarce.
Then when the Japanese bombed Darwin, there was
general fear and uncertainty about Australia's future.
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At first I had lots of letters from
Timor, but after Darwin, nothing.
In that sick hut, his body at times
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convulsing, sweat pouring off his brow, something breaks
inside Brian.
When he emerges a full three days later,
Brian Rofe is changed.
All the men notice.
His hatred for the Japanese and his frustration
is taken out on his men.
He becomes quick to temper and he doesn't
tolerate the slightest sign of insubordination or weakness.
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When Corporal Roy Andrews emerges after a malaria
attack and suggests the airmen surrender, Brian calls
a parade and chews Roy out in front
of the group, publicly shaming him as a
coward for wanting to surrender.
Shortly thereafter, food goes missing from the supplies.
Here's Len Burke recalling the event.
Sitting on occasion there when somebody stole a
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can of peaches it was, where they didn't
have anything else, just rice, peaches.
Brian tells the men to form a circle
around him.
He has a revolver in his hand.
Get over here, all of you.
Unless you're sick or dead, get on your
bloody feet.
Who did it?
Who stole the tinned food?
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The men know who the culprit is, but
they keep silent.
The next man who steals any food will
be shot.
I will bloody shoot him.
Brian is trying to maintain order any way
he can and many of the men take
his threats as a means to that end.
But some of the airmen, Len Burke included,
are terrified of him.
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Len had experienced firsthand how uncompromising Brian could
be.
It happened after Len and his great friend
Jim Graham had been washing themselves down by
the creek.
Both were sick.
We were in a sort of a little
creek thing down on a wash and it
was fairly deep and I just suddenly passed
out and said, what's down the creek?
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And Jim Graham grabbed me and he's pulling
me out of his arms.
Jim saved Len's life and shortly thereafter Jim
started to complain of a headache and Len
felt partly responsible.
In Len's mind, the exertion it took Jim
to rescue him probably made things a lot
worse.
I asked the flight lieutenant Roper, who was
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calling his office I think, for some aspirin
tablets because I've got a bad headache and
he said to me, what sort of headache
is it?
He says, is it a block headache or
a box headache?
He says, I don't know what the difference
is.
He says, no, I can't, I can't, I
can't give it to you.
I can't speak.
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To boost the morale of the group, Ron
Bell hooks the transceiver up and finds a
signal.
The sound of the radio attracts four Australian
soldiers to camp.
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They're from the 2nd 40th Battalion, holed up
in Copang when the invasion began.
How they managed to evade capture is unclear
and Brian doesn't press them for details.
He's more interested in intelligence or anything that
might be useful to pass on to Darwin.
The soldiers don't tell Brian much he doesn't
already know, but they do relate one story
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that sends a shiver down the spine of
the airman.
The medical non-combatants in Babau who Brian
met on the mad dash out of Penfoe
had been found tortured, executed and their bodies
booby-trapped by the Japanese paratroopers.
In the medical hut, Peter Thompson is hovering
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between life and death.
Peter's cheeks are hollowed out and the back
of his leg has turned black.
Without medicine and proper food, Peter will die.
Brian has Ron arrange a supply drop with
Darwin.
A Hudson is sent, but the supply drop
fails.
The party is in need of good news.
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On cue, Arthur Cole turns up.
It was right on the beach, 3,000
yards long and 200 yards wide at low
tide.
The approaches were perfect and the surface level.
It was hard sand over a rocky foundation,
a bayonet driven down into the ground, only
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sunk six inches.
According to Arthur, the beach is an Ideal
Emergency Landing Ground or ELG and firm enough
to support the landing of an aircraft.
Brian welcomes the news, but there's no guarantee
Darwin will cooperate.
Landing an aircraft on a beach is inherently
dangerous and Tuakau is approximately 30 kilometres north
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of Copang Bay.
That's uncomfortably close to an enemy stronghold.
Brian tells the men that they'll only head
to the ELG when Darwin approves the plan.
In private, Cole forcefully makes his case to
Brian.
We can't stay here, Brian.
Most of the men will be...
In Arthur's mind, the men need to get
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moving.
With all the stretcher cases, it'll take the
men at least a day, maybe longer to
get there.
Brian tells Arthur that most of the men
don't have his resilience and stamina.
A day's march south could well be beyond
them.
Arthur says that they can't stay put forever.
They only have about a week of food
left.
Eventually, Brian tells Arthur his major hesitation has
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nothing to do with Darwin.
It's all about Peter.
Brian is convinced that moving Peter on a
stretcher will kill him.
Arthur walks off, resisting the temptation to say
what everyone is thinking, that Peter will die
no matter what they do.
On March 31st, more than five weeks after
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the aerodrome evacuation, Peter's body is wrapped in
a sarong and borne silently to a point
high on the banks of the Capsali.
The soil at the base of a tree
is loosened with bayonets and shoveled away using
tin hats.
Peter is lowered into the ground, and the
soil layered on top.
Stones mark his grave.
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An airman who tended to him in his
last days carves P.T. into a nearby
tree trunk with a knife.
The consensus is that Peter died from malaria,
having been weakened through malnourishment and jungle rot.
But Brian believes the failed attempt to drop
supplies are what really killed him.
He took the fact that again we had
missed them rather badly, as he was worried
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not for himself but the general condition of
the men.
Once the ceremony is concluded, Brian finds Arthur
and George, the party's Timorese guide.
Brian shells out a handful of guilders and
tells George to find ponies and porters.
They'll also need stretchers.
The airmen are packing up camp.
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Brian figures the best way to book a
flight out of Timor is to force Darwin's
hand.
He will take the men to Arthur's ELG.
Next time on Trapped.
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a dump I set up about five miles
east of the boat.
All I need is three or four fit
men to help me roll a barrel along
the beach.
Once we've filled the tank, we'll bring the
boat back here, pick everyone up, and then
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head home.
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Trapped was written and produced by Tom Trumbull
with Sam Lloyd, James Milsom, and Ryan Pemberton
for the Australian War Memorial.